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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/39693-8.txt b/39693-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..502cff7 --- /dev/null +++ b/39693-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8930 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mildred Arkell, (Vol 3 of 3), by Ellen Wood + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: Mildred Arkell, (Vol 3 of 3) + A Novel + +Author: Ellen Wood + +Release Date: May 14, 2012 [EBook #39693] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MILDRED ARKELL, (VOL 3 OF 3) *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + + + MILDRED ARKELL. + + A Novel. + + BY MRS. HENRY WOOD, + + AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS," "TREVLYN HOLD," ETC. + + + IN THREE VOLUMES. + + VOL. III. + + LONDON: + TINSLEY BROTHERS, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND + 1865. + + _All rights of Translation and Reproduction are reserved._ + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + CHAP. PAGE + + I. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND--A SURPRISE 1 + + II. A DOUBTFUL SEARCH 24 + + III. DETECTION 43 + + IV. ASSIZE SATURDAY 68 + + V. ASSIZE SUNDAY 86 + + VI. PREACHING TO THE DEAN 103 + + VII. CARR VERSUS CARR 122 + + VIII. THE SECOND DAY 144 + + IX. THE SHADOWS OF DEATH 168 + + X. THE GRAVESTONE IN THE CLOISTERS 191 + + XI. THOUGHTLESS WORDS 213 + + XII. MISCONCEPTION 236 + + XIII. THE TABLES TURNED 256 + + XIV. A RECOGNITION 273 + + XV. MILDRED'S RECOMPENSE 290 + + XVI. MISS FAUNTLEROY LOVED AT LAST 309 + + + + +MILDRED ARKELL. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.--A SURPRISE. + + +It happened on that same second of December that Mr. Littelby took his +place for the first time as conductor of the business of Mynn and Mynn. +He had arrived at Eckford the previous day, as per agreement, but was +not installed formally in the office until this. Old Mynn, not in his +gout now, had come down early, and was brisk and lively; George Mynn was +also there. + +He was an admitted solicitor just as much as were Mynn and Mynn; he was +to be their confidential _locum tenens_; the whole management and +conduct of affairs was, during their absence, to fall upon him; he was, +in point of fact, to be practically a principal, not a clerk, and at the +end of a year, if all went well, he was to be allowed a share in the +business, and the firm would be Mynn, Mynn, and Littelby. + +It was not, then, to be wondered at, that the chief of the work this day +was the inducting him into the particulars of the various cases that +Mynn and Mynn happened to have on hand, more especially those that were +to come on for trial at the Westerbury assizes, and would require much +attention beforehand. They were shut up betimes, the three, in the small +room that would in future be Mr. Littelby's--a room which had hitherto +been nobody's in particular, for the premises were commodious, but which +Mr. Richards had been in the habit of appropriating as his own, not for +office purposes, but for private uses. Quite a cargo of articles +belonging to Mr. Richards had been there: coats, parcels, pipes, +letters, and various other items too numerous to mention. On the +previous day, Richards had received a summary mandate to "clear it out," +as it was about to be put in order for the use of Mr. Littelby. Mr. +Richards had obeyed in much dudgeon, and his good feeling towards the +new manager--his master in future--was not improved. It had not been +friendly previously, for Mr. Richards had a vague idea that his way +would not be quite so much his own as it had been. + +He sat now at his desk in the public office, into which clients plunged +down two steps from the landing on the first flight of stairs, as if +they had been going into a well. His subordinate, a steady young man +named Pope, who was browbeaten by Richards every hour of his life, sat +at a small desk apart. Mr. Richards, ostensibly occupied in the perusal +of some formidable-looking parchment, was, in reality, biting his nails +and frowning, and inwardly wishing he could bring the ceiling down on +Mr. Littelby's head, shut up in that adjoining apartment; and could he +have invented a decent excuse for sending out Pope, in the teeth of the +intimation Mr. George Mynn had just given, that Pope was to stop in, for +he should want him, Mr. Richards would have had his own ear to the +keyhole of the door. + +Mr. Littelby and Mr. Mynn sat at the square table, some separate bundles +of papers before them, tied up with red string; Mr. George Mynn stood +with his back to the fire. Never was there a keener or a better man of +business than Mynn the elder, when his state of health allowed him a +respite from pain. He had been well for two or three weeks now, and the +office found the benefit of it. _He_ was the one to explain matters to +Mr. Littelby; Mr. George only put in a word here and there. In due +course they came to a small bundle of papers labelled "Carr," and Mr. +Mynn, in his rapid, clear, concise manner, gave an outline of the case. +Before he had said many words, Mr. Littelby raised his head, his face +betokening interest, and some surprise. + +"But I thought the Carr case was at an end," he observed. "At least, I +supposed it would naturally be so." + +"Oh dear no," said old Mynn; "it's coming on for trial at the +assizes--that is, if the other side are so foolish as to go on to +action. I don't myself think they will be." + +"The other side? You mean the widow of Robert Carr the clergyman?" asked +Mr. Littelby, scarcely thinking, however, that Mr. Mynn could mean it. + +"The widow and the brother--yes. Fauntleroy, of Westerbury, acts for +them. But he'll never, as I believe, bring so utterly lame a case into +court." + +Mr. Littelby wondered what his new chief could mean; he did not +understand at all. + +"I should have supposed the case would have been brought to an end by +you," he observed. "From the moment that the marriage was discovered to +have taken place, your clients, the Carrs of Eckford, virtually lost +their cause." + +"But the marriage has not been discovered to have taken place," said Mr. +Mynn. + +"Yes, it has. Is it possible that you have not had intimation of it from +Mr. Fauntleroy?" + +Mr. Mynn paused a moment. Mr. George, who had been looking at his boots, +raised his head to listen. + +"Where was it discovered?--who discovered it?" asked Mr. Mynn, with the +air of a man who does not believe what is being said to him. + +"The widow, young Mrs. Carr, found the notice of it. In searching her +late father-in-law's desk, she discovered a letter written by him to his +son. It was the week subsequent to her husband's death. The letter had +slipped between the leaves of an old blotting-book, and lain there +unsuspected. While poor Robert Carr the clergyman was wearing away his +last days of life in those fruitless searchings of the London churches, +he little thought how his own carelessness had forced it upon him. He +examined this very desk when his father died, for any papers there might +be in it, and must have examined it imperfectly, for there the letter +must have been." + +"But what was in the letter?" asked George Mynn, speaking for the first +time since the topic arose. + +"It stated that he had married the young lady who went away with him, +Martha Ann Hughes, on the morning they left Westerbury--married her at +her own parish church, St.--St.--I forget the name." + +"Her parish church was St. James the Less," said Mr. Mynn, speaking very +fast. + +"Yes, that was it; I remember now. It struck me at the time as being a +somewhat uncommon appellation. That is where the marriage took place, on +the morning they left Westerbury." + +Mr. Mynn sat down; he had need of some rest to recover his +consternation. Mr. George never spoke: he said afterwards, that the +thought flashed upon him, he could not tell how or why, that the letter +was a fraud. + +"How did you know of this?" was Mr. Mynn's first question. + +Mr. Littelby related how: that Mrs. Carr had informed him of it at the +time of the discovery: and, it may be observed, that he was unconscious +of breaking any faith in repeating it. Mrs. Carr, attaching little +importance to Mr. Fauntleroy's request of keeping it to herself, had +either forgotten or neglected to caution Mr. Littelby, to whom it had at +once been told. Mr. Littelby, on his part, had never supposed but the +discovery had been made known to Mynn and Mynn and the Carrs of Eckford, +by Mr. Fauntleroy, and that the litigation had thus been brought to an +end. + +"And you say this is known to Mr. Fauntleroy?" asked old Mynn. + +"Certainly. Mrs. Carr forwarded the letter to him the very hour she +discovered it." + +"Then what can possess the man not to have sent us notice of it?" he +exclaimed. "He'd never be guilty of the child's play of concealing this +knowledge until the cause was before the court, and then bringing it +forward as a settler! Fauntleroy's sharp in practice; but he'd hardly do +this." + +"Is it certain that the marriage did take place there?" quietly put in +Mr. George Mynn. + +They both looked at him; his quiet tone was so full of significance: and +Mr. Mynn had to turn round in his chair to do it. + +"It appears to me to be a very curious story," continued the younger +man. "What sort of a woman is this Mrs. Carr?" + +A pause. "You are not thinking that she is capable of--of--concocting +any fraud, are you?" cried Mr. Littelby. + +"I should be sorry to say it. I only say the thing wears a curious +appearance." + +"She is entirely incapable of it," returned Mr. Littelby, warmly. "She +is quite a young girl, although she has been a wife and mother. Besides, +the letter, remember, only stated where the marriage took place, and +where its record might be found. I remember she told me that the words +in the letter were, that the marriage would be found duly entered in the +register." + +Mr. Mynn was leaning back in his chair; his hands in his waistcoat +pockets, his eyes half closed in thought. + +"Did you see this letter, Mr. Littelby?" he inquired, rousing himself. + +"No. Mrs. Carr had sent it off to Mr. Fauntleroy. She told me its +contents, I daresay nearly word for word." + +"Because I really do not think the marriage could have taken place as +described. It would inevitably have been known if it had: some persons, +surely, would have seen them go into the church; and the parson and +clerk must have been cognisant of it! How was it that these people kept +the secret? Besides, the parties were away from the town by eight +o'clock, or thereabouts." + +"I don't know anything about the details," said Mr. Littelby; "but I do +know that the letter, stating what I have told you, was found by Mrs. +Carr, and that she implicitly believes in it. Would the letter be likely +to assert a thing that a minute's time could disprove? If the record of +the marriage is not on the register of St. James the Less, to what end +state that it is?" + +"If this letter stated what you say, Mr. Littelby, rely upon it that the +record is there. There have been such things known, mind you"--and old +Mynn lowered his voice as he spoke--"as frauds committed on registers; +false entries made. And they have passed for genuine, too, to +unsuspicious eyes. But, if this is one, it won't pass so with me," he +added, rising. "Not a man in the three kingdoms has a keener eye than +mine." + +"It is impossible that a false entry can have been made in the +register!" exclaimed Mr. Littelby, speaking slowly, as if debating the +question in his own mind. + +"We shall see. I assure you I consider it equally impossible for the +marriage to have taken place, as stated, without detection." + +"But--assuming your suspicion to be correct--who can have been wicked +enough to insert the entry?" cried Mr. Littelby. + +"That, I can't tell. The entry of the marriage would take the property +from our clients, the Carrs of Eckford, therefore they are exempt from +the suspicion. I wonder," continued Mr. Mynn in a half-secret tone, +"whether that young clergyman got access to the register when he was +down here?" + +"That young clergyman was honest as the day," emphatically interrupted +Mr. Littelby. "I could answer for his truth and honour with my life. The +finding of that letter would have sent him to his grave easier than he +went to it." + +"There's another brother, is there not?" + +"Yes. But he is in Holland, looking after the home affairs, which are +also complicated. He has not been here at all since his father's death." + +"Ah, one doesn't know," said old Mynn, glancing at his watch. "Hundreds +of miles have intervened, before now, between a committed fraud and its +plotter. Well, we will say no more at present. I'll tell you more when I +have had a look at this register. It will not deceive _me_." + +"Are you going over now?" asked Mr. George. + +"At once," replied old Mynn, with decision; "and I'll bring you back my +report and my opinion as soon as may be." + +But Mr. Mynn was away considerably longer than there appeared any need +that he should be. When he did arrive he explained that his delay arose +from the effectual and thorough searching of the register. + +"I don't know what could have been the meaning or the use of that letter +you told us of, Mr. Littelby," he said, as he took off his coat; "there +is no entry of the marriage in the church register of St. James the +Less." + +"No entry of it!" + +"None whatever." + +Mr. Littelby did not at once speak: many thoughts were crowding upon his +mind. He and old Mynn were standing now, and George Mynn was sitting +with his elbow on the table, and his aching head leaning on his hand. +The least excitement out of common, sometimes only the sitting for a day +in the close office, would bring on these intolerable headaches. + +"I have searched effectually--and I don't suppose the old clerk of the +church blessed me for keeping him there--and I am prepared to take an +affidavit, if necessary, that no such marriage is recorded in the book," +continued the elder lawyer. "What could have been the aim or object of +that letter, I cannot fathom." + +"Mr. Carr will not come into the money, then?" said Mr. Littelby. + +"Of course not, so far as things look at present. I thought it was very +strange, if such a thing had been there, that Fauntleroy did not let it +be known," he emphatically added. + +"You are sure you have fully searched?" + +"Mr. Littelby, I have fully searched," was the reply; and the lawyer was +not pleased at being asked the question after what he had said. "There +is no such marriage entered there; and rely upon it no such marriage +ever was entered there. I might go farther and say, with safety in my +opinion, that there never was such marriage entered anywhere." + +"Then why should Robert Carr, the elder, have written the letter?" + +"_Did_ he write it? It may be a question." + +"No, he never wrote it," interposed George Mynn, looking up. "There was +some wicked plot concocted--I don't say by whom, and I can't say it--of +which this letter was the prologue. Perhaps the epilogue--the insertion +of the marriage in the register--was frustrated; possibly this letter +was found before its time, and the despatching it to Mr. Fauntleroy +marred the whole. How can we say?" + +"We can't say," returned old Mynn. "One thing I can say and affirm--that +there's no record; and had the letter been a genuine one, the entry +would be there now." + +"I wonder if Mr. Fauntleroy believes the entry to be there?" cried Mr. +Littelby. "I am nearly sure that he has not given notice of the contrary +to Mrs. Carr. She would have told me if he had." + +"If Fauntleroy has been so foolish as to take the information in the +letter for granted, without sending to see the register, he must put up +with the consequences," said old Mynn; "I shall not enlighten him." + +He spoke as he felt--cross. Mr. Mynn was not pleased at having spent the +best part of the day over what he had found to be a fool's errand; +neither did he like to have been startled unnecessarily. He sat down and +drew the papers before him, saying something to the effect that perhaps +they could attend to their legitimate business, now that the other was +disposed of. Mr. Littelby caught the cue, and resolved to say no more in +that office of Carr _versus_ Carr. + +And so, it was a sort of diamond cut diamond. Mr. Fauntleroy had said +nothing to Mynn and Mynn of his private information; and Mynn and Mynn +would say nothing to Mr. Fauntleroy of theirs. + +Christmas drew on. Mrs. Dundyke, alone now, for Mr. Carr had gone back +to Holland, was seated one afternoon by her drawing-room fire, in the +twilight, musing very sadly on the past. The servants were at tea in the +kitchen, and one of them had just been up to ask her mistress if she +would take a cup, as she sometimes did before her late dinner, and had +gone down again, leaving unintentionally the room door unlatched. + +As the girl entered the kitchen, the sound of laughter and merriment +came forth to the ears of Mrs. Dundyke. It quite jarred upon her heart. +How often has it occurred to us, bending under the weight of some secret +trouble that goes well-nigh to break us, to envy our unconscious +servants, who seem to have no care! + +The kitchen door closed again, and silence supervened--a silence that +soon began to make itself felt, as it will in these moments of gloom. +Mrs. Dundyke was aroused from it in a remarkable manner; not violently +or loudly, but still in so strange a way, that her mouth opened in +consternation as she listened, and she rose noiselessly from her chair +in a sort of horror. + +_She had distinctly heard the latch-key put into the street-door lock_; +just as she had heard it many a time when her husband used to come home +from business in the year last gone by. She heard it turned in the lock, +the peculiar click it used to give, and she heard the door quietly open +and then close again, as if some one had entered. Not since they went +abroad the previous July had she heard those sounds, or had the door +thus been opened. There had been but that one latch-key to the door, and +Mr. Dundyke, either by chance or intention, had carried it away with him +in his pocket. It had been in his pocket during the whole period of +their travels, and been lost with him. + +What could it mean? Who had come in? Footsteps, slow, hesitating +footsteps were crossing the hall; they seemed to halt at the +dining-room, and were now ascending the stairs. Mrs. Dundyke was by far +too practical a woman to believe in ghosts, but that anything but the +ghost of her husband could open the door with that latch-key and be +stealing up, was hard to believe. + +"Betsey!" + +If ever she felt a wish to sink into the wall, or through the floor, she +felt it then. The voice which had called out the familiar home name, was +her husband's voice; his, and yet not his. His, in a manner; but +querulous, worn, weakened. She stood in horror, utterly bewildered, not +daring to move, her arms clasping a chair for protection, she knew not +from what, her eyes strained on the unlatched door. That it could be her +husband returned in life, her thoughts never so much as glanced at. + +He pushed open the door, and came in without any surprise in his face or +greeting on his tongue; came in and went straight to the fire, and sat +down in a chair before it, just as though he had not been gone away an +hour--he who had once been David Dundyke. Was it David Dundyke +still--_was_ it? He looked thin and shabby, and his hair was cut close +to his head, and he was altogether altered. Mrs. Dundyke was gazing at +him with a fixed, unnatural stare, like one who has been seized with +catalepsy. + +He saw her standing there, and turned his head, looking at her for a +full minute. + +"Betsey!" + +She went forward then; it _was_ her husband, and in life. What the +mystery could have been she did not know yet--did not glance at in that +wild moment--but she fell down at his knees and clasped him to her, and +wept delirious tears of joy and agony. + +It seemed--when the meeting was over, and the marvelling servants had +shaken hands with him, and he had been refreshed with dinner, and the +time came for questions--that he could not explain much of the mystery +either. He had evidently undergone some great change, physically and +mentally, and it had left him the wreck of what he was, with his +faculties impaired, and a hesitating speech. + +More especially impaired in memory. He could recollect so little of the +past; indeed, their sojourn at the hotel at Geneva seemed to have gone +from his mind altogether. Mrs. Dundyke saw that he must have had some +sort of brain attack; but, what, she could not tell. + +"David, where have you been all this while?" she said, soothingly, as he +lay on the sofa she had drawn to the fire, and she sat on a stool +beneath and clasped his hand. + +"All this while? I came back directly." + +She paused. "Came back from where?" + +"From the bed." + +"The bed!" she repeated; and her heart beat with a sick faintness as she +felt, for the twentieth time, that henceforth he could only be +questioned as a child. "From the bed you lay in when you were ill?" + +"Yes." + +"Were you ill long?" + +"No. I lay in it after I got well: my head and my legs were not strong. +They turned. It was the bed in the kitchen with the large white pillows. +They slept in the back room." + +"Who did?" + +"Paul and Marie. She's his wife." + +"Did they take care of you?" + +"Yes, they took care of me. Little Paul used to fetch the water. He's +seven." + +"Do you remember----" (she spoke the words with trembling, lest the name +should excite him) "Mr. Hardcastle?" + +It did in some degree. He lay looking at his wife, his face and thoughts +working. "Hardcastle! It was him that--that--was with me when I fell +down." + +"Where did you fall?" she asked, as quietly as she could. + +"In the sun. We walked a long, long way, and he gave me something to +drink out of a bottle, and I was giddy, and he told me to go to sleep." + +"Did he stay with you?" + +Mr. Dundyke stared as though he did not understand the question. + +"I went giddy. He took my pocket-book; he took out the letters, and put +it back to me again. Paul found it. I went to sleep in the sun." + +"When did Paul find it?" + +David Dundyke appeared unable to comprehend the "when." "In his cart," +he said; "he found me too." + +"David, dear, try and recollect; did Paul take you to his cottage?" + +David looked puzzled, and then nodded his head several times, as if +wishing to convince himself of the fact. + +"And I suppose you were ill there?" + +"I suppose I was ill there; they said so. Marie spoke English; she had +been at--at--at sea." + +This was not very perspicuous, but Mrs. Dundyke did not care for minor +details. + +"How did you come home?" she asked. And she glanced suddenly down at his +boots; an idea presenting itself to her, that she might see them worn +and travel-stained. But they were not. They were the same boots that he +had on that last morning in Geneva, and they appeared to have been +little worn. + +"How did I come home?" he repeated. "I came. Marie said I was well +enough. Paul changed the note." + +"What note?" she asked. + +"The note from England. He didn't see that when he took the others." + +"He" evidently meant Mr. Hardcastle. She began to comprehend a little, +and put her questions accordingly. + +"Mr. Hardcastle must have robbed you, David." + +"Mr. Hardcastle robbed me." + +She found he had a habit of repeating her words. She had noticed the +same peculiarity before, in cases of decaying intellect. + +"The bank note that he did not find was the one you had written for over +and above what you wanted. Why did you write for it, David?" + +This was a back question, and it took a great many others before David +could answer. "He might have wanted to borrow more," he said at length; +"I'd have lent him all then." + +Poor man! That he should have had such blind faith in Mr. Hardcastle as +to send for money in case he should "want to borrow more!" Mrs. Dundyke +had taken this view of the case from the first. + +"You don't believe in him now, David?" + +"I don't believe in him now. He has got my bank notes; and he left me in +the sun. Paul, put me in the cart when it came by." + +"David, why did you not write to me?" + +David stared. "I came," he said. And she found afterwards, that he could +not write; she was to find that he never attempted to write again. + +"Did you send to Geneva?--to me?" + +"To Geneva?--to me?" + +"To me--me, David; not to you. Did you send to Geneva?" + +He shook his head, evidently not knowing what she meant, and seemed to +think. Mrs. Dundyke felt nearly sure that he must have lain long +insensible, for weeks, perhaps months; that is, not sufficiently +conscious to understand or remember; and that when he grew better, +Geneva and its doings had faded from his remembrance. + +"How did you come home, David?" she asked again. "Did you come alone?" + +"Did you come alone--yes, in the diligences, and rail, and sea. I told +them all to take me to England; Paul got the money for me; he took the +note and brought it back." + +Paul had changed it into French money; that must be the meaning of it. +Mr. Dundyke put his hand in his pocket and pulled out sundry five-franc +pieces. + +"Marie's got some. I gave her half." + +Mrs. Dundyke hoped it was so. She could hardly understand yet, how he +could have found his way home alone; even with the help of "I told them +all to take me to England." + +"David!" she whispered, "David! I don't know how I shall ever be +thankful enough to God!" + +"I'd like some porter." + +It was a contrast that grated on her ear; the animal want following +without break on the spiritual aspiration. She was soon to find that any +finer feeling he might ever have possessed, had gone with his mind. He +could eat and drink still, and understand that; but there was something +wrong with the brain. + +"How did you come down here to-night, David?" + +"How did I come down here to-night? There was the omnibus." + +The questions began to pain her. "He is fatigued," she thought; "perhaps +he will answer better to-morrow." The porter was brought to him, and he +fell asleep immediately after drinking it. She rose from her low seat, +and sat down in a chair opposite to him. + +It was like a dream; and Mrs. Dundyke all but pinched herself to see +whether she was awake or asleep. She believed that she could tell pretty +accurately what the past had been. Mr. Hardcastle had followed her +husband to the side of the lake that morning, had in some way induced +him to go away from it; had taken him a long, long way into the cross +country--and it must have been at that time that the Swiss peasant, who +gave his testimony at Geneva, had seen them. At the proper opportunity, +Mr. Hardcastle must have, perhaps, given him some stupefying drink, and +then robbed him and left him; but Mrs. Dundyke inclined to the opinion +that the man must have believed Mr. Dundyke insensible, or he surely +would never have allowed him to see him take the notes. He must then +have lain, it was hard to say how long, before Paul found him; and the +lying thus in the sun probably induced the fit, or sun-stroke, or brain +fever, whatever it was, that attacked him. He spoke of a cart: and she +concluded that Paul must have been many miles out of the route of his +home, or else the search instituted would surely have found him, had he +been within a few miles of Geneva. Why these people had kept him, had +not declared him to the nearest authorities, it was hard to say. They +might have kept him from benevolent motives; or might have seen the bank +note in his pocket-book, and kept him from motives of worldly interest. +However it might be, they had shown themselves worthy Christian people, +and she should ever be deeply grateful. _He_ had evidently no idea of +the flight of time since; perhaps-- + +"What do you wear that for?" + +He was lying with his eyes open, and pointing to the widow's cap. She +rose and bent over him, as she answered-- + +"David! David, dear! we have been mourning you as dead." + +"Mourning me as dead! I am not dead." + +No, he was not dead, and she was shedding happy tears for it, as she +threw the cap off from the braids of her still luxuriant hair. + +As well, perhaps, almost that he had been dead! for the best part of his +life, the mind's life, was over. No more intellect; no more business for +him in Fenchurch-street; no more ambitious aspirations after the civic +chair!--it was all over for ever for poor David Dundyke. + +But he had come home. He who was supposed to be lying +dead--murdered--had come home. It was a strange fact to go forth to the +world: one amidst the extraordinary tales that now and then arise to +startle it almost into disbelief. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +A DOUBTFUL SEARCH. + + +On the 3rd of February the college boys reassembled for school, after +the Christmas holidays. Rather explosive were the choristers at times at +getting no holidays--as they were pleased to regard it; for they had to +attend the cathedral twice daily always. Strictly speaking, the boys had +assembled on the previous day, the 2nd of February, and those who lived +at a distance, or had been away visiting, had to be back for that day. +It is Candlemas Day, as everybody knows, and a saint's day; and on +saints' days the king's scholars had to attend the services. + +On the 3rd the duties of the school began, and at seven in the morning +the boys were clattering up the steps. It was not a propitious morning: +snow and sleet doing battle, one against the other. Jocelyn had left, +and the eldest of the two Prattletons had succeeded him as senior. +Cookesley was second senior, Lewis third, and the eldest of the Aultanes +was fourth. + +The boys were not assembling in any great amount of good feeling. Lewis, +who with his brother had passed the holidays at the house of the late +Marmaduke Carr, and consequently had been in Westerbury, did not forget +the grudge he owed to Henry Arkell. It had been Mr. Lewis's pleasure to +spend his leisure-hours (time, possibly, hanging somewhat heavily on his +hands) in haunting the precincts of the cathedral. Morning, noon, and +night had he been seen there; now hovering like a ghost in one of the +cloister quadrants, now playing at solitary pitch-and-toss in the +grounds, and now taking rather slow, meditative steps past the deanery. +He had thus made himself aware that Henry Arkell and Miss Beauclerc not +unfrequently met; whether by accident or design on the young lady's +part, she best knew. Four times each day had Henry Arkell to be in the +grounds and cloisters on his way to and from college; and, at the very +least, on two of those occasions, Miss Beauclerc would happen to be +passing. She always stopped. Lewis had seen him sometimes walking on +with only a lift of the trencher, and Miss Beauclerc would not have it, +but stopped as usual. There was no whispering, there were apparently few +secrets; the talking was open and full of gaiety on the young lady's +part, if her laughter was anything to judge by; but Lewis was not the +less savage. When _he_ met her, she would say indifferently, "How d'ye +do, Lewis?" and pass on. Once, Lewis presumed to stop her with some item +of news that ought to have proved interesting, but Miss Beauclerc +scarcely listened, made some careless remark in answer, and continued +her way: the next minute she met Henry Arkell, and stayed with _him_. +That Lewis was in love with the dean's daughter, he knew to his sorrow. +How worse than foolish it had been on his part to suffer himself to fall +in love with her, we might say, but that this passion comes to us +without our will. Lewis believed that she loved Henry Arkell; he +believed that but for Henry Arkell being in the field, some favour might +be shown to him; and he had gone on hating him with a fierce and bitter +hatred. One day, Henry had come springing down the steps of the +cathedral, and encountered Miss Beauclerc close to him. They stood there +on the red flagstones of the cloisters, no gravestone being in that +particular spot, Georgina laughing and talking as usual. Lewis was in +the opposite quadrant of the cloisters, peeping across stealthily, and a +devout wish crossed his heart that Arkell was buried on the spot where +he then stood. Lewis was fated not to forget that wish. + +How he watched, day after day, none save himself saw or knew. He was +training for an admirable detective in plain clothes. He suspected there +had been some coolness between Henry and Miss Beauclerc, and that she +was labouring to dispel it; he knew that Arkell did not go to the +deanery so much as formerly, and he heard Miss Beauclerc reproach him +for it. Lewis had given half his life for such a reproach from her lips +to be addressed to him. + +There were so many things for which he hated Henry Arkell! There was his +great progress in his studies, there was the brilliant examination he +had undergone, and there was the gold medal. Could Lewis have +conveniently got at that medal, it had soon been melted down. He had +also taken up an angry feeling to Arkell on account of the doings of +that past November night--the locking up in the church of St. James the +Less. Lewis had grown to nourish a very strange notion in regard to it. +After puzzling his brain to torment, as to how Arkell _could_ have got +out, and finding no solution, he arrived at length at the conclusion +that he had never been in. He must have left the church previously, +Lewis believed, and he had locked up an empty church. It is true he had +thought he heard the organ going, but he fully supposed now that he +heard it only in fancy. Arkell's silence on the point contributed to +this idea: it was entirely beyond Lewis's creed to suppose a fellow +could have such a trick played him and not complain of it. Arkell had +never given forth token of cognisance from that hour to this, and Lewis +assumed he had not been in. + +It very much augmented his ill feeling, especially when he remembered +his own night of horrible anticipation. Mr. Lewis had come to the final +conclusion that Arkell had been "out on the spree;" and but for a vague +fear that his own share in the night's events might be dragged to light, +he would certainly have contrived that it should reach the ears of Mr. +Wilberforce. He and his brother were to be for another half year +boarders at the master's house. Cookesley acted there as senior; the +senior boy, Prattleton, living at home. + +The boys trooped into the schoolroom, and Prattleton stood with the roll +in his hand. Lewis had not joined on the previous day; he had obtained +grace until this, for he wanted to spend it at Eckford. As he came in +now, he made rather a parade of shaking hands with Prattleton, and +wishing him joy of his honours. Most of the boys liked to begin by being +in favour with a new senior, however they might be fated to end, and +Lewis and Prattleton were great personal friends--it may be said +confidants. Lewis had partially trusted Prattleton with the secret of +his love for Miss Beauclerc; and he had fully entrusted him with his +hatred of Henry Arkell. Scarcely a minute were they together at any +time, but Lewis was speaking against Arkell; telling this against him, +telling that. Constant dropping will wear away a stone; and Prattleton +listened until he was in a degree imbued with the same feeling. +Personally, he had no dislike to Arkell himself; but, incited by Lewis, +he was quite willing to do him any ill turn privately. + +The roll was called over when Henry Arkell entered. He put down a load +of books he carried, and went up to Prattleton to shake hands, as Lewis +had done; being a chorister, he had not gone into the schoolroom on the +previous day; and he wished him all good luck. + +"I am sorry to have to mark you late on the first morning, Arkell," +Prattleton quietly said as he shook hands with him. "The school has a +superstition, you know--that anyone late on the first morning will be +so, as a rule, through the half." + +"I know," answered Henry. "It is no fault of mine. Mr. Wilberforce +desired me to tell you that he detained me, therefore I am to be marked +as having been present." + +"Did he detain you?" + +"For ten minutes at least. I met him as I was coming in, and he caused +me to go back with him to his house and bring in these books. He then +gave me the message to you." + +"All right," said Prattleton, cheerfully: and he erased the cross +against Arkell's name, and marked him as present. + +Even this little incident exasperated Lewis. His ill feeling rendered +him unjust. No other boy, that he could remember, had been marked as +present, not being so. He was beginning to say something sarcastic upon +the point, when the entrance of the master himself shut up his tongue +for the present. + +But we cannot stop with the college boys just now. + +On this same day, later, when the sun, had there been any sun to see, +was nearing the meridian, Lawyer Fauntleroy sat in his private office, +deep in business. Not a more clever lawyer than he throughout the town +of Westerbury; and to such men business flocks in. His table stood at a +right angle with the fireplace, and the blazing fire burning there, +threw its heat upon his face, and his feet rested on a soft thick mat of +wool. Mr. Fauntleroy, no longer young, was growing fonder and fonder of +the comforts of life, and he sat there cosily, heedless of the hail that +beat on the window without. + +The door softly opened, and a clerk came in. It was Kenneth. "Are you at +home, sir?" + +Mr. Fauntleroy glanced up from the parchment he was bending over--a +yellow-looking deed, and his brow looked forth displeasure. "I told you +I did not care to be interrupted this morning, Kenneth, unless it was +for anything very particular. Who is it?" + +"A lady, sir. 'Mrs. Carr' was the name she gave in." + +"Carr--Carr?" debated Mr. Fauntleroy, unable to recal any lady of the +name amidst his acquaintance. "No. I have no leisure for ladies to-day." + +Kenneth hesitated. "It's not likely to be the Mrs. Carr in Carr _v._ +Carr; the lady you have had some correspondence with, is it, sir?" he +waited to ask. "She is a stranger, and is dressed as a widow." + +"The Mrs. Carr in Carr _v._ Carr!" repeated Mr. Fauntleroy. "By Jupiter, +I shouldn't wonder if she's come to Westerbury! But I thought she was in +Holland. Show her in." + +Mr. Kenneth retired, and came back with the visitor. It was Mrs. Carr. +Mr. Fauntleroy pushed aside the deed before him, and rose to salute her, +wondering at her extreme youth. She spoke English fluently, but with a +foreign accent, and she entered at once upon the matter which had +brought her to Westerbury. + +"A circumstance has occurred to renew the old anxiety about this cause," +she said to Mr. Fauntleroy. "Should we lose it, I shall lose all I have +at present to look forward to, for our affairs in Holland are more +complicated than ever. It may turn out, Mr. Fauntleroy, that my share of +this inheritance will be all I and my little children will have to +depend upon in the world." + +"But the cause is safe," returned Mr. Fauntleroy. "The paper you found +and forwarded to me last October--or stay, November, wasn't it----" + +"Would you be so kind as let me see that paper?" she interrupted. + +Mr. Fauntleroy rose and brought forward a bundle of papers labelled +"Carr." He drew out a letter, and laid it open before his visitor. It +was the one you saw before; the letter written by Robert Carr the elder +to his son, stating that the marriage had been solemnized at the church +of St. James the Less, and that the entry of it would be found there. + +"And there the marriage is entered, as I subsequently wrote you word," +observed Mr. Fauntleroy. "It is singular how your husband could have +overlooked that letter." + +"It had slipped between the leaves of the blotting-book, or else been +placed there purposely by Mr. Carr," she answered; "and my husband may +not have been very particular in examining the desk, for at that time he +did not know his legitimacy would be disputed. Are you sure it is in the +register, sir?" she continued, some anxiety in her tone. + +"Quite sure," replied Mr. Fauntleroy. "I sent to St. James's to search +as soon as I got this letter, glad enough to have the clue at last; and +there it was found." + +"Well--it is very strange," observed Mrs. Carr, after a pause. "I will +tell you what it is that has made me so anxious and brought me down. +But, in the first place, I must observe that I concluded the cause was +at an end. I cannot understand why the other side did not at once give +up when that letter was discovered." + +Knowing that _he_ had kept the other side in ignorance of the letter, +Mr. Fauntleroy was not very explanatory on this point. Mrs. Carr +continued-- + +"My husband had a friend of the name of Littelby, a solicitor. He was +formerly the manager of an office in London, but about two months since +he left it for one in the country, Mynn and Mynn's----" + +"Mynn and Mynn," interrupted Mr. Fauntleroy; "that's the firm who are +conducting the case for your adversaries--the Carrs, of Eckford. +Littelby? Yes, it is the name of their new man, I remember." + +"Well, sir, last week Mr. Littelby was in London, and he called at Mrs. +Dundyke's, where I had been staying since I came over from Holland, a +fortnight before. The strangest thing has happened there! Mr. +Dundyke--but you will not thank me to take up your time, perhaps, with +matters that don't concern you. Mr. Littelby spoke to me upon the +subject of the letter that I had found, and he said he feared there was +something wrong about it, though he could not conceive how, for that +there had been no marriage, so far as could be discovered." + +"He can say the moon's made of green cheese if he likes," cried Mr. +Fauntleroy. + +"He said that the opinion of Mynn and Mynn was, that the pretended +letter had been intended as a _ruse_--a false plea, written to induce +the other side to give up peaceably; but that most positively there was +no truth in the statement of the marriage being in the register. Sir, I +am sure Mr. Littelby must have had good cause for saying this," +emphatically continued Mrs. Carr "He is a man incapable of deceit, and +he wishes well to me and my children. The last advice he gave me was, +not to be sanguine; for Mynn and Mynn were clever and cautious +practitioners, and he knew they made sure the cause was theirs." + +"Sharp men," acquiesced Mr. Fauntleroy, nodding his head with a +fellow-feeling of approval; "but we have got the whip hand of them in +your case, Mrs. Carr." + +"I thought it better to tell you this," said she, rising. "It has made +me so uneasy that I have scarcely slept since; for I know Mr. Littelby +would not discourage me without cause." + +"Without fancying he has cause," corrected Mr. Fauntleroy. "Be at ease, +ma'am: the marriage is as certain as that oak and ash grow. Where are +you staying in Westerbury?" + +"In some lodgings I was recommended to in College-row," answered she, +producing a card. "Perhaps you will take down the address----" + +"Oh, no need for that," said Mr. Fauntleroy, glancing at it, "I know the +lodgings well. Mind they don't shave you." + +Mrs. Carr was shown out, and Mr. Fauntleroy called in his managing +clerk. "Kenneth," said he, "let the Carr cause be completed for counsel; +and when the brief's ready, I'll look over it to refresh my memory. Send +Omer down to St. James the Less, to take a copy of the marriage." + +"I thought Omer brought a copy," observed Mr. Kenneth. + +"No; I don't think so. It will save going again if he did. Ask him." + +Mr. Kenneth returned to the clerks' office. "Omer, did you bring a copy +of the marriage in the case, Carr _v._ Carr, when you searched the +register at St. James's church?" he demanded. + +"No," replied Omer. + +"Then why did you not?" + +"I had no orders, sir. Mr. Fauntleroy only told me to look whether such +an entry was there." + +"Then you must go now----What's that you are about? Winter's settlement? +Why, you have had time to finish that twice over." + +"I have been out all the morning with that writ," pleaded Omer, "and +could not get to serve it at last. Pretty well three hours I was +standing in the passage next his house, waiting for him to come out, and +the wind whistling my head off all the time." + +Mr. Kenneth vouchsafed no response to this; but he would not disturb the +clerk again from Winter's deed. He ordered another, Mr. Green, to go to +St. James's church for the copy, and threw him half-a-crown to pay for +it. + +Young Mr. Green did not relish the mission, and thought himself +barbarously used in being sent upon it, inasmuch as that he was an +articled clerk and a gentleman, not a paid nobody. "Trapesing through +the weather all down to that St. James's!" muttered he, as he snatched +his hat and greatcoat. + +It struck three o'clock before he came back. "Where's Kenneth?" asked +he, when he entered. + +"In the governor's room. You can go in." + +Mr. Green did go in, and Mr. Kenneth broke out into anger. "You have +taken your time!" + +"I couldn't come quicker," was Mr. Green's reply. "I had to look all +through the book. The marriage is not there." + +"It is thrift to send you upon an errand," retorted Mr. Kenneth. "You +have not been searching." + +"I have done nothing else but search since I left. If the entry had been +there, Mr. Kenneth, I should have been back in no time. It is not +exactly a day to stop for pleasure in a mouldy old church that's colder +than charity, or to amuse oneself in the streets." + +Mr. Fauntleroy looked up from his desk. "The entry is there, Green: you +have overlooked it." + +"Sir, I assure you that the entry is not there," repeated Mr. Green. "I +looked very carefully." + +"Call in Omer," said Mr. Fauntleroy. "You saw the entry of Robert Carr's +marriage to Martha Ann Hughes?" he continued, when Omer appeared. + +"Yes, sir." + +"You are sure of it?" + +"Certainly, sir. I saw it and read it." + +"You hear, Mr. Green. You have overlooked it." + +"If Omer can find it there, I'll do his work for a week," retorted young +Green. "I will pledge you my veracity, sir----" + +"Never mind your veracity," interrupted Mr. Fauntleroy; "it is a case of +oversight, not of veracity. Kenneth, you have to go down to Clark's +office about that bill of costs; you may as well go on to St, James's +and get the copy." + +"Two half-crowns to pay instead of one, through these young fellows' +negligence," grumbled Mr. Kenneth. "They charge it as many times as they +open their vestry." + +"What's that to him? it doesn't come out of his pocket," whispered Green +to Omer, as they returned to their own room. "But if they find the Carr +marriage entered there, I'll be shot in two." + +"And I'll be shot in four if they don't," retorted Omer. "What a blind +beetle you must have been, Green!" + +Mr. Kenneth came back from his mission. He walked straight into the +presence of Mr. Fauntleroy, and beckoning Omer in after him, attacked +him with a storm of reproaches. + +"Do you drink, Mr. Omer?" + +"Drink, sir!" + +"Yes, drink. Are the words not plain enough?" + +"No, sir, I do not," returned Omer, in astonishment. + +"Then, Mr. Omer, I tell you that you do. No man, unless he was a drunken +man, could pretend to see things which have no place. When you read that +entry of Robert Carr's marriage in the register, you saw double, for it +never was anywhere but in your brain. There is no entry of the marriage +in St. James's register," he added, turning to Mr. Fauntleroy. + +Mr. Fauntleroy's mouth dropped considerably. "No entry!" + +"Nothing of the sort!" continued Mr. Kenneth. "There's no name, and no +marriage, and no anything--relating to Robert Carr." + +"Bless my heart, what an awful error to have been drawn into!" uttered +Mr. Fauntleroy, who was so entirely astounded by the news, that he, for +the moment, doubted whether anything was real about him. "All the +expense I have been put to will fall upon me; the widow has not a rap, +certain; and to take her body in execution would bring no result, save +increasing the cost. Mr. Omer, are you prepared to take these charges on +yourself, for the error your carelessness has led us into? I should not +have gone on paying costs myself but for that alleged entry in the +register." + +Mr. Omer looked something like a mass of petrifaction, unable to speak +or move. + +"But for the marriage being established--as we were led to suppose--we +never should have gone on to trial. Mrs. Carr must have relinquished +it," continued Mr. Fauntleroy. + +"Of course we should not," chimed in the managing clerk. + +"I thought there must be some flaw in the wind; I declare I did, by the +other side's carrying it on, now that I find Mynn and Mynn knew of the +alleged marriage," exclaimed Mr. Fauntleroy. "I shall look to you for +reimbursement, Omer. And, Mr. Kenneth, you'll search out some one in his +place: we cannot retain a clerk in our office who is liable to lead us +into ruinous mistakes, by asserting that black is white." + +Mr. Omer was beginning to recover his senses. "Sir," he said, "you are +angry with me without cause. I can be upon my oath that the marriage of +Robert Carr with Martha Ann Hughes is entered there: I repeated to you, +sir, the date, and the names of the witnesses: how could I have done +that without reading them?" + +"That's true enough," returned Mr. Fauntleroy, his hopes beginning to +revive. + +"Here's a proof," continued the young man, taking out a worn +pocket-book. "I am a bad one to remember Christian names, so I just +copied the names of the witnesses here in pencil. 'Edward Blisset +Hughes,' and 'Sophia Hughes,'" he added, holding it towards Mr. +Fauntleroy. + +"They were her brother and sister," remarked Mr. Fauntleroy, in +soliloquy, looking at the pencilled marks. "Both are dead now; at least, +news came of her death, and he has not been heard of for years: she +married young Pycroft." + +"Well, sir," argued Omer, "if these names had not been in the register, +how could I have taken them down? I did not know the names before, or +that there ever were such people." + +The argument appeared unanswerable, and Mr. Fauntleroy looked at his +head clerk. The latter was not deficient in common sense, and he was +compelled to conclude that he had himself done what he had accused Mr. +Green of doing--overlooked it. + +"Allow me to go down at once to St. James's, sir," resumed Omer. + +"I will go with you," said Mr. Fauntleroy. The truth was, he was ill at +ease. + +They proceeded together to St. James's church, causing old Hunt to +believe that Lawyer Fauntleroy and his establishment of clerks had all +gone crazy together. "Search the register three times in one day!" +muttered he; "nobody has never done such a thing in the memory of man." + +But neither Omer nor his master, Mr. Fauntleroy, could find any such +entry in the register. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +DETECTION. + + +Afternoon school was over. Mr. Wilberforce had been some time at home, +and was bestowing a sharp lecture on his son Edwin for some delinquency, +when he was told that Lawyer Fauntleroy waited in his study. The master +brought his anger to a summary conclusion, and went into the presence of +his visitor. + +"My business is not of a pleasant nature," he premised. "I must tell you +in confidence, Mr. Wilberforce, that after all the doubt and discredit +cast upon the affair, Robert Carr was discovered to have married that +girl at St. James's--your church now--and the entry was found there." + +"I know it," said Mr. Wilberforce. "I saw it in the register." + +The lawyer stared. "Just repeat that, will you?" said he, putting his +hand to his ear as if he were deaf. + +"I heard it was to be found there, and the first time afterwards that I +had occasion to make an entry in the register, I turned back to the +date, out of curiosity, and read it." + +"Now I am as pleased to hear you say that as if you had put me down a +five-hundred pound note," cried Mr. Fauntleroy. "I daresay you'll not +object, if called upon, to bear testimony that the marriage was +registered there." + +"The register itself will be the best testimony," observed Mr. +Wilberforce. + +"It would have been," said the lawyer; "but that entry has been taken +out of the register." + +"Taken out!" repeated Mr. Wilberforce. + +"Taken out. It is not in now." + +"Stuff and nonsense!" cried the master. + +"So I said, when my clerks brought me word to-day that it was not in. +The first sent, Green--you know the young dandy; it's but the other day +he was in the college school--came back and said it was not there. +Kenneth gave him a rowing for carelessness, and went himself. He came +back and said it was not there. Then I thought it was time to go; and I +went, and took Omer with me, who saw the entry in the book last +November, and copied part of it. Green was right, and Kenneth was right; +there is no such entry there." + +"This is an incredible tale," exclaimed Mr. Wilberforce. + +The old lawyer drew forward his chair, and peered into the rector's +face. "There has been some devilry at work--saving your calling." + +"Not saving it at all," retorted Mr. Wilberforce, as hot as when he had +been practically demonstrating of what birch is made in the college +schoolroom. "Devilry has been at work, in one sense or another, and +nothing short of devilry, if it be as you say." + +"It has not only gone, but there's no trace of it's going, or how it +went. The register looks as smooth and complete as though it had never +been in any hands but honest ones. But now," added the lawyer, "there's +another thing that is puzzling me almost as much as the disappearance +itself; and that is, how you got to know of it." + +"I heard of it from Travice Arkell." + +"From Travice Arkell!" + +"Yes, I did. And the way I came to hear of it was rather curious," +continued the master. "One of my parishioners was thought to be dying, +and I was sent for in a hurry, out of early school. Mr. Prattleton +generally attends these calls for me, but this poor man had expressed a +wish that I myself should go to him. It was between eight and nine +o'clock, and Travice Arkell was standing at their gates as I passed, +reading a letter which the postman had just delivered to him. It was +from Mrs. Dundyke, with whom the Carrs were stopping----" + +"When was this?" interrupted Mr. Fauntleroy. + +"The beginning of November. Travice Arkell stopped me to tell of the +strange news that the letter conveyed to him; that a paper had been +found in Robert Carr the elder's writing, stating that the marriage had +taken place at St. James the Less, the morning he and Miss Hughes left +Westerbury, and it would be found duly entered in the register. The news +appeared to me so excessively improbable, that I cautioned Travice +Arkell against speaking of it, and recommended him to keep it to himself +until the truth or falsehood of it should be ascertained." + +"What made you give him this caution?" + +"I tell you; I thought it so improbable that any such marriage should +have taken place. I thought it a hoax, set afloat out of mischief, +probably by the Carrs of Eckford; and I did not choose that my church, +or anything in it, should be made a jest of publicly. Travice Arkell +agreed with my view, and gave me his promise not to mention it. His +father was away at the time." + +"Where?" + +"I really forget. I know he had come home only the day before from a +short visit to London, and went out again, somewhere the same day. +Travice said he did not expect him back that second time for some days." + +"Well?" said Mr. Fauntleroy, in his blunt manner, for the master had +stopped, in thought. + +"Well, the next morning Travice Arkell called upon me here. He had had a +second letter from Mrs. Dundyke, begging him not to mention to anyone +what she had said about the marriage, for Mrs. Carr had received a hasty +letter from Mr. Fauntleroy, forbidding her to speak of it to anyone. So, +after all, that caution that I gave to Travice might have been an +instinct." + +"And do you think he had not mentioned it?" + +"I feel sure that he has never allowed it to escape his lips. He has too +great a regard for his aunt, Mrs. Dundyke. She feared she had done +mischief, and was most anxious. On the following Sunday, when I was +marrying a couple in my church before service, and had got the register +out, I looked back to the date, and there, sure enough, was the marriage +duly entered." + +"And _you_ have not spoken of it?" + +"I have not. If, as you say, the marriage is no longer there, it is a +most strange thing; an incredible thing. But I'll see into it." + +"Somebody must see into it," returned the lawyer, as he departed. "A +parish register ought to be kept as sacred as the crown jewels." + +Mr. Wilberforce--a restless man when anything troubled him--started off +to Clark Hunt's, disturbing that gentleman at his tea. "Hunt, follow +me," said he, as he took the key from its niche, "and bring some matches +and a candle with you. I want to examine the register." + +"If ever I met with the like o' this!" cried Hunt, when the master had +walked on. "Register, register, register! my legs is aching with the +tramping back'ards and for'ards, to that vestry to-day." + +He walked after Mr. Wilberforce as quickly as his lameness would allow. +The latter was already in the vestry. He procured the key of the safe +(kept in a secret place which no one knew of save himself, the clerk, +and the Reverend Mr. Prattleton) opened it, and laid the book before +him. Mr. Wilberforce knew, by the date, where the entry ought to be, +where it had been, and he was not many minutes ascertaining that it was +no longer there. + +"Gone and left no trace, as Fauntleroy said," he whispered to himself. +"How can it have been done? The leaf must have been taken out! oh yes, +it's as complete a thing as ever I saw accomplished: and how is it to be +proved that it's gone? This comes of their careless habit of not paging +their leaves in those old days: had they been paged, the theft would +have been evident. Hunt," cried he, aloud, raising his head, "this +register has been tampered with." + +"Law, sir, that's just what that great lawyer, Fauntleroy, wanted to +persuade me on. He has been a-putting it into your head, maybe; but +don't you be frighted with any such notion, sir. 'Rob the register!' +says I to him; 'no, not unless they robs me of my eyesight first. It's +never touched, nor looked at,' says I, 'but when I'm here to take care +on it.'" + +"A leaf has been taken out. Who has had access here?" + +"Not a soul has never had access to this vestry, sir, unless I have been +with 'em, except yourself or Mr. Prattleton," persisted the old register +keeper. "It's not possible, sir, that the book has been touched." + +"Now don't argue like that, Hunt," testily returned Mr. Wilberforce, "I +tell you that the register has been rifled, and it could not have been +done without access being obtained to it. To whom have you entrusted the +key of the church?" + +"Never to nobody, save the two young college gents, what comes to play +the organ," said the clerk, stoutly. + +"And they could not get access to the register. Some one else must have +had the key." + +The old man sat down on a chair, opposite Mr. Wilberforce; placing his +two hands on his knees, he stared very fixedly on vacancy. Mr. +Wilberforce, who knew his countenance, fancied he was trying to recal +something. + +"I remember a morning, some time ago," cried he, slowly, "that one of +them senior college gents--but that couldn't have had nothing to do with +the register." + +"What do you remember?" questioned Mr. Wilberforce. + +"Your asking if anybody had had the key, put me in mind of it, sir. One +of them college seniors; Lewis, it was; came to my house soon after I +got up. A rare taking he seemed to be in; with fright, or something like +it; and wanted me to lend him the key of the church. 'No, no, young +gent,' says I, 'not without the master's orders.' He was a panting like +anything, and looked as resolute as a bear, and when he heard that, he +snatched the key, and tore off with it. Presently, back he comes, saying +it was the wrong key and wouldn't undo the door. Mr. George Prattleton +had come round then: Mr. Prattleton had told him to ask about the time +fixed for a funeral--which, by token, I remember was Dame Furbery's--and +he took the key from Mr. Lewis, and hung it up, and railed off at me for +trusting it to the college gents. Lewis finding he couldn't get it from +me, went after Mr. George Prattleton, and they came back, and Mr. George +took the key from the hook to go to the church with Lewis. What it was +Lewis had said to him, I don't pertend to guess, but they was both as +white as corpses--as white I know, as ever was dead Dame Furbery in her +coffin: which was just about then a being screwed down. After all, they +hung the key up again, and didn't go into the church." + +"When was this?" asked Mr. Wilberforce. + +"It was the very day, sir, after our cat's chaney saucer was done for; +and that was done for the day after the grand audit dinner at the +deanery. Master Henry Arkell, after going into the church to practise, +couldn't be contented to bring the key back and hang it up, like a +Christian, but must dash it on to the kitchen floor, where it split the +cat's chaney saucer to pieces, and scattered the milk, a-frighting the +cat, who had just got her nose in it, a'most into fits, and my missis +too. Well, sir, when I opened my shutters the next morning, who should +be a standing at the gate but Arkell, so I fetched him in to see the +damage he had done; and it was while he was in the kitchen, a-counting +the pieces, that Lewis came to the door." + +"But this must have been early morning," cried Mr. Wilberforce. + +"Somewhere about half after six, sir: it was half moonlight and half +twilight. I remember what a bright clear morning it was for November." + +"Why, at that hour both Lewis and Arkell must have been in their beds, +asleep, at my house." + +"Law, sir, who can answer for schoolboys, especially them big college +gents? When they ought to be a-bed, they're up; and when they ought to +be up, they're a-bed. They was both at my house that morning." + +Mr. Wilberforce could not make much of the tale, except that two of his +boarders were out when he had deemed them safe in bed; and he left the +church. It was dusk then. As he was striding along, in an irascible +mood, he met Henry Arkell. He touched his cap to the master, and was +passing on. + +"Not so fast, Mr. Arkell. I want a word with you." + +Arkell stopped and stood before Mr. Wilberforce, his truthful eye and +open countenance raised fearlessly. + +"I gave you credit for behaving honourably, and as a gentleman ought, +during the time you were residing in my house, but I find I was +deceived. Who gave you leave, pray, to sneak out of it at early morning, +when everybody else was in bed?" + +"I never did, sir," replied Henry. + +"Take care, Arkell. If there's one fault I punish more than another, it +is a falsehood; and that you know. I say that you did sneak out of my +house at untoward and improper hours." + +"Indeed, sir, I never did," he replied with respectful earnestness. + +The master raised his forefinger, and shook it at his pupil. "You were +down at Hunt's one morning last November, by half-past six, perhaps +earlier; you must have gone down by moonlight----Ah, I see," added the +master, in an altered tone, for a change flashed over Henry Arkell's +features, "conscience is accusing you of the falsehood." + +"No, sir, I told no falsehood. I don't deny that I was at Hunt's one +morning." + +"Then how can you deny that you stole out of my house to get there? +Perhaps you will explain, sir." + +What was Henry Arkell to do? Explain, in the full sense of the word, he +could not; but explain, in a degree, he must, for Mr. Wilberforce was +not one to be trifled with. He was a perfectly ingenuous boy, both in +manner and character, and Mr. Wilberforce had hitherto known him for a +truthful one: indeed, he put more faith in Arkell than in all the rest +of the thirty-nine king's scholars. + +"Perhaps you will dare to tell me that you stopped out all night, +instead of sneaking out in the morning?" pursued the master. + +"Yes, sir, I did; but it was not my fault: I was kept out." + +"Where were you, and who kept you out?" + +"Oh, sir, if you would be so kind as not to press me--for indeed I +cannot tell. I was kept out, and I could not help myself." + +"I never heard so impudent an avowal from any boy in my life," proceeded +Mr. Wilberforce, when he recovered his astonishment. "What was the +nature of the mischief you were in? Come; I will know it." + +"I was not in any mischief, sir. If I might tell the truth, you would +say that I was not.'" + +"This is most extraordinary behaviour," returned the master. "What +reason have you for not telling the truth?" + +"Because--because--well, sir, the reason is, that I could not speak +without getting others into trouble. Indeed, sir," he earnestly added, +"though I did stop out from your house all night, I did no wrong; I was +in no mischief, and it was no fault of mine." + +Strange perhaps to say, the master believed him: from his long +experience of the boy, he could believe nothing but good of Harry +Arkell, and if ever words bore the stamp of truth, his did now. + +"I am in a hurry at present," said the master, "but don't flatter +yourself this matter will rest." + +Henry touched his cap again, and the master strode on to the residence +of the Reverend Mr. Prattleton, and entered it without ceremony. Mr. +Prattleton was seated with his two sons, and with George. + +"Send the boys away for a minute, will you?" cried the master to his +brother clergyman. + +The boys went away, exceedingly glad to be sent. "You can go on with +your Greek in the other room," said their father. But to that suggestion +they were conveniently deaf, preferring to take an evening gallop +through some of the more obscure streets, where they knocked furiously +at all the doors, and pulled out a few of the bell-wires. + +"An unpleasant affair has happened, Prattleton," began the master. "The +register at St. James's has been robbed." + +"The register robbed!" echoed Mr. Prattleton. "Not the book taken?" + +"Not the book itself. A leaf has been taken out of it." + +"How?" + +"We must endeavour to find out how. Hunt protests that nobody has had +access to it but ourselves, save in his presence." + +"I do not suppose they have," returned Mr. Prattleton. "How could they? +When was it taken?" + +"Sometime since the beginning of November. And there'll be a tremendous +stir over it, as sure as that we are sitting here: it was wanted +for--for--some trial at the next assizes," concluded the master, +recollecting that Mr. Fauntleroy had cautioned him still not to speak of +it. "Fauntleroy's people went to-day to take a copy of it, and found it +gone; so Fauntleroy came on to me." + +"You are sure it is gone?" continued Mr. Prattleton. "An entry is so +easily overlooked." + +"I am sure it is not in the book now: and I read it there last +November." + +"Well, this is an awkward thing. Have you no suspicion?--no clue?" + +"Not any. Hunt was telling a tale----By the way," added Mr. Wilberforce, +turning to George Prattleton, who had moved himself to a polite +distance, as if not caring to hear, "you were mixed up in that. He says, +that last November you and Lewis had some secret between you, about the +church. Lewis went down to his house one morning by moonlight, got the +key by stratagem, and brought it back, saying it was the wrong one: and +you then went to the church with him, and both of you were agitated. +What was it all about? What did he want in the church?" + +"Oh--something had been left there, I think he said, when one of the +college boys had gone in to practise. That was nothing, Mr. Wilberforce. +We did not go into the church, after all." + +George Prattleton spoke with eagerness, and then hastened from the room, +but not before Mr. Wilberforce had caught a glimpse of his countenance. + +"What is the matter with George?" whispered he. + +Mr. Prattleton turned, and looked at the door by which he had gone out. +"With George?" he repeated: "nothing that I know of. Why?" + +"He turned as pale as my cravat: just as Hunt describes him to have been +when he went into the church with Lewis. I shall begin to think there is +a mystery in this." + +"But not one that touches the register," said Mr. Prattleton. "I'll tell +you what that mystery was, but you must not bring in me as your +informant; and don't punish the boy, now it's over, Wilberforce; though +it was a disgraceful and dangerous act. It seems that young Arkell--what +a nice lad that is! but he comes of a good stock--went into St. James's +one evening to practise, and Lewis, who owed him a grudge, stole after +him and locked him in, and took back the key to Hunt's, where he broke +some heirloom of the dame's, in the shape of a china saucer, Hunt and +his wife taking it to be Arkell. Arkell was locked in the church all +night." + +"Locked in the church all night!" repeated the amazed Sir. Wilberforce. +"Why the fright might have turned him--turned him--stone blind!" + +"It might have turned him stone dead," rejoined Mr. Prattleton. "Lewis, +it appears, got terrified for the consequences, and as soon as your +servants were up, he went to Hunt's to get the key and let Arkell out. +Hunt would not give it him, and Lewis appealed to George. That's what +has sent George out of the room, pale, as you call it; he was afraid +lest you should question him too closely, and he passed his word to +Lewis not to betray him." + +"What a villanous rascal!" uttered the master. "I never liked Lewis, but +I would not have given him credit for this. Did George tell you?" + +"Not he; he is not aware I know it. Lewis, some days afterwards, +imparted the exploit to my boy, Joe. Joe, in his turn, imparted it to +his brother, under a formidable injunction of secrecy, and I happened to +overhear them, and became as wise as they were." + +"You ought to have told me this," remarked Mr. Wilberforce, his +countenance bearing its most severe expression. + +"Had one of my own boys been guilty of it, I would have brought him to +you and had him punished in the face of the school; but as no harm had +come of it, I did not care to inform against Lewis: though I don't +excuse him; it was a dastardly action." + +"Well, this explains what Lewis wanted in the church, but it brings us +no nearer the affair of the register. I think I shall offer a reward for +the discovery." + +Mr. Wilberforce proceeded home, and into the study where his boarders +were assembled, some half dozen of the head boys. One of them, a great +tall fellow, stood on his head on a table, his feet touching the wall. +"Who's that?" uttered the master. "Is that the way you prepare your +lessons, sir?" + +Down clattered the head and the feet, and the gentleman stood upright on +the floor. It was Lewis senior. Mr. Wilberforce took a seat, and the +boys held their breath: they saw something was wrong. + +"Vaughan." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Did you lock Henry Arkell up in St. James's Church, and compel him to +pass a night there?" + +Mr. Vaughan opened all the eyes he possessed. + +"I, sir! I have not locked him up, sir. I don't think Arkell is locked +up," added Vaughan, in the confusion of his ideas. "I saw him talking to +you, sir, just now, in Wage-street." + +Lewis pricked up his ears, which had turned of a fiery red; then Arkell +_had_ been locked in! Mr. Wilberforce sharply seized upon Vaughan's +words. + +"What brought you in Wage-street, pray?" + +"If you please, sir," coughed Vaughan, feeling he had betrayed himself, +"I only went out for an exercise book. I finished mine last night, sir, +and forgot it till I went to do my Latin just now. I didn't stop +anywhere a minute, sir; I ran there and back as quick as lightning. +Here's the book, sir." + +Believing as much of this as he chose, Mr. Wilberforce did not pursue +the subject. "Then which of you gentlemen was it who did shut up +Arkell?" asked he, gazing round. "Lewis, senior, what is the matter with +you, that you are skulking behind? Did _you_ do it?" + +Lewis saw that all was up. "That canting hound has been peaching at +last," quoth he to himself. "I laid a bet with Prattleton he'd do it." + +"It is the most wicked and cowardly action that I believe ever disgraced +the college school," continued Mr. Wilberforce, "and it depends upon how +you meet it, Lewis, whether or not I shall expel you. Equivocate to me +now, if you dare. Had it come to my knowledge at the time, you should +have been flogged till you could not stand, and ignominiously expelled. +Flogged you will be, as it is. Do you know, sir, that he might have died +through it?" + +Lewis hung his head, wishing Arkell had died; and then he could not have +told the master. + +"I think the best punishment will be, to lock you up in St. James's all +the night, and see how you will like it," continued Mr. Wilberforce. + +Lewis wondered whether he was serious; and the perspiration ran down him +at the thought. "He was not locked in all night," he said, sullenly, by +way of propitiating the master. "When we went to open the church, he was +gone." + +"Gone! What do you mean now?" + +"He had got out somehow, sir, for Hunt said he had just seen him, and +when I ran back to morning school, he was in the college hall. Mr. +George Prattleton advised me not to make a stir, to know how he had got +out, but to let it drop." + +As Lewis spoke, Mr. Wilberforce suddenly remembered that Hunt said Henry +Arkell was in his kitchen, when Lewis came, frightened, and thumping for +the key. It occurred to him now, for the first time, to wonder how that +could have been. + +"When you locked Arkell in, what did you do with the key?" + +"I took it to Hunt's, sir." + +"And gave it to Hunt?" + +"Yes, sir. That is," added Lewis, thinking it might be as well to be +correct, "I pushed it into the kitchen, where Hunt was." + +"And broke Dame Hunt's saucer," retorted Mr. Wilberforce. "When did you +have the key again. Speak up, sir?" + +"I didn't have it again, sir," returned Lewis. "The key I took from the +hook, next morning, would not fit into the lock, and I took it back. +Hunt said it was the right key, and George Prattleton said it was the +key; but I am sure it was not, although George Prattleton called me a +fool for thinking so." + +The master revolved all this in his mind, and thought it very strange. +He was determined to come to the bottom of it, and despatched Vaughan to +Arkell's house to fetch him. The two boys came back together, and Mr. +Wilberforce, without circumlocution, addressed the latter. + +"When this worthy companion of yours," waving his hand contemptuously +towards Lewis, "locked you in the church, how did you get out?" + +Henry Arkell glanced at Lewis, and hesitated in his answer. "I can't +tell, sir." + +"You can't tell!" exclaimed Mr. Wilberforce. "Did you walk out of it in +your sleep? Did you get down from a window?--or through the locked door? +How did you get out, I ask?" + +Before there was time for any reply, the master's servant entered, and +said the Rev. Mr. Prattleton was waiting to speak to the master +immediately. Mr. Wilberforce, leaving the study door open, went into the +opposite room. Mr. Prattleton, who stood there, came forward eagerly. + +"Wilberforce, a thought has struck me, and I came in to suggest it. When +the boy passed the night in the church, did he get playing with the +register?" + +"He would not do it; Arkell would not," spoke the master, in the first +flush of thought. + +"Not mischievously; but he may have got fingering anything he could lay +his hands upon--and it is the most natural thing he would do, to while +away the long hours. A spark may have fallen on the leaf, and----" + +"How could he get a light?--or find the key of the safe?" interrupted +Mr. Wilberforce. + +"Schoolboys can ferret out anything, and he may have found its +hiding-place. As to a light, half the boys keep matches in their +pockets." + +Mr. Wilberforce mused upon the suggestion till it grew into a +probability. He called in Arkell, and shut the door. + +"Now," said he, confronting him, "will you speak the truth to me, or +will you not?" + +"I have hitherto spoken the truth to you, sir," answered Arkell, in a +tone of pain. + +"Well; I believe you have: it would be bad for you now, if you had not. +It is about that register, you know," added Mr. Wilberforce, speaking +slowly, and staring at him. + +There was but one candle on the table, and Henry Arkell pulled out his +handkerchief and rubbed it over his face: between the handkerchief and +the dim light, the master failed to detect any signs of emotion. + +"Did you get fingering the register-book in St. James's, the night you +were in the church?" + +"No, sir, that I did not," he readily answered. + +"Had you a light in the church?" + +"You boys have a propensity for concealing matches in your clothes, in +defiance of the risk you run," interrupted Mr. Prattleton. "Had you any +that night?" + +"I had no matches, and I had no light," replied Henry. "None of the boys +keep matches about them except those who"--smoke, was the ominous word +which had all but escaped his lips--"who are careless." + +"Pray what did you do with yourself all the time?" resumed the master. + +"I played the organ for a long while, and then I lay down on the +singers' seat, and went to sleep." + +"Now comes the point: how did you get out?" + +"I can't say anything about it, sir, except that I found the door open +towards morning, and I walked out." + +"You must have been dreaming, and fancied it," said the master. + +"No, sir, I was awake. The door was open, and I went out." + +"Is that the best tale you have got to tell?" + +"It is all I can tell, sir. I did get out that way." + +"You may go home for the present," said Mr. Wilberforce, in anger. + +"Are you satisfied?" asked Mr. Prattleton, as Arkell retired. + +"I am satisfied that he is innocent as to the register; but not as to +how he escaped from the church. Allowing it to be as he says--and I have +always found him so strictly truthful--that he found the door open in +the middle of the night, how did it come open? Who opened it? For what +purpose?" + +"It is an incomprehensible affair altogether," said the Rev. Mr. +Prattleton. "Let us sit down and talk it over." + +As Arkell left the room, Lewis, senior, appeared at the opposite door, +propelling forth the fire-tongs, a note held between them. + +"This is for you," cried he, rudely, to Arkell, who took the note. Lewis +flung the tongs back in their place. "My hands shouldn't soil themselves +by touching yours," said he. + +When Arkell got out, he opened the letter under a gas-lamp, and read it +as well as he could for the blots. The penmanship was Lewis, junior's. + + "Mr. ARKELL,--Has you have chozen to peech to the master, like a + retch has you ar, we give you notise that from this nite you will + find the skool has hot has the Inphernal Regeons, a deal to hot for + you. And my brother don't care a phether for the oisting he is to + get, for he'll serve you worce. And if you show this dockiment to + any sole, you'l be a dowble-died sneek, and we will thresh your + life out of you, and then duck you in the rivor." + +Henry Arkell tore the paper to bits, and ran home, laughing at the +spelling. But it was a very fair specimen of the orthography of +Westerbury collegiate school. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +ASSIZE SATURDAY. + + +To attempt to describe the state of Mr. Fauntleroy would be a vain +effort. It was the practice of that respected solicitor never to advance +a fraction of money out of his pocket for any mortal client, unless the +repayment was as safe and sure as the Bank of England. He had deemed the +return so in the case of Mrs. Carr, and had really advanced a good bit +of money; and now there was no marriage recorded in the register. + +How had it gone out of it? Mr. Fauntleroy's first thought, in his +desperation, was to suspect Mynn and Mynn, clean-handed practitioners +though he knew them to be, as practitioners went, of having by some +sleight of hand spirited the record away. But for the assertion of Mr. +Wilberforce, that he had read it, the lawyer would have definitely +concluded that it had never been there, in spite of Mr. Omer and his +pencilled names. He went tearing over to Mynn and Mynn's in a fine state +of excitement, could see neither Mr. Mynn nor Mr. George Mynn, hired a +gig at Eckford, and drove over to Mr. Mynn's house, two miles distant. +Mr. Mynn, strong in the gout, and wrapped up in flannel and cotton wool +in his warm sitting-room, thought at first his professional brother had +gone mad, as he listened to the tale and the implied accusation, and +then expressed his absolute disbelief that any record of any such +marriage had ever been there. + +"You must be mad, Fauntleroy! Go and tamper with a register!--suspect us +of stealing a page out of a church's register! If you were in your +senses, and I had the use of my legs, I'd kick you out of my house for +your impudence. I might just as well turn round and tell you, you had +been robbing the archives of the Court of Chancery." + +"Nobody knew of the record's being there but you, and I, and the +rector," debated Mr. Fauntleroy, wiping his great face. "You say you +went and saw it." + +"I say I went and didn't see it," roared the afflicted man, who had a +dreadful twinge just then. "It seems--if this story of yours is +true--that I never heard it was there until it was gone. Don't be a +simpleton, Fauntleroy." + +In his heart of hearts, of course Mr. Fauntleroy did not think Mynn and +Mynn had been culpable, only in his passion. His voice began to cool +down to calmness. + +"I'm ready to accuse the whole world, and myself into the bargain," he +said. "So would you be, had you been played the trick. I wish you'd tell +me quietly what you know about the matter altogether." + +"That's where you should have begun," said old Mynn. "We never heard of +any letter having been found, setting forth that the record of the +marriage was in the register of St. James's, never thought for a moment +that there had been any marriage, and I don't think it now, for the +matter of that," he added, _par parenthèse_, "until the day our new +manager, Littelby, took possession, and I and George were inducting him +a little into our approaching assize and other causes. We came to Carr +_versus_ Carr, in due course, and then Littelby, evidently surprised, +asked how it was that the letter despatched to you--to you, Mr. +Fauntleroy, and which letter it seems you kept to yourself, and gave us +no notice of--had not served to put an end to the cause. Naturally I and +my brother inquired what letter Mr. Littelby alluded to, and what were +its contents, and then he told us that it was a letter written by Robert +Carr, of Holland, stating that the marriage had taken place at the +church of St. James the Less, and that its record would be found entered +on the register. My impression at the first moment was--and it was +George's very strongly--that there had been nothing of the sort; no +marriage, and consequently no record; but immediately a doubt arose +whether any fraud had been committed by means of making a false entry in +the register. I went off at once to Westerbury, fully determined to +detect and expose this fraud--and my eyes are pretty clear for such +things--I paid my half-crown, and went with the clerk and examined the +register, and found I had my journey for nothing. There was no such +record in the register--no mention whatever of the marriage. _That_ is +all I know of the affair, Mr. Fauntleroy." + +Had Mr. Fauntleroy talked till now, he could have learnt no more. It +evidently was all that his confrère knew; and he went back to Westerbury +as wise as he came, and sought the house of Mr. Wilberforce. The record +must have been taken out between the beginning of November and the 2nd +of December, he told the master. Omer, and the master himself, had both +seen it at the former time; old Mynn searched on the 2nd of December, +and it was gone. + +This information did not help Mr. Wilberforce in his perplexity, as to +who could have tampered with it. It was impossible but that his +suspicion should be directed to the night already spoken of, when Arkell +was locked up in the church, and seemed to have got out in a manner so +mysterious nobody knew how. Arkell adhered to his story: he had found +the door open in the night, and walked out; and that was all that could +be got from him. The master took him at his word. Had he pressed him +much, he might have heard more; had he only given him a hint that he +knew the register had been robbed, and that both trouble and injustice +were likely to arise from it, he might have heard all; for Henry fully +meant to keep his word with George Prattleton, and declare the truth, if +a necessity arose for it. But it appeared to be the policy of both the +master and Mr. Fauntleroy to keep the register out of sight and +discussion altogether. Not a word of the loss was suffered to escape. +Mr. Fauntleroy had probably his private reasons for this, and the rector +shrank from any publicity, because the getting at the register seemed to +reflect some carelessness on him and his mode of securing it. + +Meanwhile the public were aware that some internal commotion was +agitating the litigants in the great cause Carr _versus_ Carr. What it +was, they could not penetrate. They knew that a young lady, Mrs. Carr +the widow, was stopping in Westerbury, and had frequent interviews with +Mr. Fauntleroy; and they saw that the renowned lawyer himself was in a +state of ferment; but not a breath touching the register in any way had +escaped abroad, and George Prattleton and Henry Arkell were in ignorance +that there was trouble connected with it. George had ventured to put a +question to the Reverend Mr. Prattleton, regarding Mr. Wilberforce's +visit in connection with it, and was peremptorily ordered to mind his +own business. + +And the whole city, ripe for gossip and for other people's affairs, as +usual, lived in a perpetual state of anticipation of the assizes, and +the cause that was to come on at them. + +It is probable that this blow to Mr. Fauntleroy--and he regarded it in +no less a light--rendered him more severe than customary in his other +affairs. On the first of March, another ten pound was due to him from +Peter Arkell. The month came in, and the money was not paid; and Mr. +Fauntleroy immediately threatened harsh measures: that he would sell him +up for the whole of the debt. He had had judgment long ago, and +therefore possessed the power to do it; and Peter Arkell went to him. +But the grace he pleaded for, Mr. Fauntleroy refused longer to give; +refused it coarsely and angrily; and Peter was tempted to remind him of +the past. Never yet had he done so. + +"Have you forgotten what I did for you?" he asked. "I saved you once +from what was perhaps worse than debt." + +"And what if you did?" returned the strong-minded lawyer--not to speak +more plainly. "I paid you back again." + +"Yes; but how? In driblets, which did me no good. And if you did repay +me, does that blot out the obligation? If any one man should be lenient +to another, you ought to be so to me, Fauntleroy." + +"Have I not been lenient?" + +"No. It is true, you have not taken the extreme measures you threaten +now, but what with the sums you have forced me to pay, the costs, the +interest, I know not what all, for I have never clearly understood it, +you have made my life one of worry, hardship, and distress. But for that +large sum I had to pay suddenly for you I might have done differently in +the world. It was my ruin; yes, I assert it, for it is the simple truth, +the finding of that sum was my ruin. It took from me all hope of +prosperity, and I have been obliged ever since to be a poor, struggling +man." + +"I paid you, I say; what d'ye mean?" roughly spoke Mr. Fauntleroy. + +Peter Arkell shook his head. He had said his say, and was too +gentle-minded, too timid-mannered to contend. But the interview did him +no good: it only served to further anger Mr. Fauntleroy. + +A few days more, and Assize Saturday came in--as it is called in the +local phraseology. The judges were expected in some time in the +afternoon to open court, and the town was alive with bustle and +preparation. On this bright day--and it was one of the brightest March +ever gave us--a final, peremptory, unmistakable missive arrived for +Peter Arkell from Mr. Fauntleroy. And yet the man boasted in it of his +leniency of giving him a few hours more grace; it even dared to hint +that perhaps Mr. Arkell, if applied to, might save his home. But the +gist of it was, that if the ten pounds were not paid that afternoon by +six o'clock, at Mr. Fauntleroy's office, on Monday morning he should +proceed to execution. + +It was not a pleasant letter for Mrs. Peter Arkell. _She_ received it. +Peter was out; and she lay on the sofa in great agitation, as might be +seen from the hectic on her cheeks, the unnatural brightness of her +eyes. How lovely she looked as she lay there, a lace cap shading her +delicate features, no description could express. The improvement so +apparent in her when they returned from the sea-side had not lasted; and +for the last few weeks she had faded ominously. + +The cathedral clock chimed out the quarter to three, and the bell rang +out for service. It had been going some time, when Henry, who had been +hard at his studies in the little room that was once exclusively his +father's, came in. The great likeness between mother and son was more +apparent than ever, and the tall, fine boy of sixteen had lost none of +his inherited beauty. It was the same exquisite face; the soft, dark +eyes, the transparent complexion, the pure features. Perhaps I have +dwelt more than I ought on this boy's beauty; but he is no imaginary +creation; and it was of that rare order that enchains the eye and almost +enforces mention whenever seen, no matter how often. It is still vivid +in the remembrance of Westerbury. + +"I am going now, mamma." + +"You will be late, Henry." + +Something in the tone of the voice struck on his ear, and he looked +attentively at his mother. The signs of past emotion were not quite +obliterated from her face. + +"Mamma, you have been crying." + +It was of no use to deny it; indeed the sudden accusation brought up +fresh tears then. Painful matters had been kept as much as possible from +Henry; but he could not avoid knowing of the general embarrassments: +unavoidable, and, so to speak, honourable embarrassments. + +"What is it now?" he urgently asked. + +"Nothing new; only the old troubles over and over again. Of course, the +longer they go on, the worse they get. Never mind, dear; _you_ cannot +mend matters, so there's no necessity for allowing them to trouble you. +There is an invitation come for you from the Palmers'. I told Lucy to +put the note on the mantel-piece." + +He saw a letter lying there and opened it. His colour rose vividly as he +read, and he turned to look at the direction. It was addressed "Mr. +Peter Arkell;" but Henry had read it then. + +"You see, they want you to spend Monday with them at Heath Hall, and as +it will be the judges' holiday, you can get leave from college and do +so." + +"Mother," he interrupted--and every vestige of colour had forsaken his +sensitive face--"what does this letter mean?" + +Mrs. Arkell started up and clasped her hands. "Oh, Henry! what have you +been reading? What has Lucy done? She has left out the wrong letter. +That was not meant for you." + +"Does it mean a prison for papa?" he asked, controlling his voice and +manner to calmness, though his heart turned sick with fear. "You must +tell me all, mother, now I have read this." + +"Perhaps it does, Henry. Or else the selling up of our home. I scarcely +know what myself, except that it means great distress and confusion." + +He could hardly speak for consternation. But, if he understood the +letter aright, a sum of ten pounds would for the present avert it. "It +is not much," he said aloud to his mother. + +"It is a great deal to us, Henry; more than we know where to find." + +"Papa could borrow it from Mr. Arkell." + +"I am sure he will not, let the consequences be what they may. I don't +wonder. If you only knew, my dear, how much, how often, he has had to +borrow from William Arkell--kind, generous William Arkell!--you could +hardly wish him to." + +"But what will be done?" he urged. + +"I don't know. Unless things come to the crisis they have so long +threatened. Child," she added, bursting into tears, "in spite of my +firmly-seated trust, these petty anxieties are wearing me out. Every +time a knock comes to the door, I shiver and tremble, lest it should be +people come to ask for money which we cannot pay. Henry, you will be +late." + +"Plenty of time, mamma. I timed myself one day, and ran from this to the +cloister entrance in two minutes and a half. Are you being pressed for +much besides this?" he continued, touching the letter. + +"Not very much for anything else," she replied. "That is the worst: if +that were settled, I think we might manage to stave off the rest till +brighter days come round. If we can but retain, our home!--several times +it would have gone, but for Mr. Arkell. But I was wrong to speak of this +to you," she sighed: "and I am wrong to give way, myself. It is not +often that I do. God never sent a burden, but He sent strength to bear +it: and we have always, hitherto, been wonderfully helped. Henry, you +will surely be late." + +He slowly took his elbow from the mantel-piece, where it had been +leaning. "No. But if I were, it would be something new: it is not often +they have to mark me late." + +Kissing his mother, he walked out of the house in a dreamy mood, and +with a slow step; not with the eager look and quick foot of a schoolboy, +in dread of being marked late on the cathedral roll. As he let the gate +swing to, behind him, and turned on his way, a hand was laid upon his +shoulder. Henry looked round, and saw a tall, aristocratic man, looking +down upon him. In spite of his mind's trouble, his face shone with +pleasure. + +"Oh, Mr. St. John! Are you in Westerbury?" + +"Well, I think you have pretty good ocular demonstration of it. Harry, +you have grown out of all knowledge: you will be as tall as my lanky +self, if you go on like this. How is Mrs. Arkell?" + +"Not any better, thank you. I am so very pleased to see you," he +continued: "but I cannot stop now. The bell has been going ten minutes." + +"In the choir still? Are you the senior boy?" + +"Senior chorister as before, but not senior boy yet. Prattleton is +senior. Jocelyn went to Oxford in January. Did you come home to-day?" + +"Of course. I came in with the barristers." + +"But you are not a barrister?" returned Henry, half puzzled at the +words. + +"I a barrister! I am nothing but my idle self, the heir of all the St. +Johns. How is your friend, Miss Beauclerc?" + +"She is very well," said Henry; and he turned away his head as he +answered. Did St. John's heart beat at the name, as his did, he +wondered. + +"Harry, I must see your gold medal." + +"Oh, I'll fetch it out in a minute: it is only in the parlour." + +He ran in, and came out with the pretty toy hanging to its blue ribbon. +Mr. St. John took it in his hand. + +"The dean displayed taste," was his remark. "Westerbury cathedral on one +side, and the inscription to you on the other. There; put it up, and be +off. I don't want you to be marked late through me." + +There was not another minute to be lost, so Henry slipped the medal into +his jacket-pocket, flew away, and got on to the steps in his surplice +one minute before the dean came in. + +There was a bad practice prevailing in the college school, chiefly +resorted to by the senior boys: it was that of pledging their goods and +chattels. Watches, chains, silver pencil-cases, books, or anything else +available, were taken to Rutterley, the pawnbroker's, without scruple. +Of course this was not known to the masters. A tale was told of Jones +tertius having taken his surplice to Rutterley's one Monday morning; +and, being unable to redeem it on the Saturday, he had lain in bed all +day on the Sunday, and sent word to the head master that he had sprained +his ankle. On the Monday, he limped into the school, apparently in +excruciating pain, to the sympathy of the masters, and intense +admiration of the senior boys. Henry Arkell had never been guilty of +this practice, but he was asking himself, all college time, why he +should not be, for once, and so relieve the pressure at home. His gold +watch, the gift of Mr. Arkell, was worth, at his own calculation, twenty +pounds, and he thought there could be no difficulty in pledging it for +ten. "It is not an honourable thing, I know," he reasoned with himself; +"but the boys do it every day for their own pleasures, and surely I may +in this dreadful strait." + +Service was over in less than an hour, and he left the cathedral by the +front entrance. Being Saturday afternoon, there was no school. The +streets were crowded; the high sheriff and his procession had already +gone out to meet the judges, and many gazers lingered, waiting for their +return. Henry hastened through them, on his way to the pawnbroker's. +Possessed of that sensitive, refined temperament, had he been going into +the place to steal, he could not have felt more shame. The shop was +partitioned off into compartments or boxes, so that one customer should +not see another. If Henry Arkell could but have known his ill-luck! In +the box contiguous to the one he entered, stood Alfred Aultane, the boy +next below him in the choir, who had stolen down with one of the family +tablespoons, which he had just been protesting to the pawnbroker was his +own, and that he would have it out on Monday without fail, for his +godfather the counsellor was coming in with the judges, and never failed +to give him half a sovereign. But that disbelieving pawnbroker +obstinately persisted in refusing to have anything to do with the spoon, +for he knew the Aultane crest; and Mr. Alfred stood biting his nails in +mortification. + +"Will you lend me ten pounds on this?" asked Henry, coming in, and not +suspecting that anybody was so near. + +"Ten pounds!" uttered Rutterley, after examining the watch. "You college +gentlemen have got a conscience! I could not give more than half." + +"That would be of no use: I must have ten. I shall be sure to redeem it, +Mr. Rutterley." + +"I am not afraid of that. The college boys mostly redeem their pledges; +I will say that for them. I will lend you six pounds upon it, not a +farthing more. What can you be wanting with so large a sum?" + +"That is my business, if you please," returned Henry, civilly. + +"Oh, of course. Six pounds: take it, or leave it." + +A sudden temptation flashed across Henry's mind. What if he pledged the +gold medal? But for his having it in his pocket, the thought would not +have occurred to him. "But how can I?" he mentally argued----"the gift +of the dean and chapter! But it is my own," temptation whispered again, +"and surely this is a righteous cause. Yes: I will risk it: and if I +can't redeem it before, it must wait till I get my money from the choir. +So he put the watch and the gold medal side by side on the counter, and +received two tickets in exchange, and eight sovereigns and four +half-sovereigns. + +"Be sure keep it close, Mr. Rutterley," he enjoined; "you see my name is +on it, and there is no other medal like it in the town. I would not have +it known that I had done this, for a hundred times its worth." + +"All right," answered Mr. Rutterley; "things left with me are never +seen." But Alfred Aultane, from the next box, had contrived both to hear +and see. + +Henry Arkell was speeding to the office of Mr. Fauntleroy, when he heard +sounds behind him "Iss--iss--I say! Iss!" + +It was Aultane. "What became of you that you were not at college this +afternoon?" demanded Henry, who, as senior chorister, had much authority +over the nine choristers under him. + +"College be jiggered! I stopped out to see the show; and it isn't come +yet. If Wilberforce kicks up a row, I shall swear my mother kept me to +make calls with her. I say, Arkell, you couldn't do a fellow a service, +could you?" + +Henry was surprised at the civil, friendly tone--never used by some of +the boys to him. "If I can, I will," said he. "What is it?" + +"Lend me ten bob, in gold. I _must_ get it: it's for something that +can't wait. I'll pay you back next week. I know you must have as much +about you." + +"All the money I have about me is wanted for a specific purpose. I have +not a sixpence that I can lend: if I had, you should be welcome to it." + +"Nasty mean wretch!" grunted Aultane, in his heart. "Won't I serve him +out!" + +The cathedral bells had been for some time ringing merrily, giving token +that the procession had met the judges, and was nearing the city, on its +return. Just then a blast was heard from the trumpets of the advancing +heralds, and Aultane tore away to see the sight. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +ASSIZE SUNDAY. + + +The next day was Assize Sunday. A dense crowd collected early round the +doors of the cathedral, and, as soon as they were opened, rushed in, and +took possession of the edifice, leaving vacant only the pulpit, the +bishop's throne, and the locked-up seats. It was the custom for the +bishop (if in Westerbury), the dean and chapter, and the forty king's +scholars, to assemble just inside the front entrance and receive the +judges, who were attended in state to the cathedral, just as they had +been attended into Westerbury the previous afternoon, the escort being +now augmented by the mayor and corporation, and an overflowing shoal of +barristers. + +The ten choristers were the first to take up their standing at the front +entrance. They were soon followed by the rest of the king's scholars, +the surplices of the whole forty being primly starched for the occasion. +They had laid in their customary supply of pins, for it was the boys' +pleasure, during the service on Assize Sunday, to stick pins into +people's backs, and pin women's clothes together; the density of the mob +permitting full scope to the delightful amusement, and preventing +detection. + +The thirty king's scholars bustled in from the cloisters two by two, +crossed the body of the cathedral to the grand entrance, and placed +themselves at the head of the choristers. Which was wrong: they ought to +have gone below them. Henry Arkell, as senior chorister, took precedence +of all when in the cathedral; but not when out of it, and that was a +somewhat curious rule. Out of the cathedral, Arkell was under +Prattleton; the latter, as senior boy, being head of all. He told +Prattleton to move down. + +Prattleton declined. "Then we must move up," observed Henry. +"Choristers." + +He was understood: and the choristers moved above the king's scholars. + +"What do you mean by that?" demanded Prattleton. "How dare you disobey +me, Mr. Arkell?" + +"How dare you disobey me?" was Henry Arkell's retort, but he spoke +civilly. "I am senior here, and you know it, Prattleton." It must be +understood that this sort of clashing could only occur on occasions like +the present: on ordinary Sundays and on saints' days the choristers and +king's scholars did not come in contact in the cathedral. + +"I'll let you know who's senior," said Prattleton. "Choristers, move +down; you juniors, do you hear me? Move down, or I'll have you hoisted +to-morrow." + +"If Mr. Arkell tells us, please, sir," responded a timid junior, who +fancied Mr. Prattleton looked particularly at him. + +The choristers did not stir, and Prattleton was savage. "King's +scholars, move up, and shove." + +Some of the king's scholars hesitated, especially those of the lower +school. It was no light matter to disobey the senior chorister in the +cathedral. Others moved up, and proceeded to "shove." Henry Arkell +calmly turned to one of his own juniors. + +"Hardcast, go into the vestry, and ask Mr. Wilberforce to step here. +Should he have gone into college, fetch him out of the chanting-desk." + +"Remain where you are, Hardcast," foamed Prattleton. "I dare you to +stir." + +Hardcast, a little chap of ten, was already off, but he turned round at +the word. "I am not under your orders, Mr. Prattleton, when the senior +chorister's present." + +A few minutes, and then the Reverend Mr. Wilberforce, in his surplice +and hood, was seen advancing. Hardcast had fetched him out of the +chanting-desk. + +"What's all this? what hubbub are you boys making? I'll flog you all +to-morrow. Arkell, Prattleton, what's the matter?" + +"I thought it better to send for you, sir, than to have a disturbance +here," said Arkell. + +"A disturbance here! You had better not attempt it." + +"Don't the king's scholars take precedence of the choristers, sir?" +demanded Prattleton. + +"No, they don't," returned the master. "If you have not been years +enough in the college to know the rules, Mr. Prattleton, you had better +return to the bottom of school, and learn them. Arkell, in this place, +you have the command. King's scholars move down, and be quick over it: +and I'll flog you all round," concluded Mr. Wilberforce, "if you strike +up a dispute in college again." + +The master turned tail, and strode back as fast as his short legs would +carry him: for the dean and chapter, marshalled by a verger and the +bedesmen, were crossing the cathedral; and a flourish of trumpets, +outside, told of the approach of the judges. The Reverend Mr. +Wilberforce was going to take the chanting for an old minor canon whose +voice was cracked, and he would hardly recover breath to begin. + +The choristers all grinned at the master's decision, save Arkell and +Aultane, junior: the latter, though second chorister, took part with +Prattleton, because he hated Arkell; and as the judges passed in their +flowing scarlet robes with the trains held up behind, and their imposing +wigs, so terrible to look at, the bows of the choristers were much more +gracious than those of the king's scholars. The additional mob, teeming +in after the judges' procession, was unlimited; and a rare field had the +boys and their pins that day. + +The hubbub and the bustle of the morning passed, and the cathedral bell +was again tolling out for afternoon service. Save the dust, and there +was plenty of that, no trace remained of the morning's scene. The king's +scholars were already in their seats in the choir, and the ten +choristers stood at the choir entrance, for they always waited there to +go in with the dean and chapter. One of them, and it was Mr. +Wilberforce's own son, had made a mistake in the morning in fastening +his own surplice to a countrywoman's purple stuff gown, instead of two +gowns together; and, when they came to part company, the surplice proved +the weakest. The consequence was an enormous rent, and it had just taken +the nine other choristers and three lay-clerks five minutes and +seventeen pins, fished out of different pockets, to do it up in any way +decent. Young Wilberforce, during the process, rehearsing a tale over in +his mind, for home, about that horrid rusty nail that would stick out of +the vestry door. + +The choristers stood facing each other, five on a side, and the dean and +canons would pass between them when they came in. They stood at an +equidistance, one from the other, and it was high treason against the +college rules for them to move an inch from their places. Arkell headed +one line, Aultane the other, the two being face to face. Suddenly a +college boy, who was late, came flying from the cloisters and dashed +into the choir, to crave the keys of the schoolroom from the senior boy, +that he might procure his surplice. It was Lewis junior; so, against the +rules, Prattleton condescended to give him the keys; almost any other +boy he would have told to whistle for them, and marked him up for +punishment as "absent." Prattleton chose to patronise him, on account of +his friendship with Lewis senior. Lewis came out again, full pelt, +swinging the keys in his hand, rather vain of showing to the choristers +that he had succeeded in obtaining them, just as two little old +gentlemen were advancing from the front entrance. + +"Hi, Lewis! stop a moment," called out Aultane, in a loud whisper, as he +crossed over and went behind Arkell. + +"Return to your place, Aultane," said Arkell. + +Mr. Aultane chose to be deaf. + +"Aultane, to your place," repeated Henry Arkell, his tone one of hasty +authority. "Do you see who are approaching?" + +Aultane looked round in a fluster. But not a soul could he see, save a +straggler or two making their way to the side aisles; and two +insignificant little old men, arm-in-arm, close at hand, in rusty black +clothes and brown wigs. Nobody to affect _him_. + +"I shall return when I please," said he, commencing a whispered parley +with Lewis. + +"Return this instant, Aultane. I _order_ you." + +"You be----" + +The word was not a blessing, but you are at liberty to substitute one. +The little old men, to whom each chorister had bowed profoundly as they +passed him, turned, and bent their severe yellow faces upon Aultane. +Lewis junior crept away petrified; and Aultane, with the red flush of +shame on his brow, slunk back to his place. They were the learned +judges. + +They positively were. But no wonder Aultane had failed to recognise +them, for they bore no more resemblance to the fierce and fiery visions +of the morning, than do two old-fashioned black crows to stately +peacocks. + +"What may your name be, sir?" inquired the yellower of the two. Aultane +hung his head in an agony: he was wondering whether they could order him +before them on the morrow and transport him. Wilberforce was in another +agony, lest those four keen eyes should wander to his damaged surplice +and the pins. Somebody else answered: "Aultane, my lord." + +The judges passed on. Arkell would not look towards Aultane: he was too +noble to add, even by a glance, to the confusion of a fallen enemy: but +the other choristers were not so considerate, and Aultane burst into a +flow of bad language. + +"Be silent," authoritatively interrupted Henry Arkell. "More of this, +and I will report you to the dean." + +"I shan't be silent," cried Aultane, in his passionate rage. "There! not +for you." Beside himself with anger, he crossed over, and raised his +hand to strike Arkell. But one of the sextons, happening to come out of +the choir, arrested Aultane, and whirled him back. + +"Do you know where you are, sir?" + +In another moment they were surrounded. The dean's wife and daughter had +come up; and, following them, sneaked Lewis junior, who was settling +himself into his surplice. Mrs. Beauclerc passed on, but Georgina +stopped. Even as she went into college, she would sometimes stop and +chatter to the boys. + +"You were quarrelling, young gentlemen! What is the grievance?" + +"That beggar threatened to report me to the dean," cried Aultane, too +angry to care what he said, or to whom he spoke. + +"Then I know you deserved it; as you often do," rejoined Miss +Beauclerc; "but I'd keep a civil tongue in my head, if I were you, +Aultane. I only wonder he has not reported you before. You should have +me for your senior." + +"If he does go in and report me, please tell the dean to ask him where +his gold medal is," foamed Aultane. "And to make him answer it." + +"What do you mean?" she questioned. + +"_He_ knows. If the dean offered him a thousand half-crowns for his +medal, he could not produce it." + +"What does he mean?" repeated Miss Beauclerc, looking at Henry Arkell. + +He could not answer: he literally could not. Could he have dropped down +without life at Georgina's feet, it had been welcome, rather than that +she should hear of an act, which, to his peculiarly refined temperament, +bore an aspect of shame so utter. His face flushed a vivid red, and then +grew white as his surplice. + +"He can't tell you," said Aultane; "that is, he won't. He has put it +into pawn." + +"And his watch too," squeaked Lewis, from behind, who had heard of the +affair from Aultane. + +Henry Arkell raised his eyes for one deprecating moment to Miss +Beauclerc's face; she was struck with their look of patient anguish. She +cast an annihilating frown at Lewis, and, raising her finger haughtily +motioned Aultane to his place. "I believe nothing ill of _you_," she +whispered to Henry, as she passed on to the choir. + +The next to come in was Mr. St. John. "What's the matter?" he hurriedly +said to Henry, who had not a vestige of colour in his cheeks or lips. + +"Nothing, thank you, Mr. St. John." + +Mr. St. John went on, and Lewis skulked to his seat, in his wake. +Lewis's place was midway on the bench on the decani side, seven boys +being above him and seven below him. The choristers were on raised seats +in front of the lay-clerks, five on one side the choir, five opposite on +the other; Arkell, as senior, heading the five on the decani side. + +The dean and canons came in, and the service began. While the afternoon +psalms were being sung, Mr. Wilberforce pricked the roll, a parchment +containing the names of the members of the cathedral, from the dean +downwards, marking those who were present. Aultane left his place and +took the roll to the dean, continuing his way to the organ-loft, to +inquire what anthem had been put up. He brought word back to Arkell, +'The Lord is very great and terrible. Beckwith.' Aultane would as soon +have exchanged words with the yellow-faced little man sitting in the +stall next the dean, as with Arkell, just then, but his duty was +obligatory. He spoke sullenly, and crossed to his seat on the opposite +side, and Arkell rose and reported the anthem to the lay-clerks behind +him. Mr. Wilberforce was then reading the first lesson. + +Now it happened that there was only one bass at service that afternoon, +he on the decani side, Mr. Smith; the other had not come; and the moment +the words were out of Arkell's mouth, "The Lord is very great. +Beckwith," Mr. Smith flew into a temper. He had a first-rate voice, was +a good singer, and being inordinately vain, liked to give himself airs. +"I have a horrid cold on the chest," he remonstrated, "and I cannot do +justice to the solo; I shan't attempt it. The organist knows I'm as +hoarse as a raven, and yet he goes and puts up that anthem for to-day!" + +"What is to be done?" whispered Henry. + +"I shall send and tell him I can't do it. Hardcast, go up to the +organ-loft, and tell----Or I wish you would oblige me by going yourself, +Arkell: the juniors are always making mistakes. My compliments to Paul, +and the anthem must be done without the bass solo, or he must put up +another." + +Henry Arkell, ever ready to oblige, left his stall, proceeded to the +organ-loft, and delivered the message. The organist was wroth: and but +for those two little old gentlemen, whom he knew were present, he would +have refused to change the anthem, which had been put up by the dean. + +"Where's Cliff, this afternoon?" asked he, sharply, alluding to the +other bass. + +"I don't know," replied Henry. "He is not at service." + +The organist took up one of the anthem books with a jerk, and turned +over its leaves. He came to the anthem, "I know that my Redeemer +liveth," from _the Messiah_. + +"Are you prepared to do justice to this?" he demanded. + +"Yes, I believe I am," replied Henry. "But----" + +"But me no buts," interrupted the organist, who was always very short +with the choristers. "'I know that my Redeemer liveth. Pitt.'" + +As Henry Arkell descended the stairs, Mr. Wilberforce was concluding the +first lesson. So instead of giving notice of the change of anthem to Mr. +Wilberforce and the singers on the cantori side, he left that until +later, and made haste to his own stall, to be in time for the soli parts +in the Cantate Domino, which was being sung that afternoon in place of +the Magnificat. In passing the bench of king's scholars, a foot was +suddenly extended out before him, and he fell heavily over it, striking +his head on the stone step that led to the stalls of the minor canons. A +sexton, a verger, and one or two of the senior boys, surrounded, lifted, +and carried him out. + +The service proceeded; but his voice was missed in the Cantate; +Aultane's proved but a poor substitute. + +"I wonder whether the anthem's changed?" debated the bass to the contre +tenor. + +"Um--no," decided the latter. "Arkell was coming straight to his place. +Had there been any change, he would have gone and told Wilberforce and +the opposites. Paul is in a pet, and won't alter it." + +"Then he'll play the solo without my accompaniment," retorted the bass, +loftily. + +Henry Arkell was only stunned by the fall, and before the conclusion of +the second lesson, he appeared in the choir, to the surprise of many. +After giving the requisite notice of the change in the anthem to Mr. +Wilberforce and Aultane, he entered his stall; but his face was white as +the whitest marble. He sang, as usual, in the Deus Misereatur. And when +the time for the anthem came, Mr. Wilberforce rose from his knees to +give it out. + +"The anthem is taken from the burial service." + +The symphony was played, and then Henry Arkell's voice rose soft and +clear, filling the old cathedral with its harmony, and the words falling +as distinctly on the ear as if they had been spoken. "I know that my +Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the +earth. And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh +I shall see God: whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall +behold, and not another." The organist could not have told _why_ he put +up that particular anthem, but it was a remarkable coincidence, noticed +afterwards, that it should have been a funeral one. + +But though Henry Arkell's voice never faltered or trembled, his changing +face spoke of bodily disease or mental emotion: one moment it was bright +as a damask rose, the next of a transparent whiteness. Every eye was on +him, wondering at the beauty of his voice, at the marvellous beauty of +his countenance: some sympathised with his emotion; some were wrapt in +the solemn thoughts created by the words. When the solo was concluded, +Henry, with an involuntary glance at the pew of Mrs. Beauclerc, fell +against the back of his stall for support: he looked exhausted. Only for +a moment, however, for the chorus commenced. + +He joined in it; his voice rose above all the rest in its sweetness and +power; but as the ending approached, and the voices ceased, and the last +sound of the organ died upon the ear, his face bent forward, and rested +without motion on the choristers' desk. + +"Arkell, what are you up to?" whispered one of the lay-clerks from +behind, as Mr. Wilberforce recommenced his chanting. + +No response. + +"Nudge him, Wilberforce; he's going to sleep. There's the dean casting +his eyes this way." + +Edwin Wilberforce did as he was desired, but Arkell never stirred. + +So Mr. Tenor leaned over and grasped him by the arm, and pulled him up +with a sudden jerk. But he did not hold him, and the poor head fell +forward again upon the desk. Henry Arkell had fainted. + +Some confusion ensued: for the four choristers below him had every one +to come out of the stall before he could be got out. Mr. Wilberforce +momentarily stopped chanting, and directed his angry spectacles towards +the choristers, not understanding what caused the hubbub, and inwardly +vowing to flog the whole five on the morrow. Mr. Smith, a strong man, +came out of his stall, lifted the lifeless form in his arms, and carried +it out to the side aisle, the head, like a dead weight, hanging down +over his shoulder. All the eyes and all the glasses in the cathedral +were bent on them; and the next to come out of his stall, by the +prebendaries, and follow in the wake, was Mr. St. John, a flush of +emotion on his pale face. + +The dean's family, after service, met Mr. St. John in the cloisters. "Is +he better?" asked Mrs. Beauclerc. "What was the matter with him the +second time?" + +"He fainted; but we soon brought him to in the vestry. Young Wilberforce +ran and got some water. They are walking home with him now." + +"What caused him to fall in the choir?" continued Mrs. Beauclerc. +"Giddiness?" + +"It was not like giddiness," remarked Mr. St. John. "It was as if he +fell over something." + +"So I thought," interrupted Georgina. "Why did you leave your seat to +follow him?" she continued, in a low tone to Mr. St. John, falling +behind her mother. + +"It was a sudden impulse, I suppose. I was unpleasantly struck with his +appearance as I went into college. He was looking ghastly." + +"The choristers had been quarrelling: Aultane's fault, I am sure. He +lifted his hand to strike Arkell. Aultane reproached him with +having"--Georgina Beauclerc hesitated, with an amused look--"disposed of +his prize medal." + +"Disposed of his prize medal?" echoed Mr. St. John. + +"Pawned it." + +St. John uttered an exclamation. He remembered the tricks of the college +boys, but he could not have believed this of his favourite, Henry +Arkell. + +"And his watch also, Lewis junior added," continued Georgina. "They gave +me the information in a spiteful glow of triumph. Henry did not deny it: +he looked as if he could not. But I know he is the soul of honour, and +if he has done anything of the sort, those beautiful companions of his +have over-persuaded him: possibly to lend the money to them." + +"I'll see into this," mentally spoke Mr. St. John. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +PEACHING TO THE DEAN. + + +Mr. St. John went at once to Peter Arkell's. Henry was alone, lying on +his bed. + +"After such a fall as that, how could you be so imprudent as to come +back and take the anthem?" was his unceremonious salutation. + +"I felt equal to it," replied Henry. "The one, originally put up, could +not be done." + +"Then they should have put up a third, for me. The cathedral does not +lack anthems, I hope. Show me where your head was struck." + +Henry put his hand to his ear, then higher up, then to his temple. "It +was somewhere here--all about here--I cannot tell the exact spot." + +As he spoke, a tribe of college boys was heard to clatter in at the +gate. Henry would have risen, but Mr. St. John laid his arm across him. + +"You are not going to those boys. I will send them off. Lie still and go +to sleep, and dream of pleasant things." + +"Pleasant things!" echoed Henry Arkell, in a tone full of pain. Mr. St. +John leaned over him. + +"Henry, I have never had a brother of my own; but I have almost loved +you as such. Treat me as one now. What tale is it those demons of +mischief have got hold of, about your watch and medal?" + +With a sharp cry, Henry Arkell turned his face to the pillow, hiding its +distress. + +"I suppose old Rutterley has got them. But that's nothing; it's the +fashion in the school: and I expect you had some urgent motive." + +"Oh, Mr. St. John, I shall never overget this day's shame: they told +Georgina Beauclerc! I would rather die this moment, here, as I lie, than +see her face again." + +His tone was one of suppressed anguish, and Mr. St. John's heart ached +for him: though he chose to appear to make light of the matter. + +"Told Georgina Beauclerc: what if they did? She is the very one to glory +in such exploits. Had she been the dean's son, instead of his daughter, +she would have been in Rutterley's sanctum three times a week. I don't +think she would stand at going, as it is, if she were hard up." + +"But why did they tell her! I could not have acted so cruelly by them. +If I could but go to some far-off desert, and never face her, or the +school, again!" + +"If you could but work yourself into a brain fever, you had better say! +that's what you seem likely to do. As to falling in Georgina Beauclerc's +opinion, which you seem to estimate so highly (it's more than I do), if +you pledged all you possess in a lump, and yourself into the bargain, +she would only think the better of you. Now I tell you so, for I know +it." + +"I could not help it; I could not, indeed. Money is so badly wanted----" + +He stopped in confusion, having said more than he meant: and St. John +took up the discourse in a careless tone. + +"Money is wanted badly everywhere. I have done worse than you, Harry, +for I am pawning my estate, piecemeal. Mind! that's a true confession, +and has never been given to another soul: it must lie between us." + +"It was yesterday afternoon when college was over," groaned Henry. "I +only thought of giving Rutterley my watch: I thought he would be sure to +let me have ten pounds upon it. But he would not; only six: and I had +the medal in my pocket; I had been showing it to you. I never did such a +thing in all my life before." + +"That is more than your companions could say. How did it get to their +knowledge?" + +"I cannot think." + +"Where's the----the exchange?" + +"The what?" asked Henry. + +"How dull you are!" cried Mr. St. John. "I am trying to be genteel, and +you won't let me. The ticket. Let me see it." + +"They are in my jacket-pocket. Two." He languidly reached forth the +pieces, and Mr. St. John slipped them into his own. + +"Why do you do that, Mr. St. John?" + +"To study them at leisure. What's the matter?" + +"My head is beginning to ache." + +"No wonder, with, all this talking. I'm off. Good-bye. Get to sleep as +fast as you can." + +The boys were in the garden and round the gate still, when he went down. + +"Oh, if you please, sir, is he half killed? Edwin Wilberforce says so." + +"No, he is not half killed," responded Mr. St. John. "But he wants +quiet, and you must disperse, that he may have it." + +"My brother, the senior boy, says he must have fallen down from +vexation, because his tricks came out," cried Prattleton junior. + +Mr. St. John ran his eyes over the assemblage. "What tricks?" + +"He has been pawning the gold medal, Mr. St. John," cried Cookesley, the +second senior of the school. "Aultane junior has told the dean: Bright +Vaughan heard him." + +"Oh, he has told the dean, has he?" + +"The dean was going into the deanery, sir, and Miss Beauclerc was +standing at the door, waiting for him," explained Vaughan to Mr. St. +John. "Something she said to Aultane put him in a passion, and he took +and told the dean. It was his temper made him do it, sir." + +"Such a disgrace, you know, Mr. St. John, to take the dean's medal +_there_," rejoined Cookesley. "Anything else wouldn't have signified." + +"Oh, been rather meritorious, no doubt," returned Mr. St. John. "Boys!" + +"Yes, Mr. St. John." + +"You know I was one of yourselves once, and I can make allowance for you +in all ways. But when I was in the school, our motto was, Fair play, and +no sneaking." + +"It's our motto still," cried the flattered boys. + +"It does not appear to be. We would rather, any one of us, have pitched +ourselves off that tower," pointing to it with his hand, "than have gone +sneaking to the dean with a private complaint." + +"And so we would still, in cool blood," cried Cookesley. "Aultane must +have been out of his mind with passion when he did it." + +"How does Aultane know that Arkell's medal is in pawn?" + +"He does not say how. He says he'll pledge his word to it." + +"Then listen to me, boys: my word will, I believe, go as far with you as +Aultane's. Yesterday afternoon I met Henry Arkell at the gate here; I +asked to see his medal, and he brought it out of the house to show me. +He is in bed now, but perhaps if you ask him to-morrow, he will be able +to show it to you. At any rate, do not condemn him until you are sure +there's a just reason. If he did pledge his medal, how many things have +you pledged? Some of you would pledge your heads if you could. Fair +play's a jewel, boys--fair play for ever!" + +Off came the trenchers, and a shout was being raised for fair play and +Mr. St. John; but the latter put up his hand. + +"I thought it was Sunday. Is that the way you keep Sunday in Westerbury? +Disperse quietly." + +"I'll clear him," thought Mr. St. John, as he walked home. "Aultane's a +mean-spirited coward. To tell the dean!" + +Indeed, the incautious revelation of Mr. Aultane was exciting some +disagreeable consternation in the minds of the seniors; and that +gentleman himself already wished his passionate tongue had been bitten +out before he made it. + +The following morning the college boys were astir betimes, and flocked +up in a body to the judges' lodgings, according to usage, to beg what +was called the judges' holiday. The custom was for the senior judge to +send his card out and his compliments to the head master, requesting him +to grant it; and the boys' custom was, as they tore back again, bearing +the card in triumph, to raise the whole street with their shouts of +"Holiday! holiday!" + +But there was no such luck on this morning. The judges, instead of the +card and the request, sent out a severe message--that from what they had +heard the previous day in the cathedral, the school appeared to merit +punishment rather than holiday. So the boys went back, dreadfully +chapfallen, kicking as much mud as they could over their trousers and +boots, for it had rained in the night, and ready to buffet Aultane +junior as the source of the calamity. + +Aultane himself was in an awful state of mind. He felt perfectly certain +that the affair in the cathedral must now come out to the head master, +who would naturally inquire into the cause of the holiday's being +denied; and he wondered how it was that judges dared to come abroad +without their gowns and wigs, deceiving unsuspicious people to +perdition. + +Before nine, Mr. St. John was at Henry Arkell's bedside. "Well," said +he, "how's the head?" + +"It feels light--or heavy. I hardly know which. It does not feel as +usual. I shall get up presently." + +"All right. Put on this when you do," said Mr. St. John, handing him the +watch. "And put up this in your treasure place, wherever that may be," +he added, laying the gold medal beside it. + +"Oh, Mr. St. John! You have----" + +"I shall have some sport to-day. I have wormed it all out of Rutterley; +and he tells me who was down there and on what errand. Ah, ah, Mr. +Aultane! so you peached to the dean. Wait until your turn comes." + +"I wonder Rutterley told you anything," said Henry, very much surprised. + +"He knew me, and the name of St. John bears weight in Westerbury," +smiled he who owned it. "Harry, mind! you must not attempt to go into +school to-day." + +"It is the judges' holiday." + +"The judges have refused it, and the boys have sneaked back like so many +dogs with their tails scorched." + +"Refused it! Refused the holiday!" interrupted Henry. Such a thing had +never been heard of in his memory. + +"They have refused it. Something must be wrong with the boys, but I am +not at the bottom of the mischief yet. Don't you attempt to go near +school or college, Harry: it might play tricks with your head. And now +I'm going home to breakfast." + +Henry caught his arm as he was departing. "How can I ever thank you, Mr. +St. John? I do not know when I shall be able to repay you the money; not +until----" + +"You never will," interrupted Mr. St. John. "I should not take it if you +were rolling in gold. I have done this for my own pleasure, and I will +not be cheated out of it. I wonder how many of the boys have got their +watches in now. Good-bye, old fellow." + +When Mr. Wilberforce came to know of the refused holiday, his +consternation nearly equalled Aultane's. _What_ could the school have +been doing that had come to the ears of the judges? He questioned +sharply the senior boy, and it was as much as Prattleton's king's +scholarship was worth to attempt to disguise by so much as a word, or to +soften down, the message sent out from the judges. But the closer the +master questioned the rest of the boys, the less information he could +get; and all he finally obtained was, that some quarrel had taken place +between the two head choristers, Arkell and Aultane, on the Sunday +afternoon, and that the judges overheard it. + +Early school was excused that morning, as a matter of necessity; for the +master--relying upon the holiday--did not emerge from his bed-chamber +until between eight and nine; and you may be very sure that the boys did +not proceed to the college hall of their own accord. But after breakfast +they assembled as usual at half-past nine, and the master, uneasy and +angry, went in also to the minute. Henry Arkell failed to make his +appearance, and it was remarked upon by the masters. + +"By the way," said Mr. Wilberforce, "how came he to fall down in college +yesterday? Does anybody know?" + +"Please, sir, he trod upon a surplice," said Vaughan the bright. "Lewis +junior says so." + +"Trod upon a surplice!" repeated Mr. Wilberforce. "How could he do that? +You were standing. Your surplices are not long enough to be trodden +upon. What do you mean by saying that, Lewis junior?" + +Lewis junior's face turned red, and he mentally vowed a licking to +Bright Vaughan, for being so free with his tongue; but he looked up at +the master with an expression as innocent as a lamb's. + +"I only said he might have trodden on a surplice, sir. Perhaps he was +giddy yesterday afternoon, as he fainted afterwards." + +The subject dropped. The choristers went into college for service at ten +o'clock, but the master remained in his place. It was not his week for +chanting. Before eleven they were back again; and the master had called +up the head class, and was again remarking on the absence of Henry +Arkell, when the dean and Mr. St. John walked into the hall. Mr. +Wilberforce rose, and pushed his spectacles to the top of his brow in +his astonishment. + +"Have the goodness to call up Aultane," said the dean, after a few words +of courtesy, as he stood by the master's desk. + +"Senior, or junior, Mr. Dean?" + +"The chorister." + +"Aultane, junior, walk up," cried the master. And Aultane, junior, +walked up, wishing himself and his tongue and the dean, and all the rest +of the world within sight and hearing, were safely boxed up in the +coffins in the cathedral crypt. + +"Now, Aultane," began the dean, regarding him with as much severity as +it was in the dean's nature to regard anyone, even a rebellious college +boy, "you preferred a charge to me yesterday against the senior +chorister; that he had been pledging his gold medal at Rutterley's. Have +the goodness to substantiate it." + +"Oh, my heart alive, I wish he'd drop through the floor!" groaned +Aultane to himself. "What will become of me? What a jackass I was!" + +"I did not enter into the matter then," proceeded the dean, for Aultane +remained silent. "You had no business to make the complaint to me on a +Sunday. What grounds have you for your charge?" + +Aultane turned red and white, and green and yellow. The dean eyed him +closely. "What proof have you?" + +"I have no proof," faltered Aultane. + +"No proof! Did you make the charge to me, knowing it was false?" + +"No, sir. He _has_ pledged his medal." + +"Tell me how you know it. Mr. St. John knows he had it in his own house +on Saturday." + +Aultane shuffled first on one foot, and then on the other; and the dean, +failing explanation from him, appealed to the school, but all disclaimed +cognizance of the matter. "If you behave in this extraordinary way, you +will compel me to conclude that you have made the charge to prejudice me +against Arkell; who, I hear, had a serious charge to prefer against +_you_ for ill-behaviour in college," continued the dean to Aultane. + +"If you will send to the place, you will find his medal is there, sir," +sullenly replied Aultane. + +"The shortest plan would be to send to Arkell's, and request him to +dispatch his medal here, if the dean approves," interposed Mr. St. John, +speaking for the first time. + +The dean did approve, and Cookesley was despatched on the errand. He +brought back the medal. Henry was not in the way, but Mrs. Arkell had +found it and given it to him. + +"Now what do you mean by your conduct?" sternly asked the dean of +Aultane. + +"I know he pledged it on Saturday, if he has got it out to-day," +persisted the discomfited Aultane, who was in a terrible state, between +wishing to prove his charge true, and the fear of compromising himself. + +"I know Henry Arkell could not be guilty of a despicable action," spoke +up Mr. St. John; "and, hearing of this charge, I went to Rutterley's to +ask him a few questions. He informed me there _was_ a college boy at his +place on Saturday, endeavouring to pledge a table-spoon, but he knew the +crest, and would not take it in--not wishing, he said, to encourage boys +to rob their parents. Perhaps Aultane can tell the dean who that was?" + +There was a dead silence in the school, and the look of amazement on the +head-master's face was only matched by the confusion of Aultane's. The +dean, a kind-hearted man, would not examine further. + +"I do not press the matter until I hear the complaint of the senior +chorister against Aultane," said he aloud, to Mr. Wilberforce. "It was +something that occurred in the cathedral yesterday, in the hearing, +unfortunately, of the judges. But a few preliminary tasks, by way of +present punishment, will do Aultane no harm." + +"I'll give them to him, Mr. Dean," heartily responded the master, whose +ears had been so scandalised by the mysterious allusions to Rutterley's, +that he would have liked to treat the whole school to "tasks" and to +something else, all round. "I'll give them to him." + +"You see what a Tom-fool you have made of yourself!" grumbled Prattleton +senior to Aultane, as the latter returned to his desk, laden with work. +"That's all the good you have got by splitting to the dean." + +"I wish the dean was in the sea, I do!" madly cried Aultane, as he +savagely watched the retreat of that very reverend divine, who went out +carrying the gold medal between his fingers, and followed by Mr. St. +John. "And I wish that brute, St. John was hung! He----" + +Aultane's words and bravery alike faded into silence, for the two were +coming back again. The master stood up. + +"I forgot to tell you, Mr. Wilberforce, that I have recommended Henry +Arkell to take a holiday for a day or two. That was a violent fall +yesterday; and his fainting afterwards struck me as not wearing a +favourable appearance." + +"Have you seen him, Mr. Dean?" + +"I saw him an hour ago, just before service. I was going by the house as +he came out of it, on his way to college, I suppose. It is a strange +thing what it could have been that caused the fall." + +"So it is," replied the master. "I was inquiring about it just now, but +the school does not seem to know anything." + +"Neither does he, so far as I can learn. At any rate, rest will be best +for him for a day or two." + +"No doubt it will, Mr. Dean. Thank you for thinking of it." + +They finally went out, St. John casting a significant look behind him, +at the boys in general, at Aultane junior in particular. It said as +plainly as looks could say, "I'd not peach again, boys, if I were you;" +and Aultane junior, but for the restraining presence of the head master, +would assuredly have sent a yell after him. + +How much St. John told of the real truth to the dean, that the medal +_had_ been pledged, we must leave between them. The school never knew. +Henry himself never knew. St. John quitted the dean at the deanery, and +went on to restore the medal to its owner: although Georgina Beauclerc +was standing at one of the deanery windows, looking down expectantly, as +if she fancied he was going in. + +Travice was at that moment at Peter Arkell's, perched upon a side-table, +as he talked to them. Henry leaned rather languidly back in an +elbow-chair, his fingers pressed upon his head; Lucy was at work near +the window; Mrs. Peter, looking very ill, sat at the table. Travice had +not been at service on the previous afternoon, and the accident had been +news to him this morning. + +"But how did you fall?" he was asking with uncompromising plainness, +being unable to get any clear information on the point. "What threw you +down?" + +"Well--I fell," answered Henry. + +"Of course you fell. But how? The passage is all clear between the seats +of the king's scholars and the cross benches; there's nothing for you to +strike your foot against; how _did_ you fall?" + +"There was some confusion at the time, Travice; the first lesson was +just over, and the people were rising for the cantate. I was walking +very fast, too." + +"But something must have thrown you down: unless you turned giddy, and +fell of your own accord." + +"I felt giddy afterwards," returned Henry, who had been speaking with +his hand mostly before his eyes, and seemed to answer the questions with +some reluctance. "I feel giddy now." + +"I think, Travice, he scarcely remembers how it happened," spoke Mrs. +Arkell. "Don't press him; he seems tired. I am so glad the dean gave him +holiday." + +At this juncture, Mr. St. John came in with the medal. He stayed a few +minutes, telling Harry he should take him for a drive in the course of +the day, which Mrs. Arkell negatived; she thought it might not be well +for the giddiness he complained of in the head. St. John took his leave, +and Henry went with him outside, to hear the news in private of what had +taken place in the college hall. Mrs. Arkell had left the room then, and +Travice took the opportunity to approach Lucy. + +"Does it strike you that there's any mystery about this fall, Lucy?" + +"Mystery!" she repeated, raising her eyes. "In what way?" + +"It is one of two things: either that he does not remember how he fell, +or that he won't tell. I think it is the latter; there is a restraint in +his manner when speaking of it: an evident reluctance to speak." + +"But why should he not speak of it?" + +"There lies what I call the mystery. A sensational word, you will say, +for so slight a matter. I may be wrong--if you have not noticed +anything. What's that you are so busy over?" + +Lucy held it up to the light, blushing excessively at the same time. It +was Harry's rowing jersey, and it was getting the worse for wear. +Boating would soon be coming in. + +"It wants darning nearly all over, it is so thin," she said. "And the +difficulty is to darn it so that the darn shall be neither seen nor +suspected on the right side." + +"Can't you patch it?" asked Travice. + +She laughed out loud. "Would Harry go rowing in a patched jersey? Would +you, Travice?" + +He laughed too. "I don't think I should much mind it." + +"Ah, but you are Travice Arkell," she said, her seriousness returning. +"A rich man may go about without shoes if he likes; but a poor one must +not be seen even in mended ones." + +"True: it's the way of the world, Lucy. Well, I should mend that jersey +with a new one. Why, you'll be a whole day over it." + +"I dare say I shall be two. Travice, there's Mr. St. John looking round +for you. He was beckoning. Did you not see him. + +"No, I only saw you," answered Travice, in a tone that was rather a +significant one. "I see now; he wants me. Good-bye, Lucy." + +He took her hand in his. There was little necessity for it, seeing that +he came in two or three times a day. And he kept it longer than he need +have done. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +CARR VERSUS CARR. + + +It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and a crowd of busy idlers was +gathered round the Guildhall at Westerbury, for the great cause was +being brought on--Carr _versus_ Carr. + +That they could not get inside, you may be very sure, or they would not +have been round it. In point of fact, the trial had not been expected to +come on before the Tuesday; but in the course of Monday morning two +causes had been withdrawn, and the Carr case was called on. The Nisi +Prius Court immediately became filled to inconvenience, and at two +o'clock the trial began. + +It progressed equably for some time, and then there arose a fierce +discussion touching the register. Mr. Fauntleroy's counsel, Serjeant +Wrangle, declaring the marriage was there up to very recently; and Mynn +and Mynn's counsel, Serjeant Siftem, ridiculing the assertion. The judge +called for the register. + +It was produced and examined. The marriage was not there, neither was +there any sign of its having been abstracted. Lawrence Omer was called +by Serjeant Wrangle; and he testified to having searched the register, +seen the inscribed marriage, and copied the names of the witnesses to +it. In proof of this, he tendered his pocket-book, where the names were +written in pencil. + +Up rose Serjeant Siftem. "What day was this, pray?" + +"It was the 4th of November." + +"And so you think you saw, amidst the many marriages entered in the +register, that of Robert Carr and Martha Ann Hughes?" + +"I am sure I saw it," replied Mr. Omer. + +"Were you alone?" + +"I looked over the book alone. Hunt, the clerk of the church, was +present in the vestry." + +"It must appear to the jury as a singular thing that you only, and +nobody else, should have seen this mysterious entry," continued Serjeant +Siftem. + +"Perhaps nobody else looked for it; they'd have seen it if they had," +shortly returned the witness, who felt himself an aggrieved man, and +spoke like one, since Mynn and Mynn had publicly accused him that day of +having gone down to St. James's in his sleep, and seen the entry in a +dream alone. + +"Does it not strike you, witness, as being extraordinary that this one +particular entry, professed to have been seen by your eyes, and by yours +alone, should have been abstracted from a book safely kept under lock +and key?" pursued Serjeant Siftem. "I am mistaken if it would not strike +an intelligent man as being akin to an impossibility." + +"No, it does not strike me so. But events, hard of belief, happen +sometimes. I swear the marriage was in the book last November: why it is +not there now, is the extraordinary part of the affair." + +It was no use to cross-examine the witness further; he was cross and +obstinate, and persisted in his story. Serjeant Siftem dismissed him; +and Hunt was called, the clerk of the church, who came hobbling in. + +The old man rambled in his evidence, but the point of it was, that he +didn't believe any abstraction had been made, not he; it must be a farce +to suppose it; a crotchet of that great lawyer, Fauntleroy; how could +the register be touched when he himself kept it sure and sacred, the key +of the safe in a hiding-place in the vestry, and the key of the church +hanging up in his own house, outside his kitchen door? His rector said +it had been robbed, and in course he couldn't stand out to his face as +it hadn't, but he were upon his oath now, and must speak the truth +without shrinking. + +Serjeant Wrangle rose. "Did the witness mean to tell the court that he +never saw or read the entry of the marriage?" + +"No, he never did. He never heard say as it were there, and he never +looked." + +"But you were present when the witness Omer examined the register?" +persisted Serjeant Wrangle. + +"Master Omer wouldn't have got to examine it, unless I had been," +retorted Hunt to Serjeant Wrangle. "I was a-sitting down in the vestry, +a-nursing of my leg, which were worse than usual that day; it always is +in damp weather, and--" + +"Confine yourself to evidence," interrupted the judge. + +"Well, sir, I was a-nursing of my leg whilst Master Omer looked into the +book. I don't know what he saw there; he didn't say; and when he had +done looking I locked it safe up again." + +"Did you see him make an extract from it?" demanded Serjeant Wrangle. + +"Yes, I saw him a-writing' something down in his pocket-book." + +"Have you ever entrusted the key of the safe to strange hands?" + +"I wouldn't do such a thing," angrily replied the witness. "I never gave +it to nobody, and never would; there's not a soul knows where it is to +be found, but me, and the rector, and the other clergyman, Mr. +Prattleton, what comes often to do the duty. I couldn't say as much for +the key of the church, which sometimes goes beyond my custody, for the +rector allows one or two of the young college gents to go in to play the +organ. By token, one on 'em--the quietest o' the pair, it were, +too--flung in that very key on to our kitchen floor, and shivered our +cat's beautiful chaney saucer into seven atoms, and my missis----" + +"That is not evidence," again interrupted the judge. + +Nothing more, apparently, that was evidence, could be got from the +witness, so he was dismissed. + +Call the Reverend Mr. Wilberforce. + +The Reverend Mr. Wilberforce, rector of St. James the Less, minor canon +and sacrist of Westerbury Cathedral, and head-master of the collegiate +school, came forward, and was sworn. + +"You are the rector of St. James the Less?" said Serjeant Wrangle. + +"I am," replied Mr. Wilberforce. + +"Did you ever see the entry of Robert Carr's marriage with Martha Ann +Hughes in the church's register." + +"Yes, I did." Serjeant Siftem pricked up his ears. + +"When did you see it?" + +"On the 7th of last November." + +"How do you fix the date, Mr. Wilberforce?" inquired, the judge, +recognising him as the minor canon who had officiated in the chanter's +desk the previous day in the cathedral. + +"I had been marrying a couple that morning, my lord, the 7th. After I +had entered their marriage, I turned back and looked for the registry of +Robert Carr's, and I found it and read it." + +"What induced you to look for it?" asked the counsel. + +"I had heard that his marriage was discovered to have taken place at St. +James's, and that it was recorded in the register;" and Mr. Wilberforce +then told how he had heard it. "Curiosity induced me to turn back and +read it," he continued. + +"You both saw it and read it?" continued Serjeant Wrangle. + +"I both saw it and read it," replied Mr. Wilberforce. + +"Then you testify that it was undoubtedly there?" + +"Most certainly it was." + +"The reverend gentleman will have the goodness to remember that he is +upon his oath," cried Serjeant Siftem, impudently bobbing up. + +"_Sir!_" was the indignant rebuke of the clergyman. "You forget to whom +you are speaking," he added, amidst the dead silence of the court. + +"Can you remember the words written?" resumed Serjeant Wrangle. + +"The entry was properly made; in the same manner that the others were, +of that period. Robert Carr and Martha Ann Hughes had signed it; also +her brother and sister as witnesses." + +"You have no doubt that the entry was there, then, Mr. Wilberforce?" +observed the judge. + +"My lord," cried the reverend gentleman, somewhat nettled at the +question, "I can believe my own eyes. I am not more certain that I am +now giving evidence before your lordship, than I am that the marriage +was in the register." + +"It is not in now?" said the judge. + +"No, my lord; it must have been cleverly abstracted." + +"The whole leaf, I presume?" said Serjeant Wrangle. + +"Undoubtedly. The marriage entered below Robert Carr's was that of Sir +Thomas Ealing: I read that also, with its long string of witnesses: that +is also gone." + +"Can you account for its disappearance?" asked Serjeant Wrangle. + +"Not in the least. I wish I could: and find out the offenders." + +"The incumbent of the parish at that time is no longer living, I +believe?" observed Serjeant Wrangle. + +"He has been dead many years," replied Mr. Wilberforce. "But it was not +the incumbent who married them: it was a strange clergyman who performed +the ceremony, a friend of Robert Carr's." + +"How do you know that?" snapped Serjeant Siftem, bobbing up again. + +"Because he signed the register as having performed it," replied Mr. +Wilberforce, confronting the Serjeant with a look as undaunted as his +own. + +What cared Serjeant Siftem for being confronted? "How do you know he was +a friend of Robert Carr's?" went on he. + +"In that I speak from hearsay. But there are many men of this city, +older than I am, who remember that the Reverend Mr. Bell and Robert Carr +were upon exceedingly intimate terms: they can testify it to you, if you +choose to call them." + +Serjeant Siftem growled, and sat down; but was up again in a moment. +"Who was clerk of the parish at that time?" asked he. + +"There was no clerk," replied the witness. "The office was in abeyance. +Some of the parishioners wanted to abolish it; but they did not succeed +in doing so." + +"Allow me to ask you, sir," resumed Serjeant Wrangle, "whether the +entrance of the marriage there is not a proof of its having taken +place?" + +"Most assuredly," replied Mr. Wilberforce. "A proof indisputable." + +But courts of justice, judges, and jury require ocular and demonstrative +proof. It is probable there was not a soul in court, including the judge +and Serjeant Siftem, but believed the evidence of the Reverend Mr. +Wilberforce, even had they chosen to doubt that of Lawrence Omer; but +the register negatively testified that there had been no marriage, and +upon the register, in law, must rest the onus of proof. Had there been +positive evidence, not negative, of the abstraction of the leaf from the +register, had the register itself afforded such, the aspect of affairs +would have been very different. Mr. Mynn testified that on the 2nd day +of December he had looked and could find no trace of the marriage in the +register: it was certainly evident that it was not in now. When the +court rose that night, the trial had advanced down to the summing-up of +the judge, which was deferred till morning: but it was felt by everybody +that that summing-up would be dead against the client of Mr. Fauntleroy, +and that Squire Carr had gained the cause. + +The squire, and his son Valentine, and Mynn and Mynn, and one or two of +the lesser guns of the bar, but not the great gun, Serjeant Siftem, took +a late dinner together, and drank toasts, and were as merry and +uproarious as success could make them: and Westerbury, outside, echoed +their sentiments--that 'cute old Fauntleroy had not a leg to stand upon. + +'Cute old Fauntleroy--'cute enough, goodness knew, in general--was +thinking the same thing, as he took a solitary chop in his own house: +for he did not get home until long past the dinner-hour, and his +daughters were out. After the meal was finished, he sat over the fire in +a dreamy mood, he scarcely knew how long, he was so full of vexation. + +The extraordinary revelation, that the disputed marriage had taken place +at St. James the Less, and lain recorded all those years unsuspiciously +in the register, with the still more extraordinary fact that it had been +mysteriously taken out of it, electrified Westerbury. The news flew from +one end of the city to the other, and back again, and sideways, and +everywhere. + +But not until late in the evening was it carried to Peter Arkells. +Cookesley, the second senior of the school, went in to see Henry, and +told it; and then, for the first time, Henry found that the abstraction +of the leaf had reference to the great cause--Carr versus Carr. + +"Will Mrs. Carr lose her verdict through it?" he asked of Cookesley. + +"Of course she will. There's no proof of the leaf's having been taken +out. If they could only prove that, she'd gain it; and very unjust it +will be upon her, poor thing! We had such a game in school!" added +Cookesley, passing to private interests. "Wilberforce was at the court +all the afternoon, giving evidence; and Roberts wanted to domineer over +us upper boys; as if we'd let him! He was so savage." + +Cookesley departed. Henry had his head down on the table: Mrs. Arkell +supposed it ached, and bade him go to bed. He apparently did not hear +her; and presently started up and took his trencher. + +"Where are you going?" she asked, in surprise. + +"Only to Prattleton's. I want to speak to George." + +"But, Henry----" + +Remonstrance was useless. He had already gone. Prattleton senior came to +the door to him. + +"George? George is at Griffin's; Griffin has got a bachelor's party. +Whatever do you want with him? I say, Arkell, have you heard of the row +in school this morning? The dean came in about that medal business--what +a fool Aultane junior was for splitting!--and St. John spoke about one +of the fellows having been at Rutterley's on Saturday, trying to pledge +a spoon with the Aultane crest upon it: he didn't say actually the crest +was the Aultanes', or that the fellow was Aultane, but his manner let us +know it. Wasn't Aultane in a way! He said afterwards that if he had had +a pistol ready capped and loaded, he should have shot himself, or the +dean, or St. John, or somebody else. Serve him right for his false +tongue! There'll be an awful row yet. I know I'd shoot myself, before +I'd go and peach to the dean!" + +But Prattleton was wasting his words on air. Henry had flown on to +Griffin's--the house in the grounds formerly occupied by Mr. and Mrs. +Lewis. The Reverend Mr. Griffin was the old minor canon, with the +cracked voice, and it was his son and heir who was holding the +bachelor's party. George Prattleton came out. + +There ensued a short, sharp colloquy--Henry insisting upon being +released from his promise; George Prattleton, whom the suggestion had +startled nearly out of his senses, refusing to allow him to divulge +anything. + +"She'll not get her cause," said Henry, "unless I speak. It will be +awfully unjust." + +"You'll just keep your tongue quiet, Arkell. What is it to you? The Carr +folks are not your friends or relatives." + +"If I were to let the trial go against her, for the want of telling the +truth, I should have it on my conscience always." + +"My word!" cried George Prattleton, "a schoolboy with a conscience! I +never knew they were troubled with any." + +"Will you release me from my promise of not speaking?" + +"Not if you go down on your knees for it. What a green fellow you are!" + +"Then I shall speak without." + +"You won't," cried Prattleton. + +"I will. I gave the promise only conditionally, remember; and, as things +are turning out, I am under no obligation to keep it. But I would not +speak without asking your consent first, whether I got it or not." + +"I have a great mind to carry you by force, and fling you into the +river," uttered Prattleton, in a savage tone. + +"You know you couldn't do it," returned Henry, quietly: "if I am not +your equal in age and strength, I could call those who are. But there's +not a moment to be lost. I am off to Mr. Fauntleroy's." + +Henry Arkell meant what he said: he was always resolute in _right_: and +Prattleton, after a further confabulation, was fain to give in. Indeed +he had been expecting nothing less than this for the last hour, and had +in a measure prepared himself for it. + +"I'll tell the news myself," said George Prattleton, "if it must be +told: and I'll tell it to Mr. Prattleton, not to Fauntleroy, or any of +the law set." + +"I must go to Mr. Prattleton with you," returned Henry. + +"You can wait for me out here, then. We are at whist, and my coming out +has stopped the game. I shan't be more than five minutes." + +George Prattleton retreated indoors, and Henry paced about, waiting for +him. He crossed over towards the deanery, and came upon Miss Beauclerc. +She had been spending an hour at a neighbouring house, and was returning +home, attended by an old man-servant. Muffled in a shawl and wearing a +pink silk hood, few would have known her, except the college boy. His +heart beat as if it would burst its bounds. + +"Why, it's never you!" she cried. "Thank you, Jacob, that will do," she +added to the servant. "Don't stand, or you'll catch your rheumatism; Mr. +Arkell will see me indoors." + +The old man turned away with a bow, and she partially threw back her +pink silk hood to talk to Henry, as they moved slowly on to the deanery +door. + +"Were you going to call upon us, Harry?" + +"No, Miss Beauclerc. I am waiting for George Prattleton. He is at +Griffin's." + +"Miss Beauclerc!" she echoed; "how formal you are to-night. I'd not be +as cold as you, Henry Arkell, for the whole world!" + +"I, cold!" + +He said no more in refutation. If Georgina could but have known his real +feelings! If she could but have divined how his pulses were beating, his +veins coursing! Perhaps she did. + +"Are you better? What a fall you had! And to faint after it!" + +"Yes, I think I am better, thank you. It hurt my head a little." + +"And you had been annoyed with those rebellious school boys! You are not +half strict enough with the choristers. I hope Aultane will get a +flogging, as Lewis did for locking you up in St. James's Church. I asked +Lewis the next day how he liked it: he was so savage. I think he'd +murder you if he could: he's jealous, you know." + +She laughed as she spoke the last words, and her gay blue eyes were bent +on him; he could discern them even in the dark, obscure corner where the +deanery door stood. Henry did not answer: he was in wretched spirits. + +"Harry, tell me--why is it you so rarely come to the deanery? Do you +think any other college boy would dare to set at nought the dean's +invitations--and mine?" + +"Remembering what passed between us one night at the deanery--the audit +night--can you wonder that I do not oftener come?" he inquired. + +"Oh, but you were so stupid." + +"Yes, I know. I have been stupid for years past." + +Miss Beauclerc laughed. "And you think that stopping away will cure +you?" + +"It will not cure me; years will not cure me," he passionately broke +forth, in a tone whose anguish was irrepressible. "Absence and _you_ +alone will do that. When I go to the university----" He stopped, unable +to proceed. + +"When you go to the university you will come back a wise man. Henry," +she continued, changing her manner to seriousness, "it was the height of +folly to suffer yourself to care for me. If I--if it were reciprocated, +and I cared for you, if I were dying of love for you, there are barriers +on all sides, and in all ways." + +"I am aware of it. There is the barrier between us of disparity of +years; there is a wide barrier of station; and there is the greatest +barrier of all, want of love on your side. I know that my loving you has +been nothing short of madness, from the first: madness and double +madness since I knew where your heart was given." + +"So you will retain that crotchet in your head!" + +"It is no crotchet. Do you think my loving eyes--my jealous eyes, if you +so will it--have been deceived? You must be happy, now that he has come +back to Westerbury." + +"Stupid!" echoed Miss Beauclerc. + +"But it has been your fault, Georgina," he resumed, reverting to +himself. "I _must_ reiterate it. You saw what my feelings were becoming +for you, and you did all you could to draw them on; you may have deemed +me a child then in years; you knew I was not, in heart. They might have +been checked in the onset, and repressed: why did you not do it? why did +you do just the contrary, and give me encouragement? You called it +flirting; you thought it good sport: but you should have remembered that +what is sport to one, may be death to another." + +"This estrangement makes me uncomfortable," proceeded Miss Beauclerc, +ignoring the rest. "Papa keeps saying, 'What is come to Henry Arkell +that he is never at the deanery?' and then I invent white stories, about +believing that your studies take up your time. I miss you every day; I +do, Henry; I miss your companionship; I miss your voice at the piano; I +miss your words in speaking to me. But here comes your friend George +Prat, for that's the echo of old Griffin's door. I know the different +sounds of the doors in the grounds. Good night, Harry: I must go in." + +She bent towards him to put her hand in his, and he--he was betrayed out +of his propriety and his good manners. He caught her to his heart, and +held her there; he kissed her face with his fervent lips. + +"Forgive me, Georgina," he murmured, as she released herself. "It is the +first and the last time." + +"I will forgive you for this once," cried the careless girl; "but only +think of the scandal, had anybody come up: my staid mamma would go into +a fit. It is what _he_ has never done," she added, in a deeper tone. +"And why your head should run upon him I cannot tell. Mine doesn't." + +Henry wrung her hand. "But for him, Georgina, I should think you cared +for me. Not that the case would be less hopeless." + +Miss Beauclerc rang a peal on the door-bell, and was immediately +admitted--whilst Henry Arkell walked forward to join George Prattleton, +his heart a compound of sweet and bitter, and his brain in a mazy dream. + +But we left Mr. Fauntleroy in a dream by the side of his fire, and by no +means a pleasant one. He sat there he did not know how long, and was at +length interrupted by one of his servants. + +"You are wanted, sir, if you please." + +"Wanted now! Who is it?" + +"The Rev. Mr. Prattleton, sir, and one or two more. They are in the +drawing-room, and the fire's gone out." + +"He has come bothering about that tithe case," grumbled Mr. Fauntleroy +to himself. "I won't see him: let him come at a proper time. My +compliments to Mr. Prattleton, Giles, but I am deep in assize business, +and cannot see him." + +Giles went out and came in again. "Mr. Prattleton says they must see +you, sir, whether or no. He told me to say, sir, that it is about the +cause that's on, Carr and Carr." + +Mr. Fauntleroy proceeded to his drawing-room, and there he was shut in +for some time. Whatever the conference with his visitors may have been, +it was evident, when he came out, that for him it had borne the deepest +interest, for his whole appearance was changed; his manners were +excited, his eyes sparkling, and his face was radiant. + +They all left the house together, but the lawyer's road did not lie far +with theirs. He stopped at the lodgings occupied by Serjeant Wrangle, +and knocked. A servant-maid came to the door. + +"I want to see Serjeant Wrangle," said Mr. Fauntleroy, stepping in. + +"You can't sir. He is gone to bed." + +"I must see him for all that," returned Mr. Fauntleroy. + +"Missis and master's gone to bed too," she added, by way of remonstrance. +"I was just a-going." + +"With all my heart," said Mr. Fauntleroy. "I must see the serjeant." + +"'Tain't me, then, sir, that'll go and awaken him," cried the girl. +"He's gone to bed dead tired, he said, and I was not to disturb him till +eight in the morning." + +"Give me your candle," replied Mr. Fauntleroy, taking it from her hand. +"He has the same rooms as usual, I suppose; first floor." + +Mr. Fauntleroy went up the stairs, and the girl stood at the bottom, and +watched and listened. She did not approve of the proceedings, but did +not dare to check them; for Mr. Fauntleroy was a great man in +Westerbury, and their assize lodger, the serjeant, was a greater. + +Tap--tap--tap: at Serjeant Wrangle's door. + +No response. + +Tap--tap--tap, louder. + +"Who the deuce is that?" called out the serjeant, who was only dignified +in his wig and gown. "Is it you, Eliza? what do you want? It's not +morning, is it?" + +"'Tain't me, sir," screamed out Eliza, who had now followed Mr. +Fauntleroy. "I told the gentleman as you was dead tired and wasn't to be +woke up till eight in the morning, but he took my light and would come +up." + +"I must see you, Serjeant," said Mr. Fauntleroy. + +"See me! I'm in bed and asleep. Who the dickens is it?" + +"Mr. Fauntleroy. Don't you know my voice? Can I come in?" + +"No; the door's bolted." + +"Then just come and undo it. For, see you, I must." + +"Can't it wait?" + +"If it could I should not have disturbed you. Open the door and you +shall judge for yourself." + +Serjeant Wrangle was heard to tumble out of bed in a lump, and undo the +bolt of the door. Eliza concluded that he was in his night attire, and +modestly threw her apron over her face. Mr. Fauntleroy entered. + +"The most extraordinary thing has turned up in Carr versus Carr," cried +he. "Never had such a piece of luck, just in the nick of time, in all my +practice." + +"Do shut the door," responded Serjeant Wrangle; "I shall catch the +shivers." + +Mr. Fauntleroy shut the door, shutting out Eliza, who forthwith sat down +on the top stair, and wished she had ten ears. "Have you not a +dressing-gown to put on?" cried he to the serjeant. + +"I'll listen in bed," replied the serjeant, vaulting into it. + +A whole hour did that ill-used Eliza sit on the stairs, and not a +syllable could she distinguish, listen as she would, nothing but an +eager murmuring of voices. When Mr. Fauntleroy came out, he put the +candle in her hand and she attended him to the door, but not in a +gracious mood. + +"I thought you were going to stop all night, sir," she ventured to say. +"Dreadful dreary it was, sitting there, a-waiting." + +"Why did you not wait in the kitchen?" + +"Because every minute I fancied you must be coming out. Good night, +sir." + +"Good night," returned Mr. Fauntleroy, putting half-a-crown in her hand. +"There; that's in case you have to wait on the stairs for me again." + +Eliza brightened up, and officiously lighted Mr. Fauntleroy some paces +down the street, in spite of the gas-lamp at the door, which shone well. +"What a good humour the old lawyer's in!" quoth she. "I wonder what his +business was? I heard him say something had arose in Carr and Carr." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE SECOND DAY. + + +Tuesday morning dawned, and before nine o'clock the Nisi Prius court was +more densely packed than on the preceding day: all Westerbury--at least, +as many as could push in--were anxious to hear his lordship's summing +up. At twenty-eight minutes after nine, the javelins of the sheriff's +men appeared in the outer hall, ushering in the procession of the +judges. + +The senior judge proceeded to the criminal court; the other, as on the +Monday, took his place in the Nisi Prius. His lordship had his notes in +his hand, and was turning to the jury, preparatory to entering on his +task, when Mr. Serjeant Wrangle rose. + +"My lord--I must crave your lordship's permission to state a fact, +bearing on the case, Carr versus Carr. An unexpected witness has arisen; +a most important witness; one who will testify to the abstraction from +the register; one who was present when that abstraction was made. Your +lordship will allow him to be heard?" + +Serjeant Siftem, and Mynn and Mynn, and Squire Carr and his son +Valentine, and all who espoused that side, looked contemptuous daggers +of incredulity at Serjeant Wrangle. But the judge allowed the witness to +be heard, for all that. + +He came forward; a remarkably handsome boy, at the stage between youth +and manhood. The judge put his silver glasses across his nose and gazed +at him: he thought he recognised those beautiful features. + +"Swear the witness," cried some official. + +The witness was sworn. + +"What is your name?" demanded Serjeant Wrangle. + +"Henry Cheveley Arkell." + +"Where do you reside?" + +"In Westerbury, near the cathedral." + +"You are a member of the college school and a chorister, are you not?" +interposed the judge, whose remembrance had come to him. + +"A king's scholar, my lord, and senior chorister." + +"Were you in St. James's Church on a certain night of last November?" +resumed Serjeant Wrangle. + +"Yes. On the twentieth." + +"For how long? And how came you to be there?" + +"I went in to practise on the organ, when afternoon school was over, and +some one locked me in. I was there until nearly two in the morning." + +"Who locked you in?" + +"I did not know then. I afterwards heard that it was one of the senior +boys." + +"Tell the jury what you saw." + +Henry Arkell, amidst the confused scene, so unfamiliar to him, wondered +which was the jury. Not knowing, he stood as he had done before, looking +alternately at the examining counsel and the judge. + +"I went to sleep on the singers' seat in the organ-gallery, and slept +until a noise awoke me. I saw two people stealing up the church with a +light; they turned into the vestry, and I went softly downstairs and +followed them, and stood at the vestry door looking in." + +"Who were those parties?" + +"The one was Mr. George Prattleton; the other a stranger, whose name I +had heard was Rolls. George Prattleton unlocked the safe and gave Rolls +the register, and Rolls sat down and looked through it: he was looking a +long while." + +"What next did you see?" + +"When George Prattleton had his back turned to the table, I saw Rolls +blow out the light. He pretended it had gone out of itself, and asked +George Prattleton to fetch the matches from the bench at the entrance +door. As soon as George Prattleton had gone for them, a light reappeared +in the vestry, and I saw Rolls place what looked to be a piece of thick +pasteboard behind one of the leaves, and then draw a knife down it and +cut it out. He put the leaf and the board and the knife into his pocket, +and blew out the candle again. + +"Did George Prattleton see nothing of this?" + +"No. He was gone for the matches, and when he came back the vestry was +in darkness, as he had left it. 'Nothing risk, nothing win; I thought I +could do him,' I heard Rolls say to himself." + +"After that?" + +"After that, when Mr. George Prattleton came back with the matches, +Rolls lighted the candle and continued to look over the register, and +George Prattleton grumbled at him for being so long. Presently Rolls +shut the book and hurrahed, saying that it was not in, and Mr. +Prattleton might put it up again." + +"Did you understand what he meant by 'it.' Can you repeat the words he +used?" + +"I believe I can, or nearly so, for I have thought of them often since. +'It's not in the register, Prattleton,' he said. 'Hurrah! It will be +thousands of pounds in our pockets. When the other side brought forth +the lame tale that there was such an entry, we thought it a bag of +moonshine.' I think that was it." + +"What next happened?" + +"I saw Rolls hand the book to George Prattleton, and then I went down +the church as quietly as I could, and found the key in the door and got +out. I hid behind a tombstone, and I saw them both come from the church, +and Mr. George Prattleton locked it and put the key in his pocket. I +heard them disputing at the door, when they found it open; Rolls accused +George Prattleton of unlocking the door when he went to get the matches; +and George Prattleton accused Rolls of having neglected to lock it when +they entered the church." + +"Meanwhile it was you who had unlocked it, to let yourself out?" + +"Yes. And I was in too great a hurry, for fear they should see me, to +shut it after me." + +"A very nicely concocted tale!" sneered Serjeant Siftem, after several +more questions had been asked of Henry, and he rose to cross examine. +"You would like the court and jury to believe you, sir?" + +"I hope all will believe, who hear me, for it is the truth," he +answered, with simplicity. And he had his wish; for all did believe him; +and Serjeant Siftem's searching questions, and insinuations that the +fancied George Prattleton and Rolls were nothing but ghosts, failed to +shake his testimony, or their belief. + +The next witness called was Roland Carr Lewis, who had just come into +court, marshalled by the second master. A messenger, attended by a +javelin man, had been despatched in hot haste to the college schoolroom, +demanding the attendance of Roland Lewis. Mr. Roberts, confounded by +their appearance, and perplexed by the obscure tale of the messenger, +that "two of the college gentlemen, Lewis and another, was found to have +had som'at to do with the theft from the register, though not, he +b'lieved, in the way of thieving it theirselves," left his desk and his +duties, and accompanied Lewis. The head master had been in court all the +morning. + +"You are in the college school," said Serjeant Wrangle, after Lewis was +sworn, and had given his name. + +"King's scholar, sir, and third senior," replied Lewis, who could +scarcely speak for fright; which was not lessened when he caught sight +of the Dean of Westerbury on the bench, next the judge. + +"Did you shut up a companion, Henry Cheveley Arkell, in the church of +St. James the Less, one afternoon last November, when he had gone in to +practise on the organ?" + +Lewis wiped his face, and tried to calm his breathing, and glared +fearfully towards the bench, but never spoke. + +"You have been sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but +the truth, sir, and you must do so," said the judge, staring at his ugly +face, through his glasses. "Answer the question." + +"Y--es." + +"What was your motive for doing so?" asked Serjeant Wrangle. + +"It was only done in fun. I didn't mean to hurt him." + +"Pretty fun!" ejaculated one of the jury, who had a timid boy of his own +in the college school, and thought how horrible might be the +consequences should he get locked up in St. James's Church. + +"How long did you leave him there?" + +"I don't know. I took back the key to the clerk's, and the next morning, +when we went to let him out, he was gone." + +"Who is 'we?' Who was with you?" cried Serjeant Wrangle, catching at the +word. + +"Mr. George Prattleton. He was at the clerk's in the morning, and I told +him about it, and asked him to get the key, for Hunt would not let me +have it. So he was coming with me to open the church; but Hunt happened +to say that Arkell had just been to his house. He had got out somehow." + +When this witness, after a good deal of badgering, was released, +Serjeant Siftem, a bright thought having occurred to him, desired that +the Reverend Mr. Wilberforce might get into the witness-box. The +Reverend Mr. Wilberforce did so; and the serjeant began, in an +insinuating tone: + +"The witness, Henry Cheveley Arkell, is under your tuition in the +collegiate school, I assume?" + +"He is," sternly replied Mr. Wilberforce, who had not forgotten Serjeant +Siftem's insult of the previous day. + +"Would you believe him on his oath?" + +"On his oath, or without it." + +"Oh, you would, would you?" retorted the Serjeant. "Schoolboys are +addicted to romancing, though." + +"Henry Arkell is of strict integrity. His word may be implicitly +trusted." + +"I can bear testimony to Henry Arkell's honourable and truthful nature," +spoke up the dean, from his place beside the judge. "His general conduct +is exemplary; a pattern to the school." + +"Henry Cheveley Arkell," roared out the undaunted Serjeant Siftem, +drowning the dean's voice. "I have done with _you_, Mr. Wilberforce." So +the master left the witness-box, and Henry re-entered it. + +"I omitted to put a question to you, Mr. Chorister," began Serjeant +Siftem. "Should you know this fabulous gentleman of your imagination, +this Rolls, if you were to see him?" + +"Yes," replied Henry. "I saw him this morning as I came into court." + +That shut up Serjeant Siftem. + +"Where did you see him?" inquired the judge. + +"In the outer hall, my lord. He was with Mr. Valentine Carr. But I am +not sure that his name is Rolls," added the witness. "When I pointed him +out to Mr. Fauntleroy, he was surprised, and said that was Richards, +Mynn and Mynn's clerk." + +The judge whispered a word to somebody with a white wand, who was +standing near him, and that person immediately went hunting about the +court to find this Rolls or Richards, and bring him before the judge. +But Rolls had made himself scarce ere the conclusion of Henry Arkell's +first evidence; and, as it transpired afterwards, decamped from the +town. The next witness put into the box was Mr. George Prattleton. + +"You are aware, I presume, of the evidence given by Henry Cheveley +Arkell," said Serjeant Wrangle. "Can you deny that part of it which +relates to yourself?" + +"No, unfortunately I cannot," replied George Prattleton, who was very +down in the mouth--as his looks were described by a friend of his in +court. "Rolls is a villain." + +"That is not evidence, sir," said the judge. + +"He is a despicable villain, my lord," returned the witness, giving way +to his injured feelings. "He came to Westerbury, pretending to be a +stranger, and calling himself Rolls, and I got acquainted with him; that +is, he scraped acquaintance with me, and we were soon intimate. Then he +began to make use of me; he asked if I would do him a favour. He wanted +to get a private sight of the register in St. James's Church. So I +consented, I am sorry to say, to get him a private sight; but I made the +bargain that he should not copy a single word out of it, and of course I +meant to be with him and watch him." + +"Did you know that his request had reference to the case of Carr versus +Carr?" inquired Serjeant Wrangle. + +"No, I'll swear I did not," retorted the witness, in an earnest tone, +forgetting, probably, that he was already on his oath. "He never told me +why he wanted to look. He would go in at night: if he were seen entering +the church in the day, it might be fatal to his client's cause, was the +tale he told; and I am ashamed to acknowledge that I took him in at +night, and suffered him to look at the register. I have heard to-day +that his name is Richards." + +"You knew where the key of the safe was kept?" + +"Yes; I was one day in the church with the Reverend Mr. Prattleton, and +saw him take it from its place." + +"Did you see Rolls (as we will call him) abstract the leaf?" + +"Of course I did not," indignantly retorted the witness. "I suddenly +found the vestry in darkness, and he got me to fetch the matches, which +were left on the bench at the entrance door. It must have been done +then. Soon after I returned he gave me back the register, saying the +entry he wanted was not there, and I locked it up again. When we got to +the church door we were astonished to find it open, but----" + +"But did you not suspect it was opened by one who had watched your +proceedings," interrupted the judge. + +"No, my lord. Rolls left the town the next morning early; when I went to +find him he was gone, and I have never been able to see him since. +That's all I know of the transaction, and I can only publicly repeat my +deep regret and shame that I should have been drawn into such a one." + +"Drawn, however, without much scruple, as it appears," rebuked the +judge, with a severe countenance. "Allow me to ask you, sir, when it was +you first became acquainted with the fact that a theft had been +perpetrated on the register?" + +Mr. George Prattleton did not immediately answer. He would have given +much not to be obliged to do so: but the court wore an ominous silence, +and the judge waited his reply. + +"The day after it took place, Arkell, the college boy, came and told me +what he had seen, but----" + +"Then, sir, it was your duty to have proclaimed it, and to have had +steps taken to arrest your confederate, Rolls," interrupted the stern +judge. + +"But, my lord, I did not believe Arkell. I did not indeed," he added, +endeavouring to impart to his tone an air of veracity, and therefore--as +is sure to be the case--imparting to it just the contrary. "I could not +believe that Rolls, or any one else in a respectable position, such he +appeared to occupy, would be guilty of so felonious an action." + +"The less excuse you make upon the point, the better," observed the +judge. + +For some few minutes Serjeant Siftem and his party had been conferring +in whispers. The serjeant, at this stage, spoke. + +"My lord, this revelation has come upon my instructors, Mynn and Mynn, +with, the most utter surprise, and----" + +"The man, Rolls, or Richards, is really clerk to Mynn and Mynn, I am +informed," interrupted the judge, in as significant a tone as a +presiding judge permits himself to assume. + +"He was, my lord; but he will not be in future. They discard him from +this hour. In fact, should he not make good his escape from the country, +which it is more than likely he is already endeavouring to effect, he +will probably at the next assizes find himself placed before your +lordship for judgment, should you happen to come this circuit, and +preside in the other court. But Mynn and Mynn wish to disclaim, in the +most emphatic manner, all cognizance of this man's crime. They----" + +"There is no charge to be brought against Mynn and Mynn in connexion +with it, is there?" again interposed the judge. + +"Most certainly not, my lord," replied the counsel, in a lofty tone, +meant to impress the public ear. + +"Then, Brother Siftem, it appears to me that you need not take up the +time of the court to enter on their defence." + +"I bow to your lordship's opinion. Mynn and Mynn and their client, +Squire Carr, are not less indignant that so rascally a trick should have +been perpetrated than the public must be. But this evidence, which has +come upon them in so overwhelming a manner, they feel they cannot hope +to confute. I am therefore instructed to inform your lordship and the +jury, that they withdraw from the suit, and permit a verdict to be +entered for the other side." + +"Very good," replied the judge. + +And thus, after certain technicalities had been observed, the +proceedings were concluded, and the court began to empty itself of its +spectators. For once the RIGHT had prospered. But Westerbury held its +breath with awe when it came to reflect that it was the revengeful act +of Roland Carr Lewis, that locking up in the church, which had caused +his family to be despoiled of the inheritance they had taken to +themselves! + +The Reverend Mr. Wilberforce laid hold of Henry Arkell, as he was +leaving the Guildhall. "Tell me," said he, but not in an angry tone, +"how much more that is incomprehensible are you keeping secret, allowing +it to come out to me piecemeal?" + +Henry smiled. "I don't think there is any more, sir." + +"Yes, there is. It is incomprehensible why you should not have disclosed +at the time all you had been a witness to in the church. Why did you +not?" + +"I could not speak without compromising George Prattleton, sir; and if I +had, he might have been brought to trial for it." + +"Serve him right too," said Mr. Wilberforce. + +Presently Henry met the dean, his daughter, Frederick St. John, and Lady +Anne. The dean stopped him. + +"What do you call yourself? A lion?" + +Henry smiled faintly. + +"I think you stand a fair chance of being promoted into one. Do you know +what I wished to-day, when you were giving your evidence?" + +"No, sir." + +"That you were my own son." + +Henry involuntarily glanced at Georgina, and she glanced at him: her +face retained its calmness, but a flush of crimson came over his. No one +observed them but Mr. St. John. + +"I want you at the deanery to-night," continued the dean, releasing +Henry. "No excuse about lessons now: your fall on Sunday has given you +holiday. You will come?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I mean to dinner--seven o'clock. The judges will be there. The one who +tried the cause said he should like to meet you. Go and rest yourself +until then." + +"Thank you, sir. I will come." + +Georgina's eyes sparkled, and she nodded to him in triumph a dozen +times, as she walked on with the dean. + +Following in the wake of the dean's party came the Rev. Mr. Prattleton. +Henry approached him timidly. + +"I hope you will forgive me, sir. I could not help giving my evidence." + +"Forgive you!" echoed Mr. Prattleton; "I wish nobody wanted forgiveness +worse than you do. You have acted nobly throughout. I have recommended +Mr. George to get out of the town for a while; not to remain in it in +idleness and trouble my table any longer. He can join his friend Rolls +on the continent if he likes: I understand he is most likely off +thither." + +The fraud was not brought home to the Carr family. It was indisputably +certain that the squire himself had known nothing whatever of it: had +never even been aware that the marriage was entered on the register of +St. James the Less. Whether his sons Valentine and Benjamin were equally +guiltless, was a matter of opinion. Valentine solemnly protested that +nothing had ever been told to him; but he did acknowledge that Richards +came to him one evening, and said he thought the cause was likely to be +imperilled by "certain proceedings" that the other side were taking. He, +Valentine Carr, authorized him to do what he could to counteract these +proceedings (only intending him to act in a fair manner), and gave him +carte blanche in a moderate way for the money that might be required. He +acknowledged to no more: and perhaps he had no more to acknowledge: +neither did he say _how much_ he had paid to Richards. Benjamin treated +the whole matter with contempt. The most indignant of all were Mynn and +Mynn. Really respectable practitioners, it was in truth a very +disagreeable thing to have been forced upon them; and could they have +got at their ex-clerk, they would willingly have transported him. + +And Mr. Fauntleroy, in the flush of his great victory, in the plenitude +of his gratitude to the boy whose singular evidence had caused him to +win the battle, went down that same day to Peter Arkell's and forgave +him the miserable debt that had so long hampered him. For once in his +life, the lawyer showed himself generous. People used to say that such +was his nature before the world hardened him. + +So, taking one thing with another, it was a satisfactory termination to +the renowned cause, Carr versus Carr. + +It was a large state dinner at the deanery. But the chief thing that +Henry Arkell saw at it was, that Mr. St. John sat by Georgina Beauclerc. +The judges--who did not appear in their wigs and fiery gowns, to the +relief of private country individuals of wide imaginations, that could +not usually separate them--were pleasant men, and their faces did not +look so yellow by candle-light. They talked to Henry a great deal, and +he had to rehearse over, for the general benefit, all the scene of that +past night in St. James's Church. Mrs. Beauclerc, usually so +indifferent, was aroused to especial interest, and would not quit the +theme; neither would Lady Anne St. John, now visiting at the Palmery, +and who was present with Mrs. St. John. + +But Georgina--oh, the curious wiles of a woman's heart!--took little or +no notice of Henry. They had been for some time in the drawing-room +before she came near him at all--before she addressed a word to him. At +dinner she had been absorbed in Mr. St. John: gay, laughing, animated, +her thoughts, her words, were all for him. Sarah Beauclerc, conspicuous +that night for her beauty, sat opposite to them, but St. John had not +the opportunity of speaking to her, beyond a passing word now and again. +In the drawing-room, no longer fettered--though perhaps the fetters had +been willing ones--St. John went at once to Sarah, and he did not leave +her side. Ah! Henry saw it all: both those fair girls loved Frederick +St. John! What would be the ending? + +Georgina sat at a table apart, reading a new book, or appearing to read +it. Was she covertly watching that sofa at a distance? It was so +different, this sitting still, from her usual restless habits of +flitting everywhere. Suddenly she closed her book, and went up to them. + +"I have come to call you to account, Fred," she began, speaking in her +most familiar manner, but in a low tone. "Don't you see whose heart you +are breaking?" + +He had been sitting with his head slightly bent, as he spoke in a +whisper to his beautiful companion. Her eyes were cast down, her fingers +unconsciously pulled apart the petals of some geranium she held; her +whole attitude bespoke a not unwilling listener. Georgina's salutation +surprised both, for they had not seen her approach. They looked up. + +"What do you say?" cried St. John. "Breaking somebody's heart? Whose? +Yours?" + +She laughed in derision, flirting some of the scent out of a golden +phial she had taken up. "Sarah, _you_ should have more consideration," +she continued. "It is all very well when Lady Anne's not present, but +when she _is_--There! you need not go into a flaming fever and fling +your angry eyes upon me. Look at Sarah's face, Mr. St. John." + +Mr. St. John walked away, as though he had not heard. Sarah caught hold +of her cousin. + +"There is a limit to endurance, Georgina. If you pursue this style of +conversation to me--learnt, as I have repeatedly told you, from the +housemaids, unless it is inherent," she added, in deep scorn--"I shall +make an appeal to the dean." + +"Make it," said Georgina, laughing. "It was too bad of you, Sarah, with +his future wife present. She'll go to bed and dream of jealousy." + +Quitting her cousin, she went straight up to Henry Arkell. "Why do you +mope like this?" she cried. + +"Mope!" he repeated. + +He had been at another table leaning his head upon his hand. It was +aching much: and he told her so. + +"Oh, Harry, I am sorry; I forgot your fall. Will you sing a song?" + +"I don't think I can to-night." + +"But papa has been talking to the judges about it. I heard him say your +singing was worth listening to. I suppose he had been telling them all +about you, and the whole romance, you know, of Mrs. Peter Arkell's +marriage, for one of them--it was the old one--said he used to be +intimate with her father, Colonel Cheveley. Here comes the dean! that's +to ask you to sing." + +He sat down at once, and sang a song of the day. Then he went on to one +that I dare say you all know and like--"Shall I, wasting in despair." At +its conclusion one of the judges--it was the old one, as Georgina +irreverently called him--came to him at the piano, and asked if he could +sing Luther's Hymn. + +A few chords by way of prelude, lasting some few minutes, probably +played to form a break between the worldly song and the sacred one--for +if anyone was ever endowed with an innate sense of what was due to +sacred things, it was Henry Arkell--and then the grand old hymn, in all +its beautiful simplicity, burst upon their ears. Never had it been done +greater justice to than it was by that solitary college boy. The room +was hushed to stillness; the walls echoed with the sweet sounds; the +solemn words thrilled on the listeners' hearts, and the singer's whole +soul seemed to go up with them. Oh, how strange it was, that the judge +should have called for that particular, sacred song! + +The echoes of it died away in the deepest stillness. It was broken by +Henry himself; he closed the piano, as if nothing else must be allowed +to come after that; and the tacit mandate was accepted, and nobody +thought of inquiring how he came to assume the liberty in the dean's +house. + +Gradually the room resumed its humming and its self-absorption, and +Georgina Beauclerc, under cover of it, went up to him. + +"How could you make the excuse that your head was aching? None, with any +sort of sickness upon them, could sing as you have just done." + +"Not even with heart sickness," he answered. + +"Now you are going to be absurd again! What do you mean?" + +"To-night has taught me a great deal, Georgina. If I have been foolish +enough--fond enough, I might say--to waver in my doubts before, that's +over for ever." + +"So much the better; you will be cured now." + +She had spoken only lightly, not meaning to be unkind or unfeeling; but +she saw what she had done, by his quivering lip. Leaning across him as +he stood, under cover of showing him something on the table, she spoke +in a deep, earnest tone. + +"Henry, you know it could never be. Better that you should see the truth +now, than go on in this dream of folly. Stay away for a short while if +you will, and overget it; and then we will be fast friends as before." + +"And this is to be the final ending?" + +She stole a glance round at him, his voice had so strange a sound in it. +Every trace of colour had faded from his face. + +"Yes; it is the only possible ending. If you get on well and become +somebody grand, you and I can be as brother and sister in after life." + +She moved away as she spoke. It may be that she saw further trifling +would not do. But even in the last sentence, thoughtlessly though she +had spoken it, there was an implied consciousness of the wide difference +in their social standing, all too prominent to that sensitive ear. + +A minute afterwards St. John looked round for him, and could not see +him. + +"Where's Henry Arkell?" he asked of Georgina. + +She looked round also. + +"He is gone, I suppose," she answered. "He was in one of his stupid +moods to-night." + +"That's something new for him. Stupid?" + +"I used the word in a wide sense. Crazy would have been better." + +"What do you mean, Georgina?" + +"He is a little crazy at times--to me. There! that's all I am going to +tell you: you are not my father confessor." + +"True," he said; "but I think I understand without confession. Take +care, Georgina." + +"Take care of what?" + +"Of--I may as well say it--of exciting hopes that are most unlikely to +be realized. Better play a true part than a false one." + +She laughed a little saucy laugh. + +"Don't you think I might turn the tables and warn you of that? What +false hopes are you exciting, Mr. St. John?" + +"None," he answered. "It is not in my nature to be false, even in +sport." + +Her laugh changed to one of derision; and Mr. St. John, disliking the +sound, disliking the words, turned from her, and joined the dean, who +was then deep in a discussion with one of the judges. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +THE SHADOW OF DEATH. + + +The days went on; and the dull, heavy pain in the head, complained of by +Henry Arkell, increased in intensity. At first his absence from his desk +at school, his vacant place at college, excited comment, but in time, as +the newness of it wore off, it grew to be no longer noticed. It is so +with all things. On the afternoon of the fall, the family surgeon was +called in to him: he saw no cause for apprehension, he said; the head +only required rest. It might have been better, perhaps, had the head +(including the body and brain) been able to take the recommended rest; +but it could not. On the Monday morning came the excitement of the medal +affair, as related to him by Mr. St. John, and also by many of the +school; in the evening there occurred the excitement of that business of +the register; the interview with the Prattletons, and subsequently with +Mr. Fauntleroy. On the next day he had to appear as a witness; and then +came the deanery dinner in the evening and Georgina Beauclerc. All +sources of great and unwonted excitement, had he been in his usual state +of health: what it was to him now, never could be ascertained. + +As the days went on, and the pain grew no better, but worse, and the +patient more heavy, it dawned into the surgeon's mind that he possibly +did not understand the case, and it might be as well to have the advice +of a physician. The most clever the city afforded was summoned, and he +did not appear to understand it either. That there was some internal +injury to the head, both agreed; but what it might be, it was not so +easy to state. And thus more days crept on, and the doctors paid their +regular visits, and the pain still grew worse; and then the +half-shadowed doubt glided into a certainty which had little shadow +about it, but stern substance--that the injury was rapidly running on to +a fatal issue. + +He did not take to his bed: he would sit at his chamber window in an +easy chair, his poor aching-head resting on a pillow. "You would be +better in bed," everybody said to him. "No, he thought he was best up," +he answered; "it was more change: when he was tired of the chair and the +pillow, he could lie down outside the bed." "It is unaccountable his +liking to be so much at the window," Mrs. Peter Arkell remarked to Lucy. +To them it might be; for how could they know that a sight of _one_ who +might pass and cast a glance up to him, made his day's happiness? + +That considerable commotion was excited by the opinion of the doctors, +however cautiously intimated, was only to be expected. Mr. Arkell heard +of it, and brought another physician, without saying anything beforehand +at Peter's. But it would seem that this gentleman's opinion did not +differ in any material degree from that of his brethren. + +The Reverend Mr. Wilberforce sat at the head of his dinner-table, eating +his own dinner and carving for his pupils. His face looked hot and +angry, and his spectacles were pushed to the top of his brow, for if +there was one thing more than another that excited the ire of the +master, it was that of the boys being unpunctual at meals, and Cookesley +had this day chosen to be absent. The second serving of boiled beef was +going round when he made his appearance. + +"What sort of behaviour do you call this, sir?" was the master's +salutation. "Do you expect to get any dinner?" + +"I am very sorry to be so late, sir," replied Cookesley, eyeing the +boiled beef wishfully, but not daring to take his seat. "I went to see +Arkell, and----" + +"And who is Arkell, pray, or you either, that you must upset the +regulations of my house?" retorted the master. "You should choose your +visiting times better, Mr. Cookesley." + +"Yes, sir. I heard he was worse; that's the reason I went; and when I +got there the dean was with him. I waited, and waited, but I had to come +away without seeing Arkell, after all." + +"The dean with Arkell!" echoed Mr. Wilberforce, in a disbelieving tone. + +"He is there still, sir. Arkell is a great deal worse. They say he will +never come to school or college again." + +"Who says so, pray?" + +"Everybody's saying it now," returned Cookesley. "There's something +wrong with his head, sir; some internal injury caused by the fall; but +they don't know whether it's an abscess, or what it is. It will kill +him, they think." + +The master's wrath had faded: truth to say, his anger was generally more +fierce in show than in reality. "You may take your seat for this once, +Cookesley, but if ever you transgress again----Hallo!" broke off the +master, as he cast his eyes on another of his pupils, "what's the matter +with you, Lewis junior? Are you choking, sir?" + +Lewis junior was choking, or gasping, or something of the sort, for his +face was distorted, and his eyes were round with seeming fright. "What +is it?" angrily repeated the master. + +"It was the piece of meat, sir," gasped Lewis. A ready excuse. + +"No it wasn't," put in Vaughan the bright, who sat next to Lewis junior. +"Here's the piece of meat you were going to eat; it dropped off the fork +on to your plate again; it couldn't be the meat. He's choking at +nothing, sir." + +"Then, if you must choke, you had better go and choke outside, and come +back when it's over," said the master to Lewis. And away Lewis went; +none guessing at the fear and horror which had taken possession of him. + +The assize week had passed, and the week following it, and still Henry +Arkell had not made his appearance in the cathedral or the school. The +master could not make it out. Was it likely that the effects of a fall, +which broke no bones, bruised no limbs, only told somewhat heavily upon +his head, should last all this while, and incapacitate him from his +duties? Had it been any other of the king's scholars, no matter which of +the whole thirty-nine Mr. Wilberforce would have said that he was +skulking, and sent a sharp mandate for him to appear in his place; but +he thought he knew better things of Henry Arkell. He did not much like +what Cookesley said now--that Arkell might never come out again, though +he received the information with disbelief. + +Mr. St. John was a daily visitor to the invalid. On the day before this, +when he entered, Henry was at his usual post, the window, but standing +up, his head resting against the frame, and his eyes strained after some +distant object outside. So absorbed was he, that Mr. St. John had to +touch his arm to draw his attention, and Henry drew back with a start. + +"How are you to-day, Harry? Better?" + +"No, thank you. This curious pain in my head gets worse." + +"Why do you call it curious?" + +"It is not like an ordinary pain. And I cannot tell exactly where it is. +I cannot put my hand on any part of my head and say it is here or it is +there. It seems to be in the centre of the inside--as if it could not be +got at." + +"What were you watching so eagerly?" + +"I was looking outside," was Henry's evasive reply. "They had Dr. Ware +to me this morning; did you know it?" + +"I am glad of that!" exclaimed Mr. St. John. "What does he say?" + +"I did not hear him say much. He asked me where my head was struck when +I fell, but I could not tell him--I did not know at the time, you +remember. He and Mr.----" + +Henry's voice faltered. A sudden, almost imperceptible, movement of the +head nearer the window, and a wild accession of colour to his feverish +cheek, betrayed to Mr. St. John that something was passing which bore +for him a deep interest. He raised his own head and caught a sufficient +glimpse: _Georgina Beauclerc_. + +It told Mr. St. John all: though he had not needed to be told; and Miss +Beauclerc's mysterious words, and Henry's past conduct became clear to +him. So! the boy's heart had been thus early awakened--and crushed. + + "The heart that is soonest awake to the flowers + Is always the first to be touched by the thorns," + +whistled Mr. St. John to himself. + +Ay, crushing is as sure to follow that _early_ awaking, as that thorns +grow on certain rose-trees. But Mr. St. John said nothing more that day. + +On the following day, upon going in, he found Henry in bed. + +"Like a sensible man as you are," quoth Mr. St. John, by way of +salutation. "Now don't rise from it again until you are better." + +Henry looked at him, an expression in his eyes that Mr. St. John did not +like, and did not understand. "Did they tell you anything downstairs, +Mr. St. John?" he inquired. + +"I did not see anyone but the servant. I came straight up." + +"Mamma is lying down, I dare say; she has been sitting with me part of +the night. Then I will tell it you. I shall not be here many days," he +whispered, putting his hand within Mr. St. John's. + +Mr. St. John did not take the meaning: that the case would have a fatal +termination had not yet crossed his mind. "Where shall you be?" cried +he, gaily, "up in the moon?" + +Henry sighed. "Up somewhere. I am going to die." + +"Going to what?" was the angry response. + +"I am dying, Mr. St. John." + +Mr. St. John's pulses stood still. "Who has been putting that rubbish in +your head?" cried he, when he recovered them sufficiently to speak. + +"The doctors told my father yesterday evening, that as I went on, like +this, from bad to worse, without their being able to discover the true +nature of the case, they saw that it must terminate fatally. He knew +that they had feared it before. Afterwards mamma came and broke it to +me." + +"Why did she do so?" involuntarily uttered Mr. St. John, in an accent of +reproach. "Though their opinion may be unfavourable--which I don't +believe, mind--they had no right to frighten you with it." + +"It does not frighten me. Just at first I shrank from the news, but I am +quite reconciled to it now. A faint idea that this might be the ending, +has been running through my own mind for some days past, though I would +not dwell on it sufficiently to give it a form." + +"I am _astonished_ that Mrs. Arkell should have imparted it to you!" +emphatically repeated Mr. St. John. "What could she have been thinking +of?" + +"Oh, Mr. St. John! mamma has striven to bring us up not to fear death. +What would have been the use of her lessons, had she thought I should +run in terror from it when it came?" + +"She ought not to have told you--she ought not to have told you!" was +the continued burden of Mr. St. John's song. "You may get well yet." + +"Then there is no harm done. But, with death near, would you have had +me, the only one it concerns, left in ignorance to meet it, not knowing +it was there? Mamma has not waited herself for death--as she has done, +you know, for years--without learning a better creed than that." + +Mr. St. John made no reply, and Henry went on: "I have had such a +pleasant night with mamma. She read to me parts of the Revelation; and +in talking of the glories which I may soon see, will you believe that I +almost forgot my pain? She says how thankful she is now, that she has +been enabled to train me up more carefully than many boys are +trained--to think more of God." + +"You are a strange boy," interrupted Sir. St. John. + +"In what way am I strange?" + +"To anticipate death in that tone of cool ease. Have you no regrets to +leave behind you?" + +"Many regrets; but they seemed to fade into insignificance last night, +while mamma was talking with me. It is best that they should." + +"Henry, it strikes me that you have had your griefs and troubles, +inexperienced as you are," resumed Mr. St. John. + +"Oh yes, I have," he answered, betrayed into an earnestness, +incompatible with cautious reserve. "Some of the college boys have not +suffered me to lead a pleasant life with them," he continued, more +calmly; "and then there has been my father's gradually straitening +income." + +"I think there must have been some other grief than these," was Mr. St. +John's remark. + +"What other grief could there have been?" + +"I know but of one. And you are over young for that." + +"Of course I am; too young," was the eager answer. + +"That is enough," quietly returned Mr. St. John; "I did not _tell_ you +to betray yourself. Nay, Henry, don't shrink from me; let me hear it: it +will be better and happier for you that I should." + +"There is nothing--I don't know what you mean--what are you talking of, +Mr. St. John?" was the incoherent answer. + +"Harry, my poor boy, I know almost as much as you," he whispered. "I +know what it is, and who it is. Georgie Beauclerc. There; you cannot +tell me much, you see." + +Henry Arkell laid his hand across his face and aching eyes; his chest +was heaving with emotion. Mr. St. John leaned over him, not less +tenderly than a mother. + +"You should not have wasted your love upon _her_: she is a heartless +girl. I expect she drew you on, and then turned round and said she did +not mean it." + +"Oh yes, she did draw me on," he replied, in a tone full of anguish; +"otherwise, I never----But it was my fault also. I ought to have +remembered the many barriers that divided us; the----" + +"You ought to have remembered that she is an incorrigible flirt, that is +what you ought to have remembered," interrupted Mr. St. John. + +"Well, well," sighed Henry, "I cannot speak of these things to you: less +to you than to any one." + +"Is that an enigma? I should think you could best speak of them to me, +because I have guessed your secret, and the ice is broken." + +Again Henry Arkell sighed. "Speaking of them at all will do no good; and +I would now rather think of the future than of the past. My future lies +there," he added, pointing to the blue sky, which, as seen from his +window, formed a canopy over the cathedral tower. "She has, in all +probability, many years before her here: Mr. St. John, if she and you +spend those years together, will you sometimes talk of me? I should not +like to be quite forgotten by you--or by her." + +"Spend them together!" he echoed. "Another enigma. What should bring me +spending my years with Georgina Beauclerc?" + +Henry withdrew his hands from his eyes, and turned them on Mr. St. John. +"Do you think she will never be your wife?" + +"She! Georgina Beauclerc! No, thank you." + +Henry Arkell's face wore an expression that Mr. St. John understood not. +"It was for your sake she treated me so ill. She loves you, Mr. St. +John. And I think you know it." + +"She is a little simpleton. I would not marry Georgie Beauclerc if there +were not another English girl extant. And as to loving her----Harry, I +only wish, if we are to lose you, that I loved you but one tenth part as +little." + +"Sorrow in store for her! sorrow in store for her!" he murmured, as he +turned his face to the pillow. "I must send her a message before I die: +you will deliver it for me?" + +"I won't have you talk about dying," retorted Mr. St. John. "You may get +well yet, I tell you." + +Henry opened his eyes again to reply, and the calm peace had returned to +them. "It maybe _very_ soon; and it is better to talk of death than to +shrink from it." And Mr. St. John grumbled an ungracious acquiescence. + +"And there is another thing I wish you would do for me: get Lewis junior +here to-day. If I send to him, I know he will not come; but I must see +him. Tell him, please, that it is only to shake hands and make friends; +that I will not say a word to grieve him. He will understand." + +"It's more than I do," said Mr. St. John. "He shall come." + +"I should like to see Aultane--but I don't think my head will stand it +all. Tell him from me, not to be harsh with the choristers now he is +senior----" + +"He is not senior yet," interposed Mr. St. John in a husky tone. + +"It will not be long first. Give him my love, and tell him, when I sent +it, I meant it fully; and that I have no angry feeling towards him." + +"Your love?" + +"Yes. It is not an ordinary message from one college boy to another," +panted the lad, "but I am dying." + +After Mr. St. John left the house, he encountered the dean. "Dr. +Beauclerc, Henry Arkell is dying." + +The dean stared at Mr. St. John. "Dying! Henry Arkell!" + +"The inward injury to the head is now pronounced by the doctors to be a +fatal one. They told the family last night there was little, if any, +more hope. The boy knows it, and seems quite reconciled." + +The dean, without another word or question, turned immediately off to +Mr. Arkell's, and Westerbury as immediately turned its aristocratic nose +up. "The idea of his condescending to enter the house of those poor +Arkells! had it been the other branch of the Arkell family, it would not +have been quite so lowering. But Dr. Beauclerc never did display the +dignity properly pertaining to a dean." + +Dr. Beauclerc, forgetful as usual of a dean's dignity, was shown into +Mrs. Arkell's parlour, and from thence into Henry Arkell's chamber. The +boy's ever lovely face flushed crimson, from its white pillow, when he +saw the dean. "Oh, sir! you to come here! how kind!" + +"I am sorry for this, my poor lad," said the dean, as he sat down. "I +hear you are not so well: I have just met Mr. St. John." + +"I shall never be well again, sir. But do not be sorry. I shall be +better off; far, far happier than I could be here." + +"Do you feel this, genuinely, heartily?" questioned the dean. + +"Oh yes, how can I do otherwise than feel it? If it is God's will to +take me, I know it must be for my good." + +"Say that again," said the dean. "I do not know that I fully caught your +meaning." + +"I am in God's hands: and if He takes me to Him earlier than I thought +to have gone, I know it must be for the best." + +"How long have you reposed so firm a trust in God?" + +"All my life," answered Henry, with simplicity: "mamma taught me that +with my letters. She taught me to take God for my guide; to strive to +please Him; implicitly to trust in Him." + +"And you have done this?" + +"Oh no, sir, I have only tried to do it. But I know that there is One to +intercede for me." + +"Have you sure and certain trust in Christ?" returned the dean, after a +pause. + +"I have sure and certain trust in Him," was the boy's reply, spoken +fervently: "if I had not, I should not dare to die. I wish I might have +received the Sacrament," he whispered; "but I have not been confirmed." + +"Henry," said the dean, in his quick manner, "I do believe you are more +fitted for it than are some who take it. Would it be a comfort to you?" + +"It would indeed, sir." + +"Then I will come and administer it. At seven to-night, if that hour +will suit your friends. I will ascertain when I go down." + +"Oh, sir, you are too good," he exclaimed, in his surprise: "mamma +thought of asking Mr. Prattleton. I am but a poor college boy, and you +are the Dean of Westerbury." + +"Just so. But when the great King of Terrors approaches, as he is now +approaching you, it makes us remember that in Christ's kingdom the poor +college boy may stand higher than the Dean of Westerbury. Henry, I have +watched your conduct more than you are aware of, and I believe you to +have been as truly good a boy as it is in human nature to be: I believe +that you have continuously striven to please God, in little things as in +great." + +"If I could but have done it more than I have!" thought the boy. + +It was during this interview that Mr. Cookesley arrived; and, as you +have seen, nearly lost his dinner. As soon as the boys rose from table, +they, full of consternation, trooped down to Arkell's, picking up +several more of the king's scholars on their way, who were not boarders +at the house of Mr. Wilberforce. The dean had gone then, but Mr. St. +John was at the door, having called again to inquire whether there was +any change. He cast his eyes on the noisy boys, as they approached the +gate, and discerned amongst them Lewis junior. Mr. St. John stepped +outside, and pounced upon him, with a view to marshal him in. But Lewis +resisted violently; ay, and shook and trembled like a girl. + +"I will not go into Arkell's, sir," he panted. "You have no right to +force me. I won't! I won't!" + +He struggled on to his knees, and clasped a deep-seated stone in the +Arkells' garden for support. Mr. St. John, not releasing his collar, +looked at him with amazement, and the troop of boys watched the scene +over the iron railings. + +"Lewis, what is the meaning of this?" cried Mr. St. John. "You are +panting like a coward; and a guilty one: What are you afraid of?" + +"I'm afraid of nothing, but I won't go into Arkell's. I don't want to +see him. Let me go, sir. Though you are Mr. St. John, that's no reason +why you should set up for master over the college boys." + +"I am master over you just now," was the significant answer. "Listen: I +have promised Arkell to take you to him, and I will do it: you may have +heard, possibly, that the St. Johns never break their word. But Arkell +has sent for you in kindness: he appeared to expect this opposition, and +bade me tell it you: he wants to clasp your hand in friendship before he +dies. Walk on, Lewis." + +"You are not master over us boys," shrieked Lewis again, whose +opposition had increased to sobs. + +But Mr. St. John proved his mastership. Partly; by coaxing, partly by +authoritative force, he conducted Mr. Lewis to the door of Henry's +chamber. There Lewis seized his arm in abject terror; he had turned +ghastly white, and his teeth chattered. + +"I cannot fathom this," said Mr. St. John, wondering much. "Have I not +told you there is nothing to fear? What is it that you do fear?" + +"No; but does he look very frightful?" chattered Lewis. + +"What should make him look frightful? He looks as he has always looked. +Be off in; and I'll keep the door, if you want to talk secrets." + +Mr. St. John pushed him in, and closed the door upon them. Henry held +out his hand, and spoke a few hearty words of love and forgiveness; and +Lewis put his face down on the counterpane and began to howl. + +"Lewis, take comfort. It was done, I know, in the impulse of the moment, +and you never thought it would hurt me seriously. I freely forgive you." + +"Are you sure to die?" sobbed Lewis. + +"I think I am. The doctors say so." + +"O-o-o-o-o-o-h!" howled Lewis; "then I know you'll come back and haunt +me with being your murderer: Prattleton junior says you will. He saw it +done, so he knows about it. I shall never be able to sleep at night, for +fear." + +"Now, Lewis, don't be foolish. I shall be too happy where I am, to come +back to earth. No one knows how it happened: you say Prattleton does, +but he is your friend, and it is safe with him. Take comfort." + +"Some of us have been so wicked and malicious to you!" blubbered Lewis. +"I, and my brother, and Aultane, and a lot of them." + +"It is all over now," sighed Henry, closing his heavy eyes. "You would +not, had you foreseen that I should leave you so soon." + +"Oh, what a horrid wretch I have been!" sobbed Lewis, rubbing his +smeared face on the white bedclothes, in an agony. "And, if it's found +out, they might try me next assizes and hang me. And it is such a +dreadful thing for you to die!" + +"It is a _happy_ thing, Lewis; I feel it is, and I have told the dean I +feel it. Say good-bye to the fellows for me, Lewis; I am too ill to see +them. Tell them how sorry I am to leave them; but we shall meet again in +heaven." + +Lewis grasped his offered hand, and, with a hasty, sheepish movement, +leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek: then turned and burst out of +the room, nearly upsetting Mr. St. John, and tore down the stairs. Mr. +St. John entered the chamber. + +"Well, is the conference satisfactorily over?" + +Again Henry reopened his heavy eyes. "Is that you, Mr. St. John?" + +"Yes, I am here." + +"The dean is coming here this evening at seven, for the sacrament. He +said my not being confirmed was no matter in a case like this. Will you +come?" + +"Henry, no," was the grave answer. "I am not good enough." + +"Oh, Mr. St. John!" The ready tears filled his eyes. "I wish you could!" +he beseechingly whispered. + +"I wish so too. Are you distressed for me, Henry? Do not look upon me as +a monster of iniquity: I did not mean to imply it. But I do not yet +think sufficiently of serious things to be justified in partaking of +that ordinance without preparation." + +"It would have seemed like a bond of union between us--a promise that +you will some time join me where I am going," pleaded the dying boy. + +"I hope I shall: I trust I shall: I will not forget that you are there." + +As Mr. St. John left the house, he made his way to the grounds, in a +reflective mood: the cathedral bell was then ringing for afternoon +service, and, somewhat to his surprise, he saw the dean hurrying from +the college; not to it. + +"I'm on my way back to Arkell's! I'm on my way back to Arkell's!" he +exclaimed, in an impetuous manner; and forthwith he began recounting a +history to Mr. St. John; a history of wrong, which filled him, the dean, +with indignation. + +"I suspected something of the sort," was Mr. St. John's quiet answer; +and the dean strode on his way, and Mr. St. John stood looking after +him, in painful thought. When the dean came out of Mr. Peter Arkell's +again, he was too late for service that afternoon. Although he was in +residence! + +Just in the unprepared and sudden manner that the news of Henry Arkell's +approaching death must have fallen upon my readers, so did it fall upon +the town. People could not believe it: his friends could not believe it: +the doctors scarcely believed it. The day wore on; and whether there may +have lingered any hope in the morning, the evening closed it, for it +brought additional agony to his injured head, and the most sanguine saw +that he was dying. + +All things were prepared for the service, about to take place, and Henry +lay flushed, feverish, and restless, lest he should become delirious ere +the hour should arrive: he had become so rapidly worse since the +forepart of the day. Precisely as the cathedral clock struck seven, the +house door was thrown open, and the dean placed his foot on the +threshold: + +"PEACE BE UNTO THIS HOUSE, AND TO ALL THAT DWELL WITHIN IT!" + +The dean was attended to the chamber, and there he commenced the office +for the Visitation of the Sick, omitting part of the exhortation, but +reading the prayer for a soul on the point of departure. Then he +proceeded with the Communion. + +When the service was over, all, save Mrs. Arkell and the dean, quitted +the room. Henry's mind was tranquil now. + +"I will not forget your request," whispered the dean. + +"Near to the college door, as we enter," was Henry's response. + +"It shall be done as you wish, my dear." + +"And, sir, you have _promised_ to forgive them." + +"For your sake. You are suffering much just now," added the dean, as he +watched his countenance. + +"It gets more intense with every hour. I cannot bear it much longer. Oh, +I hope I shall not suffer beyond my strength!" he panted; "I hope I +shall be able to bear the agony!" + +"Do not fear it. You know where to look for help!" whispered the dean; +"you cannot look in vain. Henry, my dear boy, I leave you in peace, do I +not?" + +"Oh yes, sir, in perfect peace. Thank you greatly for all." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE GRAVESTONE IN THE CLOISTERS. + + +It was the brightest day, though March was not yet out, the first warm, +lovely day of spring. Men passed each other in the streets, with a +congratulation that the winter weather had gone, and the college boys, +penned up in their large schoolroom, gazed aloft through the high +windows at the blue sky and the sunshine, and thought what a shame it +was that they should be held prisoners on such a days instead of +galloping over the country at "Hare and Hounds." + +"Third Latin class walk up," cried Mr. Wilberforce. + +The third Latin class walked up, and ranged itself in front of the +master's desk. "Who's top of this class?" asked he. + +"Me, sir," replied the gentleman who owned that distinction. + +"Who's 'me' sir?" + +"Me, sir." + +"Who _is_ 'me,' sir?" angrily repeated the master, his spectacles +bearing full on his wondering pupil. + +"Charles Van Brummel, sir," returned that renowned scholar. + +"Then go down to the bottom for saying 'me.'" + +Mr. Van Brummel went down, considerably chopfallen, and the master was +proceeding to work, when the cathedral bell tolled out heavily, for a +soul recently departed. + +"What's that?" abruptly ejaculated the master. + +"It's the college death-bell, sir," called out the up class, +simultaneously, Van Brummel excepted, who had not yet recovered his +equanimity. + +"I hear what it is as well as you," were all the thanks they got. "But +what can it be tolling for? Nobody was ill." + +"Nobody," echoed the boys. + +"Can it be a member of the Royal Family?" wondered the master--the +bishop and the dean he knew were well. "If not, it must be one of the +canons." + +Of course it must! for the college bell never condescended to toll for +any of the profane vulgar. The Royal Family, the bishop, dean, and +prebendaries, were the only defunct lights, honoured by the notice of +the passing-bell of Westerbury Cathedral. + +"Lewis junior," said the master, "go into college, and ask the bedesmen +who it is that is dead." + +Lewis junior clattered out. When he came back he walked very softly, and +looked as white as a sheet. + +"Well?" cried Mr. Wilberforce--for Lewis did not speak. + +"It's tolling for Henry Arkell, sir." + +"Henry Arkell!" uttered the master. "Is he really dead? Are you ill, +Lewis junior? What's the matter?" + +"Nothing, sir." + +"But it is an entirely unprecedented proceeding for the cathedral bell +to toll for a college boy," repeated Mr. Wilberforce, revolving the +news. "The old bedesmen must be making some mistake. Half of them are +deaf, and the other half are stupid. I shall send to inquire: we must +have no irregularity about these things. Lewis junior." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Lewis junior, you are ill, sir," repeated the master, sharply. "Don't +say you are not. Sit down, sir." + +Lewis junior humbly sat down. He appeared to have the ague. + +"Van Brummel, you'll do," continued Mr. Wilberforce. "Go and inquire of +the bedesmen whether they have received orders; and, if so, from whom: +and whether it is really Arkell that the bell is tolling for." + +Van Brummel opened the door and clattered down the stairs, as Lewis +junior had done; and _he_ clattered back again. + +"The men say, sir, that the dean sent them the orders by his servant. +And they think Arkell is to be buried in the cathedral." + +"In--deed!" was the master's comment, in a tone of doubt. "Poor fellow!" +he added, after a pause, "his has been a sudden and melancholy ending. +Boys, if you want to do well, you should imitate Henry Arkell. I can +tell you that the best boy who ever trod these boards, as a foundation +scholar, has now gone from among us." + +"Please, sir, I'm senior of the choir now," interposed Aultane junior, +as if fearing the master might not sufficiently remember that important +fact. + +"And a fine senior you'll make," scornfully retorted Mr. Wilberforce. + +It was Mr. St. John who had taken the news of his death to the dean, and +the latter immediately sent to order the bell to be tolled. St. John +left the deanery, and was passing through the cloisters on his way to +Hall-street, when he saw in the distance Mrs. and Miss Beauclerc, just +as the cathedral bell rang out. Mrs. Beauclerc was startled, as the head +master had been: her fears flew towards her aristocratic clergy friends. +She tried the college door, and, finding it open, entered to make +inquiries of the bedesmen. Georgina stopped to chatter to Mr. St. John. + +"Fancy, if it should be old Ferraday gone off!" cried she. "Won't the +boys crow? He has got the influenza, and was sitting by his study fire +yesterday in a flannel nightcap." + +"It is the death-bell for Henry Arkell, Georgina." + +A vivid emotion dyed her face. She was vexed that it should be apparent +to Mr. St. John, and would have carried it off under an assumption of +indifference. + +"When did he die? Did he suffer much?" + +"He died at a quarter past eleven; about twenty minutes ago. And he did +not suffer so much at the last as was anticipated." + +"Well, poor fellow, I hope he is happy." + +"That he is," warmly responded Mr. St. John. "He died in perfect peace. +May you and I be as peaceful, Georgina, when our time shall come." + +"What a blow it must be to Mrs. Arkell!" + +"I saw her as I came out of the house just now, and I could not help +venturing on a word of entreaty, that she would not grieve his loss too +deeply. She raised her beautiful eyes to me, and I cannot describe to +you the light, the faith, that shone in them. 'Not lost,' she gently +whispered, 'only gone before.'" + +Georgina had kept her face turned from the view of Mr. St. John. She was +gazing through her glistening eyes at the graveyard, which was enclosed +by the cloisters. + +"What possesses the college bell to toll for him?" she exclaimed, +carelessly, to cover her emotion. "I thought," she added, with a spice +of satire in her tone, "that there was an old curfew law, or something +as stringent, against its troubling itself for anybody less exalted than +a sleek old prebendary." + +Mr. St. John saw through the artifice: he approached her, and lowered +his voice. "Georgina, he sent you his forgiveness for any unkindness +that may have passed. He sent you his love: and he hopes you will +sometimes recal him to your remembrance, when you walk over his grave, +as you go into college." + +Surprise made her turn to Mr. St. John: but she wilfully ignored the +first part of the sentence. "Over his grave! I do not understand." + +"He is to be buried in the cloisters, near to this entrance-door, near +to where we are now standing. There appears to be a vacant space here," +cried Mr. St. John, looking down at his feet: "I dare say it will be in +this very spot." + +"By whose decision is he to be buried in the cloisters?" quickly asked +Georgina. + +"The dean's, of course. Henry craved it of him." + +"I wonder papa did not tell me! What a singular fancy of Henry's!" + +"I do not think so. It was natural that he should wish his last +resting-place to be amidst old associations, amidst his old companions; +and near to _you_, Georgina." + +"There! I knew what you were driving at," returned Georgina, in a +pouting, wilful tone. "You are going to accuse me of breaking his heart, +or some such obsolete nonsense: I assure you I never----" + +"Stay, Georgina; I do not care to hear this. I have delivered his +message to you, and there let it end." + +"You are as stupid and fanciful as he was," retorted Miss Beauclerc. + +"Not quite so stupid in one respect, for he was blind to your faults; I +am not. And never shall be," he added, in a tone of significance which +caused the life-blood at Georgina's heart to stand still. + +But she could not keep it up--the assumption of indifference, the +apparent levity. The death was telling upon her, and she burst into +hysterical tears. At that moment, Lewis junior passed them, and swung in +at the cathedral door, on the master's errand, meeting Mrs. Beauclerc, +who was coming out. + +"Tell mamma I'm gone home," whispered Georgina to Mr. St. John, as she +disappeared in the opposite direction. + +"Arkell is dead, Mr. St. John," observed Mrs. Beauclerc. "The bell is +tolling for him. I wonder the dean ordered the bell to toll for _him_: +it will cause quite a commotion in the city to hear the college +death-bell." + +"He is to be buried here, in the cloisters, Mrs. Beauclerc." + +"Really! Will the dean allow it?" + +"The dean has decided it." + +"Oh, indeed. I never understand half the dean does." + +"So your companion is gone, Lewis junior," observed Mr. St. John, as the +boy came stealing out of the college with his information. But Lewis +never answered: and though he touched his forehead (he had no cap on) to +the dean's wife, he never raised his eyes; but sneaked on, with his +ghastly face, and his head bent down. + +Those of the college boys who wished it went to see him in his coffin. +Georgina Beauclerc also went. She told the dean, in a straightforward +manner, that she should like to see Henry Arkell now he lay dead; and +the dean saw no reason for refusing. The death had sobered Miss +Beauclerc; but whatever feeling of remorse she might be conscious of, +was hidden within her. + +"You will not be frightened, I suppose, Georgina?" said the dean, in +some indecision. "Did you ever see anybody dead?" + +"I saw that old gardener of ours that died at the rectory, papa. I was +frightened at him; a frightful old yellow scarecrow he looked. Henry +Arkell won't look like that. Papa, I wish those wicked college boys who +were his enemies could be hung!" + +"Do you, Georgina?" gravely returned the dean. "_He_ did not wish it; he +forgave and prayed for them." + +"They were so very----" + +She could not finish the sentence. The reference to the schoolboys +brought too vividly the past before her, and she rushed away to her own +room, bursting with the tears she had to suppress until she got there. + +It seemed that her whole heart must burst with grief, too, as she stood +in the presence of the corpse. She had asked St. John to go with her; +and the two were alone in the room. Save for the ashy paleness, Henry +looked just as beautiful as he had been in life: the marble lids were +closed over the brilliant eyes, never to open again in this life; the +once warm hands lay cold and useless now. Some one--perhaps his +mother--had placed in one of the hands a sprig of pink hyacinth; some +was also strewed on the breast of the flannel shroud. The perfume came +all-powerfully to their senses; and never afterwards did Georgina +Beauclerc come near the scent of that flower, death-like enough in +itself, but it brought all-forcibly to her memory the death-chamber of +Henry Arkell. + +She stood, leaning over the side of the coffin, sobbing painfully. The +trestles were very low, so that it was much beneath her as she stood. +St. John stood opposite, still and calm. + +"He loved you very much, Georgina--as few can love in this world. You +best know how you requited him." + +Perhaps it was a harsh word to say in the midst of her grief; but St. +John could not forgive her for the past, whatever Henry had done. She +bent her brow down on the coffin, and sobbed wildly. + +"Still, you made the sunshine of his life. He would have lived it over +again, if he could, because you had been in it. You had become part of +his very being; his whole heart was bound up in you. Better, therefore, +that he should be lying there, than have lived on to the future, to the +pain that it must, of necessity, have brought." + +"Don't!" she wailed, amid her choking sobs. + +Not another word was spoken. When she grew calm, Mr. St. John quitted +the room to descend--for she motioned to him to pass out first. +Then--alone--she bent down her lips to the face that could no longer +respond; and she felt, in the moment's emotion, as if her heart must +break. + +"Oh! Henry--my darling! I was very cruel to you! Forgive--forgive me! +But I did love you--though not as I love _him_." + +Mr. St. John was waiting for her below, on the landing, near the +drawing-room door. "You must pardon the family for not receiving you, +Georgina. Mrs. Arkell mentioned it to me this morning; but they are +overwhelmed with grief. It has been so unexpected, you see. Lucy is the +worst. Mrs. Arkell"--he compelled his voice to a lower whisper--"has an +idea that she will not be long behind him." + +The burial day of Henry Arkell arrived. The dean had commanded a holiday +from study, and that the king's scholars should attend the funeral. Just +before the hour appointed for it, half-past eleven, some of them took up +their station in the cloisters, in silent order, waiting to join the +procession when it should come, a bow of black crape being attached to +the left shoulder of their surplices. Sixteen of the king's scholars had +gone down to the house, as they were appointed to do. Mrs. Beauclerc, +her daughter, and the families of the prebendaries were already in the +cathedral; with some other spectators, who had got in under the pretext +of attending morning prayers, and who, when the prayers were over, had +refused to quit their seats again: of course the sextons could not +decently turn them out. Half a dozen ladies took up their station in the +organ-loft, to the inward wrath of the organist, who, however, had to +submit to the invasion with suavity, for one of them was the dean's +daughter. It was the best viewing place, commanding full sight of the +cathedral body and the nave on one side, and of the choir on the other. +The bell tolled at intervals, sending its deep, gloomy boom over the +town; and the spectators patiently waited. At length the first slow and +solemn note of the organ was sounded, and Georgina Beauclerc shrank into +a corner, contriving to see, and yet not be seen. + +From the small door, never used but upon the rare occasion of a funeral, +at the extremity of the long body of the cathedral, the procession +advanced at last. It was headed by the choristers, two and two, the lay +clerks, and the masters of the college school. The dean and one of the +canons walked next before the coffin, which was borne by eight of the +king's scholars, and the pall by eight more. Four mourners followed the +coffin--Peter Arkell, his cousin William, Travice, and Mr. St. John; and +the long line was brought up by the remainder of the king's scholars. So +slow was their advance, as to be almost imperceptible to the spectators, +the choir singing: + +"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth +in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and +believeth in me shall never die. + +"I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter +day upon the earth. And though after my skin worms destroy this body, +yet in my flesh shall I see God; whom I shall see for myself, and mine +eyes shall behold, and not another." + +The last time those words were sung in that cathedral, but some three +weeks past, it was by him over whom they were now being sung; the +thought flashed upon many a mind. At length the choir was reached, and +the coffin placed on the trestles; Georgina Beauclerc's eyes--she had +now come round to the front of the organ--being blinded with tears as +she looked down upon it. Mr. St. John glanced up, from his place by the +coffin, and saw her. Both the psalms were sung, and the dean himself +read the lessons; and it may as well be here remarked, that at afternoon +service the dean desired that Luther's hymn should be sung in place of +the usual anthem; some association with the last evening Henry had spent +at his house no doubt inducing it. + +The procession took its way back to the cloisters, to the grave, Mr. +Wilberforce officiating. The spectators followed in the wake. As the +coffin was lowered to its final resting-place--earth to earth, ashes to +ashes, dust to dust--the boys bowed their heads upon their clasped +hands, and some of them sobbed audibly; they felt all the worth of Henry +Arkell now that he was gone. The grave was made close to the cloister +entrance to the cathedral, in the spot where had stood Mr. St. John and +Georgina Beauclerc; where had once stood Georgina and Henry Arkell, the +day that wretched Lewis had wished him buried there. An awful sort of +feeling was upon Lewis now, as he remembered it. A few minutes, and it +was over. The dean turned into the chapter-house, the mourners moved +away, and the old bedesmen, in their black gowns, began to shovel in the +earth upon the coffin. Mr. Wilberforce, before moving, put up his finger +to Aultane, and the latter advanced. + +"You choristers are not to go back to the vestry now, but to come into +the hall in your surplices." + +Aultane wondered at the order, but communicated it to those under him. +When they entered the college hall, they found the king's scholars +ranged in a semicircle, and they fell in with them according to their +respective places in the school. The boys' white surplices and the bows +of crape presenting a curious contrast. + +"What are we stuck out like this for?" whispered one to the other. "For +show? What does Wilberforce want? He's sitting still, as if he waited +for somebody." + +"Be blest if I know," said Lewis junior, whose teeth were chattering. +"Unless it is to wind up with a funeral lecture." + +However, they soon did know. The dean entered the hall, wearing his +surplice, and carrying his official four-cornered cap. Mr. Wilberforce +rose to bow the dean into his own seat, but the dean preferred to stand. +He looked steadily at the circle before he spoke; sternly, some of them +thought; and they did not feel altogether at ease. + +"Boys!" began the dean. And there he stopped; and the boys lifted their +heads to listen to what might be coming. + +"Boys, our doings in this world bear a bias generally to good or to +evil, and they bring their consequences with them. Well-doing brings +contentment and inward satisfaction; but ill-doing as certainly brings +its day of retribution. The present day must be one of retribution to +some of you, unless you are so hardened in wickedness as to be callous +to conscience. How have----" + +The dean was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. St. John and Travice +Arkell. They took off their hats; and their streaming hatbands swept the +ground, as they advanced and stood by the dean. + +"Boys," he resumed, "how have you treated Henry Arkell? I do not speak +to all; I speak to some. Lewis senior, does your conscience prick you +for having fastened him in St. James's Church, in the dark and lonely +night? Aultane junior, does yours sting you for your insubordination to +him on Assize Sunday, when you exposed yourself so disgracefully to two +of the judges of the land, and for your malicious accusation of him to +Miss Beauclerc, followed by your pitiful complaint to me? Prattleton, +have you, as senior of the school, winked at the cabal against him?" + +The three boys hung their heads and their red ears: to judge by their +looks, their consciences were pricking them very sharply. + +"Lewis junior," resumed the dean, in a sudden manner, "of what does your +conscience accuse you?" + +Lewis junior turned sick, and his hair stood on end. He could not have +replied, had it been to save him from hanging. + +"Do you know that you are the cause of Henry Arkell's death?" continued +the dean, in a low but distinct accent, which penetrated the room. "And +that you might, in justice, be taken up as a murderer?" + +Lewis junior burst into a dismal howl, and fell down on his knees and +face, burying his forehead on the ground, and sticking up his surpliced +back; something after the manner of an ostrich. + +"It was the fall in the choir on Assize Sunday that killed Henry +Arkell," said the dean, looking round the hall; "that is, he has died +from the effects of the fall. You gentlemen are aware of it, I believe?" + +"Certainly they are, Mr. Dean," said the head master, wondering on his +own account, and answering the dean because the "gentlemen" did not. + +"He was thrown down," resumed the dean; "wilfully thrown down. And that +is the one who did it," pointing with his finger at Lewis junior. + +Two or three of the boys had been cognisant of the fact, as might be +seen from their scarlet faces; the rest wore a look of timid curiosity; +while Mr. Wilberforce's amazed spectacles wandered from the dean's +finger to the prostrate and howling Lewis. + +"Yes," said the dean, answering the various looks, "the author of Henry +Arkell's death is Lewis junior. You had better get up, sir." + +Lewis junior remained where he was, shaking his back as if it had been a +feather-bed, and emitting the most extraordinary groans. + +"Get up," cried the dean, sternly. + +There was no disobeying the tone, and Lewis raised himself. A pretty +object he looked, for the dye from his new black gloves had been washed +on to his face. + +"He told me he forgave me the day before he died; he said he had never +told any one, and never would," howled Lewis. "I didn't mean to hurt +him." + +"He never did tell," replied the dean: "he _bore_ his injuries, bore +them without retaliation. Is there another boy in the school who would +do that?" + +"No, that there is not," put in Mr. Wilberforce. + +"When you locked him in the church, Lewis senior, did he inform against +you? When you came to me with your cruel accusation, Aultane, did he +revenge himself by telling me of a far worse misdemeanour, which you had +been guilty of? Did he ever inform against any who injured him? No; +insults, annoyances, he bore all in silence, because he would not bring +trouble and punishment upon you. He was a noble boy," warmly continued +the dean: "and, what's more, he was a Christian one." + +"He said he would not tell of me," choked Lewis junior, "and now he has +gone and done it. O-o-o-o-o-o-h!" + +"He never told," quietly repeated the dean. "During the last afternoon +of his life, it came to my knowledge, subsequent to an interview I had +had with him, that Lewis junior had wilfully thrown him down, and I went +back to Arkell and taxed him with its being the fact. He could not deny +it, but the whole burden of his admission was, 'Oh, sir, forgive him! do +not punish him! I am dying, and I pray you to forgive him for my sake! +Forgive them all!' Do you think you deserve such clemency?" asked the +dean, in an altered tone. + +Lewis only howled the louder. + +"On his part, I offer you all his full and free forgiveness: Lewis +junior, do you hear? his full and free forgiveness. And I believe you +have also that of his parents." The dean looked at Travice Arkell, and +waited for him to speak. + +"A few hours only before Henry died, it came to Mr. Peter Arkell's +knowledge----" + +"I informed him," interrupted the dean. + +"Yes," resumed Travice. "The dean informed Mr. Arkell that Henry's fall +had not been accidental. But--as he had prayed the dean, so he prayed +his father, to forgive the culprit. Lewis junior, I am here on the part +of Mr. Arkell to offer his forgiveness to you." + +"I wish I could as easily accord mine," said the dean. "No punishment +will be inflicted on you, Lewis junior: not because no punishment, that +I or Mr. Wilberforce could command, is adequate to the crime, but that +his dying request, for your pardon, shall be complied with. If you have +any conscience at all, his fate will lie upon it for the remainder of +your life, and you will bear its remembrance about with you." + +Lewis bent down his head on the shoulder nearest to him, and his howls +changed into sobs. + +"One word more, boys," said the dean. "I have observed that not one in +the whole school--at least such is my belief--would be capable of acting +as Henry Arkell did, in returning good for evil. The ruling principle of +his life, and he strove to carry it out in little things as in great, +was to do as he would be done by. Now what could have made him so +different from you?" + +The dean obtained no reply. + +"I will tell you. _He loved and feared God._ He lived always as though +God were near him, watching over his words and his actions; he took God +for his guide, and strove to do His will: and now God has taken him to +his reward. Do you know that his death was a remarkably peaceful one? +Yes, I think you have heard so. Holy living, boys, makes holy dying; and +it made his dying holy and peaceful. Allow me to ask, if you, who are +selfish and wicked and malignant, could meet death so calmly?" + +"Arkell's mother is often so ill, sir, that she doesn't know she'll live +from one day to another," a senior ventured to remark in the general +desperation. "Of course that makes her learn to try not to fear death, +and she taught him not to." + +"And she now finds her recompense," observed the dean. "A happy thing +for you, if your mothers had so taught you. Dismiss the school, Mr. +Wilberforce. And I hope," he added, turning round to the boys, as he and +the other two gentlemen left the hall, "that you will, every one, go +home, not to riot on this solemn holiday, but to meditate on these +important thoughts, and resolve to endeavour to become more like Henry +Arkell. You will attend service this afternoon." + +And that was the ending. And the boy, with his talents, his beauty, and +his goodness, was gone; and nothing of him remained but what was +mouldering under the cloister gravestone. + + HENRY CHEVELEY ARKELL. + Died March 24th, 18--, + Aged 16. + Not lost, but gone before. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THOUGHTLESS WORDS. + + +This is the last part of our history, and you must be prepared for +changes, although but little time--not very much more than a year--has +gone by. + +Death has been busy during that period. Mrs. Peter Arkell survived her +son so short a time, that it is already twelve months since she was laid +in the churchyard of St. James the Less. It is a twelvemonth also since +Mr. Fauntleroy died, and his daughters are the great heiresses of +Westerbury. + +Westerbury had need of heiresses, or something else substantial, to keep +up its consequence; for it was dwindling down lower (speaking of its +commercial importance) day by day. The clerical party (in +contradistinction to the commercial) rose and flourished; the other +fell. + +Amidst those with whom it was beginning to be a struggle to keep their +heads above water was Mr. Arkell. The hope that times would mend; a hope +that had buoyed up for years and years other large manufacturers in +Westerbury, was beginning to show itself what it really was--a delusive +one. A deplorable gloom hung over the brow of Mr. Arkell, and he most +bitterly repented that he had not thrown this hope to the winds long +ago, and given up business before so much of his good property was +sacrificed. He had in the past year made those retrenchments in his +expenditure, which, in point of prudence, ought to have been made +before; but his wife had set her face determinately against it, and to a +peaceable-dispositioned man like Mr. Arkell, the letting the ruin come +is almost preferable to the contention the change involves. Those of my +readers who may have had experience of this, will know that I only state +what is true. But necessity has no law: and when Mr. Arkell could no +longer drain himself to meet these superfluous expenses, the change was +made. The close carriage was laid down; the household was reduced to +what it had been in his father's time--two maids, and a man for the +horse and garden, and he admonished his wife and daughters that they +must spend in dress just half what they had spent. But with all the +retrenchment, Mr. Arkell saw himself slowly drifting downwards. His +manufactory was still kept on; but it had been far better given up. It +must surely come to it, and Travice would have to seek a different +channel of obtaining a living. Not only Travice: the men who had grown +old in William Arkell's service, they must be turned adrift. There's not +the least doubt that this last thought helped, more than all else, to +keep Mr. Arkell's decision on the balance. + +And Peter Arkell? Peter was in worse plight than his cousin. As it had +been all their lives, the contrast in their fortunes marked, so it was +still; so it would be to the end. William still lived well, and as a +gentleman; he had but lopped off superfluities; Peter was a poor, bowed, +broken man, obliged to be careful how he laid out money for even the +common necessaries of life. But for Mildred's never-ceasing forethought, +those necessaries might not always have been bought. The death of his +wife, the death of his gifted son, had told seriously upon Peter Arkell: +and his health, never too good, had since been ominously breaking up. + +His good and gentle daughter, Lucy, had care upon her in many ways. The +little petty household economies it was necessary to practise +unceasingly, wearied her spirit; the uncertainty of how they were to +live, now that her father could no longer teach or write--and his +learned books had brought him in a trifle from time to time--chilled her +hope. Not yet had she recovered the shock, the terrible heart-blow +brought to her by the death of Henry; and her mother's death had +followed close upon it. It seemed to have cast a blight upon her young +spirit: and there were times when Lucy, good and trusting girl though +she was, felt tempted to think that God was making her path one of +needless sorrow. The sad, thoughtful look was ever in her countenance +now, in her sweet brown eyes; and her fair features, not strictly +beautiful, but pleasant to look upon, grew more like what Mildred's were +after the blight had fallen upon her. But no heart-blight had as yet +come to Lucy. + +One evening an old and confidential friend of Peter Arkell's dropped in +to sit an hour with him. It was Mr. Palmer, the manager and cashier of +the Westerbury bank, and the brother to Mr. Palmer of Heath Hall. As the +two friends talked confidentially on this evening, deploring the +commercial state of the city, and saying that it would never rise again +from its distress, Mr. Palmer dropped a hint that the firm of George +Arkell and Son had been effecting another mortgage on their property. +Mr. Peter Arkell said nothing then; but Lucy, who went into the room on +the departure of their guest, noticed that he remained sunk in +melancholy silence; and she could not arouse him from it. + +Travice Arkell came in. Travice was in the habit of coming in a great +deal more than one of the ruling powers at home had any idea of. Travice +would very much have liked to make Lucy his wife; but there were serious +impediments in more ways than one, and he was condemned to silence, and +to wait and see what an uncertain future might bring forth. + +The romance that had been enacted in the early days of William Arkell +and Mildred was being re-enacted now. But with a difference. For whereas +William, as you have seen, forsook the companion of his boyhood, and +cast his love upon a stranger, Travice's whole hopes were concentrated +upon Lucy. And Lucy loved him with all the impassioned ideality of a +first and powerful passion, with all the fervour of an imaginative and +reticent nature. It was impossible but that each should detect, in a +degree, the feelings of the other, though they might not be, and had not +been, spoken of openly. + +Travice reached the chess-board from a side-table where it was kept, +took his seat opposite Peter, and began to set out the men. Of the same +kind, considerate nature that his father was before him, he +compassionated the lonely man's solitary days, and was wont to play a +game at chess with him sometimes in an evening, to while away one of his +weary hours. But Peter, on this night, put up his hand in token of +refusal. + +"Not this evening, Travice. I am not equal to it. My spirits are low." + +"Do you feel ill?" asked Travice, beginning to put the pieces in the box +again. + +"I feel low; out of sorts. Mr. Palmer has been here talking of things, +and he gives so deplorable a state of private affairs generally, +consequent upon the long-continued commercial depression, that it's hard +to say who's safe and whose tottering. He has especial means of +ascertaining, you know, so there's no doubt he's right." + +"Well, what of that?" returned Travice. "It cannot affect you; you are +not in business." + +"True. I was not thinking of myself." + +"A game at chess will divert your thoughts." + +"Not to-night, Travice; I'd rather not play to-night." + +"Will you have a game, Lucy?" + +She looked up from her sewing to smile a negative. "That would be +leaving papa quite to his thoughts. I think we had better talk to him." + +"Travice," Peter Arkell suddenly said, "I am sure this depression must +seriously affect your father." + +"Of course it does," was the ready answer. "He has just now had to +borrow more money again." + +"Then Palmer was right," thought Peter Arkell. "Will he keep on the +business?" he asked aloud. + +"I should not, were I in his place," said Travice. "He would have given +up long ago, I believe, but for thinking what's to become of me. Of +course if he does give up, I am thrown on the world, a wandering Arab." + +His tone was as much one of jest as of gravity. The young do not see +things in the same light as the old. To his father and to Peter Arkell, +his being thrown out of the business he had embraced as his own, +appeared an almost irrecoverable blight in life; to Travice himself it +seemed but a very slight misfortune. The world was before him, and he +had honour, education, health, and brains; surely he could win his way +in it! + +"It is not well to throw down one calling and take up another," observed +Peter, thoughtfully. "It does not always answer." + +"But if you are forced to it!" argued Travice. "There's no help for it +then, and you must do the best you can." + +"It is a pity but you had gone to Oxford, Travice, and entered into some +profession!" + +"I suppose it is, as things seem to be turning out. Thrown out of the +manufactory, I should seem a sort of luckless adventurer, not knowing +which way to turn to prey upon the public." + +"It would be just beginning life again," said Peter, his grave tone +bearing in it a sound of reproach to the lighter one. + +He rose, and went to the next room--the "Peter's study" of the old +days--to get something from his desk there. Travice happened to look at +Lucy, and saw her eyes fixed upon him with a troubled, earnest +expression. She blushed as he caught their gaze. + +"What's the matter, Lucy?" + +"I was wondering whatever you would do, if Mr. Arkell does give up." + +"I think I should be rather glad of it? I could turn astronomer." + +"Turn astronomer! But you don't really mean that, Travice?" + +He laughed. + +"I should mean it, but for one thing." + +"What is that one thing?" + +"That it might not find me in bread and cheese. Perhaps they'd make me +honorary star-gazer at the observatory royal. The worst is, one must eat +and drink; and the essentials necessary for that don't drop from the +clouds, as the manna once did of old. Very convenient for some of us if +it did." + +"I wish you'd be serious," she rejoined, the momentary tears rising to +her eyes. She was feeling wretchedly troubled, she could not tell why, +and his light mood jarred upon her. + +It changed now as he looked at her. Travice Arkell's face changed to an +expression of deep, grave meaning, of troubled meaning, and he dropped +his voice to a low tone as he rose and stood near Lucy, looking down +upon her. + +"I wish I could be serious; I have wished it, Lucy, this long while +past. Other men at my age are thinking of forming those social ties that +man naturally expects to form; of gathering about him a home, and a +wife, and children. I must not; for what I can see at present, they must +be denied to me for good and all; unless--unless----" + +He broke off abruptly. Lucy, suppressing the emotion that had arisen, +glanced up at him, as she waited for the conclusion. But the conclusion +did not come. + +"You see now, Lucy, why I cannot be serious. Perhaps you have seen why +before. In the uncertain state that our business is, not knowing but the +end of it may be bankruptcy----" + +"Oh, Travice!" she involuntarily exclaimed, in the shock that the word +brought to her. + +"I do assure you it has crossed my mind now and then, that such may be +the final ending. It would break my father's heart, I know, and it would +half break mine for his sake; but others in the town have succumbed, who +were once nearly as rich as we were, and the fate may overtake us. I +wish I could be serious; serious to a purpose; but I cannot." + +"I wanted to show you a prospectus, Travice, that was left here to-day," +interrupted Peter Arkell, coming back to the room. "I wonder what next +they'll be getting up a company over? I put it into my desk, but I can't +find it. Lucy, look about for it, will you?" + +She got up to obey, and Travice caught a sight of the raised face, whose +blushes had been hidden from him; blushes called forth by his words and +their implied meaning. She had understood it. + +But she had not understood the sentence at whose conclusion Travice +Arkell had broken down. "That the ties of wife and children must be +denied to him for good and all, unless----" + +Unless what? Unless he let them sacrifice him, would be the real answer. +Unless he sacrificed himself, his dearest hopes, every better feeling +that his heart possessed, at a golden shrine. But Travice Arkell would +have a desperate fight first. + +The Miss Fauntleroys, co-heiresses of the wealthy old lawyer--who might +have died worth more but for his own entanglements in early life--had +become intimate and more intimate at the house of William Arkell. Ten +thousand pounds were settled on each, and there was other money to +divide between them, which was not settled. How Lawyer Fauntleroy had +scraped together so much, Westerbury could not imagine, considering he +had been so hampered with old claims. Strapping, vulgar, good-humoured +damsels, these two, as you have before heard; with as little refinement +in looks, words, and manner as their father had possessed before them. +Their intimacy had grown, I say, with the Arkell family. Mrs. Arkell +courted them to her house; the young ladies were quite eager to frequent +it without courting; and it had come to be whispered all over the +gossiping town, that Mr. Arkell's son and heir might have either of them +for the asking. + +Perhaps not quite true this, as to the "either," perhaps yes. It was +indisputable that both liked him very much; but any hope the younger +might have felt disposed to cherish had long been merged in the more +recognised claim to him of the elder; recognised by the young ladies +only, mind you, in the right, it may be, of her seniorship. Nothing in +the world could have been more satisfactory to Mrs. Arkell than this +union. She overlooked their want of refinement, and their many other +wants of a similar nature--of refinement, indeed, she may have deemed +that Travice possessed enough for himself and for a wife too--she +thought of the golden hoard in the bank, the firm securities in the +three per cent consols, and she pertinaciously cherished the hope and +the resolve that Barbara Fauntleroy should become Barbara Arkell. + +It is well to say "pertinaciously." That Travice had set his resolve +against it, she tacitly understood; and once when she went so far as to +put her project before him in a cautious hint, Travice had broken out +with the ungallant assertion that he would "as soon marry the deuce." +But he might have to give in at last. The constant dropping of water on +a stone will wear it away; and the constant, unceasing tongue of a woman +has been known to break the iron walls of man's will. + +Another suitor had recently sprung up for Miss Lizzie Fauntleroy. No +less a personage than Benjamin Carr. The reappearance of Mr. Dundyke +upon the scene of the living world had considerably astonished many +people; possibly, amidst others, Ben Carr himself. In the great relief +it brought to the mind of Mr. Arkell, distorted, you may remember, with +a certain unpleasant doubt, he almost forgot to suspect him at all; and +he buried the past in silence, and in a measure, took luckless Ben into +favour again; that is, he did not forbid him his house. + +Ben, in fact, had come out apparently nourishing from all past escapades +suspected and unsuspected, and was residing with his father, and +dressing like a gentleman. No more was heard of his wish to go abroad. +Squire Carr had made him a half promise to put him into a farm; and +while Ben waited for this, he paid court to Lizzie Fauntleroy. At first +she laughed in his face for an old fool, next she began to giggle at his +soft speeches, and now she listened to him. Ben Carr had some attraction +yet, in spite of his four-and-forty years. + +In the course of the following morning, Peter Arkell suddenly announced +his intention of going out, to the great surprise of Lucy. It was a most +unfit day, rainy, and bleak for the season; and he had not stepped over +the threshold for weeks and weeks. + +"Papa! You cannot go out to-day. It is not fit for you." + +"Yes, I shall go. I want particularly to speak to my cousin William: you +can help me thither with your arm, Lucy. Get my old cloak down, and air +it at the fire; I can wrap myself in that." + +Lucy ventured no further remonstrance. When her papa took a thing into +his head, there was no turning him. + +They started together through the bad weather to the house of William +Arkell. The dear old house! where Peter had spent so many pleasant +evenings in his youthful days. He crossed the yard at once to the +manufactory, telling Lucy to go indoors and wait for him. William Arkell +was alone in his private room, and was not a little surprised at the +visit. + +"Why Peter!" he exclaimed, rising from his desk, and placing an +arm-chair by the fire, "What has brought you out such a day as this? Sit +down." + +Before Peter did so, he closed the door, so that they should be quite +alone. He then turned and clasped his cousin by the hand. + +"William," he began, emotion mingling with his utterance, "I have come +to you, a poor unhappy man. Conscious of my want of power to do what I +ought--fearing that there is less chance of my doing it, day by day." + +"What do you mean?" inquired Mr. Arkell. + +"Amidst the ruin that has almost universally fallen on the city, you +have not escaped, I fear your property is being seriously drawn upon?" + +"And, unless things mend, it will soon be drawn to an end, Peter." + +"Heaven help me!" exclaimed Peter. "And to know that I am in your debt, +and cannot liquidate it! It is to speak of this, that I am come out +to-day." + +"Nay, now you are foolish!" exclaimed Mr. Arkell. "What matters a +hundred pounds or two, more or less, to me? The sum would cut but a poor +figure by the side of what I am now habituated to losing. Never think of +it, Peter: _I_ never shall. Besides, you had it from me in driblets, so +that I did not miss it." + +"When I had used to come to you for assistance in my illnesses, for I +was ashamed to draw too much upon Mildred," proceeded the poor man, "I +never thought but that I should, in time, regain permanent strength, and +be able to return it. I never meant to cheat you, William." + +"Don't talk like that, Peter!" interrupted Mr. Arkell. "If the money +were returned to me now, it would only go the way that the rest is +going. I have always felt glad that it was in my power to render you +assistance in your necessities: and if I stood this moment without a +shilling to turn to, I should not regret it any more than I do now." + +They continued in converse, but we need not follow it. Lucy meanwhile +had entered the house, and went about, looking for some signs of its +inhabitants. The general sitting-room was empty, and she crossed the +hall and opened the door of the drawing-room. A bouncing lady in fine +attire was coming forth from it, talking and laughing loudly with Mr. +Arkell; it was Barbara Fauntleroy. + +Shaking hands with Lucy in her good-humoured manner as she passed her, +she talked and laughed her way out of the house. Lucy was in black silk +and crape still; Miss Fauntleroy was in the gayest of colours; and Mrs. +Peter Arkell had been dead longer than Mr. Fauntleroy. They had worn +their black a twelvemonth and then quitted it. It was not fashionable to +wear mourning long now, said the Miss Fauntleroys. + +Charlotte Arkell, with scant ceremony, sat down to the piano, giving +Lucy only a nod. Nothing could exceed the slighting contempt in which +she and her sister held Lucy. They had been trained in it. And they were +highly accomplished young ladies besides, had learnt everything there +was to be taught, from the harp and oriental tinting, down to Spanish, +German, and chenille embroidery. Lucy's education had been solid, rather +than ornamental: she spoke French well, and played a little; and she was +more skilled in plain sewing than in fancy. _They_ never allowed their +guarded fingers to come into contact with plain work, and had just as +much idea of how anything useful was done, as of how the moon was made. +So these two fine young ladies despised Lucy Arkell, after the fashion +of the fine young ladies of the present day. Charlotte also was great in +the consciousness of other self-importance, for she was soon to be a +wife. That Captain Anderson whom you once saw at a concert, had paid a +more recent visit to Westerbury; and he left it, engaged to Charlotte +Arkell. + +Charlotte played a few bars, and then remembered to become curious on +the subject of Lucy's visit. She whirled herself round on the music +stool: it had been a favourite motion of her mother's in the old days. + +"What have you come for, Lucy?" + +"Papa wanted to see Mr. Arkell, and I walked with him. He is gone into +the manufactory." + +"I thought your papa was too ill to go out." + +"He is very ailing. I think he ought not to have come out on a day like +this. Do not let me interrupt your practising, Charlotte." + +"Practising! I have no heart to practise!" exclaimed Charlotte. "Papa is +always talking in so gloomy a way. He was in here just now: I was deep +in this sonata of Beethoven's, and did not hear him enter, and he began +saying it would be better if I and Sophy were to accustom ourselves to +spend some of our time _usefully_, for that he did not know how soon we +might be obliged to do it. He has laid down the carriage; he has made +fearful retrenchments in the household: I wonder what he would have! And +as to our buying anything new, or subscribing to a concert, or anything +of that sort, mamma says she cannot get the money from him. I wish I was +married, and gone from Westerbury! I am thankful my future home is to be +far away from it!" + +"Things may brighten here," was all the consolation that Lucy could +offer. + +"I don't believe they ever will," returned Charlotte. "I see no hope of +it. Papa looks sometimes as if his heart were breaking." + +"How soon the Miss Fauntleroys have gone out of mourning!" observed +Lucy. + +"Oh, I don't know. They wore it twelve months; that's long enough for +anything. Let me give you a caution, Lucy," added Charlotte, laughing: +"don't hint at such a thing as that Barbara Fauntleroy's not immaculate +perfection: it would not do in this house." + +"Why?" exclaimed Lucy, wondering at her words and manner. + +"She is intended for its future head, you know, when the present +generation of heads shall--shall have passed away. I'm afraid that's +being poetical; I didn't mean to be." + +Lucy sat as one in a maze, wondering WHAT she might understand by the +words. And Charlotte whirled round on her stool again to the sonata, +with as little ceremony as she had whirled from it. + +While Miss Fauntleroy was there, Mrs. Arkell had sent a private message +to Travice that she wanted him; but Travice did not obey the summons +until the young lady was gone. He came then: and Mrs. Arkell attacked +him for not coming before; she was attacking him now, while Charlotte +and Lucy were talking. + +"Why did you not come in at once?" asked Mrs. Arkell, in the cross tone +which had latterly become habitual; "Barbara Fauntleroy was here." + +"That was just the reason," returned Travice, in his usual candid +manner; "I waited until she should be gone." + +If there was one thing that vexed Mrs. Arkell worse than the fact +itself, it was the open way in which her son steadily resisted the hints +to him on the subject of Miss Fauntleroy. She felt at times that she +could have beaten him; she was feeling so now. Her temper turned acrid, +her face flushed, her voice rose. + +"Travice, if you persist in this systematic rudeness----" + +"Pardon me, mother. I wish you would refrain from bringing up the +subject of Miss Fauntleroy to me. I do not care to hear of her in any +way; she----Who's that? Why, I do believe it's Lucy's voice!" + +The colloquy with Mrs. Arkell had taken place in the hall. Travice made +one bound to the drawing-room. The sudden flush on the pale face, the +glad eagerness of the tone, struck dismay to the heart of Mrs. Arkell. +She quickly followed him, and saw that he had taken both of Lucy's hands +in greeting. + +"Oh, Lucy! are you here this morning? I know you have come to stay the +day! Take your things off." + +Lucy laughed--and Mrs. Arkell had the pleasure of seeing that _her_ +cheeks wore an answering flush. She shook her head and drew her hands +from Travice, who seemed as if he could have kept them for ever. + +"Do I spend a day here so often that you think I can come for nothing +else? I only came with papa, and I am going back with him soon." + +But Travice pressed the point of staying. Charlotte also--feeling, +perhaps, that even Lucy was a welcome break to the monotony the house +had fallen into--urged it. Mrs. Arkell maintained a marked silence; and +in the midst of it the two gentlemen came in. Mr. Arkell kissed Lucy, +and said she had better stop. + +But Peter settled it the other way. Lucy must go home with him then, he +said; but if she liked to come down in the afternoon, and stay for the +rest of the day, she could. It was so settled, and they took their +departure. Mr. Arkell walked with Peter across the court-yard, talking. +Travice, in the very face and eyes of his mother, gave his arm to Lucy. + +"Why did you not stay?" he whispered, as they arrived at the gates. +"Lucy, do you know that to part with you is to part with my life's +sunshine?" + +Mrs. Arkell was standing at the door as he turned, and beckoned to him +from the distance. + +"I wish to speak with you," she said, as he approached. + +She led the way into the dining-room, and closed the door on them, as if +for some formidable interview. Travice saw that she was in a scarcely +irrepressible state of anger, and he perched himself on a vacant +side-table--rather a favourite way of his. He began humming a tune; +gaily, but not disrespectfully. + +"What possesses you to behave in this absurd manner to Lucy Arkell?" she +began, in passion. + +"What have I done now?" asked Travice. + +"You are continually, in some way or other, contriving to thrust that +girl's company upon us! I will not permit it, Travice; I have borne with +it too long. I----" + +"Why, she is not here twice in a twelvemonth," interrupted Travice. + +"Don't say absurd things. She is. And she is not fit society for your +sisters." + +"If they were only half as worthy of her society as she is superior to +them, they would be very different girls from what they are," spoke +Travice, with a touch of his father's old heat. "If there's one thing +that Lucy is, pre-eminently, it's a gentlewoman. Her mother was one +before her." + +Mrs. Arkell grew nearly black in the face. While she was trying to +speak, Travice went on. + +"Ask my father what his opinion of Lucy is. _He_ does not say she is +here too much." + +"Your father is a fool in some things, and so are you!" retorted Mrs. +Arkell, a sort of scream in her voice. "How dare you oppose me in this +way, Travice?" + +"I am very sorry to do so," returned the young man; "and I beg your +pardon if I say more than you think I ought. But I cannot join in your +unjust feeling against Lucy, and I will not tolerate it. I wish you +would not bring up this subject at all: it is one we never can agree +upon." + +"You requested me just now not to 'bring up' the subject of Miss +Fauntleroy to you," said Mrs. Arkell, in a tone of irony. "How many +other subjects would you be pleased to interdict?" + +"I don't want to hear even the name of those Fauntleroys!" burst out +Travice, losing for a moment his equanimity. "Great brazen milkmaids!" + +"No! you'd rather hear Lucy's!" screamed Mrs. Arkell. "You'd----" + +"Lucy! Don't name them with Lucy, my dear mother. They are not fit to +tie Lucy's shoes! She has more sense of propriety in her little finger, +than they have in all their great overgrown bodies!" + +This was the climax. And Mrs. Arkell, suppressing the passion that shook +her as she stood, spoke with that forced calmness that is worse than the +loudest fury. Her face had turned white. + +"Continue your familiar intercourse with that girl, if you will; but, +listen!--you shall never make a wife of anyone so paltry and so pitiful! +I would pray Heaven to let me follow you to your grave, Travice, rather +than see you marry Lucy Arkell." + +She spoke the words in her blind rage, never reflecting on their full +import; never dreaming that a day was soon to come, when their memory +would return to her in her extremity of vain and hopeless repentance. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +MISCONCEPTION. + + +"It shall be put a stop to! it shall be put a stop to!" murmured Mrs. +Arkell to herself, as she sat alone when Travice had left her, trying to +recover her equanimity. "Once separated from that wretched Lucy, he +would soon find charms in Barbara Fauntleroy." + +There was no time to be lost; and that same afternoon, when Lucy +arrived, according to promise, crafty Mrs. Arkell began to lay the +foundation stone. Lucy found her in the drawing-room alone. + +"I will take my bonnet upstairs," said Lucy. "Shall I find Charlotte and +Sophy anywhere?" + +"No," replied Mrs. Arkell, in a very uncompromising tone. "They have +gone out with the Miss Fauntleroys." + +"I was unwilling to come this afternoon," observed Lucy, as she returned +and sat down, "for papa does not seem so well. I fear he may have taken +cold to-day; but he got to his books and writing after dinner, as +usual." + +"Does he think of bringing out a new book?" asked Mrs. Arkell; and Lucy +did not detect the irony of the question. + +"Not yet. He is about half through one. Is there any meeting to-day, do +you know, Mrs. Arkell?" she resumed. "I met several gentlemen hurrying +up the street as I came along." + +"I thought everybody knew of it," replied Mrs. Arkell. "A meeting of the +manufacturers was convened at the Guildhall for this afternoon. Mr. +Arkell and Travice have gone to it." + +"Their meetings seem to bring them no redress," returned Lucy, sadly. +"The English manufacturers have no chance against the French now." + +"I don't know what is to become of us," ejaculated Mrs. Arkell. +"Charlotte, thank goodness, will soon be married and away; but there's +Sophy! Travice will have enough to live upon, without business." + +"Will he?" exclaimed Lucy, looking brightly up. "I am so glad to hear +it! I thought your property had diminished until it was but small." + +"Our property is diminishing daily," replied Mrs. Arkell. "Which makes +it the more necessary that Travice should secure himself by his +marriage." + +Lucy did not answer; but her heart throbbed violently, and the faint +colour on her cheek forsook it. Mrs. Arkell, without looking towards +her, rose to poke the fire, and continued talking as she leaned over the +grate, with her back to Lucy. + +"It is intended that Travice shall marry Barbara Fauntleroy." + +The sense of the words was very decided, carrying painful conviction to +Lucy's startled ear. She could not have answered, had her life depended +on it. + +"Lucy, my dear," proceeded Mrs. Arkell, speaking with unwonted +affection, and looking Lucy full in the face, "I am speaking to you in +entire confidence, and I desire you will respect it as such. Do not drop +a hint to Travice or the girls; they would not like my speaking of it." + +Lucy sat quiet; and Mrs. Arkell quite devoured the pale face with her +eyes. + +"At first he did not care much for Barbara; and in truth he does not +care for her now, as one we intend to marry ought to be cared for. But +that will all come in time. Travice, like many other young men, may have +indulged in a little carved-out romance of his own--I don't know that he +did, but he _may_--and he has the good sense to see that his romance +must yield to reality." + +"Yes!" ejaculated Lucy, feeling that she was expected to say something +in answer. + +"There is our property dwindling down to little; there's the business +dwindling down to nothing; and suppose Travice took it into his head to +many a portionless girl, what prospect would there be before him? Why, +nothing but poverty and self-reproach; nothing but misery. And in time +he would hate her for having brought him to it." + +"True! true!" murmured Lucy. + +"And now," added Mrs. Arkell, "that he is on the point of consenting to +marry Miss Fauntleroy, it is the duty of all of us, if we care for his +future happiness and welfare, to urge his hopes to that point. You see +it, Lucy, I should think, as well as we do." + +There was no outward emotion to be observed in Lucy. A transiently white +cheek, a momentary quiver of the lip, and all that could be seen was +over. Like her aunt Mildred, it was her nature to bear in silence; but +some of us know too well that that is the grief which tells. There was a +slight shiver of the frame, visible to those keen eyes watching her, and +she compelled herself to speak as with indifference. + +"Has he consented?" + +"My dear Lucy, I said he was on the point of consenting. And there's no +doubt he is. I had an explanation with Travice this morning; he seemed +inclined to shun Miss Fauntleroy, for I sent for him while she was here, +and he did not come. After you left, I spoke to him; I pointed out the +state of the case, and said what a sweet girl Miss Fauntleroy was, what +a charming wife she would make him; and I hope I brought him to reason. +You see, Lucy, how advantageous it will be in all ways, their union. Not +only does it provide for Travice, but it will remove the worst of the +great care hanging over the head of Mr. Arkell, and which I am sure, if +not removed, will shorten his life. Do you understand?" + +"I--think so," replied Lucy, whose brain was whirling in spite of her +calm manner. + +Mrs. Arkell drew her chair nearer to Lucy, and dropped her voice. + +"Our position is this, my dear. A very great portion of Mr. Arkell's +property is locked up in his stock, which is immense. _I_ should not +have kept on manufacturing as he has done; and I believe it has been +partly for the sake of those rubbishing workmen. Unless he can get some +extraneous help, some temporary assistance, he will have to force his +stock to sale at a loss, and it would just be ruin. Miss Fauntleroy +proposes to advance any sum he may require, as soon as the marriage has +taken place, and there's no doubt he will accept it. It will be only a +temporary loan, you know; but it will save us a great, a ruinous loss." + +"_She_ proposes to advance it?" echoed Lucy, struck with the words, in +the midst of her pain. + +"She does. She is as good hearted a girl as ever lived, and proposed it +freely. In fact, she would be ready and willing to advance it at once, +for of course she knows it would be a safe loan, but Mr. Arkell will not +hear of it. She knows what our wishes are upon the subject of the +marriage, and she sees that Travice has been holding back; and but for +her very good-natured disposition she might not have tolerated it. +However, I hope all will soon be settled now, and she and Travice +married. Lucy, my dear, I _rely_ upon you for Mr. Arkell's sake, of whom +you are so fond, for Travice's own sake, to forward on this by any +little means in your power. And, remember, the confidence I have reposed +in you must not be broken." + +Lucy sat cold and still. In honour she must no longer think of a +possible union with Travice--must never more allow word or look from him +seeming to point to it. + +"For Mr. Arkell's sake," she kept repeating to herself, as if she were +in a dream; "for Travice's own sake!" She saw the future as clearly as +though it had been mapped out before her eyes in some prophetic vision: +Travice would marry Barbara Fauntleroy and her riches. She almost wished +she might never see him more; it could only bring to her additional +misery. + +Charlotte Arkell came in with Barbara Fauntleroy. Sophy had gone home +with the other one for the rest of the day. An old aunt, bed-ridden +three parts of her time, had lived with the young ladies since the death +of their father. But they were not so very young; and they were +naturally independent. Barbara was quite as old as Travice Arkell. + +"How shall I bear to see them together?" thought Lucy, as Barbara +Fauntleroy sat down opposite to her, in her rustling silk of many +colours, and no end of gold trinkets jingling about her. "I wonder why I +was born? But for papa, I could wish I had died as Harry did!" + +For that first evening, however, she was spared. Their little maid +arrived in much commotion, asking to see Miss Lucy. Her papa was feeling +worse than when she left home, was the word she brought, and he thought +if Lucy did not mind it, he should like her to go back to him at once. + +Lucy hastened home. She found her father very poorly; feverish, and +coughing a great deal. It was the foreshadowing of an illness from which +he was destined never to recover. + +Whether his allotted span of life had indeed run out, or whether his +exposure to the weather that unlucky morning helped to shorten it, Lucy +never knew. A week or two of uncertain sickness--now a little better, +now a little worse, and it became too evident that hope of recovery for +Peter Arkell was over. A bowed, broken man in frame and spirit, but +comparatively young in years, Peter was passing from the world he had +found little else than trouble in. Lucy wrote in haste and distress for +her Aunt Mildred, but a telegram was received in reply, announcing the +death of Lady Dewsbury. She had died somewhat suddenly, Mildred said, +when a letter came by the next morning's post, in which she gave +particulars. + +It was nearly impossible for her to come away before the funeral: +nothing short of imminent danger in her brother's state would bring her. +She had for a long while been almost sole mistress of the household; +Lady Dewsbury was ever her kind friend and protectress; and she could +not reconcile it to her feelings to abandon the house while she lay dead +in it, unless her brother's state absolutely demanded that she should. +Lucy was to write, or telegraph, as necessity should require. + +There was no immediate necessity for her to come, and Lucy wrote +accordingly. Lucy stayed on alone with the invalid, shunning as much as +was possible the presence of Travice, when he made his frequent visits: +that presence which had hitherto been to her as a light from heaven. +Mrs. Arkell, paying a ceremonious call of condolence one day, whispered +to Lucy that Travice was becoming quite "reconciled," quite "fond" of +Barbara Fauntleroy. + +On the evening of the day after Lady Dewsbury was interred, Mildred +arrived in Westerbury. Lucy did not know she was coming, and no one was +at the station to meet her. Leaving her luggage to be sent after her, +she made her way to her brother's house on foot: it was but a quarter of +an hour's walk, and Mildred felt cramped with sitting in the train. + +She trembled as she came in sight of it, the old home of her youth, +fearing that its windows might be closed, as those had been in the house +just quitted. As she stood before the door, waiting to be admitted, +remembrances of her childhood came painfully across her--of her happy +girlhood, when those blissful dreams of William Arkell were mingled with +every thought of her existence. + +"And oh! what did they end in!" she cried, clasping her hands tightly +together and speaking aloud in her anguish. "What am I now? Chilled in +feeling; worn in heart; old before my time." + +A middle-aged woman, with a light in her hand, opened the door. Mildred +stepped softly over the threshold. + +"How is Mr. Arkell?" + +The woman--she was the night nurse--stared at the handsomely attired +strange lady, whose deep mourning looked so fresh and new, coming in +that unceremonious manner at the night-hour. + +"He is very ill, ma'am; nearly as bad as he can be," she replied, +dropping a low curtsey. "What did you please to want?" + +"He is in his old chamber, I suppose," said Mildred, turning towards the +staircase. The woman, quite taken aback at this unceremonious +proceeding, interposed her person. + +"Goodness, ma'am, you can't go up to his chamber!" she cried out in +amazement. "The poor gentleman's dying. I'll call Miss Lucy." + +"I am Miss Arkell," said Mildred quietly, passing on up the staircase. + +She laid aside her sombre bonnet, with its deep crape veil, her heavy +shawl, and entered the chamber softly. Lucy was at a table, measuring +some medicine into a tea-cup. A pale, handsome young man stood by the +fire, his elbow resting on the mantel-piece. Mildred glanced at his +face, and did not need to ask who he was. + +Near the bed was Mr. William Arkell; but oh! how different from the +lover of Mildred's youth! Now he was a grey-haired man, stooping +slightly, looking older than his actual years--then tall, handsome, +attractive, as Travice was now. And did William Arkell, at the first +view, recognise his cousin? No. For that care-worn, middle-aged woman, +whose hair was braided under a white net cap, bore little resemblance to +the once happy Mildred Arkell. But the dying man, lying panting on the +raised pillows, knew her instantaneously, and held out his feeble hands +with a glad cry. + +It was a painful meeting, and one into which we have little right to +penetrate. Soon, very soon, Peter spoke out the one great care that was +lying at his heart. He had not touched upon it till then. + +"I am leaving my poor child alone in the world," he panted. "I know not +who will afford her shelter--where she will find a home?" + +"I would willingly promise you to take her to mine, Peter," said Mr. +Arkell. "Poor Lucy should be as welcome to a shelter under my roof as +are my own girls; but, heaven help me! I know not how long I may have a +home for any of them." + +"Leave Lucy to me, Peter," interposed Miss Arkell. "I shall make a home +for myself now, and that home shall be Lucy's. Let no fear of her +welfare disturb your peace." + +Travice listened half resentfully. He was standing against the +mantel-piece still, and Lucy, just then stirring something over the +fire, was close to him. + +"_They_ need not think about a home for you, Lucy," he whispered, taking +the one disengaged hand into his. "That shall be my care." + +Lucy coldly drew her hand away. Her head was full of Barbara +Fauntleroy--of the certainty that that lady would be his wife--for she +believed no earthly event would be allowed to set aside the marriage: +her spirit rebelled against the words. What right had he to breathe such +to her--he, the engaged husband of another? + +"I shall never have my home with you," she said, in the same low +whisper. "Nothing should induce me to it." + +"But, Lucy----" + +"I will not hear you. You have no right so to speak to me. Aunt! +aunt!"--and the tears gushed forth in all their bitter anguish--"let me +find a home with you!" + +Mildred turned and clasped fondly the appealing form as it approached +her. Travice, hurt and resentful, quitted the room. + +The death came, and then the funeral. A day or two afterwards, Mrs. +Arkell condescended to pay a stately visit of ceremony to Mildred, who +received her in the formerly almost-unused drawing-room. Lucy did not +appear. Miss Arkell, her heart softened by grief, by much trial, was +more cordial than perhaps she had ever been to Mrs. Arkell, before her +marriage or after it. + +"What a fine young man Travice is!" she observed, in a pause of their +conversation. + +"The finest in Westerbury," said Mrs. Arkell, with all the partiality of +a mother. "I expect he will be thinking of getting married shortly." + +"Of getting married! Travice! To whom? To Lucy?" + +The question had broken from her in her surprise, in association with an +idea that had for long and long floated through her brain--that Travice +and Lucy were attached to each other. Mildred knew not whence it had its +origin, unless it was in the frequent mention of Travice in Lucy's +letters. Mrs. Arkell heard, and tossed her head indignantly. + +"I beg your pardon, Miss Arkell--to _Lucy_, did you say? Travice would +scarcely think of wedding a portionless bride, under present +circumstances. You must have heard of the rich Fauntleroy girls? It is +one of them." + +Mildred--calm, composed, quiet Mildred--could very nearly have boxed her +own ears. Never, perhaps, had she been more vexed with herself--never +said an inadvertent thing that she so much wished recalled. How entirely +Lucy was despised, Mrs. Arkell's manner and words proclaimed; and the +fact carried its sting to Mildred's heart. + +"I had no reason to put the question," she said, only caring how she +could mend the matter; "I dare say Lucy would not thank me for the idea. +Indeed, I should fancy her hopes may lie in quite a different direction. +Young Palmer, the lawyer, the son of her father's old friend, has been +here several times this past week, inquiring after our health. His +motives may be more interested ones." + +This was a little romance of Mildred's, called forth by the annoyance +and vexation of the moment. It is true that Tom Palmer frequently did +call; he and Lucy had been brought up more like brother and sister than +anything else; but Miss Arkell had certainly no foundation for the +supposition she had expressed. And Mrs. Arkell knew she could have none; +but she chose to believe it. + +"It would be a very good match for Lucy," she replied. "Tom Palmer has a +fine practice for so young a man; there are whispers, too, that he will +be made town-clerk whenever the vacancy occurs." + +Home went Mrs. Arkell; and the first of the family she happened to come +across was Travice. + +"Travice, come to me for an instant," she said, taking his arm to pace +the court-yard; "I have been hearing news at Peter Arkell's. Lucy's a +sly girl; she might have told us, I think. She is engaged--but I don't +know how long since. Perhaps only in these few days, since the funeral." + +"Engaged in what?" + +"To be married. She marries Tom Palmer." + +"It is not true," broke forth Travice. "Who in the world has been +telling you that falsehood?" + +"Not true!" repeated Mrs. Arkell. "Why don't you say it is not true that +I am talking to you--not true that this is Monday--not true that you are +Travice Arkell? Upon my word! You are very polite, sir." + +"Who told it you?" reiterated Travice. + +"_They_ told me. Mildred Arkell told me. I have been sitting there for +the last hour, and we have been talking that and other affairs over. I +can tell you what, Travice--it will be an excellent match for Lucy; a +far superior one to anything she could have expected--and they seem to +know it." + +Even as she spoke, there shot a remembrance through Travice Arkell's +heart, as an icebolt, of the night he had stood with Lucy in the chamber +of her dying father, and her slighting words, in answer to his offer of +a home: "I shall never have my home with you; nothing should induce me +to it." She would not hear him; she told him he had no right so to speak +to her. She had been singularly changed to him during the whole period +of her father's illness; had shunned him by every means in her power; +had been cold and distant when they were brought into contact. Before +that, she was open and candid as the day. This fresh conduct had been +altogether inexplicable to Travice, and he now asked himself whether it +could have arisen from any engagement to marry Tom Palmer. If so, the +change was in a degree accounted for; and it was certainly not +impossible, if Tom Palmer had previously been wishing to woo her, that +Mr. Peter Arkell, surprised by his dangerous illness, should have +hurried matters to an engagement. + +The more Travice Arkell reflected on this phase of probabilities, the +more he became impressed with it: he grew to look upon it as a +certainty; he felt that all chance for himself with Lucy was over. Could +he blame her? As things were with him and his father, he saw no chance +of _his_ marrying her; and, in a worldly point of view, Lucy had done +well--had done right. It's true he had never thought her worldly, and he +had thought that she loved him; he believed that Tom Palmer had never +been more to her than a wind that passes: but why should not Lucy have +grown self-interested, as most other girls were? And to Travice it was +pretty plain she had. + +He grew to look upon it as a positive certainty; he believed, without a +shadow of doubt, that it must be the fact: and how bitterly and +resentfully he all at once hated Tom Palmer, that gentleman himself +would have been surprised to find. It was only natural that Travice +should feel it as a personal injury inflicted on himself--a slight, an +insult; you all know, perhaps, what this feeling is: and in his temper +he would not for some days go near Lucy. It was only when he heard the +news that Mildred was returning to London, and would take her niece with +her, that he came to his senses. + +That same evening he took his way to the house. Mildred, it should be +observed, was equally at cross-purposes. She hastened to speak to Lucy +the day of Mrs. Arkell's visit, asking her if _she_ had heard that +Travice was engaged to Miss Fauntleroy; and Lucy answered after the +manner of a reticent, self-possessed maiden, and made light of the +thing, and was altogether a little hypocrite. + +"Known _that_! O dear, yes! for some time," she said. "It would be a +very good thing for Travice." + +And so Mildred put aside any slight romance she had carved out for them, +as wholly emanating from her imagination; but the sore feeling--that +Lucy was despised by the mother, perhaps by the son--clung to her still. + +She was sitting alone when Travice entered. He spoke for some time on +indifferent subjects--of the news of the town; of her journey to London; +of her future plans. They were to depart on the morrow. + +"Where's Lucy?" he suddenly asked; and there was a restlessness in his +manner throughout the interview that Mildred had never observed before. + +"She is gone to spend the evening with Mrs. Palmer. I declined. Visiting +seems quite out of my way now." + +"I should have thought it would just now be out of Lucy's," spoke +Travice, in a glow of resentment. + +"Ordinary visiting would be," returned Miss Arkell, speaking with +unnecessary coldness, and conscious of it. "Mrs. Palmer was here this +afternoon; and, seeing how ill Lucy looked, she insisted on taking her +home for an hour or two. Lucy will see no one there, except the family." + +"What makes her look ill?" + +Miss Arkell raised her eyes at the tone. "She is not really ill in body, +I trust; but the loss of her father has been a bitter grief to her, and +it is telling upon her spirits and looks. He was all she had in the +world; for I--comparatively speaking--am a stranger." + +There was a pause. Travice was leaning idly against the mantel-piece, in +his favourite position, twirling the seals about that hung to his chain, +his whole manner bespeaking indifference and almost contemptuous +unconcern. Had anyone been there who knew him better than Mildred did, +they could have told that it was only done to cover his real agitation. +Mildred stole a glance at the fine young man, and thought that if he +resembled his father in person, he scarcely resembled him in courtesy. + +"Does Lucy really mean to have that precious fool of a Tom Palmer?" he +abruptly asked. + +Miss Arkell felt indignant. She wondered how he dared to speak in that +way; and she answered sharply. + +"Tom Palmer is a most superior young man. _I_ have not perceived that he +has any thing of the fool about him, and I don't think many others have. +Whenever he marries, he will make an excellent husband. Why should you +wish to set me against him? Let me urge you not to interfere with Lucy's +affairs, Travice; she is under my protection now." + +Oh, if Mildred could but have read Travice Arkell's heart that +night!--if she had but read Lucy's! How different things might have +been! Travice moved to shake hands with her. + +"I must wish you good evening," he said. "I hope you and Lucy will have +a pleasant journey to-morrow. We shall see you both again some time, I +suppose." + +He went out with the cold words upon his lips. He went out with the +conviction, that Lucy was to marry Tom Palmer, irrevocably seated on his +heart. And Travice Arkell thought the world was a miserable world, no +longer worth living in. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE TABLES TURNED. + + +Mildred had to go back for a time to Lady Dewsbury's. That lady's house +and effects now lapsed to Sir Edward; but Sir Edward was abroad with his +wife and children, and he begged Miss Arkell to remain in it, its +mistress, until they could return. This was convenient for Mildred's +plans. It afforded a change of scene for Lucy; and it gave the +opportunity and time for the house in Westerbury to be renovated; in +which she intended now to take up her abode. The house was Mildred's +now: it came to her on the death of her brother, their father having so +settled it; but for this settlement, poor Peter had disposed of it in +his necessities long ago. + +Charlotte Arkell married, and departed with her husband, Captain +Anderson, for India, taking Sophy with her. The paying over her marriage +portion of a thousand pounds--a very poor portion beside what she once +might have expected--further crippled the resources of Mr. Arkell; and +things seemed to be coming to a crisis. + +And Travice? Travice succumbed. Hardly caring what became of him, he +allowed himself to be baited--badgered--by his mother into offering +himself to one of the "great brazen milkmaids." From the hour of Lucy's +departure from the city, she let him have no peace, no rest. + +One day--and it was the last feather in the scale, the little balance +necessary to weigh it down--Mr. Arkell summoned his son to a private +interview. It was only what Travice had been expecting. + +"Travice, what is your objection to Miss Fauntleroy?" + +"I can't bear the sight of her," returned Travice, curling his lips +contemptuously. "Can you, sir?" + +Mr. Arkell smiled. "There are some who would call her a fine woman, +Travice: she is one." + +"A fine _vulgar_ woman," corrected Travice, with a marked stress upon +the word. "I always had an instinctive dread of vulgar people myself. I +certainly never could have believed I should voluntarily ally myself +with one." + +"Never marry for looks, my boy," said Mr. Arkell in an eager whisper. +"Some, who have done so before you, have awoke to find they had made a +cruel mistake." + +"Most likely, sir, if they married for looks alone." + +Mr. Arkell glanced keenly at his son. "Travice, have I your full +confidence? I wish you would give it me." + +"In what way?" inquired Travice. "Why do you ask that?" + +"Am I right in suspecting that you have cherished a different +attachment?" + +The tell-tale blood dyed Travice Arkell's brow. Mr. Arkell little needed +other answer. + +"My boy, let there be no secrets between us. You know that your welfare +and happiness--your _happiness_, Travice--lie nearest to my heart. Have +you learnt to love Lucy Arkell?" + +"Yes," said Travice; and there was a whole world of pain in the simple +answer. + +"I thought so. I thought I saw the signs of it a long while ago; but, +Travice, it would never do." + +"You would object to her?" + +"Object to her!--to Lucy!--to Peter's child! No. She is one of the +sweetest girls living; I am not sure but I love her more than I do my +own: and I wish she could be my real daughter and your wife. But it +cannot be, Travice. There are impediments in the way, on her side and on +yours; and your own sense must tell you this as well as I can." + +He could not gainsay it. The impediments were all too present to Travice +every hour of his life. + +"You cannot take a portionless wife. Lucy has nothing now, or in +prospect, beyond any little trifle that may come to her hereafter at +Mildred's death; but I don't suppose Mildred can have saved much. It is +said, too, that Lucy is likely to marry Tom Palmer." + +"I know she is," bitterly acquiesced Travice. + +"Lucy, then, for both these reasons, is out of the question. Have you +not realized to your own mind the fact that she is?" + +"Oh yes." + +"Then, Travice, the matter resolves itself into a very small compass. It +stands alone; it has no extraneous drawbacks; it can rest upon its own +merits or demerits. Will you, or will you not, marry Miss Fauntleroy?" + +Travice remained silent. + +"It will be well for me that you should, for the temporary use of money +that would then be yours would save us, as you know, from a ruinous +loss; but, Travice, I would not, for the wealth of worlds, put that +consideration against your happiness; but there is another consideration +that I cannot put away from me, and that is, that the marriage will make +you independent. For your sake, I should like to see you marry Miss +Fauntleroy." + +"She----" + +"Wait one moment while I tell you why I speak. I do not think you are +doing quite the right thing by Miss Fauntleroy, in thus, as it were, +trifling with her. She expects you to propose to her, and you are +keeping her in suspense unwarrantably long. You should either make her +an offer, or let it be unmistakably known that there exists no such +intention on your part. It would be a good thing in all ways, if you can +only make up your mind to it; but do as you please: _I_ do not urge you +either way." + +"I may as well do it," muttered Travice to himself. "_She_ has chosen +another, and it little matters what becomes of me: look which way I +will, there's nothing but darkness. As well go through life with Bab +Fauntleroy at my side, like an incubus, as go through it without her." + +And Travice Arkell--as if he feared his resolution might desert +him--went out forthwith and offered himself to Miss Fauntleroy. Never, +surely, did any similar proposal betray so much _hauteur_, so much +indifference, so little courtesy in the offering. Barbara happened to be +alone; she was sitting in a white muslin dress, looking as big as a +house, and waiting in state for any visitors who might call. He spoke +out immediately. She probably knew, he said, that he was a sort of +bankrupt in self, purse, and heart; little worth the acceptance of any +one; but if she would like to take him, such as he was, he would try and +do his duty by her. + +The offer was really couched in those terms; and he did not take shame +to himself as he spoke them. Travice Arkell _could_ not be a hypocrite: +he knew that the girl was aware of the state of things and of his +indifference; he believed she saw through his love for Lucy; and he +hated her with a sort of resentful hatred for having fixed her liking +and her hopes upon him. He had been an indulged son all his life--a sort +of fortune's pet--and the turn that things had taken was an awful blow. + +"Will she say she'll have me?" he thought as he concluded. "I don't +believe any other woman would." But Barbara Fauntleroy did say she would +have him; and she put out her hand to him in her hearty good-natured +way, and told him she thought they should get on very well together when +once they had "shaken down." Travice touched the hand; he shook it in a +gingerly manner, and then dropped it; but he never kissed her--he never +said a warmer word than "thank you." Perhaps Miss Fauntleroy did not +look for it: sentiment is little understood by these matter-of-fact, +unrefined natures, with their loud voices, and their demonstrative +temperaments. Travice would have to kiss her some time, he supposed; but +he was content to put off the evil until that time came. + +"How odd that you should have come and made me an offer this morning, +Mr. Travice," she said, with a laugh. "Lizzie has just had one." + +"Has she?" languidly returned Travice. His mind was so absorbed in the +thought just mentioned, that he had no idea whether the lady meant an +offer or a kiss that her sister had received, and he did not trouble +himself to ask. It was quite the same to Travice Arkell. + +"It's from Ben Carr," proceeded Miss Fauntleroy. "He came over here this +morning, bringing a great big nosegay from their hot-house, and he made +Liz an offer. Liz was taken all of a heap; and I think, but for me, +she'd have said yes then." + +"I dare say she would," returned Travice, and then wished the words +recalled. They and their haughty tone had certainly been prompted by the +remembrance of the "yes," just said to him by another. + +"Liz came flying into the next room to me, asking what she should do; he +was very pressing, she said, and wanted her answer then. I'm certain +she'd have given it, Mr. Travice, if I had not been there to stop her. I +went into the room with her to Ben Carr, and I said, 'Mr. Ben, Liz won't +say anything decided now, but she'll think of it for a few days; if +you'll look in on Saturday, she'll give you her answer, yes or no.' Ben +Carr stared at me angry enough; but Liz backed up what I had said, and +he had to take it." + +"Does she mean to accept him?" asked Travice. + +"Well, she's on the waver. She does not dislike him, and she does not +particularly like him. He's too old for her; he's twenty years older +than Liz; but it's her first offer, and young women are apt to think +when they get _that_, they had better accept it, lest they may never get +another." + +"Your sister need not fear that. Her money will get her offers, if +nothing else does." + +He spoke in the impulse of the moment; but it occurred to him instantly +that it was not generous to say it. + +"Perhaps so," said Miss Fauntleroy. "But Lizzie and I have always +dreaded that. We would like to be married for ourselves, not for our +money. Sometimes we say in joke to one another we wish we could bury it, +or could have passed ourselves off to the world as being poor until the +day after we were married, and then surprised our husbands by the news, +and made them a present of the money." + +She spoke the truth; Travice knew she did. Whatever were the failings of +the Miss Fauntleroys, genuine good nature was with both a pre-eminent +virtue. + +"Ben Carr is not the choice I should make," remarked Travice. "Of +course, it's no business of mine." + +"Nor I. I don't much like Ben Carr. Liz thinks him handsome. Well, she +has got till Saturday to make up her mind--thanks to me." + +Travice rose, and gingerly touched the hand again. The thought struck +him again that he ought to kiss her; that he ought to put an +engagement-ring on one of those fair and substantial fingers; ought to +do many other things. But he went out, and did none of them. + +"I'll not deceive her," he said to himself, as he walked down the +street, more intensely wretched than he had ever in his life felt. "I'll +not play the hypocrite; I couldn't do it if it were to save myself from +hanging. She shall see my feeling for her exactly as it is, and then +she'll not reproach me afterwards with coldness. It is impossible that I +can ever like her; it seems to me now impossible that I can ever +_endure_ her; but if she does marry me in the face of such evident +feelings, I'll do my best for her. Duty she shall have, but there'll be +no love." + +A very satisfactory state in prospective! Others, however, besides +Travice Arkell, have married to enter on the same. + +Some few months insensibly passed away in London for Miss Arkell and +Lucy, and when they returned to Westerbury the earth was glowing with +the tints of autumn. They did not return alone. Mrs. Dundyke, a real +widow now beyond dispute, came with them. Poor David Dundyke, never +quite himself after his return, never again indulging in the yearning +for the civic chair, which had made the day-dream of his industrious +life, had died calmly and peacefully, attended to the last by those +loving hands that would fain have kept him, shattered though he was. He +was lying now in Nunhead Cemetery, from whence he would certainly never +be resuscitated as he had been from his supposed grave in Switzerland. +Mrs. Dundyke grieved after him still, and Mildred pressed her to go back +with them to Westerbury, for a little change. She consented gladly. + +But Mrs. Dundyke did not go down in the humble fashion that she had once +gone as Betsey Travice. She sent on her carriage and her two men +servants. That there was a little natural feeling of retaliation in +this, cannot be denied. Charlotte had despised her all her life; but she +should at least no longer despise her on the score of poverty. "I shall +do it," she said to Mildred, "and the carriage will be useful to us. It +can be kept at an inn, with the horses and coachman; and John will be +useful in helping your two maids." + +It was late when they arrived at Westerbury; Miss Arkell did not number +herself amid those who like to start upon a journey at daybreak; and +Lucy looked twice to see whether the old house was really her home: it +was so entirely renovated inside and out, as to create the doubt. Miss +Arkell had given her private orders, saying nothing to Lucy, and the +change was great. Various embellishments had been added; every part of +it put into ornamental repair; a great deal of the furniture had been +replaced by new; and, for its size, it was now one of the most charming +residences in Westerbury. + +"Do you like the change, Lucy?" asked Miss Arkell, when they had gone +through the house together, with Mrs. Dundyke. + +"Of course I do, Aunt Mildred;" but the answer was given in a somewhat +apathetic tone, as Lucy mostly spoke now. "It must have cost a great +deal." + +"Well, is it not the better for it? I may not remain in Westerbury for +good, and I could let my house to greater advantage now than I could +have done before." + +"That's true," listlessly answered Lucy. + +"Lucy," suddenly exclaimed Miss Arkell, "what is it that makes you +appear so dispirited? I could account for it after your father's death; +it was only reasonable then; but it seems to me quite unreasonable that +it should continue. I begin to think it must be your natural manner." + +Lucy's heart gave a bound of something like terror at the question. "I +was always quiet, aunt," she said. + +None had looked on with more wonder at the expense being lavished on the +house than Mrs. Arkell. "So absurd!" she exclaimed, loftily. "But +Mildred Arkell was always pretentious, for a lady's maid." + +William Arkell called to see Mildred the morning after her arrival. Very +much surprised indeed, was he, to see also Mrs. Dundyke. He carried the +news home to his wife. + +"_Betsey_ down here!" she answered. "Why, what has brought her?" + +"She told me she had accompanied Mildred for a little change. She is +coming in to see you by-and-by, Charlotte." + +"I hope she's not coming begging!" tartly responded Mrs. Arkell. + +"Begging?" + +"Yes; begging. It's a question whether she's left with enough to live +upon. I'm sure we have none to spare, for her or for anybody else; and +so I shall plainly tell her if she attempts to ask." + +That they had none to spare, was an indisputable fact. Mrs. Arkell had +done all in her power to hurry the marriage on with Miss Fauntleroy, but +Travice held back unpardonably. His cheek grew bright with hectic, his +whole time was spent in what his mother called "moping;" and he entered +but upon rare occasions the house of his bride elect. Mr. Arkell would +not urge him by a single word; but, in the delay, he had had to +sacrifice another remnant of his property. + +The first use that Mrs. Dundyke put her carriage to in Westerbury, was +that of going in it to William Arkell's. Mildred declined to accompany +her, and Lucy was obliged to go with her; Lucy, who would have given the +whole world _not_ to go. But she could not say so. + +Mrs. Arkell was in the dining-room, when the carriage drove in at the +court-yard gates. She wondered whose it was. A nice close carriage, the +servants attending it in mourning. She did not recognise it as one she +knew. + +She heard the visitors shown into the drawing-room, and waited for the +cards with some curiosity. But no cards came in. Mrs. Dundyke, the +servant brought word, and she was with Miss Lucy Arkell. + +Mrs. Dundyke! Wondering what on earth brought Betsey in that carriage, +and where she had picked it up, Mrs. Arkell took a closer view of it +through the window. It was too good a carriage to be anything but a +private one, and those horses were never hired; and there were the +servants. She looked at the crest. But it was not a crest. Only an +enclosed cipher, D.D. + +It did not lessen her curiosity, and she went to the drawing-room, +wondering still; but she never once glanced at the possibility that it +could be Mrs. Dundyke's; the thought occurred to her that it must belong +to some member of the Dewsbury family, and had been lent to Mildred. + +It was a stiff meeting. Mrs. Arkell, fully imbued with the persuasion +that her sister was left badly off, that she was the same poor sister of +other days, was less cordial than she might have been. She shook hands +with her sister; she shook hands with Lucy; but in her manner there was +a restraint that told. They spoke of general subjects, of Mr. Dundyke's +strange adventure in Switzerland, and his subsequent real death; of +Lucy's sojourn in London; of Charlotte's recent marriage; of the +departure of Sophy with her for India--just, in fact, as might have been +the case with ordinary guests. + +"Travice is soon to be married, I hear," said Mrs. Dundyke. + +"Yes; but he holds back unpardonably." + +Had Mrs. Arkell not been thinking of something else, she had never given +that tart, but true answer. She happened just then to be calculating the +cost of Mrs. Dundyke's handsome mourning, and wondering how she got it. + +"Why does he hold back?" quickly asked Mrs. Dundyke. + +"Oh, I don't know," said Mrs. Arkell, with a gay, slighting laugh. "I +suppose young men like to retain their bachelor liberty as long as they +can. Does your aunt purpose to settle down in Westerbury, Lucy?" + +"For the present." + +"Does she think of going out again?" + +"Oh no." + +"Perhaps she has saved enough to keep herself without? She could not +expect to find another such place as Lady Dewsbury's." + +It was not a pleasant visit, and Mrs. Dundyke did not prolong it. As +they were going out they met Travice. + +"Oh, Aunt Betsey! How glad I am to see you!" + +But he turned coldly enough to shake hands with Lucy. He cherished +resentment against her in his heart. She saw he did not look well; but +she was cold as he was. As he walked across the hall with his aunt, Mrs. +Arkell drew Lucy back into the drawing-room. Her curiosity had been on +the rack all the time. + +"Whose carriage is that, Lucy? One belonging to the Dewsburys'?" + +"It is Mrs. Dundyke's." + +"Mrs.----what did you say? I asked whose carriage that is that you came +in," added Mrs. Arkell, believing that Lucy had not heard aright. + +"Yes, I understood. It is Mrs. Dundyke's. She sent it on, the day before +yesterday, with her servants and horses." + +"But--does--she--keep a carnage and servants?" reiterated Mrs. Arkell, +hardly able to bring out the words in her perplexed amazement. + +"Oh, yes." + +"Then she must be left well off?" + +"Very well. She is very rich. I believe her income is close upon two +thousand a year." + +"Two thou----" Mrs. Arkell wound up with a shriek of astonishment. Lucy +had to leave her to recover it in the best way she could, for Mrs. +Dundyke had got into the carriage and was waiting for her. + +The poor, humble Betsey, whom she had so despised and slighted through +life! Come to _this_ fortune! While hers and her husband's was going +down. How the tables were turned! + +Yes, Mrs. Arkell. Tables always are on the turn in this life. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +A RECOGNITION. + + +When the first vexation was overcome, the most prominent thought that +remained to Mrs. Arkell was, what a fool she had been, not to treat +Betsey better--one never knew what would turn up. All that could be done +was, to begin to treat her well now: but it required diplomacy. + +Mrs. Arkell began by being gracious to Mildred, by being quite motherly +in her behaviour to Lucy; this took her often to Miss Arkell's, and +consequently into the society of Mrs. Dundyke. Sisterly affection must +not be displayed all at once; it should come by degrees. + +As a preliminary, Mrs. Arkell introduced to her sister and Mildred as +many of her influential friends in Westerbury as she could prevail upon +them to receive. This was not many. Gentle at heart as both were, +neither of them felt inclined to be patronized by Mrs. Arkell now, after +her lifetime of neglect. They therefore declined the introductions, +allowing an exception only in the persons of the Miss Fauntleroys, who +were so soon, through the marriage of Travice and Barbara, to be allied +to the family. Mrs. Dundyke was glad to renew her acquaintance with Mr. +Prattleton and his daughter. + +Both the Miss Fauntleroys were making preparations for their marriage, +for the younger one had accepted Mr. Benjamin Carr. The old squire, so +fond of money, was in an ecstacy at the match his fortunate son was +going to make, and Ben had just now taken a run up to Birmingham to look +at some furniture he had seen advertised. Ben had a good deal of the +rover in his nature still, and was glad of an excuse for taking a run +anywhere. + +The Miss Fauntleroys grew rather intimate at Mildred's. Their bouncing +forms and broad good-natured faces, were often to be seen at the door. +They began rather to be liked there; their vulgarity lessened with +custom, their well-meaning good humour won its own way. They invited +Miss Arkell, her niece, and guest, to spend a long afternoon with them +and help them with some plain work they were doing for the poor +sewing-club--for they were adepts in useful sewing, were the Miss +Fauntleroys--and to remain to dinner afterwards. Lucy would have given +the whole world to refuse: but she had no ready plea; and she had not +the courage to make one. So she went with the rest. + +She was sitting at one of the windows of the large drawing-room with +Lizzie Fauntleroy, both of them at work at the same article, a child's +frock, when Travice Arkell entered. Lucy's was the first face he saw: +and so entirely unexpected was the sight of it to him, that, for once in +his life, he nearly lost his self-possession. No wonder; with the +consciousness upon him of the tardy errand that had taken him +there--that of asking his future bride to appoint a time for their +union. Once more Mr. Arkell had spoken to his son: "You must not +continue to act in this way, Travice; it is not right; it is not manly. +Marry Miss Fauntleroy, or give her up; do which you decide to do, but it +must be one or the other." And he came straight from the conference, as +he had on the former occasion, to ask her when the wedding day should +be. He could not sully his honour by choosing the other alternative. + +A hesitating pause, he looking like one who has been caught in some +guilty act, and then he walked on and shook hands with Miss Fauntleroy. +He shook hands with them all in succession; with Lucy last: that is, he +touched the tips of her fingers, turning his conscious face the other +way. + +"Have you brought me any message from Mrs. Arkell?" asked Miss +Fauntleroy, for it was so unusual a thing for Travice to call in the day +that she concluded he had come for some specific purpose. + +"No. I--I came to speak to you myself," he answered. And his words were +so hesitating, his manner so uncertain, that they looked at him in +surprise; he who was usually self-possessed to a fault. Miss Fauntleroy +rose and left the room with him. + +She came back in about a quarter of an hour, giggling, laughing, her +face more flushed than ordinary, her manner inviting inquiry. Lizzie +Fauntleroy, with one of those unladylike, broad allusions she was given +to use, said to the company that by the looks of Bab, she should think +Mr. Travice Arkell had been asking her to name the day. There ensued a +loud laugh on Barbara's part, some skirmishing with her sister, and then +a tacit acknowledgment that the surmise was correct, and that she _had_ +named it. Lucy sat perfectly still: her head apparently as intent upon +her work as were her hands. + +"Liz may as well name it for herself," retorted Barbara. "Ben Carr has +wanted her to do it before now." + +"There's no hurry," said Lizzie. "For me, at any rate. When one's going +to marry a man so much older than oneself, one is apt not to be over +ardent for it." + +They continued to work, an industrious party. Accidentally, as it +seemed, the conversation turned upon the strange events which had +occurred at Geneva: it was through Mrs. Dundyke's mentioning some +embroidery she had just given to Mary Prattleton. The Miss Fauntleroys, +who had only, as they phrased it, heard the story at second-hand, +besought her to tell it to them. And she complied with the request. + +They suspended their work as they listened. It is probable that not a +single incident was mentioned that the Miss Fauntleroys had not heard +before; but the circumstances altogether were of that nature that bear +hearing--ay, and telling--over and over again, as most mysteries do. +Their chief curiosity turned--it was only natural it should--on Mr. +Hardcastle, and they asked a great many questions. + +"I would have scoured the whole country but what I'd have found him," +cried Barbara. "Genoa! Rely upon it, he and his wife turned their faces +in just the contrary direction as soon as they left Geneva. A nice +pair." + +"Do you think," asked Lucy, in her quiet manner, raising her eyes to +Mrs. Dundyke, "that Mr. Hardcastle followed him for the purpose of +attacking and robbing him?" + +"Ah, my dear, I cannot tell. It is a question that I often ask myself. I +feel inclined to think that he did not. One thing I seem nearly sure +of--that he did not intend to injure him. I have not the least doubt +that Mr. Hardcastle was at his wit's end for money to pay his hotel +bill, and that the thirty pounds my poor husband mentioned as having +received that morning, was an almost irresistible temptation. There's no +doubt he followed him to the borders of the lake; that he induced him, +by some argument, to walk away with him, across the country; but whether +he did this with the intention of----" + +"Did Mr. Dundyke not clear this up after his return?" interrupted Lizzie +Fauntleroy. + +"Never clearly; his recollections remained so confused. I have thought +at times, that the crime only came with the opportunity," continued Mrs. +Dundyke, reverting to what she was saying. "It is possible that the heat +of the day and the long walk, though why Mr. Hardcastle should have +caused him to take that long walk, unless he had ulterior designs, I +cannot tell--may have overpowered my husband with a faintness, and Mr. +Hardcastle seized the opportunity to rifle his pocket-book." + +"You seem to be more lenient in your judgment of Mr. Hardcastle than I +should be," observed Lizzie Fauntleroy. + +"I have thought of it so long and so often, that I believe I have grown +to judge of the past impartially," was Mrs. Dundyke's answer. "At first +I was very much incensed against the man; I am not sure but I thought +hanging too good for him; but I grew by degrees to look at it more +reasonably." + +"And the pencil?" + +"He must have taken it from the pocket-book in his hurry, when he took +the money. That he did it all in haste, the not finding the two +half-notes for fifty pounds proves." + +"Suppose Mr. Dundyke had returned to Geneva the next day and confronted +him. What then?" + +"Ah, I don't know. Mr. Hardcastle relied, perhaps, upon being able to +make good his own story, and he knew that David had the most unbounded +faith in him." + +"Well, take it in its best light--that Mr. Dundyke fainted from the heat +of the sun--the man must have been a brute to leave him alone," +concluded Lizzie Fauntleroy. + +"Yes," was the answer, as a faint colour rose to Mrs. Dundyke's cheek; +"_that_ I can never forgive." + +The afternoon and the work progressed satisfactorily, and dinner time +arrived. Miss Fauntleroy had invited Travice to come and partake of it, +but he said he had an engagement--which she did not half believe. The +nearly bed-ridden old aunt came down to it, and was propped up to the +table in an invalid chair. Miss Fauntleroy took the head; Miss Lizzie +the foot. It was a well-spread board: Lawyer Fauntleroy's daughters +liked good dinners. Their manners were more free at home than abroad, +rather scaring Mildred. "How could Travice have chosen _here_?" she +mentally asked. + +"There's no gentlemen present, so I don't see why I should not give you +a toast," suddenly exclaimed Lizzie Fauntleroy, as the servant was +pouring out the first glass of champagne. "The bridegroom and bride +elect. Mr. Travice Ar----" + +Lizzie stopped in surprise. Peeping in at the door, in a half-jocular, +half-deprecatory manner, as if he would ask pardon for entering at the +unseasonable hour, was Mr. Benjamin Carr. His somewhat dusty appearance, +and his over-coat on his arm, showed that he had then come from the +station after his Birmingham journey. Lizzie, too hearty to be troubled +with superfluous reticence or ceremony of any kind, started up with a +shout of welcome. + +Of course everything was dis-arranged. The visitors looked up with +surprise; Barbara turned round and gave him her hand. Ben began an +apology for sitting down in the state he was, and had handed his coat to +a servant, when he found a firm hand laid upon his arm. He wheeled +round, wondering who it was, and saw a widow's cap, and a face he did +not in the first moment recognise. + +"_Mr. Hardcastle!_" + +With the words, the voice, the recognition came to him, and the past +scenes at Geneva rose before his startled memory as a vivid dream. He +might have brazened it out had he been taken less utterly by surprise, +but that unnerved him: his face turned ashy white, his whole manner +faltered. He looked to the door as if he would have bolted out of it; +but somebody had closed it again. + +Mrs. Dundyke turned her face to the amazed listeners, who had risen from +their seats. But that it had lost its colour also, there was no trace in +it of agitation: it was firm, rigid, earnest; and her voice was calm +even to solemnity. + +"Before heaven, I assert that this is the man who in Geneva called +himself Mr. Hardcastle, who did that injury--much or little, _he_ best +knows--to my husband! He----" + +"But this is Benjamin Carr!" interrupted the wondering Miss Fauntleroy. + +"Yes; just so; Benjamin Carr," assented Mrs. Dundyke, in a tone that +seemed to say she expected the words. "I recognised you, Benjamin Carr, +on the last day of your stay in Geneva, when you were giving me that +false order on Leadenhall Street. From the moment I first saw you, the +morning after we arrived at Geneva, your eyes puzzled me. I _knew_ I had +seen them somewhere before, and I told my poor husband so; but I could +not recollect where. In the hour of your leaving, the recollection came +to me; and I knew that the eyes were those of Benjamin Carr, or eyes +precisely similar to his. I thought it must be the latter; I could not +suppose that Squire Carr's son, a gentleman born and reared----" + +But here a startling interruption intervened. It suddenly occurred to +Miss Lizzie Fauntleroy, amidst the general confusion outward and inward, +that the Mr. Hardcastle who had figured in the dark and disgraceful +story, was said to have been accompanied by a wife. Considering that he +was now designing to confer that honour upon her, the reflection was not +agreeable. Miss Lizzie came to a hasty conclusion, that the real Mrs. +Carr must be lying _perdue_ somewhere, while he prosecuted his designs +upon herself and her money, conveniently ignoring the result of what he +might be running his head wholesale into--a prosecution for bigamy. She +went butting at him, her voice raised to a shriek, her nails out, +alarmingly near to his face. + +"You false, desperate, designing villain! You dare to come courting me +as a single man! You nearly drew me into a marriage! Where's your wife? +Where's your wife, villain?" + +_This_ charge was a mistaken one, and Ben Carr somewhat rallied his +scared senses. "It is false," he said. "I swear on my honour that I have +no wife; I swear that I never have had one." + +"You had your wife with you in Geneva," said Mrs. Dundyke. + +"She was not my wife. Lizzie Fauntleroy, can't you believe me? I have +never married yet. I never thought of marrying until I saw you." + +"It's all the same now," said Lizzie, with equanimity. "I don't like +tricks played me. Better that I should have discovered this before +marriage than after." + +"It is false, on my honour. You will not allow it to make any difference +to our----" + +"Not allow it to make any difference," interposed Lizzie, imperiously +cutting short his words. "Do you take me for a fool, Ben Carr? _You've_ +seen the last of me, I can tell you that; and if pa were living still, +he should prosecute you for getting my consent to a marriage under false +pretences." + +"If I do not prosecute you, Benjamin Carr," resumed Mrs. Dundyke, "you +owe it partly to my consideration for your family, partly to the unhappy +fact that it could not bring my poor husband back to life. It could not +restore to him the mental power he lost, the faculties that were +destroyed. It could not bring back to me my lost happiness. How far you +may have been guilty, I know not. It must rest with your conscience, and +so shall your punishment." + +He stood something like a stag at bay--half doubting whether to slink +away, whether to turn and beard his pursuers. Barbara Fauntleroy threw +wide the door. + +"You had better quit us, I think, Mr. Carr." + +"I see what it is," said he, at length, to the Miss Fauntleroys. "You +are just now too prejudiced to listen to reason. The tale that woman has +been telling you of me is a mistaken one; and when you are calm, I will +endeavour to convince you of it." + +"Calm, man!" cried Barbara, with a laugh. "_I_'m calm enough. It isn't +such an interlude, as this, that could take any calmness away from me. +It has been as good to me as a scene at the play." + +But the gentleman did not wait to hear the conclusion. He had escaped +through the open door. Those left stared at one another. + +"Come along," said Lizzie, with unruffled composure; "don't let the +dinner get colder than it is. I dare say I'm well rid of him. Where's +our glasses of champagne? A drop will do us all good. Oh dear, Mrs. +Dundyke! _Pray_ don't suffer it to trouble you!" + +She had sat down in a far corner, poor woman, with her face hidden, +drowned in a storm of silent tears. + +The event, quickly though it had transpired--over, as it were, in a +moment--exercised a powerful influence on the spirits of Mrs. Dundyke. +It brought the old trouble so vividly before her, that she could not +rally again as the days went on; and she told Mildred that she should go +back to London, but would come to her again at a future time. The +resolution was a sudden one. Mrs. Arkell happened to call the same day, +and was told of it. + +"Going back to London to-morrow!" repeated Mrs. Arkell in consternation; +and she hastened to her sister's room. + +Mrs. Dundyke had her drawers all out, and her travelling trunk open, +beginning to put things together. Mrs. Arkell went in, and closed the +door. + +"Betsey, you are going back, I hear; therefore I must at once ask the +question that I have been intending to ask before your departure. It may +sound to you somewhat premature: I don't know. Will you forget and +forgive?" + +"Forget and forgive what?" + +"My coldness during the past years." + +"I am willing to forgive it, Charlotte, if that will do you any good. To +forget it is an impossibility." + +Mrs. Dundyke spoke with civil indifference. She was wrapping different +toilet articles in paper, and she continued her occupation. Mrs. Arkell, +in a state of bitter vexation at the turn things had taken, terribly +self-repentant that she should have pursued a line of conduct so +inimical to her own interests, sat down on a low chair, and fairly burst +into tears. + +"Why, what's the matter, Charlotte?" + +"You are a rich woman now, and therefore you despise us. We are growing +poor." + +"How can you talk such nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Dundyke, screwing down +the silver stopper of a scent-bottle. "If I became as rich and as grand +as a duke, it could never cause me to make the slightest difference in +my conduct to anybody, high or low." + +"Our intercourse has been so cold, so estranged, during this visit!" + +"And, but that you find I am a little better off than you thought for, +would you have allowed it to be otherwise than cold and estranged?" +returned Mrs. Dundyke, putting down the scent-bottle, and facing her +sister. + +There was no reply. What, indeed, could there be? + +"Charlotte," said Mrs. Dundyke, dropping her voice to earnestness, as +she went close to her sister, "the past wore me out. Ask yourself what +your treatment of me was--for years, and years, and years. You know how +I loved you--how I tried to conciliate you by every means in my +power--to be to you a sister; and you would not. You threw my affection +back upon myself; you prevented Mr. Arkell and your children coming to +me; you heaped unnecessary scorn upon my husband. I bore it; I strove +against it; but my patience and my love gave way at last, and I am sorry +to say resentment grew in its place. Those feelings of affection, worn +out by slow degrees, can never grow again." + +"It is as much as to say that you hate me!" + +"Not so. We can be civil when we meet; and that can be as often as +circumstances bring us into the same locality. But I do not think there +can ever be cordiality between us again." + +"I had thought you were of a forgiving disposition, Betsey." + +"So I am." + +"I had thought----" Mrs. Arkell paused a moment, as if half ashamed of +what she was about to say--"I had thought to enlist your sisterly +feelings for me; that is, for my daughters. You are rich now; you have +plenty of money to spare; and their patrimony has dwindled down to +nothing--nothing compared to what it ought to have been. They----" + +"Stay, Charlotte. We may as well come to an understanding on this point +at once; it will serve for always. Your daughters have never +condescended to recognise me in their lives; it was perhaps your fault, +perhaps theirs: I don't know. But the effect upon me has not been a +pleasant one. I shall decline to help them." + +Mrs. Arkell's proud spirit was rising. What it had cost thus to bend +herself to her life-despised sister, she alone knew. She beat her foot +upon the hearth-rug. + +"I don't know how they'll get along. But for Mr. Arkell's having kept on +the business for Travice, we should be rich still. He has always been a +fool in some things." + +"Don't disparage your husband before me, Charlotte; I shall not listen +calmly; you were never worthy of him. I love Mr. Arkell for his +goodness, and I love your son. If you asked me for help for Travice, you +should have it; never for your daughters." + +"Very kind, I'm sure! when you know he does not want it," was the +provoking and angry answer. "Travice is placed above requiring your +help, by marriage with Miss Fauntleroy." + +And Mrs. Arkell gave her head a scornful toss as she went out, and +banged the chamber-door after her. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +MILDRED'S RECOMPENSE. + + +The consent of Travice once obtained, the necessary word spoken to Miss +Fauntleroy, Mrs. Arkell hurried the marriage on in earnest. So long as +Travice had only made the offer, and given no signs of wishing for the +ceremony to take place, not much could be done; but he had now said to +Barbara, "Fix your own day." + +There was no trouble needed in regard to a house; at least, there had +not hitherto been. The house that the Miss Fauntleroys lived in was +their own, and Barbara wished to continue in it. It was supposed that +her sister would be moving to a farm in the parish of Eckford. That was +now frustrated. "Never mind," said Barbara, in her easy way, "Lizzie can +stop on with us; Travice won't mind it, and I shall like it. If we find +afterwards that it does not answer, different arrangements can be made." + +The Miss Fauntleroys were generous in the matter of Benjamin Carr. Those +others who had been present were generous, even Mrs. Dundyke. The +identification of the gentleman with the Mr. Hardcastle, of Geneva +memory, was not allowed to transpire: they all had regard to the +feelings of the squire and his family. It was fortunate that the only +servant in the room had gone from it with Benjamin Carr's over-coat, and +Barbara had had the presence of mind to slip the bolt of the door. Mr. +Ben Carr, however, thought it well to take a tour just at this time, and +he did not show his face in Westerbury previous to his departure. + +Lucy Arkell was solicited to be one of the bridesmaids; but Lucy +declined. Mildred remembered a wedding which _she_ had declined to +attend as bridesmaid. How little, how little did she think that the same +cruel pain was swaying the motives of Lucy! + +Lucy and her aunt saw but little now of the Arkells. Travice never +called; Mr. Arkell, full of trouble, confined himself to his home; and +Mrs. Arkell had not entered the house since the rebuff given her by Mrs. +Dundyke. Lucy held aloof from them; and Mildred certainly did not go +there of her own accord. It therefore came to pass that they heard +little news of the doings there, except what might be dropped by chance +callers-in. + +And now, as if Mildred had really been gifted with prevision, Tom Palmer +made an offer of his hand and heart to Lucy. Lucy's response was by no +means a dignified one--she burst out crying. Mildred, in surprise, asked +what was the matter, and Lucy said she had not thought her old friend +Tom could have been so unkind. Unkind! But the result was, that Lucy +refused him in the most positive manner, then and for always. Mildred +began to think that she could not understand Lucy. + +There was a grand party given one night at Mrs. Arkell's, and they went +to that. Mildred accepted the invitation without consulting Lucy. The +Palmers were there; and Travice treated Tom very cavalierly. In fact, +that word is an appropriate one to characterise his general behaviour to +everybody throughout the evening. And, so far as anybody saw, he never +once went near Miss Fauntleroy, with the exception that he took her into +the supper room. Mr. Arkell did not appear until quite late in the +evening. It was said he had an engagement. So he had, with men of +business; while the revelry was going on in doors, he was in his +counting-house, endeavouring to negotiate for a loan of money, in which +he was not successful. Little heart had he at ten o'clock to go in and +dress himself and enter upon that scene of gaiety. Mildred exchanged but +a few sentences with him, but she thought he was in remarkably low +spirits. + +"Are you not well, William?" she asked. + +"I have a headache, Mildred." + +It was a day or two after this, and but a few days previous to the +completion of the wedding, when unpleasant rumours, touching the +solvency of the good old house of George Arkell and Son, reached the +ears of Miss Arkell. They were whispered to her by Mr. Palmer, the old +friend of the family. + +"It is said their names will be in the _Gazette_ the day after +to-morrow, unless some foreign help can come to them." + +Miss Arkell sat, deeply shocked; and poor Lucy's colour went and came, +showing the effect the news had upon her. + +"I had no idea that they were in embarrassment," said Mildred. + +"It is so. You see, this wedding of young Travice Arkell's, that is to +bring so much money into the family, has been delayed too long," +observed Mr. Palmer. "It is said now that Travice, poor fellow, has an +unconquerable antipathy to his bride, and though he consented to the +alliance to save his family, he has been unable to bring his mind to +conclude it. While the grass grows, the steed starves, you know." + +"Miss Fauntleroy was willing that her money should be sacrificed." + +"It would not have been sacrificed, not a penny of it; but the use of it +would have enabled the house to redeem its own money, and bring its +affairs to a satisfactory close. Had there been any risk to the money, +William Arkell would not have agreed to touch it: you know his +honourable nature. However, through the protracted delay--which Travice +will no doubt reflect sharply upon himself for--the marriage and the +money will come too late to save them." + +Mr. Palmer departed, and Lucy sat like one in a dream. Her aunt glanced +at her, and mused, and glanced again. "What are you thinking of, Lucy?" +she asked. + +Lucy burst into tears. "Aunt, I was thinking what a blight it is to be +poor! If I had thousands, I would willingly devote them all to save Mr. +Arkell. Papa told me, when he lay dying, how his cousin William had +helped him from time to time; had saved his home more than once; and had +never been paid back again." + +"And suppose you _had_ money--attend to me, Lucy, for I wish a serious +answer--suppose you were in possession of money, would you be really +willing to sacrifice a portion of it, to save this good friend, William +Arkell?" + +"All, aunt, all!" she answered, eagerly, "and think it no sacrifice." + +"Then put on your bonnet, Lucy, child," returned Miss Arkell, "and come +with me." + +They went forth to the house of Mr. Arkell; and as it turned out, the +visit was opportune, for Mrs. Arkell was away, dining from home. Mr. +Arkell was in a little back parlour, looking over accounts and papers, +with his son. The old man--and he was looking an old man that evening, +with trouble, not with years--rose in surprise when he saw who were his +visitors, and Travice's hectic colour went and came. Mildred had never +been in the room since she was a young woman, and it called up painful +recollections. It was the twilight hour of the evening: that best hour, +of all the twenty-four, for any embarrassing communication. + +"William," began Miss Arkell, seating herself by her cousin, and +speaking in a low tone, "we have heard it whispered that your affairs +are temporarily involved. Is it so?" + +"The world will soon know it, Mildred, above a whisper." + +"It is even so then! What has led to it?" + +"Oh, Mildred! can you ask what has led to it, when you look at the +misery and distress everywhere around us? Search the _Gazette_ for the +past years, and see how many names you will find in it, who once stood +as high as ours! The only wonder is, that we have not yet gone with the +stream. It is a hard case, Mildred, when we have toiled all our lives, +that the labour should come to nothing at last," he continued; "that our +closing years, which ought to be given to thoughts of another world, +must be distracted with the anxious cares of this." + +"Is your difficulty serious, or only temporary?" resumed Miss Arkell. + +"It ought to be only temporary," he replied; "but the worst is, I +cannot, at the present moment, command my resources. We have kept on +manufacturing, hoping for better times; and, to tell you the truth, +Mildred, I could not reconcile it to my conscience to turn off my old +workmen to beggary. There was Travice, too. I have a heavy stock of +goods on hand; to the amount of some thousands; and this locks up my +diminished capital. I am still worth what would cover my business +liabilities twice over--and I have no others--but I cannot avail myself +of it for present emergencies. I have turned every stone, Mildred, to +keep my head above water: and I believe I can struggle no longer." + +"What amount of money would effectually relieve you?" asked Miss Arkell. + +"About three thousand pounds," he replied, answering the question +without any apparent interest. + +"Then to-morrow morning vouchers for that sum shall be placed in the +Westerbury bank at your disposal. _And for double that sum, if you +require it._" + +Mr. Arkell looked up in astonishment; and finally addressed to her the +very words which he had once before done, in early life, upon a far +different subject. + +"You are dreaming, Mildred!" + +She remembered them; had she ever forgotten one word said to her on that +eventful night? and sighed as she replied: + +"This money is mine. I enjoyed, as you know, a most liberal salary for +seven or eight-and-twenty years; and the money, as it came in, was +placed out from the first to good interest; later, a part of it to good +use. Lady Dewsbury also bequeathed me a munificent sum by her will; so +that altogether I am worth----" + +His excessive surprise could not let her continue. That Mildred had +saved just sufficient to live upon, he had deemed probable; but not +more. She had been always assisting Peter. He interrupted her with words +to this effect. + +Mildred smiled. "I could place at your disposal twelve thousand pounds, +if needs must," she said. "I had a friend who helped me to lay out my +money to advantage. It was Mr. Dundyke. William, _how_ can I better use +part of this money than by serving you?" + +William Arkell shook his head in deprecation. Not all at once, in the +suddenness of the surprise, could he accept the idea of being assisted +by Mildred. Peter had taken enough from her. + +"Peter did not take enough from me," she firmly said. "It is only since +Peter's death that I have learnt how straitened he always was--he kept +it from me. I have been taking great blame to myself, for it seems to me +that I ought to have guessed it--and I did not. But Peter is gone, and +you are left. Oh, William, let me help you!" + +"Mildred, I have no right to it from _you_." + +She laid her hand upon his arm in her eagerness. She bent her gentle +face, with its still sweet expression, near to him, and spoke in a +whisper. + +"_Let_ me help you. It will be a recompense for the past pain of my +lonely life." + +His eyes looked straight into hers for the moment. "I have had my pain, +too, Mildred." + +"But this loan? you will take it. Lucy, speak up," added Miss Arkell, +turning to her niece. "This money is willed to you, and will be yours +sometime. Is it not at your wish that I come this evening, as well as at +my own?" + +"Oh, sir," sobbed Lucy to Mr. Arkell, "take it all. Let my aunt retain +what will be sufficient for her life, but keep none for me; I am young +and healthy, and can go out and work for my living, as she has done. +Take all the rest, and save the credit of the family." + +William Arkell turned to Lucy, the tears trickling down his cheeks. She +had taken off her bonnet on entering, and he laid his hand fondly on her +head. + +"Lucy, child, were this money exclusively your aunt's, I would not +hesitate to make use of sufficient of it now to save my good name. In +that ease, I should wind up my affairs as soon as would be conveniently +possible, retire from business, and see how far what is left to me would +go towards a living. It would be enough; and my wife would have to bring +her mind to think it so. But this sum that your aunt offers me--that you +second--may be the very money she has been intending to hand over with +you as a marriage portion. And what would your husband say at its being +thus temporarily appropriated?" + +"My husband!" exclaimed Lucy, in amazement; "a marriage portion for me! +When I take the one, it will be time enough to think of the other." Miss +Arkell, too, looked up with a questioning gaze, for she had quite +forgotten the little romance--her romance--concerning young Mr. Palmer. + +"I shall never marry," continued Lucy, in answer to Mr. Arkell's puzzled +look. "I think I am better as I am." + +"But, Lucy, you _are_ going to marry. You are going to marry Tom +Palmer." + +Lucy laughed. She could not help it, she said, apologetically. She had +laughed ever since he asked her, except just at the time, at the very +idea of her marrying Tom Palmer, the little friend of her girlhood. Tom +laughed at it himself now; and they were as good friends as before. "But +how _did_ you hear of it?" she exclaimed. + +Travice came forward, his cheek pale, his lip quivering. He laid his +fevered hand on Lucy's shoulder. + +"Is this true, Lucy?" he whispered. "Is it true that you do not love Tom +Palmer?" + +"Love him!" cried Lucy, indignantly, sad reproach in her eye, as she +turned it on Travice. "You have seen us together hundreds of times; did +you ever detect anything in my manner to induce you to think I 'loved' +him?" + +"_I_ loved _you_," murmured Travice, for he read that reproach aright, +and the scales which had obscured his eyes fell from them, as by magic. +"I have long loved you--deeply, passionately. My brightest hopes were +fixed on you; the heyday visions of all my future existence represented +you by my side, my wife. But these misfortunes and losses came thick and +fast upon my father. They told me at home here, _he_ told me, that I was +poor and that you were poor, and that it would be madness in us to think +of marrying then, as it would have been. So I said to myself that I +would be patient, and wait--would be content with loving you in secret, +as I had done--with seeing you daily as a relative. And then the news +burst upon me that you were to marry Tom Palmer; and I thought what a +fool I had been to fancy you cared for me; for I knew that you were not +one to marry where you did not love." + +The tears were coursing down her cheeks. "But I don't understand," she +said. "It is but just, as it were, that Tom has asked me; and you must +be speaking of sometime ago." + +The fault was Mildred's. Not quite all at once could they understand it; +not until later. + +"I shall never marry; indeed I shall never marry," murmured Lucy, as she +yielded for the moment to the passionate embrace in which Travice +clasped her, and kissed away her tears of anguish. "My lot in life must +be like my aunt's now, unloving and unloved." + +"Oh, is there no escape for us!" exclaimed Travice, wildly, as all the +painful embarrassment of his position rushed over his mind. "Can we not +fly together, Lucy--fly to some remote desert place, and leave care and +sorrow behind us? Ere the lapse of many days, another woman expects to +be my wife! Is there no way of escape for us?" + +None; none. The misery of Travice Arkell and his cousin was sealed: +their prospects, so far as this world went, were blighted. There were no +means by which he could escape the marriage that was rushing on to him +with the speed of wings: no means known in the code of honour. And for +Lucy, what was left but to live on unwedded, burying her crushed +affections within herself, as her aunt had done?--live on, and, by the +help of time, strive to subdue that love which was burning in her heart +for the husband of another, rendering every moment of the years that +would pass, one continued, silent agony! + +"The same fate--the same fate!" moaned Mildred Arkell to herself, whilst +Lucy sunk into a chair and covered her pale face with her trembling +hands. "I might have guessed it! Like aunt, like niece. She must go +through life as I have done--and bear--and bear! Strange, that the +younger brother's family, throughout two generations, should have cast +their shadow for evil upon that of the elder! A blight must have fallen +upon my father's race; but, perhaps in mercy, Lucy is the last of it. If +I could have foreseen this, years ago, the same atmosphere in which +lived Travice Arkell should not have been breathed by Lucy. The same +fate! the same fate!" + +Lucy was sobbing silently behind her hands. Travice stood, the image of +despair. Mildred turned to him. + +"Then you do not love Miss Fauntleroy?" + +"Love her! I _hate_ her!" was the answer that burst from him in his +misery. "May Heaven forgive me for the false part I shall have to play!" + +But there was no escape for him. Mildred knew there was not; Mr. Arkell +knew it; and his heart ached for the fate of this, his dearly-loved son. + +"My boy," he said, "I would willingly die to save you--die to secure +your happiness. I did not know this sacrifice was so very bitter." + +Travice cast back a look of love. "You have done all you could for me; +do not _you_ take it to heart. I may get to bear it in time." + +"Get to _bear_ it!" What a volume of expression was in the words! +Mildred rose and approached Mr. Arkell. + +"We had better be going, William. But oh! why did you let it come to +this? Why did you not make a confidante of me?" + +"I did not know you could help me, Mildred; indeed I did not." + +"I will tell you who would have been as thankful to help you as I +am--and that is your sister-in-law, Betsey Dundyke. She could have +helped you more largely than I can." + +"But not more lovingly. God bless you, Mildred!" he whispered, detaining +her for a moment as she was following Travice and Lucy out. + +Her eyes swam with tears as she looked up at him; her hands rested +confidingly in his. + +"If you knew what the happiness of serving you is, William! If you knew +what a recompence this moment is for the bitter past!" + +"God bless you, Mildred!" he repeated, "God bless you for ever." + +She drew her veil over her face to pass out, just as she had drawn it +after that interview, following his marriage, in the years gone by. + +And so the credit of the good and respected old house was saved; saved +by Mildred. Had it taken every farthing she had amassed; so that she +must have gone forth again, in her middle age, and laboured for a +living, she had rejoiced to do it! William Arkell had not waited until +now, to know the value of the heart he had thrown away. + +And the marriage day drew on. But before it dawned, Westerbury knew that +it would bring no marriage with it. Miss Fauntleroy knew it. For the +bridegroom was lying between life and death. + +Of a sensitive, nervous, excitable temperament, the explanation of that +evening, taken in conjunction with the dreadful tension to which his +mind had been latterly subjected, far greater than any one had +suspected, was too much for Travice Arkell. Conscious that Lucy Arkell +passionately loved him; knowing now that she had the money, without +which he could not marry, and that part of that money was actually +advanced to save his father's credit; knowing also, that he must never +more think of her, but must tie himself to one whom he abhorred; that he +and Lucy must never again see each other in life, but as friends, and +not too much of that, he became ill. Reflection preyed upon him: remorse +for doubting Lucy, and hastening to offer himself to Miss Fauntleroy, +seated itself in his mind, and ere the day fixed for his marriage +arrived, he was laid up with brain fever. + +With brain fever! In vain they tried their remedies: their ice to his +head; their cooling medicines; their blisters to his feet. His +unconscious ravings were, at moments, distressing to hear: his deep love +for Lucy; his impassioned adjurations to her to fly with him, and be at +peace; his shuddering hatred of Miss Fauntleroy. On the last day of his +life, as the doctors thought, Lucy was sent for, in the hope that her +presence might calm him. But he did not know her: he was past knowing +any one. + +"Lucy!" he would utter, in a hollow voice, unconscious that she or any +one else was present--"Lucy! we will leave the place for ever. Have you +got your things ready? We will go where _she_ can't find us out, and +force me to her. Lucy! where are you? Lucy!" + +And Mrs. Arkell! She was the most bitterly repentant. Many a sentence is +spoken lightly, many an idle threat, many a reckless wish; but the vain +folly is not often brought home to the heart, as it was to Mrs. Arkell. + +"I would pray Heaven to let me follow you to your grave, Travice, rather +than see you marry Lucy Arkell." _He_ was past feeling or remembering +the words; but they came home to _her_. She cast herself upon the bed, +praying wildly for forgiveness, clinging to him in all the agony of +useless remorse. + +"Oh, what matters honour; what matters anything in comparison with his +precious life!" she cried, with streaming eyes. "Tell him, +Lucy,--perhaps he will understand _you_--that he shall indeed marry you +if he will but set his mind at rest, and get well; he shall never again +see Miss Fauntleroy. Lucy! are there no means of calming him? If this +terrible excitement lasts, it will kill him. Tell him it is you he shall +marry, not Barbara Fauntleroy." + +"I cannot tell him so," said Lucy, from the very depth of her aching +heart. "It would not be right to deceive him, even now. There can be no +escape, if he lives, from the marriage with Miss Fauntleroy." + +A few more hours, and the crisis came. The handsome, the intelligent, +the refined Travice Arkell, lay still, in a lethargy that was taken to +be that of death. It went forth to Westerbury that he was dead; and Lucy +took her last look at him, and walked home with her aunt Mildred--to a +home, which, however well supplied it was now with the world's comforts, +could only seem to her one of desolation. Lucy Arkell's eyes were dry; +dry with that intensity of anguish that admits not of tears, and her +brain seemed little less confused than _his_ had done, in these last few +days of life. + +Mildred sat down in her home, and seemed to see into the future. She saw +herself and her niece living on in their quiet and monotonous home; her +own form drooping with the weight of years, Lucy's approaching middle +life. "The old maids" they would be slightingly termed by those who knew +little indeed of their inward history. And in their lonely hearts, +enshrined in its most hidden depths, the image that respectively filled +each in early life, the father and son, William and Travice Arkell, +never, never replaced by any other, but holding their own there so long +as time should last. + +Seated by her fire on that desolate night, she saw it as in a vision. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +MISS FAUNTLEROY LOVED AT LAST. + + +But Travice Arkell did not die. The lethargy that was thought to be +death proved to be only the exhaustion of spent nature. When the first +faint indications of his awaking from it appeared, the physicians said +it was possible that he might recover. He lay for some days in a +critical state, hopes and fears about equally balancing, and then he +began to get visibly stronger. + +"I have been nearly dead, have I not?" he asked one day of his father, +who was sitting by the bed. + +"But you are better now, Travice. You will get well. Thank God!" + +"Yes, the danger's over. I feel that, myself. Dear father! how troubled +you have been!" + +"Travice, I could hardly have borne to lose you," he murmured, leaning +over him. "And--_thus_." + +"I shall soon be well again; soon be strong. Be stronger, I hope," and +Travice faintly pressed the hand in which his lay, "to go through the +duties that lie before me, than I was previously." + +Mr. Arkell sighed from the very depths of his heart. If his son could +but have looked forward to arise to a life of peace, instead of pain! + +Mildred was with the invalid often. Mrs. Dundyke, who, concerned at the +imminent danger of one in whom she had always considered that she held a +right, had hastened to Westerbury when the news was sent to her, +likewise used to go and sit with him. But not Lucy. It was instinctively +felt by all that the sight of Lucy could only bring the future more +palpably before him. It might have been so different! + +Mrs. Dundyke saw Mr. Arkell in private. + +"Is there _no_ escape for him?" she asked; "no escape from this marriage +with Miss Fauntleroy? I would give all I am worth to effect it." + +"And I would give my life," was the agitated answer. "There is none. +Honour must be kept before all things. Travice himself knows there is +none; neither would he accept any, were it offered out of the line of +strict honour." + +"It is a life's sacrifice," said Mrs. Dundyke. "It is sacrificing both +him and Lucy." + +"Had I possessed but the faintest idea of the sacrifice it really was, +even for him, it should never have been contemplated, no matter what the +cost," was Mr. Arkell's answer. + +"And there was no need of it. If you had but known that! My fortune is a +large one now, and the greater portion of it I intended for Travice." + +"Betsey!" + +"I intended it for no one else. Perhaps I ought to have been more open +in expressing my intentions; but you know how I have been held aloof by +Charlotte. And I did not suppose that Travice was in necessity of any +sort. If he marries Miss Fauntleroy, the half of what I die possessed of +will be his; the other half will go to Lucy Arkell. Were it possible +that he could marry Lucy, they'd not wait for my death to be placed +above the frowns of the world." + +"Oh Betsey, how generous you are! But there is no escape for him," added +Mr. Arkell, with a groan at the bitter fact. "He cannot desert Miss +Fauntleroy." + +It was indisputably true. And that buxom bride-elect herself seemed to +have no idea that anybody wanted to be off the bargain, for her visits +to the house were frequent, and her spirits were unusually high. + +You all know the old rhyme about a certain gentleman's penitence when he +was sick; though it may not be deemed the perfection of good manners to +quote it here. It was a very apt illustration of the feelings of Mrs. +Arkell. While her son lay sick unto death, she would have married him to +Lucy Arkell; but no sooner was the danger of death removed, and he +advancing towards convalescence, than the old pride--avarice--love of +rule--call it what you will--resumed sway within her; and she had almost +been ready to say again that a mouldy grave would be preferable for him, +rather than desertion of Miss Fauntleroy. In fine, the old state of +things was obtaining sway, both as to Mrs. Arkell's opinions and to the +course of events. + +"When can I see him?" asked Miss Fauntleroy one day. + +Not the first time, this, that she had put the question, and it a little +puzzled Mrs. Arkell to answer it. It was only natural and proper, +considering the relation in which each stood to the other, that Miss +Fauntleroy should see him; but Mrs. Arkell had positively not dared to +hint at such a visit to her son. + +"Travice sits up now, does he not?" continued the young lady. + +"Yes, he has sat up a little in the afternoon these two days past. We +call it sitting up, Barbara, but, in point of fact, he lies the whole +time on the sofa. He is not strong enough to sit up." + +"Then I'm sure I may see him. It might not have been proper, I suppose, +to pay him a visit in bed," she added, laughing loudly; "but there can't +be any impropriety now. I want to see him, Mrs. Arkell; I want it very +particularly." + +"Of course, Barbara; I can understand that you do. I should, in your +place. The only consideration is, whether it may not agitate him too +much." + +"Not it," said Barbara. "I wish you'd go and ask him when I may come. I +suppose he is up now?" + +Mrs. Arkell had no ready plea for refusal, and she went upstairs there +and then. Travice was lying on the sofa, exhausted with the exertion of +getting to it. + +"My dear, I think you look better," Mrs. Arkell began, not altogether +relishing her task; and she gently pushed the bits of brown hair, now +beginning to grow again, from the damp, white forehead. "Do you feel +so?" + +He drew her fingers for a moment into his, and held them there. He was +always ready to respond to his mother's little tokens of affection. She +had opposed him in the matter of Lucy Arkell, but he was ever generous, +ever just, and he blamed circumstances more than he blamed her. + +"I feel a great deal better than I did a week ago. I shall get on now." + +Mrs. Arkell paused. "Some one wants to see you, Travice." + +The hectic came into his white face as she spoke--a wild rush of +crimson. Was it possible that he thought she spoke of Lucy? The idea +occurred, to Mrs. Arkell. + +"My dear, it is Barbara. She has asked to see you a great many times. +She is downstairs now." + +Travice raised his thin hand, and laid it for a moment over his face, +over his closed eyes. Was he praying for help in his pain?--for strength +to go through what must be gone through--his duty in the future; and to +do it bravely? + +"Travice, my dear, but for this illness she would now have been your +wife. It is only natural that she should wish to come and see you." + +"Yes, of course," he said, removing his hand, and speaking very calmly; +"I have been expecting that she would." + +"When shall she come up? Now?" + +He did not speak for a moment. + +"Not now; not to-day; the getting up seemed to tire me more than it has +done yet. Tell her so from me. Perhaps she will take the trouble to call +again to-morrow, and come up then." + +The message was carried to Miss Fauntleroy, and she did not fail in the +appointment. Mrs. Arkell took her upstairs without notice to her son; +possibly she feared some excuse again. The sofa was drawn near the fire +as before, and Travice lay on it; had he been apprised of the visit, he +might have tried to sit up to receive her. + +She was very big as usual, and very grand. A rich watered lilac silk +dress, looped up above a scarlet petticoat; a velvet something on her +arms and shoulders, of which I really don't know the name, covered with +glittering jet trimmings; and a spangled bonnet with fancy feathers. As +she sailed into the room, her petticoats, that might have covered the +dome of St. Paul's, knocked over a little brass stand and kettle, some +careless attendant having left them on the carpet, near the wall. There +was no damage, except noise, for the kettle was empty. + +"That's my crinoline!" cried the hearty, good-humoured girl. "Never +mind; there's worse misfortunes at sea." + +"No, Travice, you had better not rise," interposed Mrs. Arkell, for he +was struggling into a sitting position. "Barbara will excuse it; she +knows how weak you are." + +"And I'll not allow you to rise, that's more," said Barbara, laying her +hand upon him. "I am not come to make you worse, but to make you +better--if I can." + +Mrs. Arkell, not altogether easy yet upon the feelings of Travice as to +the visit, anxious, as we all are with anything on our consciences, to +get away, invited Barbara to a chair, and hastened from the room. +Travice tried to receive her as he ought, and put out his hand with a +wan smile. + +"How are you, Barbara?" + +There was no reply, except that the thin hand was taken between both of +hers. He looked up, and saw that her eyes were swimming in tears. A +moment's struggle, and they came forth, with a burst. + +"There! it's of no good. What a fool I am!" + +Just a minute or two's indulgence to the burst, and it was over. Miss +Fauntleroy rubbed away the traces, and her broad face wore its smiles +again. She drew a chair close, and sat down in front of him. + +"I was not prepared to see you look like this, Travice. How dreadfully +it has pulled you down!" + +She was gazing at his face as she spoke. Her entrance had not called up +anything of colour or emotion to illumine it. The transparent skin was +drawn over the delicate features, and the refinement, always +characterizing it, was more conspicuous than it had ever been. No two +faces, perhaps, could present a greater contrast than his did, with the +broad, vulgar, hearty, and in a sense, handsome one of hers. + +"Yes, it has pulled me down. At one period there was little chance of my +life, I believe. But they no doubt told you all at the time. I daresay +you knew more of the different stages of the danger than I did." + +"And what was it that brought it on?" asked Miss Fauntleroy, untying her +bonnet, and throwing back the strings. "Brain fever is not a common +disorder; it does not go about in the air!" + +There was a slight trace of colour now on the thin cheeks, and she +noticed it. Travice faintly shook his head to disclaim any knowledge on +his own part. + +"It is not very often that we know how these illnesses are brought on. +My chief concern now"--and he looked up at her with a smile--"must be to +find out how I can best throw it off." + +"I have been very anxious for some days to see you," she resumed, after +a pause. "Do you know what I have come to say?" + +"No," he said, rather languidly. + +"But I'll tell you first what I heard. When you were lying in that awful +state between life and death--and it _is_ an awful state, Travice, the +danger of passing, without warning, to the presence of one's Maker--I +heard that it was _I_ who had brought on the fever." + +His whole face was flushed now--a consciousness of the past had risen up +so vividly within him. "_You!_" he uttered. "What do you mean?" + +"Ah! Travice, I see how it has been. I know all. You have tried to like +me, and you cannot. Be still, be calm; I do not reproach you even in +thought. You loved Lucy Arkell long before anybody thought of me, in +connection with you; and I declare I honour the constancy of your heart +in keeping true to her. Now, if you are not tranquil I shall get my ears +boxed by your doctors, and I'll not come and see you again." + +"But----" + +"You just be quiet. I'm going to do the talking, and you the listening. +There, I'll hold your hands in mine, as some old, prudent spirit might, +to keep you still--a sister, say. That's all I shall ever be to you, +Travice." + +His chest was beginning to heave with emotion. + +"I have a great mind to run away, and leave you to fancy you are going +to be tied to me after all! _Pray_ calm yourself. Oh! Travice, why did +you not tell me the truth--that you had no shadow of liking for me; that +your love for another was stronger than death? I should have been a +little mortified at first, but not for long. It is not your fault; you +did all you could; and it has nearly killed you----" + +"Who has been telling you this?" he interrupted. + +"Never mind. Perhaps somebody, perhaps nobody. It's the town's talk, and +that's enough. Do you think I could be so wicked and selfish a woman as +to hold you to your engagement, knowing this? No! Never shall it be said +of Barbara Fauntleroy, in this or in aught else, that she secured her +own happiness at the expense of anybody else's." + +"But Barbara----" + +"Don't 'Barbara' me, but listen," she interrupted playfully, laying her +finger on his lips. "At present you hate me, and I don't say that your +heart may not have cause; but I want to turn that hatred into love. If I +can't get it as a wife, Travice, I may as a friend. I like you very +much, and I can't afford to lose you quite. Heaven knows in what way I +might have lost you, had we been married; or what would have been the +ending." + +He lay looking at her, not altogether comprehending the words, in his +weakness. + +"You shall marry Lucy as soon as you are strong enough; and a little +bird has whispered me a secret that I fancy you don't know yet--that +you'll have plenty and plenty of money, more than I should have brought +you. We'll have a jolly wedding; and I'll be bridesmaid, if she'll let +me." + +Barbara had talked till her eyes were running down with tears. His +lashes began to glisten. + +"I couldn't do it, Barbara," he whispered; "I couldn't do it." + +"Perhaps not; but I can, and shall. Listen, you difficult old fellow, +and set your mind and your conscience at rest. Before that great and +good Being, who has spared you through this death-sickness, and has +spared _me_, perhaps, a life of unhappiness, I solemnly swear that I +will not marry you! I don't think I have much pride, but I've some; and +I am above stooping to accept a man that all the world knows hates me +like poison. I'd not have you now, Travice, though there were no Lucy +Arkell in the world. A pretty figure I should cut on our wedding day, if +I did hold you to your bargain! The town might follow us to church with +a serenade of marrowbones and cleavers, as they do the butchers. I'll +not leave you until you tell me all is at an end between us--on your +side as on mine." + +"It is not right, Barbara. It is not right that I should treat you so." + +"I'll not leave you until you tell me all is at an end." + +"I _can't_ tell it you." + +"I'll not leave you until you tell me all is at an end," she +persistently repeated. "No, not if I have to stop in the room all the +blessed night, as your real sister might. What do I care for their fads +and their punctilios? Here I'll stop." + +He looked up in her face with a smile. It had more of _love_ in it than +Barbara had ever seen expressed to her from him. She bent down and +kissed his lips. + +"There! that's an earnest of our new friendship. Not that I shall be +giving you kisses in future, or expect any from you. Lucy might not like +it, you know, or you either. I don't say _I_ should, for I may be +marrying on my own score. We might have been an estranged man and wife, +Travice, wishing each other dead and buried and perhaps not gone to +heaven, every day of our lives. We will be two firm friends. You don't +reject _me_, you know; _I_ reject you, and you can't help yourself." + +"We will be friends always, Barbara," he said, from the depths of his +inmost heart, as he held her warm hand on his breast. "I am beginning to +love you as one already." + +"There's a darling fellow! Yes, I should call you so though Lucy were +present. Oh, Travice! it's best as it is! A little bit of smart to get +over--and that's what I have been doing the past week or so--and we +begin on a truer basis. I never was suited to you, and that's the truth. +But we can be the best friends living. It won't spoil my appetite, +Travice; I'm not of that flimsy temperament. Fancy _me_ getting +brain-fever through being crossed in love!" + +She laughed out loud at the thought--a ringing, merry laugh. It put +Travice at ease on the score of the "smart." + +"And now I'm going into the manufactory to tell Mr. Arkell that you and +I are _two_. If he asks for the cause, perhaps I shall whisper to him +that I've found out you won't suit me and I prefer to look out for +somebody that will; and when Mrs. Arkell asks it me, 'We've split, +ma'am--split' I shall tell her. Travice! Travice! did you really think I +could stand, knowing it, in the way of anybody's life's happiness?" + +He drew her face down to his. He kissed it as he had never kissed it +before. + +"Friends for life! Firm, warm friends for life, you and I and Lucy! God +bless you, Barbara!" + +"Mind! I stand out for a jolly ball at the wedding! Lizzie and I mean to +dance all night. Fancy us!" she added, with a laugh that rang through +the room, "the two forlorn damsels that were to have been brides +ourselves! Never mind; we shan't die for the lack of husbands, if we +choose to accept them. But it's to be hoped our second ventures will +turn out more substantial than our first." + +And Travice Arkell, nearly overcome with emotion and weakness, closed +his eyes and folded his hands as she went laughing from the room, his +lips faintly moving. + +"What can I do unto God for all the benefits that He hath done unto me?" + +It was during this illness of Travice Arkell's that a circumstance took +place which caused some slight degree of excitement in Westerbury. +Edward Blissett Hughes, who had gone away from the town between twenty +and thirty years before, and of whom nobody had heard much, if any, +tidings of since, suddenly made his appearance in it again. His return +might not have given rise to much comment, but for the very prominent +manner in which his name had been brought forward in connexion with the +assize cause; and perhaps no one was more surprised than Mr. Hughes +himself when he found how noted he had become. + +It matters not to tell how the slim working man of three or +four-and-thirty, came back a round, comfortable, portly gentleman of +sixty, with a smart, portly wife, and well to do in the world. Well to +do?--nay, wealthy. Or how he had but come for a transitory visit to his +native place, and would soon be gone again. All that matters not to us; +and his return needed not to have been mentioned at all, but that he +explained one or two points in the past history, which had never been +made quite clear to Westerbury. + +One of the first persons to go to see him was William Arkell; and it was +from that gentleman Mr. Hughes first learnt the details of the dispute +and the assize trial. + +Robert Carr had been more _malin_--as the French would express it--than +people gave him credit for. That few hours' journey of his to London, +three days previous to the flight, had been taken for one sole +purpose--the procuring of a marriage licence. Edward Hughes, vexed at +the free tone that the comments of the town were assuming in reference +to his young sister, made a tardy interference, and gave Robert Carr his +choice--the breaking off the acquaintance, or a marriage. Robert Carr +chose the latter alternative, stipulating that it should be kept a close +secret; and he ran up to town for the licence. Whether he really meant +to use it, or whether he only bought it to appease in a degree the +aroused precautions of the brother, cannot be told. That he certainly +did not intend to make use of it so soon, Edward Hughes freely +acknowledged now. The hasty marriage, the flight following upon it, grew +out of that last quarrel with his father. From the dispute at +dinner-time, Robert went straight to the Hughes's house, saw Martha Ann, +got her consent, and then sought the brother at his workshop, as Edward +Hughes still phrased it, and arranged the plans with him for the +following morning. Sophia Hughes was of necessity made a party to the +scheme, but she was not told of it until night; and Mary they did not +tell at all, not daring to trust her. Brother and sister bound +themselves to secrecy, for the sake of the fortune that Robert Carr +would assuredly lose if the marriage became known; and they suffered the +taint to fall on their sister's name, content to know that it was +undeserved, and to look forward to the time when all should be cleared +up by the reconciliation between father and son, or by the death of Mr. +Carr. They were anxious for the marriage, so far beyond anything they +could have expected, and, consequently, did not stand at a little +sacrifice. Human nature is the same all the world over, and ambition is +inherent in it. Robert Carr, on his part, risked something--the chance +that, with all their precautions, the fact of the marriage might become +known. That it did not, the event proved, as you know; but circumstances +at that moment especially favoured them. The rector of St. James the +Less was ill; the Reverend Mr. Bell was Robert Carr's firm friend and +kept the secret, and there was no clerk. They stole into the church one +by one on the winter's morning. Mr. Bell was there before daylight, got +it open, and waited for them. The moment Mary Hughes was out of the +house, at half-past seven, in pursuance of her engagement at Mrs. +Arkell's, Martha Ann was so enveloped in cloaks and shawls that she +could not have been readily recognised, had anybody met her, and sent +off alone to the church. Her brother and sister followed by degrees. +Robert Carr was already there; and as soon as the clock struck eight, +the service was performed. One circumstance, quite a little romance in +itself, Mr. Hughes mentioned now; and but for a fortunate help in the +time of need, the marriage might, after all, not have been completed. +Robert Carr had forgotten the ring. Not only Robert, but all of them. +That important essential had never once occurred to their thoughts, and +none had been bought. The service was arrested midway for the want of +it. A few moments' consternation, and then Sophia Hughes came to the +rescue. She had been in the habit of wearing her mother's wedding-ring +since her death, and she took it from her finger, and the service was +completed with it. The party stole away from the church by degrees, one +by one, as they had gone to it, and escaped observation. Few people were +abroad that dark, dull morning; and the church stood in a lonely, +unfrequented part. The getting away afterwards in Mr. Arkell's carriage +was easy. + +"Ah," said Mr. Arkell now to the brother, "I did not forgive Robert Carr +that trick he played upon me for a long while, it so vexed my father. He +thought the worst, you know; and for your sister's sake, could not +forgive Robert Carr. Had he known of the marriage, it would have been a +different thing." + +"No one knew of it--not a soul," said Mr. Hughes. "Had we told one, we +might as well have told all. I and Sophia knew that we could keep our +own counsel; but we could not answer beyond ourselves--not even for +Mary." + +"Could you not trust her?" + +"Trust her!" echoed Mr. Hughes. "Her tongue was like a sieve: it let out +everything. She missed mother's ring off Sophia's finger. Sophia said +she had lost it--she didn't know what else to say--and before two days +were out, the town-crier came to ask if she'd not like it cried. Mary +had talked of the loss high and low." + +"Did she never know that there had been a marriage?" asked Mr. Arkell. + +"Quite at the last, when she had but a day or two left of life. Sophia +told her then; she had grieved much over Martha Ann, and was grieving +still. Sophia told her, and it sent her easy to her grave. Soon after +she died, Sophia married Jem Pycroft, and they came out to me. She's +dead now. So that there's only me left out of the four of us," added the +returned traveller, after a pause. + +"And Martha Ann's eldest son became a clergyman, you say; and he died! I +should like to see the other two children she left. Do they live in +Rotterdam?" + +"I am not sure; but you would no doubt hear of them there. They sold off +Marmaduke Carr's property when they came into it, after the trial. It's +not to be wondered at: they had no pleasant associations connected with +Westerbury." + +Edward Hughes burst into a laugh. "What a blow it must have been for +stingy John Carr!" + +"It was that," said Mr. Arkell. "He is always pleading poverty; but +there's no doubt he has been saving money ever since the old squire died +and he came into possession. That can't be far short of twenty years +now." + +"Twenty years! How time flies in this world, sir!" was the concluding +remark of Mr. Hughes. + +There was no drawback thrown in the way of _this_ marriage of Travice +Arkell's, by himself, or by anybody else; and the day for it was fixed +as soon as he became convalescent. Mrs. Arkell had to reconcile herself +to it in the best way she could; and if she found it a pill to swallow, +it was at least a gilded one: Mrs. Dundyke's money would go to him and +Lucy--and there was Miss Arkell's as well. They would be placed above +the frowns of the world the hour they married, and Travice could turn +amateur astronomer at will. + +On the day before that appointed for the ceremony, Lucy, in passing +through the cloisters with Mrs. Dundyke, from some errand in the town, +stopped as she came to that gravestone in the cloisters. She bent her +head over it, for she could hardly read the inscription--what with the +growing dusk, and what with her blinding tears. + +"Oh, Aunt Betsey"--she had caught the name from Travice--"if he had but +lived! If he could but be with us to-morrow!" + +Aunt Betsey touched with her gentle finger the sorrowing face. "He is +better off, Lucy." + +"Yes, I know. But in times of joy it seems hard to remember it. I +wonder--I hope it is not wrong to wonder it--whether he and mamma are +always with me in spirit? I have grown to think so." + +"The thinking it will not do you harm, Lucy." + +"Oh, was it not a cruel thing, Aunt Betsey, for that boy Lewis to throw +him down! He was forgiven by everybody at the time; but in my heart--I +won't say it. But for that, Henry might be alive now. They left the +college school afterwards. Did you know that?" + +"The Lewises? Yes; I think I heard it." + +"A reaction set in for Henry after he died, and the boys grew shy and +cool to the two Lewises. In fact, they were sent to Coventry. They did +not like it, and they left. The eldest went up to be in some office in +London, and the youngest has gone to a private school." + +"It is strange that the two great _inflicted_ evils in your family and +in mine, should have come from the Carrs!" exclaimed Mrs. Dundyke. "But, +my dear, do not let us get into a sorrowful train of thought to-day. +And, all the sorrow we can give, cannot bring back to us those who are +gone." + +"I wish you could have seen him!" murmured Lucy. "He was so beautiful! +he----" + +"Here are people coming, my dear." + +Lucy turned away, drying her eyes. A clerical dignitary and a young lady +were advancing through the cloisters. As they met, the young lady bowed +to Lucy, and the gentleman raised his shovel hat--not so much as to +acquaintances, as because they were ladies passing through his +cloisters. + +"Who are they?" whispered Mrs. Dundyke, when the echo of their footsteps +had died away. + +"The dean and Miss Beauclerc. Aunt Betsey, she knew Henry so well! She +came to see him in his coffin." + +They were at Mr. Arkell's house, in the evening--Lucy, her aunt, and +Mrs. Dundyke. The breakfast in the morning was to be given in it, Miss +Arkell's house being small, and the carriages would drive there direct +from St. James-the-Less. Mrs. Arkell, gracious now beyond everything, +had sent for them to spend the last evening, and see the already +laid-out table in the large drawing-room. She could not spare Travice +that last evening, she said. + +Oh, how it all came home to Mildred! _She_ had gone to that house the +evening before a wedding in the years gone by, taken to it perforce, +because she dared make no plea of refusal. She had seen the laid-out +table in the drawing-room then, just as she was looking down upon it +now. + +"Lucy's destiny is happier!" she unconsciously murmured. + +"Did you speak, Mildred?" + +She raised her eyes to the questioner by her side, William Arkell. She +had not observed that he was there. + +"I?--Yes; I say Lucy's will be a happy destiny." + +"Very happy," he assented, glancing at a group at the end, who were +engaged in a hot and laughing dispute, as to the placing of the guests, +Travice maintaining his own opinion against Aunt Betsey and Lucy. +Travice looked very well now. His hair was long again; his face, +delicate still--but it was in the nature of its features to be so--had +resumed its hue of health. Lucy was radiant in smiles and blue ribbons, +under the light of the chandelier. + +"I begin to think that destinies are more equally apportioned than we +are willing to imagine; that where there are fewer flowers there are +fewer thorns," Mr. Arkell observed in a low tone. "There is a better +life, Mildred, awaiting us hereafter." + +"Ah, yes. Where there shall be neither neglect, nor disappointment, nor +pain; where----" + +"Here you are!" broke out a loud, hearty, laughing voice upon their +ears. "I knew it was where I should find you. Lucy, I have been to your +house after you. Take my load off me, Travice." + +Need you be told that the voice was Barbara Fauntleroy's? She came +staggering in under the load: a something held out before her, nearly as +tall as herself. + +A beautiful epergne for the centre of the table, of solid silver. +Travice was taking it from her, but awkwardly--he was one of the +incapable ones, like poor Peter Arkell. Miss Fauntleroy rated him and +pushed him away, and lifted it on the table herself, with her strong +hands. + +"It's our present to you two, mine and Lizzie's. You'll accept it, won't +you, Lucy?" + +Kindness invariably touched the chord of Lucy Arkell's feelings, perhaps +because she had not been in the way of having a great deal of it shown +to her in her past life. The tears were in her earnest eyes, as she +gently took the hands of Miss Fauntleroy. + +"I cannot thank you as I ought. I----" + +"Thank me, child! It's not so much to thank me for. Doesn't it look well +on the table, though? Mrs. Arkell must allow it to stand there for the +breakfast." + +"For that, _and for all else_," whispered Lucy, with marked emotion, +retaining the hands in her warm clasp. "You must let us show our +gratitude to you always, Barbara." + +Barbara Fauntleroy bent her full red lips on Lucy's fair forehead. "Our +bargain--his and mine--was, that we were all three to be firm and fast +friends through life, you know. Lucy, there's nobody in the world wishes +you happier than I do. Jolly good luck to you both!" + +"Thank you, Barbara," said Travice, who was standing by. + +"And now, who'll come and release Lizzie?" resumed Miss Fauntleroy. "We +shall have her rampant. She's in a fly at the door, and can't get out of +it." + +"Not get out of it!" repeated Mr. Arkell. + +"Not a bit of it. It's filled with flower-pots from our hot-house. We +thought perhaps you'd not have enough for the rooms, so we've brought a +load. But Lizzie got into the fly first, you see, to pack them for +bringing steadily, and she can't get out till they are out. I took care +of the epergne, and Lizzie of the pots." + +With a general laugh, everybody rushed to get to the imprisoned Lizzie. +Lucy lingered a moment, ostensibly looking at the epergne, really drying +her tears away. Travice came back to her. + +He took her in his arms; he kissed the tears from her cheeks; he +whispered words of the sweetest tenderness, asking what her grief was. + +"Not grief, Travice--joy. I was thinking of the past. What would have +become of us but for her generosity?" + +"But for her generosity, Lucy, I should have been her husband now. I +should never have held my darling in my arms. Yes, she was generous! God +bless her always! I'll never hate anybody again, Lucy." + +Lucy glanced up shyly at him, a smile parting her lips at the last +words. And she put her hand within the arm of him who was soon to be her +husband, as they went out in the wake of the rest, to rescue the +flower-pots and Miss Lizzie Fauntleroy. + + * * * * * + +And Mr. St. John and the dean's daughter? Ah! not in this place can +their after-history be given. But you may hear it sometime. + + +THE END. + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Mildred Arkell, (Vol 3 of 3), by Ellen Wood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MILDRED ARKELL, (VOL 3 OF 3) *** + +***** This file should be named 39693-8.txt or 39693-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/6/9/39693/ + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: Mildred Arkell, (Vol 3 of 3) + A Novel + +Author: Ellen Wood + +Release Date: May 14, 2012 [EBook #39693] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MILDRED ARKELL, (VOL 3 OF 3) *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/tp3.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h1>MILDRED ARKELL.</h1> + +<h3>A Novel.</h3> + +<h2>BY <span class="smcap">Mrs.</span> HENRY WOOD,</h2> + +<h3>AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS," "TREVLYN HOLD," ETC. +ETC.</h3> + + +<h3>IN THREE VOLUMES.</h3> + +<h3>VOL. III.</h3> + +<p class="center">LONDON:<br /> +TINSLEY BROTHERS, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND<br /> +1865.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>All rights of Translation and Reproduction are reserved.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + +<table summary="contents"> +<tr><td align="right">CHAP. </td><td></td><td align="right">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">I. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_I">DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND—A SURPRISE </a></td><td align="right">1</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">II. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_II">A DOUBTFUL SEARCH </a></td><td align="right">24</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">III. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_III">DETECTION </a></td><td align="right">43</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IV. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">ASSIZE SATURDAY </a></td><td align="right">68</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">V. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_V">ASSIZE SUNDAY </a></td><td align="right">86</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VI. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">PREACHING TO THE DEAN </a></td><td align="right">103</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VII. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CARR VERSUS CARR </a></td><td align="right">122</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VIII. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">THE SECOND DAY </a></td><td align="right">144</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IX. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">THE SHADOWS OF DEATH </a></td><td align="right">168</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">X. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_X">THE GRAVESTONE IN THE CLOISTERS </a></td><td align="right">191</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XI. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">THOUGHTLESS WORDS </a></td><td align="right">213</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XII. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">MISCONCEPTION </a></td><td align="right">236</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIII. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">THE TABLES TURNED </a></td><td align="right">256</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIV. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">A RECOGNITION </a></td><td align="right">273</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XV. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">MILDRED'S RECOMPENSE </a></td><td align="right">290</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVI. </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">MISS FAUNTLEROY LOVED AT LAST </a></td><td align="right">309</td></tr> +</table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>MILDRED ARKELL.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND—A SURPRISE.</h3> + + +<p>It happened on that same second of December that Mr. Littelby took his +place for the first time as conductor of the business of Mynn and Mynn. +He had arrived at Eckford the previous day, as per agreement, but was +not installed formally in the office until this. Old Mynn, not in his +gout now, had come down early, and was brisk and lively; George Mynn was +also there.</p> + +<p>He was an admitted solicitor just as much as were Mynn and Mynn; he was +to be their confidential <i>locum tenens</i>; the whole management and +conduct of affairs was, during their absence, to fall upon him; he was, +in point of fact, to be practically a principal, not a clerk, and at the +end of a year, if all went well, he was to be allowed a share in the +business, and the firm would be Mynn, Mynn, and Littelby.</p> + +<p>It was not, then, to be wondered at, that the chief of the work this day +was the inducting him into the particulars of the various cases that +Mynn and Mynn happened to have on hand, more especially those that were +to come on for trial at the Westerbury assizes, and would require much +attention beforehand. They were shut up betimes, the three, in the small +room that would in future be Mr. Littelby's—a room which had hitherto +been nobody's in particular, for the premises were commodious, but which +Mr. Richards had been in the habit of appropriating as his own, not for +office purposes, but for private uses. Quite a cargo of articles +belonging to Mr. Richards had been there: coats, parcels, pipes, +letters, and various other items too numerous to mention. On the +previous day, Richards had received a summary mandate to "clear it out," +as it was about to be put in order for the use of Mr. Littelby. Mr. +Richards had obeyed in much dudgeon, and his good feeling towards the +new manager—his master in future—was not improved. It had not been +friendly previously, for Mr. Richards had a vague idea that his way +would not be quite so much his own as it had been.</p> + +<p>He sat now at his desk in the public office, into which clients plunged +down two steps from the landing on the first flight of stairs, as if +they had been going into a well. His subordinate, a steady young man +named Pope, who was browbeaten by Richards every hour of his life, sat +at a small desk apart. Mr. Richards, ostensibly occupied in the perusal +of some formidable-looking parchment, was, in reality, biting his nails +and frowning, and inwardly wishing he could bring the ceiling down on +Mr. Littelby's head, shut up in that adjoining apartment; and could he +have invented a decent excuse for sending out Pope, in the teeth of the +intimation Mr. George Mynn had just given, that Pope was to stop in, for +he should want him, Mr. Richards would have had his own ear to the +keyhole of the door.</p> + +<p>Mr. Littelby and Mr. Mynn sat at the square table, some separate bundles +of papers before them, tied up with red string; Mr. George Mynn stood +with his back to the fire. Never was there a keener or a better man of +business than Mynn the elder, when his state of health allowed him a +respite from pain. He had been well for two or three weeks now, and the +office found the benefit of it. <i>He</i> was the one to explain matters to +Mr. Littelby; Mr. George only put in a word here and there. In due +course they came to a small bundle of papers labelled "Carr," and Mr. +Mynn, in his rapid, clear, concise manner, gave an outline of the case. +Before he had said many words, Mr. Littelby raised his head, his face +betokening interest, and some surprise.</p> + +<p>"But I thought the Carr case was at an end," he observed. "At least, I +supposed it would naturally be so."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear no," said old Mynn; "it's coming on for trial at the +assizes—that is, if the other side are so foolish as to go on to +action. I don't myself think they will be."</p> + +<p>"The other side? You mean the widow of Robert Carr the clergyman?" asked +Mr. Littelby, scarcely thinking, however, that Mr. Mynn could mean it.</p> + +<p>"The widow and the brother—yes. Fauntleroy, of Westerbury, acts for +them. But he'll never, as I believe, bring so utterly lame a case into +court."</p> + +<p>Mr. Littelby wondered what his new chief could mean; he did not +understand at all.</p> + +<p>"I should have supposed the case would have been brought to an end by +you," he observed. "From the moment that the marriage was discovered to +have taken place, your clients, the Carrs of Eckford, virtually lost +their cause."</p> + +<p>"But the marriage has not been discovered to have taken place," said Mr. +Mynn.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it has. Is it possible that you have not had intimation of it from +Mr. Fauntleroy?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Mynn paused a moment. Mr. George, who had been looking at his boots, +raised his head to listen.</p> + +<p>"Where was it discovered?—who discovered it?" asked Mr. Mynn, with the +air of a man who does not believe what is being said to him.</p> + +<p>"The widow, young Mrs. Carr, found the notice of it. In searching her +late father-in-law's desk, she discovered a letter written by him to his +son. It was the week subsequent to her husband's death. The letter had +slipped between the leaves of an old blotting-book, and lain there +unsuspected. While poor Robert Carr the clergyman was wearing away his +last days of life in those fruitless searchings of the London churches, +he little thought how his own carelessness had forced it upon him. He +examined this very desk when his father died, for any papers there might +be in it, and must have examined it imperfectly, for there the letter +must have been."</p> + +<p>"But what was in the letter?" asked George Mynn, speaking for the first +time since the topic arose.</p> + +<p>"It stated that he had married the young lady who went away with him, +Martha Ann Hughes, on the morning they left Westerbury—married her at +her own parish church, St.—St.—I forget the name."</p> + +<p>"Her parish church was St. James the Less," said Mr. Mynn, speaking very +fast.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that was it; I remember now. It struck me at the time as being a +somewhat uncommon appellation. That is where the marriage took place, on +the morning they left Westerbury."</p> + +<p>Mr. Mynn sat down; he had need of some rest to recover his +consternation. Mr. George never spoke: he said afterwards, that the +thought flashed upon him, he could not tell how or why, that the letter +was a fraud.</p> + +<p>"How did you know of this?" was Mr. Mynn's first question.</p> + +<p>Mr. Littelby related how: that Mrs. Carr had informed him of it at the +time of the discovery: and, it may be observed, that he was unconscious +of breaking any faith in repeating it. Mrs. Carr, attaching little +importance to Mr. Fauntleroy's request of keeping it to herself, had +either forgotten or neglected to caution Mr. Littelby, to whom it had at +once been told. Mr. Littelby, on his part, had never supposed but the +discovery had been made known to Mynn and Mynn and the Carrs of Eckford, +by Mr. Fauntleroy, and that the litigation had thus been brought to an +end.</p> + +<p>"And you say this is known to Mr. Fauntleroy?" asked old Mynn.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Mrs. Carr forwarded the letter to him the very hour she +discovered it."</p> + +<p>"Then what can possess the man not to have sent us notice of it?" he +exclaimed. "He'd never be guilty of the child's play of concealing this +knowledge until the cause was before the court, and then bringing it +forward as a settler! Fauntleroy's sharp in practice; but he'd hardly do +this."</p> + +<p>"Is it certain that the marriage did take place there?" quietly put in +Mr. George Mynn.</p> + +<p>They both looked at him; his quiet tone was so full of significance: and +Mr. Mynn had to turn round in his chair to do it.</p> + +<p>"It appears to me to be a very curious story," continued the younger +man. "What sort of a woman is this Mrs. Carr?"</p> + +<p>A pause. "You are not thinking that she is capable of—of—concocting +any fraud, are you?" cried Mr. Littelby.</p> + +<p>"I should be sorry to say it. I only say the thing wears a curious +appearance."</p> + +<p>"She is entirely incapable of it," returned Mr. Littelby, warmly. "She +is quite a young girl, although she has been a wife and mother. Besides, +the letter, remember, only stated where the marriage took place, and +where its record might be found. I remember she told me that the words +in the letter were, that the marriage would be found duly entered in the +register."</p> + +<p>Mr. Mynn was leaning back in his chair; his hands in his waistcoat +pockets, his eyes half closed in thought.</p> + +<p>"Did you see this letter, Mr. Littelby?" he inquired, rousing himself.</p> + +<p>"No. Mrs. Carr had sent it off to Mr. Fauntleroy. She told me its +contents, I daresay nearly word for word."</p> + +<p>"Because I really do not think the marriage could have taken place as +described. It would inevitably have been known if it had: some persons, +surely, would have seen them go into the church; and the parson and +clerk must have been cognisant of it! How was it that these people kept +the secret? Besides, the parties were away from the town by eight +o'clock, or thereabouts."</p> + +<p>"I don't know anything about the details," said Mr. Littelby; "but I do +know that the letter, stating what I have told you, was found by Mrs. +Carr, and that she implicitly believes in it. Would the letter be likely +to assert a thing that a minute's time could disprove? If the record of +the marriage is not on the register of St. James the Less, to what end +state that it is?"</p> + +<p>"If this letter stated what you say, Mr. Littelby, rely upon it that the +record is there. There have been such things known, mind you"—and old +Mynn lowered his voice as he spoke—"as frauds committed on registers; +false entries made. And they have passed for genuine, too, to +unsuspicious eyes. But, if this is one, it won't pass so with me," he +added, rising. "Not a man in the three kingdoms has a keener eye than +mine."</p> + +<p>"It is impossible that a false entry can have been made in the +register!" exclaimed Mr. Littelby, speaking slowly, as if debating the +question in his own mind.</p> + +<p>"We shall see. I assure you I consider it equally impossible for the +marriage to have taken place, as stated, without detection."</p> + +<p>"But—assuming your suspicion to be correct—who can have been wicked +enough to insert the entry?" cried Mr. Littelby.</p> + +<p>"That, I can't tell. The entry of the marriage would take the property +from our clients, the Carrs of Eckford, therefore they are exempt from +the suspicion. I wonder," continued Mr. Mynn in a half-secret tone, +"whether that young clergyman got access to the register when he was +down here?"</p> + +<p>"That young clergyman was honest as the day," emphatically interrupted +Mr. Littelby. "I could answer for his truth and honour with my life. The +finding of that letter would have sent him to his grave easier than he +went to it."</p> + +<p>"There's another brother, is there not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But he is in Holland, looking after the home affairs, which are +also complicated. He has not been here at all since his father's death."</p> + +<p>"Ah, one doesn't know," said old Mynn, glancing at his watch. "Hundreds +of miles have intervened, before now, between a committed fraud and its +plotter. Well, we will say no more at present. I'll tell you more when I +have had a look at this register. It will not deceive <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>"Are you going over now?" asked Mr. George.</p> + +<p>"At once," replied old Mynn, with decision; "and I'll bring you back my +report and my opinion as soon as may be."</p> + +<p>But Mr. Mynn was away considerably longer than there appeared any need +that he should be. When he did arrive he explained that his delay arose +from the effectual and thorough searching of the register.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what could have been the meaning or the use of that letter +you told us of, Mr. Littelby," he said, as he took off his coat; "there +is no entry of the marriage in the church register of St. James the +Less."</p> + +<p>"No entry of it!"</p> + +<p>"None whatever."</p> + +<p>Mr. Littelby did not at once speak: many thoughts were crowding upon his +mind. He and old Mynn were standing now, and George Mynn was sitting +with his elbow on the table, and his aching head leaning on his hand. +The least excitement out of common, sometimes only the sitting for a day +in the close office, would bring on these intolerable headaches.</p> + +<p>"I have searched effectually—and I don't suppose the old clerk of the +church blessed me for keeping him there—and I am prepared to take an +affidavit, if necessary, that no such marriage is recorded in the book," +continued the elder lawyer. "What could have been the aim or object of +that letter, I cannot fathom."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carr will not come into the money, then?" said Mr. Littelby.</p> + +<p>"Of course not, so far as things look at present. I thought it was very +strange, if such a thing had been there, that Fauntleroy did not let it +be known," he emphatically added.</p> + +<p>"You are sure you have fully searched?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Littelby, I have fully searched," was the reply; and the lawyer was +not pleased at being asked the question after what he had said. "There +is no such marriage entered there; and rely upon it no such marriage +ever was entered there. I might go farther and say, with safety in my +opinion, that there never was such marriage entered anywhere."</p> + +<p>"Then why should Robert Carr, the elder, have written the letter?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Did</i> he write it? It may be a question."</p> + +<p>"No, he never wrote it," interposed George Mynn, looking up. "There was +some wicked plot concocted—I don't say by whom, and I can't say it—of +which this letter was the prologue. Perhaps the epilogue—the insertion +of the marriage in the register—was frustrated; possibly this letter +was found before its time, and the despatching it to Mr. Fauntleroy +marred the whole. How can we say?"</p> + +<p>"We can't say," returned old Mynn. "One thing I can say and affirm—that +there's no record; and had the letter been a genuine one, the entry +would be there now."</p> + +<p>"I wonder if Mr. Fauntleroy believes the entry to be there?" cried Mr. +Littelby. "I am nearly sure that he has not given notice of the contrary +to Mrs. Carr. She would have told me if he had."</p> + +<p>"If Fauntleroy has been so foolish as to take the information in the +letter for granted, without sending to see the register, he must put up +with the consequences," said old Mynn; "I shall not enlighten him."</p> + +<p>He spoke as he felt—cross. Mr. Mynn was not pleased at having spent the +best part of the day over what he had found to be a fool's errand; +neither did he like to have been startled unnecessarily. He sat down and +drew the papers before him, saying something to the effect that perhaps +they could attend to their legitimate business, now that the other was +disposed of. Mr. Littelby caught the cue, and resolved to say no more in +that office of Carr <i>versus</i> Carr.</p> + +<p>And so, it was a sort of diamond cut diamond. Mr. Fauntleroy had said +nothing to Mynn and Mynn of his private information; and Mynn and Mynn +would say nothing to Mr. Fauntleroy of theirs.</p> + +<p>Christmas drew on. Mrs. Dundyke, alone now, for Mr. Carr had gone back +to Holland, was seated one afternoon by her drawing-room fire, in the +twilight, musing very sadly on the past. The servants were at tea in the +kitchen, and one of them had just been up to ask her mistress if she +would take a cup, as she sometimes did before her late dinner, and had +gone down again, leaving unintentionally the room door unlatched.</p> + +<p>As the girl entered the kitchen, the sound of laughter and merriment +came forth to the ears of Mrs. Dundyke. It quite jarred upon her heart. +How often has it occurred to us, bending under the weight of some secret +trouble that goes well-nigh to break us, to envy our unconscious +servants, who seem to have no care!</p> + +<p>The kitchen door closed again, and silence supervened—a silence that +soon began to make itself felt, as it will in these moments of gloom. +Mrs. Dundyke was aroused from it in a remarkable manner; not violently +or loudly, but still in so strange a way, that her mouth opened in +consternation as she listened, and she rose noiselessly from her chair +in a sort of horror.</p> + +<p><i>She had distinctly heard the latch-key put into the street-door lock</i>; +just as she had heard it many a time when her husband used to come home +from business in the year last gone by. She heard it turned in the lock, +the peculiar click it used to give, and she heard the door quietly open +and then close again, as if some one had entered. Not since they went +abroad the previous July had she heard those sounds, or had the door +thus been opened. There had been but that one latch-key to the door, and +Mr. Dundyke, either by chance or intention, had carried it away with him +in his pocket. It had been in his pocket during the whole period of +their travels, and been lost with him.</p> + +<p>What could it mean? Who had come in? Footsteps, slow, hesitating +footsteps were crossing the hall; they seemed to halt at the +dining-room, and were now ascending the stairs. Mrs. Dundyke was by far +too practical a woman to believe in ghosts, but that anything but the +ghost of her husband could open the door with that latch-key and be +stealing up, was hard to believe.</p> + +<p>"Betsey!"</p> + +<p>If ever she felt a wish to sink into the wall, or through the floor, she +felt it then. The voice which had called out the familiar home name, was +her husband's voice; his, and yet not his. His, in a manner; but +querulous, worn, weakened. She stood in horror, utterly bewildered, not +daring to move, her arms clasping a chair for protection, she knew not +from what, her eyes strained on the unlatched door. That it could be her +husband returned in life, her thoughts never so much as glanced at.</p> + +<p>He pushed open the door, and came in without any surprise in his face or +greeting on his tongue; came in and went straight to the fire, and sat +down in a chair before it, just as though he had not been gone away an +hour—he who had once been David Dundyke. Was it David Dundyke +still—<i>was</i> it? He looked thin and shabby, and his hair was cut close +to his head, and he was altogether altered. Mrs. Dundyke was gazing at +him with a fixed, unnatural stare, like one who has been seized with +catalepsy.</p> + +<p>He saw her standing there, and turned his head, looking at her for a +full minute.</p> + +<p>"Betsey!"</p> + +<p>She went forward then; it <i>was</i> her husband, and in life. What the +mystery could have been she did not know yet—did not glance at in that +wild moment—but she fell down at his knees and clasped him to her, and +wept delirious tears of joy and agony.</p> + +<p>It seemed—when the meeting was over, and the marvelling servants had +shaken hands with him, and he had been refreshed with dinner, and the +time came for questions—that he could not explain much of the mystery +either. He had evidently undergone some great change, physically and +mentally, and it had left him the wreck of what he was, with his +faculties impaired, and a hesitating speech.</p> + +<p>More especially impaired in memory. He could recollect so little of the +past; indeed, their sojourn at the hotel at Geneva seemed to have gone +from his mind altogether. Mrs. Dundyke saw that he must have had some +sort of brain attack; but, what, she could not tell.</p> + +<p>"David, where have you been all this while?" she said, soothingly, as he +lay on the sofa she had drawn to the fire, and she sat on a stool +beneath and clasped his hand.</p> + +<p>"All this while? I came back directly."</p> + +<p>She paused. "Came back from where?"</p> + +<p>"From the bed."</p> + +<p>"The bed!" she repeated; and her heart beat with a sick faintness as she +felt, for the twentieth time, that henceforth he could only be +questioned as a child. "From the bed you lay in when you were ill?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Were you ill long?"</p> + +<p>"No. I lay in it after I got well: my head and my legs were not strong. +They turned. It was the bed in the kitchen with the large white pillows. +They slept in the back room."</p> + +<p>"Who did?"</p> + +<p>"Paul and Marie. She's his wife."</p> + +<p>"Did they take care of you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, they took care of me. Little Paul used to fetch the water. He's +seven."</p> + +<p>"Do you remember——" (she spoke the words with trembling, lest the name +should excite him) "Mr. Hardcastle?"</p> + +<p>It did in some degree. He lay looking at his wife, his face and thoughts +working. "Hardcastle! It was him that—that—was with me when I fell +down."</p> + +<p>"Where did you fall?" she asked, as quietly as she could.</p> + +<p>"In the sun. We walked a long, long way, and he gave me something to +drink out of a bottle, and I was giddy, and he told me to go to sleep."</p> + +<p>"Did he stay with you?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Dundyke stared as though he did not understand the question.</p> + +<p>"I went giddy. He took my pocket-book; he took out the letters, and put +it back to me again. Paul found it. I went to sleep in the sun."</p> + +<p>"When did Paul find it?"</p> + +<p>David Dundyke appeared unable to comprehend the "when." "In his cart," +he said; "he found me too."</p> + +<p>"David, dear, try and recollect; did Paul take you to his cottage?"</p> + +<p>David looked puzzled, and then nodded his head several times, as if +wishing to convince himself of the fact.</p> + +<p>"And I suppose you were ill there?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose I was ill there; they said so. Marie spoke English; she had +been at—at—at sea."</p> + +<p>This was not very perspicuous, but Mrs. Dundyke did not care for minor +details.</p> + +<p>"How did you come home?" she asked. And she glanced suddenly down at his +boots; an idea presenting itself to her, that she might see them worn +and travel-stained. But they were not. They were the same boots that he +had on that last morning in Geneva, and they appeared to have been +little worn.</p> + +<p>"How did I come home?" he repeated. "I came. Marie said I was well +enough. Paul changed the note."</p> + +<p>"What note?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"The note from England. He didn't see that when he took the others."</p> + +<p>"He" evidently meant Mr. Hardcastle. She began to comprehend a little, +and put her questions accordingly.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hardcastle must have robbed you, David."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hardcastle robbed me."</p> + +<p>She found he had a habit of repeating her words. She had noticed the +same peculiarity before, in cases of decaying intellect.</p> + +<p>"The bank note that he did not find was the one you had written for over +and above what you wanted. Why did you write for it, David?"</p> + +<p>This was a back question, and it took a great many others before David +could answer. "He might have wanted to borrow more," he said at length; +"I'd have lent him all then."</p> + +<p>Poor man! That he should have had such blind faith in Mr. Hardcastle as +to send for money in case he should "want to borrow more!" Mrs. Dundyke +had taken this view of the case from the first.</p> + +<p>"You don't believe in him now, David?"</p> + +<p>"I don't believe in him now. He has got my bank notes; and he left me in +the sun. Paul, put me in the cart when it came by."</p> + +<p>"David, why did you not write to me?"</p> + +<p>David stared. "I came," he said. And she found afterwards, that he could +not write; she was to find that he never attempted to write again.</p> + +<p>"Did you send to Geneva?—to me?"</p> + +<p>"To Geneva?—to me?"</p> + +<p>"To me—me, David; not to you. Did you send to Geneva?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head, evidently not knowing what she meant, and seemed to +think. Mrs. Dundyke felt nearly sure that he must have lain long +insensible, for weeks, perhaps months; that is, not sufficiently +conscious to understand or remember; and that when he grew better, +Geneva and its doings had faded from his remembrance.</p> + +<p>"How did you come home, David?" she asked again. "Did you come alone?"</p> + +<p>"Did you come alone—yes, in the diligences, and rail, and sea. I told +them all to take me to England; Paul got the money for me; he took the +note and brought it back."</p> + +<p>Paul had changed it into French money; that must be the meaning of it. +Mr. Dundyke put his hand in his pocket and pulled out sundry five-franc +pieces.</p> + +<p>"Marie's got some. I gave her half."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dundyke hoped it was so. She could hardly understand yet, how he +could have found his way home alone; even with the help of "I told them +all to take me to England."</p> + +<p>"David!" she whispered, "David! I don't know how I shall ever be +thankful enough to God!"</p> + +<p>"I'd like some porter."</p> + +<p>It was a contrast that grated on her ear; the animal want following +without break on the spiritual aspiration. She was soon to find that any +finer feeling he might ever have possessed, had gone with his mind. He +could eat and drink still, and understand that; but there was something +wrong with the brain.</p> + +<p>"How did you come down here to-night, David?"</p> + +<p>"How did I come down here to-night? There was the omnibus."</p> + +<p>The questions began to pain her. "He is fatigued," she thought; "perhaps +he will answer better to-morrow." The porter was brought to him, and he +fell asleep immediately after drinking it. She rose from her low seat, +and sat down in a chair opposite to him.</p> + +<p>It was like a dream; and Mrs. Dundyke all but pinched herself to see +whether she was awake or asleep. She believed that she could tell pretty +accurately what the past had been. Mr. Hardcastle had followed her +husband to the side of the lake that morning, had in some way induced +him to go away from it; had taken him a long, long way into the cross +country—and it must have been at that time that the Swiss peasant, who +gave his testimony at Geneva, had seen them. At the proper opportunity, +Mr. Hardcastle must have, perhaps, given him some stupefying drink, and +then robbed him and left him; but Mrs. Dundyke inclined to the opinion +that the man must have believed Mr. Dundyke insensible, or he surely +would never have allowed him to see him take the notes. He must then +have lain, it was hard to say how long, before Paul found him; and the +lying thus in the sun probably induced the fit, or sun-stroke, or brain +fever, whatever it was, that attacked him. He spoke of a cart: and she +concluded that Paul must have been many miles out of the route of his +home, or else the search instituted would surely have found him, had he +been within a few miles of Geneva. Why these people had kept him, had +not declared him to the nearest authorities, it was hard to say. They +might have kept him from benevolent motives; or might have seen the bank +note in his pocket-book, and kept him from motives of worldly interest. +However it might be, they had shown themselves worthy Christian people, +and she should ever be deeply grateful. <i>He</i> had evidently no idea of +the flight of time since; perhaps—</p> + +<p>"What do you wear that for?"</p> + +<p>He was lying with his eyes open, and pointing to the widow's cap. She +rose and bent over him, as she answered—</p> + +<p>"David! David, dear! we have been mourning you as dead."</p> + +<p>"Mourning me as dead! I am not dead."</p> + +<p>No, he was not dead, and she was shedding happy tears for it, as she +threw the cap off from the braids of her still luxuriant hair.</p> + +<p>As well, perhaps, almost that he had been dead! for the best part of his +life, the mind's life, was over. No more intellect; no more business for +him in Fenchurch-street; no more ambitious aspirations after the civic +chair!—it was all over for ever for poor David Dundyke.</p> + +<p>But he had come home. He who was supposed to be lying +dead—murdered—had come home. It was a strange fact to go forth to the +world: one amidst the extraordinary tales that now and then arise to +startle it almost into disbelief.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>A DOUBTFUL SEARCH.</h3> + + +<p>On the 3rd of February the college boys reassembled for school, after +the Christmas holidays. Rather explosive were the choristers at times at +getting no holidays—as they were pleased to regard it; for they had to +attend the cathedral twice daily always. Strictly speaking, the boys had +assembled on the previous day, the 2nd of February, and those who lived +at a distance, or had been away visiting, had to be back for that day. +It is Candlemas Day, as everybody knows, and a saint's day; and on +saints' days the king's scholars had to attend the services.</p> + +<p>On the 3rd the duties of the school began, and at seven in the morning +the boys were clattering up the steps. It was not a propitious morning: +snow and sleet doing battle, one against the other. Jocelyn had left, +and the eldest of the two Prattletons had succeeded him as senior. +Cookesley was second senior, Lewis third, and the eldest of the Aultanes +was fourth.</p> + +<p>The boys were not assembling in any great amount of good feeling. Lewis, +who with his brother had passed the holidays at the house of the late +Marmaduke Carr, and consequently had been in Westerbury, did not forget +the grudge he owed to Henry Arkell. It had been Mr. Lewis's pleasure to +spend his leisure-hours (time, possibly, hanging somewhat heavily on his +hands) in haunting the precincts of the cathedral. Morning, noon, and +night had he been seen there; now hovering like a ghost in one of the +cloister quadrants, now playing at solitary pitch-and-toss in the +grounds, and now taking rather slow, meditative steps past the deanery. +He had thus made himself aware that Henry Arkell and Miss Beauclerc not +unfrequently met; whether by accident or design on the young lady's +part, she best knew. Four times each day had Henry Arkell to be in the +grounds and cloisters on his way to and from college; and, at the very +least, on two of those occasions, Miss Beauclerc would happen to be +passing. She always stopped. Lewis had seen him sometimes walking on +with only a lift of the trencher, and Miss Beauclerc would not have it, +but stopped as usual. There was no whispering, there were apparently few +secrets; the talking was open and full of gaiety on the young lady's +part, if her laughter was anything to judge by; but Lewis was not the +less savage. When <i>he</i> met her, she would say indifferently, "How d'ye +do, Lewis?" and pass on. Once, Lewis presumed to stop her with some item +of news that ought to have proved interesting, but Miss Beauclerc +scarcely listened, made some careless remark in answer, and continued +her way: the next minute she met Henry Arkell, and stayed with <i>him</i>. +That Lewis was in love with the dean's daughter, he knew to his sorrow. +How worse than foolish it had been on his part to suffer himself to fall +in love with her, we might say, but that this passion comes to us +without our will. Lewis believed that she loved Henry Arkell; he +believed that but for Henry Arkell being in the field, some favour might +be shown to him; and he had gone on hating him with a fierce and bitter +hatred. One day, Henry had come springing down the steps of the +cathedral, and encountered Miss Beauclerc close to him. They stood there +on the red flagstones of the cloisters, no gravestone being in that +particular spot, Georgina laughing and talking as usual. Lewis was in +the opposite quadrant of the cloisters, peeping across stealthily, and a +devout wish crossed his heart that Arkell was buried on the spot where +he then stood. Lewis was fated not to forget that wish.</p> + +<p>How he watched, day after day, none save himself saw or knew. He was +training for an admirable detective in plain clothes. He suspected there +had been some coolness between Henry and Miss Beauclerc, and that she +was labouring to dispel it; he knew that Arkell did not go to the +deanery so much as formerly, and he heard Miss Beauclerc reproach him +for it. Lewis had given half his life for such a reproach from her lips +to be addressed to him.</p> + +<p>There were so many things for which he hated Henry Arkell! There was his +great progress in his studies, there was the brilliant examination he +had undergone, and there was the gold medal. Could Lewis have +conveniently got at that medal, it had soon been melted down. He had +also taken up an angry feeling to Arkell on account of the doings of +that past November night—the locking up in the church of St. James the +Less. Lewis had grown to nourish a very strange notion in regard to it. +After puzzling his brain to torment, as to how Arkell <i>could</i> have got +out, and finding no solution, he arrived at length at the conclusion +that he had never been in. He must have left the church previously, +Lewis believed, and he had locked up an empty church. It is true he had +thought he heard the organ going, but he fully supposed now that he +heard it only in fancy. Arkell's silence on the point contributed to +this idea: it was entirely beyond Lewis's creed to suppose a fellow +could have such a trick played him and not complain of it. Arkell had +never given forth token of cognisance from that hour to this, and Lewis +assumed he had not been in.</p> + +<p>It very much augmented his ill feeling, especially when he remembered +his own night of horrible anticipation. Mr. Lewis had come to the final +conclusion that Arkell had been "out on the spree;" and but for a vague +fear that his own share in the night's events might be dragged to light, +he would certainly have contrived that it should reach the ears of Mr. +Wilberforce. He and his brother were to be for another half year +boarders at the master's house. Cookesley acted there as senior; the +senior boy, Prattleton, living at home.</p> + +<p>The boys trooped into the schoolroom, and Prattleton stood with the roll +in his hand. Lewis had not joined on the previous day; he had obtained +grace until this, for he wanted to spend it at Eckford. As he came in +now, he made rather a parade of shaking hands with Prattleton, and +wishing him joy of his honours. Most of the boys liked to begin by being +in favour with a new senior, however they might be fated to end, and +Lewis and Prattleton were great personal friends—it may be said +confidants. Lewis had partially trusted Prattleton with the secret of +his love for Miss Beauclerc; and he had fully entrusted him with his +hatred of Henry Arkell. Scarcely a minute were they together at any +time, but Lewis was speaking against Arkell; telling this against him, +telling that. Constant dropping will wear away a stone; and Prattleton +listened until he was in a degree imbued with the same feeling. +Personally, he had no dislike to Arkell himself; but, incited by Lewis, +he was quite willing to do him any ill turn privately.</p> + +<p>The roll was called over when Henry Arkell entered. He put down a load +of books he carried, and went up to Prattleton to shake hands, as Lewis +had done; being a chorister, he had not gone into the schoolroom on the +previous day; and he wished him all good luck.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to have to mark you late on the first morning, Arkell," +Prattleton quietly said as he shook hands with him. "The school has a +superstition, you know—that anyone late on the first morning will be +so, as a rule, through the half."</p> + +<p>"I know," answered Henry. "It is no fault of mine. Mr. Wilberforce +desired me to tell you that he detained me, therefore I am to be marked +as having been present."</p> + +<p>"Did he detain you?"</p> + +<p>"For ten minutes at least. I met him as I was coming in, and he caused +me to go back with him to his house and bring in these books. He then +gave me the message to you."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Prattleton, cheerfully: and he erased the cross +against Arkell's name, and marked him as present.</p> + +<p>Even this little incident exasperated Lewis. His ill feeling rendered +him unjust. No other boy, that he could remember, had been marked as +present, not being so. He was beginning to say something sarcastic upon +the point, when the entrance of the master himself shut up his tongue +for the present.</p> + +<p>But we cannot stop with the college boys just now.</p> + +<p>On this same day, later, when the sun, had there been any sun to see, +was nearing the meridian, Lawyer Fauntleroy sat in his private office, +deep in business. Not a more clever lawyer than he throughout the town +of Westerbury; and to such men business flocks in. His table stood at a +right angle with the fireplace, and the blazing fire burning there, +threw its heat upon his face, and his feet rested on a soft thick mat of +wool. Mr. Fauntleroy, no longer young, was growing fonder and fonder of +the comforts of life, and he sat there cosily, heedless of the hail that +beat on the window without.</p> + +<p>The door softly opened, and a clerk came in. It was Kenneth. "Are you at +home, sir?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Fauntleroy glanced up from the parchment he was bending over—a +yellow-looking deed, and his brow looked forth displeasure. "I told you +I did not care to be interrupted this morning, Kenneth, unless it was +for anything very particular. Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"A lady, sir. 'Mrs. Carr' was the name she gave in."</p> + +<p>"Carr—Carr?" debated Mr. Fauntleroy, unable to recal any lady of the +name amidst his acquaintance. "No. I have no leisure for ladies to-day."</p> + +<p>Kenneth hesitated. "It's not likely to be the Mrs. Carr in Carr <i>v.</i> +Carr; the lady you have had some correspondence with, is it, sir?" he +waited to ask. "She is a stranger, and is dressed as a widow."</p> + +<p>"The Mrs. Carr in Carr <i>v.</i> Carr!" repeated Mr. Fauntleroy. "By Jupiter, +I shouldn't wonder if she's come to Westerbury! But I thought she was in +Holland. Show her in."</p> + +<p>Mr. Kenneth retired, and came back with the visitor. It was Mrs. Carr. +Mr. Fauntleroy pushed aside the deed before him, and rose to salute her, +wondering at her extreme youth. She spoke English fluently, but with a +foreign accent, and she entered at once upon the matter which had +brought her to Westerbury.</p> + +<p>"A circumstance has occurred to renew the old anxiety about this cause," +she said to Mr. Fauntleroy. "Should we lose it, I shall lose all I have +at present to look forward to, for our affairs in Holland are more +complicated than ever. It may turn out, Mr. Fauntleroy, that my share of +this inheritance will be all I and my little children will have to +depend upon in the world."</p> + +<p>"But the cause is safe," returned Mr. Fauntleroy. "The paper you found +and forwarded to me last October—or stay, November, wasn't it——"</p> + +<p>"Would you be so kind as let me see that paper?" she interrupted.</p> + +<p>Mr. Fauntleroy rose and brought forward a bundle of papers labelled +"Carr." He drew out a letter, and laid it open before his visitor. It +was the one you saw before; the letter written by Robert Carr the elder +to his son, stating that the marriage had been solemnized at the church +of St. James the Less, and that the entry of it would be found there.</p> + +<p>"And there the marriage is entered, as I subsequently wrote you word," +observed Mr. Fauntleroy. "It is singular how your husband could have +overlooked that letter."</p> + +<p>"It had slipped between the leaves of the blotting-book, or else been +placed there purposely by Mr. Carr," she answered; "and my husband may +not have been very particular in examining the desk, for at that time he +did not know his legitimacy would be disputed. Are you sure it is in the +register, sir?" she continued, some anxiety in her tone.</p> + +<p>"Quite sure," replied Mr. Fauntleroy. "I sent to St. James's to search +as soon as I got this letter, glad enough to have the clue at last; and +there it was found."</p> + +<p>"Well—it is very strange," observed Mrs. Carr, after a pause. "I will +tell you what it is that has made me so anxious and brought me down. +But, in the first place, I must observe that I concluded the cause was +at an end. I cannot understand why the other side did not at once give +up when that letter was discovered."</p> + +<p>Knowing that <i>he</i> had kept the other side in ignorance of the letter, +Mr. Fauntleroy was not very explanatory on this point. Mrs. Carr +continued—</p> + +<p>"My husband had a friend of the name of Littelby, a solicitor. He was +formerly the manager of an office in London, but about two months since +he left it for one in the country, Mynn and Mynn's——"</p> + +<p>"Mynn and Mynn," interrupted Mr. Fauntleroy; "that's the firm who are +conducting the case for your adversaries—the Carrs, of Eckford. +Littelby? Yes, it is the name of their new man, I remember."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, last week Mr. Littelby was in London, and he called at Mrs. +Dundyke's, where I had been staying since I came over from Holland, a +fortnight before. The strangest thing has happened there! Mr. +Dundyke—but you will not thank me to take up your time, perhaps, with +matters that don't concern you. Mr. Littelby spoke to me upon the +subject of the letter that I had found, and he said he feared there was +something wrong about it, though he could not conceive how, for that +there had been no marriage, so far as could be discovered."</p> + +<p>"He can say the moon's made of green cheese if he likes," cried Mr. +Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>"He said that the opinion of Mynn and Mynn was, that the pretended +letter had been intended as a <i>ruse</i>—a false plea, written to induce +the other side to give up peaceably; but that most positively there was +no truth in the statement of the marriage being in the register. Sir, I +am sure Mr. Littelby must have had good cause for saying this," +emphatically continued Mrs. Carr "He is a man incapable of deceit, and +he wishes well to me and my children. The last advice he gave me was, +not to be sanguine; for Mynn and Mynn were clever and cautious +practitioners, and he knew they made sure the cause was theirs."</p> + +<p>"Sharp men," acquiesced Mr. Fauntleroy, nodding his head with a +fellow-feeling of approval; "but we have got the whip hand of them in +your case, Mrs. Carr."</p> + +<p>"I thought it better to tell you this," said she, rising. "It has made +me so uneasy that I have scarcely slept since; for I know Mr. Littelby +would not discourage me without cause."</p> + +<p>"Without fancying he has cause," corrected Mr. Fauntleroy. "Be at ease, +ma'am: the marriage is as certain as that oak and ash grow. Where are +you staying in Westerbury?"</p> + +<p>"In some lodgings I was recommended to in College-row," answered she, +producing a card. "Perhaps you will take down the address——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no need for that," said Mr. Fauntleroy, glancing at it, "I know the +lodgings well. Mind they don't shave you."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carr was shown out, and Mr. Fauntleroy called in his managing +clerk. "Kenneth," said he, "let the Carr cause be completed for counsel; +and when the brief's ready, I'll look over it to refresh my memory. Send +Omer down to St. James the Less, to take a copy of the marriage."</p> + +<p>"I thought Omer brought a copy," observed Mr. Kenneth.</p> + +<p>"No; I don't think so. It will save going again if he did. Ask him."</p> + +<p>Mr. Kenneth returned to the clerks' office. "Omer, did you bring a copy +of the marriage in the case, Carr <i>v.</i> Carr, when you searched the +register at St. James's church?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"No," replied Omer.</p> + +<p>"Then why did you not?"</p> + +<p>"I had no orders, sir. Mr. Fauntleroy only told me to look whether such +an entry was there."</p> + +<p>"Then you must go now——What's that you are about? Winter's settlement? +Why, you have had time to finish that twice over."</p> + +<p>"I have been out all the morning with that writ," pleaded Omer, "and +could not get to serve it at last. Pretty well three hours I was +standing in the passage next his house, waiting for him to come out, and +the wind whistling my head off all the time."</p> + +<p>Mr. Kenneth vouchsafed no response to this; but he would not disturb the +clerk again from Winter's deed. He ordered another, Mr. Green, to go to +St. James's church for the copy, and threw him half-a-crown to pay for +it.</p> + +<p>Young Mr. Green did not relish the mission, and thought himself +barbarously used in being sent upon it, inasmuch as that he was an +articled clerk and a gentleman, not a paid nobody. "Trapesing through +the weather all down to that St. James's!" muttered he, as he snatched +his hat and greatcoat.</p> + +<p>It struck three o'clock before he came back. "Where's Kenneth?" asked +he, when he entered.</p> + +<p>"In the governor's room. You can go in."</p> + +<p>Mr. Green did go in, and Mr. Kenneth broke out into anger. "You have +taken your time!"</p> + +<p>"I couldn't come quicker," was Mr. Green's reply. "I had to look all +through the book. The marriage is not there."</p> + +<p>"It is thrift to send you upon an errand," retorted Mr. Kenneth. "You +have not been searching."</p> + +<p>"I have done nothing else but search since I left. If the entry had been +there, Mr. Kenneth, I should have been back in no time. It is not +exactly a day to stop for pleasure in a mouldy old church that's colder +than charity, or to amuse oneself in the streets."</p> + +<p>Mr. Fauntleroy looked up from his desk. "The entry is there, Green: you +have overlooked it."</p> + +<p>"Sir, I assure you that the entry is not there," repeated Mr. Green. "I +looked very carefully."</p> + +<p>"Call in Omer," said Mr. Fauntleroy. "You saw the entry of Robert Carr's +marriage to Martha Ann Hughes?" he continued, when Omer appeared.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"You are sure of it?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, sir. I saw it and read it."</p> + +<p>"You hear, Mr. Green. You have overlooked it."</p> + +<p>"If Omer can find it there, I'll do his work for a week," retorted young +Green. "I will pledge you my veracity, sir——"</p> + +<p>"Never mind your veracity," interrupted Mr. Fauntleroy; "it is a case of +oversight, not of veracity. Kenneth, you have to go down to Clark's +office about that bill of costs; you may as well go on to St, James's +and get the copy."</p> + +<p>"Two half-crowns to pay instead of one, through these young fellows' +negligence," grumbled Mr. Kenneth. "They charge it as many times as they +open their vestry."</p> + +<p>"What's that to him? it doesn't come out of his pocket," whispered Green +to Omer, as they returned to their own room. "But if they find the Carr +marriage entered there, I'll be shot in two."</p> + +<p>"And I'll be shot in four if they don't," retorted Omer. "What a blind +beetle you must have been, Green!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Kenneth came back from his mission. He walked straight into the +presence of Mr. Fauntleroy, and beckoning Omer in after him, attacked +him with a storm of reproaches.</p> + +<p>"Do you drink, Mr. Omer?"</p> + +<p>"Drink, sir!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, drink. Are the words not plain enough?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I do not," returned Omer, in astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Then, Mr. Omer, I tell you that you do. No man, unless he was a drunken +man, could pretend to see things which have no place. When you read that +entry of Robert Carr's marriage in the register, you saw double, for it +never was anywhere but in your brain. There is no entry of the marriage +in St. James's register," he added, turning to Mr. Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>Mr. Fauntleroy's mouth dropped considerably. "No entry!"</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the sort!" continued Mr. Kenneth. "There's no name, and no +marriage, and no anything—relating to Robert Carr."</p> + +<p>"Bless my heart, what an awful error to have been drawn into!" uttered +Mr. Fauntleroy, who was so entirely astounded by the news, that he, for +the moment, doubted whether anything was real about him. "All the +expense I have been put to will fall upon me; the widow has not a rap, +certain; and to take her body in execution would bring no result, save +increasing the cost. Mr. Omer, are you prepared to take these charges on +yourself, for the error your carelessness has led us into? I should not +have gone on paying costs myself but for that alleged entry in the +register."</p> + +<p>Mr. Omer looked something like a mass of petrifaction, unable to speak +or move.</p> + +<p>"But for the marriage being established—as we were led to suppose—we +never should have gone on to trial. Mrs. Carr must have relinquished +it," continued Mr. Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>"Of course we should not," chimed in the managing clerk.</p> + +<p>"I thought there must be some flaw in the wind; I declare I did, by the +other side's carrying it on, now that I find Mynn and Mynn knew of the +alleged marriage," exclaimed Mr. Fauntleroy. "I shall look to you for +reimbursement, Omer. And, Mr. Kenneth, you'll search out some one in his +place: we cannot retain a clerk in our office who is liable to lead us +into ruinous mistakes, by asserting that black is white."</p> + +<p>Mr. Omer was beginning to recover his senses. "Sir," he said, "you are +angry with me without cause. I can be upon my oath that the marriage of +Robert Carr with Martha Ann Hughes is entered there: I repeated to you, +sir, the date, and the names of the witnesses: how could I have done +that without reading them?"</p> + +<p>"That's true enough," returned Mr. Fauntleroy, his hopes beginning to +revive.</p> + +<p>"Here's a proof," continued the young man, taking out a worn +pocket-book. "I am a bad one to remember Christian names, so I just +copied the names of the witnesses here in pencil. 'Edward Blisset +Hughes,' and 'Sophia Hughes,'" he added, holding it towards Mr. +Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>"They were her brother and sister," remarked Mr. Fauntleroy, in +soliloquy, looking at the pencilled marks. "Both are dead now; at least, +news came of her death, and he has not been heard of for years: she +married young Pycroft."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," argued Omer, "if these names had not been in the register, +how could I have taken them down? I did not know the names before, or +that there ever were such people."</p> + +<p>The argument appeared unanswerable, and Mr. Fauntleroy looked at his +head clerk. The latter was not deficient in common sense, and he was +compelled to conclude that he had himself done what he had accused Mr. +Green of doing—overlooked it.</p> + +<p>"Allow me to go down at once to St. James's, sir," resumed Omer.</p> + +<p>"I will go with you," said Mr. Fauntleroy. The truth was, he was ill at +ease.</p> + +<p>They proceeded together to St. James's church, causing old Hunt to +believe that Lawyer Fauntleroy and his establishment of clerks had all +gone crazy together. "Search the register three times in one day!" +muttered he; "nobody has never done such a thing in the memory of man."</p> + +<p>But neither Omer nor his master, Mr. Fauntleroy, could find any such +entry in the register.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>DETECTION.</h3> + + +<p>Afternoon school was over. Mr. Wilberforce had been some time at home, +and was bestowing a sharp lecture on his son Edwin for some delinquency, +when he was told that Lawyer Fauntleroy waited in his study. The master +brought his anger to a summary conclusion, and went into the presence of +his visitor.</p> + +<p>"My business is not of a pleasant nature," he premised. "I must tell you +in confidence, Mr. Wilberforce, that after all the doubt and discredit +cast upon the affair, Robert Carr was discovered to have married that +girl at St. James's—your church now—and the entry was found there."</p> + +<p>"I know it," said Mr. Wilberforce. "I saw it in the register."</p> + +<p>The lawyer stared. "Just repeat that, will you?" said he, putting his +hand to his ear as if he were deaf.</p> + +<p>"I heard it was to be found there, and the first time afterwards that I +had occasion to make an entry in the register, I turned back to the +date, out of curiosity, and read it."</p> + +<p>"Now I am as pleased to hear you say that as if you had put me down a +five-hundred pound note," cried Mr. Fauntleroy. "I daresay you'll not +object, if called upon, to bear testimony that the marriage was +registered there."</p> + +<p>"The register itself will be the best testimony," observed Mr. +Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>"It would have been," said the lawyer; "but that entry has been taken +out of the register."</p> + +<p>"Taken out!" repeated Mr. Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>"Taken out. It is not in now."</p> + +<p>"Stuff and nonsense!" cried the master.</p> + +<p>"So I said, when my clerks brought me word to-day that it was not in. +The first sent, Green—you know the young dandy; it's but the other day +he was in the college school—came back and said it was not there. +Kenneth gave him a rowing for carelessness, and went himself. He came +back and said it was not there. Then I thought it was time to go; and I +went, and took Omer with me, who saw the entry in the book last +November, and copied part of it. Green was right, and Kenneth was right; +there is no such entry there."</p> + +<p>"This is an incredible tale," exclaimed Mr. Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>The old lawyer drew forward his chair, and peered into the rector's +face. "There has been some devilry at work—saving your calling."</p> + +<p>"Not saving it at all," retorted Mr. Wilberforce, as hot as when he had +been practically demonstrating of what birch is made in the college +schoolroom. "Devilry has been at work, in one sense or another, and +nothing short of devilry, if it be as you say."</p> + +<p>"It has not only gone, but there's no trace of it's going, or how it +went. The register looks as smooth and complete as though it had never +been in any hands but honest ones. But now," added the lawyer, "there's +another thing that is puzzling me almost as much as the disappearance +itself; and that is, how you got to know of it."</p> + +<p>"I heard of it from Travice Arkell."</p> + +<p>"From Travice Arkell!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did. And the way I came to hear of it was rather curious," +continued the master. "One of my parishioners was thought to be dying, +and I was sent for in a hurry, out of early school. Mr. Prattleton +generally attends these calls for me, but this poor man had expressed a +wish that I myself should go to him. It was between eight and nine +o'clock, and Travice Arkell was standing at their gates as I passed, +reading a letter which the postman had just delivered to him. It was +from Mrs. Dundyke, with whom the Carrs were stopping——"</p> + +<p>"When was this?" interrupted Mr. Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>"The beginning of November. Travice Arkell stopped me to tell of the +strange news that the letter conveyed to him; that a paper had been +found in Robert Carr the elder's writing, stating that the marriage had +taken place at St. James the Less, the morning he and Miss Hughes left +Westerbury, and it would be found duly entered in the register. The news +appeared to me so excessively improbable, that I cautioned Travice +Arkell against speaking of it, and recommended him to keep it to himself +until the truth or falsehood of it should be ascertained."</p> + +<p>"What made you give him this caution?"</p> + +<p>"I tell you; I thought it so improbable that any such marriage should +have taken place. I thought it a hoax, set afloat out of mischief, +probably by the Carrs of Eckford; and I did not choose that my church, +or anything in it, should be made a jest of publicly. Travice Arkell +agreed with my view, and gave me his promise not to mention it. His +father was away at the time."</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"I really forget. I know he had come home only the day before from a +short visit to London, and went out again, somewhere the same day. +Travice said he did not expect him back that second time for some days."</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Mr. Fauntleroy, in his blunt manner, for the master had +stopped, in thought.</p> + +<p>"Well, the next morning Travice Arkell called upon me here. He had had a +second letter from Mrs. Dundyke, begging him not to mention to anyone +what she had said about the marriage, for Mrs. Carr had received a hasty +letter from Mr. Fauntleroy, forbidding her to speak of it to anyone. So, +after all, that caution that I gave to Travice might have been an +instinct."</p> + +<p>"And do you think he had not mentioned it?"</p> + +<p>"I feel sure that he has never allowed it to escape his lips. He has too +great a regard for his aunt, Mrs. Dundyke. She feared she had done +mischief, and was most anxious. On the following Sunday, when I was +marrying a couple in my church before service, and had got the register +out, I looked back to the date, and there, sure enough, was the marriage +duly entered."</p> + +<p>"And <i>you</i> have not spoken of it?"</p> + +<p>"I have not. If, as you say, the marriage is no longer there, it is a +most strange thing; an incredible thing. But I'll see into it."</p> + +<p>"Somebody must see into it," returned the lawyer, as he departed. "A +parish register ought to be kept as sacred as the crown jewels."</p> + +<p>Mr. Wilberforce—a restless man when anything troubled him—started off +to Clark Hunt's, disturbing that gentleman at his tea. "Hunt, follow +me," said he, as he took the key from its niche, "and bring some matches +and a candle with you. I want to examine the register."</p> + +<p>"If ever I met with the like o' this!" cried Hunt, when the master had +walked on. "Register, register, register! my legs is aching with the +tramping back'ards and for'ards, to that vestry to-day."</p> + +<p>He walked after Mr. Wilberforce as quickly as his lameness would allow. +The latter was already in the vestry. He procured the key of the safe +(kept in a secret place which no one knew of save himself, the clerk, +and the Reverend Mr. Prattleton) opened it, and laid the book before +him. Mr. Wilberforce knew, by the date, where the entry ought to be, +where it had been, and he was not many minutes ascertaining that it was +no longer there.</p> + +<p>"Gone and left no trace, as Fauntleroy said," he whispered to himself. +"How can it have been done? The leaf must have been taken out! oh yes, +it's as complete a thing as ever I saw accomplished: and how is it to be +proved that it's gone? This comes of their careless habit of not paging +their leaves in those old days: had they been paged, the theft would +have been evident. Hunt," cried he, aloud, raising his head, "this +register has been tampered with."</p> + +<p>"Law, sir, that's just what that great lawyer, Fauntleroy, wanted to +persuade me on. He has been a-putting it into your head, maybe; but +don't you be frighted with any such notion, sir. 'Rob the register!' +says I to him; 'no, not unless they robs me of my eyesight first. It's +never touched, nor looked at,' says I, 'but when I'm here to take care +on it.'"</p> + +<p>"A leaf has been taken out. Who has had access here?"</p> + +<p>"Not a soul has never had access to this vestry, sir, unless I have been +with 'em, except yourself or Mr. Prattleton," persisted the old register +keeper. "It's not possible, sir, that the book has been touched."</p> + +<p>"Now don't argue like that, Hunt," testily returned Mr. Wilberforce, "I +tell you that the register has been rifled, and it could not have been +done without access being obtained to it. To whom have you entrusted the +key of the church?"</p> + +<p>"Never to nobody, save the two young college gents, what comes to play +the organ," said the clerk, stoutly.</p> + +<p>"And they could not get access to the register. Some one else must have +had the key."</p> + +<p>The old man sat down on a chair, opposite Mr. Wilberforce; placing his +two hands on his knees, he stared very fixedly on vacancy. Mr. +Wilberforce, who knew his countenance, fancied he was trying to recal +something.</p> + +<p>"I remember a morning, some time ago," cried he, slowly, "that one of +them senior college gents—but that couldn't have had nothing to do with +the register."</p> + +<p>"What do you remember?" questioned Mr. Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>"Your asking if anybody had had the key, put me in mind of it, sir. One +of them college seniors; Lewis, it was; came to my house soon after I +got up. A rare taking he seemed to be in; with fright, or something like +it; and wanted me to lend him the key of the church. 'No, no, young +gent,' says I, 'not without the master's orders.' He was a panting like +anything, and looked as resolute as a bear, and when he heard that, he +snatched the key, and tore off with it. Presently, back he comes, saying +it was the wrong key and wouldn't undo the door. Mr. George Prattleton +had come round then: Mr. Prattleton had told him to ask about the time +fixed for a funeral—which, by token, I remember was Dame Furbery's—and +he took the key from Mr. Lewis, and hung it up, and railed off at me for +trusting it to the college gents. Lewis finding he couldn't get it from +me, went after Mr. George Prattleton, and they came back, and Mr. George +took the key from the hook to go to the church with Lewis. What it was +Lewis had said to him, I don't pertend to guess, but they was both as +white as corpses—as white I know, as ever was dead Dame Furbery in her +coffin: which was just about then a being screwed down. After all, they +hung the key up again, and didn't go into the church."</p> + +<p>"When was this?" asked Mr. Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>"It was the very day, sir, after our cat's chaney saucer was done for; +and that was done for the day after the grand audit dinner at the +deanery. Master Henry Arkell, after going into the church to practise, +couldn't be contented to bring the key back and hang it up, like a +Christian, but must dash it on to the kitchen floor, where it split the +cat's chaney saucer to pieces, and scattered the milk, a-frighting the +cat, who had just got her nose in it, a'most into fits, and my missis +too. Well, sir, when I opened my shutters the next morning, who should +be a standing at the gate but Arkell, so I fetched him in to see the +damage he had done; and it was while he was in the kitchen, a-counting +the pieces, that Lewis came to the door."</p> + +<p>"But this must have been early morning," cried Mr. Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>"Somewhere about half after six, sir: it was half moonlight and half +twilight. I remember what a bright clear morning it was for November."</p> + +<p>"Why, at that hour both Lewis and Arkell must have been in their beds, +asleep, at my house."</p> + +<p>"Law, sir, who can answer for schoolboys, especially them big college +gents? When they ought to be a-bed, they're up; and when they ought to +be up, they're a-bed. They was both at my house that morning."</p> + +<p>Mr. Wilberforce could not make much of the tale, except that two of his +boarders were out when he had deemed them safe in bed; and he left the +church. It was dusk then. As he was striding along, in an irascible +mood, he met Henry Arkell. He touched his cap to the master, and was +passing on.</p> + +<p>"Not so fast, Mr. Arkell. I want a word with you."</p> + +<p>Arkell stopped and stood before Mr. Wilberforce, his truthful eye and +open countenance raised fearlessly.</p> + +<p>"I gave you credit for behaving honourably, and as a gentleman ought, +during the time you were residing in my house, but I find I was +deceived. Who gave you leave, pray, to sneak out of it at early morning, +when everybody else was in bed?"</p> + +<p>"I never did, sir," replied Henry.</p> + +<p>"Take care, Arkell. If there's one fault I punish more than another, it +is a falsehood; and that you know. I say that you did sneak out of my +house at untoward and improper hours."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, sir, I never did," he replied with respectful earnestness.</p> + +<p>The master raised his forefinger, and shook it at his pupil. "You were +down at Hunt's one morning last November, by half-past six, perhaps +earlier; you must have gone down by moonlight——Ah, I see," added the +master, in an altered tone, for a change flashed over Henry Arkell's +features, "conscience is accusing you of the falsehood."</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I told no falsehood. I don't deny that I was at Hunt's one +morning."</p> + +<p>"Then how can you deny that you stole out of my house to get there? +Perhaps you will explain, sir."</p> + +<p>What was Henry Arkell to do? Explain, in the full sense of the word, he +could not; but explain, in a degree, he must, for Mr. Wilberforce was +not one to be trifled with. He was a perfectly ingenuous boy, both in +manner and character, and Mr. Wilberforce had hitherto known him for a +truthful one: indeed, he put more faith in Arkell than in all the rest +of the thirty-nine king's scholars.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you will dare to tell me that you stopped out all night, +instead of sneaking out in the morning?" pursued the master.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I did; but it was not my fault: I was kept out."</p> + +<p>"Where were you, and who kept you out?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, if you would be so kind as not to press me—for indeed I +cannot tell. I was kept out, and I could not help myself."</p> + +<p>"I never heard so impudent an avowal from any boy in my life," proceeded +Mr. Wilberforce, when he recovered his astonishment. "What was the +nature of the mischief you were in? Come; I will know it."</p> + +<p>"I was not in any mischief, sir. If I might tell the truth, you would +say that I was not.'"</p> + +<p>"This is most extraordinary behaviour," returned the master. "What +reason have you for not telling the truth?"</p> + +<p>"Because—because—well, sir, the reason is, that I could not speak +without getting others into trouble. Indeed, sir," he earnestly added, +"though I did stop out from your house all night, I did no wrong; I was +in no mischief, and it was no fault of mine."</p> + +<p>Strange perhaps to say, the master believed him: from his long +experience of the boy, he could believe nothing but good of Harry +Arkell, and if ever words bore the stamp of truth, his did now.</p> + +<p>"I am in a hurry at present," said the master, "but don't flatter +yourself this matter will rest."</p> + +<p>Henry touched his cap again, and the master strode on to the residence +of the Reverend Mr. Prattleton, and entered it without ceremony. Mr. +Prattleton was seated with his two sons, and with George.</p> + +<p>"Send the boys away for a minute, will you?" cried the master to his +brother clergyman.</p> + +<p>The boys went away, exceedingly glad to be sent. "You can go on with +your Greek in the other room," said their father. But to that suggestion +they were conveniently deaf, preferring to take an evening gallop +through some of the more obscure streets, where they knocked furiously +at all the doors, and pulled out a few of the bell-wires.</p> + +<p>"An unpleasant affair has happened, Prattleton," began the master. "The +register at St. James's has been robbed."</p> + +<p>"The register robbed!" echoed Mr. Prattleton. "Not the book taken?"</p> + +<p>"Not the book itself. A leaf has been taken out of it."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"We must endeavour to find out how. Hunt protests that nobody has had +access to it but ourselves, save in his presence."</p> + +<p>"I do not suppose they have," returned Mr. Prattleton. "How could they? +When was it taken?"</p> + +<p>"Sometime since the beginning of November. And there'll be a tremendous +stir over it, as sure as that we are sitting here: it was wanted +for—for—some trial at the next assizes," concluded the master, +recollecting that Mr. Fauntleroy had cautioned him still not to speak of +it. "Fauntleroy's people went to-day to take a copy of it, and found it +gone; so Fauntleroy came on to me."</p> + +<p>"You are sure it is gone?" continued Mr. Prattleton. "An entry is so +easily overlooked."</p> + +<p>"I am sure it is not in the book now: and I read it there last +November."</p> + +<p>"Well, this is an awkward thing. Have you no suspicion?—no clue?"</p> + +<p>"Not any. Hunt was telling a tale——By the way," added Mr. Wilberforce, +turning to George Prattleton, who had moved himself to a polite +distance, as if not caring to hear, "you were mixed up in that. He says, +that last November you and Lewis had some secret between you, about the +church. Lewis went down to his house one morning by moonlight, got the +key by stratagem, and brought it back, saying it was the wrong one: and +you then went to the church with him, and both of you were agitated. +What was it all about? What did he want in the church?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—something had been left there, I think he said, when one of the +college boys had gone in to practise. That was nothing, Mr. Wilberforce. +We did not go into the church, after all."</p> + +<p>George Prattleton spoke with eagerness, and then hastened from the room, +but not before Mr. Wilberforce had caught a glimpse of his countenance.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter with George?" whispered he.</p> + +<p>Mr. Prattleton turned, and looked at the door by which he had gone out. +"With George?" he repeated: "nothing that I know of. Why?"</p> + +<p>"He turned as pale as my cravat: just as Hunt describes him to have been +when he went into the church with Lewis. I shall begin to think there is +a mystery in this."</p> + +<p>"But not one that touches the register," said Mr. Prattleton. "I'll tell +you what that mystery was, but you must not bring in me as your +informant; and don't punish the boy, now it's over, Wilberforce; though +it was a disgraceful and dangerous act. It seems that young Arkell—what +a nice lad that is! but he comes of a good stock—went into St. James's +one evening to practise, and Lewis, who owed him a grudge, stole after +him and locked him in, and took back the key to Hunt's, where he broke +some heirloom of the dame's, in the shape of a china saucer, Hunt and +his wife taking it to be Arkell. Arkell was locked in the church all +night."</p> + +<p>"Locked in the church all night!" repeated the amazed Sir. Wilberforce. +"Why the fright might have turned him—turned him—stone blind!"</p> + +<p>"It might have turned him stone dead," rejoined Mr. Prattleton. "Lewis, +it appears, got terrified for the consequences, and as soon as your +servants were up, he went to Hunt's to get the key and let Arkell out. +Hunt would not give it him, and Lewis appealed to George. That's what +has sent George out of the room, pale, as you call it; he was afraid +lest you should question him too closely, and he passed his word to +Lewis not to betray him."</p> + +<p>"What a villanous rascal!" uttered the master. "I never liked Lewis, but +I would not have given him credit for this. Did George tell you?"</p> + +<p>"Not he; he is not aware I know it. Lewis, some days afterwards, +imparted the exploit to my boy, Joe. Joe, in his turn, imparted it to +his brother, under a formidable injunction of secrecy, and I happened to +overhear them, and became as wise as they were."</p> + +<p>"You ought to have told me this," remarked Mr. Wilberforce, his +countenance bearing its most severe expression.</p> + +<p>"Had one of my own boys been guilty of it, I would have brought him to +you and had him punished in the face of the school; but as no harm had +come of it, I did not care to inform against Lewis: though I don't +excuse him; it was a dastardly action."</p> + +<p>"Well, this explains what Lewis wanted in the church, but it brings us +no nearer the affair of the register. I think I shall offer a reward for +the discovery."</p> + +<p>Mr. Wilberforce proceeded home, and into the study where his boarders +were assembled, some half dozen of the head boys. One of them, a great +tall fellow, stood on his head on a table, his feet touching the wall. +"Who's that?" uttered the master. "Is that the way you prepare your +lessons, sir?"</p> + +<p>Down clattered the head and the feet, and the gentleman stood upright on +the floor. It was Lewis senior. Mr. Wilberforce took a seat, and the +boys held their breath: they saw something was wrong.</p> + +<p>"Vaughan."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Did you lock Henry Arkell up in St. James's Church, and compel him to +pass a night there?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Vaughan opened all the eyes he possessed.</p> + +<p>"I, sir! I have not locked him up, sir. I don't think Arkell is locked +up," added Vaughan, in the confusion of his ideas. "I saw him talking to +you, sir, just now, in Wage-street."</p> + +<p>Lewis pricked up his ears, which had turned of a fiery red; then Arkell +<i>had</i> been locked in! Mr. Wilberforce sharply seized upon Vaughan's +words.</p> + +<p>"What brought you in Wage-street, pray?"</p> + +<p>"If you please, sir," coughed Vaughan, feeling he had betrayed himself, +"I only went out for an exercise book. I finished mine last night, sir, +and forgot it till I went to do my Latin just now. I didn't stop +anywhere a minute, sir; I ran there and back as quick as lightning. +Here's the book, sir."</p> + +<p>Believing as much of this as he chose, Mr. Wilberforce did not pursue +the subject. "Then which of you gentlemen was it who did shut up +Arkell?" asked he, gazing round. "Lewis, senior, what is the matter with +you, that you are skulking behind? Did <i>you</i> do it?"</p> + +<p>Lewis saw that all was up. "That canting hound has been peaching at +last," quoth he to himself. "I laid a bet with Prattleton he'd do it."</p> + +<p>"It is the most wicked and cowardly action that I believe ever disgraced +the college school," continued Mr. Wilberforce, "and it depends upon how +you meet it, Lewis, whether or not I shall expel you. Equivocate to me +now, if you dare. Had it come to my knowledge at the time, you should +have been flogged till you could not stand, and ignominiously expelled. +Flogged you will be, as it is. Do you know, sir, that he might have died +through it?"</p> + +<p>Lewis hung his head, wishing Arkell had died; and then he could not have +told the master.</p> + +<p>"I think the best punishment will be, to lock you up in St. James's all +the night, and see how you will like it," continued Mr. Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>Lewis wondered whether he was serious; and the perspiration ran down him +at the thought. "He was not locked in all night," he said, sullenly, by +way of propitiating the master. "When we went to open the church, he was +gone."</p> + +<p>"Gone! What do you mean now?"</p> + +<p>"He had got out somehow, sir, for Hunt said he had just seen him, and +when I ran back to morning school, he was in the college hall. Mr. +George Prattleton advised me not to make a stir, to know how he had got +out, but to let it drop."</p> + +<p>As Lewis spoke, Mr. Wilberforce suddenly remembered that Hunt said Henry +Arkell was in his kitchen, when Lewis came, frightened, and thumping for +the key. It occurred to him now, for the first time, to wonder how that +could have been.</p> + +<p>"When you locked Arkell in, what did you do with the key?"</p> + +<p>"I took it to Hunt's, sir."</p> + +<p>"And gave it to Hunt?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. That is," added Lewis, thinking it might be as well to be +correct, "I pushed it into the kitchen, where Hunt was."</p> + +<p>"And broke Dame Hunt's saucer," retorted Mr. Wilberforce. "When did you +have the key again. Speak up, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't have it again, sir," returned Lewis. "The key I took from the +hook, next morning, would not fit into the lock, and I took it back. +Hunt said it was the right key, and George Prattleton said it was the +key; but I am sure it was not, although George Prattleton called me a +fool for thinking so."</p> + +<p>The master revolved all this in his mind, and thought it very strange. +He was determined to come to the bottom of it, and despatched Vaughan to +Arkell's house to fetch him. The two boys came back together, and Mr. +Wilberforce, without circumlocution, addressed the latter.</p> + +<p>"When this worthy companion of yours," waving his hand contemptuously +towards Lewis, "locked you in the church, how did you get out?"</p> + +<p>Henry Arkell glanced at Lewis, and hesitated in his answer. "I can't +tell, sir."</p> + +<p>"You can't tell!" exclaimed Mr. Wilberforce. "Did you walk out of it in +your sleep? Did you get down from a window?—or through the locked door? +How did you get out, I ask?"</p> + +<p>Before there was time for any reply, the master's servant entered, and +said the Rev. Mr. Prattleton was waiting to speak to the master +immediately. Mr. Wilberforce, leaving the study door open, went into the +opposite room. Mr. Prattleton, who stood there, came forward eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Wilberforce, a thought has struck me, and I came in to suggest it. When +the boy passed the night in the church, did he get playing with the +register?"</p> + +<p>"He would not do it; Arkell would not," spoke the master, in the first +flush of thought.</p> + +<p>"Not mischievously; but he may have got fingering anything he could lay +his hands upon—and it is the most natural thing he would do, to while +away the long hours. A spark may have fallen on the leaf, and——"</p> + +<p>"How could he get a light?—or find the key of the safe?" interrupted +Mr. Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>"Schoolboys can ferret out anything, and he may have found its +hiding-place. As to a light, half the boys keep matches in their +pockets."</p> + +<p>Mr. Wilberforce mused upon the suggestion till it grew into a +probability. He called in Arkell, and shut the door.</p> + +<p>"Now," said he, confronting him, "will you speak the truth to me, or +will you not?"</p> + +<p>"I have hitherto spoken the truth to you, sir," answered Arkell, in a +tone of pain.</p> + +<p>"Well; I believe you have: it would be bad for you now, if you had not. +It is about that register, you know," added Mr. Wilberforce, speaking +slowly, and staring at him.</p> + +<p>There was but one candle on the table, and Henry Arkell pulled out his +handkerchief and rubbed it over his face: between the handkerchief and +the dim light, the master failed to detect any signs of emotion.</p> + +<p>"Did you get fingering the register-book in St. James's, the night you +were in the church?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, that I did not," he readily answered.</p> + +<p>"Had you a light in the church?"</p> + +<p>"You boys have a propensity for concealing matches in your clothes, in +defiance of the risk you run," interrupted Mr. Prattleton. "Had you any +that night?"</p> + +<p>"I had no matches, and I had no light," replied Henry. "None of the boys +keep matches about them except those who"—smoke, was the ominous word +which had all but escaped his lips—"who are careless."</p> + +<p>"Pray what did you do with yourself all the time?" resumed the master.</p> + +<p>"I played the organ for a long while, and then I lay down on the +singers' seat, and went to sleep."</p> + +<p>"Now comes the point: how did you get out?"</p> + +<p>"I can't say anything about it, sir, except that I found the door open +towards morning, and I walked out."</p> + +<p>"You must have been dreaming, and fancied it," said the master.</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I was awake. The door was open, and I went out."</p> + +<p>"Is that the best tale you have got to tell?"</p> + +<p>"It is all I can tell, sir. I did get out that way."</p> + +<p>"You may go home for the present," said Mr. Wilberforce, in anger.</p> + +<p>"Are you satisfied?" asked Mr. Prattleton, as Arkell retired.</p> + +<p>"I am satisfied that he is innocent as to the register; but not as to +how he escaped from the church. Allowing it to be as he says—and I have +always found him so strictly truthful—that he found the door open in +the middle of the night, how did it come open? Who opened it? For what +purpose?"</p> + +<p>"It is an incomprehensible affair altogether," said the Rev. Mr. +Prattleton. "Let us sit down and talk it over."</p> + +<p>As Arkell left the room, Lewis, senior, appeared at the opposite door, +propelling forth the fire-tongs, a note held between them.</p> + +<p>"This is for you," cried he, rudely, to Arkell, who took the note. Lewis +flung the tongs back in their place. "My hands shouldn't soil themselves +by touching yours," said he.</p> + +<p>When Arkell got out, he opened the letter under a gas-lamp, and read it +as well as he could for the blots. The penmanship was Lewis, junior's.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Mr. <span class="smcap">Arkell</span>,—Has you have chozen to peech to the master, like a +retch has you ar, we give you notise that from this nite you will +find the skool has hot has the Inphernal Regeons, a deal to hot for +you. And my brother don't care a phether for the oisting he is to +get, for he'll serve you worce. And if you show this dockiment to +any sole, you'l be a dowble-died sneek, and we will thresh your +life out of you, and then duck you in the rivor."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Henry Arkell tore the paper to bits, and ran home, laughing at the +spelling. But it was a very fair specimen of the orthography of +Westerbury collegiate school.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>ASSIZE SATURDAY.</h3> + + +<p>To attempt to describe the state of Mr. Fauntleroy would be a vain +effort. It was the practice of that respected solicitor never to advance +a fraction of money out of his pocket for any mortal client, unless the +repayment was as safe and sure as the Bank of England. He had deemed the +return so in the case of Mrs. Carr, and had really advanced a good bit +of money; and now there was no marriage recorded in the register.</p> + +<p>How had it gone out of it? Mr. Fauntleroy's first thought, in his +desperation, was to suspect Mynn and Mynn, clean-handed practitioners +though he knew them to be, as practitioners went, of having by some +sleight of hand spirited the record away. But for the assertion of Mr. +Wilberforce, that he had read it, the lawyer would have definitely +concluded that it had never been there, in spite of Mr. Omer and his +pencilled names. He went tearing over to Mynn and Mynn's in a fine state +of excitement, could see neither Mr. Mynn nor Mr. George Mynn, hired a +gig at Eckford, and drove over to Mr. Mynn's house, two miles distant. +Mr. Mynn, strong in the gout, and wrapped up in flannel and cotton wool +in his warm sitting-room, thought at first his professional brother had +gone mad, as he listened to the tale and the implied accusation, and +then expressed his absolute disbelief that any record of any such +marriage had ever been there.</p> + +<p>"You must be mad, Fauntleroy! Go and tamper with a register!—suspect us +of stealing a page out of a church's register! If you were in your +senses, and I had the use of my legs, I'd kick you out of my house for +your impudence. I might just as well turn round and tell you, you had +been robbing the archives of the Court of Chancery."</p> + +<p>"Nobody knew of the record's being there but you, and I, and the +rector," debated Mr. Fauntleroy, wiping his great face. "You say you +went and saw it."</p> + +<p>"I say I went and didn't see it," roared the afflicted man, who had a +dreadful twinge just then. "It seems—if this story of yours is +true—that I never heard it was there until it was gone. Don't be a +simpleton, Fauntleroy."</p> + +<p>In his heart of hearts, of course Mr. Fauntleroy did not think Mynn and +Mynn had been culpable, only in his passion. His voice began to cool +down to calmness.</p> + +<p>"I'm ready to accuse the whole world, and myself into the bargain," he +said. "So would you be, had you been played the trick. I wish you'd tell +me quietly what you know about the matter altogether."</p> + +<p>"That's where you should have begun," said old Mynn. "We never heard of +any letter having been found, setting forth that the record of the +marriage was in the register of St. James's, never thought for a moment +that there had been any marriage, and I don't think it now, for the +matter of that," he added, <i>par parenthèse</i>, "until the day our new +manager, Littelby, took possession, and I and George were inducting him +a little into our approaching assize and other causes. We came to Carr +<i>versus</i> Carr, in due course, and then Littelby, evidently surprised, +asked how it was that the letter despatched to you—to you, Mr. +Fauntleroy, and which letter it seems you kept to yourself, and gave us +no notice of—had not served to put an end to the cause. Naturally I and +my brother inquired what letter Mr. Littelby alluded to, and what were +its contents, and then he told us that it was a letter written by Robert +Carr, of Holland, stating that the marriage had taken place at the +church of St. James the Less, and that its record would be found entered +on the register. My impression at the first moment was—and it was +George's very strongly—that there had been nothing of the sort; no +marriage, and consequently no record; but immediately a doubt arose +whether any fraud had been committed by means of making a false entry in +the register. I went off at once to Westerbury, fully determined to +detect and expose this fraud—and my eyes are pretty clear for such +things—I paid my half-crown, and went with the clerk and examined the +register, and found I had my journey for nothing. There was no such +record in the register—no mention whatever of the marriage. <i>That</i> is +all I know of the affair, Mr. Fauntleroy."</p> + +<p>Had Mr. Fauntleroy talked till now, he could have learnt no more. It +evidently was all that his confrère knew; and he went back to Westerbury +as wise as he came, and sought the house of Mr. Wilberforce. The record +must have been taken out between the beginning of November and the 2nd +of December, he told the master. Omer, and the master himself, had both +seen it at the former time; old Mynn searched on the 2nd of December, +and it was gone.</p> + +<p>This information did not help Mr. Wilberforce in his perplexity, as to +who could have tampered with it. It was impossible but that his +suspicion should be directed to the night already spoken of, when Arkell +was locked up in the church, and seemed to have got out in a manner so +mysterious nobody knew how. Arkell adhered to his story: he had found +the door open in the night, and walked out; and that was all that could +be got from him. The master took him at his word. Had he pressed him +much, he might have heard more; had he only given him a hint that he +knew the register had been robbed, and that both trouble and injustice +were likely to arise from it, he might have heard all; for Henry fully +meant to keep his word with George Prattleton, and declare the truth, if +a necessity arose for it. But it appeared to be the policy of both the +master and Mr. Fauntleroy to keep the register out of sight and +discussion altogether. Not a word of the loss was suffered to escape. +Mr. Fauntleroy had probably his private reasons for this, and the rector +shrank from any publicity, because the getting at the register seemed to +reflect some carelessness on him and his mode of securing it.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the public were aware that some internal commotion was +agitating the litigants in the great cause Carr <i>versus</i> Carr. What it +was, they could not penetrate. They knew that a young lady, Mrs. Carr +the widow, was stopping in Westerbury, and had frequent interviews with +Mr. Fauntleroy; and they saw that the renowned lawyer himself was in a +state of ferment; but not a breath touching the register in any way had +escaped abroad, and George Prattleton and Henry Arkell were in ignorance +that there was trouble connected with it. George had ventured to put a +question to the Reverend Mr. Prattleton, regarding Mr. Wilberforce's +visit in connection with it, and was peremptorily ordered to mind his +own business.</p> + +<p>And the whole city, ripe for gossip and for other people's affairs, as +usual, lived in a perpetual state of anticipation of the assizes, and +the cause that was to come on at them.</p> + +<p>It is probable that this blow to Mr. Fauntleroy—and he regarded it in +no less a light—rendered him more severe than customary in his other +affairs. On the first of March, another ten pound was due to him from +Peter Arkell. The month came in, and the money was not paid; and Mr. +Fauntleroy immediately threatened harsh measures: that he would sell him +up for the whole of the debt. He had had judgment long ago, and +therefore possessed the power to do it; and Peter Arkell went to him. +But the grace he pleaded for, Mr. Fauntleroy refused longer to give; +refused it coarsely and angrily; and Peter was tempted to remind him of +the past. Never yet had he done so.</p> + +<p>"Have you forgotten what I did for you?" he asked. "I saved you once +from what was perhaps worse than debt."</p> + +<p>"And what if you did?" returned the strong-minded lawyer—not to speak +more plainly. "I paid you back again."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but how? In driblets, which did me no good. And if you did repay +me, does that blot out the obligation? If any one man should be lenient +to another, you ought to be so to me, Fauntleroy."</p> + +<p>"Have I not been lenient?"</p> + +<p>"No. It is true, you have not taken the extreme measures you threaten +now, but what with the sums you have forced me to pay, the costs, the +interest, I know not what all, for I have never clearly understood it, +you have made my life one of worry, hardship, and distress. But for that +large sum I had to pay suddenly for you I might have done differently in +the world. It was my ruin; yes, I assert it, for it is the simple truth, +the finding of that sum was my ruin. It took from me all hope of +prosperity, and I have been obliged ever since to be a poor, struggling +man."</p> + +<p>"I paid you, I say; what d'ye mean?" roughly spoke Mr. Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>Peter Arkell shook his head. He had said his say, and was too +gentle-minded, too timid-mannered to contend. But the interview did him +no good: it only served to further anger Mr. Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>A few days more, and Assize Saturday came in—as it is called in the +local phraseology. The judges were expected in some time in the +afternoon to open court, and the town was alive with bustle and +preparation. On this bright day—and it was one of the brightest March +ever gave us—a final, peremptory, unmistakable missive arrived for +Peter Arkell from Mr. Fauntleroy. And yet the man boasted in it of his +leniency of giving him a few hours more grace; it even dared to hint +that perhaps Mr. Arkell, if applied to, might save his home. But the +gist of it was, that if the ten pounds were not paid that afternoon by +six o'clock, at Mr. Fauntleroy's office, on Monday morning he should +proceed to execution.</p> + +<p>It was not a pleasant letter for Mrs. Peter Arkell. <i>She</i> received it. +Peter was out; and she lay on the sofa in great agitation, as might be +seen from the hectic on her cheeks, the unnatural brightness of her +eyes. How lovely she looked as she lay there, a lace cap shading her +delicate features, no description could express. The improvement so +apparent in her when they returned from the sea-side had not lasted; and +for the last few weeks she had faded ominously.</p> + +<p>The cathedral clock chimed out the quarter to three, and the bell rang +out for service. It had been going some time, when Henry, who had been +hard at his studies in the little room that was once exclusively his +father's, came in. The great likeness between mother and son was more +apparent than ever, and the tall, fine boy of sixteen had lost none of +his inherited beauty. It was the same exquisite face; the soft, dark +eyes, the transparent complexion, the pure features. Perhaps I have +dwelt more than I ought on this boy's beauty; but he is no imaginary +creation; and it was of that rare order that enchains the eye and almost +enforces mention whenever seen, no matter how often. It is still vivid +in the remembrance of Westerbury.</p> + +<p>"I am going now, mamma."</p> + +<p>"You will be late, Henry."</p> + +<p>Something in the tone of the voice struck on his ear, and he looked +attentively at his mother. The signs of past emotion were not quite +obliterated from her face.</p> + +<p>"Mamma, you have been crying."</p> + +<p>It was of no use to deny it; indeed the sudden accusation brought up +fresh tears then. Painful matters had been kept as much as possible from +Henry; but he could not avoid knowing of the general embarrassments: +unavoidable, and, so to speak, honourable embarrassments.</p> + +<p>"What is it now?" he urgently asked.</p> + +<p>"Nothing new; only the old troubles over and over again. Of course, the +longer they go on, the worse they get. Never mind, dear; <i>you</i> cannot +mend matters, so there's no necessity for allowing them to trouble you. +There is an invitation come for you from the Palmers'. I told Lucy to +put the note on the mantel-piece."</p> + +<p>He saw a letter lying there and opened it. His colour rose vividly as he +read, and he turned to look at the direction. It was addressed "Mr. +Peter Arkell;" but Henry had read it then.</p> + +<p>"You see, they want you to spend Monday with them at Heath Hall, and as +it will be the judges' holiday, you can get leave from college and do +so."</p> + +<p>"Mother," he interrupted—and every vestige of colour had forsaken his +sensitive face—"what does this letter mean?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell started up and clasped her hands. "Oh, Henry! what have you +been reading? What has Lucy done? She has left out the wrong letter. +That was not meant for you."</p> + +<p>"Does it mean a prison for papa?" he asked, controlling his voice and +manner to calmness, though his heart turned sick with fear. "You must +tell me all, mother, now I have read this."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it does, Henry. Or else the selling up of our home. I scarcely +know what myself, except that it means great distress and confusion."</p> + +<p>He could hardly speak for consternation. But, if he understood the +letter aright, a sum of ten pounds would for the present avert it. "It +is not much," he said aloud to his mother.</p> + +<p>"It is a great deal to us, Henry; more than we know where to find."</p> + +<p>"Papa could borrow it from Mr. Arkell."</p> + +<p>"I am sure he will not, let the consequences be what they may. I don't +wonder. If you only knew, my dear, how much, how often, he has had to +borrow from William Arkell—kind, generous William Arkell!—you could +hardly wish him to."</p> + +<p>"But what will be done?" he urged.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Unless things come to the crisis they have so long +threatened. Child," she added, bursting into tears, "in spite of my +firmly-seated trust, these petty anxieties are wearing me out. Every +time a knock comes to the door, I shiver and tremble, lest it should be +people come to ask for money which we cannot pay. Henry, you will be +late."</p> + +<p>"Plenty of time, mamma. I timed myself one day, and ran from this to the +cloister entrance in two minutes and a half. Are you being pressed for +much besides this?" he continued, touching the letter.</p> + +<p>"Not very much for anything else," she replied. "That is the worst: if +that were settled, I think we might manage to stave off the rest till +brighter days come round. If we can but retain, our home!—several times +it would have gone, but for Mr. Arkell. But I was wrong to speak of this +to you," she sighed: "and I am wrong to give way, myself. It is not +often that I do. God never sent a burden, but He sent strength to bear +it: and we have always, hitherto, been wonderfully helped. Henry, you +will surely be late."</p> + +<p>He slowly took his elbow from the mantel-piece, where it had been +leaning. "No. But if I were, it would be something new: it is not often +they have to mark me late."</p> + +<p>Kissing his mother, he walked out of the house in a dreamy mood, and +with a slow step; not with the eager look and quick foot of a schoolboy, +in dread of being marked late on the cathedral roll. As he let the gate +swing to, behind him, and turned on his way, a hand was laid upon his +shoulder. Henry looked round, and saw a tall, aristocratic man, looking +down upon him. In spite of his mind's trouble, his face shone with +pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. St. John! Are you in Westerbury?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I think you have pretty good ocular demonstration of it. Harry, +you have grown out of all knowledge: you will be as tall as my lanky +self, if you go on like this. How is Mrs. Arkell?"</p> + +<p>"Not any better, thank you. I am so very pleased to see you," he +continued: "but I cannot stop now. The bell has been going ten minutes."</p> + +<p>"In the choir still? Are you the senior boy?"</p> + +<p>"Senior chorister as before, but not senior boy yet. Prattleton is +senior. Jocelyn went to Oxford in January. Did you come home to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. I came in with the barristers."</p> + +<p>"But you are not a barrister?" returned Henry, half puzzled at the +words.</p> + +<p>"I a barrister! I am nothing but my idle self, the heir of all the St. +Johns. How is your friend, Miss Beauclerc?"</p> + +<p>"She is very well," said Henry; and he turned away his head as he +answered. Did St. John's heart beat at the name, as his did, he +wondered.</p> + +<p>"Harry, I must see your gold medal."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll fetch it out in a minute: it is only in the parlour."</p> + +<p>He ran in, and came out with the pretty toy hanging to its blue ribbon. +Mr. St. John took it in his hand.</p> + +<p>"The dean displayed taste," was his remark. "Westerbury cathedral on one +side, and the inscription to you on the other. There; put it up, and be +off. I don't want you to be marked late through me."</p> + +<p>There was not another minute to be lost, so Henry slipped the medal into +his jacket-pocket, flew away, and got on to the steps in his surplice +one minute before the dean came in.</p> + +<p>There was a bad practice prevailing in the college school, chiefly +resorted to by the senior boys: it was that of pledging their goods and +chattels. Watches, chains, silver pencil-cases, books, or anything else +available, were taken to Rutterley, the pawnbroker's, without scruple. +Of course this was not known to the masters. A tale was told of Jones +tertius having taken his surplice to Rutterley's one Monday morning; +and, being unable to redeem it on the Saturday, he had lain in bed all +day on the Sunday, and sent word to the head master that he had sprained +his ankle. On the Monday, he limped into the school, apparently in +excruciating pain, to the sympathy of the masters, and intense +admiration of the senior boys. Henry Arkell had never been guilty of +this practice, but he was asking himself, all college time, why he +should not be, for once, and so relieve the pressure at home. His gold +watch, the gift of Mr. Arkell, was worth, at his own calculation, twenty +pounds, and he thought there could be no difficulty in pledging it for +ten. "It is not an honourable thing, I know," he reasoned with himself; +"but the boys do it every day for their own pleasures, and surely I may +in this dreadful strait."</p> + +<p>Service was over in less than an hour, and he left the cathedral by the +front entrance. Being Saturday afternoon, there was no school. The +streets were crowded; the high sheriff and his procession had already +gone out to meet the judges, and many gazers lingered, waiting for their +return. Henry hastened through them, on his way to the pawnbroker's. +Possessed of that sensitive, refined temperament, had he been going into +the place to steal, he could not have felt more shame. The shop was +partitioned off into compartments or boxes, so that one customer should +not see another. If Henry Arkell could but have known his ill-luck! In +the box contiguous to the one he entered, stood Alfred Aultane, the boy +next below him in the choir, who had stolen down with one of the family +tablespoons, which he had just been protesting to the pawnbroker was his +own, and that he would have it out on Monday without fail, for his +godfather the counsellor was coming in with the judges, and never failed +to give him half a sovereign. But that disbelieving pawnbroker +obstinately persisted in refusing to have anything to do with the spoon, +for he knew the Aultane crest; and Mr. Alfred stood biting his nails in +mortification.</p> + +<p>"Will you lend me ten pounds on this?" asked Henry, coming in, and not +suspecting that anybody was so near.</p> + +<p>"Ten pounds!" uttered Rutterley, after examining the watch. "You college +gentlemen have got a conscience! I could not give more than half."</p> + +<p>"That would be of no use: I must have ten. I shall be sure to redeem it, +Mr. Rutterley."</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid of that. The college boys mostly redeem their pledges; +I will say that for them. I will lend you six pounds upon it, not a +farthing more. What can you be wanting with so large a sum?"</p> + +<p>"That is my business, if you please," returned Henry, civilly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course. Six pounds: take it, or leave it."</p> + +<p>A sudden temptation flashed across Henry's mind. What if he pledged the +gold medal? But for his having it in his pocket, the thought would not +have occurred to him. "But how can I?" he mentally argued——"the gift +of the dean and chapter! But it is my own," temptation whispered again, +"and surely this is a righteous cause. Yes: I will risk it: and if I +can't redeem it before, it must wait till I get my money from the choir. +So he put the watch and the gold medal side by side on the counter, and +received two tickets in exchange, and eight sovereigns and four +half-sovereigns.</p> + +<p>"Be sure keep it close, Mr. Rutterley," he enjoined; "you see my name is +on it, and there is no other medal like it in the town. I would not have +it known that I had done this, for a hundred times its worth."</p> + +<p>"All right," answered Mr. Rutterley; "things left with me are never +seen." But Alfred Aultane, from the next box, had contrived both to hear +and see.</p> + +<p>Henry Arkell was speeding to the office of Mr. Fauntleroy, when he heard +sounds behind him "Iss—iss—I say! Iss!"</p> + +<p>It was Aultane. "What became of you that you were not at college this +afternoon?" demanded Henry, who, as senior chorister, had much authority +over the nine choristers under him.</p> + +<p>"College be jiggered! I stopped out to see the show; and it isn't come +yet. If Wilberforce kicks up a row, I shall swear my mother kept me to +make calls with her. I say, Arkell, you couldn't do a fellow a service, +could you?"</p> + +<p>Henry was surprised at the civil, friendly tone—never used by some of +the boys to him. "If I can, I will," said he. "What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Lend me ten bob, in gold. I <i>must</i> get it: it's for something that +can't wait. I'll pay you back next week. I know you must have as much +about you."</p> + +<p>"All the money I have about me is wanted for a specific purpose. I have +not a sixpence that I can lend: if I had, you should be welcome to it."</p> + +<p>"Nasty mean wretch!" grunted Aultane, in his heart. "Won't I serve him +out!"</p> + +<p>The cathedral bells had been for some time ringing merrily, giving token +that the procession had met the judges, and was nearing the city, on its +return. Just then a blast was heard from the trumpets of the advancing +heralds, and Aultane tore away to see the sight.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>ASSIZE SUNDAY.</h3> + + +<p>The next day was Assize Sunday. A dense crowd collected early round the +doors of the cathedral, and, as soon as they were opened, rushed in, and +took possession of the edifice, leaving vacant only the pulpit, the +bishop's throne, and the locked-up seats. It was the custom for the +bishop (if in Westerbury), the dean and chapter, and the forty king's +scholars, to assemble just inside the front entrance and receive the +judges, who were attended in state to the cathedral, just as they had +been attended into Westerbury the previous afternoon, the escort being +now augmented by the mayor and corporation, and an overflowing shoal of +barristers.</p> + +<p>The ten choristers were the first to take up their standing at the front +entrance. They were soon followed by the rest of the king's scholars, +the surplices of the whole forty being primly starched for the occasion. +They had laid in their customary supply of pins, for it was the boys' +pleasure, during the service on Assize Sunday, to stick pins into +people's backs, and pin women's clothes together; the density of the mob +permitting full scope to the delightful amusement, and preventing +detection.</p> + +<p>The thirty king's scholars bustled in from the cloisters two by two, +crossed the body of the cathedral to the grand entrance, and placed +themselves at the head of the choristers. Which was wrong: they ought to +have gone below them. Henry Arkell, as senior chorister, took precedence +of all when in the cathedral; but not when out of it, and that was a +somewhat curious rule. Out of the cathedral, Arkell was under +Prattleton; the latter, as senior boy, being head of all. He told +Prattleton to move down.</p> + +<p>Prattleton declined. "Then we must move up," observed Henry. +"Choristers."</p> + +<p>He was understood: and the choristers moved above the king's scholars.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that?" demanded Prattleton. "How dare you disobey +me, Mr. Arkell?"</p> + +<p>"How dare you disobey me?" was Henry Arkell's retort, but he spoke +civilly. "I am senior here, and you know it, Prattleton." It must be +understood that this sort of clashing could only occur on occasions like +the present: on ordinary Sundays and on saints' days the choristers and +king's scholars did not come in contact in the cathedral.</p> + +<p>"I'll let you know who's senior," said Prattleton. "Choristers, move +down; you juniors, do you hear me? Move down, or I'll have you hoisted +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"If Mr. Arkell tells us, please, sir," responded a timid junior, who +fancied Mr. Prattleton looked particularly at him.</p> + +<p>The choristers did not stir, and Prattleton was savage. "King's +scholars, move up, and shove."</p> + +<p>Some of the king's scholars hesitated, especially those of the lower +school. It was no light matter to disobey the senior chorister in the +cathedral. Others moved up, and proceeded to "shove." Henry Arkell +calmly turned to one of his own juniors.</p> + +<p>"Hardcast, go into the vestry, and ask Mr. Wilberforce to step here. +Should he have gone into college, fetch him out of the chanting-desk."</p> + +<p>"Remain where you are, Hardcast," foamed Prattleton. "I dare you to +stir."</p> + +<p>Hardcast, a little chap of ten, was already off, but he turned round at +the word. "I am not under your orders, Mr. Prattleton, when the senior +chorister's present."</p> + +<p>A few minutes, and then the Reverend Mr. Wilberforce, in his surplice +and hood, was seen advancing. Hardcast had fetched him out of the +chanting-desk.</p> + +<p>"What's all this? what hubbub are you boys making? I'll flog you all +to-morrow. Arkell, Prattleton, what's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"I thought it better to send for you, sir, than to have a disturbance +here," said Arkell.</p> + +<p>"A disturbance here! You had better not attempt it."</p> + +<p>"Don't the king's scholars take precedence of the choristers, sir?" +demanded Prattleton.</p> + +<p>"No, they don't," returned the master. "If you have not been years +enough in the college to know the rules, Mr. Prattleton, you had better +return to the bottom of school, and learn them. Arkell, in this place, +you have the command. King's scholars move down, and be quick over it: +and I'll flog you all round," concluded Mr. Wilberforce, "if you strike +up a dispute in college again."</p> + +<p>The master turned tail, and strode back as fast as his short legs would +carry him: for the dean and chapter, marshalled by a verger and the +bedesmen, were crossing the cathedral; and a flourish of trumpets, +outside, told of the approach of the judges. The Reverend Mr. +Wilberforce was going to take the chanting for an old minor canon whose +voice was cracked, and he would hardly recover breath to begin.</p> + +<p>The choristers all grinned at the master's decision, save Arkell and +Aultane, junior: the latter, though second chorister, took part with +Prattleton, because he hated Arkell; and as the judges passed in their +flowing scarlet robes with the trains held up behind, and their imposing +wigs, so terrible to look at, the bows of the choristers were much more +gracious than those of the king's scholars. The additional mob, teeming +in after the judges' procession, was unlimited; and a rare field had the +boys and their pins that day.</p> + +<p>The hubbub and the bustle of the morning passed, and the cathedral bell +was again tolling out for afternoon service. Save the dust, and there +was plenty of that, no trace remained of the morning's scene. The king's +scholars were already in their seats in the choir, and the ten +choristers stood at the choir entrance, for they always waited there to +go in with the dean and chapter. One of them, and it was Mr. +Wilberforce's own son, had made a mistake in the morning in fastening +his own surplice to a countrywoman's purple stuff gown, instead of two +gowns together; and, when they came to part company, the surplice proved +the weakest. The consequence was an enormous rent, and it had just taken +the nine other choristers and three lay-clerks five minutes and +seventeen pins, fished out of different pockets, to do it up in any way +decent. Young Wilberforce, during the process, rehearsing a tale over in +his mind, for home, about that horrid rusty nail that would stick out of +the vestry door.</p> + +<p>The choristers stood facing each other, five on a side, and the dean and +canons would pass between them when they came in. They stood at an +equidistance, one from the other, and it was high treason against the +college rules for them to move an inch from their places. Arkell headed +one line, Aultane the other, the two being face to face. Suddenly a +college boy, who was late, came flying from the cloisters and dashed +into the choir, to crave the keys of the schoolroom from the senior boy, +that he might procure his surplice. It was Lewis junior; so, against the +rules, Prattleton condescended to give him the keys; almost any other +boy he would have told to whistle for them, and marked him up for +punishment as "absent." Prattleton chose to patronise him, on account of +his friendship with Lewis senior. Lewis came out again, full pelt, +swinging the keys in his hand, rather vain of showing to the choristers +that he had succeeded in obtaining them, just as two little old +gentlemen were advancing from the front entrance.</p> + +<p>"Hi, Lewis! stop a moment," called out Aultane, in a loud whisper, as he +crossed over and went behind Arkell.</p> + +<p>"Return to your place, Aultane," said Arkell.</p> + +<p>Mr. Aultane chose to be deaf.</p> + +<p>"Aultane, to your place," repeated Henry Arkell, his tone one of hasty +authority. "Do you see who are approaching?"</p> + +<p>Aultane looked round in a fluster. But not a soul could he see, save a +straggler or two making their way to the side aisles; and two +insignificant little old men, arm-in-arm, close at hand, in rusty black +clothes and brown wigs. Nobody to affect <i>him</i>.</p> + +<p>"I shall return when I please," said he, commencing a whispered parley +with Lewis.</p> + +<p>"Return this instant, Aultane. I <i>order</i> you."</p> + +<p>"You be——"</p> + +<p>The word was not a blessing, but you are at liberty to substitute one. +The little old men, to whom each chorister had bowed profoundly as they +passed him, turned, and bent their severe yellow faces upon Aultane. +Lewis junior crept away petrified; and Aultane, with the red flush of +shame on his brow, slunk back to his place. They were the learned +judges.</p> + +<p>They positively were. But no wonder Aultane had failed to recognise +them, for they bore no more resemblance to the fierce and fiery visions +of the morning, than do two old-fashioned black crows to stately +peacocks.</p> + +<p>"What may your name be, sir?" inquired the yellower of the two. Aultane +hung his head in an agony: he was wondering whether they could order him +before them on the morrow and transport him. Wilberforce was in another +agony, lest those four keen eyes should wander to his damaged surplice +and the pins. Somebody else answered: "Aultane, my lord."</p> + +<p>The judges passed on. Arkell would not look towards Aultane: he was too +noble to add, even by a glance, to the confusion of a fallen enemy: but +the other choristers were not so considerate, and Aultane burst into a +flow of bad language.</p> + +<p>"Be silent," authoritatively interrupted Henry Arkell. "More of this, +and I will report you to the dean."</p> + +<p>"I shan't be silent," cried Aultane, in his passionate rage. "There! not +for you." Beside himself with anger, he crossed over, and raised his +hand to strike Arkell. But one of the sextons, happening to come out of +the choir, arrested Aultane, and whirled him back.</p> + +<p>"Do you know where you are, sir?"</p> + +<p>In another moment they were surrounded. The dean's wife and daughter had +come up; and, following them, sneaked Lewis junior, who was settling +himself into his surplice. Mrs. Beauclerc passed on, but Georgina +stopped. Even as she went into college, she would sometimes stop and +chatter to the boys.</p> + +<p>"You were quarrelling, young gentlemen! What is the grievance?"</p> + +<p>"That beggar threatened to report me to the dean," cried Aultane, too +angry to care what he said, or to whom he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Then I know you deserved it; as you often do," rejoined Miss +Beauclerc; "but I'd keep a civil tongue in my head, if I were you, +Aultane. I only wonder he has not reported you before. You should have +me for your senior."</p> + +<p>"If he does go in and report me, please tell the dean to ask him where +his gold medal is," foamed Aultane. "And to make him answer it."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" she questioned.</p> + +<p>"<i>He</i> knows. If the dean offered him a thousand half-crowns for his +medal, he could not produce it."</p> + +<p>"What does he mean?" repeated Miss Beauclerc, looking at Henry Arkell.</p> + +<p>He could not answer: he literally could not. Could he have dropped down +without life at Georgina's feet, it had been welcome, rather than that +she should hear of an act, which, to his peculiarly refined temperament, +bore an aspect of shame so utter. His face flushed a vivid red, and then +grew white as his surplice.</p> + +<p>"He can't tell you," said Aultane; "that is, he won't. He has put it +into pawn."</p> + +<p>"And his watch too," squeaked Lewis, from behind, who had heard of the +affair from Aultane.</p> + +<p>Henry Arkell raised his eyes for one deprecating moment to Miss +Beauclerc's face; she was struck with their look of patient anguish. She +cast an annihilating frown at Lewis, and, raising her finger haughtily +motioned Aultane to his place. "I believe nothing ill of <i>you</i>," she +whispered to Henry, as she passed on to the choir.</p> + +<p>The next to come in was Mr. St. John. "What's the matter?" he hurriedly +said to Henry, who had not a vestige of colour in his cheeks or lips.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, thank you, Mr. St. John."</p> + +<p>Mr. St. John went on, and Lewis skulked to his seat, in his wake. +Lewis's place was midway on the bench on the decani side, seven boys +being above him and seven below him. The choristers were on raised seats +in front of the lay-clerks, five on one side the choir, five opposite on +the other; Arkell, as senior, heading the five on the decani side.</p> + +<p>The dean and canons came in, and the service began. While the afternoon +psalms were being sung, Mr. Wilberforce pricked the roll, a parchment +containing the names of the members of the cathedral, from the dean +downwards, marking those who were present. Aultane left his place and +took the roll to the dean, continuing his way to the organ-loft, to +inquire what anthem had been put up. He brought word back to Arkell, +'The Lord is very great and terrible. Beckwith.' Aultane would as soon +have exchanged words with the yellow-faced little man sitting in the +stall next the dean, as with Arkell, just then, but his duty was +obligatory. He spoke sullenly, and crossed to his seat on the opposite +side, and Arkell rose and reported the anthem to the lay-clerks behind +him. Mr. Wilberforce was then reading the first lesson.</p> + +<p>Now it happened that there was only one bass at service that afternoon, +he on the decani side, Mr. Smith; the other had not come; and the moment +the words were out of Arkell's mouth, "The Lord is very great. +Beckwith," Mr. Smith flew into a temper. He had a first-rate voice, was +a good singer, and being inordinately vain, liked to give himself airs. +"I have a horrid cold on the chest," he remonstrated, "and I cannot do +justice to the solo; I shan't attempt it. The organist knows I'm as +hoarse as a raven, and yet he goes and puts up that anthem for to-day!"</p> + +<p>"What is to be done?" whispered Henry.</p> + +<p>"I shall send and tell him I can't do it. Hardcast, go up to the +organ-loft, and tell——Or I wish you would oblige me by going yourself, +Arkell: the juniors are always making mistakes. My compliments to Paul, +and the anthem must be done without the bass solo, or he must put up +another."</p> + +<p>Henry Arkell, ever ready to oblige, left his stall, proceeded to the +organ-loft, and delivered the message. The organist was wroth: and but +for those two little old gentlemen, whom he knew were present, he would +have refused to change the anthem, which had been put up by the dean.</p> + +<p>"Where's Cliff, this afternoon?" asked he, sharply, alluding to the +other bass.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," replied Henry. "He is not at service."</p> + +<p>The organist took up one of the anthem books with a jerk, and turned +over its leaves. He came to the anthem, "I know that my Redeemer +liveth," from <i>the Messiah</i>.</p> + +<p>"Are you prepared to do justice to this?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I believe I am," replied Henry. "But——"</p> + +<p>"But me no buts," interrupted the organist, who was always very short +with the choristers. "'I know that my Redeemer liveth. Pitt.'"</p> + +<p>As Henry Arkell descended the stairs, Mr. Wilberforce was concluding the +first lesson. So instead of giving notice of the change of anthem to Mr. +Wilberforce and the singers on the cantori side, he left that until +later, and made haste to his own stall, to be in time for the soli parts +in the Cantate Domino, which was being sung that afternoon in place of +the Magnificat. In passing the bench of king's scholars, a foot was +suddenly extended out before him, and he fell heavily over it, striking +his head on the stone step that led to the stalls of the minor canons. A +sexton, a verger, and one or two of the senior boys, surrounded, lifted, +and carried him out.</p> + +<p>The service proceeded; but his voice was missed in the Cantate; +Aultane's proved but a poor substitute.</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether the anthem's changed?" debated the bass to the contre +tenor.</p> + +<p>"Um—no," decided the latter. "Arkell was coming straight to his place. +Had there been any change, he would have gone and told Wilberforce and +the opposites. Paul is in a pet, and won't alter it."</p> + +<p>"Then he'll play the solo without my accompaniment," retorted the bass, +loftily.</p> + +<p>Henry Arkell was only stunned by the fall, and before the conclusion of +the second lesson, he appeared in the choir, to the surprise of many. +After giving the requisite notice of the change in the anthem to Mr. +Wilberforce and Aultane, he entered his stall; but his face was white as +the whitest marble. He sang, as usual, in the Deus Misereatur. And when +the time for the anthem came, Mr. Wilberforce rose from his knees to +give it out.</p> + +<p>"The anthem is taken from the burial service."</p> + +<p>The symphony was played, and then Henry Arkell's voice rose soft and +clear, filling the old cathedral with its harmony, and the words falling +as distinctly on the ear as if they had been spoken. "I know that my +Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the +earth. And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh +I shall see God: whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall +behold, and not another." The organist could not have told <i>why</i> he put +up that particular anthem, but it was a remarkable coincidence, noticed +afterwards, that it should have been a funeral one.</p> + +<p>But though Henry Arkell's voice never faltered or trembled, his changing +face spoke of bodily disease or mental emotion: one moment it was bright +as a damask rose, the next of a transparent whiteness. Every eye was on +him, wondering at the beauty of his voice, at the marvellous beauty of +his countenance: some sympathised with his emotion; some were wrapt in +the solemn thoughts created by the words. When the solo was concluded, +Henry, with an involuntary glance at the pew of Mrs. Beauclerc, fell +against the back of his stall for support: he looked exhausted. Only for +a moment, however, for the chorus commenced.</p> + +<p>He joined in it; his voice rose above all the rest in its sweetness and +power; but as the ending approached, and the voices ceased, and the last +sound of the organ died upon the ear, his face bent forward, and rested +without motion on the choristers' desk.</p> + +<p>"Arkell, what are you up to?" whispered one of the lay-clerks from +behind, as Mr. Wilberforce recommenced his chanting.</p> + +<p>No response.</p> + +<p>"Nudge him, Wilberforce; he's going to sleep. There's the dean casting +his eyes this way."</p> + +<p>Edwin Wilberforce did as he was desired, but Arkell never stirred.</p> + +<p>So Mr. Tenor leaned over and grasped him by the arm, and pulled him up +with a sudden jerk. But he did not hold him, and the poor head fell +forward again upon the desk. Henry Arkell had fainted.</p> + +<p>Some confusion ensued: for the four choristers below him had every one +to come out of the stall before he could be got out. Mr. Wilberforce +momentarily stopped chanting, and directed his angry spectacles towards +the choristers, not understanding what caused the hubbub, and inwardly +vowing to flog the whole five on the morrow. Mr. Smith, a strong man, +came out of his stall, lifted the lifeless form in his arms, and carried +it out to the side aisle, the head, like a dead weight, hanging down +over his shoulder. All the eyes and all the glasses in the cathedral +were bent on them; and the next to come out of his stall, by the +prebendaries, and follow in the wake, was Mr. St. John, a flush of +emotion on his pale face.</p> + +<p>The dean's family, after service, met Mr. St. John in the cloisters. "Is +he better?" asked Mrs. Beauclerc. "What was the matter with him the +second time?"</p> + +<p>"He fainted; but we soon brought him to in the vestry. Young Wilberforce +ran and got some water. They are walking home with him now."</p> + +<p>"What caused him to fall in the choir?" continued Mrs. Beauclerc. +"Giddiness?"</p> + +<p>"It was not like giddiness," remarked Mr. St. John. "It was as if he +fell over something."</p> + +<p>"So I thought," interrupted Georgina. "Why did you leave your seat to +follow him?" she continued, in a low tone to Mr. St. John, falling +behind her mother.</p> + +<p>"It was a sudden impulse, I suppose. I was unpleasantly struck with his +appearance as I went into college. He was looking ghastly."</p> + +<p>"The choristers had been quarrelling: Aultane's fault, I am sure. He +lifted his hand to strike Arkell. Aultane reproached him with +having"—Georgina Beauclerc hesitated, with an amused look—"disposed of +his prize medal."</p> + +<p>"Disposed of his prize medal?" echoed Mr. St. John.</p> + +<p>"Pawned it."</p> + +<p>St. John uttered an exclamation. He remembered the tricks of the college +boys, but he could not have believed this of his favourite, Henry +Arkell.</p> + +<p>"And his watch also, Lewis junior added," continued Georgina. "They gave +me the information in a spiteful glow of triumph. Henry did not deny it: +he looked as if he could not. But I know he is the soul of honour, and +if he has done anything of the sort, those beautiful companions of his +have over-persuaded him: possibly to lend the money to them."</p> + +<p>"I'll see into this," mentally spoke Mr. St. John.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>PEACHING TO THE DEAN.</h3> + + +<p>Mr. St. John went at once to Peter Arkell's. Henry was alone, lying on +his bed.</p> + +<p>"After such a fall as that, how could you be so imprudent as to come +back and take the anthem?" was his unceremonious salutation.</p> + +<p>"I felt equal to it," replied Henry. "The one, originally put up, could +not be done."</p> + +<p>"Then they should have put up a third, for me. The cathedral does not +lack anthems, I hope. Show me where your head was struck."</p> + +<p>Henry put his hand to his ear, then higher up, then to his temple. "It +was somewhere here—all about here—I cannot tell the exact spot."</p> + +<p>As he spoke, a tribe of college boys was heard to clatter in at the +gate. Henry would have risen, but Mr. St. John laid his arm across him.</p> + +<p>"You are not going to those boys. I will send them off. Lie still and go +to sleep, and dream of pleasant things."</p> + +<p>"Pleasant things!" echoed Henry Arkell, in a tone full of pain. Mr. St. +John leaned over him.</p> + +<p>"Henry, I have never had a brother of my own; but I have almost loved +you as such. Treat me as one now. What tale is it those demons of +mischief have got hold of, about your watch and medal?"</p> + +<p>With a sharp cry, Henry Arkell turned his face to the pillow, hiding its +distress.</p> + +<p>"I suppose old Rutterley has got them. But that's nothing; it's the +fashion in the school: and I expect you had some urgent motive."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. St. John, I shall never overget this day's shame: they told +Georgina Beauclerc! I would rather die this moment, here, as I lie, than +see her face again."</p> + +<p>His tone was one of suppressed anguish, and Mr. St. John's heart ached +for him: though he chose to appear to make light of the matter.</p> + +<p>"Told Georgina Beauclerc: what if they did? She is the very one to glory +in such exploits. Had she been the dean's son, instead of his daughter, +she would have been in Rutterley's sanctum three times a week. I don't +think she would stand at going, as it is, if she were hard up."</p> + +<p>"But why did they tell her! I could not have acted so cruelly by them. +If I could but go to some far-off desert, and never face her, or the +school, again!"</p> + +<p>"If you could but work yourself into a brain fever, you had better say! +that's what you seem likely to do. As to falling in Georgina Beauclerc's +opinion, which you seem to estimate so highly (it's more than I do), if +you pledged all you possess in a lump, and yourself into the bargain, +she would only think the better of you. Now I tell you so, for I know +it."</p> + +<p>"I could not help it; I could not, indeed. Money is so badly wanted——"</p> + +<p>He stopped in confusion, having said more than he meant: and St. John +took up the discourse in a careless tone.</p> + +<p>"Money is wanted badly everywhere. I have done worse than you, Harry, +for I am pawning my estate, piecemeal. Mind! that's a true confession, +and has never been given to another soul: it must lie between us."</p> + +<p>"It was yesterday afternoon when college was over," groaned Henry. "I +only thought of giving Rutterley my watch: I thought he would be sure to +let me have ten pounds upon it. But he would not; only six: and I had +the medal in my pocket; I had been showing it to you. I never did such a +thing in all my life before."</p> + +<p>"That is more than your companions could say. How did it get to their +knowledge?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot think."</p> + +<p>"Where's the——the exchange?"</p> + +<p>"The what?" asked Henry.</p> + +<p>"How dull you are!" cried Mr. St. John. "I am trying to be genteel, and +you won't let me. The ticket. Let me see it."</p> + +<p>"They are in my jacket-pocket. Two." He languidly reached forth the +pieces, and Mr. St. John slipped them into his own.</p> + +<p>"Why do you do that, Mr. St. John?"</p> + +<p>"To study them at leisure. What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"My head is beginning to ache."</p> + +<p>"No wonder, with, all this talking. I'm off. Good-bye. Get to sleep as +fast as you can."</p> + +<p>The boys were in the garden and round the gate still, when he went down.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you please, sir, is he half killed? Edwin Wilberforce says so."</p> + +<p>"No, he is not half killed," responded Mr. St. John. "But he wants +quiet, and you must disperse, that he may have it."</p> + +<p>"My brother, the senior boy, says he must have fallen down from +vexation, because his tricks came out," cried Prattleton junior.</p> + +<p>Mr. St. John ran his eyes over the assemblage. "What tricks?"</p> + +<p>"He has been pawning the gold medal, Mr. St. John," cried Cookesley, the +second senior of the school. "Aultane junior has told the dean: Bright +Vaughan heard him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he has told the dean, has he?"</p> + +<p>"The dean was going into the deanery, sir, and Miss Beauclerc was +standing at the door, waiting for him," explained Vaughan to Mr. St. +John. "Something she said to Aultane put him in a passion, and he took +and told the dean. It was his temper made him do it, sir."</p> + +<p>"Such a disgrace, you know, Mr. St. John, to take the dean's medal +<i>there</i>," rejoined Cookesley. "Anything else wouldn't have signified."</p> + +<p>"Oh, been rather meritorious, no doubt," returned Mr. St. John. "Boys!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. St. John."</p> + +<p>"You know I was one of yourselves once, and I can make allowance for you +in all ways. But when I was in the school, our motto was, Fair play, and +no sneaking."</p> + +<p>"It's our motto still," cried the flattered boys.</p> + +<p>"It does not appear to be. We would rather, any one of us, have pitched +ourselves off that tower," pointing to it with his hand, "than have gone +sneaking to the dean with a private complaint."</p> + +<p>"And so we would still, in cool blood," cried Cookesley. "Aultane must +have been out of his mind with passion when he did it."</p> + +<p>"How does Aultane know that Arkell's medal is in pawn?"</p> + +<p>"He does not say how. He says he'll pledge his word to it."</p> + +<p>"Then listen to me, boys: my word will, I believe, go as far with you as +Aultane's. Yesterday afternoon I met Henry Arkell at the gate here; I +asked to see his medal, and he brought it out of the house to show me. +He is in bed now, but perhaps if you ask him to-morrow, he will be able +to show it to you. At any rate, do not condemn him until you are sure +there's a just reason. If he did pledge his medal, how many things have +you pledged? Some of you would pledge your heads if you could. Fair +play's a jewel, boys—fair play for ever!"</p> + +<p>Off came the trenchers, and a shout was being raised for fair play and +Mr. St. John; but the latter put up his hand.</p> + +<p>"I thought it was Sunday. Is that the way you keep Sunday in Westerbury? +Disperse quietly."</p> + +<p>"I'll clear him," thought Mr. St. John, as he walked home. "Aultane's a +mean-spirited coward. To tell the dean!"</p> + +<p>Indeed, the incautious revelation of Mr. Aultane was exciting some +disagreeable consternation in the minds of the seniors; and that +gentleman himself already wished his passionate tongue had been bitten +out before he made it.</p> + +<p>The following morning the college boys were astir betimes, and flocked +up in a body to the judges' lodgings, according to usage, to beg what +was called the judges' holiday. The custom was for the senior judge to +send his card out and his compliments to the head master, requesting him +to grant it; and the boys' custom was, as they tore back again, bearing +the card in triumph, to raise the whole street with their shouts of +"Holiday! holiday!"</p> + +<p>But there was no such luck on this morning. The judges, instead of the +card and the request, sent out a severe message—that from what they had +heard the previous day in the cathedral, the school appeared to merit +punishment rather than holiday. So the boys went back, dreadfully +chapfallen, kicking as much mud as they could over their trousers and +boots, for it had rained in the night, and ready to buffet Aultane +junior as the source of the calamity.</p> + +<p>Aultane himself was in an awful state of mind. He felt perfectly certain +that the affair in the cathedral must now come out to the head master, +who would naturally inquire into the cause of the holiday's being +denied; and he wondered how it was that judges dared to come abroad +without their gowns and wigs, deceiving unsuspicious people to +perdition.</p> + +<p>Before nine, Mr. St. John was at Henry Arkell's bedside. "Well," said +he, "how's the head?"</p> + +<p>"It feels light—or heavy. I hardly know which. It does not feel as +usual. I shall get up presently."</p> + +<p>"All right. Put on this when you do," said Mr. St. John, handing him the +watch. "And put up this in your treasure place, wherever that may be," +he added, laying the gold medal beside it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. St. John! You have——"</p> + +<p>"I shall have some sport to-day. I have wormed it all out of Rutterley; +and he tells me who was down there and on what errand. Ah, ah, Mr. +Aultane! so you peached to the dean. Wait until your turn comes."</p> + +<p>"I wonder Rutterley told you anything," said Henry, very much surprised.</p> + +<p>"He knew me, and the name of St. John bears weight in Westerbury," +smiled he who owned it. "Harry, mind! you must not attempt to go into +school to-day."</p> + +<p>"It is the judges' holiday."</p> + +<p>"The judges have refused it, and the boys have sneaked back like so many +dogs with their tails scorched."</p> + +<p>"Refused it! Refused the holiday!" interrupted Henry. Such a thing had +never been heard of in his memory.</p> + +<p>"They have refused it. Something must be wrong with the boys, but I am +not at the bottom of the mischief yet. Don't you attempt to go near +school or college, Harry: it might play tricks with your head. And now +I'm going home to breakfast."</p> + +<p>Henry caught his arm as he was departing. "How can I ever thank you, Mr. +St. John? I do not know when I shall be able to repay you the money; not +until——"</p> + +<p>"You never will," interrupted Mr. St. John. "I should not take it if you +were rolling in gold. I have done this for my own pleasure, and I will +not be cheated out of it. I wonder how many of the boys have got their +watches in now. Good-bye, old fellow."</p> + +<p>When Mr. Wilberforce came to know of the refused holiday, his +consternation nearly equalled Aultane's. <i>What</i> could the school have +been doing that had come to the ears of the judges? He questioned +sharply the senior boy, and it was as much as Prattleton's king's +scholarship was worth to attempt to disguise by so much as a word, or to +soften down, the message sent out from the judges. But the closer the +master questioned the rest of the boys, the less information he could +get; and all he finally obtained was, that some quarrel had taken place +between the two head choristers, Arkell and Aultane, on the Sunday +afternoon, and that the judges overheard it.</p> + +<p>Early school was excused that morning, as a matter of necessity; for the +master—relying upon the holiday—did not emerge from his bed-chamber +until between eight and nine; and you may be very sure that the boys did +not proceed to the college hall of their own accord. But after breakfast +they assembled as usual at half-past nine, and the master, uneasy and +angry, went in also to the minute. Henry Arkell failed to make his +appearance, and it was remarked upon by the masters.</p> + +<p>"By the way," said Mr. Wilberforce, "how came he to fall down in college +yesterday? Does anybody know?"</p> + +<p>"Please, sir, he trod upon a surplice," said Vaughan the bright. "Lewis +junior says so."</p> + +<p>"Trod upon a surplice!" repeated Mr. Wilberforce. "How could he do that? +You were standing. Your surplices are not long enough to be trodden +upon. What do you mean by saying that, Lewis junior?"</p> + +<p>Lewis junior's face turned red, and he mentally vowed a licking to +Bright Vaughan, for being so free with his tongue; but he looked up at +the master with an expression as innocent as a lamb's.</p> + +<p>"I only said he might have trodden on a surplice, sir. Perhaps he was +giddy yesterday afternoon, as he fainted afterwards."</p> + +<p>The subject dropped. The choristers went into college for service at ten +o'clock, but the master remained in his place. It was not his week for +chanting. Before eleven they were back again; and the master had called +up the head class, and was again remarking on the absence of Henry +Arkell, when the dean and Mr. St. John walked into the hall. Mr. +Wilberforce rose, and pushed his spectacles to the top of his brow in +his astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Have the goodness to call up Aultane," said the dean, after a few words +of courtesy, as he stood by the master's desk.</p> + +<p>"Senior, or junior, Mr. Dean?"</p> + +<p>"The chorister."</p> + +<p>"Aultane, junior, walk up," cried the master. And Aultane, junior, +walked up, wishing himself and his tongue and the dean, and all the rest +of the world within sight and hearing, were safely boxed up in the +coffins in the cathedral crypt.</p> + +<p>"Now, Aultane," began the dean, regarding him with as much severity as +it was in the dean's nature to regard anyone, even a rebellious college +boy, "you preferred a charge to me yesterday against the senior +chorister; that he had been pledging his gold medal at Rutterley's. Have +the goodness to substantiate it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my heart alive, I wish he'd drop through the floor!" groaned +Aultane to himself. "What will become of me? What a jackass I was!"</p> + +<p>"I did not enter into the matter then," proceeded the dean, for Aultane +remained silent. "You had no business to make the complaint to me on a +Sunday. What grounds have you for your charge?"</p> + +<p>Aultane turned red and white, and green and yellow. The dean eyed him +closely. "What proof have you?"</p> + +<p>"I have no proof," faltered Aultane.</p> + +<p>"No proof! Did you make the charge to me, knowing it was false?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. He <i>has</i> pledged his medal."</p> + +<p>"Tell me how you know it. Mr. St. John knows he had it in his own house +on Saturday."</p> + +<p>Aultane shuffled first on one foot, and then on the other; and the dean, +failing explanation from him, appealed to the school, but all disclaimed +cognizance of the matter. "If you behave in this extraordinary way, you +will compel me to conclude that you have made the charge to prejudice me +against Arkell; who, I hear, had a serious charge to prefer against +<i>you</i> for ill-behaviour in college," continued the dean to Aultane.</p> + +<p>"If you will send to the place, you will find his medal is there, sir," +sullenly replied Aultane.</p> + +<p>"The shortest plan would be to send to Arkell's, and request him to +dispatch his medal here, if the dean approves," interposed Mr. St. John, +speaking for the first time.</p> + +<p>The dean did approve, and Cookesley was despatched on the errand. He +brought back the medal. Henry was not in the way, but Mrs. Arkell had +found it and given it to him.</p> + +<p>"Now what do you mean by your conduct?" sternly asked the dean of +Aultane.</p> + +<p>"I know he pledged it on Saturday, if he has got it out to-day," +persisted the discomfited Aultane, who was in a terrible state, between +wishing to prove his charge true, and the fear of compromising himself.</p> + +<p>"I know Henry Arkell could not be guilty of a despicable action," spoke +up Mr. St. John; "and, hearing of this charge, I went to Rutterley's to +ask him a few questions. He informed me there <i>was</i> a college boy at his +place on Saturday, endeavouring to pledge a table-spoon, but he knew the +crest, and would not take it in—not wishing, he said, to encourage boys +to rob their parents. Perhaps Aultane can tell the dean who that was?"</p> + +<p>There was a dead silence in the school, and the look of amazement on the +head-master's face was only matched by the confusion of Aultane's. The +dean, a kind-hearted man, would not examine further.</p> + +<p>"I do not press the matter until I hear the complaint of the senior +chorister against Aultane," said he aloud, to Mr. Wilberforce. "It was +something that occurred in the cathedral yesterday, in the hearing, +unfortunately, of the judges. But a few preliminary tasks, by way of +present punishment, will do Aultane no harm."</p> + +<p>"I'll give them to him, Mr. Dean," heartily responded the master, whose +ears had been so scandalised by the mysterious allusions to Rutterley's, +that he would have liked to treat the whole school to "tasks" and to +something else, all round. "I'll give them to him."</p> + +<p>"You see what a Tom-fool you have made of yourself!" grumbled Prattleton +senior to Aultane, as the latter returned to his desk, laden with work. +"That's all the good you have got by splitting to the dean."</p> + +<p>"I wish the dean was in the sea, I do!" madly cried Aultane, as he +savagely watched the retreat of that very reverend divine, who went out +carrying the gold medal between his fingers, and followed by Mr. St. +John. "And I wish that brute, St. John was hung! He——"</p> + +<p>Aultane's words and bravery alike faded into silence, for the two were +coming back again. The master stood up.</p> + +<p>"I forgot to tell you, Mr. Wilberforce, that I have recommended Henry +Arkell to take a holiday for a day or two. That was a violent fall +yesterday; and his fainting afterwards struck me as not wearing a +favourable appearance."</p> + +<p>"Have you seen him, Mr. Dean?"</p> + +<p>"I saw him an hour ago, just before service. I was going by the house as +he came out of it, on his way to college, I suppose. It is a strange +thing what it could have been that caused the fall."</p> + +<p>"So it is," replied the master. "I was inquiring about it just now, but +the school does not seem to know anything."</p> + +<p>"Neither does he, so far as I can learn. At any rate, rest will be best +for him for a day or two."</p> + +<p>"No doubt it will, Mr. Dean. Thank you for thinking of it."</p> + +<p>They finally went out, St. John casting a significant look behind him, +at the boys in general, at Aultane junior in particular. It said as +plainly as looks could say, "I'd not peach again, boys, if I were you;" +and Aultane junior, but for the restraining presence of the head master, +would assuredly have sent a yell after him.</p> + +<p>How much St. John told of the real truth to the dean, that the medal +<i>had</i> been pledged, we must leave between them. The school never knew. +Henry himself never knew. St. John quitted the dean at the deanery, and +went on to restore the medal to its owner: although Georgina Beauclerc +was standing at one of the deanery windows, looking down expectantly, as +if she fancied he was going in.</p> + +<p>Travice was at that moment at Peter Arkell's, perched upon a side-table, +as he talked to them. Henry leaned rather languidly back in an +elbow-chair, his fingers pressed upon his head; Lucy was at work near +the window; Mrs. Peter, looking very ill, sat at the table. Travice had +not been at service on the previous afternoon, and the accident had been +news to him this morning.</p> + +<p>"But how did you fall?" he was asking with uncompromising plainness, +being unable to get any clear information on the point. "What threw you +down?"</p> + +<p>"Well—I fell," answered Henry.</p> + +<p>"Of course you fell. But how? The passage is all clear between the seats +of the king's scholars and the cross benches; there's nothing for you to +strike your foot against; how <i>did</i> you fall?"</p> + +<p>"There was some confusion at the time, Travice; the first lesson was +just over, and the people were rising for the cantate. I was walking +very fast, too."</p> + +<p>"But something must have thrown you down: unless you turned giddy, and +fell of your own accord."</p> + +<p>"I felt giddy afterwards," returned Henry, who had been speaking with +his hand mostly before his eyes, and seemed to answer the questions with +some reluctance. "I feel giddy now."</p> + +<p>"I think, Travice, he scarcely remembers how it happened," spoke Mrs. +Arkell. "Don't press him; he seems tired. I am so glad the dean gave him +holiday."</p> + +<p>At this juncture, Mr. St. John came in with the medal. He stayed a few +minutes, telling Harry he should take him for a drive in the course of +the day, which Mrs. Arkell negatived; she thought it might not be well +for the giddiness he complained of in the head. St. John took his leave, +and Henry went with him outside, to hear the news in private of what had +taken place in the college hall. Mrs. Arkell had left the room then, and +Travice took the opportunity to approach Lucy.</p> + +<p>"Does it strike you that there's any mystery about this fall, Lucy?"</p> + +<p>"Mystery!" she repeated, raising her eyes. "In what way?"</p> + +<p>"It is one of two things: either that he does not remember how he fell, +or that he won't tell. I think it is the latter; there is a restraint in +his manner when speaking of it: an evident reluctance to speak."</p> + +<p>"But why should he not speak of it?"</p> + +<p>"There lies what I call the mystery. A sensational word, you will say, +for so slight a matter. I may be wrong—if you have not noticed +anything. What's that you are so busy over?"</p> + +<p>Lucy held it up to the light, blushing excessively at the same time. It +was Harry's rowing jersey, and it was getting the worse for wear. +Boating would soon be coming in.</p> + +<p>"It wants darning nearly all over, it is so thin," she said. "And the +difficulty is to darn it so that the darn shall be neither seen nor +suspected on the right side."</p> + +<p>"Can't you patch it?" asked Travice.</p> + +<p>She laughed out loud. "Would Harry go rowing in a patched jersey? Would +you, Travice?"</p> + +<p>He laughed too. "I don't think I should much mind it."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but you are Travice Arkell," she said, her seriousness returning. +"A rich man may go about without shoes if he likes; but a poor one must +not be seen even in mended ones."</p> + +<p>"True: it's the way of the world, Lucy. Well, I should mend that jersey +with a new one. Why, you'll be a whole day over it."</p> + +<p>"I dare say I shall be two. Travice, there's Mr. St. John looking round +for you. He was beckoning. Did you not see him.</p> + +<p>"No, I only saw you," answered Travice, in a tone that was rather a +significant one. "I see now; he wants me. Good-bye, Lucy."</p> + +<p>He took her hand in his. There was little necessity for it, seeing that +he came in two or three times a day. And he kept it longer than he need +have done.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>CARR VERSUS CARR.</h3> + + +<p>It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and a crowd of busy idlers was +gathered round the Guildhall at Westerbury, for the great cause was +being brought on—Carr <i>versus</i> Carr.</p> + +<p>That they could not get inside, you may be very sure, or they would not +have been round it. In point of fact, the trial had not been expected to +come on before the Tuesday; but in the course of Monday morning two +causes had been withdrawn, and the Carr case was called on. The Nisi +Prius Court immediately became filled to inconvenience, and at two +o'clock the trial began.</p> + +<p>It progressed equably for some time, and then there arose a fierce +discussion touching the register. Mr. Fauntleroy's counsel, Serjeant +Wrangle, declaring the marriage was there up to very recently; and Mynn +and Mynn's counsel, Serjeant Siftem, ridiculing the assertion. The judge +called for the register.</p> + +<p>It was produced and examined. The marriage was not there, neither was +there any sign of its having been abstracted. Lawrence Omer was called +by Serjeant Wrangle; and he testified to having searched the register, +seen the inscribed marriage, and copied the names of the witnesses to +it. In proof of this, he tendered his pocket-book, where the names were +written in pencil.</p> + +<p>Up rose Serjeant Siftem. "What day was this, pray?"</p> + +<p>"It was the 4th of November."</p> + +<p>"And so you think you saw, amidst the many marriages entered in the +register, that of Robert Carr and Martha Ann Hughes?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure I saw it," replied Mr. Omer.</p> + +<p>"Were you alone?"</p> + +<p>"I looked over the book alone. Hunt, the clerk of the church, was +present in the vestry."</p> + +<p>"It must appear to the jury as a singular thing that you only, and +nobody else, should have seen this mysterious entry," continued Serjeant +Siftem.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps nobody else looked for it; they'd have seen it if they had," +shortly returned the witness, who felt himself an aggrieved man, and +spoke like one, since Mynn and Mynn had publicly accused him that day of +having gone down to St. James's in his sleep, and seen the entry in a +dream alone.</p> + +<p>"Does it not strike you, witness, as being extraordinary that this one +particular entry, professed to have been seen by your eyes, and by yours +alone, should have been abstracted from a book safely kept under lock +and key?" pursued Serjeant Siftem. "I am mistaken if it would not strike +an intelligent man as being akin to an impossibility."</p> + +<p>"No, it does not strike me so. But events, hard of belief, happen +sometimes. I swear the marriage was in the book last November: why it is +not there now, is the extraordinary part of the affair."</p> + +<p>It was no use to cross-examine the witness further; he was cross and +obstinate, and persisted in his story. Serjeant Siftem dismissed him; +and Hunt was called, the clerk of the church, who came hobbling in.</p> + +<p>The old man rambled in his evidence, but the point of it was, that he +didn't believe any abstraction had been made, not he; it must be a farce +to suppose it; a crotchet of that great lawyer, Fauntleroy; how could +the register be touched when he himself kept it sure and sacred, the key +of the safe in a hiding-place in the vestry, and the key of the church +hanging up in his own house, outside his kitchen door? His rector said +it had been robbed, and in course he couldn't stand out to his face as +it hadn't, but he were upon his oath now, and must speak the truth +without shrinking.</p> + +<p>Serjeant Wrangle rose. "Did the witness mean to tell the court that he +never saw or read the entry of the marriage?"</p> + +<p>"No, he never did. He never heard say as it were there, and he never +looked."</p> + +<p>"But you were present when the witness Omer examined the register?" +persisted Serjeant Wrangle.</p> + +<p>"Master Omer wouldn't have got to examine it, unless I had been," +retorted Hunt to Serjeant Wrangle. "I was a-sitting down in the vestry, +a-nursing of my leg, which were worse than usual that day; it always is +in damp weather, and—"</p> + +<p>"Confine yourself to evidence," interrupted the judge.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I was a-nursing of my leg whilst Master Omer looked into the +book. I don't know what he saw there; he didn't say; and when he had +done looking I locked it safe up again."</p> + +<p>"Did you see him make an extract from it?" demanded Serjeant Wrangle.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I saw him a-writing' something down in his pocket-book."</p> + +<p>"Have you ever entrusted the key of the safe to strange hands?"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't do such a thing," angrily replied the witness. "I never gave +it to nobody, and never would; there's not a soul knows where it is to +be found, but me, and the rector, and the other clergyman, Mr. +Prattleton, what comes often to do the duty. I couldn't say as much for +the key of the church, which sometimes goes beyond my custody, for the +rector allows one or two of the young college gents to go in to play the +organ. By token, one on 'em—the quietest o' the pair, it were, +too—flung in that very key on to our kitchen floor, and shivered our +cat's beautiful chaney saucer into seven atoms, and my missis——"</p> + +<p>"That is not evidence," again interrupted the judge.</p> + +<p>Nothing more, apparently, that was evidence, could be got from the +witness, so he was dismissed.</p> + +<p>Call the Reverend Mr. Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>The Reverend Mr. Wilberforce, rector of St. James the Less, minor canon +and sacrist of Westerbury Cathedral, and head-master of the collegiate +school, came forward, and was sworn.</p> + +<p>"You are the rector of St. James the Less?" said Serjeant Wrangle.</p> + +<p>"I am," replied Mr. Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see the entry of Robert Carr's marriage with Martha Ann +Hughes in the church's register."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did." Serjeant Siftem pricked up his ears.</p> + +<p>"When did you see it?"</p> + +<p>"On the 7th of last November."</p> + +<p>"How do you fix the date, Mr. Wilberforce?" inquired, the judge, +recognising him as the minor canon who had officiated in the chanter's +desk the previous day in the cathedral.</p> + +<p>"I had been marrying a couple that morning, my lord, the 7th. After I +had entered their marriage, I turned back and looked for the registry of +Robert Carr's, and I found it and read it."</p> + +<p>"What induced you to look for it?" asked the counsel.</p> + +<p>"I had heard that his marriage was discovered to have taken place at St. +James's, and that it was recorded in the register;" and Mr. Wilberforce +then told how he had heard it. "Curiosity induced me to turn back and +read it," he continued.</p> + +<p>"You both saw it and read it?" continued Serjeant Wrangle.</p> + +<p>"I both saw it and read it," replied Mr. Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>"Then you testify that it was undoubtedly there?"</p> + +<p>"Most certainly it was."</p> + +<p>"The reverend gentleman will have the goodness to remember that he is +upon his oath," cried Serjeant Siftem, impudently bobbing up.</p> + +<p>"<i>Sir!</i>" was the indignant rebuke of the clergyman. "You forget to whom +you are speaking," he added, amidst the dead silence of the court.</p> + +<p>"Can you remember the words written?" resumed Serjeant Wrangle.</p> + +<p>"The entry was properly made; in the same manner that the others were, +of that period. Robert Carr and Martha Ann Hughes had signed it; also +her brother and sister as witnesses."</p> + +<p>"You have no doubt that the entry was there, then, Mr. Wilberforce?" +observed the judge.</p> + +<p>"My lord," cried the reverend gentleman, somewhat nettled at the +question, "I can believe my own eyes. I am not more certain that I am +now giving evidence before your lordship, than I am that the marriage +was in the register."</p> + +<p>"It is not in now?" said the judge.</p> + +<p>"No, my lord; it must have been cleverly abstracted."</p> + +<p>"The whole leaf, I presume?" said Serjeant Wrangle.</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly. The marriage entered below Robert Carr's was that of Sir +Thomas Ealing: I read that also, with its long string of witnesses: that +is also gone."</p> + +<p>"Can you account for its disappearance?" asked Serjeant Wrangle.</p> + +<p>"Not in the least. I wish I could: and find out the offenders."</p> + +<p>"The incumbent of the parish at that time is no longer living, I +believe?" observed Serjeant Wrangle.</p> + +<p>"He has been dead many years," replied Mr. Wilberforce. "But it was not +the incumbent who married them: it was a strange clergyman who performed +the ceremony, a friend of Robert Carr's."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that?" snapped Serjeant Siftem, bobbing up again.</p> + +<p>"Because he signed the register as having performed it," replied Mr. +Wilberforce, confronting the Serjeant with a look as undaunted as his +own.</p> + +<p>What cared Serjeant Siftem for being confronted? "How do you know he was +a friend of Robert Carr's?" went on he.</p> + +<p>"In that I speak from hearsay. But there are many men of this city, +older than I am, who remember that the Reverend Mr. Bell and Robert Carr +were upon exceedingly intimate terms: they can testify it to you, if you +choose to call them."</p> + +<p>Serjeant Siftem growled, and sat down; but was up again in a moment. +"Who was clerk of the parish at that time?" asked he.</p> + +<p>"There was no clerk," replied the witness. "The office was in abeyance. +Some of the parishioners wanted to abolish it; but they did not succeed +in doing so."</p> + +<p>"Allow me to ask you, sir," resumed Serjeant Wrangle, "whether the +entrance of the marriage there is not a proof of its having taken +place?"</p> + +<p>"Most assuredly," replied Mr. Wilberforce. "A proof indisputable."</p> + +<p>But courts of justice, judges, and jury require ocular and demonstrative +proof. It is probable there was not a soul in court, including the judge +and Serjeant Siftem, but believed the evidence of the Reverend Mr. +Wilberforce, even had they chosen to doubt that of Lawrence Omer; but +the register negatively testified that there had been no marriage, and +upon the register, in law, must rest the onus of proof. Had there been +positive evidence, not negative, of the abstraction of the leaf from the +register, had the register itself afforded such, the aspect of affairs +would have been very different. Mr. Mynn testified that on the 2nd day +of December he had looked and could find no trace of the marriage in the +register: it was certainly evident that it was not in now. When the +court rose that night, the trial had advanced down to the summing-up of +the judge, which was deferred till morning: but it was felt by everybody +that that summing-up would be dead against the client of Mr. Fauntleroy, +and that Squire Carr had gained the cause.</p> + +<p>The squire, and his son Valentine, and Mynn and Mynn, and one or two of +the lesser guns of the bar, but not the great gun, Serjeant Siftem, took +a late dinner together, and drank toasts, and were as merry and +uproarious as success could make them: and Westerbury, outside, echoed +their sentiments—that 'cute old Fauntleroy had not a leg to stand upon.</p> + +<p>'Cute old Fauntleroy—'cute enough, goodness knew, in general—was +thinking the same thing, as he took a solitary chop in his own house: +for he did not get home until long past the dinner-hour, and his +daughters were out. After the meal was finished, he sat over the fire in +a dreamy mood, he scarcely knew how long, he was so full of vexation.</p> + +<p>The extraordinary revelation, that the disputed marriage had taken place +at St. James the Less, and lain recorded all those years unsuspiciously +in the register, with the still more extraordinary fact that it had been +mysteriously taken out of it, electrified Westerbury. The news flew from +one end of the city to the other, and back again, and sideways, and +everywhere.</p> + +<p>But not until late in the evening was it carried to Peter Arkells. +Cookesley, the second senior of the school, went in to see Henry, and +told it; and then, for the first time, Henry found that the abstraction +of the leaf had reference to the great cause—Carr versus Carr.</p> + +<p>"Will Mrs. Carr lose her verdict through it?" he asked of Cookesley.</p> + +<p>"Of course she will. There's no proof of the leaf's having been taken +out. If they could only prove that, she'd gain it; and very unjust it +will be upon her, poor thing! We had such a game in school!" added +Cookesley, passing to private interests. "Wilberforce was at the court +all the afternoon, giving evidence; and Roberts wanted to domineer over +us upper boys; as if we'd let him! He was so savage."</p> + +<p>Cookesley departed. Henry had his head down on the table: Mrs. Arkell +supposed it ached, and bade him go to bed. He apparently did not hear +her; and presently started up and took his trencher.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?" she asked, in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Only to Prattleton's. I want to speak to George."</p> + +<p>"But, Henry——"</p> + +<p>Remonstrance was useless. He had already gone. Prattleton senior came to +the door to him.</p> + +<p>"George? George is at Griffin's; Griffin has got a bachelor's party. +Whatever do you want with him? I say, Arkell, have you heard of the row +in school this morning? The dean came in about that medal business—what +a fool Aultane junior was for splitting!—and St. John spoke about one +of the fellows having been at Rutterley's on Saturday, trying to pledge +a spoon with the Aultane crest upon it: he didn't say actually the crest +was the Aultanes', or that the fellow was Aultane, but his manner let us +know it. Wasn't Aultane in a way! He said afterwards that if he had had +a pistol ready capped and loaded, he should have shot himself, or the +dean, or St. John, or somebody else. Serve him right for his false +tongue! There'll be an awful row yet. I know I'd shoot myself, before +I'd go and peach to the dean!"</p> + +<p>But Prattleton was wasting his words on air. Henry had flown on to +Griffin's—the house in the grounds formerly occupied by Mr. and Mrs. +Lewis. The Reverend Mr. Griffin was the old minor canon, with the +cracked voice, and it was his son and heir who was holding the +bachelor's party. George Prattleton came out.</p> + +<p>There ensued a short, sharp colloquy—Henry insisting upon being +released from his promise; George Prattleton, whom the suggestion had +startled nearly out of his senses, refusing to allow him to divulge +anything.</p> + +<p>"She'll not get her cause," said Henry, "unless I speak. It will be +awfully unjust."</p> + +<p>"You'll just keep your tongue quiet, Arkell. What is it to you? The Carr +folks are not your friends or relatives."</p> + +<p>"If I were to let the trial go against her, for the want of telling the +truth, I should have it on my conscience always."</p> + +<p>"My word!" cried George Prattleton, "a schoolboy with a conscience! I +never knew they were troubled with any."</p> + +<p>"Will you release me from my promise of not speaking?"</p> + +<p>"Not if you go down on your knees for it. What a green fellow you are!"</p> + +<p>"Then I shall speak without."</p> + +<p>"You won't," cried Prattleton.</p> + +<p>"I will. I gave the promise only conditionally, remember; and, as things +are turning out, I am under no obligation to keep it. But I would not +speak without asking your consent first, whether I got it or not."</p> + +<p>"I have a great mind to carry you by force, and fling you into the +river," uttered Prattleton, in a savage tone.</p> + +<p>"You know you couldn't do it," returned Henry, quietly: "if I am not +your equal in age and strength, I could call those who are. But there's +not a moment to be lost. I am off to Mr. Fauntleroy's."</p> + +<p>Henry Arkell meant what he said: he was always resolute in <i>right</i>: and +Prattleton, after a further confabulation, was fain to give in. Indeed +he had been expecting nothing less than this for the last hour, and had +in a measure prepared himself for it.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell the news myself," said George Prattleton, "if it must be +told: and I'll tell it to Mr. Prattleton, not to Fauntleroy, or any of +the law set."</p> + +<p>"I must go to Mr. Prattleton with you," returned Henry.</p> + +<p>"You can wait for me out here, then. We are at whist, and my coming out +has stopped the game. I shan't be more than five minutes."</p> + +<p>George Prattleton retreated indoors, and Henry paced about, waiting for +him. He crossed over towards the deanery, and came upon Miss Beauclerc. +She had been spending an hour at a neighbouring house, and was returning +home, attended by an old man-servant. Muffled in a shawl and wearing a +pink silk hood, few would have known her, except the college boy. His +heart beat as if it would burst its bounds.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's never you!" she cried. "Thank you, Jacob, that will do," she +added to the servant. "Don't stand, or you'll catch your rheumatism; Mr. +Arkell will see me indoors."</p> + +<p>The old man turned away with a bow, and she partially threw back her +pink silk hood to talk to Henry, as they moved slowly on to the deanery +door.</p> + +<p>"Were you going to call upon us, Harry?"</p> + +<p>"No, Miss Beauclerc. I am waiting for George Prattleton. He is at +Griffin's."</p> + +<p>"Miss Beauclerc!" she echoed; "how formal you are to-night. I'd not be +as cold as you, Henry Arkell, for the whole world!"</p> + +<p>"I, cold!"</p> + +<p>He said no more in refutation. If Georgina could but have known his real +feelings! If she could but have divined how his pulses were beating, his +veins coursing! Perhaps she did.</p> + +<p>"Are you better? What a fall you had! And to faint after it!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think I am better, thank you. It hurt my head a little."</p> + +<p>"And you had been annoyed with those rebellious school boys! You are not +half strict enough with the choristers. I hope Aultane will get a +flogging, as Lewis did for locking you up in St. James's Church. I asked +Lewis the next day how he liked it: he was so savage. I think he'd +murder you if he could: he's jealous, you know."</p> + +<p>She laughed as she spoke the last words, and her gay blue eyes were bent +on him; he could discern them even in the dark, obscure corner where the +deanery door stood. Henry did not answer: he was in wretched spirits.</p> + +<p>"Harry, tell me—why is it you so rarely come to the deanery? Do you +think any other college boy would dare to set at nought the dean's +invitations—and mine?"</p> + +<p>"Remembering what passed between us one night at the deanery—the audit +night—can you wonder that I do not oftener come?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you were so stupid."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. I have been stupid for years past."</p> + +<p>Miss Beauclerc laughed. "And you think that stopping away will cure +you?"</p> + +<p>"It will not cure me; years will not cure me," he passionately broke +forth, in a tone whose anguish was irrepressible. "Absence and <i>you</i> +alone will do that. When I go to the university——" He stopped, unable +to proceed.</p> + +<p>"When you go to the university you will come back a wise man. Henry," +she continued, changing her manner to seriousness, "it was the height of +folly to suffer yourself to care for me. If I—if it were reciprocated, +and I cared for you, if I were dying of love for you, there are barriers +on all sides, and in all ways."</p> + +<p>"I am aware of it. There is the barrier between us of disparity of +years; there is a wide barrier of station; and there is the greatest +barrier of all, want of love on your side. I know that my loving you has +been nothing short of madness, from the first: madness and double +madness since I knew where your heart was given."</p> + +<p>"So you will retain that crotchet in your head!"</p> + +<p>"It is no crotchet. Do you think my loving eyes—my jealous eyes, if you +so will it—have been deceived? You must be happy, now that he has come +back to Westerbury."</p> + +<p>"Stupid!" echoed Miss Beauclerc.</p> + +<p>"But it has been your fault, Georgina," he resumed, reverting to +himself. "I <i>must</i> reiterate it. You saw what my feelings were becoming +for you, and you did all you could to draw them on; you may have deemed +me a child then in years; you knew I was not, in heart. They might have +been checked in the onset, and repressed: why did you not do it? why did +you do just the contrary, and give me encouragement? You called it +flirting; you thought it good sport: but you should have remembered that +what is sport to one, may be death to another."</p> + +<p>"This estrangement makes me uncomfortable," proceeded Miss Beauclerc, +ignoring the rest. "Papa keeps saying, 'What is come to Henry Arkell +that he is never at the deanery?' and then I invent white stories, about +believing that your studies take up your time. I miss you every day; I +do, Henry; I miss your companionship; I miss your voice at the piano; I +miss your words in speaking to me. But here comes your friend George +Prat, for that's the echo of old Griffin's door. I know the different +sounds of the doors in the grounds. Good night, Harry: I must go in."</p> + +<p>She bent towards him to put her hand in his, and he—he was betrayed out +of his propriety and his good manners. He caught her to his heart, and +held her there; he kissed her face with his fervent lips.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, Georgina," he murmured, as she released herself. "It is the +first and the last time."</p> + +<p>"I will forgive you for this once," cried the careless girl; "but only +think of the scandal, had anybody come up: my staid mamma would go into +a fit. It is what <i>he</i> has never done," she added, in a deeper tone. +"And why your head should run upon him I cannot tell. Mine doesn't."</p> + +<p>Henry wrung her hand. "But for him, Georgina, I should think you cared +for me. Not that the case would be less hopeless."</p> + +<p>Miss Beauclerc rang a peal on the door-bell, and was immediately +admitted—whilst Henry Arkell walked forward to join George Prattleton, +his heart a compound of sweet and bitter, and his brain in a mazy dream.</p> + +<p>But we left Mr. Fauntleroy in a dream by the side of his fire, and by no +means a pleasant one. He sat there he did not know how long, and was at +length interrupted by one of his servants.</p> + +<p>"You are wanted, sir, if you please."</p> + +<p>"Wanted now! Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"The Rev. Mr. Prattleton, sir, and one or two more. They are in the +drawing-room, and the fire's gone out."</p> + +<p>"He has come bothering about that tithe case," grumbled Mr. Fauntleroy +to himself. "I won't see him: let him come at a proper time. My +compliments to Mr. Prattleton, Giles, but I am deep in assize business, +and cannot see him."</p> + +<p>Giles went out and came in again. "Mr. Prattleton says they must see +you, sir, whether or no. He told me to say, sir, that it is about the +cause that's on, Carr and Carr."</p> + +<p>Mr. Fauntleroy proceeded to his drawing-room, and there he was shut in +for some time. Whatever the conference with his visitors may have been, +it was evident, when he came out, that for him it had borne the deepest +interest, for his whole appearance was changed; his manners were +excited, his eyes sparkling, and his face was radiant.</p> + +<p>They all left the house together, but the lawyer's road did not lie far +with theirs. He stopped at the lodgings occupied by Serjeant Wrangle, +and knocked. A servant-maid came to the door.</p> + +<p>"I want to see Serjeant Wrangle," said Mr. Fauntleroy, stepping in.</p> + +<p>"You can't sir. He is gone to bed."</p> + +<p>"I must see him for all that," returned Mr. Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>"Missis and master's gone to bed too," she added, by way of remonstrance. +"I was just a-going."</p> + +<p>"With all my heart," said Mr. Fauntleroy. "I must see the serjeant."</p> + +<p>"'Tain't me, then, sir, that'll go and awaken him," cried the girl. +"He's gone to bed dead tired, he said, and I was not to disturb him till +eight in the morning."</p> + +<p>"Give me your candle," replied Mr. Fauntleroy, taking it from her hand. +"He has the same rooms as usual, I suppose; first floor."</p> + +<p>Mr. Fauntleroy went up the stairs, and the girl stood at the bottom, and +watched and listened. She did not approve of the proceedings, but did +not dare to check them; for Mr. Fauntleroy was a great man in +Westerbury, and their assize lodger, the serjeant, was a greater.</p> + +<p>Tap—tap—tap: at Serjeant Wrangle's door.</p> + +<p>No response.</p> + +<p>Tap—tap—tap, louder.</p> + +<p>"Who the deuce is that?" called out the serjeant, who was only dignified +in his wig and gown. "Is it you, Eliza? what do you want? It's not +morning, is it?"</p> + +<p>"'Tain't me, sir," screamed out Eliza, who had now followed Mr. +Fauntleroy. "I told the gentleman as you was dead tired and wasn't to be +woke up till eight in the morning, but he took my light and would come +up."</p> + +<p>"I must see you, Serjeant," said Mr. Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>"See me! I'm in bed and asleep. Who the dickens is it?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Fauntleroy. Don't you know my voice? Can I come in?"</p> + +<p>"No; the door's bolted."</p> + +<p>"Then just come and undo it. For, see you, I must."</p> + +<p>"Can't it wait?"</p> + +<p>"If it could I should not have disturbed you. Open the door and you +shall judge for yourself."</p> + +<p>Serjeant Wrangle was heard to tumble out of bed in a lump, and undo the +bolt of the door. Eliza concluded that he was in his night attire, and +modestly threw her apron over her face. Mr. Fauntleroy entered.</p> + +<p>"The most extraordinary thing has turned up in Carr versus Carr," cried +he. "Never had such a piece of luck, just in the nick of time, in all my +practice."</p> + +<p>"Do shut the door," responded Serjeant Wrangle; "I shall catch the +shivers."</p> + +<p>Mr. Fauntleroy shut the door, shutting out Eliza, who forthwith sat down +on the top stair, and wished she had ten ears. "Have you not a +dressing-gown to put on?" cried he to the serjeant.</p> + +<p>"I'll listen in bed," replied the serjeant, vaulting into it.</p> + +<p>A whole hour did that ill-used Eliza sit on the stairs, and not a +syllable could she distinguish, listen as she would, nothing but an +eager murmuring of voices. When Mr. Fauntleroy came out, he put the +candle in her hand and she attended him to the door, but not in a +gracious mood.</p> + +<p>"I thought you were going to stop all night, sir," she ventured to say. +"Dreadful dreary it was, sitting there, a-waiting."</p> + +<p>"Why did you not wait in the kitchen?"</p> + +<p>"Because every minute I fancied you must be coming out. Good night, +sir."</p> + +<p>"Good night," returned Mr. Fauntleroy, putting half-a-crown in her hand. +"There; that's in case you have to wait on the stairs for me again."</p> + +<p>Eliza brightened up, and officiously lighted Mr. Fauntleroy some paces +down the street, in spite of the gas-lamp at the door, which shone well. +"What a good humour the old lawyer's in!" quoth she. "I wonder what his +business was? I heard him say something had arose in Carr and Carr."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE SECOND DAY.</h3> + + +<p>Tuesday morning dawned, and before nine o'clock the Nisi Prius court was +more densely packed than on the preceding day: all Westerbury—at least, +as many as could push in—were anxious to hear his lordship's summing +up. At twenty-eight minutes after nine, the javelins of the sheriff's +men appeared in the outer hall, ushering in the procession of the +judges.</p> + +<p>The senior judge proceeded to the criminal court; the other, as on the +Monday, took his place in the Nisi Prius. His lordship had his notes in +his hand, and was turning to the jury, preparatory to entering on his +task, when Mr. Serjeant Wrangle rose.</p> + +<p>"My lord—I must crave your lordship's permission to state a fact, +bearing on the case, Carr versus Carr. An unexpected witness has arisen; +a most important witness; one who will testify to the abstraction from +the register; one who was present when that abstraction was made. Your +lordship will allow him to be heard?"</p> + +<p>Serjeant Siftem, and Mynn and Mynn, and Squire Carr and his son +Valentine, and all who espoused that side, looked contemptuous daggers +of incredulity at Serjeant Wrangle. But the judge allowed the witness to +be heard, for all that.</p> + +<p>He came forward; a remarkably handsome boy, at the stage between youth +and manhood. The judge put his silver glasses across his nose and gazed +at him: he thought he recognised those beautiful features.</p> + +<p>"Swear the witness," cried some official.</p> + +<p>The witness was sworn.</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" demanded Serjeant Wrangle.</p> + +<p>"Henry Cheveley Arkell."</p> + +<p>"Where do you reside?"</p> + +<p>"In Westerbury, near the cathedral."</p> + +<p>"You are a member of the college school and a chorister, are you not?" +interposed the judge, whose remembrance had come to him.</p> + +<p>"A king's scholar, my lord, and senior chorister."</p> + +<p>"Were you in St. James's Church on a certain night of last November?" +resumed Serjeant Wrangle.</p> + +<p>"Yes. On the twentieth."</p> + +<p>"For how long? And how came you to be there?"</p> + +<p>"I went in to practise on the organ, when afternoon school was over, and +some one locked me in. I was there until nearly two in the morning."</p> + +<p>"Who locked you in?"</p> + +<p>"I did not know then. I afterwards heard that it was one of the senior +boys."</p> + +<p>"Tell the jury what you saw."</p> + +<p>Henry Arkell, amidst the confused scene, so unfamiliar to him, wondered +which was the jury. Not knowing, he stood as he had done before, looking +alternately at the examining counsel and the judge.</p> + +<p>"I went to sleep on the singers' seat in the organ-gallery, and slept +until a noise awoke me. I saw two people stealing up the church with a +light; they turned into the vestry, and I went softly downstairs and +followed them, and stood at the vestry door looking in."</p> + +<p>"Who were those parties?"</p> + +<p>"The one was Mr. George Prattleton; the other a stranger, whose name I +had heard was Rolls. George Prattleton unlocked the safe and gave Rolls +the register, and Rolls sat down and looked through it: he was looking a +long while."</p> + +<p>"What next did you see?"</p> + +<p>"When George Prattleton had his back turned to the table, I saw Rolls +blow out the light. He pretended it had gone out of itself, and asked +George Prattleton to fetch the matches from the bench at the entrance +door. As soon as George Prattleton had gone for them, a light reappeared +in the vestry, and I saw Rolls place what looked to be a piece of thick +pasteboard behind one of the leaves, and then draw a knife down it and +cut it out. He put the leaf and the board and the knife into his pocket, +and blew out the candle again.</p> + +<p>"Did George Prattleton see nothing of this?"</p> + +<p>"No. He was gone for the matches, and when he came back the vestry was +in darkness, as he had left it. 'Nothing risk, nothing win; I thought I +could do him,' I heard Rolls say to himself."</p> + +<p>"After that?"</p> + +<p>"After that, when Mr. George Prattleton came back with the matches, +Rolls lighted the candle and continued to look over the register, and +George Prattleton grumbled at him for being so long. Presently Rolls +shut the book and hurrahed, saying that it was not in, and Mr. +Prattleton might put it up again."</p> + +<p>"Did you understand what he meant by 'it.' Can you repeat the words he +used?"</p> + +<p>"I believe I can, or nearly so, for I have thought of them often since. +'It's not in the register, Prattleton,' he said. 'Hurrah! It will be +thousands of pounds in our pockets. When the other side brought forth +the lame tale that there was such an entry, we thought it a bag of +moonshine.' I think that was it."</p> + +<p>"What next happened?"</p> + +<p>"I saw Rolls hand the book to George Prattleton, and then I went down +the church as quietly as I could, and found the key in the door and got +out. I hid behind a tombstone, and I saw them both come from the church, +and Mr. George Prattleton locked it and put the key in his pocket. I +heard them disputing at the door, when they found it open; Rolls accused +George Prattleton of unlocking the door when he went to get the matches; +and George Prattleton accused Rolls of having neglected to lock it when +they entered the church."</p> + +<p>"Meanwhile it was you who had unlocked it, to let yourself out?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And I was in too great a hurry, for fear they should see me, to +shut it after me."</p> + +<p>"A very nicely concocted tale!" sneered Serjeant Siftem, after several +more questions had been asked of Henry, and he rose to cross examine. +"You would like the court and jury to believe you, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I hope all will believe, who hear me, for it is the truth," he +answered, with simplicity. And he had his wish; for all did believe him; +and Serjeant Siftem's searching questions, and insinuations that the +fancied George Prattleton and Rolls were nothing but ghosts, failed to +shake his testimony, or their belief.</p> + +<p>The next witness called was Roland Carr Lewis, who had just come into +court, marshalled by the second master. A messenger, attended by a +javelin man, had been despatched in hot haste to the college schoolroom, +demanding the attendance of Roland Lewis. Mr. Roberts, confounded by +their appearance, and perplexed by the obscure tale of the messenger, +that "two of the college gentlemen, Lewis and another, was found to have +had som'at to do with the theft from the register, though not, he +b'lieved, in the way of thieving it theirselves," left his desk and his +duties, and accompanied Lewis. The head master had been in court all the +morning.</p> + +<p>"You are in the college school," said Serjeant Wrangle, after Lewis was +sworn, and had given his name.</p> + +<p>"King's scholar, sir, and third senior," replied Lewis, who could +scarcely speak for fright; which was not lessened when he caught sight +of the Dean of Westerbury on the bench, next the judge.</p> + +<p>"Did you shut up a companion, Henry Cheveley Arkell, in the church of +St. James the Less, one afternoon last November, when he had gone in to +practise on the organ?"</p> + +<p>Lewis wiped his face, and tried to calm his breathing, and glared +fearfully towards the bench, but never spoke.</p> + +<p>"You have been sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but +the truth, sir, and you must do so," said the judge, staring at his ugly +face, through his glasses. "Answer the question."</p> + +<p>"Y—es."</p> + +<p>"What was your motive for doing so?" asked Serjeant Wrangle.</p> + +<p>"It was only done in fun. I didn't mean to hurt him."</p> + +<p>"Pretty fun!" ejaculated one of the jury, who had a timid boy of his own +in the college school, and thought how horrible might be the +consequences should he get locked up in St. James's Church.</p> + +<p>"How long did you leave him there?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I took back the key to the clerk's, and the next morning, +when we went to let him out, he was gone."</p> + +<p>"Who is 'we?' Who was with you?" cried Serjeant Wrangle, catching at the +word.</p> + +<p>"Mr. George Prattleton. He was at the clerk's in the morning, and I told +him about it, and asked him to get the key, for Hunt would not let me +have it. So he was coming with me to open the church; but Hunt happened +to say that Arkell had just been to his house. He had got out somehow."</p> + +<p>When this witness, after a good deal of badgering, was released, +Serjeant Siftem, a bright thought having occurred to him, desired that +the Reverend Mr. Wilberforce might get into the witness-box. The +Reverend Mr. Wilberforce did so; and the serjeant began, in an +insinuating tone:</p> + +<p>"The witness, Henry Cheveley Arkell, is under your tuition in the +collegiate school, I assume?"</p> + +<p>"He is," sternly replied Mr. Wilberforce, who had not forgotten Serjeant +Siftem's insult of the previous day.</p> + +<p>"Would you believe him on his oath?"</p> + +<p>"On his oath, or without it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you would, would you?" retorted the Serjeant. "Schoolboys are +addicted to romancing, though."</p> + +<p>"Henry Arkell is of strict integrity. His word may be implicitly +trusted."</p> + +<p>"I can bear testimony to Henry Arkell's honourable and truthful nature," +spoke up the dean, from his place beside the judge. "His general conduct +is exemplary; a pattern to the school."</p> + +<p>"Henry Cheveley Arkell," roared out the undaunted Serjeant Siftem, +drowning the dean's voice. "I have done with <i>you</i>, Mr. Wilberforce." So +the master left the witness-box, and Henry re-entered it.</p> + +<p>"I omitted to put a question to you, Mr. Chorister," began Serjeant +Siftem. "Should you know this fabulous gentleman of your imagination, +this Rolls, if you were to see him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Henry. "I saw him this morning as I came into court."</p> + +<p>That shut up Serjeant Siftem.</p> + +<p>"Where did you see him?" inquired the judge.</p> + +<p>"In the outer hall, my lord. He was with Mr. Valentine Carr. But I am +not sure that his name is Rolls," added the witness. "When I pointed him +out to Mr. Fauntleroy, he was surprised, and said that was Richards, +Mynn and Mynn's clerk."</p> + +<p>The judge whispered a word to somebody with a white wand, who was +standing near him, and that person immediately went hunting about the +court to find this Rolls or Richards, and bring him before the judge. +But Rolls had made himself scarce ere the conclusion of Henry Arkell's +first evidence; and, as it transpired afterwards, decamped from the +town. The next witness put into the box was Mr. George Prattleton.</p> + +<p>"You are aware, I presume, of the evidence given by Henry Cheveley +Arkell," said Serjeant Wrangle. "Can you deny that part of it which +relates to yourself?"</p> + +<p>"No, unfortunately I cannot," replied George Prattleton, who was very +down in the mouth—as his looks were described by a friend of his in +court. "Rolls is a villain."</p> + +<p>"That is not evidence, sir," said the judge.</p> + +<p>"He is a despicable villain, my lord," returned the witness, giving way +to his injured feelings. "He came to Westerbury, pretending to be a +stranger, and calling himself Rolls, and I got acquainted with him; that +is, he scraped acquaintance with me, and we were soon intimate. Then he +began to make use of me; he asked if I would do him a favour. He wanted +to get a private sight of the register in St. James's Church. So I +consented, I am sorry to say, to get him a private sight; but I made the +bargain that he should not copy a single word out of it, and of course I +meant to be with him and watch him."</p> + +<p>"Did you know that his request had reference to the case of Carr versus +Carr?" inquired Serjeant Wrangle.</p> + +<p>"No, I'll swear I did not," retorted the witness, in an earnest tone, +forgetting, probably, that he was already on his oath. "He never told me +why he wanted to look. He would go in at night: if he were seen entering +the church in the day, it might be fatal to his client's cause, was the +tale he told; and I am ashamed to acknowledge that I took him in at +night, and suffered him to look at the register. I have heard to-day +that his name is Richards."</p> + +<p>"You knew where the key of the safe was kept?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I was one day in the church with the Reverend Mr. Prattleton, and +saw him take it from its place."</p> + +<p>"Did you see Rolls (as we will call him) abstract the leaf?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I did not," indignantly retorted the witness. "I suddenly +found the vestry in darkness, and he got me to fetch the matches, which +were left on the bench at the entrance door. It must have been done +then. Soon after I returned he gave me back the register, saying the +entry he wanted was not there, and I locked it up again. When we got to +the church door we were astonished to find it open, but——"</p> + +<p>"But did you not suspect it was opened by one who had watched your +proceedings," interrupted the judge.</p> + +<p>"No, my lord. Rolls left the town the next morning early; when I went to +find him he was gone, and I have never been able to see him since. +That's all I know of the transaction, and I can only publicly repeat my +deep regret and shame that I should have been drawn into such a one."</p> + +<p>"Drawn, however, without much scruple, as it appears," rebuked the +judge, with a severe countenance. "Allow me to ask you, sir, when it was +you first became acquainted with the fact that a theft had been +perpetrated on the register?"</p> + +<p>Mr. George Prattleton did not immediately answer. He would have given +much not to be obliged to do so: but the court wore an ominous silence, +and the judge waited his reply.</p> + +<p>"The day after it took place, Arkell, the college boy, came and told me +what he had seen, but——"</p> + +<p>"Then, sir, it was your duty to have proclaimed it, and to have had +steps taken to arrest your confederate, Rolls," interrupted the stern +judge.</p> + +<p>"But, my lord, I did not believe Arkell. I did not indeed," he added, +endeavouring to impart to his tone an air of veracity, and therefore—as +is sure to be the case—imparting to it just the contrary. "I could not +believe that Rolls, or any one else in a respectable position, such he +appeared to occupy, would be guilty of so felonious an action."</p> + +<p>"The less excuse you make upon the point, the better," observed the +judge.</p> + +<p>For some few minutes Serjeant Siftem and his party had been conferring +in whispers. The serjeant, at this stage, spoke.</p> + +<p>"My lord, this revelation has come upon my instructors, Mynn and Mynn, +with, the most utter surprise, and——"</p> + +<p>"The man, Rolls, or Richards, is really clerk to Mynn and Mynn, I am +informed," interrupted the judge, in as significant a tone as a +presiding judge permits himself to assume.</p> + +<p>"He was, my lord; but he will not be in future. They discard him from +this hour. In fact, should he not make good his escape from the country, +which it is more than likely he is already endeavouring to effect, he +will probably at the next assizes find himself placed before your +lordship for judgment, should you happen to come this circuit, and +preside in the other court. But Mynn and Mynn wish to disclaim, in the +most emphatic manner, all cognizance of this man's crime. They——"</p> + +<p>"There is no charge to be brought against Mynn and Mynn in connexion +with it, is there?" again interposed the judge.</p> + +<p>"Most certainly not, my lord," replied the counsel, in a lofty tone, +meant to impress the public ear.</p> + +<p>"Then, Brother Siftem, it appears to me that you need not take up the +time of the court to enter on their defence."</p> + +<p>"I bow to your lordship's opinion. Mynn and Mynn and their client, +Squire Carr, are not less indignant that so rascally a trick should have +been perpetrated than the public must be. But this evidence, which has +come upon them in so overwhelming a manner, they feel they cannot hope +to confute. I am therefore instructed to inform your lordship and the +jury, that they withdraw from the suit, and permit a verdict to be +entered for the other side."</p> + +<p>"Very good," replied the judge.</p> + +<p>And thus, after certain technicalities had been observed, the +proceedings were concluded, and the court began to empty itself of its +spectators. For once the <span class="smcap">Right</span> had prospered. But Westerbury held its +breath with awe when it came to reflect that it was the revengeful act +of Roland Carr Lewis, that locking up in the church, which had caused +his family to be despoiled of the inheritance they had taken to +themselves!</p> + +<p>The Reverend Mr. Wilberforce laid hold of Henry Arkell, as he was +leaving the Guildhall. "Tell me," said he, but not in an angry tone, +"how much more that is incomprehensible are you keeping secret, allowing +it to come out to me piecemeal?"</p> + +<p>Henry smiled. "I don't think there is any more, sir."</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is. It is incomprehensible why you should not have disclosed +at the time all you had been a witness to in the church. Why did you +not?"</p> + +<p>"I could not speak without compromising George Prattleton, sir; and if I +had, he might have been brought to trial for it."</p> + +<p>"Serve him right too," said Mr. Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>Presently Henry met the dean, his daughter, Frederick St. John, and Lady +Anne. The dean stopped him.</p> + +<p>"What do you call yourself? A lion?"</p> + +<p>Henry smiled faintly.</p> + +<p>"I think you stand a fair chance of being promoted into one. Do you know +what I wished to-day, when you were giving your evidence?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"That you were my own son."</p> + +<p>Henry involuntarily glanced at Georgina, and she glanced at him: her +face retained its calmness, but a flush of crimson came over his. No one +observed them but Mr. St. John.</p> + +<p>"I want you at the deanery to-night," continued the dean, releasing +Henry. "No excuse about lessons now: your fall on Sunday has given you +holiday. You will come?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"I mean to dinner—seven o'clock. The judges will be there. The one who +tried the cause said he should like to meet you. Go and rest yourself +until then."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir. I will come."</p> + +<p>Georgina's eyes sparkled, and she nodded to him in triumph a dozen +times, as she walked on with the dean.</p> + +<p>Following in the wake of the dean's party came the Rev. Mr. Prattleton. +Henry approached him timidly.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will forgive me, sir. I could not help giving my evidence."</p> + +<p>"Forgive you!" echoed Mr. Prattleton; "I wish nobody wanted forgiveness +worse than you do. You have acted nobly throughout. I have recommended +Mr. George to get out of the town for a while; not to remain in it in +idleness and trouble my table any longer. He can join his friend Rolls +on the continent if he likes: I understand he is most likely off +thither."</p> + +<p>The fraud was not brought home to the Carr family. It was indisputably +certain that the squire himself had known nothing whatever of it: had +never even been aware that the marriage was entered on the register of +St. James the Less. Whether his sons Valentine and Benjamin were equally +guiltless, was a matter of opinion. Valentine solemnly protested that +nothing had ever been told to him; but he did acknowledge that Richards +came to him one evening, and said he thought the cause was likely to be +imperilled by "certain proceedings" that the other side were taking. He, +Valentine Carr, authorized him to do what he could to counteract these +proceedings (only intending him to act in a fair manner), and gave him +carte blanche in a moderate way for the money that might be required. He +acknowledged to no more: and perhaps he had no more to acknowledge: +neither did he say <i>how much</i> he had paid to Richards. Benjamin treated +the whole matter with contempt. The most indignant of all were Mynn and +Mynn. Really respectable practitioners, it was in truth a very +disagreeable thing to have been forced upon them; and could they have +got at their ex-clerk, they would willingly have transported him.</p> + +<p>And Mr. Fauntleroy, in the flush of his great victory, in the plenitude +of his gratitude to the boy whose singular evidence had caused him to +win the battle, went down that same day to Peter Arkell's and forgave +him the miserable debt that had so long hampered him. For once in his +life, the lawyer showed himself generous. People used to say that such +was his nature before the world hardened him.</p> + +<p>So, taking one thing with another, it was a satisfactory termination to +the renowned cause, Carr versus Carr.</p> + +<p>It was a large state dinner at the deanery. But the chief thing that +Henry Arkell saw at it was, that Mr. St. John sat by Georgina Beauclerc. +The judges—who did not appear in their wigs and fiery gowns, to the +relief of private country individuals of wide imaginations, that could +not usually separate them—were pleasant men, and their faces did not +look so yellow by candle-light. They talked to Henry a great deal, and +he had to rehearse over, for the general benefit, all the scene of that +past night in St. James's Church. Mrs. Beauclerc, usually so +indifferent, was aroused to especial interest, and would not quit the +theme; neither would Lady Anne St. John, now visiting at the Palmery, +and who was present with Mrs. St. John.</p> + +<p>But Georgina—oh, the curious wiles of a woman's heart!—took little or +no notice of Henry. They had been for some time in the drawing-room +before she came near him at all—before she addressed a word to him. At +dinner she had been absorbed in Mr. St. John: gay, laughing, animated, +her thoughts, her words, were all for him. Sarah Beauclerc, conspicuous +that night for her beauty, sat opposite to them, but St. John had not +the opportunity of speaking to her, beyond a passing word now and again. +In the drawing-room, no longer fettered—though perhaps the fetters had +been willing ones—St. John went at once to Sarah, and he did not leave +her side. Ah! Henry saw it all: both those fair girls loved Frederick +St. John! What would be the ending?</p> + +<p>Georgina sat at a table apart, reading a new book, or appearing to read +it. Was she covertly watching that sofa at a distance? It was so +different, this sitting still, from her usual restless habits of +flitting everywhere. Suddenly she closed her book, and went up to them.</p> + +<p>"I have come to call you to account, Fred," she began, speaking in her +most familiar manner, but in a low tone. "Don't you see whose heart you +are breaking?"</p> + +<p>He had been sitting with his head slightly bent, as he spoke in a +whisper to his beautiful companion. Her eyes were cast down, her fingers +unconsciously pulled apart the petals of some geranium she held; her +whole attitude bespoke a not unwilling listener. Georgina's salutation +surprised both, for they had not seen her approach. They looked up.</p> + +<p>"What do you say?" cried St. John. "Breaking somebody's heart? Whose? +Yours?"</p> + +<p>She laughed in derision, flirting some of the scent out of a golden +phial she had taken up. "Sarah, <i>you</i> should have more consideration," +she continued. "It is all very well when Lady Anne's not present, but +when she <i>is</i>—There! you need not go into a flaming fever and fling +your angry eyes upon me. Look at Sarah's face, Mr. St. John."</p> + +<p>Mr. St. John walked away, as though he had not heard. Sarah caught hold +of her cousin.</p> + +<p>"There is a limit to endurance, Georgina. If you pursue this style of +conversation to me—learnt, as I have repeatedly told you, from the +housemaids, unless it is inherent," she added, in deep scorn—"I shall +make an appeal to the dean."</p> + +<p>"Make it," said Georgina, laughing. "It was too bad of you, Sarah, with +his future wife present. She'll go to bed and dream of jealousy."</p> + +<p>Quitting her cousin, she went straight up to Henry Arkell. "Why do you +mope like this?" she cried.</p> + +<p>"Mope!" he repeated.</p> + +<p>He had been at another table leaning his head upon his hand. It was +aching much: and he told her so.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Harry, I am sorry; I forgot your fall. Will you sing a song?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think I can to-night."</p> + +<p>"But papa has been talking to the judges about it. I heard him say your +singing was worth listening to. I suppose he had been telling them all +about you, and the whole romance, you know, of Mrs. Peter Arkell's +marriage, for one of them—it was the old one—said he used to be +intimate with her father, Colonel Cheveley. Here comes the dean! that's +to ask you to sing."</p> + +<p>He sat down at once, and sang a song of the day. Then he went on to one +that I dare say you all know and like—"Shall I, wasting in despair." At +its conclusion one of the judges—it was the old one, as Georgina +irreverently called him—came to him at the piano, and asked if he could +sing Luther's Hymn.</p> + +<p>A few chords by way of prelude, lasting some few minutes, probably +played to form a break between the worldly song and the sacred one—for +if anyone was ever endowed with an innate sense of what was due to +sacred things, it was Henry Arkell—and then the grand old hymn, in all +its beautiful simplicity, burst upon their ears. Never had it been done +greater justice to than it was by that solitary college boy. The room +was hushed to stillness; the walls echoed with the sweet sounds; the +solemn words thrilled on the listeners' hearts, and the singer's whole +soul seemed to go up with them. Oh, how strange it was, that the judge +should have called for that particular, sacred song!</p> + +<p>The echoes of it died away in the deepest stillness. It was broken by +Henry himself; he closed the piano, as if nothing else must be allowed +to come after that; and the tacit mandate was accepted, and nobody +thought of inquiring how he came to assume the liberty in the dean's +house.</p> + +<p>Gradually the room resumed its humming and its self-absorption, and +Georgina Beauclerc, under cover of it, went up to him.</p> + +<p>"How could you make the excuse that your head was aching? None, with any +sort of sickness upon them, could sing as you have just done."</p> + +<p>"Not even with heart sickness," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Now you are going to be absurd again! What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"To-night has taught me a great deal, Georgina. If I have been foolish +enough—fond enough, I might say—to waver in my doubts before, that's +over for ever."</p> + +<p>"So much the better; you will be cured now."</p> + +<p>She had spoken only lightly, not meaning to be unkind or unfeeling; but +she saw what she had done, by his quivering lip. Leaning across him as +he stood, under cover of showing him something on the table, she spoke +in a deep, earnest tone.</p> + +<p>"Henry, you know it could never be. Better that you should see the truth +now, than go on in this dream of folly. Stay away for a short while if +you will, and overget it; and then we will be fast friends as before."</p> + +<p>"And this is to be the final ending?"</p> + +<p>She stole a glance round at him, his voice had so strange a sound in it. +Every trace of colour had faded from his face.</p> + +<p>"Yes; it is the only possible ending. If you get on well and become +somebody grand, you and I can be as brother and sister in after life."</p> + +<p>She moved away as she spoke. It may be that she saw further trifling +would not do. But even in the last sentence, thoughtlessly though she +had spoken it, there was an implied consciousness of the wide difference +in their social standing, all too prominent to that sensitive ear.</p> + +<p>A minute afterwards St. John looked round for him, and could not see +him.</p> + +<p>"Where's Henry Arkell?" he asked of Georgina.</p> + +<p>She looked round also.</p> + +<p>"He is gone, I suppose," she answered. "He was in one of his stupid +moods to-night."</p> + +<p>"That's something new for him. Stupid?"</p> + +<p>"I used the word in a wide sense. Crazy would have been better."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Georgina?"</p> + +<p>"He is a little crazy at times—to me. There! that's all I am going to +tell you: you are not my father confessor."</p> + +<p>"True," he said; "but I think I understand without confession. Take +care, Georgina."</p> + +<p>"Take care of what?"</p> + +<p>"Of—I may as well say it—of exciting hopes that are most unlikely to +be realized. Better play a true part than a false one."</p> + +<p>She laughed a little saucy laugh.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think I might turn the tables and warn you of that? What +false hopes are you exciting, Mr. St. John?"</p> + +<p>"None," he answered. "It is not in my nature to be false, even in +sport."</p> + +<p>Her laugh changed to one of derision; and Mr. St. John, disliking the +sound, disliking the words, turned from her, and joined the dean, who +was then deep in a discussion with one of the judges.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>THE SHADOW OF DEATH.</h3> + + +<p>The days went on; and the dull, heavy pain in the head, complained of by +Henry Arkell, increased in intensity. At first his absence from his desk +at school, his vacant place at college, excited comment, but in time, as +the newness of it wore off, it grew to be no longer noticed. It is so +with all things. On the afternoon of the fall, the family surgeon was +called in to him: he saw no cause for apprehension, he said; the head +only required rest. It might have been better, perhaps, had the head +(including the body and brain) been able to take the recommended rest; +but it could not. On the Monday morning came the excitement of the medal +affair, as related to him by Mr. St. John, and also by many of the +school; in the evening there occurred the excitement of that business of +the register; the interview with the Prattletons, and subsequently with +Mr. Fauntleroy. On the next day he had to appear as a witness; and then +came the deanery dinner in the evening and Georgina Beauclerc. All +sources of great and unwonted excitement, had he been in his usual state +of health: what it was to him now, never could be ascertained.</p> + +<p>As the days went on, and the pain grew no better, but worse, and the +patient more heavy, it dawned into the surgeon's mind that he possibly +did not understand the case, and it might be as well to have the advice +of a physician. The most clever the city afforded was summoned, and he +did not appear to understand it either. That there was some internal +injury to the head, both agreed; but what it might be, it was not so +easy to state. And thus more days crept on, and the doctors paid their +regular visits, and the pain still grew worse; and then the +half-shadowed doubt glided into a certainty which had little shadow +about it, but stern substance—that the injury was rapidly running on to +a fatal issue.</p> + +<p>He did not take to his bed: he would sit at his chamber window in an +easy chair, his poor aching-head resting on a pillow. "You would be +better in bed," everybody said to him. "No, he thought he was best up," +he answered; "it was more change: when he was tired of the chair and the +pillow, he could lie down outside the bed." "It is unaccountable his +liking to be so much at the window," Mrs. Peter Arkell remarked to Lucy. +To them it might be; for how could they know that a sight of <i>one</i> who +might pass and cast a glance up to him, made his day's happiness?</p> + +<p>That considerable commotion was excited by the opinion of the doctors, +however cautiously intimated, was only to be expected. Mr. Arkell heard +of it, and brought another physician, without saying anything beforehand +at Peter's. But it would seem that this gentleman's opinion did not +differ in any material degree from that of his brethren.</p> + +<p>The Reverend Mr. Wilberforce sat at the head of his dinner-table, eating +his own dinner and carving for his pupils. His face looked hot and +angry, and his spectacles were pushed to the top of his brow, for if +there was one thing more than another that excited the ire of the +master, it was that of the boys being unpunctual at meals, and Cookesley +had this day chosen to be absent. The second serving of boiled beef was +going round when he made his appearance.</p> + +<p>"What sort of behaviour do you call this, sir?" was the master's +salutation. "Do you expect to get any dinner?"</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry to be so late, sir," replied Cookesley, eyeing the +boiled beef wishfully, but not daring to take his seat. "I went to see +Arkell, and——"</p> + +<p>"And who is Arkell, pray, or you either, that you must upset the +regulations of my house?" retorted the master. "You should choose your +visiting times better, Mr. Cookesley."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. I heard he was worse; that's the reason I went; and when I +got there the dean was with him. I waited, and waited, but I had to come +away without seeing Arkell, after all."</p> + +<p>"The dean with Arkell!" echoed Mr. Wilberforce, in a disbelieving tone.</p> + +<p>"He is there still, sir. Arkell is a great deal worse. They say he will +never come to school or college again."</p> + +<p>"Who says so, pray?"</p> + +<p>"Everybody's saying it now," returned Cookesley. "There's something +wrong with his head, sir; some internal injury caused by the fall; but +they don't know whether it's an abscess, or what it is. It will kill +him, they think."</p> + +<p>The master's wrath had faded: truth to say, his anger was generally more +fierce in show than in reality. "You may take your seat for this once, +Cookesley, but if ever you transgress again——Hallo!" broke off the +master, as he cast his eyes on another of his pupils, "what's the matter +with you, Lewis junior? Are you choking, sir?"</p> + +<p>Lewis junior was choking, or gasping, or something of the sort, for his +face was distorted, and his eyes were round with seeming fright. "What +is it?" angrily repeated the master.</p> + +<p>"It was the piece of meat, sir," gasped Lewis. A ready excuse.</p> + +<p>"No it wasn't," put in Vaughan the bright, who sat next to Lewis junior. +"Here's the piece of meat you were going to eat; it dropped off the fork +on to your plate again; it couldn't be the meat. He's choking at +nothing, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then, if you must choke, you had better go and choke outside, and come +back when it's over," said the master to Lewis. And away Lewis went; +none guessing at the fear and horror which had taken possession of him.</p> + +<p>The assize week had passed, and the week following it, and still Henry +Arkell had not made his appearance in the cathedral or the school. The +master could not make it out. Was it likely that the effects of a fall, +which broke no bones, bruised no limbs, only told somewhat heavily upon +his head, should last all this while, and incapacitate him from his +duties? Had it been any other of the king's scholars, no matter which of +the whole thirty-nine Mr. Wilberforce would have said that he was +skulking, and sent a sharp mandate for him to appear in his place; but +he thought he knew better things of Henry Arkell. He did not much like +what Cookesley said now—that Arkell might never come out again, though +he received the information with disbelief.</p> + +<p>Mr. St. John was a daily visitor to the invalid. On the day before this, +when he entered, Henry was at his usual post, the window, but standing +up, his head resting against the frame, and his eyes strained after some +distant object outside. So absorbed was he, that Mr. St. John had to +touch his arm to draw his attention, and Henry drew back with a start.</p> + +<p>"How are you to-day, Harry? Better?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. This curious pain in my head gets worse."</p> + +<p>"Why do you call it curious?"</p> + +<p>"It is not like an ordinary pain. And I cannot tell exactly where it is. +I cannot put my hand on any part of my head and say it is here or it is +there. It seems to be in the centre of the inside—as if it could not be +got at."</p> + +<p>"What were you watching so eagerly?"</p> + +<p>"I was looking outside," was Henry's evasive reply. "They had Dr. Ware +to me this morning; did you know it?"</p> + +<p>"I am glad of that!" exclaimed Mr. St. John. "What does he say?"</p> + +<p>"I did not hear him say much. He asked me where my head was struck when +I fell, but I could not tell him—I did not know at the time, you +remember. He and Mr.——"</p> + +<p>Henry's voice faltered. A sudden, almost imperceptible, movement of the +head nearer the window, and a wild accession of colour to his feverish +cheek, betrayed to Mr. St. John that something was passing which bore +for him a deep interest. He raised his own head and caught a sufficient +glimpse: <i>Georgina Beauclerc</i>.</p> + +<p>It told Mr. St. John all: though he had not needed to be told; and Miss +Beauclerc's mysterious words, and Henry's past conduct became clear to +him. So! the boy's heart had been thus early awakened—and crushed.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The heart that is soonest awake to the flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is always the first to be touched by the thorns,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>whistled Mr. St. John to himself.</p> + +<p>Ay, crushing is as sure to follow that <i>early</i> awaking, as that thorns +grow on certain rose-trees. But Mr. St. John said nothing more that day.</p> + +<p>On the following day, upon going in, he found Henry in bed.</p> + +<p>"Like a sensible man as you are," quoth Mr. St. John, by way of +salutation. "Now don't rise from it again until you are better."</p> + +<p>Henry looked at him, an expression in his eyes that Mr. St. John did not +like, and did not understand. "Did they tell you anything downstairs, +Mr. St. John?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"I did not see anyone but the servant. I came straight up."</p> + +<p>"Mamma is lying down, I dare say; she has been sitting with me part of +the night. Then I will tell it you. I shall not be here many days," he +whispered, putting his hand within Mr. St. John's.</p> + +<p>Mr. St. John did not take the meaning: that the case would have a fatal +termination had not yet crossed his mind. "Where shall you be?" cried +he, gaily, "up in the moon?"</p> + +<p>Henry sighed. "Up somewhere. I am going to die."</p> + +<p>"Going to what?" was the angry response.</p> + +<p>"I am dying, Mr. St. John."</p> + +<p>Mr. St. John's pulses stood still. "Who has been putting that rubbish in +your head?" cried he, when he recovered them sufficiently to speak.</p> + +<p>"The doctors told my father yesterday evening, that as I went on, like +this, from bad to worse, without their being able to discover the true +nature of the case, they saw that it must terminate fatally. He knew +that they had feared it before. Afterwards mamma came and broke it to +me."</p> + +<p>"Why did she do so?" involuntarily uttered Mr. St. John, in an accent of +reproach. "Though their opinion may be unfavourable—which I don't +believe, mind—they had no right to frighten you with it."</p> + +<p>"It does not frighten me. Just at first I shrank from the news, but I am +quite reconciled to it now. A faint idea that this might be the ending, +has been running through my own mind for some days past, though I would +not dwell on it sufficiently to give it a form."</p> + +<p>"I am <i>astonished</i> that Mrs. Arkell should have imparted it to you!" +emphatically repeated Mr. St. John. "What could she have been thinking +of?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. St. John! mamma has striven to bring us up not to fear death. +What would have been the use of her lessons, had she thought I should +run in terror from it when it came?"</p> + +<p>"She ought not to have told you—she ought not to have told you!" was +the continued burden of Mr. St. John's song. "You may get well yet."</p> + +<p>"Then there is no harm done. But, with death near, would you have had +me, the only one it concerns, left in ignorance to meet it, not knowing +it was there? Mamma has not waited herself for death—as she has done, +you know, for years—without learning a better creed than that."</p> + +<p>Mr. St. John made no reply, and Henry went on: "I have had such a +pleasant night with mamma. She read to me parts of the Revelation; and +in talking of the glories which I may soon see, will you believe that I +almost forgot my pain? She says how thankful she is now, that she has +been enabled to train me up more carefully than many boys are +trained—to think more of God."</p> + +<p>"You are a strange boy," interrupted Sir. St. John.</p> + +<p>"In what way am I strange?"</p> + +<p>"To anticipate death in that tone of cool ease. Have you no regrets to +leave behind you?"</p> + +<p>"Many regrets; but they seemed to fade into insignificance last night, +while mamma was talking with me. It is best that they should."</p> + +<p>"Henry, it strikes me that you have had your griefs and troubles, +inexperienced as you are," resumed Mr. St. John.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I have," he answered, betrayed into an earnestness, +incompatible with cautious reserve. "Some of the college boys have not +suffered me to lead a pleasant life with them," he continued, more +calmly; "and then there has been my father's gradually straitening +income."</p> + +<p>"I think there must have been some other grief than these," was Mr. St. +John's remark.</p> + +<p>"What other grief could there have been?"</p> + +<p>"I know but of one. And you are over young for that."</p> + +<p>"Of course I am; too young," was the eager answer.</p> + +<p>"That is enough," quietly returned Mr. St. John; "I did not <i>tell</i> you +to betray yourself. Nay, Henry, don't shrink from me; let me hear it: it +will be better and happier for you that I should."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing—I don't know what you mean—what are you talking of, +Mr. St. John?" was the incoherent answer.</p> + +<p>"Harry, my poor boy, I know almost as much as you," he whispered. "I +know what it is, and who it is. Georgie Beauclerc. There; you cannot +tell me much, you see."</p> + +<p>Henry Arkell laid his hand across his face and aching eyes; his chest +was heaving with emotion. Mr. St. John leaned over him, not less +tenderly than a mother.</p> + +<p>"You should not have wasted your love upon <i>her</i>: she is a heartless +girl. I expect she drew you on, and then turned round and said she did +not mean it."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, she did draw me on," he replied, in a tone full of anguish; +"otherwise, I never——But it was my fault also. I ought to have +remembered the many barriers that divided us; the——"</p> + +<p>"You ought to have remembered that she is an incorrigible flirt, that is +what you ought to have remembered," interrupted Mr. St. John.</p> + +<p>"Well, well," sighed Henry, "I cannot speak of these things to you: less +to you than to any one."</p> + +<p>"Is that an enigma? I should think you could best speak of them to me, +because I have guessed your secret, and the ice is broken."</p> + +<p>Again Henry Arkell sighed. "Speaking of them at all will do no good; and +I would now rather think of the future than of the past. My future lies +there," he added, pointing to the blue sky, which, as seen from his +window, formed a canopy over the cathedral tower. "She has, in all +probability, many years before her here: Mr. St. John, if she and you +spend those years together, will you sometimes talk of me? I should not +like to be quite forgotten by you—or by her."</p> + +<p>"Spend them together!" he echoed. "Another enigma. What should bring me +spending my years with Georgina Beauclerc?"</p> + +<p>Henry withdrew his hands from his eyes, and turned them on Mr. St. John. +"Do you think she will never be your wife?"</p> + +<p>"She! Georgina Beauclerc! No, thank you."</p> + +<p>Henry Arkell's face wore an expression that Mr. St. John understood not. +"It was for your sake she treated me so ill. She loves you, Mr. St. +John. And I think you know it."</p> + +<p>"She is a little simpleton. I would not marry Georgie Beauclerc if there +were not another English girl extant. And as to loving her——Harry, I +only wish, if we are to lose you, that I loved you but one tenth part as +little."</p> + +<p>"Sorrow in store for her! sorrow in store for her!" he murmured, as he +turned his face to the pillow. "I must send her a message before I die: +you will deliver it for me?"</p> + +<p>"I won't have you talk about dying," retorted Mr. St. John. "You may get +well yet, I tell you."</p> + +<p>Henry opened his eyes again to reply, and the calm peace had returned to +them. "It maybe <i>very</i> soon; and it is better to talk of death than to +shrink from it." And Mr. St. John grumbled an ungracious acquiescence.</p> + +<p>"And there is another thing I wish you would do for me: get Lewis junior +here to-day. If I send to him, I know he will not come; but I must see +him. Tell him, please, that it is only to shake hands and make friends; +that I will not say a word to grieve him. He will understand."</p> + +<p>"It's more than I do," said Mr. St. John. "He shall come."</p> + +<p>"I should like to see Aultane—but I don't think my head will stand it +all. Tell him from me, not to be harsh with the choristers now he is +senior——"</p> + +<p>"He is not senior yet," interposed Mr. St. John in a husky tone.</p> + +<p>"It will not be long first. Give him my love, and tell him, when I sent +it, I meant it fully; and that I have no angry feeling towards him."</p> + +<p>"Your love?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. It is not an ordinary message from one college boy to another," +panted the lad, "but I am dying."</p> + +<p>After Mr. St. John left the house, he encountered the dean. "Dr. +Beauclerc, Henry Arkell is dying."</p> + +<p>The dean stared at Mr. St. John. "Dying! Henry Arkell!"</p> + +<p>"The inward injury to the head is now pronounced by the doctors to be a +fatal one. They told the family last night there was little, if any, +more hope. The boy knows it, and seems quite reconciled."</p> + +<p>The dean, without another word or question, turned immediately off to +Mr. Arkell's, and Westerbury as immediately turned its aristocratic nose +up. "The idea of his condescending to enter the house of those poor +Arkells! had it been the other branch of the Arkell family, it would not +have been quite so lowering. But Dr. Beauclerc never did display the +dignity properly pertaining to a dean."</p> + +<p>Dr. Beauclerc, forgetful as usual of a dean's dignity, was shown into +Mrs. Arkell's parlour, and from thence into Henry Arkell's chamber. The +boy's ever lovely face flushed crimson, from its white pillow, when he +saw the dean. "Oh, sir! you to come here! how kind!"</p> + +<p>"I am sorry for this, my poor lad," said the dean, as he sat down. "I +hear you are not so well: I have just met Mr. St. John."</p> + +<p>"I shall never be well again, sir. But do not be sorry. I shall be +better off; far, far happier than I could be here."</p> + +<p>"Do you feel this, genuinely, heartily?" questioned the dean.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, how can I do otherwise than feel it? If it is God's will to +take me, I know it must be for my good."</p> + +<p>"Say that again," said the dean. "I do not know that I fully caught your +meaning."</p> + +<p>"I am in God's hands: and if He takes me to Him earlier than I thought +to have gone, I know it must be for the best."</p> + +<p>"How long have you reposed so firm a trust in God?"</p> + +<p>"All my life," answered Henry, with simplicity: "mamma taught me that +with my letters. She taught me to take God for my guide; to strive to +please Him; implicitly to trust in Him."</p> + +<p>"And you have done this?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no, sir, I have only tried to do it. But I know that there is One to +intercede for me."</p> + +<p>"Have you sure and certain trust in Christ?" returned the dean, after a +pause.</p> + +<p>"I have sure and certain trust in Him," was the boy's reply, spoken +fervently: "if I had not, I should not dare to die. I wish I might have +received the Sacrament," he whispered; "but I have not been confirmed."</p> + +<p>"Henry," said the dean, in his quick manner, "I do believe you are more +fitted for it than are some who take it. Would it be a comfort to you?"</p> + +<p>"It would indeed, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then I will come and administer it. At seven to-night, if that hour +will suit your friends. I will ascertain when I go down."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, you are too good," he exclaimed, in his surprise: "mamma +thought of asking Mr. Prattleton. I am but a poor college boy, and you +are the Dean of Westerbury."</p> + +<p>"Just so. But when the great King of Terrors approaches, as he is now +approaching you, it makes us remember that in Christ's kingdom the poor +college boy may stand higher than the Dean of Westerbury. Henry, I have +watched your conduct more than you are aware of, and I believe you to +have been as truly good a boy as it is in human nature to be: I believe +that you have continuously striven to please God, in little things as in +great."</p> + +<p>"If I could but have done it more than I have!" thought the boy.</p> + +<p>It was during this interview that Mr. Cookesley arrived; and, as you +have seen, nearly lost his dinner. As soon as the boys rose from table, +they, full of consternation, trooped down to Arkell's, picking up +several more of the king's scholars on their way, who were not boarders +at the house of Mr. Wilberforce. The dean had gone then, but Mr. St. +John was at the door, having called again to inquire whether there was +any change. He cast his eyes on the noisy boys, as they approached the +gate, and discerned amongst them Lewis junior. Mr. St. John stepped +outside, and pounced upon him, with a view to marshal him in. But Lewis +resisted violently; ay, and shook and trembled like a girl.</p> + +<p>"I will not go into Arkell's, sir," he panted. "You have no right to +force me. I won't! I won't!"</p> + +<p>He struggled on to his knees, and clasped a deep-seated stone in the +Arkells' garden for support. Mr. St. John, not releasing his collar, +looked at him with amazement, and the troop of boys watched the scene +over the iron railings.</p> + +<p>"Lewis, what is the meaning of this?" cried Mr. St. John. "You are +panting like a coward; and a guilty one: What are you afraid of?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid of nothing, but I won't go into Arkell's. I don't want to +see him. Let me go, sir. Though you are Mr. St. John, that's no reason +why you should set up for master over the college boys."</p> + +<p>"I am master over you just now," was the significant answer. "Listen: I +have promised Arkell to take you to him, and I will do it: you may have +heard, possibly, that the St. Johns never break their word. But Arkell +has sent for you in kindness: he appeared to expect this opposition, and +bade me tell it you: he wants to clasp your hand in friendship before he +dies. Walk on, Lewis."</p> + +<p>"You are not master over us boys," shrieked Lewis again, whose +opposition had increased to sobs.</p> + +<p>But Mr. St. John proved his mastership. Partly; by coaxing, partly by +authoritative force, he conducted Mr. Lewis to the door of Henry's +chamber. There Lewis seized his arm in abject terror; he had turned +ghastly white, and his teeth chattered.</p> + +<p>"I cannot fathom this," said Mr. St. John, wondering much. "Have I not +told you there is nothing to fear? What is it that you do fear?"</p> + +<p>"No; but does he look very frightful?" chattered Lewis.</p> + +<p>"What should make him look frightful? He looks as he has always looked. +Be off in; and I'll keep the door, if you want to talk secrets."</p> + +<p>Mr. St. John pushed him in, and closed the door upon them. Henry held +out his hand, and spoke a few hearty words of love and forgiveness; and +Lewis put his face down on the counterpane and began to howl.</p> + +<p>"Lewis, take comfort. It was done, I know, in the impulse of the moment, +and you never thought it would hurt me seriously. I freely forgive you."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure to die?" sobbed Lewis.</p> + +<p>"I think I am. The doctors say so."</p> + +<p>"O-o-o-o-o-o-h!" howled Lewis; "then I know you'll come back and haunt +me with being your murderer: Prattleton junior says you will. He saw it +done, so he knows about it. I shall never be able to sleep at night, for +fear."</p> + +<p>"Now, Lewis, don't be foolish. I shall be too happy where I am, to come +back to earth. No one knows how it happened: you say Prattleton does, +but he is your friend, and it is safe with him. Take comfort."</p> + +<p>"Some of us have been so wicked and malicious to you!" blubbered Lewis. +"I, and my brother, and Aultane, and a lot of them."</p> + +<p>"It is all over now," sighed Henry, closing his heavy eyes. "You would +not, had you foreseen that I should leave you so soon."</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a horrid wretch I have been!" sobbed Lewis, rubbing his +smeared face on the white bedclothes, in an agony. "And, if it's found +out, they might try me next assizes and hang me. And it is such a +dreadful thing for you to die!"</p> + +<p>"It is a <i>happy</i> thing, Lewis; I feel it is, and I have told the dean I +feel it. Say good-bye to the fellows for me, Lewis; I am too ill to see +them. Tell them how sorry I am to leave them; but we shall meet again in +heaven."</p> + +<p>Lewis grasped his offered hand, and, with a hasty, sheepish movement, +leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek: then turned and burst out of +the room, nearly upsetting Mr. St. John, and tore down the stairs. Mr. +St. John entered the chamber.</p> + +<p>"Well, is the conference satisfactorily over?"</p> + +<p>Again Henry reopened his heavy eyes. "Is that you, Mr. St. John?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am here."</p> + +<p>"The dean is coming here this evening at seven, for the sacrament. He +said my not being confirmed was no matter in a case like this. Will you +come?"</p> + +<p>"Henry, no," was the grave answer. "I am not good enough."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. St. John!" The ready tears filled his eyes. "I wish you could!" +he beseechingly whispered.</p> + +<p>"I wish so too. Are you distressed for me, Henry? Do not look upon me as +a monster of iniquity: I did not mean to imply it. But I do not yet +think sufficiently of serious things to be justified in partaking of +that ordinance without preparation."</p> + +<p>"It would have seemed like a bond of union between us—a promise that +you will some time join me where I am going," pleaded the dying boy.</p> + +<p>"I hope I shall: I trust I shall: I will not forget that you are there."</p> + +<p>As Mr. St. John left the house, he made his way to the grounds, in a +reflective mood: the cathedral bell was then ringing for afternoon +service, and, somewhat to his surprise, he saw the dean hurrying from +the college; not to it.</p> + +<p>"I'm on my way back to Arkell's! I'm on my way back to Arkell's!" he +exclaimed, in an impetuous manner; and forthwith he began recounting a +history to Mr. St. John; a history of wrong, which filled him, the dean, +with indignation.</p> + +<p>"I suspected something of the sort," was Mr. St. John's quiet answer; +and the dean strode on his way, and Mr. St. John stood looking after +him, in painful thought. When the dean came out of Mr. Peter Arkell's +again, he was too late for service that afternoon. Although he was in +residence!</p> + +<p>Just in the unprepared and sudden manner that the news of Henry Arkell's +approaching death must have fallen upon my readers, so did it fall upon +the town. People could not believe it: his friends could not believe it: +the doctors scarcely believed it. The day wore on; and whether there may +have lingered any hope in the morning, the evening closed it, for it +brought additional agony to his injured head, and the most sanguine saw +that he was dying.</p> + +<p>All things were prepared for the service, about to take place, and Henry +lay flushed, feverish, and restless, lest he should become delirious ere +the hour should arrive: he had become so rapidly worse since the +forepart of the day. Precisely as the cathedral clock struck seven, the +house door was thrown open, and the dean placed his foot on the +threshold:</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Peace be unto this house, and to all that dwell within it!</span>"</p> + +<p>The dean was attended to the chamber, and there he commenced the office +for the Visitation of the Sick, omitting part of the exhortation, but +reading the prayer for a soul on the point of departure. Then he +proceeded with the Communion.</p> + +<p>When the service was over, all, save Mrs. Arkell and the dean, quitted +the room. Henry's mind was tranquil now.</p> + +<p>"I will not forget your request," whispered the dean.</p> + +<p>"Near to the college door, as we enter," was Henry's response.</p> + +<p>"It shall be done as you wish, my dear."</p> + +<p>"And, sir, you have <i>promised</i> to forgive them."</p> + +<p>"For your sake. You are suffering much just now," added the dean, as he +watched his countenance.</p> + +<p>"It gets more intense with every hour. I cannot bear it much longer. Oh, +I hope I shall not suffer beyond my strength!" he panted; "I hope I +shall be able to bear the agony!"</p> + +<p>"Do not fear it. You know where to look for help!" whispered the dean; +"you cannot look in vain. Henry, my dear boy, I leave you in peace, do I +not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, sir, in perfect peace. Thank you greatly for all."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>THE GRAVESTONE IN THE CLOISTERS.</h3> + + +<p>It was the brightest day, though March was not yet out, the first warm, +lovely day of spring. Men passed each other in the streets, with a +congratulation that the winter weather had gone, and the college boys, +penned up in their large schoolroom, gazed aloft through the high +windows at the blue sky and the sunshine, and thought what a shame it +was that they should be held prisoners on such a days instead of +galloping over the country at "Hare and Hounds."</p> + +<p>"Third Latin class walk up," cried Mr. Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>The third Latin class walked up, and ranged itself in front of the +master's desk. "Who's top of this class?" asked he.</p> + +<p>"Me, sir," replied the gentleman who owned that distinction.</p> + +<p>"Who's 'me' sir?"</p> + +<p>"Me, sir."</p> + +<p>"Who <i>is</i> 'me,' sir?" angrily repeated the master, his spectacles +bearing full on his wondering pupil.</p> + +<p>"Charles Van Brummel, sir," returned that renowned scholar.</p> + +<p>"Then go down to the bottom for saying 'me.'"</p> + +<p>Mr. Van Brummel went down, considerably chopfallen, and the master was +proceeding to work, when the cathedral bell tolled out heavily, for a +soul recently departed.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" abruptly ejaculated the master.</p> + +<p>"It's the college death-bell, sir," called out the up class, +simultaneously, Van Brummel excepted, who had not yet recovered his +equanimity.</p> + +<p>"I hear what it is as well as you," were all the thanks they got. "But +what can it be tolling for? Nobody was ill."</p> + +<p>"Nobody," echoed the boys.</p> + +<p>"Can it be a member of the Royal Family?" wondered the master—the +bishop and the dean he knew were well. "If not, it must be one of the +canons."</p> + +<p>Of course it must! for the college bell never condescended to toll for +any of the profane vulgar. The Royal Family, the bishop, dean, and +prebendaries, were the only defunct lights, honoured by the notice of +the passing-bell of Westerbury Cathedral.</p> + +<p>"Lewis junior," said the master, "go into college, and ask the bedesmen +who it is that is dead."</p> + +<p>Lewis junior clattered out. When he came back he walked very softly, and +looked as white as a sheet.</p> + +<p>"Well?" cried Mr. Wilberforce—for Lewis did not speak.</p> + +<p>"It's tolling for Henry Arkell, sir."</p> + +<p>"Henry Arkell!" uttered the master. "Is he really dead? Are you ill, +Lewis junior? What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, sir."</p> + +<p>"But it is an entirely unprecedented proceeding for the cathedral bell +to toll for a college boy," repeated Mr. Wilberforce, revolving the +news. "The old bedesmen must be making some mistake. Half of them are +deaf, and the other half are stupid. I shall send to inquire: we must +have no irregularity about these things. Lewis junior."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Lewis junior, you are ill, sir," repeated the master, sharply. "Don't +say you are not. Sit down, sir."</p> + +<p>Lewis junior humbly sat down. He appeared to have the ague.</p> + +<p>"Van Brummel, you'll do," continued Mr. Wilberforce. "Go and inquire of +the bedesmen whether they have received orders; and, if so, from whom: +and whether it is really Arkell that the bell is tolling for."</p> + +<p>Van Brummel opened the door and clattered down the stairs, as Lewis +junior had done; and <i>he</i> clattered back again.</p> + +<p>"The men say, sir, that the dean sent them the orders by his servant. +And they think Arkell is to be buried in the cathedral."</p> + +<p>"In—deed!" was the master's comment, in a tone of doubt. "Poor fellow!" +he added, after a pause, "his has been a sudden and melancholy ending. +Boys, if you want to do well, you should imitate Henry Arkell. I can +tell you that the best boy who ever trod these boards, as a foundation +scholar, has now gone from among us."</p> + +<p>"Please, sir, I'm senior of the choir now," interposed Aultane junior, +as if fearing the master might not sufficiently remember that important +fact.</p> + +<p>"And a fine senior you'll make," scornfully retorted Mr. Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>It was Mr. St. John who had taken the news of his death to the dean, and +the latter immediately sent to order the bell to be tolled. St. John +left the deanery, and was passing through the cloisters on his way to +Hall-street, when he saw in the distance Mrs. and Miss Beauclerc, just +as the cathedral bell rang out. Mrs. Beauclerc was startled, as the head +master had been: her fears flew towards her aristocratic clergy friends. +She tried the college door, and, finding it open, entered to make +inquiries of the bedesmen. Georgina stopped to chatter to Mr. St. John.</p> + +<p>"Fancy, if it should be old Ferraday gone off!" cried she. "Won't the +boys crow? He has got the influenza, and was sitting by his study fire +yesterday in a flannel nightcap."</p> + +<p>"It is the death-bell for Henry Arkell, Georgina."</p> + +<p>A vivid emotion dyed her face. She was vexed that it should be apparent +to Mr. St. John, and would have carried it off under an assumption of +indifference.</p> + +<p>"When did he die? Did he suffer much?"</p> + +<p>"He died at a quarter past eleven; about twenty minutes ago. And he did +not suffer so much at the last as was anticipated."</p> + +<p>"Well, poor fellow, I hope he is happy."</p> + +<p>"That he is," warmly responded Mr. St. John. "He died in perfect peace. +May you and I be as peaceful, Georgina, when our time shall come."</p> + +<p>"What a blow it must be to Mrs. Arkell!"</p> + +<p>"I saw her as I came out of the house just now, and I could not help +venturing on a word of entreaty, that she would not grieve his loss too +deeply. She raised her beautiful eyes to me, and I cannot describe to +you the light, the faith, that shone in them. 'Not lost,' she gently +whispered, 'only gone before.'"</p> + +<p>Georgina had kept her face turned from the view of Mr. St. John. She was +gazing through her glistening eyes at the graveyard, which was enclosed +by the cloisters.</p> + +<p>"What possesses the college bell to toll for him?" she exclaimed, +carelessly, to cover her emotion. "I thought," she added, with a spice +of satire in her tone, "that there was an old curfew law, or something +as stringent, against its troubling itself for anybody less exalted than +a sleek old prebendary."</p> + +<p>Mr. St. John saw through the artifice: he approached her, and lowered +his voice. "Georgina, he sent you his forgiveness for any unkindness +that may have passed. He sent you his love: and he hopes you will +sometimes recal him to your remembrance, when you walk over his grave, +as you go into college."</p> + +<p>Surprise made her turn to Mr. St. John: but she wilfully ignored the +first part of the sentence. "Over his grave! I do not understand."</p> + +<p>"He is to be buried in the cloisters, near to this entrance-door, near +to where we are now standing. There appears to be a vacant space here," +cried Mr. St. John, looking down at his feet: "I dare say it will be in +this very spot."</p> + +<p>"By whose decision is he to be buried in the cloisters?" quickly asked +Georgina.</p> + +<p>"The dean's, of course. Henry craved it of him."</p> + +<p>"I wonder papa did not tell me! What a singular fancy of Henry's!"</p> + +<p>"I do not think so. It was natural that he should wish his last +resting-place to be amidst old associations, amidst his old companions; +and near to <i>you</i>, Georgina."</p> + +<p>"There! I knew what you were driving at," returned Georgina, in a +pouting, wilful tone. "You are going to accuse me of breaking his heart, +or some such obsolete nonsense: I assure you I never——"</p> + +<p>"Stay, Georgina; I do not care to hear this. I have delivered his +message to you, and there let it end."</p> + +<p>"You are as stupid and fanciful as he was," retorted Miss Beauclerc.</p> + +<p>"Not quite so stupid in one respect, for he was blind to your faults; I +am not. And never shall be," he added, in a tone of significance which +caused the life-blood at Georgina's heart to stand still.</p> + +<p>But she could not keep it up—the assumption of indifference, the +apparent levity. The death was telling upon her, and she burst into +hysterical tears. At that moment, Lewis junior passed them, and swung in +at the cathedral door, on the master's errand, meeting Mrs. Beauclerc, +who was coming out.</p> + +<p>"Tell mamma I'm gone home," whispered Georgina to Mr. St. John, as she +disappeared in the opposite direction.</p> + +<p>"Arkell is dead, Mr. St. John," observed Mrs. Beauclerc. "The bell is +tolling for him. I wonder the dean ordered the bell to toll for <i>him</i>: +it will cause quite a commotion in the city to hear the college +death-bell."</p> + +<p>"He is to be buried here, in the cloisters, Mrs. Beauclerc."</p> + +<p>"Really! Will the dean allow it?"</p> + +<p>"The dean has decided it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed. I never understand half the dean does."</p> + +<p>"So your companion is gone, Lewis junior," observed Mr. St. John, as the +boy came stealing out of the college with his information. But Lewis +never answered: and though he touched his forehead (he had no cap on) to +the dean's wife, he never raised his eyes; but sneaked on, with his +ghastly face, and his head bent down.</p> + +<p>Those of the college boys who wished it went to see him in his coffin. +Georgina Beauclerc also went. She told the dean, in a straightforward +manner, that she should like to see Henry Arkell now he lay dead; and +the dean saw no reason for refusing. The death had sobered Miss +Beauclerc; but whatever feeling of remorse she might be conscious of, +was hidden within her.</p> + +<p>"You will not be frightened, I suppose, Georgina?" said the dean, in +some indecision. "Did you ever see anybody dead?"</p> + +<p>"I saw that old gardener of ours that died at the rectory, papa. I was +frightened at him; a frightful old yellow scarecrow he looked. Henry +Arkell won't look like that. Papa, I wish those wicked college boys who +were his enemies could be hung!"</p> + +<p>"Do you, Georgina?" gravely returned the dean. "<i>He</i> did not wish it; he +forgave and prayed for them."</p> + +<p>"They were so very——"</p> + +<p>She could not finish the sentence. The reference to the schoolboys +brought too vividly the past before her, and she rushed away to her own +room, bursting with the tears she had to suppress until she got there.</p> + +<p>It seemed that her whole heart must burst with grief, too, as she stood +in the presence of the corpse. She had asked St. John to go with her; +and the two were alone in the room. Save for the ashy paleness, Henry +looked just as beautiful as he had been in life: the marble lids were +closed over the brilliant eyes, never to open again in this life; the +once warm hands lay cold and useless now. Some one—perhaps his +mother—had placed in one of the hands a sprig of pink hyacinth; some +was also strewed on the breast of the flannel shroud. The perfume came +all-powerfully to their senses; and never afterwards did Georgina +Beauclerc come near the scent of that flower, death-like enough in +itself, but it brought all-forcibly to her memory the death-chamber of +Henry Arkell.</p> + +<p>She stood, leaning over the side of the coffin, sobbing painfully. The +trestles were very low, so that it was much beneath her as she stood. +St. John stood opposite, still and calm.</p> + +<p>"He loved you very much, Georgina—as few can love in this world. You +best know how you requited him."</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was a harsh word to say in the midst of her grief; but St. +John could not forgive her for the past, whatever Henry had done. She +bent her brow down on the coffin, and sobbed wildly.</p> + +<p>"Still, you made the sunshine of his life. He would have lived it over +again, if he could, because you had been in it. You had become part of +his very being; his whole heart was bound up in you. Better, therefore, +that he should be lying there, than have lived on to the future, to the +pain that it must, of necessity, have brought."</p> + +<p>"Don't!" she wailed, amid her choking sobs.</p> + +<p>Not another word was spoken. When she grew calm, Mr. St. John quitted +the room to descend—for she motioned to him to pass out first. +Then—alone—she bent down her lips to the face that could no longer +respond; and she felt, in the moment's emotion, as if her heart must +break.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Henry—my darling! I was very cruel to you! Forgive—forgive me! +But I did love you—though not as I love <i>him</i>."</p> + +<p>Mr. St. John was waiting for her below, on the landing, near the +drawing-room door. "You must pardon the family for not receiving you, +Georgina. Mrs. Arkell mentioned it to me this morning; but they are +overwhelmed with grief. It has been so unexpected, you see. Lucy is the +worst. Mrs. Arkell"—he compelled his voice to a lower whisper—"has an +idea that she will not be long behind him."</p> + +<p>The burial day of Henry Arkell arrived. The dean had commanded a holiday +from study, and that the king's scholars should attend the funeral. Just +before the hour appointed for it, half-past eleven, some of them took up +their station in the cloisters, in silent order, waiting to join the +procession when it should come, a bow of black crape being attached to +the left shoulder of their surplices. Sixteen of the king's scholars had +gone down to the house, as they were appointed to do. Mrs. Beauclerc, +her daughter, and the families of the prebendaries were already in the +cathedral; with some other spectators, who had got in under the pretext +of attending morning prayers, and who, when the prayers were over, had +refused to quit their seats again: of course the sextons could not +decently turn them out. Half a dozen ladies took up their station in the +organ-loft, to the inward wrath of the organist, who, however, had to +submit to the invasion with suavity, for one of them was the dean's +daughter. It was the best viewing place, commanding full sight of the +cathedral body and the nave on one side, and of the choir on the other. +The bell tolled at intervals, sending its deep, gloomy boom over the +town; and the spectators patiently waited. At length the first slow and +solemn note of the organ was sounded, and Georgina Beauclerc shrank into +a corner, contriving to see, and yet not be seen.</p> + +<p>From the small door, never used but upon the rare occasion of a funeral, +at the extremity of the long body of the cathedral, the procession +advanced at last. It was headed by the choristers, two and two, the lay +clerks, and the masters of the college school. The dean and one of the +canons walked next before the coffin, which was borne by eight of the +king's scholars, and the pall by eight more. Four mourners followed the +coffin—Peter Arkell, his cousin William, Travice, and Mr. St. John; and +the long line was brought up by the remainder of the king's scholars. So +slow was their advance, as to be almost imperceptible to the spectators, +the choir singing:</p> + +<p>"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth +in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and +believeth in me shall never die.</p> + +<p>"I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter +day upon the earth. And though after my skin worms destroy this body, +yet in my flesh shall I see God; whom I shall see for myself, and mine +eyes shall behold, and not another."</p> + +<p>The last time those words were sung in that cathedral, but some three +weeks past, it was by him over whom they were now being sung; the +thought flashed upon many a mind. At length the choir was reached, and +the coffin placed on the trestles; Georgina Beauclerc's eyes—she had +now come round to the front of the organ—being blinded with tears as +she looked down upon it. Mr. St. John glanced up, from his place by the +coffin, and saw her. Both the psalms were sung, and the dean himself +read the lessons; and it may as well be here remarked, that at afternoon +service the dean desired that Luther's hymn should be sung in place of +the usual anthem; some association with the last evening Henry had spent +at his house no doubt inducing it.</p> + +<p>The procession took its way back to the cloisters, to the grave, Mr. +Wilberforce officiating. The spectators followed in the wake. As the +coffin was lowered to its final resting-place—earth to earth, ashes to +ashes, dust to dust—the boys bowed their heads upon their clasped +hands, and some of them sobbed audibly; they felt all the worth of Henry +Arkell now that he was gone. The grave was made close to the cloister +entrance to the cathedral, in the spot where had stood Mr. St. John and +Georgina Beauclerc; where had once stood Georgina and Henry Arkell, the +day that wretched Lewis had wished him buried there. An awful sort of +feeling was upon Lewis now, as he remembered it. A few minutes, and it +was over. The dean turned into the chapter-house, the mourners moved +away, and the old bedesmen, in their black gowns, began to shovel in the +earth upon the coffin. Mr. Wilberforce, before moving, put up his finger +to Aultane, and the latter advanced.</p> + +<p>"You choristers are not to go back to the vestry now, but to come into +the hall in your surplices."</p> + +<p>Aultane wondered at the order, but communicated it to those under him. +When they entered the college hall, they found the king's scholars +ranged in a semicircle, and they fell in with them according to their +respective places in the school. The boys' white surplices and the bows +of crape presenting a curious contrast.</p> + +<p>"What are we stuck out like this for?" whispered one to the other. "For +show? What does Wilberforce want? He's sitting still, as if he waited +for somebody."</p> + +<p>"Be blest if I know," said Lewis junior, whose teeth were chattering. +"Unless it is to wind up with a funeral lecture."</p> + +<p>However, they soon did know. The dean entered the hall, wearing his +surplice, and carrying his official four-cornered cap. Mr. Wilberforce +rose to bow the dean into his own seat, but the dean preferred to stand. +He looked steadily at the circle before he spoke; sternly, some of them +thought; and they did not feel altogether at ease.</p> + +<p>"Boys!" began the dean. And there he stopped; and the boys lifted their +heads to listen to what might be coming.</p> + +<p>"Boys, our doings in this world bear a bias generally to good or to +evil, and they bring their consequences with them. Well-doing brings +contentment and inward satisfaction; but ill-doing as certainly brings +its day of retribution. The present day must be one of retribution to +some of you, unless you are so hardened in wickedness as to be callous +to conscience. How have——"</p> + +<p>The dean was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. St. John and Travice +Arkell. They took off their hats; and their streaming hatbands swept the +ground, as they advanced and stood by the dean.</p> + +<p>"Boys," he resumed, "how have you treated Henry Arkell? I do not speak +to all; I speak to some. Lewis senior, does your conscience prick you +for having fastened him in St. James's Church, in the dark and lonely +night? Aultane junior, does yours sting you for your insubordination to +him on Assize Sunday, when you exposed yourself so disgracefully to two +of the judges of the land, and for your malicious accusation of him to +Miss Beauclerc, followed by your pitiful complaint to me? Prattleton, +have you, as senior of the school, winked at the cabal against him?"</p> + +<p>The three boys hung their heads and their red ears: to judge by their +looks, their consciences were pricking them very sharply.</p> + +<p>"Lewis junior," resumed the dean, in a sudden manner, "of what does your +conscience accuse you?"</p> + +<p>Lewis junior turned sick, and his hair stood on end. He could not have +replied, had it been to save him from hanging.</p> + +<p>"Do you know that you are the cause of Henry Arkell's death?" continued +the dean, in a low but distinct accent, which penetrated the room. "And +that you might, in justice, be taken up as a murderer?"</p> + +<p>Lewis junior burst into a dismal howl, and fell down on his knees and +face, burying his forehead on the ground, and sticking up his surpliced +back; something after the manner of an ostrich.</p> + +<p>"It was the fall in the choir on Assize Sunday that killed Henry +Arkell," said the dean, looking round the hall; "that is, he has died +from the effects of the fall. You gentlemen are aware of it, I believe?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly they are, Mr. Dean," said the head master, wondering on his +own account, and answering the dean because the "gentlemen" did not.</p> + +<p>"He was thrown down," resumed the dean; "wilfully thrown down. And that +is the one who did it," pointing with his finger at Lewis junior.</p> + +<p>Two or three of the boys had been cognisant of the fact, as might be +seen from their scarlet faces; the rest wore a look of timid curiosity; +while Mr. Wilberforce's amazed spectacles wandered from the dean's +finger to the prostrate and howling Lewis.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the dean, answering the various looks, "the author of Henry +Arkell's death is Lewis junior. You had better get up, sir."</p> + +<p>Lewis junior remained where he was, shaking his back as if it had been a +feather-bed, and emitting the most extraordinary groans.</p> + +<p>"Get up," cried the dean, sternly.</p> + +<p>There was no disobeying the tone, and Lewis raised himself. A pretty +object he looked, for the dye from his new black gloves had been washed +on to his face.</p> + +<p>"He told me he forgave me the day before he died; he said he had never +told any one, and never would," howled Lewis. "I didn't mean to hurt +him."</p> + +<p>"He never did tell," replied the dean: "he <i>bore</i> his injuries, bore +them without retaliation. Is there another boy in the school who would +do that?"</p> + +<p>"No, that there is not," put in Mr. Wilberforce.</p> + +<p>"When you locked him in the church, Lewis senior, did he inform against +you? When you came to me with your cruel accusation, Aultane, did he +revenge himself by telling me of a far worse misdemeanour, which you had +been guilty of? Did he ever inform against any who injured him? No; +insults, annoyances, he bore all in silence, because he would not bring +trouble and punishment upon you. He was a noble boy," warmly continued +the dean: "and, what's more, he was a Christian one."</p> + +<p>"He said he would not tell of me," choked Lewis junior, "and now he has +gone and done it. O-o-o-o-o-o-h!"</p> + +<p>"He never told," quietly repeated the dean. "During the last afternoon +of his life, it came to my knowledge, subsequent to an interview I had +had with him, that Lewis junior had wilfully thrown him down, and I went +back to Arkell and taxed him with its being the fact. He could not deny +it, but the whole burden of his admission was, 'Oh, sir, forgive him! do +not punish him! I am dying, and I pray you to forgive him for my sake! +Forgive them all!' Do you think you deserve such clemency?" asked the +dean, in an altered tone.</p> + +<p>Lewis only howled the louder.</p> + +<p>"On his part, I offer you all his full and free forgiveness: Lewis +junior, do you hear? his full and free forgiveness. And I believe you +have also that of his parents." The dean looked at Travice Arkell, and +waited for him to speak.</p> + +<p>"A few hours only before Henry died, it came to Mr. Peter Arkell's +knowledge——"</p> + +<p>"I informed him," interrupted the dean.</p> + +<p>"Yes," resumed Travice. "The dean informed Mr. Arkell that Henry's fall +had not been accidental. But—as he had prayed the dean, so he prayed +his father, to forgive the culprit. Lewis junior, I am here on the part +of Mr. Arkell to offer his forgiveness to you."</p> + +<p>"I wish I could as easily accord mine," said the dean. "No punishment +will be inflicted on you, Lewis junior: not because no punishment, that +I or Mr. Wilberforce could command, is adequate to the crime, but that +his dying request, for your pardon, shall be complied with. If you have +any conscience at all, his fate will lie upon it for the remainder of +your life, and you will bear its remembrance about with you."</p> + +<p>Lewis bent down his head on the shoulder nearest to him, and his howls +changed into sobs.</p> + +<p>"One word more, boys," said the dean. "I have observed that not one in +the whole school—at least such is my belief—would be capable of acting +as Henry Arkell did, in returning good for evil. The ruling principle of +his life, and he strove to carry it out in little things as in great, +was to do as he would be done by. Now what could have made him so +different from you?"</p> + +<p>The dean obtained no reply.</p> + +<p>"I will tell you. <i>He loved and feared God.</i> He lived always as though +God were near him, watching over his words and his actions; he took God +for his guide, and strove to do His will: and now God has taken him to +his reward. Do you know that his death was a remarkably peaceful one? +Yes, I think you have heard so. Holy living, boys, makes holy dying; and +it made his dying holy and peaceful. Allow me to ask, if you, who are +selfish and wicked and malignant, could meet death so calmly?"</p> + +<p>"Arkell's mother is often so ill, sir, that she doesn't know she'll live +from one day to another," a senior ventured to remark in the general +desperation. "Of course that makes her learn to try not to fear death, +and she taught him not to."</p> + +<p>"And she now finds her recompense," observed the dean. "A happy thing +for you, if your mothers had so taught you. Dismiss the school, Mr. +Wilberforce. And I hope," he added, turning round to the boys, as he and +the other two gentlemen left the hall, "that you will, every one, go +home, not to riot on this solemn holiday, but to meditate on these +important thoughts, and resolve to endeavour to become more like Henry +Arkell. You will attend service this afternoon."</p> + +<p>And that was the ending. And the boy, with his talents, his beauty, and +his goodness, was gone; and nothing of him remained but what was +mouldering under the cloister gravestone.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Henry Cheveley Arkell.</span><br /> +Died March 24th, 18—,<br /> +Aged 16.<br /> +Not lost, but gone before.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>THOUGHTLESS WORDS.</h3> + + +<p>This is the last part of our history, and you must be prepared for +changes, although but little time—not very much more than a year—has +gone by.</p> + +<p>Death has been busy during that period. Mrs. Peter Arkell survived her +son so short a time, that it is already twelve months since she was laid +in the churchyard of St. James the Less. It is a twelvemonth also since +Mr. Fauntleroy died, and his daughters are the great heiresses of +Westerbury.</p> + +<p>Westerbury had need of heiresses, or something else substantial, to keep +up its consequence; for it was dwindling down lower (speaking of its +commercial importance) day by day. The clerical party (in +contradistinction to the commercial) rose and flourished; the other +fell.</p> + +<p>Amidst those with whom it was beginning to be a struggle to keep their +heads above water was Mr. Arkell. The hope that times would mend; a hope +that had buoyed up for years and years other large manufacturers in +Westerbury, was beginning to show itself what it really was—a delusive +one. A deplorable gloom hung over the brow of Mr. Arkell, and he most +bitterly repented that he had not thrown this hope to the winds long +ago, and given up business before so much of his good property was +sacrificed. He had in the past year made those retrenchments in his +expenditure, which, in point of prudence, ought to have been made +before; but his wife had set her face determinately against it, and to a +peaceable-dispositioned man like Mr. Arkell, the letting the ruin come +is almost preferable to the contention the change involves. Those of my +readers who may have had experience of this, will know that I only state +what is true. But necessity has no law: and when Mr. Arkell could no +longer drain himself to meet these superfluous expenses, the change was +made. The close carriage was laid down; the household was reduced to +what it had been in his father's time—two maids, and a man for the +horse and garden, and he admonished his wife and daughters that they +must spend in dress just half what they had spent. But with all the +retrenchment, Mr. Arkell saw himself slowly drifting downwards. His +manufactory was still kept on; but it had been far better given up. It +must surely come to it, and Travice would have to seek a different +channel of obtaining a living. Not only Travice: the men who had grown +old in William Arkell's service, they must be turned adrift. There's not +the least doubt that this last thought helped, more than all else, to +keep Mr. Arkell's decision on the balance.</p> + +<p>And Peter Arkell? Peter was in worse plight than his cousin. As it had +been all their lives, the contrast in their fortunes marked, so it was +still; so it would be to the end. William still lived well, and as a +gentleman; he had but lopped off superfluities; Peter was a poor, bowed, +broken man, obliged to be careful how he laid out money for even the +common necessaries of life. But for Mildred's never-ceasing forethought, +those necessaries might not always have been bought. The death of his +wife, the death of his gifted son, had told seriously upon Peter Arkell: +and his health, never too good, had since been ominously breaking up.</p> + +<p>His good and gentle daughter, Lucy, had care upon her in many ways. The +little petty household economies it was necessary to practise +unceasingly, wearied her spirit; the uncertainty of how they were to +live, now that her father could no longer teach or write—and his +learned books had brought him in a trifle from time to time—chilled her +hope. Not yet had she recovered the shock, the terrible heart-blow +brought to her by the death of Henry; and her mother's death had +followed close upon it. It seemed to have cast a blight upon her young +spirit: and there were times when Lucy, good and trusting girl though +she was, felt tempted to think that God was making her path one of +needless sorrow. The sad, thoughtful look was ever in her countenance +now, in her sweet brown eyes; and her fair features, not strictly +beautiful, but pleasant to look upon, grew more like what Mildred's were +after the blight had fallen upon her. But no heart-blight had as yet +come to Lucy.</p> + +<p>One evening an old and confidential friend of Peter Arkell's dropped in +to sit an hour with him. It was Mr. Palmer, the manager and cashier of +the Westerbury bank, and the brother to Mr. Palmer of Heath Hall. As the +two friends talked confidentially on this evening, deploring the +commercial state of the city, and saying that it would never rise again +from its distress, Mr. Palmer dropped a hint that the firm of George +Arkell and Son had been effecting another mortgage on their property. +Mr. Peter Arkell said nothing then; but Lucy, who went into the room on +the departure of their guest, noticed that he remained sunk in +melancholy silence; and she could not arouse him from it.</p> + +<p>Travice Arkell came in. Travice was in the habit of coming in a great +deal more than one of the ruling powers at home had any idea of. Travice +would very much have liked to make Lucy his wife; but there were serious +impediments in more ways than one, and he was condemned to silence, and +to wait and see what an uncertain future might bring forth.</p> + +<p>The romance that had been enacted in the early days of William Arkell +and Mildred was being re-enacted now. But with a difference. For whereas +William, as you have seen, forsook the companion of his boyhood, and +cast his love upon a stranger, Travice's whole hopes were concentrated +upon Lucy. And Lucy loved him with all the impassioned ideality of a +first and powerful passion, with all the fervour of an imaginative and +reticent nature. It was impossible but that each should detect, in a +degree, the feelings of the other, though they might not be, and had not +been, spoken of openly.</p> + +<p>Travice reached the chess-board from a side-table where it was kept, +took his seat opposite Peter, and began to set out the men. Of the same +kind, considerate nature that his father was before him, he +compassionated the lonely man's solitary days, and was wont to play a +game at chess with him sometimes in an evening, to while away one of his +weary hours. But Peter, on this night, put up his hand in token of +refusal.</p> + +<p>"Not this evening, Travice. I am not equal to it. My spirits are low."</p> + +<p>"Do you feel ill?" asked Travice, beginning to put the pieces in the box +again.</p> + +<p>"I feel low; out of sorts. Mr. Palmer has been here talking of things, +and he gives so deplorable a state of private affairs generally, +consequent upon the long-continued commercial depression, that it's hard +to say who's safe and whose tottering. He has especial means of +ascertaining, you know, so there's no doubt he's right."</p> + +<p>"Well, what of that?" returned Travice. "It cannot affect you; you are +not in business."</p> + +<p>"True. I was not thinking of myself."</p> + +<p>"A game at chess will divert your thoughts."</p> + +<p>"Not to-night, Travice; I'd rather not play to-night."</p> + +<p>"Will you have a game, Lucy?"</p> + +<p>She looked up from her sewing to smile a negative. "That would be +leaving papa quite to his thoughts. I think we had better talk to him."</p> + +<p>"Travice," Peter Arkell suddenly said, "I am sure this depression must +seriously affect your father."</p> + +<p>"Of course it does," was the ready answer. "He has just now had to +borrow more money again."</p> + +<p>"Then Palmer was right," thought Peter Arkell. "Will he keep on the +business?" he asked aloud.</p> + +<p>"I should not, were I in his place," said Travice. "He would have given +up long ago, I believe, but for thinking what's to become of me. Of +course if he does give up, I am thrown on the world, a wandering Arab."</p> + +<p>His tone was as much one of jest as of gravity. The young do not see +things in the same light as the old. To his father and to Peter Arkell, +his being thrown out of the business he had embraced as his own, +appeared an almost irrecoverable blight in life; to Travice himself it +seemed but a very slight misfortune. The world was before him, and he +had honour, education, health, and brains; surely he could win his way +in it!</p> + +<p>"It is not well to throw down one calling and take up another," observed +Peter, thoughtfully. "It does not always answer."</p> + +<p>"But if you are forced to it!" argued Travice. "There's no help for it +then, and you must do the best you can."</p> + +<p>"It is a pity but you had gone to Oxford, Travice, and entered into some +profession!"</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is, as things seem to be turning out. Thrown out of the +manufactory, I should seem a sort of luckless adventurer, not knowing +which way to turn to prey upon the public."</p> + +<p>"It would be just beginning life again," said Peter, his grave tone +bearing in it a sound of reproach to the lighter one.</p> + +<p>He rose, and went to the next room—the "Peter's study" of the old +days—to get something from his desk there. Travice happened to look at +Lucy, and saw her eyes fixed upon him with a troubled, earnest +expression. She blushed as he caught their gaze.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, Lucy?"</p> + +<p>"I was wondering whatever you would do, if Mr. Arkell does give up."</p> + +<p>"I think I should be rather glad of it? I could turn astronomer."</p> + +<p>"Turn astronomer! But you don't really mean that, Travice?"</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>"I should mean it, but for one thing."</p> + +<p>"What is that one thing?"</p> + +<p>"That it might not find me in bread and cheese. Perhaps they'd make me +honorary star-gazer at the observatory royal. The worst is, one must eat +and drink; and the essentials necessary for that don't drop from the +clouds, as the manna once did of old. Very convenient for some of us if +it did."</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd be serious," she rejoined, the momentary tears rising to +her eyes. She was feeling wretchedly troubled, she could not tell why, +and his light mood jarred upon her.</p> + +<p>It changed now as he looked at her. Travice Arkell's face changed to an +expression of deep, grave meaning, of troubled meaning, and he dropped +his voice to a low tone as he rose and stood near Lucy, looking down +upon her.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could be serious; I have wished it, Lucy, this long while +past. Other men at my age are thinking of forming those social ties that +man naturally expects to form; of gathering about him a home, and a +wife, and children. I must not; for what I can see at present, they must +be denied to me for good and all; unless—unless——"</p> + +<p>He broke off abruptly. Lucy, suppressing the emotion that had arisen, +glanced up at him, as she waited for the conclusion. But the conclusion +did not come.</p> + +<p>"You see now, Lucy, why I cannot be serious. Perhaps you have seen why +before. In the uncertain state that our business is, not knowing but the +end of it may be bankruptcy——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Travice!" she involuntarily exclaimed, in the shock that the word +brought to her.</p> + +<p>"I do assure you it has crossed my mind now and then, that such may be +the final ending. It would break my father's heart, I know, and it would +half break mine for his sake; but others in the town have succumbed, who +were once nearly as rich as we were, and the fate may overtake us. I +wish I could be serious; serious to a purpose; but I cannot."</p> + +<p>"I wanted to show you a prospectus, Travice, that was left here to-day," +interrupted Peter Arkell, coming back to the room. "I wonder what next +they'll be getting up a company over? I put it into my desk, but I can't +find it. Lucy, look about for it, will you?"</p> + +<p>She got up to obey, and Travice caught a sight of the raised face, whose +blushes had been hidden from him; blushes called forth by his words and +their implied meaning. She had understood it.</p> + +<p>But she had not understood the sentence at whose conclusion Travice +Arkell had broken down. "That the ties of wife and children must be +denied to him for good and all, unless——"</p> + +<p>Unless what? Unless he let them sacrifice him, would be the real answer. +Unless he sacrificed himself, his dearest hopes, every better feeling +that his heart possessed, at a golden shrine. But Travice Arkell would +have a desperate fight first.</p> + +<p>The Miss Fauntleroys, co-heiresses of the wealthy old lawyer—who might +have died worth more but for his own entanglements in early life—had +become intimate and more intimate at the house of William Arkell. Ten +thousand pounds were settled on each, and there was other money to +divide between them, which was not settled. How Lawyer Fauntleroy had +scraped together so much, Westerbury could not imagine, considering he +had been so hampered with old claims. Strapping, vulgar, good-humoured +damsels, these two, as you have before heard; with as little refinement +in looks, words, and manner as their father had possessed before them. +Their intimacy had grown, I say, with the Arkell family. Mrs. Arkell +courted them to her house; the young ladies were quite eager to frequent +it without courting; and it had come to be whispered all over the +gossiping town, that Mr. Arkell's son and heir might have either of them +for the asking.</p> + +<p>Perhaps not quite true this, as to the "either," perhaps yes. It was +indisputable that both liked him very much; but any hope the younger +might have felt disposed to cherish had long been merged in the more +recognised claim to him of the elder; recognised by the young ladies +only, mind you, in the right, it may be, of her seniorship. Nothing in +the world could have been more satisfactory to Mrs. Arkell than this +union. She overlooked their want of refinement, and their many other +wants of a similar nature—of refinement, indeed, she may have deemed +that Travice possessed enough for himself and for a wife too—she +thought of the golden hoard in the bank, the firm securities in the +three per cent consols, and she pertinaciously cherished the hope and +the resolve that Barbara Fauntleroy should become Barbara Arkell.</p> + +<p>It is well to say "pertinaciously." That Travice had set his resolve +against it, she tacitly understood; and once when she went so far as to +put her project before him in a cautious hint, Travice had broken out +with the ungallant assertion that he would "as soon marry the deuce." +But he might have to give in at last. The constant dropping of water on +a stone will wear it away; and the constant, unceasing tongue of a woman +has been known to break the iron walls of man's will.</p> + +<p>Another suitor had recently sprung up for Miss Lizzie Fauntleroy. No +less a personage than Benjamin Carr. The reappearance of Mr. Dundyke +upon the scene of the living world had considerably astonished many +people; possibly, amidst others, Ben Carr himself. In the great relief +it brought to the mind of Mr. Arkell, distorted, you may remember, with +a certain unpleasant doubt, he almost forgot to suspect him at all; and +he buried the past in silence, and in a measure, took luckless Ben into +favour again; that is, he did not forbid him his house.</p> + +<p>Ben, in fact, had come out apparently nourishing from all past escapades +suspected and unsuspected, and was residing with his father, and +dressing like a gentleman. No more was heard of his wish to go abroad. +Squire Carr had made him a half promise to put him into a farm; and +while Ben waited for this, he paid court to Lizzie Fauntleroy. At first +she laughed in his face for an old fool, next she began to giggle at his +soft speeches, and now she listened to him. Ben Carr had some attraction +yet, in spite of his four-and-forty years.</p> + +<p>In the course of the following morning, Peter Arkell suddenly announced +his intention of going out, to the great surprise of Lucy. It was a most +unfit day, rainy, and bleak for the season; and he had not stepped over +the threshold for weeks and weeks.</p> + +<p>"Papa! You cannot go out to-day. It is not fit for you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I shall go. I want particularly to speak to my cousin William: you +can help me thither with your arm, Lucy. Get my old cloak down, and air +it at the fire; I can wrap myself in that."</p> + +<p>Lucy ventured no further remonstrance. When her papa took a thing into +his head, there was no turning him.</p> + +<p>They started together through the bad weather to the house of William +Arkell. The dear old house! where Peter had spent so many pleasant +evenings in his youthful days. He crossed the yard at once to the +manufactory, telling Lucy to go indoors and wait for him. William Arkell +was alone in his private room, and was not a little surprised at the +visit.</p> + +<p>"Why Peter!" he exclaimed, rising from his desk, and placing an +arm-chair by the fire, "What has brought you out such a day as this? Sit +down."</p> + +<p>Before Peter did so, he closed the door, so that they should be quite +alone. He then turned and clasped his cousin by the hand.</p> + +<p>"William," he began, emotion mingling with his utterance, "I have come +to you, a poor unhappy man. Conscious of my want of power to do what I +ought—fearing that there is less chance of my doing it, day by day."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" inquired Mr. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"Amidst the ruin that has almost universally fallen on the city, you +have not escaped, I fear your property is being seriously drawn upon?"</p> + +<p>"And, unless things mend, it will soon be drawn to an end, Peter."</p> + +<p>"Heaven help me!" exclaimed Peter. "And to know that I am in your debt, +and cannot liquidate it! It is to speak of this, that I am come out +to-day."</p> + +<p>"Nay, now you are foolish!" exclaimed Mr. Arkell. "What matters a +hundred pounds or two, more or less, to me? The sum would cut but a poor +figure by the side of what I am now habituated to losing. Never think of +it, Peter: <i>I</i> never shall. Besides, you had it from me in driblets, so +that I did not miss it."</p> + +<p>"When I had used to come to you for assistance in my illnesses, for I +was ashamed to draw too much upon Mildred," proceeded the poor man, "I +never thought but that I should, in time, regain permanent strength, and +be able to return it. I never meant to cheat you, William."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk like that, Peter!" interrupted Mr. Arkell. "If the money +were returned to me now, it would only go the way that the rest is +going. I have always felt glad that it was in my power to render you +assistance in your necessities: and if I stood this moment without a +shilling to turn to, I should not regret it any more than I do now."</p> + +<p>They continued in converse, but we need not follow it. Lucy meanwhile +had entered the house, and went about, looking for some signs of its +inhabitants. The general sitting-room was empty, and she crossed the +hall and opened the door of the drawing-room. A bouncing lady in fine +attire was coming forth from it, talking and laughing loudly with Mr. +Arkell; it was Barbara Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>Shaking hands with Lucy in her good-humoured manner as she passed her, +she talked and laughed her way out of the house. Lucy was in black silk +and crape still; Miss Fauntleroy was in the gayest of colours; and Mrs. +Peter Arkell had been dead longer than Mr. Fauntleroy. They had worn +their black a twelvemonth and then quitted it. It was not fashionable to +wear mourning long now, said the Miss Fauntleroys.</p> + +<p>Charlotte Arkell, with scant ceremony, sat down to the piano, giving +Lucy only a nod. Nothing could exceed the slighting contempt in which +she and her sister held Lucy. They had been trained in it. And they were +highly accomplished young ladies besides, had learnt everything there +was to be taught, from the harp and oriental tinting, down to Spanish, +German, and chenille embroidery. Lucy's education had been solid, rather +than ornamental: she spoke French well, and played a little; and she was +more skilled in plain sewing than in fancy. <i>They</i> never allowed their +guarded fingers to come into contact with plain work, and had just as +much idea of how anything useful was done, as of how the moon was made. +So these two fine young ladies despised Lucy Arkell, after the fashion +of the fine young ladies of the present day. Charlotte also was great in +the consciousness of other self-importance, for she was soon to be a +wife. That Captain Anderson whom you once saw at a concert, had paid a +more recent visit to Westerbury; and he left it, engaged to Charlotte +Arkell.</p> + +<p>Charlotte played a few bars, and then remembered to become curious on +the subject of Lucy's visit. She whirled herself round on the music +stool: it had been a favourite motion of her mother's in the old days.</p> + +<p>"What have you come for, Lucy?"</p> + +<p>"Papa wanted to see Mr. Arkell, and I walked with him. He is gone into +the manufactory."</p> + +<p>"I thought your papa was too ill to go out."</p> + +<p>"He is very ailing. I think he ought not to have come out on a day like +this. Do not let me interrupt your practising, Charlotte."</p> + +<p>"Practising! I have no heart to practise!" exclaimed Charlotte. "Papa is +always talking in so gloomy a way. He was in here just now: I was deep +in this sonata of Beethoven's, and did not hear him enter, and he began +saying it would be better if I and Sophy were to accustom ourselves to +spend some of our time <i>usefully</i>, for that he did not know how soon we +might be obliged to do it. He has laid down the carriage; he has made +fearful retrenchments in the household: I wonder what he would have! And +as to our buying anything new, or subscribing to a concert, or anything +of that sort, mamma says she cannot get the money from him. I wish I was +married, and gone from Westerbury! I am thankful my future home is to be +far away from it!"</p> + +<p>"Things may brighten here," was all the consolation that Lucy could +offer.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe they ever will," returned Charlotte. "I see no hope of +it. Papa looks sometimes as if his heart were breaking."</p> + +<p>"How soon the Miss Fauntleroys have gone out of mourning!" observed +Lucy.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. They wore it twelve months; that's long enough for +anything. Let me give you a caution, Lucy," added Charlotte, laughing: +"don't hint at such a thing as that Barbara Fauntleroy's not immaculate +perfection: it would not do in this house."</p> + +<p>"Why?" exclaimed Lucy, wondering at her words and manner.</p> + +<p>"She is intended for its future head, you know, when the present +generation of heads shall—shall have passed away. I'm afraid that's +being poetical; I didn't mean to be."</p> + +<p>Lucy sat as one in a maze, wondering <span class="smcap">WHAT</span> she might understand by the +words. And Charlotte whirled round on her stool again to the sonata, +with as little ceremony as she had whirled from it.</p> + +<p>While Miss Fauntleroy was there, Mrs. Arkell had sent a private message +to Travice that she wanted him; but Travice did not obey the summons +until the young lady was gone. He came then: and Mrs. Arkell attacked +him for not coming before; she was attacking him now, while Charlotte +and Lucy were talking.</p> + +<p>"Why did you not come in at once?" asked Mrs. Arkell, in the cross tone +which had latterly become habitual; "Barbara Fauntleroy was here."</p> + +<p>"That was just the reason," returned Travice, in his usual candid +manner; "I waited until she should be gone."</p> + +<p>If there was one thing that vexed Mrs. Arkell worse than the fact +itself, it was the open way in which her son steadily resisted the hints +to him on the subject of Miss Fauntleroy. She felt at times that she +could have beaten him; she was feeling so now. Her temper turned acrid, +her face flushed, her voice rose.</p> + +<p>"Travice, if you persist in this systematic rudeness——"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, mother. I wish you would refrain from bringing up the +subject of Miss Fauntleroy to me. I do not care to hear of her in any +way; she——Who's that? Why, I do believe it's Lucy's voice!"</p> + +<p>The colloquy with Mrs. Arkell had taken place in the hall. Travice made +one bound to the drawing-room. The sudden flush on the pale face, the +glad eagerness of the tone, struck dismay to the heart of Mrs. Arkell. +She quickly followed him, and saw that he had taken both of Lucy's hands +in greeting.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lucy! are you here this morning? I know you have come to stay the +day! Take your things off."</p> + +<p>Lucy laughed—and Mrs. Arkell had the pleasure of seeing that <i>her</i> +cheeks wore an answering flush. She shook her head and drew her hands +from Travice, who seemed as if he could have kept them for ever.</p> + +<p>"Do I spend a day here so often that you think I can come for nothing +else? I only came with papa, and I am going back with him soon."</p> + +<p>But Travice pressed the point of staying. Charlotte also—feeling, +perhaps, that even Lucy was a welcome break to the monotony the house +had fallen into—urged it. Mrs. Arkell maintained a marked silence; and +in the midst of it the two gentlemen came in. Mr. Arkell kissed Lucy, +and said she had better stop.</p> + +<p>But Peter settled it the other way. Lucy must go home with him then, he +said; but if she liked to come down in the afternoon, and stay for the +rest of the day, she could. It was so settled, and they took their +departure. Mr. Arkell walked with Peter across the court-yard, talking. +Travice, in the very face and eyes of his mother, gave his arm to Lucy.</p> + +<p>"Why did you not stay?" he whispered, as they arrived at the gates. +"Lucy, do you know that to part with you is to part with my life's +sunshine?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell was standing at the door as he turned, and beckoned to him +from the distance.</p> + +<p>"I wish to speak with you," she said, as he approached.</p> + +<p>She led the way into the dining-room, and closed the door on them, as if +for some formidable interview. Travice saw that she was in a scarcely +irrepressible state of anger, and he perched himself on a vacant +side-table—rather a favourite way of his. He began humming a tune; +gaily, but not disrespectfully.</p> + +<p>"What possesses you to behave in this absurd manner to Lucy Arkell?" she +began, in passion.</p> + +<p>"What have I done now?" asked Travice.</p> + +<p>"You are continually, in some way or other, contriving to thrust that +girl's company upon us! I will not permit it, Travice; I have borne with +it too long. I——"</p> + +<p>"Why, she is not here twice in a twelvemonth," interrupted Travice.</p> + +<p>"Don't say absurd things. She is. And she is not fit society for your +sisters."</p> + +<p>"If they were only half as worthy of her society as she is superior to +them, they would be very different girls from what they are," spoke +Travice, with a touch of his father's old heat. "If there's one thing +that Lucy is, pre-eminently, it's a gentlewoman. Her mother was one +before her."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell grew nearly black in the face. While she was trying to +speak, Travice went on.</p> + +<p>"Ask my father what his opinion of Lucy is. <i>He</i> does not say she is +here too much."</p> + +<p>"Your father is a fool in some things, and so are you!" retorted Mrs. +Arkell, a sort of scream in her voice. "How dare you oppose me in this +way, Travice?"</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry to do so," returned the young man; "and I beg your +pardon if I say more than you think I ought. But I cannot join in your +unjust feeling against Lucy, and I will not tolerate it. I wish you +would not bring up this subject at all: it is one we never can agree +upon."</p> + +<p>"You requested me just now not to 'bring up' the subject of Miss +Fauntleroy to you," said Mrs. Arkell, in a tone of irony. "How many +other subjects would you be pleased to interdict?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to hear even the name of those Fauntleroys!" burst out +Travice, losing for a moment his equanimity. "Great brazen milkmaids!"</p> + +<p>"No! you'd rather hear Lucy's!" screamed Mrs. Arkell. "You'd——"</p> + +<p>"Lucy! Don't name them with Lucy, my dear mother. They are not fit to +tie Lucy's shoes! She has more sense of propriety in her little finger, +than they have in all their great overgrown bodies!"</p> + +<p>This was the climax. And Mrs. Arkell, suppressing the passion that shook +her as she stood, spoke with that forced calmness that is worse than the +loudest fury. Her face had turned white.</p> + +<p>"Continue your familiar intercourse with that girl, if you will; but, +listen!—you shall never make a wife of anyone so paltry and so pitiful! +I would pray Heaven to let me follow you to your grave, Travice, rather +than see you marry Lucy Arkell."</p> + +<p>She spoke the words in her blind rage, never reflecting on their full +import; never dreaming that a day was soon to come, when their memory +would return to her in her extremity of vain and hopeless repentance.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>MISCONCEPTION.</h3> + + +<p>"It shall be put a stop to! it shall be put a stop to!" murmured Mrs. +Arkell to herself, as she sat alone when Travice had left her, trying to +recover her equanimity. "Once separated from that wretched Lucy, he +would soon find charms in Barbara Fauntleroy."</p> + +<p>There was no time to be lost; and that same afternoon, when Lucy +arrived, according to promise, crafty Mrs. Arkell began to lay the +foundation stone. Lucy found her in the drawing-room alone.</p> + +<p>"I will take my bonnet upstairs," said Lucy. "Shall I find Charlotte and +Sophy anywhere?"</p> + +<p>"No," replied Mrs. Arkell, in a very uncompromising tone. "They have +gone out with the Miss Fauntleroys."</p> + +<p>"I was unwilling to come this afternoon," observed Lucy, as she returned +and sat down, "for papa does not seem so well. I fear he may have taken +cold to-day; but he got to his books and writing after dinner, as +usual."</p> + +<p>"Does he think of bringing out a new book?" asked Mrs. Arkell; and Lucy +did not detect the irony of the question.</p> + +<p>"Not yet. He is about half through one. Is there any meeting to-day, do +you know, Mrs. Arkell?" she resumed. "I met several gentlemen hurrying +up the street as I came along."</p> + +<p>"I thought everybody knew of it," replied Mrs. Arkell. "A meeting of the +manufacturers was convened at the Guildhall for this afternoon. Mr. +Arkell and Travice have gone to it."</p> + +<p>"Their meetings seem to bring them no redress," returned Lucy, sadly. +"The English manufacturers have no chance against the French now."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what is to become of us," ejaculated Mrs. Arkell. +"Charlotte, thank goodness, will soon be married and away; but there's +Sophy! Travice will have enough to live upon, without business."</p> + +<p>"Will he?" exclaimed Lucy, looking brightly up. "I am so glad to hear +it! I thought your property had diminished until it was but small."</p> + +<p>"Our property is diminishing daily," replied Mrs. Arkell. "Which makes +it the more necessary that Travice should secure himself by his +marriage."</p> + +<p>Lucy did not answer; but her heart throbbed violently, and the faint +colour on her cheek forsook it. Mrs. Arkell, without looking towards +her, rose to poke the fire, and continued talking as she leaned over the +grate, with her back to Lucy.</p> + +<p>"It is intended that Travice shall marry Barbara Fauntleroy."</p> + +<p>The sense of the words was very decided, carrying painful conviction to +Lucy's startled ear. She could not have answered, had her life depended +on it.</p> + +<p>"Lucy, my dear," proceeded Mrs. Arkell, speaking with unwonted +affection, and looking Lucy full in the face, "I am speaking to you in +entire confidence, and I desire you will respect it as such. Do not drop +a hint to Travice or the girls; they would not like my speaking of it."</p> + +<p>Lucy sat quiet; and Mrs. Arkell quite devoured the pale face with her +eyes.</p> + +<p>"At first he did not care much for Barbara; and in truth he does not +care for her now, as one we intend to marry ought to be cared for. But +that will all come in time. Travice, like many other young men, may have +indulged in a little carved-out romance of his own—I don't know that he +did, but he <i>may</i>—and he has the good sense to see that his romance +must yield to reality."</p> + +<p>"Yes!" ejaculated Lucy, feeling that she was expected to say something +in answer.</p> + +<p>"There is our property dwindling down to little; there's the business +dwindling down to nothing; and suppose Travice took it into his head to +many a portionless girl, what prospect would there be before him? Why, +nothing but poverty and self-reproach; nothing but misery. And in time +he would hate her for having brought him to it."</p> + +<p>"True! true!" murmured Lucy.</p> + +<p>"And now," added Mrs. Arkell, "that he is on the point of consenting to +marry Miss Fauntleroy, it is the duty of all of us, if we care for his +future happiness and welfare, to urge his hopes to that point. You see +it, Lucy, I should think, as well as we do."</p> + +<p>There was no outward emotion to be observed in Lucy. A transiently white +cheek, a momentary quiver of the lip, and all that could be seen was +over. Like her aunt Mildred, it was her nature to bear in silence; but +some of us know too well that that is the grief which tells. There was a +slight shiver of the frame, visible to those keen eyes watching her, and +she compelled herself to speak as with indifference.</p> + +<p>"Has he consented?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Lucy, I said he was on the point of consenting. And there's no +doubt he is. I had an explanation with Travice this morning; he seemed +inclined to shun Miss Fauntleroy, for I sent for him while she was here, +and he did not come. After you left, I spoke to him; I pointed out the +state of the case, and said what a sweet girl Miss Fauntleroy was, what +a charming wife she would make him; and I hope I brought him to reason. +You see, Lucy, how advantageous it will be in all ways, their union. Not +only does it provide for Travice, but it will remove the worst of the +great care hanging over the head of Mr. Arkell, and which I am sure, if +not removed, will shorten his life. Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"I—think so," replied Lucy, whose brain was whirling in spite of her +calm manner.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell drew her chair nearer to Lucy, and dropped her voice.</p> + +<p>"Our position is this, my dear. A very great portion of Mr. Arkell's +property is locked up in his stock, which is immense. <i>I</i> should not +have kept on manufacturing as he has done; and I believe it has been +partly for the sake of those rubbishing workmen. Unless he can get some +extraneous help, some temporary assistance, he will have to force his +stock to sale at a loss, and it would just be ruin. Miss Fauntleroy +proposes to advance any sum he may require, as soon as the marriage has +taken place, and there's no doubt he will accept it. It will be only a +temporary loan, you know; but it will save us a great, a ruinous loss."</p> + +<p>"<i>She</i> proposes to advance it?" echoed Lucy, struck with the words, in +the midst of her pain.</p> + +<p>"She does. She is as good hearted a girl as ever lived, and proposed it +freely. In fact, she would be ready and willing to advance it at once, +for of course she knows it would be a safe loan, but Mr. Arkell will not +hear of it. She knows what our wishes are upon the subject of the +marriage, and she sees that Travice has been holding back; and but for +her very good-natured disposition she might not have tolerated it. +However, I hope all will soon be settled now, and she and Travice +married. Lucy, my dear, I <i>rely</i> upon you for Mr. Arkell's sake, of whom +you are so fond, for Travice's own sake, to forward on this by any +little means in your power. And, remember, the confidence I have reposed +in you must not be broken."</p> + +<p>Lucy sat cold and still. In honour she must no longer think of a +possible union with Travice—must never more allow word or look from him +seeming to point to it.</p> + +<p>"For Mr. Arkell's sake," she kept repeating to herself, as if she were +in a dream; "for Travice's own sake!" She saw the future as clearly as +though it had been mapped out before her eyes in some prophetic vision: +Travice would marry Barbara Fauntleroy and her riches. She almost wished +she might never see him more; it could only bring to her additional +misery.</p> + +<p>Charlotte Arkell came in with Barbara Fauntleroy. Sophy had gone home +with the other one for the rest of the day. An old aunt, bed-ridden +three parts of her time, had lived with the young ladies since the death +of their father. But they were not so very young; and they were +naturally independent. Barbara was quite as old as Travice Arkell.</p> + +<p>"How shall I bear to see them together?" thought Lucy, as Barbara +Fauntleroy sat down opposite to her, in her rustling silk of many +colours, and no end of gold trinkets jingling about her. "I wonder why I +was born? But for papa, I could wish I had died as Harry did!"</p> + +<p>For that first evening, however, she was spared. Their little maid +arrived in much commotion, asking to see Miss Lucy. Her papa was feeling +worse than when she left home, was the word she brought, and he thought +if Lucy did not mind it, he should like her to go back to him at once.</p> + +<p>Lucy hastened home. She found her father very poorly; feverish, and +coughing a great deal. It was the foreshadowing of an illness from which +he was destined never to recover.</p> + +<p>Whether his allotted span of life had indeed run out, or whether his +exposure to the weather that unlucky morning helped to shorten it, Lucy +never knew. A week or two of uncertain sickness—now a little better, +now a little worse, and it became too evident that hope of recovery for +Peter Arkell was over. A bowed, broken man in frame and spirit, but +comparatively young in years, Peter was passing from the world he had +found little else than trouble in. Lucy wrote in haste and distress for +her Aunt Mildred, but a telegram was received in reply, announcing the +death of Lady Dewsbury. She had died somewhat suddenly, Mildred said, +when a letter came by the next morning's post, in which she gave +particulars.</p> + +<p>It was nearly impossible for her to come away before the funeral: +nothing short of imminent danger in her brother's state would bring her. +She had for a long while been almost sole mistress of the household; +Lady Dewsbury was ever her kind friend and protectress; and she could +not reconcile it to her feelings to abandon the house while she lay dead +in it, unless her brother's state absolutely demanded that she should. +Lucy was to write, or telegraph, as necessity should require.</p> + +<p>There was no immediate necessity for her to come, and Lucy wrote +accordingly. Lucy stayed on alone with the invalid, shunning as much as +was possible the presence of Travice, when he made his frequent visits: +that presence which had hitherto been to her as a light from heaven. +Mrs. Arkell, paying a ceremonious call of condolence one day, whispered +to Lucy that Travice was becoming quite "reconciled," quite "fond" of +Barbara Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>On the evening of the day after Lady Dewsbury was interred, Mildred +arrived in Westerbury. Lucy did not know she was coming, and no one was +at the station to meet her. Leaving her luggage to be sent after her, +she made her way to her brother's house on foot: it was but a quarter of +an hour's walk, and Mildred felt cramped with sitting in the train.</p> + +<p>She trembled as she came in sight of it, the old home of her youth, +fearing that its windows might be closed, as those had been in the house +just quitted. As she stood before the door, waiting to be admitted, +remembrances of her childhood came painfully across her—of her happy +girlhood, when those blissful dreams of William Arkell were mingled with +every thought of her existence.</p> + +<p>"And oh! what did they end in!" she cried, clasping her hands tightly +together and speaking aloud in her anguish. "What am I now? Chilled in +feeling; worn in heart; old before my time."</p> + +<p>A middle-aged woman, with a light in her hand, opened the door. Mildred +stepped softly over the threshold.</p> + +<p>"How is Mr. Arkell?"</p> + +<p>The woman—she was the night nurse—stared at the handsomely attired +strange lady, whose deep mourning looked so fresh and new, coming in +that unceremonious manner at the night-hour.</p> + +<p>"He is very ill, ma'am; nearly as bad as he can be," she replied, +dropping a low curtsey. "What did you please to want?"</p> + +<p>"He is in his old chamber, I suppose," said Mildred, turning towards the +staircase. The woman, quite taken aback at this unceremonious +proceeding, interposed her person.</p> + +<p>"Goodness, ma'am, you can't go up to his chamber!" she cried out in +amazement. "The poor gentleman's dying. I'll call Miss Lucy."</p> + +<p>"I am Miss Arkell," said Mildred quietly, passing on up the staircase.</p> + +<p>She laid aside her sombre bonnet, with its deep crape veil, her heavy +shawl, and entered the chamber softly. Lucy was at a table, measuring +some medicine into a tea-cup. A pale, handsome young man stood by the +fire, his elbow resting on the mantel-piece. Mildred glanced at his +face, and did not need to ask who he was.</p> + +<p>Near the bed was Mr. William Arkell; but oh! how different from the +lover of Mildred's youth! Now he was a grey-haired man, stooping +slightly, looking older than his actual years—then tall, handsome, +attractive, as Travice was now. And did William Arkell, at the first +view, recognise his cousin? No. For that care-worn, middle-aged woman, +whose hair was braided under a white net cap, bore little resemblance to +the once happy Mildred Arkell. But the dying man, lying panting on the +raised pillows, knew her instantaneously, and held out his feeble hands +with a glad cry.</p> + +<p>It was a painful meeting, and one into which we have little right to +penetrate. Soon, very soon, Peter spoke out the one great care that was +lying at his heart. He had not touched upon it till then.</p> + +<p>"I am leaving my poor child alone in the world," he panted. "I know not +who will afford her shelter—where she will find a home?"</p> + +<p>"I would willingly promise you to take her to mine, Peter," said Mr. +Arkell. "Poor Lucy should be as welcome to a shelter under my roof as +are my own girls; but, heaven help me! I know not how long I may have a +home for any of them."</p> + +<p>"Leave Lucy to me, Peter," interposed Miss Arkell. "I shall make a home +for myself now, and that home shall be Lucy's. Let no fear of her +welfare disturb your peace."</p> + +<p>Travice listened half resentfully. He was standing against the +mantel-piece still, and Lucy, just then stirring something over the +fire, was close to him.</p> + +<p>"<i>They</i> need not think about a home for you, Lucy," he whispered, taking +the one disengaged hand into his. "That shall be my care."</p> + +<p>Lucy coldly drew her hand away. Her head was full of Barbara +Fauntleroy—of the certainty that that lady would be his wife—for she +believed no earthly event would be allowed to set aside the marriage: +her spirit rebelled against the words. What right had he to breathe such +to her—he, the engaged husband of another?</p> + +<p>"I shall never have my home with you," she said, in the same low +whisper. "Nothing should induce me to it."</p> + +<p>"But, Lucy——"</p> + +<p>"I will not hear you. You have no right so to speak to me. Aunt! +aunt!"—and the tears gushed forth in all their bitter anguish—"let me +find a home with you!"</p> + +<p>Mildred turned and clasped fondly the appealing form as it approached +her. Travice, hurt and resentful, quitted the room.</p> + +<p>The death came, and then the funeral. A day or two afterwards, Mrs. +Arkell condescended to pay a stately visit of ceremony to Mildred, who +received her in the formerly almost-unused drawing-room. Lucy did not +appear. Miss Arkell, her heart softened by grief, by much trial, was +more cordial than perhaps she had ever been to Mrs. Arkell, before her +marriage or after it.</p> + +<p>"What a fine young man Travice is!" she observed, in a pause of their +conversation.</p> + +<p>"The finest in Westerbury," said Mrs. Arkell, with all the partiality of +a mother. "I expect he will be thinking of getting married shortly."</p> + +<p>"Of getting married! Travice! To whom? To Lucy?"</p> + +<p>The question had broken from her in her surprise, in association with an +idea that had for long and long floated through her brain—that Travice +and Lucy were attached to each other. Mildred knew not whence it had its +origin, unless it was in the frequent mention of Travice in Lucy's +letters. Mrs. Arkell heard, and tossed her head indignantly.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Miss Arkell—to <i>Lucy</i>, did you say? Travice would +scarcely think of wedding a portionless bride, under present +circumstances. You must have heard of the rich Fauntleroy girls? It is +one of them."</p> + +<p>Mildred—calm, composed, quiet Mildred—could very nearly have boxed her +own ears. Never, perhaps, had she been more vexed with herself—never +said an inadvertent thing that she so much wished recalled. How entirely +Lucy was despised, Mrs. Arkell's manner and words proclaimed; and the +fact carried its sting to Mildred's heart.</p> + +<p>"I had no reason to put the question," she said, only caring how she +could mend the matter; "I dare say Lucy would not thank me for the idea. +Indeed, I should fancy her hopes may lie in quite a different direction. +Young Palmer, the lawyer, the son of her father's old friend, has been +here several times this past week, inquiring after our health. His +motives may be more interested ones."</p> + +<p>This was a little romance of Mildred's, called forth by the annoyance +and vexation of the moment. It is true that Tom Palmer frequently did +call; he and Lucy had been brought up more like brother and sister than +anything else; but Miss Arkell had certainly no foundation for the +supposition she had expressed. And Mrs. Arkell knew she could have none; +but she chose to believe it.</p> + +<p>"It would be a very good match for Lucy," she replied. "Tom Palmer has a +fine practice for so young a man; there are whispers, too, that he will +be made town-clerk whenever the vacancy occurs."</p> + +<p>Home went Mrs. Arkell; and the first of the family she happened to come +across was Travice.</p> + +<p>"Travice, come to me for an instant," she said, taking his arm to pace +the court-yard; "I have been hearing news at Peter Arkell's. Lucy's a +sly girl; she might have told us, I think. She is engaged—but I don't +know how long since. Perhaps only in these few days, since the funeral."</p> + +<p>"Engaged in what?"</p> + +<p>"To be married. She marries Tom Palmer."</p> + +<p>"It is not true," broke forth Travice. "Who in the world has been +telling you that falsehood?"</p> + +<p>"Not true!" repeated Mrs. Arkell. "Why don't you say it is not true that +I am talking to you—not true that this is Monday—not true that you are +Travice Arkell? Upon my word! You are very polite, sir."</p> + +<p>"Who told it you?" reiterated Travice.</p> + +<p>"<i>They</i> told me. Mildred Arkell told me. I have been sitting there for +the last hour, and we have been talking that and other affairs over. I +can tell you what, Travice—it will be an excellent match for Lucy; a +far superior one to anything she could have expected—and they seem to +know it."</p> + +<p>Even as she spoke, there shot a remembrance through Travice Arkell's +heart, as an icebolt, of the night he had stood with Lucy in the chamber +of her dying father, and her slighting words, in answer to his offer of +a home: "I shall never have my home with you; nothing should induce me +to it." She would not hear him; she told him he had no right so to speak +to her. She had been singularly changed to him during the whole period +of her father's illness; had shunned him by every means in her power; +had been cold and distant when they were brought into contact. Before +that, she was open and candid as the day. This fresh conduct had been +altogether inexplicable to Travice, and he now asked himself whether it +could have arisen from any engagement to marry Tom Palmer. If so, the +change was in a degree accounted for; and it was certainly not +impossible, if Tom Palmer had previously been wishing to woo her, that +Mr. Peter Arkell, surprised by his dangerous illness, should have +hurried matters to an engagement.</p> + +<p>The more Travice Arkell reflected on this phase of probabilities, the +more he became impressed with it: he grew to look upon it as a +certainty; he felt that all chance for himself with Lucy was over. Could +he blame her? As things were with him and his father, he saw no chance +of <i>his</i> marrying her; and, in a worldly point of view, Lucy had done +well—had done right. It's true he had never thought her worldly, and he +had thought that she loved him; he believed that Tom Palmer had never +been more to her than a wind that passes: but why should not Lucy have +grown self-interested, as most other girls were? And to Travice it was +pretty plain she had.</p> + +<p>He grew to look upon it as a positive certainty; he believed, without a +shadow of doubt, that it must be the fact: and how bitterly and +resentfully he all at once hated Tom Palmer, that gentleman himself +would have been surprised to find. It was only natural that Travice +should feel it as a personal injury inflicted on himself—a slight, an +insult; you all know, perhaps, what this feeling is: and in his temper +he would not for some days go near Lucy. It was only when he heard the +news that Mildred was returning to London, and would take her niece with +her, that he came to his senses.</p> + +<p>That same evening he took his way to the house. Mildred, it should be +observed, was equally at cross-purposes. She hastened to speak to Lucy +the day of Mrs. Arkell's visit, asking her if <i>she</i> had heard that +Travice was engaged to Miss Fauntleroy; and Lucy answered after the +manner of a reticent, self-possessed maiden, and made light of the +thing, and was altogether a little hypocrite.</p> + +<p>"Known <i>that</i>! O dear, yes! for some time," she said. "It would be a +very good thing for Travice."</p> + +<p>And so Mildred put aside any slight romance she had carved out for them, +as wholly emanating from her imagination; but the sore feeling—that +Lucy was despised by the mother, perhaps by the son—clung to her still.</p> + +<p>She was sitting alone when Travice entered. He spoke for some time on +indifferent subjects—of the news of the town; of her journey to London; +of her future plans. They were to depart on the morrow.</p> + +<p>"Where's Lucy?" he suddenly asked; and there was a restlessness in his +manner throughout the interview that Mildred had never observed before.</p> + +<p>"She is gone to spend the evening with Mrs. Palmer. I declined. Visiting +seems quite out of my way now."</p> + +<p>"I should have thought it would just now be out of Lucy's," spoke +Travice, in a glow of resentment.</p> + +<p>"Ordinary visiting would be," returned Miss Arkell, speaking with +unnecessary coldness, and conscious of it. "Mrs. Palmer was here this +afternoon; and, seeing how ill Lucy looked, she insisted on taking her +home for an hour or two. Lucy will see no one there, except the family."</p> + +<p>"What makes her look ill?"</p> + +<p>Miss Arkell raised her eyes at the tone. "She is not really ill in body, +I trust; but the loss of her father has been a bitter grief to her, and +it is telling upon her spirits and looks. He was all she had in the +world; for I—comparatively speaking—am a stranger."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Travice was leaning idly against the mantel-piece, in +his favourite position, twirling the seals about that hung to his chain, +his whole manner bespeaking indifference and almost contemptuous +unconcern. Had anyone been there who knew him better than Mildred did, +they could have told that it was only done to cover his real agitation. +Mildred stole a glance at the fine young man, and thought that if he +resembled his father in person, he scarcely resembled him in courtesy.</p> + +<p>"Does Lucy really mean to have that precious fool of a Tom Palmer?" he +abruptly asked.</p> + +<p>Miss Arkell felt indignant. She wondered how he dared to speak in that +way; and she answered sharply.</p> + +<p>"Tom Palmer is a most superior young man. <i>I</i> have not perceived that he +has any thing of the fool about him, and I don't think many others have. +Whenever he marries, he will make an excellent husband. Why should you +wish to set me against him? Let me urge you not to interfere with Lucy's +affairs, Travice; she is under my protection now."</p> + +<p>Oh, if Mildred could but have read Travice Arkell's heart that +night!—if she had but read Lucy's! How different things might have +been! Travice moved to shake hands with her.</p> + +<p>"I must wish you good evening," he said. "I hope you and Lucy will have +a pleasant journey to-morrow. We shall see you both again some time, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>He went out with the cold words upon his lips. He went out with the +conviction, that Lucy was to marry Tom Palmer, irrevocably seated on his +heart. And Travice Arkell thought the world was a miserable world, no +longer worth living in.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE TABLES TURNED.</h3> + + +<p>Mildred had to go back for a time to Lady Dewsbury's. That lady's house +and effects now lapsed to Sir Edward; but Sir Edward was abroad with his +wife and children, and he begged Miss Arkell to remain in it, its +mistress, until they could return. This was convenient for Mildred's +plans. It afforded a change of scene for Lucy; and it gave the +opportunity and time for the house in Westerbury to be renovated; in +which she intended now to take up her abode. The house was Mildred's +now: it came to her on the death of her brother, their father having so +settled it; but for this settlement, poor Peter had disposed of it in +his necessities long ago.</p> + +<p>Charlotte Arkell married, and departed with her husband, Captain +Anderson, for India, taking Sophy with her. The paying over her marriage +portion of a thousand pounds—a very poor portion beside what she once +might have expected—further crippled the resources of Mr. Arkell; and +things seemed to be coming to a crisis.</p> + +<p>And Travice? Travice succumbed. Hardly caring what became of him, he +allowed himself to be baited—badgered—by his mother into offering +himself to one of the "great brazen milkmaids." From the hour of Lucy's +departure from the city, she let him have no peace, no rest.</p> + +<p>One day—and it was the last feather in the scale, the little balance +necessary to weigh it down—Mr. Arkell summoned his son to a private +interview. It was only what Travice had been expecting.</p> + +<p>"Travice, what is your objection to Miss Fauntleroy?"</p> + +<p>"I can't bear the sight of her," returned Travice, curling his lips +contemptuously. "Can you, sir?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Arkell smiled. "There are some who would call her a fine woman, +Travice: she is one."</p> + +<p>"A fine <i>vulgar</i> woman," corrected Travice, with a marked stress upon +the word. "I always had an instinctive dread of vulgar people myself. I +certainly never could have believed I should voluntarily ally myself +with one."</p> + +<p>"Never marry for looks, my boy," said Mr. Arkell in an eager whisper. +"Some, who have done so before you, have awoke to find they had made a +cruel mistake."</p> + +<p>"Most likely, sir, if they married for looks alone."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arkell glanced keenly at his son. "Travice, have I your full +confidence? I wish you would give it me."</p> + +<p>"In what way?" inquired Travice. "Why do you ask that?"</p> + +<p>"Am I right in suspecting that you have cherished a different +attachment?"</p> + +<p>The tell-tale blood dyed Travice Arkell's brow. Mr. Arkell little needed +other answer.</p> + +<p>"My boy, let there be no secrets between us. You know that your welfare +and happiness—your <i>happiness</i>, Travice—lie nearest to my heart. Have +you learnt to love Lucy Arkell?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Travice; and there was a whole world of pain in the simple +answer.</p> + +<p>"I thought so. I thought I saw the signs of it a long while ago; but, +Travice, it would never do."</p> + +<p>"You would object to her?"</p> + +<p>"Object to her!—to Lucy!—to Peter's child! No. She is one of the +sweetest girls living; I am not sure but I love her more than I do my +own: and I wish she could be my real daughter and your wife. But it +cannot be, Travice. There are impediments in the way, on her side and on +yours; and your own sense must tell you this as well as I can."</p> + +<p>He could not gainsay it. The impediments were all too present to Travice +every hour of his life.</p> + +<p>"You cannot take a portionless wife. Lucy has nothing now, or in +prospect, beyond any little trifle that may come to her hereafter at +Mildred's death; but I don't suppose Mildred can have saved much. It is +said, too, that Lucy is likely to marry Tom Palmer."</p> + +<p>"I know she is," bitterly acquiesced Travice.</p> + +<p>"Lucy, then, for both these reasons, is out of the question. Have you +not realized to your own mind the fact that she is?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes."</p> + +<p>"Then, Travice, the matter resolves itself into a very small compass. It +stands alone; it has no extraneous drawbacks; it can rest upon its own +merits or demerits. Will you, or will you not, marry Miss Fauntleroy?"</p> + +<p>Travice remained silent.</p> + +<p>"It will be well for me that you should, for the temporary use of money +that would then be yours would save us, as you know, from a ruinous +loss; but, Travice, I would not, for the wealth of worlds, put that +consideration against your happiness; but there is another consideration +that I cannot put away from me, and that is, that the marriage will make +you independent. For your sake, I should like to see you marry Miss +Fauntleroy."</p> + +<p>"She——"</p> + +<p>"Wait one moment while I tell you why I speak. I do not think you are +doing quite the right thing by Miss Fauntleroy, in thus, as it were, +trifling with her. She expects you to propose to her, and you are +keeping her in suspense unwarrantably long. You should either make her +an offer, or let it be unmistakably known that there exists no such +intention on your part. It would be a good thing in all ways, if you can +only make up your mind to it; but do as you please: <i>I</i> do not urge you +either way."</p> + +<p>"I may as well do it," muttered Travice to himself. "<i>She</i> has chosen +another, and it little matters what becomes of me: look which way I +will, there's nothing but darkness. As well go through life with Bab +Fauntleroy at my side, like an incubus, as go through it without her."</p> + +<p>And Travice Arkell—as if he feared his resolution might desert +him—went out forthwith and offered himself to Miss Fauntleroy. Never, +surely, did any similar proposal betray so much <i>hauteur</i>, so much +indifference, so little courtesy in the offering. Barbara happened to be +alone; she was sitting in a white muslin dress, looking as big as a +house, and waiting in state for any visitors who might call. He spoke +out immediately. She probably knew, he said, that he was a sort of +bankrupt in self, purse, and heart; little worth the acceptance of any +one; but if she would like to take him, such as he was, he would try and +do his duty by her.</p> + +<p>The offer was really couched in those terms; and he did not take shame +to himself as he spoke them. Travice Arkell <i>could</i> not be a hypocrite: +he knew that the girl was aware of the state of things and of his +indifference; he believed she saw through his love for Lucy; and he +hated her with a sort of resentful hatred for having fixed her liking +and her hopes upon him. He had been an indulged son all his life—a sort +of fortune's pet—and the turn that things had taken was an awful blow.</p> + +<p>"Will she say she'll have me?" he thought as he concluded. "I don't +believe any other woman would." But Barbara Fauntleroy did say she would +have him; and she put out her hand to him in her hearty good-natured +way, and told him she thought they should get on very well together when +once they had "shaken down." Travice touched the hand; he shook it in a +gingerly manner, and then dropped it; but he never kissed her—he never +said a warmer word than "thank you." Perhaps Miss Fauntleroy did not +look for it: sentiment is little understood by these matter-of-fact, +unrefined natures, with their loud voices, and their demonstrative +temperaments. Travice would have to kiss her some time, he supposed; but +he was content to put off the evil until that time came.</p> + +<p>"How odd that you should have come and made me an offer this morning, +Mr. Travice," she said, with a laugh. "Lizzie has just had one."</p> + +<p>"Has she?" languidly returned Travice. His mind was so absorbed in the +thought just mentioned, that he had no idea whether the lady meant an +offer or a kiss that her sister had received, and he did not trouble +himself to ask. It was quite the same to Travice Arkell.</p> + +<p>"It's from Ben Carr," proceeded Miss Fauntleroy. "He came over here this +morning, bringing a great big nosegay from their hot-house, and he made +Liz an offer. Liz was taken all of a heap; and I think, but for me, +she'd have said yes then."</p> + +<p>"I dare say she would," returned Travice, and then wished the words +recalled. They and their haughty tone had certainly been prompted by the +remembrance of the "yes," just said to him by another.</p> + +<p>"Liz came flying into the next room to me, asking what she should do; he +was very pressing, she said, and wanted her answer then. I'm certain +she'd have given it, Mr. Travice, if I had not been there to stop her. I +went into the room with her to Ben Carr, and I said, 'Mr. Ben, Liz won't +say anything decided now, but she'll think of it for a few days; if +you'll look in on Saturday, she'll give you her answer, yes or no.' Ben +Carr stared at me angry enough; but Liz backed up what I had said, and +he had to take it."</p> + +<p>"Does she mean to accept him?" asked Travice.</p> + +<p>"Well, she's on the waver. She does not dislike him, and she does not +particularly like him. He's too old for her; he's twenty years older +than Liz; but it's her first offer, and young women are apt to think +when they get <i>that</i>, they had better accept it, lest they may never get +another."</p> + +<p>"Your sister need not fear that. Her money will get her offers, if +nothing else does."</p> + +<p>He spoke in the impulse of the moment; but it occurred to him instantly +that it was not generous to say it.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so," said Miss Fauntleroy. "But Lizzie and I have always +dreaded that. We would like to be married for ourselves, not for our +money. Sometimes we say in joke to one another we wish we could bury it, +or could have passed ourselves off to the world as being poor until the +day after we were married, and then surprised our husbands by the news, +and made them a present of the money."</p> + +<p>She spoke the truth; Travice knew she did. Whatever were the failings of +the Miss Fauntleroys, genuine good nature was with both a pre-eminent +virtue.</p> + +<p>"Ben Carr is not the choice I should make," remarked Travice. "Of +course, it's no business of mine."</p> + +<p>"Nor I. I don't much like Ben Carr. Liz thinks him handsome. Well, she +has got till Saturday to make up her mind—thanks to me."</p> + +<p>Travice rose, and gingerly touched the hand again. The thought struck +him again that he ought to kiss her; that he ought to put an +engagement-ring on one of those fair and substantial fingers; ought to +do many other things. But he went out, and did none of them.</p> + +<p>"I'll not deceive her," he said to himself, as he walked down the +street, more intensely wretched than he had ever in his life felt. "I'll +not play the hypocrite; I couldn't do it if it were to save myself from +hanging. She shall see my feeling for her exactly as it is, and then +she'll not reproach me afterwards with coldness. It is impossible that I +can ever like her; it seems to me now impossible that I can ever +<i>endure</i> her; but if she does marry me in the face of such evident +feelings, I'll do my best for her. Duty she shall have, but there'll be +no love."</p> + +<p>A very satisfactory state in prospective! Others, however, besides +Travice Arkell, have married to enter on the same.</p> + +<p>Some few months insensibly passed away in London for Miss Arkell and +Lucy, and when they returned to Westerbury the earth was glowing with +the tints of autumn. They did not return alone. Mrs. Dundyke, a real +widow now beyond dispute, came with them. Poor David Dundyke, never +quite himself after his return, never again indulging in the yearning +for the civic chair, which had made the day-dream of his industrious +life, had died calmly and peacefully, attended to the last by those +loving hands that would fain have kept him, shattered though he was. He +was lying now in Nunhead Cemetery, from whence he would certainly never +be resuscitated as he had been from his supposed grave in Switzerland. +Mrs. Dundyke grieved after him still, and Mildred pressed her to go back +with them to Westerbury, for a little change. She consented gladly.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Dundyke did not go down in the humble fashion that she had once +gone as Betsey Travice. She sent on her carriage and her two men +servants. That there was a little natural feeling of retaliation in +this, cannot be denied. Charlotte had despised her all her life; but she +should at least no longer despise her on the score of poverty. "I shall +do it," she said to Mildred, "and the carriage will be useful to us. It +can be kept at an inn, with the horses and coachman; and John will be +useful in helping your two maids."</p> + +<p>It was late when they arrived at Westerbury; Miss Arkell did not number +herself amid those who like to start upon a journey at daybreak; and +Lucy looked twice to see whether the old house was really her home: it +was so entirely renovated inside and out, as to create the doubt. Miss +Arkell had given her private orders, saying nothing to Lucy, and the +change was great. Various embellishments had been added; every part of +it put into ornamental repair; a great deal of the furniture had been +replaced by new; and, for its size, it was now one of the most charming +residences in Westerbury.</p> + +<p>"Do you like the change, Lucy?" asked Miss Arkell, when they had gone +through the house together, with Mrs. Dundyke.</p> + +<p>"Of course I do, Aunt Mildred;" but the answer was given in a somewhat +apathetic tone, as Lucy mostly spoke now. "It must have cost a great +deal."</p> + +<p>"Well, is it not the better for it? I may not remain in Westerbury for +good, and I could let my house to greater advantage now than I could +have done before."</p> + +<p>"That's true," listlessly answered Lucy.</p> + +<p>"Lucy," suddenly exclaimed Miss Arkell, "what is it that makes you +appear so dispirited? I could account for it after your father's death; +it was only reasonable then; but it seems to me quite unreasonable that +it should continue. I begin to think it must be your natural manner."</p> + +<p>Lucy's heart gave a bound of something like terror at the question. "I +was always quiet, aunt," she said.</p> + +<p>None had looked on with more wonder at the expense being lavished on the +house than Mrs. Arkell. "So absurd!" she exclaimed, loftily. "But +Mildred Arkell was always pretentious, for a lady's maid."</p> + +<p>William Arkell called to see Mildred the morning after her arrival. Very +much surprised indeed, was he, to see also Mrs. Dundyke. He carried the +news home to his wife.</p> + +<p>"<i>Betsey</i> down here!" she answered. "Why, what has brought her?"</p> + +<p>"She told me she had accompanied Mildred for a little change. She is +coming in to see you by-and-by, Charlotte."</p> + +<p>"I hope she's not coming begging!" tartly responded Mrs. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"Begging?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; begging. It's a question whether she's left with enough to live +upon. I'm sure we have none to spare, for her or for anybody else; and +so I shall plainly tell her if she attempts to ask."</p> + +<p>That they had none to spare, was an indisputable fact. Mrs. Arkell had +done all in her power to hurry the marriage on with Miss Fauntleroy, but +Travice held back unpardonably. His cheek grew bright with hectic, his +whole time was spent in what his mother called "moping;" and he entered +but upon rare occasions the house of his bride elect. Mr. Arkell would +not urge him by a single word; but, in the delay, he had had to +sacrifice another remnant of his property.</p> + +<p>The first use that Mrs. Dundyke put her carriage to in Westerbury, was +that of going in it to William Arkell's. Mildred declined to accompany +her, and Lucy was obliged to go with her; Lucy, who would have given the +whole world <i>not</i> to go. But she could not say so.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell was in the dining-room, when the carriage drove in at the +court-yard gates. She wondered whose it was. A nice close carriage, the +servants attending it in mourning. She did not recognise it as one she +knew.</p> + +<p>She heard the visitors shown into the drawing-room, and waited for the +cards with some curiosity. But no cards came in. Mrs. Dundyke, the +servant brought word, and she was with Miss Lucy Arkell.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dundyke! Wondering what on earth brought Betsey in that carriage, +and where she had picked it up, Mrs. Arkell took a closer view of it +through the window. It was too good a carriage to be anything but a +private one, and those horses were never hired; and there were the +servants. She looked at the crest. But it was not a crest. Only an +enclosed cipher, D.D.</p> + +<p>It did not lessen her curiosity, and she went to the drawing-room, +wondering still; but she never once glanced at the possibility that it +could be Mrs. Dundyke's; the thought occurred to her that it must belong +to some member of the Dewsbury family, and had been lent to Mildred.</p> + +<p>It was a stiff meeting. Mrs. Arkell, fully imbued with the persuasion +that her sister was left badly off, that she was the same poor sister of +other days, was less cordial than she might have been. She shook hands +with her sister; she shook hands with Lucy; but in her manner there was +a restraint that told. They spoke of general subjects, of Mr. Dundyke's +strange adventure in Switzerland, and his subsequent real death; of +Lucy's sojourn in London; of Charlotte's recent marriage; of the +departure of Sophy with her for India—just, in fact, as might have been +the case with ordinary guests.</p> + +<p>"Travice is soon to be married, I hear," said Mrs. Dundyke.</p> + +<p>"Yes; but he holds back unpardonably."</p> + +<p>Had Mrs. Arkell not been thinking of something else, she had never given +that tart, but true answer. She happened just then to be calculating the +cost of Mrs. Dundyke's handsome mourning, and wondering how she got it.</p> + +<p>"Why does he hold back?" quickly asked Mrs. Dundyke.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," said Mrs. Arkell, with a gay, slighting laugh. "I +suppose young men like to retain their bachelor liberty as long as they +can. Does your aunt purpose to settle down in Westerbury, Lucy?"</p> + +<p>"For the present."</p> + +<p>"Does she think of going out again?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she has saved enough to keep herself without? She could not +expect to find another such place as Lady Dewsbury's."</p> + +<p>It was not a pleasant visit, and Mrs. Dundyke did not prolong it. As +they were going out they met Travice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Aunt Betsey! How glad I am to see you!"</p> + +<p>But he turned coldly enough to shake hands with Lucy. He cherished +resentment against her in his heart. She saw he did not look well; but +she was cold as he was. As he walked across the hall with his aunt, Mrs. +Arkell drew Lucy back into the drawing-room. Her curiosity had been on +the rack all the time.</p> + +<p>"Whose carriage is that, Lucy? One belonging to the Dewsburys'?"</p> + +<p>"It is Mrs. Dundyke's."</p> + +<p>"Mrs.——what did you say? I asked whose carriage that is that you came +in," added Mrs. Arkell, believing that Lucy had not heard aright.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I understood. It is Mrs. Dundyke's. She sent it on, the day before +yesterday, with her servants and horses."</p> + +<p>"But—does—she—keep a carnage and servants?" reiterated Mrs. Arkell, +hardly able to bring out the words in her perplexed amazement.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes."</p> + +<p>"Then she must be left well off?"</p> + +<p>"Very well. She is very rich. I believe her income is close upon two +thousand a year."</p> + +<p>"Two thou——" Mrs. Arkell wound up with a shriek of astonishment. Lucy +had to leave her to recover it in the best way she could, for Mrs. +Dundyke had got into the carriage and was waiting for her.</p> + +<p>The poor, humble Betsey, whom she had so despised and slighted through +life! Come to <i>this</i> fortune! While hers and her husband's was going +down. How the tables were turned!</p> + +<p>Yes, Mrs. Arkell. Tables always are on the turn in this life.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3>A RECOGNITION.</h3> + + +<p>When the first vexation was overcome, the most prominent thought that +remained to Mrs. Arkell was, what a fool she had been, not to treat +Betsey better—one never knew what would turn up. All that could be done +was, to begin to treat her well now: but it required diplomacy.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell began by being gracious to Mildred, by being quite motherly +in her behaviour to Lucy; this took her often to Miss Arkell's, and +consequently into the society of Mrs. Dundyke. Sisterly affection must +not be displayed all at once; it should come by degrees.</p> + +<p>As a preliminary, Mrs. Arkell introduced to her sister and Mildred as +many of her influential friends in Westerbury as she could prevail upon +them to receive. This was not many. Gentle at heart as both were, +neither of them felt inclined to be patronized by Mrs. Arkell now, after +her lifetime of neglect. They therefore declined the introductions, +allowing an exception only in the persons of the Miss Fauntleroys, who +were so soon, through the marriage of Travice and Barbara, to be allied +to the family. Mrs. Dundyke was glad to renew her acquaintance with Mr. +Prattleton and his daughter.</p> + +<p>Both the Miss Fauntleroys were making preparations for their marriage, +for the younger one had accepted Mr. Benjamin Carr. The old squire, so +fond of money, was in an ecstacy at the match his fortunate son was +going to make, and Ben had just now taken a run up to Birmingham to look +at some furniture he had seen advertised. Ben had a good deal of the +rover in his nature still, and was glad of an excuse for taking a run +anywhere.</p> + +<p>The Miss Fauntleroys grew rather intimate at Mildred's. Their bouncing +forms and broad good-natured faces, were often to be seen at the door. +They began rather to be liked there; their vulgarity lessened with +custom, their well-meaning good humour won its own way. They invited +Miss Arkell, her niece, and guest, to spend a long afternoon with them +and help them with some plain work they were doing for the poor +sewing-club—for they were adepts in useful sewing, were the Miss +Fauntleroys—and to remain to dinner afterwards. Lucy would have given +the whole world to refuse: but she had no ready plea; and she had not +the courage to make one. So she went with the rest.</p> + +<p>She was sitting at one of the windows of the large drawing-room with +Lizzie Fauntleroy, both of them at work at the same article, a child's +frock, when Travice Arkell entered. Lucy's was the first face he saw: +and so entirely unexpected was the sight of it to him, that, for once in +his life, he nearly lost his self-possession. No wonder; with the +consciousness upon him of the tardy errand that had taken him +there—that of asking his future bride to appoint a time for their +union. Once more Mr. Arkell had spoken to his son: "You must not +continue to act in this way, Travice; it is not right; it is not manly. +Marry Miss Fauntleroy, or give her up; do which you decide to do, but it +must be one or the other." And he came straight from the conference, as +he had on the former occasion, to ask her when the wedding day should +be. He could not sully his honour by choosing the other alternative.</p> + +<p>A hesitating pause, he looking like one who has been caught in some +guilty act, and then he walked on and shook hands with Miss Fauntleroy. +He shook hands with them all in succession; with Lucy last: that is, he +touched the tips of her fingers, turning his conscious face the other +way.</p> + +<p>"Have you brought me any message from Mrs. Arkell?" asked Miss +Fauntleroy, for it was so unusual a thing for Travice to call in the day +that she concluded he had come for some specific purpose.</p> + +<p>"No. I—I came to speak to you myself," he answered. And his words were +so hesitating, his manner so uncertain, that they looked at him in +surprise; he who was usually self-possessed to a fault. Miss Fauntleroy +rose and left the room with him.</p> + +<p>She came back in about a quarter of an hour, giggling, laughing, her +face more flushed than ordinary, her manner inviting inquiry. Lizzie +Fauntleroy, with one of those unladylike, broad allusions she was given +to use, said to the company that by the looks of Bab, she should think +Mr. Travice Arkell had been asking her to name the day. There ensued a +loud laugh on Barbara's part, some skirmishing with her sister, and then +a tacit acknowledgment that the surmise was correct, and that she <i>had</i> +named it. Lucy sat perfectly still: her head apparently as intent upon +her work as were her hands.</p> + +<p>"Liz may as well name it for herself," retorted Barbara. "Ben Carr has +wanted her to do it before now."</p> + +<p>"There's no hurry," said Lizzie. "For me, at any rate. When one's going +to marry a man so much older than oneself, one is apt not to be over +ardent for it."</p> + +<p>They continued to work, an industrious party. Accidentally, as it +seemed, the conversation turned upon the strange events which had +occurred at Geneva: it was through Mrs. Dundyke's mentioning some +embroidery she had just given to Mary Prattleton. The Miss Fauntleroys, +who had only, as they phrased it, heard the story at second-hand, +besought her to tell it to them. And she complied with the request.</p> + +<p>They suspended their work as they listened. It is probable that not a +single incident was mentioned that the Miss Fauntleroys had not heard +before; but the circumstances altogether were of that nature that bear +hearing—ay, and telling—over and over again, as most mysteries do. +Their chief curiosity turned—it was only natural it should—on Mr. +Hardcastle, and they asked a great many questions.</p> + +<p>"I would have scoured the whole country but what I'd have found him," +cried Barbara. "Genoa! Rely upon it, he and his wife turned their faces +in just the contrary direction as soon as they left Geneva. A nice +pair."</p> + +<p>"Do you think," asked Lucy, in her quiet manner, raising her eyes to +Mrs. Dundyke, "that Mr. Hardcastle followed him for the purpose of +attacking and robbing him?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, my dear, I cannot tell. It is a question that I often ask myself. I +feel inclined to think that he did not. One thing I seem nearly sure +of—that he did not intend to injure him. I have not the least doubt +that Mr. Hardcastle was at his wit's end for money to pay his hotel +bill, and that the thirty pounds my poor husband mentioned as having +received that morning, was an almost irresistible temptation. There's no +doubt he followed him to the borders of the lake; that he induced him, +by some argument, to walk away with him, across the country; but whether +he did this with the intention of——"</p> + +<p>"Did Mr. Dundyke not clear this up after his return?" interrupted Lizzie +Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>"Never clearly; his recollections remained so confused. I have thought +at times, that the crime only came with the opportunity," continued Mrs. +Dundyke, reverting to what she was saying. "It is possible that the heat +of the day and the long walk, though why Mr. Hardcastle should have +caused him to take that long walk, unless he had ulterior designs, I +cannot tell—may have overpowered my husband with a faintness, and Mr. +Hardcastle seized the opportunity to rifle his pocket-book."</p> + +<p>"You seem to be more lenient in your judgment of Mr. Hardcastle than I +should be," observed Lizzie Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>"I have thought of it so long and so often, that I believe I have grown +to judge of the past impartially," was Mrs. Dundyke's answer. "At first +I was very much incensed against the man; I am not sure but I thought +hanging too good for him; but I grew by degrees to look at it more +reasonably."</p> + +<p>"And the pencil?"</p> + +<p>"He must have taken it from the pocket-book in his hurry, when he took +the money. That he did it all in haste, the not finding the two +half-notes for fifty pounds proves."</p> + +<p>"Suppose Mr. Dundyke had returned to Geneva the next day and confronted +him. What then?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, I don't know. Mr. Hardcastle relied, perhaps, upon being able to +make good his own story, and he knew that David had the most unbounded +faith in him."</p> + +<p>"Well, take it in its best light—that Mr. Dundyke fainted from the heat +of the sun—the man must have been a brute to leave him alone," +concluded Lizzie Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>"Yes," was the answer, as a faint colour rose to Mrs. Dundyke's cheek; +"<i>that</i> I can never forgive."</p> + +<p>The afternoon and the work progressed satisfactorily, and dinner time +arrived. Miss Fauntleroy had invited Travice to come and partake of it, +but he said he had an engagement—which she did not half believe. The +nearly bed-ridden old aunt came down to it, and was propped up to the +table in an invalid chair. Miss Fauntleroy took the head; Miss Lizzie +the foot. It was a well-spread board: Lawyer Fauntleroy's daughters +liked good dinners. Their manners were more free at home than abroad, +rather scaring Mildred. "How could Travice have chosen <i>here</i>?" she +mentally asked.</p> + +<p>"There's no gentlemen present, so I don't see why I should not give you +a toast," suddenly exclaimed Lizzie Fauntleroy, as the servant was +pouring out the first glass of champagne. "The bridegroom and bride +elect. Mr. Travice Ar——"</p> + +<p>Lizzie stopped in surprise. Peeping in at the door, in a half-jocular, +half-deprecatory manner, as if he would ask pardon for entering at the +unseasonable hour, was Mr. Benjamin Carr. His somewhat dusty appearance, +and his over-coat on his arm, showed that he had then come from the +station after his Birmingham journey. Lizzie, too hearty to be troubled +with superfluous reticence or ceremony of any kind, started up with a +shout of welcome.</p> + +<p>Of course everything was dis-arranged. The visitors looked up with +surprise; Barbara turned round and gave him her hand. Ben began an +apology for sitting down in the state he was, and had handed his coat to +a servant, when he found a firm hand laid upon his arm. He wheeled +round, wondering who it was, and saw a widow's cap, and a face he did +not in the first moment recognise.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mr. Hardcastle!</i>"</p> + +<p>With the words, the voice, the recognition came to him, and the past +scenes at Geneva rose before his startled memory as a vivid dream. He +might have brazened it out had he been taken less utterly by surprise, +but that unnerved him: his face turned ashy white, his whole manner +faltered. He looked to the door as if he would have bolted out of it; +but somebody had closed it again.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dundyke turned her face to the amazed listeners, who had risen from +their seats. But that it had lost its colour also, there was no trace in +it of agitation: it was firm, rigid, earnest; and her voice was calm +even to solemnity.</p> + +<p>"Before heaven, I assert that this is the man who in Geneva called +himself Mr. Hardcastle, who did that injury—much or little, <i>he</i> best +knows—to my husband! He——"</p> + +<p>"But this is Benjamin Carr!" interrupted the wondering Miss Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>"Yes; just so; Benjamin Carr," assented Mrs. Dundyke, in a tone that +seemed to say she expected the words. "I recognised you, Benjamin Carr, +on the last day of your stay in Geneva, when you were giving me that +false order on Leadenhall Street. From the moment I first saw you, the +morning after we arrived at Geneva, your eyes puzzled me. I <i>knew</i> I had +seen them somewhere before, and I told my poor husband so; but I could +not recollect where. In the hour of your leaving, the recollection came +to me; and I knew that the eyes were those of Benjamin Carr, or eyes +precisely similar to his. I thought it must be the latter; I could not +suppose that Squire Carr's son, a gentleman born and reared——"</p> + +<p>But here a startling interruption intervened. It suddenly occurred to +Miss Lizzie Fauntleroy, amidst the general confusion outward and inward, +that the Mr. Hardcastle who had figured in the dark and disgraceful +story, was said to have been accompanied by a wife. Considering that he +was now designing to confer that honour upon her, the reflection was not +agreeable. Miss Lizzie came to a hasty conclusion, that the real Mrs. +Carr must be lying <i>perdue</i> somewhere, while he prosecuted his designs +upon herself and her money, conveniently ignoring the result of what he +might be running his head wholesale into—a prosecution for bigamy. She +went butting at him, her voice raised to a shriek, her nails out, +alarmingly near to his face.</p> + +<p>"You false, desperate, designing villain! You dare to come courting me +as a single man! You nearly drew me into a marriage! Where's your wife? +Where's your wife, villain?"</p> + +<p><i>This</i> charge was a mistaken one, and Ben Carr somewhat rallied his +scared senses. "It is false," he said. "I swear on my honour that I have +no wife; I swear that I never have had one."</p> + +<p>"You had your wife with you in Geneva," said Mrs. Dundyke.</p> + +<p>"She was not my wife. Lizzie Fauntleroy, can't you believe me? I have +never married yet. I never thought of marrying until I saw you."</p> + +<p>"It's all the same now," said Lizzie, with equanimity. "I don't like +tricks played me. Better that I should have discovered this before +marriage than after."</p> + +<p>"It is false, on my honour. You will not allow it to make any difference +to our——"</p> + +<p>"Not allow it to make any difference," interposed Lizzie, imperiously +cutting short his words. "Do you take me for a fool, Ben Carr? <i>You've</i> +seen the last of me, I can tell you that; and if pa were living still, +he should prosecute you for getting my consent to a marriage under false +pretences."</p> + +<p>"If I do not prosecute you, Benjamin Carr," resumed Mrs. Dundyke, "you +owe it partly to my consideration for your family, partly to the unhappy +fact that it could not bring my poor husband back to life. It could not +restore to him the mental power he lost, the faculties that were +destroyed. It could not bring back to me my lost happiness. How far you +may have been guilty, I know not. It must rest with your conscience, and +so shall your punishment."</p> + +<p>He stood something like a stag at bay—half doubting whether to slink +away, whether to turn and beard his pursuers. Barbara Fauntleroy threw +wide the door.</p> + +<p>"You had better quit us, I think, Mr. Carr."</p> + +<p>"I see what it is," said he, at length, to the Miss Fauntleroys. "You +are just now too prejudiced to listen to reason. The tale that woman has +been telling you of me is a mistaken one; and when you are calm, I will +endeavour to convince you of it."</p> + +<p>"Calm, man!" cried Barbara, with a laugh. "<i>I</i>'m calm enough. It isn't +such an interlude, as this, that could take any calmness away from me. +It has been as good to me as a scene at the play."</p> + +<p>But the gentleman did not wait to hear the conclusion. He had escaped +through the open door. Those left stared at one another.</p> + +<p>"Come along," said Lizzie, with unruffled composure; "don't let the +dinner get colder than it is. I dare say I'm well rid of him. Where's +our glasses of champagne? A drop will do us all good. Oh dear, Mrs. +Dundyke! <i>Pray</i> don't suffer it to trouble you!"</p> + +<p>She had sat down in a far corner, poor woman, with her face hidden, +drowned in a storm of silent tears.</p> + +<p>The event, quickly though it had transpired—over, as it were, in a +moment—exercised a powerful influence on the spirits of Mrs. Dundyke. +It brought the old trouble so vividly before her, that she could not +rally again as the days went on; and she told Mildred that she should go +back to London, but would come to her again at a future time. The +resolution was a sudden one. Mrs. Arkell happened to call the same day, +and was told of it.</p> + +<p>"Going back to London to-morrow!" repeated Mrs. Arkell in consternation; +and she hastened to her sister's room.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dundyke had her drawers all out, and her travelling trunk open, +beginning to put things together. Mrs. Arkell went in, and closed the +door.</p> + +<p>"Betsey, you are going back, I hear; therefore I must at once ask the +question that I have been intending to ask before your departure. It may +sound to you somewhat premature: I don't know. Will you forget and +forgive?"</p> + +<p>"Forget and forgive what?"</p> + +<p>"My coldness during the past years."</p> + +<p>"I am willing to forgive it, Charlotte, if that will do you any good. To +forget it is an impossibility."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dundyke spoke with civil indifference. She was wrapping different +toilet articles in paper, and she continued her occupation. Mrs. Arkell, +in a state of bitter vexation at the turn things had taken, terribly +self-repentant that she should have pursued a line of conduct so +inimical to her own interests, sat down on a low chair, and fairly burst +into tears.</p> + +<p>"Why, what's the matter, Charlotte?"</p> + +<p>"You are a rich woman now, and therefore you despise us. We are growing +poor."</p> + +<p>"How can you talk such nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Dundyke, screwing down +the silver stopper of a scent-bottle. "If I became as rich and as grand +as a duke, it could never cause me to make the slightest difference in +my conduct to anybody, high or low."</p> + +<p>"Our intercourse has been so cold, so estranged, during this visit!"</p> + +<p>"And, but that you find I am a little better off than you thought for, +would you have allowed it to be otherwise than cold and estranged?" +returned Mrs. Dundyke, putting down the scent-bottle, and facing her +sister.</p> + +<p>There was no reply. What, indeed, could there be?</p> + +<p>"Charlotte," said Mrs. Dundyke, dropping her voice to earnestness, as +she went close to her sister, "the past wore me out. Ask yourself what +your treatment of me was—for years, and years, and years. You know how +I loved you—how I tried to conciliate you by every means in my +power—to be to you a sister; and you would not. You threw my affection +back upon myself; you prevented Mr. Arkell and your children coming to +me; you heaped unnecessary scorn upon my husband. I bore it; I strove +against it; but my patience and my love gave way at last, and I am sorry +to say resentment grew in its place. Those feelings of affection, worn +out by slow degrees, can never grow again."</p> + +<p>"It is as much as to say that you hate me!"</p> + +<p>"Not so. We can be civil when we meet; and that can be as often as +circumstances bring us into the same locality. But I do not think there +can ever be cordiality between us again."</p> + +<p>"I had thought you were of a forgiving disposition, Betsey."</p> + +<p>"So I am."</p> + +<p>"I had thought——" Mrs. Arkell paused a moment, as if half ashamed of +what she was about to say—"I had thought to enlist your sisterly +feelings for me; that is, for my daughters. You are rich now; you have +plenty of money to spare; and their patrimony has dwindled down to +nothing—nothing compared to what it ought to have been. They——"</p> + +<p>"Stay, Charlotte. We may as well come to an understanding on this point +at once; it will serve for always. Your daughters have never +condescended to recognise me in their lives; it was perhaps your fault, +perhaps theirs: I don't know. But the effect upon me has not been a +pleasant one. I shall decline to help them."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell's proud spirit was rising. What it had cost thus to bend +herself to her life-despised sister, she alone knew. She beat her foot +upon the hearth-rug.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how they'll get along. But for Mr. Arkell's having kept on +the business for Travice, we should be rich still. He has always been a +fool in some things."</p> + +<p>"Don't disparage your husband before me, Charlotte; I shall not listen +calmly; you were never worthy of him. I love Mr. Arkell for his +goodness, and I love your son. If you asked me for help for Travice, you +should have it; never for your daughters."</p> + +<p>"Very kind, I'm sure! when you know he does not want it," was the +provoking and angry answer. "Travice is placed above requiring your +help, by marriage with Miss Fauntleroy."</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Arkell gave her head a scornful toss as she went out, and +banged the chamber-door after her.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3>MILDRED'S RECOMPENSE.</h3> + + +<p>The consent of Travice once obtained, the necessary word spoken to Miss +Fauntleroy, Mrs. Arkell hurried the marriage on in earnest. So long as +Travice had only made the offer, and given no signs of wishing for the +ceremony to take place, not much could be done; but he had now said to +Barbara, "Fix your own day."</p> + +<p>There was no trouble needed in regard to a house; at least, there had +not hitherto been. The house that the Miss Fauntleroys lived in was +their own, and Barbara wished to continue in it. It was supposed that +her sister would be moving to a farm in the parish of Eckford. That was +now frustrated. "Never mind," said Barbara, in her easy way, "Lizzie can +stop on with us; Travice won't mind it, and I shall like it. If we find +afterwards that it does not answer, different arrangements can be made."</p> + +<p>The Miss Fauntleroys were generous in the matter of Benjamin Carr. Those +others who had been present were generous, even Mrs. Dundyke. The +identification of the gentleman with the Mr. Hardcastle, of Geneva +memory, was not allowed to transpire: they all had regard to the +feelings of the squire and his family. It was fortunate that the only +servant in the room had gone from it with Benjamin Carr's over-coat, and +Barbara had had the presence of mind to slip the bolt of the door. Mr. +Ben Carr, however, thought it well to take a tour just at this time, and +he did not show his face in Westerbury previous to his departure.</p> + +<p>Lucy Arkell was solicited to be one of the bridesmaids; but Lucy +declined. Mildred remembered a wedding which <i>she</i> had declined to +attend as bridesmaid. How little, how little did she think that the same +cruel pain was swaying the motives of Lucy!</p> + +<p>Lucy and her aunt saw but little now of the Arkells. Travice never +called; Mr. Arkell, full of trouble, confined himself to his home; and +Mrs. Arkell had not entered the house since the rebuff given her by Mrs. +Dundyke. Lucy held aloof from them; and Mildred certainly did not go +there of her own accord. It therefore came to pass that they heard +little news of the doings there, except what might be dropped by chance +callers-in.</p> + +<p>And now, as if Mildred had really been gifted with prevision, Tom Palmer +made an offer of his hand and heart to Lucy. Lucy's response was by no +means a dignified one—she burst out crying. Mildred, in surprise, asked +what was the matter, and Lucy said she had not thought her old friend +Tom could have been so unkind. Unkind! But the result was, that Lucy +refused him in the most positive manner, then and for always. Mildred +began to think that she could not understand Lucy.</p> + +<p>There was a grand party given one night at Mrs. Arkell's, and they went +to that. Mildred accepted the invitation without consulting Lucy. The +Palmers were there; and Travice treated Tom very cavalierly. In fact, +that word is an appropriate one to characterise his general behaviour to +everybody throughout the evening. And, so far as anybody saw, he never +once went near Miss Fauntleroy, with the exception that he took her into +the supper room. Mr. Arkell did not appear until quite late in the +evening. It was said he had an engagement. So he had, with men of +business; while the revelry was going on in doors, he was in his +counting-house, endeavouring to negotiate for a loan of money, in which +he was not successful. Little heart had he at ten o'clock to go in and +dress himself and enter upon that scene of gaiety. Mildred exchanged but +a few sentences with him, but she thought he was in remarkably low +spirits.</p> + +<p>"Are you not well, William?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I have a headache, Mildred."</p> + +<p>It was a day or two after this, and but a few days previous to the +completion of the wedding, when unpleasant rumours, touching the +solvency of the good old house of George Arkell and Son, reached the +ears of Miss Arkell. They were whispered to her by Mr. Palmer, the old +friend of the family.</p> + +<p>"It is said their names will be in the <i>Gazette</i> the day after +to-morrow, unless some foreign help can come to them."</p> + +<p>Miss Arkell sat, deeply shocked; and poor Lucy's colour went and came, +showing the effect the news had upon her.</p> + +<p>"I had no idea that they were in embarrassment," said Mildred.</p> + +<p>"It is so. You see, this wedding of young Travice Arkell's, that is to +bring so much money into the family, has been delayed too long," +observed Mr. Palmer. "It is said now that Travice, poor fellow, has an +unconquerable antipathy to his bride, and though he consented to the +alliance to save his family, he has been unable to bring his mind to +conclude it. While the grass grows, the steed starves, you know."</p> + +<p>"Miss Fauntleroy was willing that her money should be sacrificed."</p> + +<p>"It would not have been sacrificed, not a penny of it; but the use of it +would have enabled the house to redeem its own money, and bring its +affairs to a satisfactory close. Had there been any risk to the money, +William Arkell would not have agreed to touch it: you know his +honourable nature. However, through the protracted delay—which Travice +will no doubt reflect sharply upon himself for—the marriage and the +money will come too late to save them."</p> + +<p>Mr. Palmer departed, and Lucy sat like one in a dream. Her aunt glanced +at her, and mused, and glanced again. "What are you thinking of, Lucy?" +she asked.</p> + +<p>Lucy burst into tears. "Aunt, I was thinking what a blight it is to be +poor! If I had thousands, I would willingly devote them all to save Mr. +Arkell. Papa told me, when he lay dying, how his cousin William had +helped him from time to time; had saved his home more than once; and had +never been paid back again."</p> + +<p>"And suppose you <i>had</i> money—attend to me, Lucy, for I wish a serious +answer—suppose you were in possession of money, would you be really +willing to sacrifice a portion of it, to save this good friend, William +Arkell?"</p> + +<p>"All, aunt, all!" she answered, eagerly, "and think it no sacrifice."</p> + +<p>"Then put on your bonnet, Lucy, child," returned Miss Arkell, "and come +with me."</p> + +<p>They went forth to the house of Mr. Arkell; and as it turned out, the +visit was opportune, for Mrs. Arkell was away, dining from home. Mr. +Arkell was in a little back parlour, looking over accounts and papers, +with his son. The old man—and he was looking an old man that evening, +with trouble, not with years—rose in surprise when he saw who were his +visitors, and Travice's hectic colour went and came. Mildred had never +been in the room since she was a young woman, and it called up painful +recollections. It was the twilight hour of the evening: that best hour, +of all the twenty-four, for any embarrassing communication.</p> + +<p>"William," began Miss Arkell, seating herself by her cousin, and +speaking in a low tone, "we have heard it whispered that your affairs +are temporarily involved. Is it so?"</p> + +<p>"The world will soon know it, Mildred, above a whisper."</p> + +<p>"It is even so then! What has led to it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mildred! can you ask what has led to it, when you look at the +misery and distress everywhere around us? Search the <i>Gazette</i> for the +past years, and see how many names you will find in it, who once stood +as high as ours! The only wonder is, that we have not yet gone with the +stream. It is a hard case, Mildred, when we have toiled all our lives, +that the labour should come to nothing at last," he continued; "that our +closing years, which ought to be given to thoughts of another world, +must be distracted with the anxious cares of this."</p> + +<p>"Is your difficulty serious, or only temporary?" resumed Miss Arkell.</p> + +<p>"It ought to be only temporary," he replied; "but the worst is, I +cannot, at the present moment, command my resources. We have kept on +manufacturing, hoping for better times; and, to tell you the truth, +Mildred, I could not reconcile it to my conscience to turn off my old +workmen to beggary. There was Travice, too. I have a heavy stock of +goods on hand; to the amount of some thousands; and this locks up my +diminished capital. I am still worth what would cover my business +liabilities twice over—and I have no others—but I cannot avail myself +of it for present emergencies. I have turned every stone, Mildred, to +keep my head above water: and I believe I can struggle no longer."</p> + +<p>"What amount of money would effectually relieve you?" asked Miss Arkell.</p> + +<p>"About three thousand pounds," he replied, answering the question +without any apparent interest.</p> + +<p>"Then to-morrow morning vouchers for that sum shall be placed in the +Westerbury bank at your disposal. <i>And for double that sum, if you +require it.</i>"</p> + +<p>Mr. Arkell looked up in astonishment; and finally addressed to her the +very words which he had once before done, in early life, upon a far +different subject.</p> + +<p>"You are dreaming, Mildred!"</p> + +<p>She remembered them; had she ever forgotten one word said to her on that +eventful night? and sighed as she replied:</p> + +<p>"This money is mine. I enjoyed, as you know, a most liberal salary for +seven or eight-and-twenty years; and the money, as it came in, was +placed out from the first to good interest; later, a part of it to good +use. Lady Dewsbury also bequeathed me a munificent sum by her will; so +that altogether I am worth——"</p> + +<p>His excessive surprise could not let her continue. That Mildred had +saved just sufficient to live upon, he had deemed probable; but not +more. She had been always assisting Peter. He interrupted her with words +to this effect.</p> + +<p>Mildred smiled. "I could place at your disposal twelve thousand pounds, +if needs must," she said. "I had a friend who helped me to lay out my +money to advantage. It was Mr. Dundyke. William, <i>how</i> can I better use +part of this money than by serving you?"</p> + +<p>William Arkell shook his head in deprecation. Not all at once, in the +suddenness of the surprise, could he accept the idea of being assisted +by Mildred. Peter had taken enough from her.</p> + +<p>"Peter did not take enough from me," she firmly said. "It is only since +Peter's death that I have learnt how straitened he always was—he kept +it from me. I have been taking great blame to myself, for it seems to me +that I ought to have guessed it—and I did not. But Peter is gone, and +you are left. Oh, William, let me help you!"</p> + +<p>"Mildred, I have no right to it from <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>She laid her hand upon his arm in her eagerness. She bent her gentle +face, with its still sweet expression, near to him, and spoke in a +whisper.</p> + +<p>"<i>Let</i> me help you. It will be a recompense for the past pain of my +lonely life."</p> + +<p>His eyes looked straight into hers for the moment. "I have had my pain, +too, Mildred."</p> + +<p>"But this loan? you will take it. Lucy, speak up," added Miss Arkell, +turning to her niece. "This money is willed to you, and will be yours +sometime. Is it not at your wish that I come this evening, as well as at +my own?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir," sobbed Lucy to Mr. Arkell, "take it all. Let my aunt retain +what will be sufficient for her life, but keep none for me; I am young +and healthy, and can go out and work for my living, as she has done. +Take all the rest, and save the credit of the family."</p> + +<p>William Arkell turned to Lucy, the tears trickling down his cheeks. She +had taken off her bonnet on entering, and he laid his hand fondly on her +head.</p> + +<p>"Lucy, child, were this money exclusively your aunt's, I would not +hesitate to make use of sufficient of it now to save my good name. In +that ease, I should wind up my affairs as soon as would be conveniently +possible, retire from business, and see how far what is left to me would +go towards a living. It would be enough; and my wife would have to bring +her mind to think it so. But this sum that your aunt offers me—that you +second—may be the very money she has been intending to hand over with +you as a marriage portion. And what would your husband say at its being +thus temporarily appropriated?"</p> + +<p>"My husband!" exclaimed Lucy, in amazement; "a marriage portion for me! +When I take the one, it will be time enough to think of the other." Miss +Arkell, too, looked up with a questioning gaze, for she had quite +forgotten the little romance—her romance—concerning young Mr. Palmer.</p> + +<p>"I shall never marry," continued Lucy, in answer to Mr. Arkell's puzzled +look. "I think I am better as I am."</p> + +<p>"But, Lucy, you <i>are</i> going to marry. You are going to marry Tom +Palmer."</p> + +<p>Lucy laughed. She could not help it, she said, apologetically. She had +laughed ever since he asked her, except just at the time, at the very +idea of her marrying Tom Palmer, the little friend of her girlhood. Tom +laughed at it himself now; and they were as good friends as before. "But +how <i>did</i> you hear of it?" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Travice came forward, his cheek pale, his lip quivering. He laid his +fevered hand on Lucy's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Is this true, Lucy?" he whispered. "Is it true that you do not love Tom +Palmer?"</p> + +<p>"Love him!" cried Lucy, indignantly, sad reproach in her eye, as she +turned it on Travice. "You have seen us together hundreds of times; did +you ever detect anything in my manner to induce you to think I 'loved' +him?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> loved <i>you</i>," murmured Travice, for he read that reproach aright, +and the scales which had obscured his eyes fell from them, as by magic. +"I have long loved you—deeply, passionately. My brightest hopes were +fixed on you; the heyday visions of all my future existence represented +you by my side, my wife. But these misfortunes and losses came thick and +fast upon my father. They told me at home here, <i>he</i> told me, that I was +poor and that you were poor, and that it would be madness in us to think +of marrying then, as it would have been. So I said to myself that I +would be patient, and wait—would be content with loving you in secret, +as I had done—with seeing you daily as a relative. And then the news +burst upon me that you were to marry Tom Palmer; and I thought what a +fool I had been to fancy you cared for me; for I knew that you were not +one to marry where you did not love."</p> + +<p>The tears were coursing down her cheeks. "But I don't understand," she +said. "It is but just, as it were, that Tom has asked me; and you must +be speaking of sometime ago."</p> + +<p>The fault was Mildred's. Not quite all at once could they understand it; +not until later.</p> + +<p>"I shall never marry; indeed I shall never marry," murmured Lucy, as she +yielded for the moment to the passionate embrace in which Travice +clasped her, and kissed away her tears of anguish. "My lot in life must +be like my aunt's now, unloving and unloved."</p> + +<p>"Oh, is there no escape for us!" exclaimed Travice, wildly, as all the +painful embarrassment of his position rushed over his mind. "Can we not +fly together, Lucy—fly to some remote desert place, and leave care and +sorrow behind us? Ere the lapse of many days, another woman expects to +be my wife! Is there no way of escape for us?"</p> + +<p>None; none. The misery of Travice Arkell and his cousin was sealed: +their prospects, so far as this world went, were blighted. There were no +means by which he could escape the marriage that was rushing on to him +with the speed of wings: no means known in the code of honour. And for +Lucy, what was left but to live on unwedded, burying her crushed +affections within herself, as her aunt had done?—live on, and, by the +help of time, strive to subdue that love which was burning in her heart +for the husband of another, rendering every moment of the years that +would pass, one continued, silent agony!</p> + +<p>"The same fate—the same fate!" moaned Mildred Arkell to herself, whilst +Lucy sunk into a chair and covered her pale face with her trembling +hands. "I might have guessed it! Like aunt, like niece. She must go +through life as I have done—and bear—and bear! Strange, that the +younger brother's family, throughout two generations, should have cast +their shadow for evil upon that of the elder! A blight must have fallen +upon my father's race; but, perhaps in mercy, Lucy is the last of it. If +I could have foreseen this, years ago, the same atmosphere in which +lived Travice Arkell should not have been breathed by Lucy. The same +fate! the same fate!"</p> + +<p>Lucy was sobbing silently behind her hands. Travice stood, the image of +despair. Mildred turned to him.</p> + +<p>"Then you do not love Miss Fauntleroy?"</p> + +<p>"Love her! I <i>hate</i> her!" was the answer that burst from him in his +misery. "May Heaven forgive me for the false part I shall have to play!"</p> + +<p>But there was no escape for him. Mildred knew there was not; Mr. Arkell +knew it; and his heart ached for the fate of this, his dearly-loved son.</p> + +<p>"My boy," he said, "I would willingly die to save you—die to secure +your happiness. I did not know this sacrifice was so very bitter."</p> + +<p>Travice cast back a look of love. "You have done all you could for me; +do not <i>you</i> take it to heart. I may get to bear it in time."</p> + +<p>"Get to <i>bear</i> it!" What a volume of expression was in the words! +Mildred rose and approached Mr. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"We had better be going, William. But oh! why did you let it come to +this? Why did you not make a confidante of me?"</p> + +<p>"I did not know you could help me, Mildred; indeed I did not."</p> + +<p>"I will tell you who would have been as thankful to help you as I +am—and that is your sister-in-law, Betsey Dundyke. She could have +helped you more largely than I can."</p> + +<p>"But not more lovingly. God bless you, Mildred!" he whispered, detaining +her for a moment as she was following Travice and Lucy out.</p> + +<p>Her eyes swam with tears as she looked up at him; her hands rested +confidingly in his.</p> + +<p>"If you knew what the happiness of serving you is, William! If you knew +what a recompence this moment is for the bitter past!"</p> + +<p>"God bless you, Mildred!" he repeated, "God bless you for ever."</p> + +<p>She drew her veil over her face to pass out, just as she had drawn it +after that interview, following his marriage, in the years gone by.</p> + +<p>And so the credit of the good and respected old house was saved; saved +by Mildred. Had it taken every farthing she had amassed; so that she +must have gone forth again, in her middle age, and laboured for a +living, she had rejoiced to do it! William Arkell had not waited until +now, to know the value of the heart he had thrown away.</p> + +<p>And the marriage day drew on. But before it dawned, Westerbury knew that +it would bring no marriage with it. Miss Fauntleroy knew it. For the +bridegroom was lying between life and death.</p> + +<p>Of a sensitive, nervous, excitable temperament, the explanation of that +evening, taken in conjunction with the dreadful tension to which his +mind had been latterly subjected, far greater than any one had +suspected, was too much for Travice Arkell. Conscious that Lucy Arkell +passionately loved him; knowing now that she had the money, without +which he could not marry, and that part of that money was actually +advanced to save his father's credit; knowing also, that he must never +more think of her, but must tie himself to one whom he abhorred; that he +and Lucy must never again see each other in life, but as friends, and +not too much of that, he became ill. Reflection preyed upon him: remorse +for doubting Lucy, and hastening to offer himself to Miss Fauntleroy, +seated itself in his mind, and ere the day fixed for his marriage +arrived, he was laid up with brain fever.</p> + +<p>With brain fever! In vain they tried their remedies: their ice to his +head; their cooling medicines; their blisters to his feet. His +unconscious ravings were, at moments, distressing to hear: his deep love +for Lucy; his impassioned adjurations to her to fly with him, and be at +peace; his shuddering hatred of Miss Fauntleroy. On the last day of his +life, as the doctors thought, Lucy was sent for, in the hope that her +presence might calm him. But he did not know her: he was past knowing +any one.</p> + +<p>"Lucy!" he would utter, in a hollow voice, unconscious that she or any +one else was present—"Lucy! we will leave the place for ever. Have you +got your things ready? We will go where <i>she</i> can't find us out, and +force me to her. Lucy! where are you? Lucy!"</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Arkell! She was the most bitterly repentant. Many a sentence is +spoken lightly, many an idle threat, many a reckless wish; but the vain +folly is not often brought home to the heart, as it was to Mrs. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"I would pray Heaven to let me follow you to your grave, Travice, rather +than see you marry Lucy Arkell." <i>He</i> was past feeling or remembering +the words; but they came home to <i>her</i>. She cast herself upon the bed, +praying wildly for forgiveness, clinging to him in all the agony of +useless remorse.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what matters honour; what matters anything in comparison with his +precious life!" she cried, with streaming eyes. "Tell him, +Lucy,—perhaps he will understand <i>you</i>—that he shall indeed marry you +if he will but set his mind at rest, and get well; he shall never again +see Miss Fauntleroy. Lucy! are there no means of calming him? If this +terrible excitement lasts, it will kill him. Tell him it is you he shall +marry, not Barbara Fauntleroy."</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell him so," said Lucy, from the very depth of her aching +heart. "It would not be right to deceive him, even now. There can be no +escape, if he lives, from the marriage with Miss Fauntleroy."</p> + +<p>A few more hours, and the crisis came. The handsome, the intelligent, +the refined Travice Arkell, lay still, in a lethargy that was taken to +be that of death. It went forth to Westerbury that he was dead; and Lucy +took her last look at him, and walked home with her aunt Mildred—to a +home, which, however well supplied it was now with the world's comforts, +could only seem to her one of desolation. Lucy Arkell's eyes were dry; +dry with that intensity of anguish that admits not of tears, and her +brain seemed little less confused than <i>his</i> had done, in these last few +days of life.</p> + +<p>Mildred sat down in her home, and seemed to see into the future. She saw +herself and her niece living on in their quiet and monotonous home; her +own form drooping with the weight of years, Lucy's approaching middle +life. "The old maids" they would be slightingly termed by those who knew +little indeed of their inward history. And in their lonely hearts, +enshrined in its most hidden depths, the image that respectively filled +each in early life, the father and son, William and Travice Arkell, +never, never replaced by any other, but holding their own there so long +as time should last.</p> + +<p>Seated by her fire on that desolate night, she saw it as in a vision.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3>MISS FAUNTLEROY LOVED AT LAST.</h3> + + +<p>But Travice Arkell did not die. The lethargy that was thought to be +death proved to be only the exhaustion of spent nature. When the first +faint indications of his awaking from it appeared, the physicians said +it was possible that he might recover. He lay for some days in a +critical state, hopes and fears about equally balancing, and then he +began to get visibly stronger.</p> + +<p>"I have been nearly dead, have I not?" he asked one day of his father, +who was sitting by the bed.</p> + +<p>"But you are better now, Travice. You will get well. Thank God!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, the danger's over. I feel that, myself. Dear father! how troubled +you have been!"</p> + +<p>"Travice, I could hardly have borne to lose you," he murmured, leaning +over him. "And—<i>thus</i>."</p> + +<p>"I shall soon be well again; soon be strong. Be stronger, I hope," and +Travice faintly pressed the hand in which his lay, "to go through the +duties that lie before me, than I was previously."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arkell sighed from the very depths of his heart. If his son could +but have looked forward to arise to a life of peace, instead of pain!</p> + +<p>Mildred was with the invalid often. Mrs. Dundyke, who, concerned at the +imminent danger of one in whom she had always considered that she held a +right, had hastened to Westerbury when the news was sent to her, +likewise used to go and sit with him. But not Lucy. It was instinctively +felt by all that the sight of Lucy could only bring the future more +palpably before him. It might have been so different!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dundyke saw Mr. Arkell in private.</p> + +<p>"Is there <i>no</i> escape for him?" she asked; "no escape from this marriage +with Miss Fauntleroy? I would give all I am worth to effect it."</p> + +<p>"And I would give my life," was the agitated answer. "There is none. +Honour must be kept before all things. Travice himself knows there is +none; neither would he accept any, were it offered out of the line of +strict honour."</p> + +<p>"It is a life's sacrifice," said Mrs. Dundyke. "It is sacrificing both +him and Lucy."</p> + +<p>"Had I possessed but the faintest idea of the sacrifice it really was, +even for him, it should never have been contemplated, no matter what the +cost," was Mr. Arkell's answer.</p> + +<p>"And there was no need of it. If you had but known that! My fortune is a +large one now, and the greater portion of it I intended for Travice."</p> + +<p>"Betsey!"</p> + +<p>"I intended it for no one else. Perhaps I ought to have been more open +in expressing my intentions; but you know how I have been held aloof by +Charlotte. And I did not suppose that Travice was in necessity of any +sort. If he marries Miss Fauntleroy, the half of what I die possessed of +will be his; the other half will go to Lucy Arkell. Were it possible +that he could marry Lucy, they'd not wait for my death to be placed +above the frowns of the world."</p> + +<p>"Oh Betsey, how generous you are! But there is no escape for him," added +Mr. Arkell, with a groan at the bitter fact. "He cannot desert Miss +Fauntleroy."</p> + +<p>It was indisputably true. And that buxom bride-elect herself seemed to +have no idea that anybody wanted to be off the bargain, for her visits +to the house were frequent, and her spirits were unusually high.</p> + +<p>You all know the old rhyme about a certain gentleman's penitence when he +was sick; though it may not be deemed the perfection of good manners to +quote it here. It was a very apt illustration of the feelings of Mrs. +Arkell. While her son lay sick unto death, she would have married him to +Lucy Arkell; but no sooner was the danger of death removed, and he +advancing towards convalescence, than the old pride—avarice—love of +rule—call it what you will—resumed sway within her; and she had almost +been ready to say again that a mouldy grave would be preferable for him, +rather than desertion of Miss Fauntleroy. In fine, the old state of +things was obtaining sway, both as to Mrs. Arkell's opinions and to the +course of events.</p> + +<p>"When can I see him?" asked Miss Fauntleroy one day.</p> + +<p>Not the first time, this, that she had put the question, and it a little +puzzled Mrs. Arkell to answer it. It was only natural and proper, +considering the relation in which each stood to the other, that Miss +Fauntleroy should see him; but Mrs. Arkell had positively not dared to +hint at such a visit to her son.</p> + +<p>"Travice sits up now, does he not?" continued the young lady.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he has sat up a little in the afternoon these two days past. We +call it sitting up, Barbara, but, in point of fact, he lies the whole +time on the sofa. He is not strong enough to sit up."</p> + +<p>"Then I'm sure I may see him. It might not have been proper, I suppose, +to pay him a visit in bed," she added, laughing loudly; "but there can't +be any impropriety now. I want to see him, Mrs. Arkell; I want it very +particularly."</p> + +<p>"Of course, Barbara; I can understand that you do. I should, in your +place. The only consideration is, whether it may not agitate him too +much."</p> + +<p>"Not it," said Barbara. "I wish you'd go and ask him when I may come. I +suppose he is up now?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell had no ready plea for refusal, and she went upstairs there +and then. Travice was lying on the sofa, exhausted with the exertion of +getting to it.</p> + +<p>"My dear, I think you look better," Mrs. Arkell began, not altogether +relishing her task; and she gently pushed the bits of brown hair, now +beginning to grow again, from the damp, white forehead. "Do you feel +so?"</p> + +<p>He drew her fingers for a moment into his, and held them there. He was +always ready to respond to his mother's little tokens of affection. She +had opposed him in the matter of Lucy Arkell, but he was ever generous, +ever just, and he blamed circumstances more than he blamed her.</p> + +<p>"I feel a great deal better than I did a week ago. I shall get on now."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell paused. "Some one wants to see you, Travice."</p> + +<p>The hectic came into his white face as she spoke—a wild rush of +crimson. Was it possible that he thought she spoke of Lucy? The idea +occurred, to Mrs. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"My dear, it is Barbara. She has asked to see you a great many times. +She is downstairs now."</p> + +<p>Travice raised his thin hand, and laid it for a moment over his face, +over his closed eyes. Was he praying for help in his pain?—for strength +to go through what must be gone through—his duty in the future; and to +do it bravely?</p> + +<p>"Travice, my dear, but for this illness she would now have been your +wife. It is only natural that she should wish to come and see you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course," he said, removing his hand, and speaking very calmly; +"I have been expecting that she would."</p> + +<p>"When shall she come up? Now?"</p> + +<p>He did not speak for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Not now; not to-day; the getting up seemed to tire me more than it has +done yet. Tell her so from me. Perhaps she will take the trouble to call +again to-morrow, and come up then."</p> + +<p>The message was carried to Miss Fauntleroy, and she did not fail in the +appointment. Mrs. Arkell took her upstairs without notice to her son; +possibly she feared some excuse again. The sofa was drawn near the fire +as before, and Travice lay on it; had he been apprised of the visit, he +might have tried to sit up to receive her.</p> + +<p>She was very big as usual, and very grand. A rich watered lilac silk +dress, looped up above a scarlet petticoat; a velvet something on her +arms and shoulders, of which I really don't know the name, covered with +glittering jet trimmings; and a spangled bonnet with fancy feathers. As +she sailed into the room, her petticoats, that might have covered the +dome of St. Paul's, knocked over a little brass stand and kettle, some +careless attendant having left them on the carpet, near the wall. There +was no damage, except noise, for the kettle was empty.</p> + +<p>"That's my crinoline!" cried the hearty, good-humoured girl. "Never +mind; there's worse misfortunes at sea."</p> + +<p>"No, Travice, you had better not rise," interposed Mrs. Arkell, for he +was struggling into a sitting position. "Barbara will excuse it; she +knows how weak you are."</p> + +<p>"And I'll not allow you to rise, that's more," said Barbara, laying her +hand upon him. "I am not come to make you worse, but to make you +better—if I can."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkell, not altogether easy yet upon the feelings of Travice as to +the visit, anxious, as we all are with anything on our consciences, to +get away, invited Barbara to a chair, and hastened from the room. +Travice tried to receive her as he ought, and put out his hand with a +wan smile.</p> + +<p>"How are you, Barbara?"</p> + +<p>There was no reply, except that the thin hand was taken between both of +hers. He looked up, and saw that her eyes were swimming in tears. A +moment's struggle, and they came forth, with a burst.</p> + +<p>"There! it's of no good. What a fool I am!"</p> + +<p>Just a minute or two's indulgence to the burst, and it was over. Miss +Fauntleroy rubbed away the traces, and her broad face wore its smiles +again. She drew a chair close, and sat down in front of him.</p> + +<p>"I was not prepared to see you look like this, Travice. How dreadfully +it has pulled you down!"</p> + +<p>She was gazing at his face as she spoke. Her entrance had not called up +anything of colour or emotion to illumine it. The transparent skin was +drawn over the delicate features, and the refinement, always +characterizing it, was more conspicuous than it had ever been. No two +faces, perhaps, could present a greater contrast than his did, with the +broad, vulgar, hearty, and in a sense, handsome one of hers.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it has pulled me down. At one period there was little chance of my +life, I believe. But they no doubt told you all at the time. I daresay +you knew more of the different stages of the danger than I did."</p> + +<p>"And what was it that brought it on?" asked Miss Fauntleroy, untying her +bonnet, and throwing back the strings. "Brain fever is not a common +disorder; it does not go about in the air!"</p> + +<p>There was a slight trace of colour now on the thin cheeks, and she +noticed it. Travice faintly shook his head to disclaim any knowledge on +his own part.</p> + +<p>"It is not very often that we know how these illnesses are brought on. +My chief concern now"—and he looked up at her with a smile—"must be to +find out how I can best throw it off."</p> + +<p>"I have been very anxious for some days to see you," she resumed, after +a pause. "Do you know what I have come to say?"</p> + +<p>"No," he said, rather languidly.</p> + +<p>"But I'll tell you first what I heard. When you were lying in that awful +state between life and death—and it <i>is</i> an awful state, Travice, the +danger of passing, without warning, to the presence of one's Maker—I +heard that it was <i>I</i> who had brought on the fever."</p> + +<p>His whole face was flushed now—a consciousness of the past had risen up +so vividly within him. "<i>You!</i>" he uttered. "What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! Travice, I see how it has been. I know all. You have tried to like +me, and you cannot. Be still, be calm; I do not reproach you even in +thought. You loved Lucy Arkell long before anybody thought of me, in +connection with you; and I declare I honour the constancy of your heart +in keeping true to her. Now, if you are not tranquil I shall get my ears +boxed by your doctors, and I'll not come and see you again."</p> + +<p>"But——"</p> + +<p>"You just be quiet. I'm going to do the talking, and you the listening. +There, I'll hold your hands in mine, as some old, prudent spirit might, +to keep you still—a sister, say. That's all I shall ever be to you, +Travice."</p> + +<p>His chest was beginning to heave with emotion.</p> + +<p>"I have a great mind to run away, and leave you to fancy you are going +to be tied to me after all! <i>Pray</i> calm yourself. Oh! Travice, why did +you not tell me the truth—that you had no shadow of liking for me; that +your love for another was stronger than death? I should have been a +little mortified at first, but not for long. It is not your fault; you +did all you could; and it has nearly killed you——"</p> + +<p>"Who has been telling you this?" he interrupted.</p> + +<p>"Never mind. Perhaps somebody, perhaps nobody. It's the town's talk, and +that's enough. Do you think I could be so wicked and selfish a woman as +to hold you to your engagement, knowing this? No! Never shall it be said +of Barbara Fauntleroy, in this or in aught else, that she secured her +own happiness at the expense of anybody else's."</p> + +<p>"But Barbara——"</p> + +<p>"Don't 'Barbara' me, but listen," she interrupted playfully, laying her +finger on his lips. "At present you hate me, and I don't say that your +heart may not have cause; but I want to turn that hatred into love. If I +can't get it as a wife, Travice, I may as a friend. I like you very +much, and I can't afford to lose you quite. Heaven knows in what way I +might have lost you, had we been married; or what would have been the +ending."</p> + +<p>He lay looking at her, not altogether comprehending the words, in his +weakness.</p> + +<p>"You shall marry Lucy as soon as you are strong enough; and a little +bird has whispered me a secret that I fancy you don't know yet—that +you'll have plenty and plenty of money, more than I should have brought +you. We'll have a jolly wedding; and I'll be bridesmaid, if she'll let +me."</p> + +<p>Barbara had talked till her eyes were running down with tears. His +lashes began to glisten.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't do it, Barbara," he whispered; "I couldn't do it."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not; but I can, and shall. Listen, you difficult old fellow, +and set your mind and your conscience at rest. Before that great and +good Being, who has spared you through this death-sickness, and has +spared <i>me</i>, perhaps, a life of unhappiness, I solemnly swear that I +will not marry you! I don't think I have much pride, but I've some; and +I am above stooping to accept a man that all the world knows hates me +like poison. I'd not have you now, Travice, though there were no Lucy +Arkell in the world. A pretty figure I should cut on our wedding day, if +I did hold you to your bargain! The town might follow us to church with +a serenade of marrowbones and cleavers, as they do the butchers. I'll +not leave you until you tell me all is at an end between us—on your +side as on mine."</p> + +<p>"It is not right, Barbara. It is not right that I should treat you so."</p> + +<p>"I'll not leave you until you tell me all is at an end."</p> + +<p>"I <i>can't</i> tell it you."</p> + +<p>"I'll not leave you until you tell me all is at an end," she +persistently repeated. "No, not if I have to stop in the room all the +blessed night, as your real sister might. What do I care for their fads +and their punctilios? Here I'll stop."</p> + +<p>He looked up in her face with a smile. It had more of <i>love</i> in it than +Barbara had ever seen expressed to her from him. She bent down and +kissed his lips.</p> + +<p>"There! that's an earnest of our new friendship. Not that I shall be +giving you kisses in future, or expect any from you. Lucy might not like +it, you know, or you either. I don't say <i>I</i> should, for I may be +marrying on my own score. We might have been an estranged man and wife, +Travice, wishing each other dead and buried and perhaps not gone to +heaven, every day of our lives. We will be two firm friends. You don't +reject <i>me</i>, you know; <i>I</i> reject you, and you can't help yourself."</p> + +<p>"We will be friends always, Barbara," he said, from the depths of his +inmost heart, as he held her warm hand on his breast. "I am beginning to +love you as one already."</p> + +<p>"There's a darling fellow! Yes, I should call you so though Lucy were +present. Oh, Travice! it's best as it is! A little bit of smart to get +over—and that's what I have been doing the past week or so—and we +begin on a truer basis. I never was suited to you, and that's the truth. +But we can be the best friends living. It won't spoil my appetite, +Travice; I'm not of that flimsy temperament. Fancy <i>me</i> getting +brain-fever through being crossed in love!"</p> + +<p>She laughed out loud at the thought—a ringing, merry laugh. It put +Travice at ease on the score of the "smart."</p> + +<p>"And now I'm going into the manufactory to tell Mr. Arkell that you and +I are <i>two</i>. If he asks for the cause, perhaps I shall whisper to him +that I've found out you won't suit me and I prefer to look out for +somebody that will; and when Mrs. Arkell asks it me, 'We've split, +ma'am—split' I shall tell her. Travice! Travice! did you really think I +could stand, knowing it, in the way of anybody's life's happiness?"</p> + +<p>He drew her face down to his. He kissed it as he had never kissed it +before.</p> + +<p>"Friends for life! Firm, warm friends for life, you and I and Lucy! God +bless you, Barbara!"</p> + +<p>"Mind! I stand out for a jolly ball at the wedding! Lizzie and I mean to +dance all night. Fancy us!" she added, with a laugh that rang through +the room, "the two forlorn damsels that were to have been brides +ourselves! Never mind; we shan't die for the lack of husbands, if we +choose to accept them. But it's to be hoped our second ventures will +turn out more substantial than our first."</p> + +<p>And Travice Arkell, nearly overcome with emotion and weakness, closed +his eyes and folded his hands as she went laughing from the room, his +lips faintly moving.</p> + +<p>"What can I do unto God for all the benefits that He hath done unto me?"</p> + +<p>It was during this illness of Travice Arkell's that a circumstance took +place which caused some slight degree of excitement in Westerbury. +Edward Blissett Hughes, who had gone away from the town between twenty +and thirty years before, and of whom nobody had heard much, if any, +tidings of since, suddenly made his appearance in it again. His return +might not have given rise to much comment, but for the very prominent +manner in which his name had been brought forward in connexion with the +assize cause; and perhaps no one was more surprised than Mr. Hughes +himself when he found how noted he had become.</p> + +<p>It matters not to tell how the slim working man of three or +four-and-thirty, came back a round, comfortable, portly gentleman of +sixty, with a smart, portly wife, and well to do in the world. Well to +do?—nay, wealthy. Or how he had but come for a transitory visit to his +native place, and would soon be gone again. All that matters not to us; +and his return needed not to have been mentioned at all, but that he +explained one or two points in the past history, which had never been +made quite clear to Westerbury.</p> + +<p>One of the first persons to go to see him was William Arkell; and it was +from that gentleman Mr. Hughes first learnt the details of the dispute +and the assize trial.</p> + +<p>Robert Carr had been more <i>malin</i>—as the French would express it—than +people gave him credit for. That few hours' journey of his to London, +three days previous to the flight, had been taken for one sole +purpose—the procuring of a marriage licence. Edward Hughes, vexed at +the free tone that the comments of the town were assuming in reference +to his young sister, made a tardy interference, and gave Robert Carr his +choice—the breaking off the acquaintance, or a marriage. Robert Carr +chose the latter alternative, stipulating that it should be kept a close +secret; and he ran up to town for the licence. Whether he really meant +to use it, or whether he only bought it to appease in a degree the +aroused precautions of the brother, cannot be told. That he certainly +did not intend to make use of it so soon, Edward Hughes freely +acknowledged now. The hasty marriage, the flight following upon it, grew +out of that last quarrel with his father. From the dispute at +dinner-time, Robert went straight to the Hughes's house, saw Martha Ann, +got her consent, and then sought the brother at his workshop, as Edward +Hughes still phrased it, and arranged the plans with him for the +following morning. Sophia Hughes was of necessity made a party to the +scheme, but she was not told of it until night; and Mary they did not +tell at all, not daring to trust her. Brother and sister bound +themselves to secrecy, for the sake of the fortune that Robert Carr +would assuredly lose if the marriage became known; and they suffered the +taint to fall on their sister's name, content to know that it was +undeserved, and to look forward to the time when all should be cleared +up by the reconciliation between father and son, or by the death of Mr. +Carr. They were anxious for the marriage, so far beyond anything they +could have expected, and, consequently, did not stand at a little +sacrifice. Human nature is the same all the world over, and ambition is +inherent in it. Robert Carr, on his part, risked something—the chance +that, with all their precautions, the fact of the marriage might become +known. That it did not, the event proved, as you know; but circumstances +at that moment especially favoured them. The rector of St. James the +Less was ill; the Reverend Mr. Bell was Robert Carr's firm friend and +kept the secret, and there was no clerk. They stole into the church one +by one on the winter's morning. Mr. Bell was there before daylight, got +it open, and waited for them. The moment Mary Hughes was out of the +house, at half-past seven, in pursuance of her engagement at Mrs. +Arkell's, Martha Ann was so enveloped in cloaks and shawls that she +could not have been readily recognised, had anybody met her, and sent +off alone to the church. Her brother and sister followed by degrees. +Robert Carr was already there; and as soon as the clock struck eight, +the service was performed. One circumstance, quite a little romance in +itself, Mr. Hughes mentioned now; and but for a fortunate help in the +time of need, the marriage might, after all, not have been completed. +Robert Carr had forgotten the ring. Not only Robert, but all of them. +That important essential had never once occurred to their thoughts, and +none had been bought. The service was arrested midway for the want of +it. A few moments' consternation, and then Sophia Hughes came to the +rescue. She had been in the habit of wearing her mother's wedding-ring +since her death, and she took it from her finger, and the service was +completed with it. The party stole away from the church by degrees, one +by one, as they had gone to it, and escaped observation. Few people were +abroad that dark, dull morning; and the church stood in a lonely, +unfrequented part. The getting away afterwards in Mr. Arkell's carriage +was easy.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said Mr. Arkell now to the brother, "I did not forgive Robert Carr +that trick he played upon me for a long while, it so vexed my father. He +thought the worst, you know; and for your sister's sake, could not +forgive Robert Carr. Had he known of the marriage, it would have been a +different thing."</p> + +<p>"No one knew of it—not a soul," said Mr. Hughes. "Had we told one, we +might as well have told all. I and Sophia knew that we could keep our +own counsel; but we could not answer beyond ourselves—not even for +Mary."</p> + +<p>"Could you not trust her?"</p> + +<p>"Trust her!" echoed Mr. Hughes. "Her tongue was like a sieve: it let out +everything. She missed mother's ring off Sophia's finger. Sophia said +she had lost it—she didn't know what else to say—and before two days +were out, the town-crier came to ask if she'd not like it cried. Mary +had talked of the loss high and low."</p> + +<p>"Did she never know that there had been a marriage?" asked Mr. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"Quite at the last, when she had but a day or two left of life. Sophia +told her then; she had grieved much over Martha Ann, and was grieving +still. Sophia told her, and it sent her easy to her grave. Soon after +she died, Sophia married Jem Pycroft, and they came out to me. She's +dead now. So that there's only me left out of the four of us," added the +returned traveller, after a pause.</p> + +<p>"And Martha Ann's eldest son became a clergyman, you say; and he died! I +should like to see the other two children she left. Do they live in +Rotterdam?"</p> + +<p>"I am not sure; but you would no doubt hear of them there. They sold off +Marmaduke Carr's property when they came into it, after the trial. It's +not to be wondered at: they had no pleasant associations connected with +Westerbury."</p> + +<p>Edward Hughes burst into a laugh. "What a blow it must have been for +stingy John Carr!"</p> + +<p>"It was that," said Mr. Arkell. "He is always pleading poverty; but +there's no doubt he has been saving money ever since the old squire died +and he came into possession. That can't be far short of twenty years +now."</p> + +<p>"Twenty years! How time flies in this world, sir!" was the concluding +remark of Mr. Hughes.</p> + +<p>There was no drawback thrown in the way of <i>this</i> marriage of Travice +Arkell's, by himself, or by anybody else; and the day for it was fixed +as soon as he became convalescent. Mrs. Arkell had to reconcile herself +to it in the best way she could; and if she found it a pill to swallow, +it was at least a gilded one: Mrs. Dundyke's money would go to him and +Lucy—and there was Miss Arkell's as well. They would be placed above +the frowns of the world the hour they married, and Travice could turn +amateur astronomer at will.</p> + +<p>On the day before that appointed for the ceremony, Lucy, in passing +through the cloisters with Mrs. Dundyke, from some errand in the town, +stopped as she came to that gravestone in the cloisters. She bent her +head over it, for she could hardly read the inscription—what with the +growing dusk, and what with her blinding tears.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Aunt Betsey"—she had caught the name from Travice—"if he had but +lived! If he could but be with us to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>Aunt Betsey touched with her gentle finger the sorrowing face. "He is +better off, Lucy."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. But in times of joy it seems hard to remember it. I +wonder—I hope it is not wrong to wonder it—whether he and mamma are +always with me in spirit? I have grown to think so."</p> + +<p>"The thinking it will not do you harm, Lucy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, was it not a cruel thing, Aunt Betsey, for that boy Lewis to throw +him down! He was forgiven by everybody at the time; but in my heart—I +won't say it. But for that, Henry might be alive now. They left the +college school afterwards. Did you know that?"</p> + +<p>"The Lewises? Yes; I think I heard it."</p> + +<p>"A reaction set in for Henry after he died, and the boys grew shy and +cool to the two Lewises. In fact, they were sent to Coventry. They did +not like it, and they left. The eldest went up to be in some office in +London, and the youngest has gone to a private school."</p> + +<p>"It is strange that the two great <i>inflicted</i> evils in your family and +in mine, should have come from the Carrs!" exclaimed Mrs. Dundyke. "But, +my dear, do not let us get into a sorrowful train of thought to-day. +And, all the sorrow we can give, cannot bring back to us those who are +gone."</p> + +<p>"I wish you could have seen him!" murmured Lucy. "He was so beautiful! +he——"</p> + +<p>"Here are people coming, my dear."</p> + +<p>Lucy turned away, drying her eyes. A clerical dignitary and a young lady +were advancing through the cloisters. As they met, the young lady bowed +to Lucy, and the gentleman raised his shovel hat—not so much as to +acquaintances, as because they were ladies passing through his +cloisters.</p> + +<p>"Who are they?" whispered Mrs. Dundyke, when the echo of their footsteps +had died away.</p> + +<p>"The dean and Miss Beauclerc. Aunt Betsey, she knew Henry so well! She +came to see him in his coffin."</p> + +<p>They were at Mr. Arkell's house, in the evening—Lucy, her aunt, and +Mrs. Dundyke. The breakfast in the morning was to be given in it, Miss +Arkell's house being small, and the carriages would drive there direct +from St. James-the-Less. Mrs. Arkell, gracious now beyond everything, +had sent for them to spend the last evening, and see the already +laid-out table in the large drawing-room. She could not spare Travice +that last evening, she said.</p> + +<p>Oh, how it all came home to Mildred! <i>She</i> had gone to that house the +evening before a wedding in the years gone by, taken to it perforce, +because she dared make no plea of refusal. She had seen the laid-out +table in the drawing-room then, just as she was looking down upon it +now.</p> + +<p>"Lucy's destiny is happier!" she unconsciously murmured.</p> + +<p>"Did you speak, Mildred?"</p> + +<p>She raised her eyes to the questioner by her side, William Arkell. She +had not observed that he was there.</p> + +<p>"I?—Yes; I say Lucy's will be a happy destiny."</p> + +<p>"Very happy," he assented, glancing at a group at the end, who were +engaged in a hot and laughing dispute, as to the placing of the guests, +Travice maintaining his own opinion against Aunt Betsey and Lucy. +Travice looked very well now. His hair was long again; his face, +delicate still—but it was in the nature of its features to be so—had +resumed its hue of health. Lucy was radiant in smiles and blue ribbons, +under the light of the chandelier.</p> + +<p>"I begin to think that destinies are more equally apportioned than we +are willing to imagine; that where there are fewer flowers there are +fewer thorns," Mr. Arkell observed in a low tone. "There is a better +life, Mildred, awaiting us hereafter."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes. Where there shall be neither neglect, nor disappointment, nor +pain; where——"</p> + +<p>"Here you are!" broke out a loud, hearty, laughing voice upon their +ears. "I knew it was where I should find you. Lucy, I have been to your +house after you. Take my load off me, Travice."</p> + +<p>Need you be told that the voice was Barbara Fauntleroy's? She came +staggering in under the load: a something held out before her, nearly as +tall as herself.</p> + +<p>A beautiful epergne for the centre of the table, of solid silver. +Travice was taking it from her, but awkwardly—he was one of the +incapable ones, like poor Peter Arkell. Miss Fauntleroy rated him and +pushed him away, and lifted it on the table herself, with her strong +hands.</p> + +<p>"It's our present to you two, mine and Lizzie's. You'll accept it, won't +you, Lucy?"</p> + +<p>Kindness invariably touched the chord of Lucy Arkell's feelings, perhaps +because she had not been in the way of having a great deal of it shown +to her in her past life. The tears were in her earnest eyes, as she +gently took the hands of Miss Fauntleroy.</p> + +<p>"I cannot thank you as I ought. I——"</p> + +<p>"Thank me, child! It's not so much to thank me for. Doesn't it look well +on the table, though? Mrs. Arkell must allow it to stand there for the +breakfast."</p> + +<p>"For that, <i>and for all else</i>," whispered Lucy, with marked emotion, +retaining the hands in her warm clasp. "You must let us show our +gratitude to you always, Barbara."</p> + +<p>Barbara Fauntleroy bent her full red lips on Lucy's fair forehead. "Our +bargain—his and mine—was, that we were all three to be firm and fast +friends through life, you know. Lucy, there's nobody in the world wishes +you happier than I do. Jolly good luck to you both!"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Barbara," said Travice, who was standing by.</p> + +<p>"And now, who'll come and release Lizzie?" resumed Miss Fauntleroy. "We +shall have her rampant. She's in a fly at the door, and can't get out of +it."</p> + +<p>"Not get out of it!" repeated Mr. Arkell.</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of it. It's filled with flower-pots from our hot-house. We +thought perhaps you'd not have enough for the rooms, so we've brought a +load. But Lizzie got into the fly first, you see, to pack them for +bringing steadily, and she can't get out till they are out. I took care +of the epergne, and Lizzie of the pots."</p> + +<p>With a general laugh, everybody rushed to get to the imprisoned Lizzie. +Lucy lingered a moment, ostensibly looking at the epergne, really drying +her tears away. Travice came back to her.</p> + +<p>He took her in his arms; he kissed the tears from her cheeks; he +whispered words of the sweetest tenderness, asking what her grief was.</p> + +<p>"Not grief, Travice—joy. I was thinking of the past. What would have +become of us but for her generosity?"</p> + +<p>"But for her generosity, Lucy, I should have been her husband now. I +should never have held my darling in my arms. Yes, she was generous! God +bless her always! I'll never hate anybody again, Lucy."</p> + +<p>Lucy glanced up shyly at him, a smile parting her lips at the last +words. And she put her hand within the arm of him who was soon to be her +husband, as they went out in the wake of the rest, to rescue the +flower-pots and Miss Lizzie Fauntleroy.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>And Mr. St. John and the dean's daughter? Ah! not in this place can +their after-history be given. But you may hear it sometime.</p> + + +<h3>THE END.</h3> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Mildred Arkell, (Vol 3 of 3), by Ellen Wood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MILDRED ARKELL, (VOL 3 OF 3) *** + +***** This file should be named 39693-h.htm or 39693-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/6/9/39693/ + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: Mildred Arkell, (Vol 3 of 3) + A Novel + +Author: Ellen Wood + +Release Date: May 14, 2012 [EBook #39693] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MILDRED ARKELL, (VOL 3 OF 3) *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + + + MILDRED ARKELL. + + A Novel. + + BY MRS. HENRY WOOD, + + AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS," "TREVLYN HOLD," ETC. + + + IN THREE VOLUMES. + + VOL. III. + + LONDON: + TINSLEY BROTHERS, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND + 1865. + + _All rights of Translation and Reproduction are reserved._ + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + CHAP. PAGE + + I. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND--A SURPRISE 1 + + II. A DOUBTFUL SEARCH 24 + + III. DETECTION 43 + + IV. ASSIZE SATURDAY 68 + + V. ASSIZE SUNDAY 86 + + VI. PREACHING TO THE DEAN 103 + + VII. CARR VERSUS CARR 122 + + VIII. THE SECOND DAY 144 + + IX. THE SHADOWS OF DEATH 168 + + X. THE GRAVESTONE IN THE CLOISTERS 191 + + XI. THOUGHTLESS WORDS 213 + + XII. MISCONCEPTION 236 + + XIII. THE TABLES TURNED 256 + + XIV. A RECOGNITION 273 + + XV. MILDRED'S RECOMPENSE 290 + + XVI. MISS FAUNTLEROY LOVED AT LAST 309 + + + + +MILDRED ARKELL. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.--A SURPRISE. + + +It happened on that same second of December that Mr. Littelby took his +place for the first time as conductor of the business of Mynn and Mynn. +He had arrived at Eckford the previous day, as per agreement, but was +not installed formally in the office until this. Old Mynn, not in his +gout now, had come down early, and was brisk and lively; George Mynn was +also there. + +He was an admitted solicitor just as much as were Mynn and Mynn; he was +to be their confidential _locum tenens_; the whole management and +conduct of affairs was, during their absence, to fall upon him; he was, +in point of fact, to be practically a principal, not a clerk, and at the +end of a year, if all went well, he was to be allowed a share in the +business, and the firm would be Mynn, Mynn, and Littelby. + +It was not, then, to be wondered at, that the chief of the work this day +was the inducting him into the particulars of the various cases that +Mynn and Mynn happened to have on hand, more especially those that were +to come on for trial at the Westerbury assizes, and would require much +attention beforehand. They were shut up betimes, the three, in the small +room that would in future be Mr. Littelby's--a room which had hitherto +been nobody's in particular, for the premises were commodious, but which +Mr. Richards had been in the habit of appropriating as his own, not for +office purposes, but for private uses. Quite a cargo of articles +belonging to Mr. Richards had been there: coats, parcels, pipes, +letters, and various other items too numerous to mention. On the +previous day, Richards had received a summary mandate to "clear it out," +as it was about to be put in order for the use of Mr. Littelby. Mr. +Richards had obeyed in much dudgeon, and his good feeling towards the +new manager--his master in future--was not improved. It had not been +friendly previously, for Mr. Richards had a vague idea that his way +would not be quite so much his own as it had been. + +He sat now at his desk in the public office, into which clients plunged +down two steps from the landing on the first flight of stairs, as if +they had been going into a well. His subordinate, a steady young man +named Pope, who was browbeaten by Richards every hour of his life, sat +at a small desk apart. Mr. Richards, ostensibly occupied in the perusal +of some formidable-looking parchment, was, in reality, biting his nails +and frowning, and inwardly wishing he could bring the ceiling down on +Mr. Littelby's head, shut up in that adjoining apartment; and could he +have invented a decent excuse for sending out Pope, in the teeth of the +intimation Mr. George Mynn had just given, that Pope was to stop in, for +he should want him, Mr. Richards would have had his own ear to the +keyhole of the door. + +Mr. Littelby and Mr. Mynn sat at the square table, some separate bundles +of papers before them, tied up with red string; Mr. George Mynn stood +with his back to the fire. Never was there a keener or a better man of +business than Mynn the elder, when his state of health allowed him a +respite from pain. He had been well for two or three weeks now, and the +office found the benefit of it. _He_ was the one to explain matters to +Mr. Littelby; Mr. George only put in a word here and there. In due +course they came to a small bundle of papers labelled "Carr," and Mr. +Mynn, in his rapid, clear, concise manner, gave an outline of the case. +Before he had said many words, Mr. Littelby raised his head, his face +betokening interest, and some surprise. + +"But I thought the Carr case was at an end," he observed. "At least, I +supposed it would naturally be so." + +"Oh dear no," said old Mynn; "it's coming on for trial at the +assizes--that is, if the other side are so foolish as to go on to +action. I don't myself think they will be." + +"The other side? You mean the widow of Robert Carr the clergyman?" asked +Mr. Littelby, scarcely thinking, however, that Mr. Mynn could mean it. + +"The widow and the brother--yes. Fauntleroy, of Westerbury, acts for +them. But he'll never, as I believe, bring so utterly lame a case into +court." + +Mr. Littelby wondered what his new chief could mean; he did not +understand at all. + +"I should have supposed the case would have been brought to an end by +you," he observed. "From the moment that the marriage was discovered to +have taken place, your clients, the Carrs of Eckford, virtually lost +their cause." + +"But the marriage has not been discovered to have taken place," said Mr. +Mynn. + +"Yes, it has. Is it possible that you have not had intimation of it from +Mr. Fauntleroy?" + +Mr. Mynn paused a moment. Mr. George, who had been looking at his boots, +raised his head to listen. + +"Where was it discovered?--who discovered it?" asked Mr. Mynn, with the +air of a man who does not believe what is being said to him. + +"The widow, young Mrs. Carr, found the notice of it. In searching her +late father-in-law's desk, she discovered a letter written by him to his +son. It was the week subsequent to her husband's death. The letter had +slipped between the leaves of an old blotting-book, and lain there +unsuspected. While poor Robert Carr the clergyman was wearing away his +last days of life in those fruitless searchings of the London churches, +he little thought how his own carelessness had forced it upon him. He +examined this very desk when his father died, for any papers there might +be in it, and must have examined it imperfectly, for there the letter +must have been." + +"But what was in the letter?" asked George Mynn, speaking for the first +time since the topic arose. + +"It stated that he had married the young lady who went away with him, +Martha Ann Hughes, on the morning they left Westerbury--married her at +her own parish church, St.--St.--I forget the name." + +"Her parish church was St. James the Less," said Mr. Mynn, speaking very +fast. + +"Yes, that was it; I remember now. It struck me at the time as being a +somewhat uncommon appellation. That is where the marriage took place, on +the morning they left Westerbury." + +Mr. Mynn sat down; he had need of some rest to recover his +consternation. Mr. George never spoke: he said afterwards, that the +thought flashed upon him, he could not tell how or why, that the letter +was a fraud. + +"How did you know of this?" was Mr. Mynn's first question. + +Mr. Littelby related how: that Mrs. Carr had informed him of it at the +time of the discovery: and, it may be observed, that he was unconscious +of breaking any faith in repeating it. Mrs. Carr, attaching little +importance to Mr. Fauntleroy's request of keeping it to herself, had +either forgotten or neglected to caution Mr. Littelby, to whom it had at +once been told. Mr. Littelby, on his part, had never supposed but the +discovery had been made known to Mynn and Mynn and the Carrs of Eckford, +by Mr. Fauntleroy, and that the litigation had thus been brought to an +end. + +"And you say this is known to Mr. Fauntleroy?" asked old Mynn. + +"Certainly. Mrs. Carr forwarded the letter to him the very hour she +discovered it." + +"Then what can possess the man not to have sent us notice of it?" he +exclaimed. "He'd never be guilty of the child's play of concealing this +knowledge until the cause was before the court, and then bringing it +forward as a settler! Fauntleroy's sharp in practice; but he'd hardly do +this." + +"Is it certain that the marriage did take place there?" quietly put in +Mr. George Mynn. + +They both looked at him; his quiet tone was so full of significance: and +Mr. Mynn had to turn round in his chair to do it. + +"It appears to me to be a very curious story," continued the younger +man. "What sort of a woman is this Mrs. Carr?" + +A pause. "You are not thinking that she is capable of--of--concocting +any fraud, are you?" cried Mr. Littelby. + +"I should be sorry to say it. I only say the thing wears a curious +appearance." + +"She is entirely incapable of it," returned Mr. Littelby, warmly. "She +is quite a young girl, although she has been a wife and mother. Besides, +the letter, remember, only stated where the marriage took place, and +where its record might be found. I remember she told me that the words +in the letter were, that the marriage would be found duly entered in the +register." + +Mr. Mynn was leaning back in his chair; his hands in his waistcoat +pockets, his eyes half closed in thought. + +"Did you see this letter, Mr. Littelby?" he inquired, rousing himself. + +"No. Mrs. Carr had sent it off to Mr. Fauntleroy. She told me its +contents, I daresay nearly word for word." + +"Because I really do not think the marriage could have taken place as +described. It would inevitably have been known if it had: some persons, +surely, would have seen them go into the church; and the parson and +clerk must have been cognisant of it! How was it that these people kept +the secret? Besides, the parties were away from the town by eight +o'clock, or thereabouts." + +"I don't know anything about the details," said Mr. Littelby; "but I do +know that the letter, stating what I have told you, was found by Mrs. +Carr, and that she implicitly believes in it. Would the letter be likely +to assert a thing that a minute's time could disprove? If the record of +the marriage is not on the register of St. James the Less, to what end +state that it is?" + +"If this letter stated what you say, Mr. Littelby, rely upon it that the +record is there. There have been such things known, mind you"--and old +Mynn lowered his voice as he spoke--"as frauds committed on registers; +false entries made. And they have passed for genuine, too, to +unsuspicious eyes. But, if this is one, it won't pass so with me," he +added, rising. "Not a man in the three kingdoms has a keener eye than +mine." + +"It is impossible that a false entry can have been made in the +register!" exclaimed Mr. Littelby, speaking slowly, as if debating the +question in his own mind. + +"We shall see. I assure you I consider it equally impossible for the +marriage to have taken place, as stated, without detection." + +"But--assuming your suspicion to be correct--who can have been wicked +enough to insert the entry?" cried Mr. Littelby. + +"That, I can't tell. The entry of the marriage would take the property +from our clients, the Carrs of Eckford, therefore they are exempt from +the suspicion. I wonder," continued Mr. Mynn in a half-secret tone, +"whether that young clergyman got access to the register when he was +down here?" + +"That young clergyman was honest as the day," emphatically interrupted +Mr. Littelby. "I could answer for his truth and honour with my life. The +finding of that letter would have sent him to his grave easier than he +went to it." + +"There's another brother, is there not?" + +"Yes. But he is in Holland, looking after the home affairs, which are +also complicated. He has not been here at all since his father's death." + +"Ah, one doesn't know," said old Mynn, glancing at his watch. "Hundreds +of miles have intervened, before now, between a committed fraud and its +plotter. Well, we will say no more at present. I'll tell you more when I +have had a look at this register. It will not deceive _me_." + +"Are you going over now?" asked Mr. George. + +"At once," replied old Mynn, with decision; "and I'll bring you back my +report and my opinion as soon as may be." + +But Mr. Mynn was away considerably longer than there appeared any need +that he should be. When he did arrive he explained that his delay arose +from the effectual and thorough searching of the register. + +"I don't know what could have been the meaning or the use of that letter +you told us of, Mr. Littelby," he said, as he took off his coat; "there +is no entry of the marriage in the church register of St. James the +Less." + +"No entry of it!" + +"None whatever." + +Mr. Littelby did not at once speak: many thoughts were crowding upon his +mind. He and old Mynn were standing now, and George Mynn was sitting +with his elbow on the table, and his aching head leaning on his hand. +The least excitement out of common, sometimes only the sitting for a day +in the close office, would bring on these intolerable headaches. + +"I have searched effectually--and I don't suppose the old clerk of the +church blessed me for keeping him there--and I am prepared to take an +affidavit, if necessary, that no such marriage is recorded in the book," +continued the elder lawyer. "What could have been the aim or object of +that letter, I cannot fathom." + +"Mr. Carr will not come into the money, then?" said Mr. Littelby. + +"Of course not, so far as things look at present. I thought it was very +strange, if such a thing had been there, that Fauntleroy did not let it +be known," he emphatically added. + +"You are sure you have fully searched?" + +"Mr. Littelby, I have fully searched," was the reply; and the lawyer was +not pleased at being asked the question after what he had said. "There +is no such marriage entered there; and rely upon it no such marriage +ever was entered there. I might go farther and say, with safety in my +opinion, that there never was such marriage entered anywhere." + +"Then why should Robert Carr, the elder, have written the letter?" + +"_Did_ he write it? It may be a question." + +"No, he never wrote it," interposed George Mynn, looking up. "There was +some wicked plot concocted--I don't say by whom, and I can't say it--of +which this letter was the prologue. Perhaps the epilogue--the insertion +of the marriage in the register--was frustrated; possibly this letter +was found before its time, and the despatching it to Mr. Fauntleroy +marred the whole. How can we say?" + +"We can't say," returned old Mynn. "One thing I can say and affirm--that +there's no record; and had the letter been a genuine one, the entry +would be there now." + +"I wonder if Mr. Fauntleroy believes the entry to be there?" cried Mr. +Littelby. "I am nearly sure that he has not given notice of the contrary +to Mrs. Carr. She would have told me if he had." + +"If Fauntleroy has been so foolish as to take the information in the +letter for granted, without sending to see the register, he must put up +with the consequences," said old Mynn; "I shall not enlighten him." + +He spoke as he felt--cross. Mr. Mynn was not pleased at having spent the +best part of the day over what he had found to be a fool's errand; +neither did he like to have been startled unnecessarily. He sat down and +drew the papers before him, saying something to the effect that perhaps +they could attend to their legitimate business, now that the other was +disposed of. Mr. Littelby caught the cue, and resolved to say no more in +that office of Carr _versus_ Carr. + +And so, it was a sort of diamond cut diamond. Mr. Fauntleroy had said +nothing to Mynn and Mynn of his private information; and Mynn and Mynn +would say nothing to Mr. Fauntleroy of theirs. + +Christmas drew on. Mrs. Dundyke, alone now, for Mr. Carr had gone back +to Holland, was seated one afternoon by her drawing-room fire, in the +twilight, musing very sadly on the past. The servants were at tea in the +kitchen, and one of them had just been up to ask her mistress if she +would take a cup, as she sometimes did before her late dinner, and had +gone down again, leaving unintentionally the room door unlatched. + +As the girl entered the kitchen, the sound of laughter and merriment +came forth to the ears of Mrs. Dundyke. It quite jarred upon her heart. +How often has it occurred to us, bending under the weight of some secret +trouble that goes well-nigh to break us, to envy our unconscious +servants, who seem to have no care! + +The kitchen door closed again, and silence supervened--a silence that +soon began to make itself felt, as it will in these moments of gloom. +Mrs. Dundyke was aroused from it in a remarkable manner; not violently +or loudly, but still in so strange a way, that her mouth opened in +consternation as she listened, and she rose noiselessly from her chair +in a sort of horror. + +_She had distinctly heard the latch-key put into the street-door lock_; +just as she had heard it many a time when her husband used to come home +from business in the year last gone by. She heard it turned in the lock, +the peculiar click it used to give, and she heard the door quietly open +and then close again, as if some one had entered. Not since they went +abroad the previous July had she heard those sounds, or had the door +thus been opened. There had been but that one latch-key to the door, and +Mr. Dundyke, either by chance or intention, had carried it away with him +in his pocket. It had been in his pocket during the whole period of +their travels, and been lost with him. + +What could it mean? Who had come in? Footsteps, slow, hesitating +footsteps were crossing the hall; they seemed to halt at the +dining-room, and were now ascending the stairs. Mrs. Dundyke was by far +too practical a woman to believe in ghosts, but that anything but the +ghost of her husband could open the door with that latch-key and be +stealing up, was hard to believe. + +"Betsey!" + +If ever she felt a wish to sink into the wall, or through the floor, she +felt it then. The voice which had called out the familiar home name, was +her husband's voice; his, and yet not his. His, in a manner; but +querulous, worn, weakened. She stood in horror, utterly bewildered, not +daring to move, her arms clasping a chair for protection, she knew not +from what, her eyes strained on the unlatched door. That it could be her +husband returned in life, her thoughts never so much as glanced at. + +He pushed open the door, and came in without any surprise in his face or +greeting on his tongue; came in and went straight to the fire, and sat +down in a chair before it, just as though he had not been gone away an +hour--he who had once been David Dundyke. Was it David Dundyke +still--_was_ it? He looked thin and shabby, and his hair was cut close +to his head, and he was altogether altered. Mrs. Dundyke was gazing at +him with a fixed, unnatural stare, like one who has been seized with +catalepsy. + +He saw her standing there, and turned his head, looking at her for a +full minute. + +"Betsey!" + +She went forward then; it _was_ her husband, and in life. What the +mystery could have been she did not know yet--did not glance at in that +wild moment--but she fell down at his knees and clasped him to her, and +wept delirious tears of joy and agony. + +It seemed--when the meeting was over, and the marvelling servants had +shaken hands with him, and he had been refreshed with dinner, and the +time came for questions--that he could not explain much of the mystery +either. He had evidently undergone some great change, physically and +mentally, and it had left him the wreck of what he was, with his +faculties impaired, and a hesitating speech. + +More especially impaired in memory. He could recollect so little of the +past; indeed, their sojourn at the hotel at Geneva seemed to have gone +from his mind altogether. Mrs. Dundyke saw that he must have had some +sort of brain attack; but, what, she could not tell. + +"David, where have you been all this while?" she said, soothingly, as he +lay on the sofa she had drawn to the fire, and she sat on a stool +beneath and clasped his hand. + +"All this while? I came back directly." + +She paused. "Came back from where?" + +"From the bed." + +"The bed!" she repeated; and her heart beat with a sick faintness as she +felt, for the twentieth time, that henceforth he could only be +questioned as a child. "From the bed you lay in when you were ill?" + +"Yes." + +"Were you ill long?" + +"No. I lay in it after I got well: my head and my legs were not strong. +They turned. It was the bed in the kitchen with the large white pillows. +They slept in the back room." + +"Who did?" + +"Paul and Marie. She's his wife." + +"Did they take care of you?" + +"Yes, they took care of me. Little Paul used to fetch the water. He's +seven." + +"Do you remember----" (she spoke the words with trembling, lest the name +should excite him) "Mr. Hardcastle?" + +It did in some degree. He lay looking at his wife, his face and thoughts +working. "Hardcastle! It was him that--that--was with me when I fell +down." + +"Where did you fall?" she asked, as quietly as she could. + +"In the sun. We walked a long, long way, and he gave me something to +drink out of a bottle, and I was giddy, and he told me to go to sleep." + +"Did he stay with you?" + +Mr. Dundyke stared as though he did not understand the question. + +"I went giddy. He took my pocket-book; he took out the letters, and put +it back to me again. Paul found it. I went to sleep in the sun." + +"When did Paul find it?" + +David Dundyke appeared unable to comprehend the "when." "In his cart," +he said; "he found me too." + +"David, dear, try and recollect; did Paul take you to his cottage?" + +David looked puzzled, and then nodded his head several times, as if +wishing to convince himself of the fact. + +"And I suppose you were ill there?" + +"I suppose I was ill there; they said so. Marie spoke English; she had +been at--at--at sea." + +This was not very perspicuous, but Mrs. Dundyke did not care for minor +details. + +"How did you come home?" she asked. And she glanced suddenly down at his +boots; an idea presenting itself to her, that she might see them worn +and travel-stained. But they were not. They were the same boots that he +had on that last morning in Geneva, and they appeared to have been +little worn. + +"How did I come home?" he repeated. "I came. Marie said I was well +enough. Paul changed the note." + +"What note?" she asked. + +"The note from England. He didn't see that when he took the others." + +"He" evidently meant Mr. Hardcastle. She began to comprehend a little, +and put her questions accordingly. + +"Mr. Hardcastle must have robbed you, David." + +"Mr. Hardcastle robbed me." + +She found he had a habit of repeating her words. She had noticed the +same peculiarity before, in cases of decaying intellect. + +"The bank note that he did not find was the one you had written for over +and above what you wanted. Why did you write for it, David?" + +This was a back question, and it took a great many others before David +could answer. "He might have wanted to borrow more," he said at length; +"I'd have lent him all then." + +Poor man! That he should have had such blind faith in Mr. Hardcastle as +to send for money in case he should "want to borrow more!" Mrs. Dundyke +had taken this view of the case from the first. + +"You don't believe in him now, David?" + +"I don't believe in him now. He has got my bank notes; and he left me in +the sun. Paul, put me in the cart when it came by." + +"David, why did you not write to me?" + +David stared. "I came," he said. And she found afterwards, that he could +not write; she was to find that he never attempted to write again. + +"Did you send to Geneva?--to me?" + +"To Geneva?--to me?" + +"To me--me, David; not to you. Did you send to Geneva?" + +He shook his head, evidently not knowing what she meant, and seemed to +think. Mrs. Dundyke felt nearly sure that he must have lain long +insensible, for weeks, perhaps months; that is, not sufficiently +conscious to understand or remember; and that when he grew better, +Geneva and its doings had faded from his remembrance. + +"How did you come home, David?" she asked again. "Did you come alone?" + +"Did you come alone--yes, in the diligences, and rail, and sea. I told +them all to take me to England; Paul got the money for me; he took the +note and brought it back." + +Paul had changed it into French money; that must be the meaning of it. +Mr. Dundyke put his hand in his pocket and pulled out sundry five-franc +pieces. + +"Marie's got some. I gave her half." + +Mrs. Dundyke hoped it was so. She could hardly understand yet, how he +could have found his way home alone; even with the help of "I told them +all to take me to England." + +"David!" she whispered, "David! I don't know how I shall ever be +thankful enough to God!" + +"I'd like some porter." + +It was a contrast that grated on her ear; the animal want following +without break on the spiritual aspiration. She was soon to find that any +finer feeling he might ever have possessed, had gone with his mind. He +could eat and drink still, and understand that; but there was something +wrong with the brain. + +"How did you come down here to-night, David?" + +"How did I come down here to-night? There was the omnibus." + +The questions began to pain her. "He is fatigued," she thought; "perhaps +he will answer better to-morrow." The porter was brought to him, and he +fell asleep immediately after drinking it. She rose from her low seat, +and sat down in a chair opposite to him. + +It was like a dream; and Mrs. Dundyke all but pinched herself to see +whether she was awake or asleep. She believed that she could tell pretty +accurately what the past had been. Mr. Hardcastle had followed her +husband to the side of the lake that morning, had in some way induced +him to go away from it; had taken him a long, long way into the cross +country--and it must have been at that time that the Swiss peasant, who +gave his testimony at Geneva, had seen them. At the proper opportunity, +Mr. Hardcastle must have, perhaps, given him some stupefying drink, and +then robbed him and left him; but Mrs. Dundyke inclined to the opinion +that the man must have believed Mr. Dundyke insensible, or he surely +would never have allowed him to see him take the notes. He must then +have lain, it was hard to say how long, before Paul found him; and the +lying thus in the sun probably induced the fit, or sun-stroke, or brain +fever, whatever it was, that attacked him. He spoke of a cart: and she +concluded that Paul must have been many miles out of the route of his +home, or else the search instituted would surely have found him, had he +been within a few miles of Geneva. Why these people had kept him, had +not declared him to the nearest authorities, it was hard to say. They +might have kept him from benevolent motives; or might have seen the bank +note in his pocket-book, and kept him from motives of worldly interest. +However it might be, they had shown themselves worthy Christian people, +and she should ever be deeply grateful. _He_ had evidently no idea of +the flight of time since; perhaps-- + +"What do you wear that for?" + +He was lying with his eyes open, and pointing to the widow's cap. She +rose and bent over him, as she answered-- + +"David! David, dear! we have been mourning you as dead." + +"Mourning me as dead! I am not dead." + +No, he was not dead, and she was shedding happy tears for it, as she +threw the cap off from the braids of her still luxuriant hair. + +As well, perhaps, almost that he had been dead! for the best part of his +life, the mind's life, was over. No more intellect; no more business for +him in Fenchurch-street; no more ambitious aspirations after the civic +chair!--it was all over for ever for poor David Dundyke. + +But he had come home. He who was supposed to be lying +dead--murdered--had come home. It was a strange fact to go forth to the +world: one amidst the extraordinary tales that now and then arise to +startle it almost into disbelief. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +A DOUBTFUL SEARCH. + + +On the 3rd of February the college boys reassembled for school, after +the Christmas holidays. Rather explosive were the choristers at times at +getting no holidays--as they were pleased to regard it; for they had to +attend the cathedral twice daily always. Strictly speaking, the boys had +assembled on the previous day, the 2nd of February, and those who lived +at a distance, or had been away visiting, had to be back for that day. +It is Candlemas Day, as everybody knows, and a saint's day; and on +saints' days the king's scholars had to attend the services. + +On the 3rd the duties of the school began, and at seven in the morning +the boys were clattering up the steps. It was not a propitious morning: +snow and sleet doing battle, one against the other. Jocelyn had left, +and the eldest of the two Prattletons had succeeded him as senior. +Cookesley was second senior, Lewis third, and the eldest of the Aultanes +was fourth. + +The boys were not assembling in any great amount of good feeling. Lewis, +who with his brother had passed the holidays at the house of the late +Marmaduke Carr, and consequently had been in Westerbury, did not forget +the grudge he owed to Henry Arkell. It had been Mr. Lewis's pleasure to +spend his leisure-hours (time, possibly, hanging somewhat heavily on his +hands) in haunting the precincts of the cathedral. Morning, noon, and +night had he been seen there; now hovering like a ghost in one of the +cloister quadrants, now playing at solitary pitch-and-toss in the +grounds, and now taking rather slow, meditative steps past the deanery. +He had thus made himself aware that Henry Arkell and Miss Beauclerc not +unfrequently met; whether by accident or design on the young lady's +part, she best knew. Four times each day had Henry Arkell to be in the +grounds and cloisters on his way to and from college; and, at the very +least, on two of those occasions, Miss Beauclerc would happen to be +passing. She always stopped. Lewis had seen him sometimes walking on +with only a lift of the trencher, and Miss Beauclerc would not have it, +but stopped as usual. There was no whispering, there were apparently few +secrets; the talking was open and full of gaiety on the young lady's +part, if her laughter was anything to judge by; but Lewis was not the +less savage. When _he_ met her, she would say indifferently, "How d'ye +do, Lewis?" and pass on. Once, Lewis presumed to stop her with some item +of news that ought to have proved interesting, but Miss Beauclerc +scarcely listened, made some careless remark in answer, and continued +her way: the next minute she met Henry Arkell, and stayed with _him_. +That Lewis was in love with the dean's daughter, he knew to his sorrow. +How worse than foolish it had been on his part to suffer himself to fall +in love with her, we might say, but that this passion comes to us +without our will. Lewis believed that she loved Henry Arkell; he +believed that but for Henry Arkell being in the field, some favour might +be shown to him; and he had gone on hating him with a fierce and bitter +hatred. One day, Henry had come springing down the steps of the +cathedral, and encountered Miss Beauclerc close to him. They stood there +on the red flagstones of the cloisters, no gravestone being in that +particular spot, Georgina laughing and talking as usual. Lewis was in +the opposite quadrant of the cloisters, peeping across stealthily, and a +devout wish crossed his heart that Arkell was buried on the spot where +he then stood. Lewis was fated not to forget that wish. + +How he watched, day after day, none save himself saw or knew. He was +training for an admirable detective in plain clothes. He suspected there +had been some coolness between Henry and Miss Beauclerc, and that she +was labouring to dispel it; he knew that Arkell did not go to the +deanery so much as formerly, and he heard Miss Beauclerc reproach him +for it. Lewis had given half his life for such a reproach from her lips +to be addressed to him. + +There were so many things for which he hated Henry Arkell! There was his +great progress in his studies, there was the brilliant examination he +had undergone, and there was the gold medal. Could Lewis have +conveniently got at that medal, it had soon been melted down. He had +also taken up an angry feeling to Arkell on account of the doings of +that past November night--the locking up in the church of St. James the +Less. Lewis had grown to nourish a very strange notion in regard to it. +After puzzling his brain to torment, as to how Arkell _could_ have got +out, and finding no solution, he arrived at length at the conclusion +that he had never been in. He must have left the church previously, +Lewis believed, and he had locked up an empty church. It is true he had +thought he heard the organ going, but he fully supposed now that he +heard it only in fancy. Arkell's silence on the point contributed to +this idea: it was entirely beyond Lewis's creed to suppose a fellow +could have such a trick played him and not complain of it. Arkell had +never given forth token of cognisance from that hour to this, and Lewis +assumed he had not been in. + +It very much augmented his ill feeling, especially when he remembered +his own night of horrible anticipation. Mr. Lewis had come to the final +conclusion that Arkell had been "out on the spree;" and but for a vague +fear that his own share in the night's events might be dragged to light, +he would certainly have contrived that it should reach the ears of Mr. +Wilberforce. He and his brother were to be for another half year +boarders at the master's house. Cookesley acted there as senior; the +senior boy, Prattleton, living at home. + +The boys trooped into the schoolroom, and Prattleton stood with the roll +in his hand. Lewis had not joined on the previous day; he had obtained +grace until this, for he wanted to spend it at Eckford. As he came in +now, he made rather a parade of shaking hands with Prattleton, and +wishing him joy of his honours. Most of the boys liked to begin by being +in favour with a new senior, however they might be fated to end, and +Lewis and Prattleton were great personal friends--it may be said +confidants. Lewis had partially trusted Prattleton with the secret of +his love for Miss Beauclerc; and he had fully entrusted him with his +hatred of Henry Arkell. Scarcely a minute were they together at any +time, but Lewis was speaking against Arkell; telling this against him, +telling that. Constant dropping will wear away a stone; and Prattleton +listened until he was in a degree imbued with the same feeling. +Personally, he had no dislike to Arkell himself; but, incited by Lewis, +he was quite willing to do him any ill turn privately. + +The roll was called over when Henry Arkell entered. He put down a load +of books he carried, and went up to Prattleton to shake hands, as Lewis +had done; being a chorister, he had not gone into the schoolroom on the +previous day; and he wished him all good luck. + +"I am sorry to have to mark you late on the first morning, Arkell," +Prattleton quietly said as he shook hands with him. "The school has a +superstition, you know--that anyone late on the first morning will be +so, as a rule, through the half." + +"I know," answered Henry. "It is no fault of mine. Mr. Wilberforce +desired me to tell you that he detained me, therefore I am to be marked +as having been present." + +"Did he detain you?" + +"For ten minutes at least. I met him as I was coming in, and he caused +me to go back with him to his house and bring in these books. He then +gave me the message to you." + +"All right," said Prattleton, cheerfully: and he erased the cross +against Arkell's name, and marked him as present. + +Even this little incident exasperated Lewis. His ill feeling rendered +him unjust. No other boy, that he could remember, had been marked as +present, not being so. He was beginning to say something sarcastic upon +the point, when the entrance of the master himself shut up his tongue +for the present. + +But we cannot stop with the college boys just now. + +On this same day, later, when the sun, had there been any sun to see, +was nearing the meridian, Lawyer Fauntleroy sat in his private office, +deep in business. Not a more clever lawyer than he throughout the town +of Westerbury; and to such men business flocks in. His table stood at a +right angle with the fireplace, and the blazing fire burning there, +threw its heat upon his face, and his feet rested on a soft thick mat of +wool. Mr. Fauntleroy, no longer young, was growing fonder and fonder of +the comforts of life, and he sat there cosily, heedless of the hail that +beat on the window without. + +The door softly opened, and a clerk came in. It was Kenneth. "Are you at +home, sir?" + +Mr. Fauntleroy glanced up from the parchment he was bending over--a +yellow-looking deed, and his brow looked forth displeasure. "I told you +I did not care to be interrupted this morning, Kenneth, unless it was +for anything very particular. Who is it?" + +"A lady, sir. 'Mrs. Carr' was the name she gave in." + +"Carr--Carr?" debated Mr. Fauntleroy, unable to recal any lady of the +name amidst his acquaintance. "No. I have no leisure for ladies to-day." + +Kenneth hesitated. "It's not likely to be the Mrs. Carr in Carr _v._ +Carr; the lady you have had some correspondence with, is it, sir?" he +waited to ask. "She is a stranger, and is dressed as a widow." + +"The Mrs. Carr in Carr _v._ Carr!" repeated Mr. Fauntleroy. "By Jupiter, +I shouldn't wonder if she's come to Westerbury! But I thought she was in +Holland. Show her in." + +Mr. Kenneth retired, and came back with the visitor. It was Mrs. Carr. +Mr. Fauntleroy pushed aside the deed before him, and rose to salute her, +wondering at her extreme youth. She spoke English fluently, but with a +foreign accent, and she entered at once upon the matter which had +brought her to Westerbury. + +"A circumstance has occurred to renew the old anxiety about this cause," +she said to Mr. Fauntleroy. "Should we lose it, I shall lose all I have +at present to look forward to, for our affairs in Holland are more +complicated than ever. It may turn out, Mr. Fauntleroy, that my share of +this inheritance will be all I and my little children will have to +depend upon in the world." + +"But the cause is safe," returned Mr. Fauntleroy. "The paper you found +and forwarded to me last October--or stay, November, wasn't it----" + +"Would you be so kind as let me see that paper?" she interrupted. + +Mr. Fauntleroy rose and brought forward a bundle of papers labelled +"Carr." He drew out a letter, and laid it open before his visitor. It +was the one you saw before; the letter written by Robert Carr the elder +to his son, stating that the marriage had been solemnized at the church +of St. James the Less, and that the entry of it would be found there. + +"And there the marriage is entered, as I subsequently wrote you word," +observed Mr. Fauntleroy. "It is singular how your husband could have +overlooked that letter." + +"It had slipped between the leaves of the blotting-book, or else been +placed there purposely by Mr. Carr," she answered; "and my husband may +not have been very particular in examining the desk, for at that time he +did not know his legitimacy would be disputed. Are you sure it is in the +register, sir?" she continued, some anxiety in her tone. + +"Quite sure," replied Mr. Fauntleroy. "I sent to St. James's to search +as soon as I got this letter, glad enough to have the clue at last; and +there it was found." + +"Well--it is very strange," observed Mrs. Carr, after a pause. "I will +tell you what it is that has made me so anxious and brought me down. +But, in the first place, I must observe that I concluded the cause was +at an end. I cannot understand why the other side did not at once give +up when that letter was discovered." + +Knowing that _he_ had kept the other side in ignorance of the letter, +Mr. Fauntleroy was not very explanatory on this point. Mrs. Carr +continued-- + +"My husband had a friend of the name of Littelby, a solicitor. He was +formerly the manager of an office in London, but about two months since +he left it for one in the country, Mynn and Mynn's----" + +"Mynn and Mynn," interrupted Mr. Fauntleroy; "that's the firm who are +conducting the case for your adversaries--the Carrs, of Eckford. +Littelby? Yes, it is the name of their new man, I remember." + +"Well, sir, last week Mr. Littelby was in London, and he called at Mrs. +Dundyke's, where I had been staying since I came over from Holland, a +fortnight before. The strangest thing has happened there! Mr. +Dundyke--but you will not thank me to take up your time, perhaps, with +matters that don't concern you. Mr. Littelby spoke to me upon the +subject of the letter that I had found, and he said he feared there was +something wrong about it, though he could not conceive how, for that +there had been no marriage, so far as could be discovered." + +"He can say the moon's made of green cheese if he likes," cried Mr. +Fauntleroy. + +"He said that the opinion of Mynn and Mynn was, that the pretended +letter had been intended as a _ruse_--a false plea, written to induce +the other side to give up peaceably; but that most positively there was +no truth in the statement of the marriage being in the register. Sir, I +am sure Mr. Littelby must have had good cause for saying this," +emphatically continued Mrs. Carr "He is a man incapable of deceit, and +he wishes well to me and my children. The last advice he gave me was, +not to be sanguine; for Mynn and Mynn were clever and cautious +practitioners, and he knew they made sure the cause was theirs." + +"Sharp men," acquiesced Mr. Fauntleroy, nodding his head with a +fellow-feeling of approval; "but we have got the whip hand of them in +your case, Mrs. Carr." + +"I thought it better to tell you this," said she, rising. "It has made +me so uneasy that I have scarcely slept since; for I know Mr. Littelby +would not discourage me without cause." + +"Without fancying he has cause," corrected Mr. Fauntleroy. "Be at ease, +ma'am: the marriage is as certain as that oak and ash grow. Where are +you staying in Westerbury?" + +"In some lodgings I was recommended to in College-row," answered she, +producing a card. "Perhaps you will take down the address----" + +"Oh, no need for that," said Mr. Fauntleroy, glancing at it, "I know the +lodgings well. Mind they don't shave you." + +Mrs. Carr was shown out, and Mr. Fauntleroy called in his managing +clerk. "Kenneth," said he, "let the Carr cause be completed for counsel; +and when the brief's ready, I'll look over it to refresh my memory. Send +Omer down to St. James the Less, to take a copy of the marriage." + +"I thought Omer brought a copy," observed Mr. Kenneth. + +"No; I don't think so. It will save going again if he did. Ask him." + +Mr. Kenneth returned to the clerks' office. "Omer, did you bring a copy +of the marriage in the case, Carr _v._ Carr, when you searched the +register at St. James's church?" he demanded. + +"No," replied Omer. + +"Then why did you not?" + +"I had no orders, sir. Mr. Fauntleroy only told me to look whether such +an entry was there." + +"Then you must go now----What's that you are about? Winter's settlement? +Why, you have had time to finish that twice over." + +"I have been out all the morning with that writ," pleaded Omer, "and +could not get to serve it at last. Pretty well three hours I was +standing in the passage next his house, waiting for him to come out, and +the wind whistling my head off all the time." + +Mr. Kenneth vouchsafed no response to this; but he would not disturb the +clerk again from Winter's deed. He ordered another, Mr. Green, to go to +St. James's church for the copy, and threw him half-a-crown to pay for +it. + +Young Mr. Green did not relish the mission, and thought himself +barbarously used in being sent upon it, inasmuch as that he was an +articled clerk and a gentleman, not a paid nobody. "Trapesing through +the weather all down to that St. James's!" muttered he, as he snatched +his hat and greatcoat. + +It struck three o'clock before he came back. "Where's Kenneth?" asked +he, when he entered. + +"In the governor's room. You can go in." + +Mr. Green did go in, and Mr. Kenneth broke out into anger. "You have +taken your time!" + +"I couldn't come quicker," was Mr. Green's reply. "I had to look all +through the book. The marriage is not there." + +"It is thrift to send you upon an errand," retorted Mr. Kenneth. "You +have not been searching." + +"I have done nothing else but search since I left. If the entry had been +there, Mr. Kenneth, I should have been back in no time. It is not +exactly a day to stop for pleasure in a mouldy old church that's colder +than charity, or to amuse oneself in the streets." + +Mr. Fauntleroy looked up from his desk. "The entry is there, Green: you +have overlooked it." + +"Sir, I assure you that the entry is not there," repeated Mr. Green. "I +looked very carefully." + +"Call in Omer," said Mr. Fauntleroy. "You saw the entry of Robert Carr's +marriage to Martha Ann Hughes?" he continued, when Omer appeared. + +"Yes, sir." + +"You are sure of it?" + +"Certainly, sir. I saw it and read it." + +"You hear, Mr. Green. You have overlooked it." + +"If Omer can find it there, I'll do his work for a week," retorted young +Green. "I will pledge you my veracity, sir----" + +"Never mind your veracity," interrupted Mr. Fauntleroy; "it is a case of +oversight, not of veracity. Kenneth, you have to go down to Clark's +office about that bill of costs; you may as well go on to St, James's +and get the copy." + +"Two half-crowns to pay instead of one, through these young fellows' +negligence," grumbled Mr. Kenneth. "They charge it as many times as they +open their vestry." + +"What's that to him? it doesn't come out of his pocket," whispered Green +to Omer, as they returned to their own room. "But if they find the Carr +marriage entered there, I'll be shot in two." + +"And I'll be shot in four if they don't," retorted Omer. "What a blind +beetle you must have been, Green!" + +Mr. Kenneth came back from his mission. He walked straight into the +presence of Mr. Fauntleroy, and beckoning Omer in after him, attacked +him with a storm of reproaches. + +"Do you drink, Mr. Omer?" + +"Drink, sir!" + +"Yes, drink. Are the words not plain enough?" + +"No, sir, I do not," returned Omer, in astonishment. + +"Then, Mr. Omer, I tell you that you do. No man, unless he was a drunken +man, could pretend to see things which have no place. When you read that +entry of Robert Carr's marriage in the register, you saw double, for it +never was anywhere but in your brain. There is no entry of the marriage +in St. James's register," he added, turning to Mr. Fauntleroy. + +Mr. Fauntleroy's mouth dropped considerably. "No entry!" + +"Nothing of the sort!" continued Mr. Kenneth. "There's no name, and no +marriage, and no anything--relating to Robert Carr." + +"Bless my heart, what an awful error to have been drawn into!" uttered +Mr. Fauntleroy, who was so entirely astounded by the news, that he, for +the moment, doubted whether anything was real about him. "All the +expense I have been put to will fall upon me; the widow has not a rap, +certain; and to take her body in execution would bring no result, save +increasing the cost. Mr. Omer, are you prepared to take these charges on +yourself, for the error your carelessness has led us into? I should not +have gone on paying costs myself but for that alleged entry in the +register." + +Mr. Omer looked something like a mass of petrifaction, unable to speak +or move. + +"But for the marriage being established--as we were led to suppose--we +never should have gone on to trial. Mrs. Carr must have relinquished +it," continued Mr. Fauntleroy. + +"Of course we should not," chimed in the managing clerk. + +"I thought there must be some flaw in the wind; I declare I did, by the +other side's carrying it on, now that I find Mynn and Mynn knew of the +alleged marriage," exclaimed Mr. Fauntleroy. "I shall look to you for +reimbursement, Omer. And, Mr. Kenneth, you'll search out some one in his +place: we cannot retain a clerk in our office who is liable to lead us +into ruinous mistakes, by asserting that black is white." + +Mr. Omer was beginning to recover his senses. "Sir," he said, "you are +angry with me without cause. I can be upon my oath that the marriage of +Robert Carr with Martha Ann Hughes is entered there: I repeated to you, +sir, the date, and the names of the witnesses: how could I have done +that without reading them?" + +"That's true enough," returned Mr. Fauntleroy, his hopes beginning to +revive. + +"Here's a proof," continued the young man, taking out a worn +pocket-book. "I am a bad one to remember Christian names, so I just +copied the names of the witnesses here in pencil. 'Edward Blisset +Hughes,' and 'Sophia Hughes,'" he added, holding it towards Mr. +Fauntleroy. + +"They were her brother and sister," remarked Mr. Fauntleroy, in +soliloquy, looking at the pencilled marks. "Both are dead now; at least, +news came of her death, and he has not been heard of for years: she +married young Pycroft." + +"Well, sir," argued Omer, "if these names had not been in the register, +how could I have taken them down? I did not know the names before, or +that there ever were such people." + +The argument appeared unanswerable, and Mr. Fauntleroy looked at his +head clerk. The latter was not deficient in common sense, and he was +compelled to conclude that he had himself done what he had accused Mr. +Green of doing--overlooked it. + +"Allow me to go down at once to St. James's, sir," resumed Omer. + +"I will go with you," said Mr. Fauntleroy. The truth was, he was ill at +ease. + +They proceeded together to St. James's church, causing old Hunt to +believe that Lawyer Fauntleroy and his establishment of clerks had all +gone crazy together. "Search the register three times in one day!" +muttered he; "nobody has never done such a thing in the memory of man." + +But neither Omer nor his master, Mr. Fauntleroy, could find any such +entry in the register. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +DETECTION. + + +Afternoon school was over. Mr. Wilberforce had been some time at home, +and was bestowing a sharp lecture on his son Edwin for some delinquency, +when he was told that Lawyer Fauntleroy waited in his study. The master +brought his anger to a summary conclusion, and went into the presence of +his visitor. + +"My business is not of a pleasant nature," he premised. "I must tell you +in confidence, Mr. Wilberforce, that after all the doubt and discredit +cast upon the affair, Robert Carr was discovered to have married that +girl at St. James's--your church now--and the entry was found there." + +"I know it," said Mr. Wilberforce. "I saw it in the register." + +The lawyer stared. "Just repeat that, will you?" said he, putting his +hand to his ear as if he were deaf. + +"I heard it was to be found there, and the first time afterwards that I +had occasion to make an entry in the register, I turned back to the +date, out of curiosity, and read it." + +"Now I am as pleased to hear you say that as if you had put me down a +five-hundred pound note," cried Mr. Fauntleroy. "I daresay you'll not +object, if called upon, to bear testimony that the marriage was +registered there." + +"The register itself will be the best testimony," observed Mr. +Wilberforce. + +"It would have been," said the lawyer; "but that entry has been taken +out of the register." + +"Taken out!" repeated Mr. Wilberforce. + +"Taken out. It is not in now." + +"Stuff and nonsense!" cried the master. + +"So I said, when my clerks brought me word to-day that it was not in. +The first sent, Green--you know the young dandy; it's but the other day +he was in the college school--came back and said it was not there. +Kenneth gave him a rowing for carelessness, and went himself. He came +back and said it was not there. Then I thought it was time to go; and I +went, and took Omer with me, who saw the entry in the book last +November, and copied part of it. Green was right, and Kenneth was right; +there is no such entry there." + +"This is an incredible tale," exclaimed Mr. Wilberforce. + +The old lawyer drew forward his chair, and peered into the rector's +face. "There has been some devilry at work--saving your calling." + +"Not saving it at all," retorted Mr. Wilberforce, as hot as when he had +been practically demonstrating of what birch is made in the college +schoolroom. "Devilry has been at work, in one sense or another, and +nothing short of devilry, if it be as you say." + +"It has not only gone, but there's no trace of it's going, or how it +went. The register looks as smooth and complete as though it had never +been in any hands but honest ones. But now," added the lawyer, "there's +another thing that is puzzling me almost as much as the disappearance +itself; and that is, how you got to know of it." + +"I heard of it from Travice Arkell." + +"From Travice Arkell!" + +"Yes, I did. And the way I came to hear of it was rather curious," +continued the master. "One of my parishioners was thought to be dying, +and I was sent for in a hurry, out of early school. Mr. Prattleton +generally attends these calls for me, but this poor man had expressed a +wish that I myself should go to him. It was between eight and nine +o'clock, and Travice Arkell was standing at their gates as I passed, +reading a letter which the postman had just delivered to him. It was +from Mrs. Dundyke, with whom the Carrs were stopping----" + +"When was this?" interrupted Mr. Fauntleroy. + +"The beginning of November. Travice Arkell stopped me to tell of the +strange news that the letter conveyed to him; that a paper had been +found in Robert Carr the elder's writing, stating that the marriage had +taken place at St. James the Less, the morning he and Miss Hughes left +Westerbury, and it would be found duly entered in the register. The news +appeared to me so excessively improbable, that I cautioned Travice +Arkell against speaking of it, and recommended him to keep it to himself +until the truth or falsehood of it should be ascertained." + +"What made you give him this caution?" + +"I tell you; I thought it so improbable that any such marriage should +have taken place. I thought it a hoax, set afloat out of mischief, +probably by the Carrs of Eckford; and I did not choose that my church, +or anything in it, should be made a jest of publicly. Travice Arkell +agreed with my view, and gave me his promise not to mention it. His +father was away at the time." + +"Where?" + +"I really forget. I know he had come home only the day before from a +short visit to London, and went out again, somewhere the same day. +Travice said he did not expect him back that second time for some days." + +"Well?" said Mr. Fauntleroy, in his blunt manner, for the master had +stopped, in thought. + +"Well, the next morning Travice Arkell called upon me here. He had had a +second letter from Mrs. Dundyke, begging him not to mention to anyone +what she had said about the marriage, for Mrs. Carr had received a hasty +letter from Mr. Fauntleroy, forbidding her to speak of it to anyone. So, +after all, that caution that I gave to Travice might have been an +instinct." + +"And do you think he had not mentioned it?" + +"I feel sure that he has never allowed it to escape his lips. He has too +great a regard for his aunt, Mrs. Dundyke. She feared she had done +mischief, and was most anxious. On the following Sunday, when I was +marrying a couple in my church before service, and had got the register +out, I looked back to the date, and there, sure enough, was the marriage +duly entered." + +"And _you_ have not spoken of it?" + +"I have not. If, as you say, the marriage is no longer there, it is a +most strange thing; an incredible thing. But I'll see into it." + +"Somebody must see into it," returned the lawyer, as he departed. "A +parish register ought to be kept as sacred as the crown jewels." + +Mr. Wilberforce--a restless man when anything troubled him--started off +to Clark Hunt's, disturbing that gentleman at his tea. "Hunt, follow +me," said he, as he took the key from its niche, "and bring some matches +and a candle with you. I want to examine the register." + +"If ever I met with the like o' this!" cried Hunt, when the master had +walked on. "Register, register, register! my legs is aching with the +tramping back'ards and for'ards, to that vestry to-day." + +He walked after Mr. Wilberforce as quickly as his lameness would allow. +The latter was already in the vestry. He procured the key of the safe +(kept in a secret place which no one knew of save himself, the clerk, +and the Reverend Mr. Prattleton) opened it, and laid the book before +him. Mr. Wilberforce knew, by the date, where the entry ought to be, +where it had been, and he was not many minutes ascertaining that it was +no longer there. + +"Gone and left no trace, as Fauntleroy said," he whispered to himself. +"How can it have been done? The leaf must have been taken out! oh yes, +it's as complete a thing as ever I saw accomplished: and how is it to be +proved that it's gone? This comes of their careless habit of not paging +their leaves in those old days: had they been paged, the theft would +have been evident. Hunt," cried he, aloud, raising his head, "this +register has been tampered with." + +"Law, sir, that's just what that great lawyer, Fauntleroy, wanted to +persuade me on. He has been a-putting it into your head, maybe; but +don't you be frighted with any such notion, sir. 'Rob the register!' +says I to him; 'no, not unless they robs me of my eyesight first. It's +never touched, nor looked at,' says I, 'but when I'm here to take care +on it.'" + +"A leaf has been taken out. Who has had access here?" + +"Not a soul has never had access to this vestry, sir, unless I have been +with 'em, except yourself or Mr. Prattleton," persisted the old register +keeper. "It's not possible, sir, that the book has been touched." + +"Now don't argue like that, Hunt," testily returned Mr. Wilberforce, "I +tell you that the register has been rifled, and it could not have been +done without access being obtained to it. To whom have you entrusted the +key of the church?" + +"Never to nobody, save the two young college gents, what comes to play +the organ," said the clerk, stoutly. + +"And they could not get access to the register. Some one else must have +had the key." + +The old man sat down on a chair, opposite Mr. Wilberforce; placing his +two hands on his knees, he stared very fixedly on vacancy. Mr. +Wilberforce, who knew his countenance, fancied he was trying to recal +something. + +"I remember a morning, some time ago," cried he, slowly, "that one of +them senior college gents--but that couldn't have had nothing to do with +the register." + +"What do you remember?" questioned Mr. Wilberforce. + +"Your asking if anybody had had the key, put me in mind of it, sir. One +of them college seniors; Lewis, it was; came to my house soon after I +got up. A rare taking he seemed to be in; with fright, or something like +it; and wanted me to lend him the key of the church. 'No, no, young +gent,' says I, 'not without the master's orders.' He was a panting like +anything, and looked as resolute as a bear, and when he heard that, he +snatched the key, and tore off with it. Presently, back he comes, saying +it was the wrong key and wouldn't undo the door. Mr. George Prattleton +had come round then: Mr. Prattleton had told him to ask about the time +fixed for a funeral--which, by token, I remember was Dame Furbery's--and +he took the key from Mr. Lewis, and hung it up, and railed off at me for +trusting it to the college gents. Lewis finding he couldn't get it from +me, went after Mr. George Prattleton, and they came back, and Mr. George +took the key from the hook to go to the church with Lewis. What it was +Lewis had said to him, I don't pertend to guess, but they was both as +white as corpses--as white I know, as ever was dead Dame Furbery in her +coffin: which was just about then a being screwed down. After all, they +hung the key up again, and didn't go into the church." + +"When was this?" asked Mr. Wilberforce. + +"It was the very day, sir, after our cat's chaney saucer was done for; +and that was done for the day after the grand audit dinner at the +deanery. Master Henry Arkell, after going into the church to practise, +couldn't be contented to bring the key back and hang it up, like a +Christian, but must dash it on to the kitchen floor, where it split the +cat's chaney saucer to pieces, and scattered the milk, a-frighting the +cat, who had just got her nose in it, a'most into fits, and my missis +too. Well, sir, when I opened my shutters the next morning, who should +be a standing at the gate but Arkell, so I fetched him in to see the +damage he had done; and it was while he was in the kitchen, a-counting +the pieces, that Lewis came to the door." + +"But this must have been early morning," cried Mr. Wilberforce. + +"Somewhere about half after six, sir: it was half moonlight and half +twilight. I remember what a bright clear morning it was for November." + +"Why, at that hour both Lewis and Arkell must have been in their beds, +asleep, at my house." + +"Law, sir, who can answer for schoolboys, especially them big college +gents? When they ought to be a-bed, they're up; and when they ought to +be up, they're a-bed. They was both at my house that morning." + +Mr. Wilberforce could not make much of the tale, except that two of his +boarders were out when he had deemed them safe in bed; and he left the +church. It was dusk then. As he was striding along, in an irascible +mood, he met Henry Arkell. He touched his cap to the master, and was +passing on. + +"Not so fast, Mr. Arkell. I want a word with you." + +Arkell stopped and stood before Mr. Wilberforce, his truthful eye and +open countenance raised fearlessly. + +"I gave you credit for behaving honourably, and as a gentleman ought, +during the time you were residing in my house, but I find I was +deceived. Who gave you leave, pray, to sneak out of it at early morning, +when everybody else was in bed?" + +"I never did, sir," replied Henry. + +"Take care, Arkell. If there's one fault I punish more than another, it +is a falsehood; and that you know. I say that you did sneak out of my +house at untoward and improper hours." + +"Indeed, sir, I never did," he replied with respectful earnestness. + +The master raised his forefinger, and shook it at his pupil. "You were +down at Hunt's one morning last November, by half-past six, perhaps +earlier; you must have gone down by moonlight----Ah, I see," added the +master, in an altered tone, for a change flashed over Henry Arkell's +features, "conscience is accusing you of the falsehood." + +"No, sir, I told no falsehood. I don't deny that I was at Hunt's one +morning." + +"Then how can you deny that you stole out of my house to get there? +Perhaps you will explain, sir." + +What was Henry Arkell to do? Explain, in the full sense of the word, he +could not; but explain, in a degree, he must, for Mr. Wilberforce was +not one to be trifled with. He was a perfectly ingenuous boy, both in +manner and character, and Mr. Wilberforce had hitherto known him for a +truthful one: indeed, he put more faith in Arkell than in all the rest +of the thirty-nine king's scholars. + +"Perhaps you will dare to tell me that you stopped out all night, +instead of sneaking out in the morning?" pursued the master. + +"Yes, sir, I did; but it was not my fault: I was kept out." + +"Where were you, and who kept you out?" + +"Oh, sir, if you would be so kind as not to press me--for indeed I +cannot tell. I was kept out, and I could not help myself." + +"I never heard so impudent an avowal from any boy in my life," proceeded +Mr. Wilberforce, when he recovered his astonishment. "What was the +nature of the mischief you were in? Come; I will know it." + +"I was not in any mischief, sir. If I might tell the truth, you would +say that I was not.'" + +"This is most extraordinary behaviour," returned the master. "What +reason have you for not telling the truth?" + +"Because--because--well, sir, the reason is, that I could not speak +without getting others into trouble. Indeed, sir," he earnestly added, +"though I did stop out from your house all night, I did no wrong; I was +in no mischief, and it was no fault of mine." + +Strange perhaps to say, the master believed him: from his long +experience of the boy, he could believe nothing but good of Harry +Arkell, and if ever words bore the stamp of truth, his did now. + +"I am in a hurry at present," said the master, "but don't flatter +yourself this matter will rest." + +Henry touched his cap again, and the master strode on to the residence +of the Reverend Mr. Prattleton, and entered it without ceremony. Mr. +Prattleton was seated with his two sons, and with George. + +"Send the boys away for a minute, will you?" cried the master to his +brother clergyman. + +The boys went away, exceedingly glad to be sent. "You can go on with +your Greek in the other room," said their father. But to that suggestion +they were conveniently deaf, preferring to take an evening gallop +through some of the more obscure streets, where they knocked furiously +at all the doors, and pulled out a few of the bell-wires. + +"An unpleasant affair has happened, Prattleton," began the master. "The +register at St. James's has been robbed." + +"The register robbed!" echoed Mr. Prattleton. "Not the book taken?" + +"Not the book itself. A leaf has been taken out of it." + +"How?" + +"We must endeavour to find out how. Hunt protests that nobody has had +access to it but ourselves, save in his presence." + +"I do not suppose they have," returned Mr. Prattleton. "How could they? +When was it taken?" + +"Sometime since the beginning of November. And there'll be a tremendous +stir over it, as sure as that we are sitting here: it was wanted +for--for--some trial at the next assizes," concluded the master, +recollecting that Mr. Fauntleroy had cautioned him still not to speak of +it. "Fauntleroy's people went to-day to take a copy of it, and found it +gone; so Fauntleroy came on to me." + +"You are sure it is gone?" continued Mr. Prattleton. "An entry is so +easily overlooked." + +"I am sure it is not in the book now: and I read it there last +November." + +"Well, this is an awkward thing. Have you no suspicion?--no clue?" + +"Not any. Hunt was telling a tale----By the way," added Mr. Wilberforce, +turning to George Prattleton, who had moved himself to a polite +distance, as if not caring to hear, "you were mixed up in that. He says, +that last November you and Lewis had some secret between you, about the +church. Lewis went down to his house one morning by moonlight, got the +key by stratagem, and brought it back, saying it was the wrong one: and +you then went to the church with him, and both of you were agitated. +What was it all about? What did he want in the church?" + +"Oh--something had been left there, I think he said, when one of the +college boys had gone in to practise. That was nothing, Mr. Wilberforce. +We did not go into the church, after all." + +George Prattleton spoke with eagerness, and then hastened from the room, +but not before Mr. Wilberforce had caught a glimpse of his countenance. + +"What is the matter with George?" whispered he. + +Mr. Prattleton turned, and looked at the door by which he had gone out. +"With George?" he repeated: "nothing that I know of. Why?" + +"He turned as pale as my cravat: just as Hunt describes him to have been +when he went into the church with Lewis. I shall begin to think there is +a mystery in this." + +"But not one that touches the register," said Mr. Prattleton. "I'll tell +you what that mystery was, but you must not bring in me as your +informant; and don't punish the boy, now it's over, Wilberforce; though +it was a disgraceful and dangerous act. It seems that young Arkell--what +a nice lad that is! but he comes of a good stock--went into St. James's +one evening to practise, and Lewis, who owed him a grudge, stole after +him and locked him in, and took back the key to Hunt's, where he broke +some heirloom of the dame's, in the shape of a china saucer, Hunt and +his wife taking it to be Arkell. Arkell was locked in the church all +night." + +"Locked in the church all night!" repeated the amazed Sir. Wilberforce. +"Why the fright might have turned him--turned him--stone blind!" + +"It might have turned him stone dead," rejoined Mr. Prattleton. "Lewis, +it appears, got terrified for the consequences, and as soon as your +servants were up, he went to Hunt's to get the key and let Arkell out. +Hunt would not give it him, and Lewis appealed to George. That's what +has sent George out of the room, pale, as you call it; he was afraid +lest you should question him too closely, and he passed his word to +Lewis not to betray him." + +"What a villanous rascal!" uttered the master. "I never liked Lewis, but +I would not have given him credit for this. Did George tell you?" + +"Not he; he is not aware I know it. Lewis, some days afterwards, +imparted the exploit to my boy, Joe. Joe, in his turn, imparted it to +his brother, under a formidable injunction of secrecy, and I happened to +overhear them, and became as wise as they were." + +"You ought to have told me this," remarked Mr. Wilberforce, his +countenance bearing its most severe expression. + +"Had one of my own boys been guilty of it, I would have brought him to +you and had him punished in the face of the school; but as no harm had +come of it, I did not care to inform against Lewis: though I don't +excuse him; it was a dastardly action." + +"Well, this explains what Lewis wanted in the church, but it brings us +no nearer the affair of the register. I think I shall offer a reward for +the discovery." + +Mr. Wilberforce proceeded home, and into the study where his boarders +were assembled, some half dozen of the head boys. One of them, a great +tall fellow, stood on his head on a table, his feet touching the wall. +"Who's that?" uttered the master. "Is that the way you prepare your +lessons, sir?" + +Down clattered the head and the feet, and the gentleman stood upright on +the floor. It was Lewis senior. Mr. Wilberforce took a seat, and the +boys held their breath: they saw something was wrong. + +"Vaughan." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Did you lock Henry Arkell up in St. James's Church, and compel him to +pass a night there?" + +Mr. Vaughan opened all the eyes he possessed. + +"I, sir! I have not locked him up, sir. I don't think Arkell is locked +up," added Vaughan, in the confusion of his ideas. "I saw him talking to +you, sir, just now, in Wage-street." + +Lewis pricked up his ears, which had turned of a fiery red; then Arkell +_had_ been locked in! Mr. Wilberforce sharply seized upon Vaughan's +words. + +"What brought you in Wage-street, pray?" + +"If you please, sir," coughed Vaughan, feeling he had betrayed himself, +"I only went out for an exercise book. I finished mine last night, sir, +and forgot it till I went to do my Latin just now. I didn't stop +anywhere a minute, sir; I ran there and back as quick as lightning. +Here's the book, sir." + +Believing as much of this as he chose, Mr. Wilberforce did not pursue +the subject. "Then which of you gentlemen was it who did shut up +Arkell?" asked he, gazing round. "Lewis, senior, what is the matter with +you, that you are skulking behind? Did _you_ do it?" + +Lewis saw that all was up. "That canting hound has been peaching at +last," quoth he to himself. "I laid a bet with Prattleton he'd do it." + +"It is the most wicked and cowardly action that I believe ever disgraced +the college school," continued Mr. Wilberforce, "and it depends upon how +you meet it, Lewis, whether or not I shall expel you. Equivocate to me +now, if you dare. Had it come to my knowledge at the time, you should +have been flogged till you could not stand, and ignominiously expelled. +Flogged you will be, as it is. Do you know, sir, that he might have died +through it?" + +Lewis hung his head, wishing Arkell had died; and then he could not have +told the master. + +"I think the best punishment will be, to lock you up in St. James's all +the night, and see how you will like it," continued Mr. Wilberforce. + +Lewis wondered whether he was serious; and the perspiration ran down him +at the thought. "He was not locked in all night," he said, sullenly, by +way of propitiating the master. "When we went to open the church, he was +gone." + +"Gone! What do you mean now?" + +"He had got out somehow, sir, for Hunt said he had just seen him, and +when I ran back to morning school, he was in the college hall. Mr. +George Prattleton advised me not to make a stir, to know how he had got +out, but to let it drop." + +As Lewis spoke, Mr. Wilberforce suddenly remembered that Hunt said Henry +Arkell was in his kitchen, when Lewis came, frightened, and thumping for +the key. It occurred to him now, for the first time, to wonder how that +could have been. + +"When you locked Arkell in, what did you do with the key?" + +"I took it to Hunt's, sir." + +"And gave it to Hunt?" + +"Yes, sir. That is," added Lewis, thinking it might be as well to be +correct, "I pushed it into the kitchen, where Hunt was." + +"And broke Dame Hunt's saucer," retorted Mr. Wilberforce. "When did you +have the key again. Speak up, sir?" + +"I didn't have it again, sir," returned Lewis. "The key I took from the +hook, next morning, would not fit into the lock, and I took it back. +Hunt said it was the right key, and George Prattleton said it was the +key; but I am sure it was not, although George Prattleton called me a +fool for thinking so." + +The master revolved all this in his mind, and thought it very strange. +He was determined to come to the bottom of it, and despatched Vaughan to +Arkell's house to fetch him. The two boys came back together, and Mr. +Wilberforce, without circumlocution, addressed the latter. + +"When this worthy companion of yours," waving his hand contemptuously +towards Lewis, "locked you in the church, how did you get out?" + +Henry Arkell glanced at Lewis, and hesitated in his answer. "I can't +tell, sir." + +"You can't tell!" exclaimed Mr. Wilberforce. "Did you walk out of it in +your sleep? Did you get down from a window?--or through the locked door? +How did you get out, I ask?" + +Before there was time for any reply, the master's servant entered, and +said the Rev. Mr. Prattleton was waiting to speak to the master +immediately. Mr. Wilberforce, leaving the study door open, went into the +opposite room. Mr. Prattleton, who stood there, came forward eagerly. + +"Wilberforce, a thought has struck me, and I came in to suggest it. When +the boy passed the night in the church, did he get playing with the +register?" + +"He would not do it; Arkell would not," spoke the master, in the first +flush of thought. + +"Not mischievously; but he may have got fingering anything he could lay +his hands upon--and it is the most natural thing he would do, to while +away the long hours. A spark may have fallen on the leaf, and----" + +"How could he get a light?--or find the key of the safe?" interrupted +Mr. Wilberforce. + +"Schoolboys can ferret out anything, and he may have found its +hiding-place. As to a light, half the boys keep matches in their +pockets." + +Mr. Wilberforce mused upon the suggestion till it grew into a +probability. He called in Arkell, and shut the door. + +"Now," said he, confronting him, "will you speak the truth to me, or +will you not?" + +"I have hitherto spoken the truth to you, sir," answered Arkell, in a +tone of pain. + +"Well; I believe you have: it would be bad for you now, if you had not. +It is about that register, you know," added Mr. Wilberforce, speaking +slowly, and staring at him. + +There was but one candle on the table, and Henry Arkell pulled out his +handkerchief and rubbed it over his face: between the handkerchief and +the dim light, the master failed to detect any signs of emotion. + +"Did you get fingering the register-book in St. James's, the night you +were in the church?" + +"No, sir, that I did not," he readily answered. + +"Had you a light in the church?" + +"You boys have a propensity for concealing matches in your clothes, in +defiance of the risk you run," interrupted Mr. Prattleton. "Had you any +that night?" + +"I had no matches, and I had no light," replied Henry. "None of the boys +keep matches about them except those who"--smoke, was the ominous word +which had all but escaped his lips--"who are careless." + +"Pray what did you do with yourself all the time?" resumed the master. + +"I played the organ for a long while, and then I lay down on the +singers' seat, and went to sleep." + +"Now comes the point: how did you get out?" + +"I can't say anything about it, sir, except that I found the door open +towards morning, and I walked out." + +"You must have been dreaming, and fancied it," said the master. + +"No, sir, I was awake. The door was open, and I went out." + +"Is that the best tale you have got to tell?" + +"It is all I can tell, sir. I did get out that way." + +"You may go home for the present," said Mr. Wilberforce, in anger. + +"Are you satisfied?" asked Mr. Prattleton, as Arkell retired. + +"I am satisfied that he is innocent as to the register; but not as to +how he escaped from the church. Allowing it to be as he says--and I have +always found him so strictly truthful--that he found the door open in +the middle of the night, how did it come open? Who opened it? For what +purpose?" + +"It is an incomprehensible affair altogether," said the Rev. Mr. +Prattleton. "Let us sit down and talk it over." + +As Arkell left the room, Lewis, senior, appeared at the opposite door, +propelling forth the fire-tongs, a note held between them. + +"This is for you," cried he, rudely, to Arkell, who took the note. Lewis +flung the tongs back in their place. "My hands shouldn't soil themselves +by touching yours," said he. + +When Arkell got out, he opened the letter under a gas-lamp, and read it +as well as he could for the blots. The penmanship was Lewis, junior's. + + "Mr. ARKELL,--Has you have chozen to peech to the master, like a + retch has you ar, we give you notise that from this nite you will + find the skool has hot has the Inphernal Regeons, a deal to hot for + you. And my brother don't care a phether for the oisting he is to + get, for he'll serve you worce. And if you show this dockiment to + any sole, you'l be a dowble-died sneek, and we will thresh your + life out of you, and then duck you in the rivor." + +Henry Arkell tore the paper to bits, and ran home, laughing at the +spelling. But it was a very fair specimen of the orthography of +Westerbury collegiate school. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +ASSIZE SATURDAY. + + +To attempt to describe the state of Mr. Fauntleroy would be a vain +effort. It was the practice of that respected solicitor never to advance +a fraction of money out of his pocket for any mortal client, unless the +repayment was as safe and sure as the Bank of England. He had deemed the +return so in the case of Mrs. Carr, and had really advanced a good bit +of money; and now there was no marriage recorded in the register. + +How had it gone out of it? Mr. Fauntleroy's first thought, in his +desperation, was to suspect Mynn and Mynn, clean-handed practitioners +though he knew them to be, as practitioners went, of having by some +sleight of hand spirited the record away. But for the assertion of Mr. +Wilberforce, that he had read it, the lawyer would have definitely +concluded that it had never been there, in spite of Mr. Omer and his +pencilled names. He went tearing over to Mynn and Mynn's in a fine state +of excitement, could see neither Mr. Mynn nor Mr. George Mynn, hired a +gig at Eckford, and drove over to Mr. Mynn's house, two miles distant. +Mr. Mynn, strong in the gout, and wrapped up in flannel and cotton wool +in his warm sitting-room, thought at first his professional brother had +gone mad, as he listened to the tale and the implied accusation, and +then expressed his absolute disbelief that any record of any such +marriage had ever been there. + +"You must be mad, Fauntleroy! Go and tamper with a register!--suspect us +of stealing a page out of a church's register! If you were in your +senses, and I had the use of my legs, I'd kick you out of my house for +your impudence. I might just as well turn round and tell you, you had +been robbing the archives of the Court of Chancery." + +"Nobody knew of the record's being there but you, and I, and the +rector," debated Mr. Fauntleroy, wiping his great face. "You say you +went and saw it." + +"I say I went and didn't see it," roared the afflicted man, who had a +dreadful twinge just then. "It seems--if this story of yours is +true--that I never heard it was there until it was gone. Don't be a +simpleton, Fauntleroy." + +In his heart of hearts, of course Mr. Fauntleroy did not think Mynn and +Mynn had been culpable, only in his passion. His voice began to cool +down to calmness. + +"I'm ready to accuse the whole world, and myself into the bargain," he +said. "So would you be, had you been played the trick. I wish you'd tell +me quietly what you know about the matter altogether." + +"That's where you should have begun," said old Mynn. "We never heard of +any letter having been found, setting forth that the record of the +marriage was in the register of St. James's, never thought for a moment +that there had been any marriage, and I don't think it now, for the +matter of that," he added, _par parenthese_, "until the day our new +manager, Littelby, took possession, and I and George were inducting him +a little into our approaching assize and other causes. We came to Carr +_versus_ Carr, in due course, and then Littelby, evidently surprised, +asked how it was that the letter despatched to you--to you, Mr. +Fauntleroy, and which letter it seems you kept to yourself, and gave us +no notice of--had not served to put an end to the cause. Naturally I and +my brother inquired what letter Mr. Littelby alluded to, and what were +its contents, and then he told us that it was a letter written by Robert +Carr, of Holland, stating that the marriage had taken place at the +church of St. James the Less, and that its record would be found entered +on the register. My impression at the first moment was--and it was +George's very strongly--that there had been nothing of the sort; no +marriage, and consequently no record; but immediately a doubt arose +whether any fraud had been committed by means of making a false entry in +the register. I went off at once to Westerbury, fully determined to +detect and expose this fraud--and my eyes are pretty clear for such +things--I paid my half-crown, and went with the clerk and examined the +register, and found I had my journey for nothing. There was no such +record in the register--no mention whatever of the marriage. _That_ is +all I know of the affair, Mr. Fauntleroy." + +Had Mr. Fauntleroy talked till now, he could have learnt no more. It +evidently was all that his confrere knew; and he went back to Westerbury +as wise as he came, and sought the house of Mr. Wilberforce. The record +must have been taken out between the beginning of November and the 2nd +of December, he told the master. Omer, and the master himself, had both +seen it at the former time; old Mynn searched on the 2nd of December, +and it was gone. + +This information did not help Mr. Wilberforce in his perplexity, as to +who could have tampered with it. It was impossible but that his +suspicion should be directed to the night already spoken of, when Arkell +was locked up in the church, and seemed to have got out in a manner so +mysterious nobody knew how. Arkell adhered to his story: he had found +the door open in the night, and walked out; and that was all that could +be got from him. The master took him at his word. Had he pressed him +much, he might have heard more; had he only given him a hint that he +knew the register had been robbed, and that both trouble and injustice +were likely to arise from it, he might have heard all; for Henry fully +meant to keep his word with George Prattleton, and declare the truth, if +a necessity arose for it. But it appeared to be the policy of both the +master and Mr. Fauntleroy to keep the register out of sight and +discussion altogether. Not a word of the loss was suffered to escape. +Mr. Fauntleroy had probably his private reasons for this, and the rector +shrank from any publicity, because the getting at the register seemed to +reflect some carelessness on him and his mode of securing it. + +Meanwhile the public were aware that some internal commotion was +agitating the litigants in the great cause Carr _versus_ Carr. What it +was, they could not penetrate. They knew that a young lady, Mrs. Carr +the widow, was stopping in Westerbury, and had frequent interviews with +Mr. Fauntleroy; and they saw that the renowned lawyer himself was in a +state of ferment; but not a breath touching the register in any way had +escaped abroad, and George Prattleton and Henry Arkell were in ignorance +that there was trouble connected with it. George had ventured to put a +question to the Reverend Mr. Prattleton, regarding Mr. Wilberforce's +visit in connection with it, and was peremptorily ordered to mind his +own business. + +And the whole city, ripe for gossip and for other people's affairs, as +usual, lived in a perpetual state of anticipation of the assizes, and +the cause that was to come on at them. + +It is probable that this blow to Mr. Fauntleroy--and he regarded it in +no less a light--rendered him more severe than customary in his other +affairs. On the first of March, another ten pound was due to him from +Peter Arkell. The month came in, and the money was not paid; and Mr. +Fauntleroy immediately threatened harsh measures: that he would sell him +up for the whole of the debt. He had had judgment long ago, and +therefore possessed the power to do it; and Peter Arkell went to him. +But the grace he pleaded for, Mr. Fauntleroy refused longer to give; +refused it coarsely and angrily; and Peter was tempted to remind him of +the past. Never yet had he done so. + +"Have you forgotten what I did for you?" he asked. "I saved you once +from what was perhaps worse than debt." + +"And what if you did?" returned the strong-minded lawyer--not to speak +more plainly. "I paid you back again." + +"Yes; but how? In driblets, which did me no good. And if you did repay +me, does that blot out the obligation? If any one man should be lenient +to another, you ought to be so to me, Fauntleroy." + +"Have I not been lenient?" + +"No. It is true, you have not taken the extreme measures you threaten +now, but what with the sums you have forced me to pay, the costs, the +interest, I know not what all, for I have never clearly understood it, +you have made my life one of worry, hardship, and distress. But for that +large sum I had to pay suddenly for you I might have done differently in +the world. It was my ruin; yes, I assert it, for it is the simple truth, +the finding of that sum was my ruin. It took from me all hope of +prosperity, and I have been obliged ever since to be a poor, struggling +man." + +"I paid you, I say; what d'ye mean?" roughly spoke Mr. Fauntleroy. + +Peter Arkell shook his head. He had said his say, and was too +gentle-minded, too timid-mannered to contend. But the interview did him +no good: it only served to further anger Mr. Fauntleroy. + +A few days more, and Assize Saturday came in--as it is called in the +local phraseology. The judges were expected in some time in the +afternoon to open court, and the town was alive with bustle and +preparation. On this bright day--and it was one of the brightest March +ever gave us--a final, peremptory, unmistakable missive arrived for +Peter Arkell from Mr. Fauntleroy. And yet the man boasted in it of his +leniency of giving him a few hours more grace; it even dared to hint +that perhaps Mr. Arkell, if applied to, might save his home. But the +gist of it was, that if the ten pounds were not paid that afternoon by +six o'clock, at Mr. Fauntleroy's office, on Monday morning he should +proceed to execution. + +It was not a pleasant letter for Mrs. Peter Arkell. _She_ received it. +Peter was out; and she lay on the sofa in great agitation, as might be +seen from the hectic on her cheeks, the unnatural brightness of her +eyes. How lovely she looked as she lay there, a lace cap shading her +delicate features, no description could express. The improvement so +apparent in her when they returned from the sea-side had not lasted; and +for the last few weeks she had faded ominously. + +The cathedral clock chimed out the quarter to three, and the bell rang +out for service. It had been going some time, when Henry, who had been +hard at his studies in the little room that was once exclusively his +father's, came in. The great likeness between mother and son was more +apparent than ever, and the tall, fine boy of sixteen had lost none of +his inherited beauty. It was the same exquisite face; the soft, dark +eyes, the transparent complexion, the pure features. Perhaps I have +dwelt more than I ought on this boy's beauty; but he is no imaginary +creation; and it was of that rare order that enchains the eye and almost +enforces mention whenever seen, no matter how often. It is still vivid +in the remembrance of Westerbury. + +"I am going now, mamma." + +"You will be late, Henry." + +Something in the tone of the voice struck on his ear, and he looked +attentively at his mother. The signs of past emotion were not quite +obliterated from her face. + +"Mamma, you have been crying." + +It was of no use to deny it; indeed the sudden accusation brought up +fresh tears then. Painful matters had been kept as much as possible from +Henry; but he could not avoid knowing of the general embarrassments: +unavoidable, and, so to speak, honourable embarrassments. + +"What is it now?" he urgently asked. + +"Nothing new; only the old troubles over and over again. Of course, the +longer they go on, the worse they get. Never mind, dear; _you_ cannot +mend matters, so there's no necessity for allowing them to trouble you. +There is an invitation come for you from the Palmers'. I told Lucy to +put the note on the mantel-piece." + +He saw a letter lying there and opened it. His colour rose vividly as he +read, and he turned to look at the direction. It was addressed "Mr. +Peter Arkell;" but Henry had read it then. + +"You see, they want you to spend Monday with them at Heath Hall, and as +it will be the judges' holiday, you can get leave from college and do +so." + +"Mother," he interrupted--and every vestige of colour had forsaken his +sensitive face--"what does this letter mean?" + +Mrs. Arkell started up and clasped her hands. "Oh, Henry! what have you +been reading? What has Lucy done? She has left out the wrong letter. +That was not meant for you." + +"Does it mean a prison for papa?" he asked, controlling his voice and +manner to calmness, though his heart turned sick with fear. "You must +tell me all, mother, now I have read this." + +"Perhaps it does, Henry. Or else the selling up of our home. I scarcely +know what myself, except that it means great distress and confusion." + +He could hardly speak for consternation. But, if he understood the +letter aright, a sum of ten pounds would for the present avert it. "It +is not much," he said aloud to his mother. + +"It is a great deal to us, Henry; more than we know where to find." + +"Papa could borrow it from Mr. Arkell." + +"I am sure he will not, let the consequences be what they may. I don't +wonder. If you only knew, my dear, how much, how often, he has had to +borrow from William Arkell--kind, generous William Arkell!--you could +hardly wish him to." + +"But what will be done?" he urged. + +"I don't know. Unless things come to the crisis they have so long +threatened. Child," she added, bursting into tears, "in spite of my +firmly-seated trust, these petty anxieties are wearing me out. Every +time a knock comes to the door, I shiver and tremble, lest it should be +people come to ask for money which we cannot pay. Henry, you will be +late." + +"Plenty of time, mamma. I timed myself one day, and ran from this to the +cloister entrance in two minutes and a half. Are you being pressed for +much besides this?" he continued, touching the letter. + +"Not very much for anything else," she replied. "That is the worst: if +that were settled, I think we might manage to stave off the rest till +brighter days come round. If we can but retain, our home!--several times +it would have gone, but for Mr. Arkell. But I was wrong to speak of this +to you," she sighed: "and I am wrong to give way, myself. It is not +often that I do. God never sent a burden, but He sent strength to bear +it: and we have always, hitherto, been wonderfully helped. Henry, you +will surely be late." + +He slowly took his elbow from the mantel-piece, where it had been +leaning. "No. But if I were, it would be something new: it is not often +they have to mark me late." + +Kissing his mother, he walked out of the house in a dreamy mood, and +with a slow step; not with the eager look and quick foot of a schoolboy, +in dread of being marked late on the cathedral roll. As he let the gate +swing to, behind him, and turned on his way, a hand was laid upon his +shoulder. Henry looked round, and saw a tall, aristocratic man, looking +down upon him. In spite of his mind's trouble, his face shone with +pleasure. + +"Oh, Mr. St. John! Are you in Westerbury?" + +"Well, I think you have pretty good ocular demonstration of it. Harry, +you have grown out of all knowledge: you will be as tall as my lanky +self, if you go on like this. How is Mrs. Arkell?" + +"Not any better, thank you. I am so very pleased to see you," he +continued: "but I cannot stop now. The bell has been going ten minutes." + +"In the choir still? Are you the senior boy?" + +"Senior chorister as before, but not senior boy yet. Prattleton is +senior. Jocelyn went to Oxford in January. Did you come home to-day?" + +"Of course. I came in with the barristers." + +"But you are not a barrister?" returned Henry, half puzzled at the +words. + +"I a barrister! I am nothing but my idle self, the heir of all the St. +Johns. How is your friend, Miss Beauclerc?" + +"She is very well," said Henry; and he turned away his head as he +answered. Did St. John's heart beat at the name, as his did, he +wondered. + +"Harry, I must see your gold medal." + +"Oh, I'll fetch it out in a minute: it is only in the parlour." + +He ran in, and came out with the pretty toy hanging to its blue ribbon. +Mr. St. John took it in his hand. + +"The dean displayed taste," was his remark. "Westerbury cathedral on one +side, and the inscription to you on the other. There; put it up, and be +off. I don't want you to be marked late through me." + +There was not another minute to be lost, so Henry slipped the medal into +his jacket-pocket, flew away, and got on to the steps in his surplice +one minute before the dean came in. + +There was a bad practice prevailing in the college school, chiefly +resorted to by the senior boys: it was that of pledging their goods and +chattels. Watches, chains, silver pencil-cases, books, or anything else +available, were taken to Rutterley, the pawnbroker's, without scruple. +Of course this was not known to the masters. A tale was told of Jones +tertius having taken his surplice to Rutterley's one Monday morning; +and, being unable to redeem it on the Saturday, he had lain in bed all +day on the Sunday, and sent word to the head master that he had sprained +his ankle. On the Monday, he limped into the school, apparently in +excruciating pain, to the sympathy of the masters, and intense +admiration of the senior boys. Henry Arkell had never been guilty of +this practice, but he was asking himself, all college time, why he +should not be, for once, and so relieve the pressure at home. His gold +watch, the gift of Mr. Arkell, was worth, at his own calculation, twenty +pounds, and he thought there could be no difficulty in pledging it for +ten. "It is not an honourable thing, I know," he reasoned with himself; +"but the boys do it every day for their own pleasures, and surely I may +in this dreadful strait." + +Service was over in less than an hour, and he left the cathedral by the +front entrance. Being Saturday afternoon, there was no school. The +streets were crowded; the high sheriff and his procession had already +gone out to meet the judges, and many gazers lingered, waiting for their +return. Henry hastened through them, on his way to the pawnbroker's. +Possessed of that sensitive, refined temperament, had he been going into +the place to steal, he could not have felt more shame. The shop was +partitioned off into compartments or boxes, so that one customer should +not see another. If Henry Arkell could but have known his ill-luck! In +the box contiguous to the one he entered, stood Alfred Aultane, the boy +next below him in the choir, who had stolen down with one of the family +tablespoons, which he had just been protesting to the pawnbroker was his +own, and that he would have it out on Monday without fail, for his +godfather the counsellor was coming in with the judges, and never failed +to give him half a sovereign. But that disbelieving pawnbroker +obstinately persisted in refusing to have anything to do with the spoon, +for he knew the Aultane crest; and Mr. Alfred stood biting his nails in +mortification. + +"Will you lend me ten pounds on this?" asked Henry, coming in, and not +suspecting that anybody was so near. + +"Ten pounds!" uttered Rutterley, after examining the watch. "You college +gentlemen have got a conscience! I could not give more than half." + +"That would be of no use: I must have ten. I shall be sure to redeem it, +Mr. Rutterley." + +"I am not afraid of that. The college boys mostly redeem their pledges; +I will say that for them. I will lend you six pounds upon it, not a +farthing more. What can you be wanting with so large a sum?" + +"That is my business, if you please," returned Henry, civilly. + +"Oh, of course. Six pounds: take it, or leave it." + +A sudden temptation flashed across Henry's mind. What if he pledged the +gold medal? But for his having it in his pocket, the thought would not +have occurred to him. "But how can I?" he mentally argued----"the gift +of the dean and chapter! But it is my own," temptation whispered again, +"and surely this is a righteous cause. Yes: I will risk it: and if I +can't redeem it before, it must wait till I get my money from the choir. +So he put the watch and the gold medal side by side on the counter, and +received two tickets in exchange, and eight sovereigns and four +half-sovereigns. + +"Be sure keep it close, Mr. Rutterley," he enjoined; "you see my name is +on it, and there is no other medal like it in the town. I would not have +it known that I had done this, for a hundred times its worth." + +"All right," answered Mr. Rutterley; "things left with me are never +seen." But Alfred Aultane, from the next box, had contrived both to hear +and see. + +Henry Arkell was speeding to the office of Mr. Fauntleroy, when he heard +sounds behind him "Iss--iss--I say! Iss!" + +It was Aultane. "What became of you that you were not at college this +afternoon?" demanded Henry, who, as senior chorister, had much authority +over the nine choristers under him. + +"College be jiggered! I stopped out to see the show; and it isn't come +yet. If Wilberforce kicks up a row, I shall swear my mother kept me to +make calls with her. I say, Arkell, you couldn't do a fellow a service, +could you?" + +Henry was surprised at the civil, friendly tone--never used by some of +the boys to him. "If I can, I will," said he. "What is it?" + +"Lend me ten bob, in gold. I _must_ get it: it's for something that +can't wait. I'll pay you back next week. I know you must have as much +about you." + +"All the money I have about me is wanted for a specific purpose. I have +not a sixpence that I can lend: if I had, you should be welcome to it." + +"Nasty mean wretch!" grunted Aultane, in his heart. "Won't I serve him +out!" + +The cathedral bells had been for some time ringing merrily, giving token +that the procession had met the judges, and was nearing the city, on its +return. Just then a blast was heard from the trumpets of the advancing +heralds, and Aultane tore away to see the sight. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +ASSIZE SUNDAY. + + +The next day was Assize Sunday. A dense crowd collected early round the +doors of the cathedral, and, as soon as they were opened, rushed in, and +took possession of the edifice, leaving vacant only the pulpit, the +bishop's throne, and the locked-up seats. It was the custom for the +bishop (if in Westerbury), the dean and chapter, and the forty king's +scholars, to assemble just inside the front entrance and receive the +judges, who were attended in state to the cathedral, just as they had +been attended into Westerbury the previous afternoon, the escort being +now augmented by the mayor and corporation, and an overflowing shoal of +barristers. + +The ten choristers were the first to take up their standing at the front +entrance. They were soon followed by the rest of the king's scholars, +the surplices of the whole forty being primly starched for the occasion. +They had laid in their customary supply of pins, for it was the boys' +pleasure, during the service on Assize Sunday, to stick pins into +people's backs, and pin women's clothes together; the density of the mob +permitting full scope to the delightful amusement, and preventing +detection. + +The thirty king's scholars bustled in from the cloisters two by two, +crossed the body of the cathedral to the grand entrance, and placed +themselves at the head of the choristers. Which was wrong: they ought to +have gone below them. Henry Arkell, as senior chorister, took precedence +of all when in the cathedral; but not when out of it, and that was a +somewhat curious rule. Out of the cathedral, Arkell was under +Prattleton; the latter, as senior boy, being head of all. He told +Prattleton to move down. + +Prattleton declined. "Then we must move up," observed Henry. +"Choristers." + +He was understood: and the choristers moved above the king's scholars. + +"What do you mean by that?" demanded Prattleton. "How dare you disobey +me, Mr. Arkell?" + +"How dare you disobey me?" was Henry Arkell's retort, but he spoke +civilly. "I am senior here, and you know it, Prattleton." It must be +understood that this sort of clashing could only occur on occasions like +the present: on ordinary Sundays and on saints' days the choristers and +king's scholars did not come in contact in the cathedral. + +"I'll let you know who's senior," said Prattleton. "Choristers, move +down; you juniors, do you hear me? Move down, or I'll have you hoisted +to-morrow." + +"If Mr. Arkell tells us, please, sir," responded a timid junior, who +fancied Mr. Prattleton looked particularly at him. + +The choristers did not stir, and Prattleton was savage. "King's +scholars, move up, and shove." + +Some of the king's scholars hesitated, especially those of the lower +school. It was no light matter to disobey the senior chorister in the +cathedral. Others moved up, and proceeded to "shove." Henry Arkell +calmly turned to one of his own juniors. + +"Hardcast, go into the vestry, and ask Mr. Wilberforce to step here. +Should he have gone into college, fetch him out of the chanting-desk." + +"Remain where you are, Hardcast," foamed Prattleton. "I dare you to +stir." + +Hardcast, a little chap of ten, was already off, but he turned round at +the word. "I am not under your orders, Mr. Prattleton, when the senior +chorister's present." + +A few minutes, and then the Reverend Mr. Wilberforce, in his surplice +and hood, was seen advancing. Hardcast had fetched him out of the +chanting-desk. + +"What's all this? what hubbub are you boys making? I'll flog you all +to-morrow. Arkell, Prattleton, what's the matter?" + +"I thought it better to send for you, sir, than to have a disturbance +here," said Arkell. + +"A disturbance here! You had better not attempt it." + +"Don't the king's scholars take precedence of the choristers, sir?" +demanded Prattleton. + +"No, they don't," returned the master. "If you have not been years +enough in the college to know the rules, Mr. Prattleton, you had better +return to the bottom of school, and learn them. Arkell, in this place, +you have the command. King's scholars move down, and be quick over it: +and I'll flog you all round," concluded Mr. Wilberforce, "if you strike +up a dispute in college again." + +The master turned tail, and strode back as fast as his short legs would +carry him: for the dean and chapter, marshalled by a verger and the +bedesmen, were crossing the cathedral; and a flourish of trumpets, +outside, told of the approach of the judges. The Reverend Mr. +Wilberforce was going to take the chanting for an old minor canon whose +voice was cracked, and he would hardly recover breath to begin. + +The choristers all grinned at the master's decision, save Arkell and +Aultane, junior: the latter, though second chorister, took part with +Prattleton, because he hated Arkell; and as the judges passed in their +flowing scarlet robes with the trains held up behind, and their imposing +wigs, so terrible to look at, the bows of the choristers were much more +gracious than those of the king's scholars. The additional mob, teeming +in after the judges' procession, was unlimited; and a rare field had the +boys and their pins that day. + +The hubbub and the bustle of the morning passed, and the cathedral bell +was again tolling out for afternoon service. Save the dust, and there +was plenty of that, no trace remained of the morning's scene. The king's +scholars were already in their seats in the choir, and the ten +choristers stood at the choir entrance, for they always waited there to +go in with the dean and chapter. One of them, and it was Mr. +Wilberforce's own son, had made a mistake in the morning in fastening +his own surplice to a countrywoman's purple stuff gown, instead of two +gowns together; and, when they came to part company, the surplice proved +the weakest. The consequence was an enormous rent, and it had just taken +the nine other choristers and three lay-clerks five minutes and +seventeen pins, fished out of different pockets, to do it up in any way +decent. Young Wilberforce, during the process, rehearsing a tale over in +his mind, for home, about that horrid rusty nail that would stick out of +the vestry door. + +The choristers stood facing each other, five on a side, and the dean and +canons would pass between them when they came in. They stood at an +equidistance, one from the other, and it was high treason against the +college rules for them to move an inch from their places. Arkell headed +one line, Aultane the other, the two being face to face. Suddenly a +college boy, who was late, came flying from the cloisters and dashed +into the choir, to crave the keys of the schoolroom from the senior boy, +that he might procure his surplice. It was Lewis junior; so, against the +rules, Prattleton condescended to give him the keys; almost any other +boy he would have told to whistle for them, and marked him up for +punishment as "absent." Prattleton chose to patronise him, on account of +his friendship with Lewis senior. Lewis came out again, full pelt, +swinging the keys in his hand, rather vain of showing to the choristers +that he had succeeded in obtaining them, just as two little old +gentlemen were advancing from the front entrance. + +"Hi, Lewis! stop a moment," called out Aultane, in a loud whisper, as he +crossed over and went behind Arkell. + +"Return to your place, Aultane," said Arkell. + +Mr. Aultane chose to be deaf. + +"Aultane, to your place," repeated Henry Arkell, his tone one of hasty +authority. "Do you see who are approaching?" + +Aultane looked round in a fluster. But not a soul could he see, save a +straggler or two making their way to the side aisles; and two +insignificant little old men, arm-in-arm, close at hand, in rusty black +clothes and brown wigs. Nobody to affect _him_. + +"I shall return when I please," said he, commencing a whispered parley +with Lewis. + +"Return this instant, Aultane. I _order_ you." + +"You be----" + +The word was not a blessing, but you are at liberty to substitute one. +The little old men, to whom each chorister had bowed profoundly as they +passed him, turned, and bent their severe yellow faces upon Aultane. +Lewis junior crept away petrified; and Aultane, with the red flush of +shame on his brow, slunk back to his place. They were the learned +judges. + +They positively were. But no wonder Aultane had failed to recognise +them, for they bore no more resemblance to the fierce and fiery visions +of the morning, than do two old-fashioned black crows to stately +peacocks. + +"What may your name be, sir?" inquired the yellower of the two. Aultane +hung his head in an agony: he was wondering whether they could order him +before them on the morrow and transport him. Wilberforce was in another +agony, lest those four keen eyes should wander to his damaged surplice +and the pins. Somebody else answered: "Aultane, my lord." + +The judges passed on. Arkell would not look towards Aultane: he was too +noble to add, even by a glance, to the confusion of a fallen enemy: but +the other choristers were not so considerate, and Aultane burst into a +flow of bad language. + +"Be silent," authoritatively interrupted Henry Arkell. "More of this, +and I will report you to the dean." + +"I shan't be silent," cried Aultane, in his passionate rage. "There! not +for you." Beside himself with anger, he crossed over, and raised his +hand to strike Arkell. But one of the sextons, happening to come out of +the choir, arrested Aultane, and whirled him back. + +"Do you know where you are, sir?" + +In another moment they were surrounded. The dean's wife and daughter had +come up; and, following them, sneaked Lewis junior, who was settling +himself into his surplice. Mrs. Beauclerc passed on, but Georgina +stopped. Even as she went into college, she would sometimes stop and +chatter to the boys. + +"You were quarrelling, young gentlemen! What is the grievance?" + +"That beggar threatened to report me to the dean," cried Aultane, too +angry to care what he said, or to whom he spoke. + +"Then I know you deserved it; as you often do," rejoined Miss +Beauclerc; "but I'd keep a civil tongue in my head, if I were you, +Aultane. I only wonder he has not reported you before. You should have +me for your senior." + +"If he does go in and report me, please tell the dean to ask him where +his gold medal is," foamed Aultane. "And to make him answer it." + +"What do you mean?" she questioned. + +"_He_ knows. If the dean offered him a thousand half-crowns for his +medal, he could not produce it." + +"What does he mean?" repeated Miss Beauclerc, looking at Henry Arkell. + +He could not answer: he literally could not. Could he have dropped down +without life at Georgina's feet, it had been welcome, rather than that +she should hear of an act, which, to his peculiarly refined temperament, +bore an aspect of shame so utter. His face flushed a vivid red, and then +grew white as his surplice. + +"He can't tell you," said Aultane; "that is, he won't. He has put it +into pawn." + +"And his watch too," squeaked Lewis, from behind, who had heard of the +affair from Aultane. + +Henry Arkell raised his eyes for one deprecating moment to Miss +Beauclerc's face; she was struck with their look of patient anguish. She +cast an annihilating frown at Lewis, and, raising her finger haughtily +motioned Aultane to his place. "I believe nothing ill of _you_," she +whispered to Henry, as she passed on to the choir. + +The next to come in was Mr. St. John. "What's the matter?" he hurriedly +said to Henry, who had not a vestige of colour in his cheeks or lips. + +"Nothing, thank you, Mr. St. John." + +Mr. St. John went on, and Lewis skulked to his seat, in his wake. +Lewis's place was midway on the bench on the decani side, seven boys +being above him and seven below him. The choristers were on raised seats +in front of the lay-clerks, five on one side the choir, five opposite on +the other; Arkell, as senior, heading the five on the decani side. + +The dean and canons came in, and the service began. While the afternoon +psalms were being sung, Mr. Wilberforce pricked the roll, a parchment +containing the names of the members of the cathedral, from the dean +downwards, marking those who were present. Aultane left his place and +took the roll to the dean, continuing his way to the organ-loft, to +inquire what anthem had been put up. He brought word back to Arkell, +'The Lord is very great and terrible. Beckwith.' Aultane would as soon +have exchanged words with the yellow-faced little man sitting in the +stall next the dean, as with Arkell, just then, but his duty was +obligatory. He spoke sullenly, and crossed to his seat on the opposite +side, and Arkell rose and reported the anthem to the lay-clerks behind +him. Mr. Wilberforce was then reading the first lesson. + +Now it happened that there was only one bass at service that afternoon, +he on the decani side, Mr. Smith; the other had not come; and the moment +the words were out of Arkell's mouth, "The Lord is very great. +Beckwith," Mr. Smith flew into a temper. He had a first-rate voice, was +a good singer, and being inordinately vain, liked to give himself airs. +"I have a horrid cold on the chest," he remonstrated, "and I cannot do +justice to the solo; I shan't attempt it. The organist knows I'm as +hoarse as a raven, and yet he goes and puts up that anthem for to-day!" + +"What is to be done?" whispered Henry. + +"I shall send and tell him I can't do it. Hardcast, go up to the +organ-loft, and tell----Or I wish you would oblige me by going yourself, +Arkell: the juniors are always making mistakes. My compliments to Paul, +and the anthem must be done without the bass solo, or he must put up +another." + +Henry Arkell, ever ready to oblige, left his stall, proceeded to the +organ-loft, and delivered the message. The organist was wroth: and but +for those two little old gentlemen, whom he knew were present, he would +have refused to change the anthem, which had been put up by the dean. + +"Where's Cliff, this afternoon?" asked he, sharply, alluding to the +other bass. + +"I don't know," replied Henry. "He is not at service." + +The organist took up one of the anthem books with a jerk, and turned +over its leaves. He came to the anthem, "I know that my Redeemer +liveth," from _the Messiah_. + +"Are you prepared to do justice to this?" he demanded. + +"Yes, I believe I am," replied Henry. "But----" + +"But me no buts," interrupted the organist, who was always very short +with the choristers. "'I know that my Redeemer liveth. Pitt.'" + +As Henry Arkell descended the stairs, Mr. Wilberforce was concluding the +first lesson. So instead of giving notice of the change of anthem to Mr. +Wilberforce and the singers on the cantori side, he left that until +later, and made haste to his own stall, to be in time for the soli parts +in the Cantate Domino, which was being sung that afternoon in place of +the Magnificat. In passing the bench of king's scholars, a foot was +suddenly extended out before him, and he fell heavily over it, striking +his head on the stone step that led to the stalls of the minor canons. A +sexton, a verger, and one or two of the senior boys, surrounded, lifted, +and carried him out. + +The service proceeded; but his voice was missed in the Cantate; +Aultane's proved but a poor substitute. + +"I wonder whether the anthem's changed?" debated the bass to the contre +tenor. + +"Um--no," decided the latter. "Arkell was coming straight to his place. +Had there been any change, he would have gone and told Wilberforce and +the opposites. Paul is in a pet, and won't alter it." + +"Then he'll play the solo without my accompaniment," retorted the bass, +loftily. + +Henry Arkell was only stunned by the fall, and before the conclusion of +the second lesson, he appeared in the choir, to the surprise of many. +After giving the requisite notice of the change in the anthem to Mr. +Wilberforce and Aultane, he entered his stall; but his face was white as +the whitest marble. He sang, as usual, in the Deus Misereatur. And when +the time for the anthem came, Mr. Wilberforce rose from his knees to +give it out. + +"The anthem is taken from the burial service." + +The symphony was played, and then Henry Arkell's voice rose soft and +clear, filling the old cathedral with its harmony, and the words falling +as distinctly on the ear as if they had been spoken. "I know that my +Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the +earth. And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh +I shall see God: whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall +behold, and not another." The organist could not have told _why_ he put +up that particular anthem, but it was a remarkable coincidence, noticed +afterwards, that it should have been a funeral one. + +But though Henry Arkell's voice never faltered or trembled, his changing +face spoke of bodily disease or mental emotion: one moment it was bright +as a damask rose, the next of a transparent whiteness. Every eye was on +him, wondering at the beauty of his voice, at the marvellous beauty of +his countenance: some sympathised with his emotion; some were wrapt in +the solemn thoughts created by the words. When the solo was concluded, +Henry, with an involuntary glance at the pew of Mrs. Beauclerc, fell +against the back of his stall for support: he looked exhausted. Only for +a moment, however, for the chorus commenced. + +He joined in it; his voice rose above all the rest in its sweetness and +power; but as the ending approached, and the voices ceased, and the last +sound of the organ died upon the ear, his face bent forward, and rested +without motion on the choristers' desk. + +"Arkell, what are you up to?" whispered one of the lay-clerks from +behind, as Mr. Wilberforce recommenced his chanting. + +No response. + +"Nudge him, Wilberforce; he's going to sleep. There's the dean casting +his eyes this way." + +Edwin Wilberforce did as he was desired, but Arkell never stirred. + +So Mr. Tenor leaned over and grasped him by the arm, and pulled him up +with a sudden jerk. But he did not hold him, and the poor head fell +forward again upon the desk. Henry Arkell had fainted. + +Some confusion ensued: for the four choristers below him had every one +to come out of the stall before he could be got out. Mr. Wilberforce +momentarily stopped chanting, and directed his angry spectacles towards +the choristers, not understanding what caused the hubbub, and inwardly +vowing to flog the whole five on the morrow. Mr. Smith, a strong man, +came out of his stall, lifted the lifeless form in his arms, and carried +it out to the side aisle, the head, like a dead weight, hanging down +over his shoulder. All the eyes and all the glasses in the cathedral +were bent on them; and the next to come out of his stall, by the +prebendaries, and follow in the wake, was Mr. St. John, a flush of +emotion on his pale face. + +The dean's family, after service, met Mr. St. John in the cloisters. "Is +he better?" asked Mrs. Beauclerc. "What was the matter with him the +second time?" + +"He fainted; but we soon brought him to in the vestry. Young Wilberforce +ran and got some water. They are walking home with him now." + +"What caused him to fall in the choir?" continued Mrs. Beauclerc. +"Giddiness?" + +"It was not like giddiness," remarked Mr. St. John. "It was as if he +fell over something." + +"So I thought," interrupted Georgina. "Why did you leave your seat to +follow him?" she continued, in a low tone to Mr. St. John, falling +behind her mother. + +"It was a sudden impulse, I suppose. I was unpleasantly struck with his +appearance as I went into college. He was looking ghastly." + +"The choristers had been quarrelling: Aultane's fault, I am sure. He +lifted his hand to strike Arkell. Aultane reproached him with +having"--Georgina Beauclerc hesitated, with an amused look--"disposed of +his prize medal." + +"Disposed of his prize medal?" echoed Mr. St. John. + +"Pawned it." + +St. John uttered an exclamation. He remembered the tricks of the college +boys, but he could not have believed this of his favourite, Henry +Arkell. + +"And his watch also, Lewis junior added," continued Georgina. "They gave +me the information in a spiteful glow of triumph. Henry did not deny it: +he looked as if he could not. But I know he is the soul of honour, and +if he has done anything of the sort, those beautiful companions of his +have over-persuaded him: possibly to lend the money to them." + +"I'll see into this," mentally spoke Mr. St. John. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +PEACHING TO THE DEAN. + + +Mr. St. John went at once to Peter Arkell's. Henry was alone, lying on +his bed. + +"After such a fall as that, how could you be so imprudent as to come +back and take the anthem?" was his unceremonious salutation. + +"I felt equal to it," replied Henry. "The one, originally put up, could +not be done." + +"Then they should have put up a third, for me. The cathedral does not +lack anthems, I hope. Show me where your head was struck." + +Henry put his hand to his ear, then higher up, then to his temple. "It +was somewhere here--all about here--I cannot tell the exact spot." + +As he spoke, a tribe of college boys was heard to clatter in at the +gate. Henry would have risen, but Mr. St. John laid his arm across him. + +"You are not going to those boys. I will send them off. Lie still and go +to sleep, and dream of pleasant things." + +"Pleasant things!" echoed Henry Arkell, in a tone full of pain. Mr. St. +John leaned over him. + +"Henry, I have never had a brother of my own; but I have almost loved +you as such. Treat me as one now. What tale is it those demons of +mischief have got hold of, about your watch and medal?" + +With a sharp cry, Henry Arkell turned his face to the pillow, hiding its +distress. + +"I suppose old Rutterley has got them. But that's nothing; it's the +fashion in the school: and I expect you had some urgent motive." + +"Oh, Mr. St. John, I shall never overget this day's shame: they told +Georgina Beauclerc! I would rather die this moment, here, as I lie, than +see her face again." + +His tone was one of suppressed anguish, and Mr. St. John's heart ached +for him: though he chose to appear to make light of the matter. + +"Told Georgina Beauclerc: what if they did? She is the very one to glory +in such exploits. Had she been the dean's son, instead of his daughter, +she would have been in Rutterley's sanctum three times a week. I don't +think she would stand at going, as it is, if she were hard up." + +"But why did they tell her! I could not have acted so cruelly by them. +If I could but go to some far-off desert, and never face her, or the +school, again!" + +"If you could but work yourself into a brain fever, you had better say! +that's what you seem likely to do. As to falling in Georgina Beauclerc's +opinion, which you seem to estimate so highly (it's more than I do), if +you pledged all you possess in a lump, and yourself into the bargain, +she would only think the better of you. Now I tell you so, for I know +it." + +"I could not help it; I could not, indeed. Money is so badly wanted----" + +He stopped in confusion, having said more than he meant: and St. John +took up the discourse in a careless tone. + +"Money is wanted badly everywhere. I have done worse than you, Harry, +for I am pawning my estate, piecemeal. Mind! that's a true confession, +and has never been given to another soul: it must lie between us." + +"It was yesterday afternoon when college was over," groaned Henry. "I +only thought of giving Rutterley my watch: I thought he would be sure to +let me have ten pounds upon it. But he would not; only six: and I had +the medal in my pocket; I had been showing it to you. I never did such a +thing in all my life before." + +"That is more than your companions could say. How did it get to their +knowledge?" + +"I cannot think." + +"Where's the----the exchange?" + +"The what?" asked Henry. + +"How dull you are!" cried Mr. St. John. "I am trying to be genteel, and +you won't let me. The ticket. Let me see it." + +"They are in my jacket-pocket. Two." He languidly reached forth the +pieces, and Mr. St. John slipped them into his own. + +"Why do you do that, Mr. St. John?" + +"To study them at leisure. What's the matter?" + +"My head is beginning to ache." + +"No wonder, with, all this talking. I'm off. Good-bye. Get to sleep as +fast as you can." + +The boys were in the garden and round the gate still, when he went down. + +"Oh, if you please, sir, is he half killed? Edwin Wilberforce says so." + +"No, he is not half killed," responded Mr. St. John. "But he wants +quiet, and you must disperse, that he may have it." + +"My brother, the senior boy, says he must have fallen down from +vexation, because his tricks came out," cried Prattleton junior. + +Mr. St. John ran his eyes over the assemblage. "What tricks?" + +"He has been pawning the gold medal, Mr. St. John," cried Cookesley, the +second senior of the school. "Aultane junior has told the dean: Bright +Vaughan heard him." + +"Oh, he has told the dean, has he?" + +"The dean was going into the deanery, sir, and Miss Beauclerc was +standing at the door, waiting for him," explained Vaughan to Mr. St. +John. "Something she said to Aultane put him in a passion, and he took +and told the dean. It was his temper made him do it, sir." + +"Such a disgrace, you know, Mr. St. John, to take the dean's medal +_there_," rejoined Cookesley. "Anything else wouldn't have signified." + +"Oh, been rather meritorious, no doubt," returned Mr. St. John. "Boys!" + +"Yes, Mr. St. John." + +"You know I was one of yourselves once, and I can make allowance for you +in all ways. But when I was in the school, our motto was, Fair play, and +no sneaking." + +"It's our motto still," cried the flattered boys. + +"It does not appear to be. We would rather, any one of us, have pitched +ourselves off that tower," pointing to it with his hand, "than have gone +sneaking to the dean with a private complaint." + +"And so we would still, in cool blood," cried Cookesley. "Aultane must +have been out of his mind with passion when he did it." + +"How does Aultane know that Arkell's medal is in pawn?" + +"He does not say how. He says he'll pledge his word to it." + +"Then listen to me, boys: my word will, I believe, go as far with you as +Aultane's. Yesterday afternoon I met Henry Arkell at the gate here; I +asked to see his medal, and he brought it out of the house to show me. +He is in bed now, but perhaps if you ask him to-morrow, he will be able +to show it to you. At any rate, do not condemn him until you are sure +there's a just reason. If he did pledge his medal, how many things have +you pledged? Some of you would pledge your heads if you could. Fair +play's a jewel, boys--fair play for ever!" + +Off came the trenchers, and a shout was being raised for fair play and +Mr. St. John; but the latter put up his hand. + +"I thought it was Sunday. Is that the way you keep Sunday in Westerbury? +Disperse quietly." + +"I'll clear him," thought Mr. St. John, as he walked home. "Aultane's a +mean-spirited coward. To tell the dean!" + +Indeed, the incautious revelation of Mr. Aultane was exciting some +disagreeable consternation in the minds of the seniors; and that +gentleman himself already wished his passionate tongue had been bitten +out before he made it. + +The following morning the college boys were astir betimes, and flocked +up in a body to the judges' lodgings, according to usage, to beg what +was called the judges' holiday. The custom was for the senior judge to +send his card out and his compliments to the head master, requesting him +to grant it; and the boys' custom was, as they tore back again, bearing +the card in triumph, to raise the whole street with their shouts of +"Holiday! holiday!" + +But there was no such luck on this morning. The judges, instead of the +card and the request, sent out a severe message--that from what they had +heard the previous day in the cathedral, the school appeared to merit +punishment rather than holiday. So the boys went back, dreadfully +chapfallen, kicking as much mud as they could over their trousers and +boots, for it had rained in the night, and ready to buffet Aultane +junior as the source of the calamity. + +Aultane himself was in an awful state of mind. He felt perfectly certain +that the affair in the cathedral must now come out to the head master, +who would naturally inquire into the cause of the holiday's being +denied; and he wondered how it was that judges dared to come abroad +without their gowns and wigs, deceiving unsuspicious people to +perdition. + +Before nine, Mr. St. John was at Henry Arkell's bedside. "Well," said +he, "how's the head?" + +"It feels light--or heavy. I hardly know which. It does not feel as +usual. I shall get up presently." + +"All right. Put on this when you do," said Mr. St. John, handing him the +watch. "And put up this in your treasure place, wherever that may be," +he added, laying the gold medal beside it. + +"Oh, Mr. St. John! You have----" + +"I shall have some sport to-day. I have wormed it all out of Rutterley; +and he tells me who was down there and on what errand. Ah, ah, Mr. +Aultane! so you peached to the dean. Wait until your turn comes." + +"I wonder Rutterley told you anything," said Henry, very much surprised. + +"He knew me, and the name of St. John bears weight in Westerbury," +smiled he who owned it. "Harry, mind! you must not attempt to go into +school to-day." + +"It is the judges' holiday." + +"The judges have refused it, and the boys have sneaked back like so many +dogs with their tails scorched." + +"Refused it! Refused the holiday!" interrupted Henry. Such a thing had +never been heard of in his memory. + +"They have refused it. Something must be wrong with the boys, but I am +not at the bottom of the mischief yet. Don't you attempt to go near +school or college, Harry: it might play tricks with your head. And now +I'm going home to breakfast." + +Henry caught his arm as he was departing. "How can I ever thank you, Mr. +St. John? I do not know when I shall be able to repay you the money; not +until----" + +"You never will," interrupted Mr. St. John. "I should not take it if you +were rolling in gold. I have done this for my own pleasure, and I will +not be cheated out of it. I wonder how many of the boys have got their +watches in now. Good-bye, old fellow." + +When Mr. Wilberforce came to know of the refused holiday, his +consternation nearly equalled Aultane's. _What_ could the school have +been doing that had come to the ears of the judges? He questioned +sharply the senior boy, and it was as much as Prattleton's king's +scholarship was worth to attempt to disguise by so much as a word, or to +soften down, the message sent out from the judges. But the closer the +master questioned the rest of the boys, the less information he could +get; and all he finally obtained was, that some quarrel had taken place +between the two head choristers, Arkell and Aultane, on the Sunday +afternoon, and that the judges overheard it. + +Early school was excused that morning, as a matter of necessity; for the +master--relying upon the holiday--did not emerge from his bed-chamber +until between eight and nine; and you may be very sure that the boys did +not proceed to the college hall of their own accord. But after breakfast +they assembled as usual at half-past nine, and the master, uneasy and +angry, went in also to the minute. Henry Arkell failed to make his +appearance, and it was remarked upon by the masters. + +"By the way," said Mr. Wilberforce, "how came he to fall down in college +yesterday? Does anybody know?" + +"Please, sir, he trod upon a surplice," said Vaughan the bright. "Lewis +junior says so." + +"Trod upon a surplice!" repeated Mr. Wilberforce. "How could he do that? +You were standing. Your surplices are not long enough to be trodden +upon. What do you mean by saying that, Lewis junior?" + +Lewis junior's face turned red, and he mentally vowed a licking to +Bright Vaughan, for being so free with his tongue; but he looked up at +the master with an expression as innocent as a lamb's. + +"I only said he might have trodden on a surplice, sir. Perhaps he was +giddy yesterday afternoon, as he fainted afterwards." + +The subject dropped. The choristers went into college for service at ten +o'clock, but the master remained in his place. It was not his week for +chanting. Before eleven they were back again; and the master had called +up the head class, and was again remarking on the absence of Henry +Arkell, when the dean and Mr. St. John walked into the hall. Mr. +Wilberforce rose, and pushed his spectacles to the top of his brow in +his astonishment. + +"Have the goodness to call up Aultane," said the dean, after a few words +of courtesy, as he stood by the master's desk. + +"Senior, or junior, Mr. Dean?" + +"The chorister." + +"Aultane, junior, walk up," cried the master. And Aultane, junior, +walked up, wishing himself and his tongue and the dean, and all the rest +of the world within sight and hearing, were safely boxed up in the +coffins in the cathedral crypt. + +"Now, Aultane," began the dean, regarding him with as much severity as +it was in the dean's nature to regard anyone, even a rebellious college +boy, "you preferred a charge to me yesterday against the senior +chorister; that he had been pledging his gold medal at Rutterley's. Have +the goodness to substantiate it." + +"Oh, my heart alive, I wish he'd drop through the floor!" groaned +Aultane to himself. "What will become of me? What a jackass I was!" + +"I did not enter into the matter then," proceeded the dean, for Aultane +remained silent. "You had no business to make the complaint to me on a +Sunday. What grounds have you for your charge?" + +Aultane turned red and white, and green and yellow. The dean eyed him +closely. "What proof have you?" + +"I have no proof," faltered Aultane. + +"No proof! Did you make the charge to me, knowing it was false?" + +"No, sir. He _has_ pledged his medal." + +"Tell me how you know it. Mr. St. John knows he had it in his own house +on Saturday." + +Aultane shuffled first on one foot, and then on the other; and the dean, +failing explanation from him, appealed to the school, but all disclaimed +cognizance of the matter. "If you behave in this extraordinary way, you +will compel me to conclude that you have made the charge to prejudice me +against Arkell; who, I hear, had a serious charge to prefer against +_you_ for ill-behaviour in college," continued the dean to Aultane. + +"If you will send to the place, you will find his medal is there, sir," +sullenly replied Aultane. + +"The shortest plan would be to send to Arkell's, and request him to +dispatch his medal here, if the dean approves," interposed Mr. St. John, +speaking for the first time. + +The dean did approve, and Cookesley was despatched on the errand. He +brought back the medal. Henry was not in the way, but Mrs. Arkell had +found it and given it to him. + +"Now what do you mean by your conduct?" sternly asked the dean of +Aultane. + +"I know he pledged it on Saturday, if he has got it out to-day," +persisted the discomfited Aultane, who was in a terrible state, between +wishing to prove his charge true, and the fear of compromising himself. + +"I know Henry Arkell could not be guilty of a despicable action," spoke +up Mr. St. John; "and, hearing of this charge, I went to Rutterley's to +ask him a few questions. He informed me there _was_ a college boy at his +place on Saturday, endeavouring to pledge a table-spoon, but he knew the +crest, and would not take it in--not wishing, he said, to encourage boys +to rob their parents. Perhaps Aultane can tell the dean who that was?" + +There was a dead silence in the school, and the look of amazement on the +head-master's face was only matched by the confusion of Aultane's. The +dean, a kind-hearted man, would not examine further. + +"I do not press the matter until I hear the complaint of the senior +chorister against Aultane," said he aloud, to Mr. Wilberforce. "It was +something that occurred in the cathedral yesterday, in the hearing, +unfortunately, of the judges. But a few preliminary tasks, by way of +present punishment, will do Aultane no harm." + +"I'll give them to him, Mr. Dean," heartily responded the master, whose +ears had been so scandalised by the mysterious allusions to Rutterley's, +that he would have liked to treat the whole school to "tasks" and to +something else, all round. "I'll give them to him." + +"You see what a Tom-fool you have made of yourself!" grumbled Prattleton +senior to Aultane, as the latter returned to his desk, laden with work. +"That's all the good you have got by splitting to the dean." + +"I wish the dean was in the sea, I do!" madly cried Aultane, as he +savagely watched the retreat of that very reverend divine, who went out +carrying the gold medal between his fingers, and followed by Mr. St. +John. "And I wish that brute, St. John was hung! He----" + +Aultane's words and bravery alike faded into silence, for the two were +coming back again. The master stood up. + +"I forgot to tell you, Mr. Wilberforce, that I have recommended Henry +Arkell to take a holiday for a day or two. That was a violent fall +yesterday; and his fainting afterwards struck me as not wearing a +favourable appearance." + +"Have you seen him, Mr. Dean?" + +"I saw him an hour ago, just before service. I was going by the house as +he came out of it, on his way to college, I suppose. It is a strange +thing what it could have been that caused the fall." + +"So it is," replied the master. "I was inquiring about it just now, but +the school does not seem to know anything." + +"Neither does he, so far as I can learn. At any rate, rest will be best +for him for a day or two." + +"No doubt it will, Mr. Dean. Thank you for thinking of it." + +They finally went out, St. John casting a significant look behind him, +at the boys in general, at Aultane junior in particular. It said as +plainly as looks could say, "I'd not peach again, boys, if I were you;" +and Aultane junior, but for the restraining presence of the head master, +would assuredly have sent a yell after him. + +How much St. John told of the real truth to the dean, that the medal +_had_ been pledged, we must leave between them. The school never knew. +Henry himself never knew. St. John quitted the dean at the deanery, and +went on to restore the medal to its owner: although Georgina Beauclerc +was standing at one of the deanery windows, looking down expectantly, as +if she fancied he was going in. + +Travice was at that moment at Peter Arkell's, perched upon a side-table, +as he talked to them. Henry leaned rather languidly back in an +elbow-chair, his fingers pressed upon his head; Lucy was at work near +the window; Mrs. Peter, looking very ill, sat at the table. Travice had +not been at service on the previous afternoon, and the accident had been +news to him this morning. + +"But how did you fall?" he was asking with uncompromising plainness, +being unable to get any clear information on the point. "What threw you +down?" + +"Well--I fell," answered Henry. + +"Of course you fell. But how? The passage is all clear between the seats +of the king's scholars and the cross benches; there's nothing for you to +strike your foot against; how _did_ you fall?" + +"There was some confusion at the time, Travice; the first lesson was +just over, and the people were rising for the cantate. I was walking +very fast, too." + +"But something must have thrown you down: unless you turned giddy, and +fell of your own accord." + +"I felt giddy afterwards," returned Henry, who had been speaking with +his hand mostly before his eyes, and seemed to answer the questions with +some reluctance. "I feel giddy now." + +"I think, Travice, he scarcely remembers how it happened," spoke Mrs. +Arkell. "Don't press him; he seems tired. I am so glad the dean gave him +holiday." + +At this juncture, Mr. St. John came in with the medal. He stayed a few +minutes, telling Harry he should take him for a drive in the course of +the day, which Mrs. Arkell negatived; she thought it might not be well +for the giddiness he complained of in the head. St. John took his leave, +and Henry went with him outside, to hear the news in private of what had +taken place in the college hall. Mrs. Arkell had left the room then, and +Travice took the opportunity to approach Lucy. + +"Does it strike you that there's any mystery about this fall, Lucy?" + +"Mystery!" she repeated, raising her eyes. "In what way?" + +"It is one of two things: either that he does not remember how he fell, +or that he won't tell. I think it is the latter; there is a restraint in +his manner when speaking of it: an evident reluctance to speak." + +"But why should he not speak of it?" + +"There lies what I call the mystery. A sensational word, you will say, +for so slight a matter. I may be wrong--if you have not noticed +anything. What's that you are so busy over?" + +Lucy held it up to the light, blushing excessively at the same time. It +was Harry's rowing jersey, and it was getting the worse for wear. +Boating would soon be coming in. + +"It wants darning nearly all over, it is so thin," she said. "And the +difficulty is to darn it so that the darn shall be neither seen nor +suspected on the right side." + +"Can't you patch it?" asked Travice. + +She laughed out loud. "Would Harry go rowing in a patched jersey? Would +you, Travice?" + +He laughed too. "I don't think I should much mind it." + +"Ah, but you are Travice Arkell," she said, her seriousness returning. +"A rich man may go about without shoes if he likes; but a poor one must +not be seen even in mended ones." + +"True: it's the way of the world, Lucy. Well, I should mend that jersey +with a new one. Why, you'll be a whole day over it." + +"I dare say I shall be two. Travice, there's Mr. St. John looking round +for you. He was beckoning. Did you not see him. + +"No, I only saw you," answered Travice, in a tone that was rather a +significant one. "I see now; he wants me. Good-bye, Lucy." + +He took her hand in his. There was little necessity for it, seeing that +he came in two or three times a day. And he kept it longer than he need +have done. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +CARR VERSUS CARR. + + +It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and a crowd of busy idlers was +gathered round the Guildhall at Westerbury, for the great cause was +being brought on--Carr _versus_ Carr. + +That they could not get inside, you may be very sure, or they would not +have been round it. In point of fact, the trial had not been expected to +come on before the Tuesday; but in the course of Monday morning two +causes had been withdrawn, and the Carr case was called on. The Nisi +Prius Court immediately became filled to inconvenience, and at two +o'clock the trial began. + +It progressed equably for some time, and then there arose a fierce +discussion touching the register. Mr. Fauntleroy's counsel, Serjeant +Wrangle, declaring the marriage was there up to very recently; and Mynn +and Mynn's counsel, Serjeant Siftem, ridiculing the assertion. The judge +called for the register. + +It was produced and examined. The marriage was not there, neither was +there any sign of its having been abstracted. Lawrence Omer was called +by Serjeant Wrangle; and he testified to having searched the register, +seen the inscribed marriage, and copied the names of the witnesses to +it. In proof of this, he tendered his pocket-book, where the names were +written in pencil. + +Up rose Serjeant Siftem. "What day was this, pray?" + +"It was the 4th of November." + +"And so you think you saw, amidst the many marriages entered in the +register, that of Robert Carr and Martha Ann Hughes?" + +"I am sure I saw it," replied Mr. Omer. + +"Were you alone?" + +"I looked over the book alone. Hunt, the clerk of the church, was +present in the vestry." + +"It must appear to the jury as a singular thing that you only, and +nobody else, should have seen this mysterious entry," continued Serjeant +Siftem. + +"Perhaps nobody else looked for it; they'd have seen it if they had," +shortly returned the witness, who felt himself an aggrieved man, and +spoke like one, since Mynn and Mynn had publicly accused him that day of +having gone down to St. James's in his sleep, and seen the entry in a +dream alone. + +"Does it not strike you, witness, as being extraordinary that this one +particular entry, professed to have been seen by your eyes, and by yours +alone, should have been abstracted from a book safely kept under lock +and key?" pursued Serjeant Siftem. "I am mistaken if it would not strike +an intelligent man as being akin to an impossibility." + +"No, it does not strike me so. But events, hard of belief, happen +sometimes. I swear the marriage was in the book last November: why it is +not there now, is the extraordinary part of the affair." + +It was no use to cross-examine the witness further; he was cross and +obstinate, and persisted in his story. Serjeant Siftem dismissed him; +and Hunt was called, the clerk of the church, who came hobbling in. + +The old man rambled in his evidence, but the point of it was, that he +didn't believe any abstraction had been made, not he; it must be a farce +to suppose it; a crotchet of that great lawyer, Fauntleroy; how could +the register be touched when he himself kept it sure and sacred, the key +of the safe in a hiding-place in the vestry, and the key of the church +hanging up in his own house, outside his kitchen door? His rector said +it had been robbed, and in course he couldn't stand out to his face as +it hadn't, but he were upon his oath now, and must speak the truth +without shrinking. + +Serjeant Wrangle rose. "Did the witness mean to tell the court that he +never saw or read the entry of the marriage?" + +"No, he never did. He never heard say as it were there, and he never +looked." + +"But you were present when the witness Omer examined the register?" +persisted Serjeant Wrangle. + +"Master Omer wouldn't have got to examine it, unless I had been," +retorted Hunt to Serjeant Wrangle. "I was a-sitting down in the vestry, +a-nursing of my leg, which were worse than usual that day; it always is +in damp weather, and--" + +"Confine yourself to evidence," interrupted the judge. + +"Well, sir, I was a-nursing of my leg whilst Master Omer looked into the +book. I don't know what he saw there; he didn't say; and when he had +done looking I locked it safe up again." + +"Did you see him make an extract from it?" demanded Serjeant Wrangle. + +"Yes, I saw him a-writing' something down in his pocket-book." + +"Have you ever entrusted the key of the safe to strange hands?" + +"I wouldn't do such a thing," angrily replied the witness. "I never gave +it to nobody, and never would; there's not a soul knows where it is to +be found, but me, and the rector, and the other clergyman, Mr. +Prattleton, what comes often to do the duty. I couldn't say as much for +the key of the church, which sometimes goes beyond my custody, for the +rector allows one or two of the young college gents to go in to play the +organ. By token, one on 'em--the quietest o' the pair, it were, +too--flung in that very key on to our kitchen floor, and shivered our +cat's beautiful chaney saucer into seven atoms, and my missis----" + +"That is not evidence," again interrupted the judge. + +Nothing more, apparently, that was evidence, could be got from the +witness, so he was dismissed. + +Call the Reverend Mr. Wilberforce. + +The Reverend Mr. Wilberforce, rector of St. James the Less, minor canon +and sacrist of Westerbury Cathedral, and head-master of the collegiate +school, came forward, and was sworn. + +"You are the rector of St. James the Less?" said Serjeant Wrangle. + +"I am," replied Mr. Wilberforce. + +"Did you ever see the entry of Robert Carr's marriage with Martha Ann +Hughes in the church's register." + +"Yes, I did." Serjeant Siftem pricked up his ears. + +"When did you see it?" + +"On the 7th of last November." + +"How do you fix the date, Mr. Wilberforce?" inquired, the judge, +recognising him as the minor canon who had officiated in the chanter's +desk the previous day in the cathedral. + +"I had been marrying a couple that morning, my lord, the 7th. After I +had entered their marriage, I turned back and looked for the registry of +Robert Carr's, and I found it and read it." + +"What induced you to look for it?" asked the counsel. + +"I had heard that his marriage was discovered to have taken place at St. +James's, and that it was recorded in the register;" and Mr. Wilberforce +then told how he had heard it. "Curiosity induced me to turn back and +read it," he continued. + +"You both saw it and read it?" continued Serjeant Wrangle. + +"I both saw it and read it," replied Mr. Wilberforce. + +"Then you testify that it was undoubtedly there?" + +"Most certainly it was." + +"The reverend gentleman will have the goodness to remember that he is +upon his oath," cried Serjeant Siftem, impudently bobbing up. + +"_Sir!_" was the indignant rebuke of the clergyman. "You forget to whom +you are speaking," he added, amidst the dead silence of the court. + +"Can you remember the words written?" resumed Serjeant Wrangle. + +"The entry was properly made; in the same manner that the others were, +of that period. Robert Carr and Martha Ann Hughes had signed it; also +her brother and sister as witnesses." + +"You have no doubt that the entry was there, then, Mr. Wilberforce?" +observed the judge. + +"My lord," cried the reverend gentleman, somewhat nettled at the +question, "I can believe my own eyes. I am not more certain that I am +now giving evidence before your lordship, than I am that the marriage +was in the register." + +"It is not in now?" said the judge. + +"No, my lord; it must have been cleverly abstracted." + +"The whole leaf, I presume?" said Serjeant Wrangle. + +"Undoubtedly. The marriage entered below Robert Carr's was that of Sir +Thomas Ealing: I read that also, with its long string of witnesses: that +is also gone." + +"Can you account for its disappearance?" asked Serjeant Wrangle. + +"Not in the least. I wish I could: and find out the offenders." + +"The incumbent of the parish at that time is no longer living, I +believe?" observed Serjeant Wrangle. + +"He has been dead many years," replied Mr. Wilberforce. "But it was not +the incumbent who married them: it was a strange clergyman who performed +the ceremony, a friend of Robert Carr's." + +"How do you know that?" snapped Serjeant Siftem, bobbing up again. + +"Because he signed the register as having performed it," replied Mr. +Wilberforce, confronting the Serjeant with a look as undaunted as his +own. + +What cared Serjeant Siftem for being confronted? "How do you know he was +a friend of Robert Carr's?" went on he. + +"In that I speak from hearsay. But there are many men of this city, +older than I am, who remember that the Reverend Mr. Bell and Robert Carr +were upon exceedingly intimate terms: they can testify it to you, if you +choose to call them." + +Serjeant Siftem growled, and sat down; but was up again in a moment. +"Who was clerk of the parish at that time?" asked he. + +"There was no clerk," replied the witness. "The office was in abeyance. +Some of the parishioners wanted to abolish it; but they did not succeed +in doing so." + +"Allow me to ask you, sir," resumed Serjeant Wrangle, "whether the +entrance of the marriage there is not a proof of its having taken +place?" + +"Most assuredly," replied Mr. Wilberforce. "A proof indisputable." + +But courts of justice, judges, and jury require ocular and demonstrative +proof. It is probable there was not a soul in court, including the judge +and Serjeant Siftem, but believed the evidence of the Reverend Mr. +Wilberforce, even had they chosen to doubt that of Lawrence Omer; but +the register negatively testified that there had been no marriage, and +upon the register, in law, must rest the onus of proof. Had there been +positive evidence, not negative, of the abstraction of the leaf from the +register, had the register itself afforded such, the aspect of affairs +would have been very different. Mr. Mynn testified that on the 2nd day +of December he had looked and could find no trace of the marriage in the +register: it was certainly evident that it was not in now. When the +court rose that night, the trial had advanced down to the summing-up of +the judge, which was deferred till morning: but it was felt by everybody +that that summing-up would be dead against the client of Mr. Fauntleroy, +and that Squire Carr had gained the cause. + +The squire, and his son Valentine, and Mynn and Mynn, and one or two of +the lesser guns of the bar, but not the great gun, Serjeant Siftem, took +a late dinner together, and drank toasts, and were as merry and +uproarious as success could make them: and Westerbury, outside, echoed +their sentiments--that 'cute old Fauntleroy had not a leg to stand upon. + +'Cute old Fauntleroy--'cute enough, goodness knew, in general--was +thinking the same thing, as he took a solitary chop in his own house: +for he did not get home until long past the dinner-hour, and his +daughters were out. After the meal was finished, he sat over the fire in +a dreamy mood, he scarcely knew how long, he was so full of vexation. + +The extraordinary revelation, that the disputed marriage had taken place +at St. James the Less, and lain recorded all those years unsuspiciously +in the register, with the still more extraordinary fact that it had been +mysteriously taken out of it, electrified Westerbury. The news flew from +one end of the city to the other, and back again, and sideways, and +everywhere. + +But not until late in the evening was it carried to Peter Arkells. +Cookesley, the second senior of the school, went in to see Henry, and +told it; and then, for the first time, Henry found that the abstraction +of the leaf had reference to the great cause--Carr versus Carr. + +"Will Mrs. Carr lose her verdict through it?" he asked of Cookesley. + +"Of course she will. There's no proof of the leaf's having been taken +out. If they could only prove that, she'd gain it; and very unjust it +will be upon her, poor thing! We had such a game in school!" added +Cookesley, passing to private interests. "Wilberforce was at the court +all the afternoon, giving evidence; and Roberts wanted to domineer over +us upper boys; as if we'd let him! He was so savage." + +Cookesley departed. Henry had his head down on the table: Mrs. Arkell +supposed it ached, and bade him go to bed. He apparently did not hear +her; and presently started up and took his trencher. + +"Where are you going?" she asked, in surprise. + +"Only to Prattleton's. I want to speak to George." + +"But, Henry----" + +Remonstrance was useless. He had already gone. Prattleton senior came to +the door to him. + +"George? George is at Griffin's; Griffin has got a bachelor's party. +Whatever do you want with him? I say, Arkell, have you heard of the row +in school this morning? The dean came in about that medal business--what +a fool Aultane junior was for splitting!--and St. John spoke about one +of the fellows having been at Rutterley's on Saturday, trying to pledge +a spoon with the Aultane crest upon it: he didn't say actually the crest +was the Aultanes', or that the fellow was Aultane, but his manner let us +know it. Wasn't Aultane in a way! He said afterwards that if he had had +a pistol ready capped and loaded, he should have shot himself, or the +dean, or St. John, or somebody else. Serve him right for his false +tongue! There'll be an awful row yet. I know I'd shoot myself, before +I'd go and peach to the dean!" + +But Prattleton was wasting his words on air. Henry had flown on to +Griffin's--the house in the grounds formerly occupied by Mr. and Mrs. +Lewis. The Reverend Mr. Griffin was the old minor canon, with the +cracked voice, and it was his son and heir who was holding the +bachelor's party. George Prattleton came out. + +There ensued a short, sharp colloquy--Henry insisting upon being +released from his promise; George Prattleton, whom the suggestion had +startled nearly out of his senses, refusing to allow him to divulge +anything. + +"She'll not get her cause," said Henry, "unless I speak. It will be +awfully unjust." + +"You'll just keep your tongue quiet, Arkell. What is it to you? The Carr +folks are not your friends or relatives." + +"If I were to let the trial go against her, for the want of telling the +truth, I should have it on my conscience always." + +"My word!" cried George Prattleton, "a schoolboy with a conscience! I +never knew they were troubled with any." + +"Will you release me from my promise of not speaking?" + +"Not if you go down on your knees for it. What a green fellow you are!" + +"Then I shall speak without." + +"You won't," cried Prattleton. + +"I will. I gave the promise only conditionally, remember; and, as things +are turning out, I am under no obligation to keep it. But I would not +speak without asking your consent first, whether I got it or not." + +"I have a great mind to carry you by force, and fling you into the +river," uttered Prattleton, in a savage tone. + +"You know you couldn't do it," returned Henry, quietly: "if I am not +your equal in age and strength, I could call those who are. But there's +not a moment to be lost. I am off to Mr. Fauntleroy's." + +Henry Arkell meant what he said: he was always resolute in _right_: and +Prattleton, after a further confabulation, was fain to give in. Indeed +he had been expecting nothing less than this for the last hour, and had +in a measure prepared himself for it. + +"I'll tell the news myself," said George Prattleton, "if it must be +told: and I'll tell it to Mr. Prattleton, not to Fauntleroy, or any of +the law set." + +"I must go to Mr. Prattleton with you," returned Henry. + +"You can wait for me out here, then. We are at whist, and my coming out +has stopped the game. I shan't be more than five minutes." + +George Prattleton retreated indoors, and Henry paced about, waiting for +him. He crossed over towards the deanery, and came upon Miss Beauclerc. +She had been spending an hour at a neighbouring house, and was returning +home, attended by an old man-servant. Muffled in a shawl and wearing a +pink silk hood, few would have known her, except the college boy. His +heart beat as if it would burst its bounds. + +"Why, it's never you!" she cried. "Thank you, Jacob, that will do," she +added to the servant. "Don't stand, or you'll catch your rheumatism; Mr. +Arkell will see me indoors." + +The old man turned away with a bow, and she partially threw back her +pink silk hood to talk to Henry, as they moved slowly on to the deanery +door. + +"Were you going to call upon us, Harry?" + +"No, Miss Beauclerc. I am waiting for George Prattleton. He is at +Griffin's." + +"Miss Beauclerc!" she echoed; "how formal you are to-night. I'd not be +as cold as you, Henry Arkell, for the whole world!" + +"I, cold!" + +He said no more in refutation. If Georgina could but have known his real +feelings! If she could but have divined how his pulses were beating, his +veins coursing! Perhaps she did. + +"Are you better? What a fall you had! And to faint after it!" + +"Yes, I think I am better, thank you. It hurt my head a little." + +"And you had been annoyed with those rebellious school boys! You are not +half strict enough with the choristers. I hope Aultane will get a +flogging, as Lewis did for locking you up in St. James's Church. I asked +Lewis the next day how he liked it: he was so savage. I think he'd +murder you if he could: he's jealous, you know." + +She laughed as she spoke the last words, and her gay blue eyes were bent +on him; he could discern them even in the dark, obscure corner where the +deanery door stood. Henry did not answer: he was in wretched spirits. + +"Harry, tell me--why is it you so rarely come to the deanery? Do you +think any other college boy would dare to set at nought the dean's +invitations--and mine?" + +"Remembering what passed between us one night at the deanery--the audit +night--can you wonder that I do not oftener come?" he inquired. + +"Oh, but you were so stupid." + +"Yes, I know. I have been stupid for years past." + +Miss Beauclerc laughed. "And you think that stopping away will cure +you?" + +"It will not cure me; years will not cure me," he passionately broke +forth, in a tone whose anguish was irrepressible. "Absence and _you_ +alone will do that. When I go to the university----" He stopped, unable +to proceed. + +"When you go to the university you will come back a wise man. Henry," +she continued, changing her manner to seriousness, "it was the height of +folly to suffer yourself to care for me. If I--if it were reciprocated, +and I cared for you, if I were dying of love for you, there are barriers +on all sides, and in all ways." + +"I am aware of it. There is the barrier between us of disparity of +years; there is a wide barrier of station; and there is the greatest +barrier of all, want of love on your side. I know that my loving you has +been nothing short of madness, from the first: madness and double +madness since I knew where your heart was given." + +"So you will retain that crotchet in your head!" + +"It is no crotchet. Do you think my loving eyes--my jealous eyes, if you +so will it--have been deceived? You must be happy, now that he has come +back to Westerbury." + +"Stupid!" echoed Miss Beauclerc. + +"But it has been your fault, Georgina," he resumed, reverting to +himself. "I _must_ reiterate it. You saw what my feelings were becoming +for you, and you did all you could to draw them on; you may have deemed +me a child then in years; you knew I was not, in heart. They might have +been checked in the onset, and repressed: why did you not do it? why did +you do just the contrary, and give me encouragement? You called it +flirting; you thought it good sport: but you should have remembered that +what is sport to one, may be death to another." + +"This estrangement makes me uncomfortable," proceeded Miss Beauclerc, +ignoring the rest. "Papa keeps saying, 'What is come to Henry Arkell +that he is never at the deanery?' and then I invent white stories, about +believing that your studies take up your time. I miss you every day; I +do, Henry; I miss your companionship; I miss your voice at the piano; I +miss your words in speaking to me. But here comes your friend George +Prat, for that's the echo of old Griffin's door. I know the different +sounds of the doors in the grounds. Good night, Harry: I must go in." + +She bent towards him to put her hand in his, and he--he was betrayed out +of his propriety and his good manners. He caught her to his heart, and +held her there; he kissed her face with his fervent lips. + +"Forgive me, Georgina," he murmured, as she released herself. "It is the +first and the last time." + +"I will forgive you for this once," cried the careless girl; "but only +think of the scandal, had anybody come up: my staid mamma would go into +a fit. It is what _he_ has never done," she added, in a deeper tone. +"And why your head should run upon him I cannot tell. Mine doesn't." + +Henry wrung her hand. "But for him, Georgina, I should think you cared +for me. Not that the case would be less hopeless." + +Miss Beauclerc rang a peal on the door-bell, and was immediately +admitted--whilst Henry Arkell walked forward to join George Prattleton, +his heart a compound of sweet and bitter, and his brain in a mazy dream. + +But we left Mr. Fauntleroy in a dream by the side of his fire, and by no +means a pleasant one. He sat there he did not know how long, and was at +length interrupted by one of his servants. + +"You are wanted, sir, if you please." + +"Wanted now! Who is it?" + +"The Rev. Mr. Prattleton, sir, and one or two more. They are in the +drawing-room, and the fire's gone out." + +"He has come bothering about that tithe case," grumbled Mr. Fauntleroy +to himself. "I won't see him: let him come at a proper time. My +compliments to Mr. Prattleton, Giles, but I am deep in assize business, +and cannot see him." + +Giles went out and came in again. "Mr. Prattleton says they must see +you, sir, whether or no. He told me to say, sir, that it is about the +cause that's on, Carr and Carr." + +Mr. Fauntleroy proceeded to his drawing-room, and there he was shut in +for some time. Whatever the conference with his visitors may have been, +it was evident, when he came out, that for him it had borne the deepest +interest, for his whole appearance was changed; his manners were +excited, his eyes sparkling, and his face was radiant. + +They all left the house together, but the lawyer's road did not lie far +with theirs. He stopped at the lodgings occupied by Serjeant Wrangle, +and knocked. A servant-maid came to the door. + +"I want to see Serjeant Wrangle," said Mr. Fauntleroy, stepping in. + +"You can't sir. He is gone to bed." + +"I must see him for all that," returned Mr. Fauntleroy. + +"Missis and master's gone to bed too," she added, by way of remonstrance. +"I was just a-going." + +"With all my heart," said Mr. Fauntleroy. "I must see the serjeant." + +"'Tain't me, then, sir, that'll go and awaken him," cried the girl. +"He's gone to bed dead tired, he said, and I was not to disturb him till +eight in the morning." + +"Give me your candle," replied Mr. Fauntleroy, taking it from her hand. +"He has the same rooms as usual, I suppose; first floor." + +Mr. Fauntleroy went up the stairs, and the girl stood at the bottom, and +watched and listened. She did not approve of the proceedings, but did +not dare to check them; for Mr. Fauntleroy was a great man in +Westerbury, and their assize lodger, the serjeant, was a greater. + +Tap--tap--tap: at Serjeant Wrangle's door. + +No response. + +Tap--tap--tap, louder. + +"Who the deuce is that?" called out the serjeant, who was only dignified +in his wig and gown. "Is it you, Eliza? what do you want? It's not +morning, is it?" + +"'Tain't me, sir," screamed out Eliza, who had now followed Mr. +Fauntleroy. "I told the gentleman as you was dead tired and wasn't to be +woke up till eight in the morning, but he took my light and would come +up." + +"I must see you, Serjeant," said Mr. Fauntleroy. + +"See me! I'm in bed and asleep. Who the dickens is it?" + +"Mr. Fauntleroy. Don't you know my voice? Can I come in?" + +"No; the door's bolted." + +"Then just come and undo it. For, see you, I must." + +"Can't it wait?" + +"If it could I should not have disturbed you. Open the door and you +shall judge for yourself." + +Serjeant Wrangle was heard to tumble out of bed in a lump, and undo the +bolt of the door. Eliza concluded that he was in his night attire, and +modestly threw her apron over her face. Mr. Fauntleroy entered. + +"The most extraordinary thing has turned up in Carr versus Carr," cried +he. "Never had such a piece of luck, just in the nick of time, in all my +practice." + +"Do shut the door," responded Serjeant Wrangle; "I shall catch the +shivers." + +Mr. Fauntleroy shut the door, shutting out Eliza, who forthwith sat down +on the top stair, and wished she had ten ears. "Have you not a +dressing-gown to put on?" cried he to the serjeant. + +"I'll listen in bed," replied the serjeant, vaulting into it. + +A whole hour did that ill-used Eliza sit on the stairs, and not a +syllable could she distinguish, listen as she would, nothing but an +eager murmuring of voices. When Mr. Fauntleroy came out, he put the +candle in her hand and she attended him to the door, but not in a +gracious mood. + +"I thought you were going to stop all night, sir," she ventured to say. +"Dreadful dreary it was, sitting there, a-waiting." + +"Why did you not wait in the kitchen?" + +"Because every minute I fancied you must be coming out. Good night, +sir." + +"Good night," returned Mr. Fauntleroy, putting half-a-crown in her hand. +"There; that's in case you have to wait on the stairs for me again." + +Eliza brightened up, and officiously lighted Mr. Fauntleroy some paces +down the street, in spite of the gas-lamp at the door, which shone well. +"What a good humour the old lawyer's in!" quoth she. "I wonder what his +business was? I heard him say something had arose in Carr and Carr." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE SECOND DAY. + + +Tuesday morning dawned, and before nine o'clock the Nisi Prius court was +more densely packed than on the preceding day: all Westerbury--at least, +as many as could push in--were anxious to hear his lordship's summing +up. At twenty-eight minutes after nine, the javelins of the sheriff's +men appeared in the outer hall, ushering in the procession of the +judges. + +The senior judge proceeded to the criminal court; the other, as on the +Monday, took his place in the Nisi Prius. His lordship had his notes in +his hand, and was turning to the jury, preparatory to entering on his +task, when Mr. Serjeant Wrangle rose. + +"My lord--I must crave your lordship's permission to state a fact, +bearing on the case, Carr versus Carr. An unexpected witness has arisen; +a most important witness; one who will testify to the abstraction from +the register; one who was present when that abstraction was made. Your +lordship will allow him to be heard?" + +Serjeant Siftem, and Mynn and Mynn, and Squire Carr and his son +Valentine, and all who espoused that side, looked contemptuous daggers +of incredulity at Serjeant Wrangle. But the judge allowed the witness to +be heard, for all that. + +He came forward; a remarkably handsome boy, at the stage between youth +and manhood. The judge put his silver glasses across his nose and gazed +at him: he thought he recognised those beautiful features. + +"Swear the witness," cried some official. + +The witness was sworn. + +"What is your name?" demanded Serjeant Wrangle. + +"Henry Cheveley Arkell." + +"Where do you reside?" + +"In Westerbury, near the cathedral." + +"You are a member of the college school and a chorister, are you not?" +interposed the judge, whose remembrance had come to him. + +"A king's scholar, my lord, and senior chorister." + +"Were you in St. James's Church on a certain night of last November?" +resumed Serjeant Wrangle. + +"Yes. On the twentieth." + +"For how long? And how came you to be there?" + +"I went in to practise on the organ, when afternoon school was over, and +some one locked me in. I was there until nearly two in the morning." + +"Who locked you in?" + +"I did not know then. I afterwards heard that it was one of the senior +boys." + +"Tell the jury what you saw." + +Henry Arkell, amidst the confused scene, so unfamiliar to him, wondered +which was the jury. Not knowing, he stood as he had done before, looking +alternately at the examining counsel and the judge. + +"I went to sleep on the singers' seat in the organ-gallery, and slept +until a noise awoke me. I saw two people stealing up the church with a +light; they turned into the vestry, and I went softly downstairs and +followed them, and stood at the vestry door looking in." + +"Who were those parties?" + +"The one was Mr. George Prattleton; the other a stranger, whose name I +had heard was Rolls. George Prattleton unlocked the safe and gave Rolls +the register, and Rolls sat down and looked through it: he was looking a +long while." + +"What next did you see?" + +"When George Prattleton had his back turned to the table, I saw Rolls +blow out the light. He pretended it had gone out of itself, and asked +George Prattleton to fetch the matches from the bench at the entrance +door. As soon as George Prattleton had gone for them, a light reappeared +in the vestry, and I saw Rolls place what looked to be a piece of thick +pasteboard behind one of the leaves, and then draw a knife down it and +cut it out. He put the leaf and the board and the knife into his pocket, +and blew out the candle again. + +"Did George Prattleton see nothing of this?" + +"No. He was gone for the matches, and when he came back the vestry was +in darkness, as he had left it. 'Nothing risk, nothing win; I thought I +could do him,' I heard Rolls say to himself." + +"After that?" + +"After that, when Mr. George Prattleton came back with the matches, +Rolls lighted the candle and continued to look over the register, and +George Prattleton grumbled at him for being so long. Presently Rolls +shut the book and hurrahed, saying that it was not in, and Mr. +Prattleton might put it up again." + +"Did you understand what he meant by 'it.' Can you repeat the words he +used?" + +"I believe I can, or nearly so, for I have thought of them often since. +'It's not in the register, Prattleton,' he said. 'Hurrah! It will be +thousands of pounds in our pockets. When the other side brought forth +the lame tale that there was such an entry, we thought it a bag of +moonshine.' I think that was it." + +"What next happened?" + +"I saw Rolls hand the book to George Prattleton, and then I went down +the church as quietly as I could, and found the key in the door and got +out. I hid behind a tombstone, and I saw them both come from the church, +and Mr. George Prattleton locked it and put the key in his pocket. I +heard them disputing at the door, when they found it open; Rolls accused +George Prattleton of unlocking the door when he went to get the matches; +and George Prattleton accused Rolls of having neglected to lock it when +they entered the church." + +"Meanwhile it was you who had unlocked it, to let yourself out?" + +"Yes. And I was in too great a hurry, for fear they should see me, to +shut it after me." + +"A very nicely concocted tale!" sneered Serjeant Siftem, after several +more questions had been asked of Henry, and he rose to cross examine. +"You would like the court and jury to believe you, sir?" + +"I hope all will believe, who hear me, for it is the truth," he +answered, with simplicity. And he had his wish; for all did believe him; +and Serjeant Siftem's searching questions, and insinuations that the +fancied George Prattleton and Rolls were nothing but ghosts, failed to +shake his testimony, or their belief. + +The next witness called was Roland Carr Lewis, who had just come into +court, marshalled by the second master. A messenger, attended by a +javelin man, had been despatched in hot haste to the college schoolroom, +demanding the attendance of Roland Lewis. Mr. Roberts, confounded by +their appearance, and perplexed by the obscure tale of the messenger, +that "two of the college gentlemen, Lewis and another, was found to have +had som'at to do with the theft from the register, though not, he +b'lieved, in the way of thieving it theirselves," left his desk and his +duties, and accompanied Lewis. The head master had been in court all the +morning. + +"You are in the college school," said Serjeant Wrangle, after Lewis was +sworn, and had given his name. + +"King's scholar, sir, and third senior," replied Lewis, who could +scarcely speak for fright; which was not lessened when he caught sight +of the Dean of Westerbury on the bench, next the judge. + +"Did you shut up a companion, Henry Cheveley Arkell, in the church of +St. James the Less, one afternoon last November, when he had gone in to +practise on the organ?" + +Lewis wiped his face, and tried to calm his breathing, and glared +fearfully towards the bench, but never spoke. + +"You have been sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but +the truth, sir, and you must do so," said the judge, staring at his ugly +face, through his glasses. "Answer the question." + +"Y--es." + +"What was your motive for doing so?" asked Serjeant Wrangle. + +"It was only done in fun. I didn't mean to hurt him." + +"Pretty fun!" ejaculated one of the jury, who had a timid boy of his own +in the college school, and thought how horrible might be the +consequences should he get locked up in St. James's Church. + +"How long did you leave him there?" + +"I don't know. I took back the key to the clerk's, and the next morning, +when we went to let him out, he was gone." + +"Who is 'we?' Who was with you?" cried Serjeant Wrangle, catching at the +word. + +"Mr. George Prattleton. He was at the clerk's in the morning, and I told +him about it, and asked him to get the key, for Hunt would not let me +have it. So he was coming with me to open the church; but Hunt happened +to say that Arkell had just been to his house. He had got out somehow." + +When this witness, after a good deal of badgering, was released, +Serjeant Siftem, a bright thought having occurred to him, desired that +the Reverend Mr. Wilberforce might get into the witness-box. The +Reverend Mr. Wilberforce did so; and the serjeant began, in an +insinuating tone: + +"The witness, Henry Cheveley Arkell, is under your tuition in the +collegiate school, I assume?" + +"He is," sternly replied Mr. Wilberforce, who had not forgotten Serjeant +Siftem's insult of the previous day. + +"Would you believe him on his oath?" + +"On his oath, or without it." + +"Oh, you would, would you?" retorted the Serjeant. "Schoolboys are +addicted to romancing, though." + +"Henry Arkell is of strict integrity. His word may be implicitly +trusted." + +"I can bear testimony to Henry Arkell's honourable and truthful nature," +spoke up the dean, from his place beside the judge. "His general conduct +is exemplary; a pattern to the school." + +"Henry Cheveley Arkell," roared out the undaunted Serjeant Siftem, +drowning the dean's voice. "I have done with _you_, Mr. Wilberforce." So +the master left the witness-box, and Henry re-entered it. + +"I omitted to put a question to you, Mr. Chorister," began Serjeant +Siftem. "Should you know this fabulous gentleman of your imagination, +this Rolls, if you were to see him?" + +"Yes," replied Henry. "I saw him this morning as I came into court." + +That shut up Serjeant Siftem. + +"Where did you see him?" inquired the judge. + +"In the outer hall, my lord. He was with Mr. Valentine Carr. But I am +not sure that his name is Rolls," added the witness. "When I pointed him +out to Mr. Fauntleroy, he was surprised, and said that was Richards, +Mynn and Mynn's clerk." + +The judge whispered a word to somebody with a white wand, who was +standing near him, and that person immediately went hunting about the +court to find this Rolls or Richards, and bring him before the judge. +But Rolls had made himself scarce ere the conclusion of Henry Arkell's +first evidence; and, as it transpired afterwards, decamped from the +town. The next witness put into the box was Mr. George Prattleton. + +"You are aware, I presume, of the evidence given by Henry Cheveley +Arkell," said Serjeant Wrangle. "Can you deny that part of it which +relates to yourself?" + +"No, unfortunately I cannot," replied George Prattleton, who was very +down in the mouth--as his looks were described by a friend of his in +court. "Rolls is a villain." + +"That is not evidence, sir," said the judge. + +"He is a despicable villain, my lord," returned the witness, giving way +to his injured feelings. "He came to Westerbury, pretending to be a +stranger, and calling himself Rolls, and I got acquainted with him; that +is, he scraped acquaintance with me, and we were soon intimate. Then he +began to make use of me; he asked if I would do him a favour. He wanted +to get a private sight of the register in St. James's Church. So I +consented, I am sorry to say, to get him a private sight; but I made the +bargain that he should not copy a single word out of it, and of course I +meant to be with him and watch him." + +"Did you know that his request had reference to the case of Carr versus +Carr?" inquired Serjeant Wrangle. + +"No, I'll swear I did not," retorted the witness, in an earnest tone, +forgetting, probably, that he was already on his oath. "He never told me +why he wanted to look. He would go in at night: if he were seen entering +the church in the day, it might be fatal to his client's cause, was the +tale he told; and I am ashamed to acknowledge that I took him in at +night, and suffered him to look at the register. I have heard to-day +that his name is Richards." + +"You knew where the key of the safe was kept?" + +"Yes; I was one day in the church with the Reverend Mr. Prattleton, and +saw him take it from its place." + +"Did you see Rolls (as we will call him) abstract the leaf?" + +"Of course I did not," indignantly retorted the witness. "I suddenly +found the vestry in darkness, and he got me to fetch the matches, which +were left on the bench at the entrance door. It must have been done +then. Soon after I returned he gave me back the register, saying the +entry he wanted was not there, and I locked it up again. When we got to +the church door we were astonished to find it open, but----" + +"But did you not suspect it was opened by one who had watched your +proceedings," interrupted the judge. + +"No, my lord. Rolls left the town the next morning early; when I went to +find him he was gone, and I have never been able to see him since. +That's all I know of the transaction, and I can only publicly repeat my +deep regret and shame that I should have been drawn into such a one." + +"Drawn, however, without much scruple, as it appears," rebuked the +judge, with a severe countenance. "Allow me to ask you, sir, when it was +you first became acquainted with the fact that a theft had been +perpetrated on the register?" + +Mr. George Prattleton did not immediately answer. He would have given +much not to be obliged to do so: but the court wore an ominous silence, +and the judge waited his reply. + +"The day after it took place, Arkell, the college boy, came and told me +what he had seen, but----" + +"Then, sir, it was your duty to have proclaimed it, and to have had +steps taken to arrest your confederate, Rolls," interrupted the stern +judge. + +"But, my lord, I did not believe Arkell. I did not indeed," he added, +endeavouring to impart to his tone an air of veracity, and therefore--as +is sure to be the case--imparting to it just the contrary. "I could not +believe that Rolls, or any one else in a respectable position, such he +appeared to occupy, would be guilty of so felonious an action." + +"The less excuse you make upon the point, the better," observed the +judge. + +For some few minutes Serjeant Siftem and his party had been conferring +in whispers. The serjeant, at this stage, spoke. + +"My lord, this revelation has come upon my instructors, Mynn and Mynn, +with, the most utter surprise, and----" + +"The man, Rolls, or Richards, is really clerk to Mynn and Mynn, I am +informed," interrupted the judge, in as significant a tone as a +presiding judge permits himself to assume. + +"He was, my lord; but he will not be in future. They discard him from +this hour. In fact, should he not make good his escape from the country, +which it is more than likely he is already endeavouring to effect, he +will probably at the next assizes find himself placed before your +lordship for judgment, should you happen to come this circuit, and +preside in the other court. But Mynn and Mynn wish to disclaim, in the +most emphatic manner, all cognizance of this man's crime. They----" + +"There is no charge to be brought against Mynn and Mynn in connexion +with it, is there?" again interposed the judge. + +"Most certainly not, my lord," replied the counsel, in a lofty tone, +meant to impress the public ear. + +"Then, Brother Siftem, it appears to me that you need not take up the +time of the court to enter on their defence." + +"I bow to your lordship's opinion. Mynn and Mynn and their client, +Squire Carr, are not less indignant that so rascally a trick should have +been perpetrated than the public must be. But this evidence, which has +come upon them in so overwhelming a manner, they feel they cannot hope +to confute. I am therefore instructed to inform your lordship and the +jury, that they withdraw from the suit, and permit a verdict to be +entered for the other side." + +"Very good," replied the judge. + +And thus, after certain technicalities had been observed, the +proceedings were concluded, and the court began to empty itself of its +spectators. For once the RIGHT had prospered. But Westerbury held its +breath with awe when it came to reflect that it was the revengeful act +of Roland Carr Lewis, that locking up in the church, which had caused +his family to be despoiled of the inheritance they had taken to +themselves! + +The Reverend Mr. Wilberforce laid hold of Henry Arkell, as he was +leaving the Guildhall. "Tell me," said he, but not in an angry tone, +"how much more that is incomprehensible are you keeping secret, allowing +it to come out to me piecemeal?" + +Henry smiled. "I don't think there is any more, sir." + +"Yes, there is. It is incomprehensible why you should not have disclosed +at the time all you had been a witness to in the church. Why did you +not?" + +"I could not speak without compromising George Prattleton, sir; and if I +had, he might have been brought to trial for it." + +"Serve him right too," said Mr. Wilberforce. + +Presently Henry met the dean, his daughter, Frederick St. John, and Lady +Anne. The dean stopped him. + +"What do you call yourself? A lion?" + +Henry smiled faintly. + +"I think you stand a fair chance of being promoted into one. Do you know +what I wished to-day, when you were giving your evidence?" + +"No, sir." + +"That you were my own son." + +Henry involuntarily glanced at Georgina, and she glanced at him: her +face retained its calmness, but a flush of crimson came over his. No one +observed them but Mr. St. John. + +"I want you at the deanery to-night," continued the dean, releasing +Henry. "No excuse about lessons now: your fall on Sunday has given you +holiday. You will come?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I mean to dinner--seven o'clock. The judges will be there. The one who +tried the cause said he should like to meet you. Go and rest yourself +until then." + +"Thank you, sir. I will come." + +Georgina's eyes sparkled, and she nodded to him in triumph a dozen +times, as she walked on with the dean. + +Following in the wake of the dean's party came the Rev. Mr. Prattleton. +Henry approached him timidly. + +"I hope you will forgive me, sir. I could not help giving my evidence." + +"Forgive you!" echoed Mr. Prattleton; "I wish nobody wanted forgiveness +worse than you do. You have acted nobly throughout. I have recommended +Mr. George to get out of the town for a while; not to remain in it in +idleness and trouble my table any longer. He can join his friend Rolls +on the continent if he likes: I understand he is most likely off +thither." + +The fraud was not brought home to the Carr family. It was indisputably +certain that the squire himself had known nothing whatever of it: had +never even been aware that the marriage was entered on the register of +St. James the Less. Whether his sons Valentine and Benjamin were equally +guiltless, was a matter of opinion. Valentine solemnly protested that +nothing had ever been told to him; but he did acknowledge that Richards +came to him one evening, and said he thought the cause was likely to be +imperilled by "certain proceedings" that the other side were taking. He, +Valentine Carr, authorized him to do what he could to counteract these +proceedings (only intending him to act in a fair manner), and gave him +carte blanche in a moderate way for the money that might be required. He +acknowledged to no more: and perhaps he had no more to acknowledge: +neither did he say _how much_ he had paid to Richards. Benjamin treated +the whole matter with contempt. The most indignant of all were Mynn and +Mynn. Really respectable practitioners, it was in truth a very +disagreeable thing to have been forced upon them; and could they have +got at their ex-clerk, they would willingly have transported him. + +And Mr. Fauntleroy, in the flush of his great victory, in the plenitude +of his gratitude to the boy whose singular evidence had caused him to +win the battle, went down that same day to Peter Arkell's and forgave +him the miserable debt that had so long hampered him. For once in his +life, the lawyer showed himself generous. People used to say that such +was his nature before the world hardened him. + +So, taking one thing with another, it was a satisfactory termination to +the renowned cause, Carr versus Carr. + +It was a large state dinner at the deanery. But the chief thing that +Henry Arkell saw at it was, that Mr. St. John sat by Georgina Beauclerc. +The judges--who did not appear in their wigs and fiery gowns, to the +relief of private country individuals of wide imaginations, that could +not usually separate them--were pleasant men, and their faces did not +look so yellow by candle-light. They talked to Henry a great deal, and +he had to rehearse over, for the general benefit, all the scene of that +past night in St. James's Church. Mrs. Beauclerc, usually so +indifferent, was aroused to especial interest, and would not quit the +theme; neither would Lady Anne St. John, now visiting at the Palmery, +and who was present with Mrs. St. John. + +But Georgina--oh, the curious wiles of a woman's heart!--took little or +no notice of Henry. They had been for some time in the drawing-room +before she came near him at all--before she addressed a word to him. At +dinner she had been absorbed in Mr. St. John: gay, laughing, animated, +her thoughts, her words, were all for him. Sarah Beauclerc, conspicuous +that night for her beauty, sat opposite to them, but St. John had not +the opportunity of speaking to her, beyond a passing word now and again. +In the drawing-room, no longer fettered--though perhaps the fetters had +been willing ones--St. John went at once to Sarah, and he did not leave +her side. Ah! Henry saw it all: both those fair girls loved Frederick +St. John! What would be the ending? + +Georgina sat at a table apart, reading a new book, or appearing to read +it. Was she covertly watching that sofa at a distance? It was so +different, this sitting still, from her usual restless habits of +flitting everywhere. Suddenly she closed her book, and went up to them. + +"I have come to call you to account, Fred," she began, speaking in her +most familiar manner, but in a low tone. "Don't you see whose heart you +are breaking?" + +He had been sitting with his head slightly bent, as he spoke in a +whisper to his beautiful companion. Her eyes were cast down, her fingers +unconsciously pulled apart the petals of some geranium she held; her +whole attitude bespoke a not unwilling listener. Georgina's salutation +surprised both, for they had not seen her approach. They looked up. + +"What do you say?" cried St. John. "Breaking somebody's heart? Whose? +Yours?" + +She laughed in derision, flirting some of the scent out of a golden +phial she had taken up. "Sarah, _you_ should have more consideration," +she continued. "It is all very well when Lady Anne's not present, but +when she _is_--There! you need not go into a flaming fever and fling +your angry eyes upon me. Look at Sarah's face, Mr. St. John." + +Mr. St. John walked away, as though he had not heard. Sarah caught hold +of her cousin. + +"There is a limit to endurance, Georgina. If you pursue this style of +conversation to me--learnt, as I have repeatedly told you, from the +housemaids, unless it is inherent," she added, in deep scorn--"I shall +make an appeal to the dean." + +"Make it," said Georgina, laughing. "It was too bad of you, Sarah, with +his future wife present. She'll go to bed and dream of jealousy." + +Quitting her cousin, she went straight up to Henry Arkell. "Why do you +mope like this?" she cried. + +"Mope!" he repeated. + +He had been at another table leaning his head upon his hand. It was +aching much: and he told her so. + +"Oh, Harry, I am sorry; I forgot your fall. Will you sing a song?" + +"I don't think I can to-night." + +"But papa has been talking to the judges about it. I heard him say your +singing was worth listening to. I suppose he had been telling them all +about you, and the whole romance, you know, of Mrs. Peter Arkell's +marriage, for one of them--it was the old one--said he used to be +intimate with her father, Colonel Cheveley. Here comes the dean! that's +to ask you to sing." + +He sat down at once, and sang a song of the day. Then he went on to one +that I dare say you all know and like--"Shall I, wasting in despair." At +its conclusion one of the judges--it was the old one, as Georgina +irreverently called him--came to him at the piano, and asked if he could +sing Luther's Hymn. + +A few chords by way of prelude, lasting some few minutes, probably +played to form a break between the worldly song and the sacred one--for +if anyone was ever endowed with an innate sense of what was due to +sacred things, it was Henry Arkell--and then the grand old hymn, in all +its beautiful simplicity, burst upon their ears. Never had it been done +greater justice to than it was by that solitary college boy. The room +was hushed to stillness; the walls echoed with the sweet sounds; the +solemn words thrilled on the listeners' hearts, and the singer's whole +soul seemed to go up with them. Oh, how strange it was, that the judge +should have called for that particular, sacred song! + +The echoes of it died away in the deepest stillness. It was broken by +Henry himself; he closed the piano, as if nothing else must be allowed +to come after that; and the tacit mandate was accepted, and nobody +thought of inquiring how he came to assume the liberty in the dean's +house. + +Gradually the room resumed its humming and its self-absorption, and +Georgina Beauclerc, under cover of it, went up to him. + +"How could you make the excuse that your head was aching? None, with any +sort of sickness upon them, could sing as you have just done." + +"Not even with heart sickness," he answered. + +"Now you are going to be absurd again! What do you mean?" + +"To-night has taught me a great deal, Georgina. If I have been foolish +enough--fond enough, I might say--to waver in my doubts before, that's +over for ever." + +"So much the better; you will be cured now." + +She had spoken only lightly, not meaning to be unkind or unfeeling; but +she saw what she had done, by his quivering lip. Leaning across him as +he stood, under cover of showing him something on the table, she spoke +in a deep, earnest tone. + +"Henry, you know it could never be. Better that you should see the truth +now, than go on in this dream of folly. Stay away for a short while if +you will, and overget it; and then we will be fast friends as before." + +"And this is to be the final ending?" + +She stole a glance round at him, his voice had so strange a sound in it. +Every trace of colour had faded from his face. + +"Yes; it is the only possible ending. If you get on well and become +somebody grand, you and I can be as brother and sister in after life." + +She moved away as she spoke. It may be that she saw further trifling +would not do. But even in the last sentence, thoughtlessly though she +had spoken it, there was an implied consciousness of the wide difference +in their social standing, all too prominent to that sensitive ear. + +A minute afterwards St. John looked round for him, and could not see +him. + +"Where's Henry Arkell?" he asked of Georgina. + +She looked round also. + +"He is gone, I suppose," she answered. "He was in one of his stupid +moods to-night." + +"That's something new for him. Stupid?" + +"I used the word in a wide sense. Crazy would have been better." + +"What do you mean, Georgina?" + +"He is a little crazy at times--to me. There! that's all I am going to +tell you: you are not my father confessor." + +"True," he said; "but I think I understand without confession. Take +care, Georgina." + +"Take care of what?" + +"Of--I may as well say it--of exciting hopes that are most unlikely to +be realized. Better play a true part than a false one." + +She laughed a little saucy laugh. + +"Don't you think I might turn the tables and warn you of that? What +false hopes are you exciting, Mr. St. John?" + +"None," he answered. "It is not in my nature to be false, even in +sport." + +Her laugh changed to one of derision; and Mr. St. John, disliking the +sound, disliking the words, turned from her, and joined the dean, who +was then deep in a discussion with one of the judges. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +THE SHADOW OF DEATH. + + +The days went on; and the dull, heavy pain in the head, complained of by +Henry Arkell, increased in intensity. At first his absence from his desk +at school, his vacant place at college, excited comment, but in time, as +the newness of it wore off, it grew to be no longer noticed. It is so +with all things. On the afternoon of the fall, the family surgeon was +called in to him: he saw no cause for apprehension, he said; the head +only required rest. It might have been better, perhaps, had the head +(including the body and brain) been able to take the recommended rest; +but it could not. On the Monday morning came the excitement of the medal +affair, as related to him by Mr. St. John, and also by many of the +school; in the evening there occurred the excitement of that business of +the register; the interview with the Prattletons, and subsequently with +Mr. Fauntleroy. On the next day he had to appear as a witness; and then +came the deanery dinner in the evening and Georgina Beauclerc. All +sources of great and unwonted excitement, had he been in his usual state +of health: what it was to him now, never could be ascertained. + +As the days went on, and the pain grew no better, but worse, and the +patient more heavy, it dawned into the surgeon's mind that he possibly +did not understand the case, and it might be as well to have the advice +of a physician. The most clever the city afforded was summoned, and he +did not appear to understand it either. That there was some internal +injury to the head, both agreed; but what it might be, it was not so +easy to state. And thus more days crept on, and the doctors paid their +regular visits, and the pain still grew worse; and then the +half-shadowed doubt glided into a certainty which had little shadow +about it, but stern substance--that the injury was rapidly running on to +a fatal issue. + +He did not take to his bed: he would sit at his chamber window in an +easy chair, his poor aching-head resting on a pillow. "You would be +better in bed," everybody said to him. "No, he thought he was best up," +he answered; "it was more change: when he was tired of the chair and the +pillow, he could lie down outside the bed." "It is unaccountable his +liking to be so much at the window," Mrs. Peter Arkell remarked to Lucy. +To them it might be; for how could they know that a sight of _one_ who +might pass and cast a glance up to him, made his day's happiness? + +That considerable commotion was excited by the opinion of the doctors, +however cautiously intimated, was only to be expected. Mr. Arkell heard +of it, and brought another physician, without saying anything beforehand +at Peter's. But it would seem that this gentleman's opinion did not +differ in any material degree from that of his brethren. + +The Reverend Mr. Wilberforce sat at the head of his dinner-table, eating +his own dinner and carving for his pupils. His face looked hot and +angry, and his spectacles were pushed to the top of his brow, for if +there was one thing more than another that excited the ire of the +master, it was that of the boys being unpunctual at meals, and Cookesley +had this day chosen to be absent. The second serving of boiled beef was +going round when he made his appearance. + +"What sort of behaviour do you call this, sir?" was the master's +salutation. "Do you expect to get any dinner?" + +"I am very sorry to be so late, sir," replied Cookesley, eyeing the +boiled beef wishfully, but not daring to take his seat. "I went to see +Arkell, and----" + +"And who is Arkell, pray, or you either, that you must upset the +regulations of my house?" retorted the master. "You should choose your +visiting times better, Mr. Cookesley." + +"Yes, sir. I heard he was worse; that's the reason I went; and when I +got there the dean was with him. I waited, and waited, but I had to come +away without seeing Arkell, after all." + +"The dean with Arkell!" echoed Mr. Wilberforce, in a disbelieving tone. + +"He is there still, sir. Arkell is a great deal worse. They say he will +never come to school or college again." + +"Who says so, pray?" + +"Everybody's saying it now," returned Cookesley. "There's something +wrong with his head, sir; some internal injury caused by the fall; but +they don't know whether it's an abscess, or what it is. It will kill +him, they think." + +The master's wrath had faded: truth to say, his anger was generally more +fierce in show than in reality. "You may take your seat for this once, +Cookesley, but if ever you transgress again----Hallo!" broke off the +master, as he cast his eyes on another of his pupils, "what's the matter +with you, Lewis junior? Are you choking, sir?" + +Lewis junior was choking, or gasping, or something of the sort, for his +face was distorted, and his eyes were round with seeming fright. "What +is it?" angrily repeated the master. + +"It was the piece of meat, sir," gasped Lewis. A ready excuse. + +"No it wasn't," put in Vaughan the bright, who sat next to Lewis junior. +"Here's the piece of meat you were going to eat; it dropped off the fork +on to your plate again; it couldn't be the meat. He's choking at +nothing, sir." + +"Then, if you must choke, you had better go and choke outside, and come +back when it's over," said the master to Lewis. And away Lewis went; +none guessing at the fear and horror which had taken possession of him. + +The assize week had passed, and the week following it, and still Henry +Arkell had not made his appearance in the cathedral or the school. The +master could not make it out. Was it likely that the effects of a fall, +which broke no bones, bruised no limbs, only told somewhat heavily upon +his head, should last all this while, and incapacitate him from his +duties? Had it been any other of the king's scholars, no matter which of +the whole thirty-nine Mr. Wilberforce would have said that he was +skulking, and sent a sharp mandate for him to appear in his place; but +he thought he knew better things of Henry Arkell. He did not much like +what Cookesley said now--that Arkell might never come out again, though +he received the information with disbelief. + +Mr. St. John was a daily visitor to the invalid. On the day before this, +when he entered, Henry was at his usual post, the window, but standing +up, his head resting against the frame, and his eyes strained after some +distant object outside. So absorbed was he, that Mr. St. John had to +touch his arm to draw his attention, and Henry drew back with a start. + +"How are you to-day, Harry? Better?" + +"No, thank you. This curious pain in my head gets worse." + +"Why do you call it curious?" + +"It is not like an ordinary pain. And I cannot tell exactly where it is. +I cannot put my hand on any part of my head and say it is here or it is +there. It seems to be in the centre of the inside--as if it could not be +got at." + +"What were you watching so eagerly?" + +"I was looking outside," was Henry's evasive reply. "They had Dr. Ware +to me this morning; did you know it?" + +"I am glad of that!" exclaimed Mr. St. John. "What does he say?" + +"I did not hear him say much. He asked me where my head was struck when +I fell, but I could not tell him--I did not know at the time, you +remember. He and Mr.----" + +Henry's voice faltered. A sudden, almost imperceptible, movement of the +head nearer the window, and a wild accession of colour to his feverish +cheek, betrayed to Mr. St. John that something was passing which bore +for him a deep interest. He raised his own head and caught a sufficient +glimpse: _Georgina Beauclerc_. + +It told Mr. St. John all: though he had not needed to be told; and Miss +Beauclerc's mysterious words, and Henry's past conduct became clear to +him. So! the boy's heart had been thus early awakened--and crushed. + + "The heart that is soonest awake to the flowers + Is always the first to be touched by the thorns," + +whistled Mr. St. John to himself. + +Ay, crushing is as sure to follow that _early_ awaking, as that thorns +grow on certain rose-trees. But Mr. St. John said nothing more that day. + +On the following day, upon going in, he found Henry in bed. + +"Like a sensible man as you are," quoth Mr. St. John, by way of +salutation. "Now don't rise from it again until you are better." + +Henry looked at him, an expression in his eyes that Mr. St. John did not +like, and did not understand. "Did they tell you anything downstairs, +Mr. St. John?" he inquired. + +"I did not see anyone but the servant. I came straight up." + +"Mamma is lying down, I dare say; she has been sitting with me part of +the night. Then I will tell it you. I shall not be here many days," he +whispered, putting his hand within Mr. St. John's. + +Mr. St. John did not take the meaning: that the case would have a fatal +termination had not yet crossed his mind. "Where shall you be?" cried +he, gaily, "up in the moon?" + +Henry sighed. "Up somewhere. I am going to die." + +"Going to what?" was the angry response. + +"I am dying, Mr. St. John." + +Mr. St. John's pulses stood still. "Who has been putting that rubbish in +your head?" cried he, when he recovered them sufficiently to speak. + +"The doctors told my father yesterday evening, that as I went on, like +this, from bad to worse, without their being able to discover the true +nature of the case, they saw that it must terminate fatally. He knew +that they had feared it before. Afterwards mamma came and broke it to +me." + +"Why did she do so?" involuntarily uttered Mr. St. John, in an accent of +reproach. "Though their opinion may be unfavourable--which I don't +believe, mind--they had no right to frighten you with it." + +"It does not frighten me. Just at first I shrank from the news, but I am +quite reconciled to it now. A faint idea that this might be the ending, +has been running through my own mind for some days past, though I would +not dwell on it sufficiently to give it a form." + +"I am _astonished_ that Mrs. Arkell should have imparted it to you!" +emphatically repeated Mr. St. John. "What could she have been thinking +of?" + +"Oh, Mr. St. John! mamma has striven to bring us up not to fear death. +What would have been the use of her lessons, had she thought I should +run in terror from it when it came?" + +"She ought not to have told you--she ought not to have told you!" was +the continued burden of Mr. St. John's song. "You may get well yet." + +"Then there is no harm done. But, with death near, would you have had +me, the only one it concerns, left in ignorance to meet it, not knowing +it was there? Mamma has not waited herself for death--as she has done, +you know, for years--without learning a better creed than that." + +Mr. St. John made no reply, and Henry went on: "I have had such a +pleasant night with mamma. She read to me parts of the Revelation; and +in talking of the glories which I may soon see, will you believe that I +almost forgot my pain? She says how thankful she is now, that she has +been enabled to train me up more carefully than many boys are +trained--to think more of God." + +"You are a strange boy," interrupted Sir. St. John. + +"In what way am I strange?" + +"To anticipate death in that tone of cool ease. Have you no regrets to +leave behind you?" + +"Many regrets; but they seemed to fade into insignificance last night, +while mamma was talking with me. It is best that they should." + +"Henry, it strikes me that you have had your griefs and troubles, +inexperienced as you are," resumed Mr. St. John. + +"Oh yes, I have," he answered, betrayed into an earnestness, +incompatible with cautious reserve. "Some of the college boys have not +suffered me to lead a pleasant life with them," he continued, more +calmly; "and then there has been my father's gradually straitening +income." + +"I think there must have been some other grief than these," was Mr. St. +John's remark. + +"What other grief could there have been?" + +"I know but of one. And you are over young for that." + +"Of course I am; too young," was the eager answer. + +"That is enough," quietly returned Mr. St. John; "I did not _tell_ you +to betray yourself. Nay, Henry, don't shrink from me; let me hear it: it +will be better and happier for you that I should." + +"There is nothing--I don't know what you mean--what are you talking of, +Mr. St. John?" was the incoherent answer. + +"Harry, my poor boy, I know almost as much as you," he whispered. "I +know what it is, and who it is. Georgie Beauclerc. There; you cannot +tell me much, you see." + +Henry Arkell laid his hand across his face and aching eyes; his chest +was heaving with emotion. Mr. St. John leaned over him, not less +tenderly than a mother. + +"You should not have wasted your love upon _her_: she is a heartless +girl. I expect she drew you on, and then turned round and said she did +not mean it." + +"Oh yes, she did draw me on," he replied, in a tone full of anguish; +"otherwise, I never----But it was my fault also. I ought to have +remembered the many barriers that divided us; the----" + +"You ought to have remembered that she is an incorrigible flirt, that is +what you ought to have remembered," interrupted Mr. St. John. + +"Well, well," sighed Henry, "I cannot speak of these things to you: less +to you than to any one." + +"Is that an enigma? I should think you could best speak of them to me, +because I have guessed your secret, and the ice is broken." + +Again Henry Arkell sighed. "Speaking of them at all will do no good; and +I would now rather think of the future than of the past. My future lies +there," he added, pointing to the blue sky, which, as seen from his +window, formed a canopy over the cathedral tower. "She has, in all +probability, many years before her here: Mr. St. John, if she and you +spend those years together, will you sometimes talk of me? I should not +like to be quite forgotten by you--or by her." + +"Spend them together!" he echoed. "Another enigma. What should bring me +spending my years with Georgina Beauclerc?" + +Henry withdrew his hands from his eyes, and turned them on Mr. St. John. +"Do you think she will never be your wife?" + +"She! Georgina Beauclerc! No, thank you." + +Henry Arkell's face wore an expression that Mr. St. John understood not. +"It was for your sake she treated me so ill. She loves you, Mr. St. +John. And I think you know it." + +"She is a little simpleton. I would not marry Georgie Beauclerc if there +were not another English girl extant. And as to loving her----Harry, I +only wish, if we are to lose you, that I loved you but one tenth part as +little." + +"Sorrow in store for her! sorrow in store for her!" he murmured, as he +turned his face to the pillow. "I must send her a message before I die: +you will deliver it for me?" + +"I won't have you talk about dying," retorted Mr. St. John. "You may get +well yet, I tell you." + +Henry opened his eyes again to reply, and the calm peace had returned to +them. "It maybe _very_ soon; and it is better to talk of death than to +shrink from it." And Mr. St. John grumbled an ungracious acquiescence. + +"And there is another thing I wish you would do for me: get Lewis junior +here to-day. If I send to him, I know he will not come; but I must see +him. Tell him, please, that it is only to shake hands and make friends; +that I will not say a word to grieve him. He will understand." + +"It's more than I do," said Mr. St. John. "He shall come." + +"I should like to see Aultane--but I don't think my head will stand it +all. Tell him from me, not to be harsh with the choristers now he is +senior----" + +"He is not senior yet," interposed Mr. St. John in a husky tone. + +"It will not be long first. Give him my love, and tell him, when I sent +it, I meant it fully; and that I have no angry feeling towards him." + +"Your love?" + +"Yes. It is not an ordinary message from one college boy to another," +panted the lad, "but I am dying." + +After Mr. St. John left the house, he encountered the dean. "Dr. +Beauclerc, Henry Arkell is dying." + +The dean stared at Mr. St. John. "Dying! Henry Arkell!" + +"The inward injury to the head is now pronounced by the doctors to be a +fatal one. They told the family last night there was little, if any, +more hope. The boy knows it, and seems quite reconciled." + +The dean, without another word or question, turned immediately off to +Mr. Arkell's, and Westerbury as immediately turned its aristocratic nose +up. "The idea of his condescending to enter the house of those poor +Arkells! had it been the other branch of the Arkell family, it would not +have been quite so lowering. But Dr. Beauclerc never did display the +dignity properly pertaining to a dean." + +Dr. Beauclerc, forgetful as usual of a dean's dignity, was shown into +Mrs. Arkell's parlour, and from thence into Henry Arkell's chamber. The +boy's ever lovely face flushed crimson, from its white pillow, when he +saw the dean. "Oh, sir! you to come here! how kind!" + +"I am sorry for this, my poor lad," said the dean, as he sat down. "I +hear you are not so well: I have just met Mr. St. John." + +"I shall never be well again, sir. But do not be sorry. I shall be +better off; far, far happier than I could be here." + +"Do you feel this, genuinely, heartily?" questioned the dean. + +"Oh yes, how can I do otherwise than feel it? If it is God's will to +take me, I know it must be for my good." + +"Say that again," said the dean. "I do not know that I fully caught your +meaning." + +"I am in God's hands: and if He takes me to Him earlier than I thought +to have gone, I know it must be for the best." + +"How long have you reposed so firm a trust in God?" + +"All my life," answered Henry, with simplicity: "mamma taught me that +with my letters. She taught me to take God for my guide; to strive to +please Him; implicitly to trust in Him." + +"And you have done this?" + +"Oh no, sir, I have only tried to do it. But I know that there is One to +intercede for me." + +"Have you sure and certain trust in Christ?" returned the dean, after a +pause. + +"I have sure and certain trust in Him," was the boy's reply, spoken +fervently: "if I had not, I should not dare to die. I wish I might have +received the Sacrament," he whispered; "but I have not been confirmed." + +"Henry," said the dean, in his quick manner, "I do believe you are more +fitted for it than are some who take it. Would it be a comfort to you?" + +"It would indeed, sir." + +"Then I will come and administer it. At seven to-night, if that hour +will suit your friends. I will ascertain when I go down." + +"Oh, sir, you are too good," he exclaimed, in his surprise: "mamma +thought of asking Mr. Prattleton. I am but a poor college boy, and you +are the Dean of Westerbury." + +"Just so. But when the great King of Terrors approaches, as he is now +approaching you, it makes us remember that in Christ's kingdom the poor +college boy may stand higher than the Dean of Westerbury. Henry, I have +watched your conduct more than you are aware of, and I believe you to +have been as truly good a boy as it is in human nature to be: I believe +that you have continuously striven to please God, in little things as in +great." + +"If I could but have done it more than I have!" thought the boy. + +It was during this interview that Mr. Cookesley arrived; and, as you +have seen, nearly lost his dinner. As soon as the boys rose from table, +they, full of consternation, trooped down to Arkell's, picking up +several more of the king's scholars on their way, who were not boarders +at the house of Mr. Wilberforce. The dean had gone then, but Mr. St. +John was at the door, having called again to inquire whether there was +any change. He cast his eyes on the noisy boys, as they approached the +gate, and discerned amongst them Lewis junior. Mr. St. John stepped +outside, and pounced upon him, with a view to marshal him in. But Lewis +resisted violently; ay, and shook and trembled like a girl. + +"I will not go into Arkell's, sir," he panted. "You have no right to +force me. I won't! I won't!" + +He struggled on to his knees, and clasped a deep-seated stone in the +Arkells' garden for support. Mr. St. John, not releasing his collar, +looked at him with amazement, and the troop of boys watched the scene +over the iron railings. + +"Lewis, what is the meaning of this?" cried Mr. St. John. "You are +panting like a coward; and a guilty one: What are you afraid of?" + +"I'm afraid of nothing, but I won't go into Arkell's. I don't want to +see him. Let me go, sir. Though you are Mr. St. John, that's no reason +why you should set up for master over the college boys." + +"I am master over you just now," was the significant answer. "Listen: I +have promised Arkell to take you to him, and I will do it: you may have +heard, possibly, that the St. Johns never break their word. But Arkell +has sent for you in kindness: he appeared to expect this opposition, and +bade me tell it you: he wants to clasp your hand in friendship before he +dies. Walk on, Lewis." + +"You are not master over us boys," shrieked Lewis again, whose +opposition had increased to sobs. + +But Mr. St. John proved his mastership. Partly; by coaxing, partly by +authoritative force, he conducted Mr. Lewis to the door of Henry's +chamber. There Lewis seized his arm in abject terror; he had turned +ghastly white, and his teeth chattered. + +"I cannot fathom this," said Mr. St. John, wondering much. "Have I not +told you there is nothing to fear? What is it that you do fear?" + +"No; but does he look very frightful?" chattered Lewis. + +"What should make him look frightful? He looks as he has always looked. +Be off in; and I'll keep the door, if you want to talk secrets." + +Mr. St. John pushed him in, and closed the door upon them. Henry held +out his hand, and spoke a few hearty words of love and forgiveness; and +Lewis put his face down on the counterpane and began to howl. + +"Lewis, take comfort. It was done, I know, in the impulse of the moment, +and you never thought it would hurt me seriously. I freely forgive you." + +"Are you sure to die?" sobbed Lewis. + +"I think I am. The doctors say so." + +"O-o-o-o-o-o-h!" howled Lewis; "then I know you'll come back and haunt +me with being your murderer: Prattleton junior says you will. He saw it +done, so he knows about it. I shall never be able to sleep at night, for +fear." + +"Now, Lewis, don't be foolish. I shall be too happy where I am, to come +back to earth. No one knows how it happened: you say Prattleton does, +but he is your friend, and it is safe with him. Take comfort." + +"Some of us have been so wicked and malicious to you!" blubbered Lewis. +"I, and my brother, and Aultane, and a lot of them." + +"It is all over now," sighed Henry, closing his heavy eyes. "You would +not, had you foreseen that I should leave you so soon." + +"Oh, what a horrid wretch I have been!" sobbed Lewis, rubbing his +smeared face on the white bedclothes, in an agony. "And, if it's found +out, they might try me next assizes and hang me. And it is such a +dreadful thing for you to die!" + +"It is a _happy_ thing, Lewis; I feel it is, and I have told the dean I +feel it. Say good-bye to the fellows for me, Lewis; I am too ill to see +them. Tell them how sorry I am to leave them; but we shall meet again in +heaven." + +Lewis grasped his offered hand, and, with a hasty, sheepish movement, +leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek: then turned and burst out of +the room, nearly upsetting Mr. St. John, and tore down the stairs. Mr. +St. John entered the chamber. + +"Well, is the conference satisfactorily over?" + +Again Henry reopened his heavy eyes. "Is that you, Mr. St. John?" + +"Yes, I am here." + +"The dean is coming here this evening at seven, for the sacrament. He +said my not being confirmed was no matter in a case like this. Will you +come?" + +"Henry, no," was the grave answer. "I am not good enough." + +"Oh, Mr. St. John!" The ready tears filled his eyes. "I wish you could!" +he beseechingly whispered. + +"I wish so too. Are you distressed for me, Henry? Do not look upon me as +a monster of iniquity: I did not mean to imply it. But I do not yet +think sufficiently of serious things to be justified in partaking of +that ordinance without preparation." + +"It would have seemed like a bond of union between us--a promise that +you will some time join me where I am going," pleaded the dying boy. + +"I hope I shall: I trust I shall: I will not forget that you are there." + +As Mr. St. John left the house, he made his way to the grounds, in a +reflective mood: the cathedral bell was then ringing for afternoon +service, and, somewhat to his surprise, he saw the dean hurrying from +the college; not to it. + +"I'm on my way back to Arkell's! I'm on my way back to Arkell's!" he +exclaimed, in an impetuous manner; and forthwith he began recounting a +history to Mr. St. John; a history of wrong, which filled him, the dean, +with indignation. + +"I suspected something of the sort," was Mr. St. John's quiet answer; +and the dean strode on his way, and Mr. St. John stood looking after +him, in painful thought. When the dean came out of Mr. Peter Arkell's +again, he was too late for service that afternoon. Although he was in +residence! + +Just in the unprepared and sudden manner that the news of Henry Arkell's +approaching death must have fallen upon my readers, so did it fall upon +the town. People could not believe it: his friends could not believe it: +the doctors scarcely believed it. The day wore on; and whether there may +have lingered any hope in the morning, the evening closed it, for it +brought additional agony to his injured head, and the most sanguine saw +that he was dying. + +All things were prepared for the service, about to take place, and Henry +lay flushed, feverish, and restless, lest he should become delirious ere +the hour should arrive: he had become so rapidly worse since the +forepart of the day. Precisely as the cathedral clock struck seven, the +house door was thrown open, and the dean placed his foot on the +threshold: + +"PEACE BE UNTO THIS HOUSE, AND TO ALL THAT DWELL WITHIN IT!" + +The dean was attended to the chamber, and there he commenced the office +for the Visitation of the Sick, omitting part of the exhortation, but +reading the prayer for a soul on the point of departure. Then he +proceeded with the Communion. + +When the service was over, all, save Mrs. Arkell and the dean, quitted +the room. Henry's mind was tranquil now. + +"I will not forget your request," whispered the dean. + +"Near to the college door, as we enter," was Henry's response. + +"It shall be done as you wish, my dear." + +"And, sir, you have _promised_ to forgive them." + +"For your sake. You are suffering much just now," added the dean, as he +watched his countenance. + +"It gets more intense with every hour. I cannot bear it much longer. Oh, +I hope I shall not suffer beyond my strength!" he panted; "I hope I +shall be able to bear the agony!" + +"Do not fear it. You know where to look for help!" whispered the dean; +"you cannot look in vain. Henry, my dear boy, I leave you in peace, do I +not?" + +"Oh yes, sir, in perfect peace. Thank you greatly for all." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE GRAVESTONE IN THE CLOISTERS. + + +It was the brightest day, though March was not yet out, the first warm, +lovely day of spring. Men passed each other in the streets, with a +congratulation that the winter weather had gone, and the college boys, +penned up in their large schoolroom, gazed aloft through the high +windows at the blue sky and the sunshine, and thought what a shame it +was that they should be held prisoners on such a days instead of +galloping over the country at "Hare and Hounds." + +"Third Latin class walk up," cried Mr. Wilberforce. + +The third Latin class walked up, and ranged itself in front of the +master's desk. "Who's top of this class?" asked he. + +"Me, sir," replied the gentleman who owned that distinction. + +"Who's 'me' sir?" + +"Me, sir." + +"Who _is_ 'me,' sir?" angrily repeated the master, his spectacles +bearing full on his wondering pupil. + +"Charles Van Brummel, sir," returned that renowned scholar. + +"Then go down to the bottom for saying 'me.'" + +Mr. Van Brummel went down, considerably chopfallen, and the master was +proceeding to work, when the cathedral bell tolled out heavily, for a +soul recently departed. + +"What's that?" abruptly ejaculated the master. + +"It's the college death-bell, sir," called out the up class, +simultaneously, Van Brummel excepted, who had not yet recovered his +equanimity. + +"I hear what it is as well as you," were all the thanks they got. "But +what can it be tolling for? Nobody was ill." + +"Nobody," echoed the boys. + +"Can it be a member of the Royal Family?" wondered the master--the +bishop and the dean he knew were well. "If not, it must be one of the +canons." + +Of course it must! for the college bell never condescended to toll for +any of the profane vulgar. The Royal Family, the bishop, dean, and +prebendaries, were the only defunct lights, honoured by the notice of +the passing-bell of Westerbury Cathedral. + +"Lewis junior," said the master, "go into college, and ask the bedesmen +who it is that is dead." + +Lewis junior clattered out. When he came back he walked very softly, and +looked as white as a sheet. + +"Well?" cried Mr. Wilberforce--for Lewis did not speak. + +"It's tolling for Henry Arkell, sir." + +"Henry Arkell!" uttered the master. "Is he really dead? Are you ill, +Lewis junior? What's the matter?" + +"Nothing, sir." + +"But it is an entirely unprecedented proceeding for the cathedral bell +to toll for a college boy," repeated Mr. Wilberforce, revolving the +news. "The old bedesmen must be making some mistake. Half of them are +deaf, and the other half are stupid. I shall send to inquire: we must +have no irregularity about these things. Lewis junior." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Lewis junior, you are ill, sir," repeated the master, sharply. "Don't +say you are not. Sit down, sir." + +Lewis junior humbly sat down. He appeared to have the ague. + +"Van Brummel, you'll do," continued Mr. Wilberforce. "Go and inquire of +the bedesmen whether they have received orders; and, if so, from whom: +and whether it is really Arkell that the bell is tolling for." + +Van Brummel opened the door and clattered down the stairs, as Lewis +junior had done; and _he_ clattered back again. + +"The men say, sir, that the dean sent them the orders by his servant. +And they think Arkell is to be buried in the cathedral." + +"In--deed!" was the master's comment, in a tone of doubt. "Poor fellow!" +he added, after a pause, "his has been a sudden and melancholy ending. +Boys, if you want to do well, you should imitate Henry Arkell. I can +tell you that the best boy who ever trod these boards, as a foundation +scholar, has now gone from among us." + +"Please, sir, I'm senior of the choir now," interposed Aultane junior, +as if fearing the master might not sufficiently remember that important +fact. + +"And a fine senior you'll make," scornfully retorted Mr. Wilberforce. + +It was Mr. St. John who had taken the news of his death to the dean, and +the latter immediately sent to order the bell to be tolled. St. John +left the deanery, and was passing through the cloisters on his way to +Hall-street, when he saw in the distance Mrs. and Miss Beauclerc, just +as the cathedral bell rang out. Mrs. Beauclerc was startled, as the head +master had been: her fears flew towards her aristocratic clergy friends. +She tried the college door, and, finding it open, entered to make +inquiries of the bedesmen. Georgina stopped to chatter to Mr. St. John. + +"Fancy, if it should be old Ferraday gone off!" cried she. "Won't the +boys crow? He has got the influenza, and was sitting by his study fire +yesterday in a flannel nightcap." + +"It is the death-bell for Henry Arkell, Georgina." + +A vivid emotion dyed her face. She was vexed that it should be apparent +to Mr. St. John, and would have carried it off under an assumption of +indifference. + +"When did he die? Did he suffer much?" + +"He died at a quarter past eleven; about twenty minutes ago. And he did +not suffer so much at the last as was anticipated." + +"Well, poor fellow, I hope he is happy." + +"That he is," warmly responded Mr. St. John. "He died in perfect peace. +May you and I be as peaceful, Georgina, when our time shall come." + +"What a blow it must be to Mrs. Arkell!" + +"I saw her as I came out of the house just now, and I could not help +venturing on a word of entreaty, that she would not grieve his loss too +deeply. She raised her beautiful eyes to me, and I cannot describe to +you the light, the faith, that shone in them. 'Not lost,' she gently +whispered, 'only gone before.'" + +Georgina had kept her face turned from the view of Mr. St. John. She was +gazing through her glistening eyes at the graveyard, which was enclosed +by the cloisters. + +"What possesses the college bell to toll for him?" she exclaimed, +carelessly, to cover her emotion. "I thought," she added, with a spice +of satire in her tone, "that there was an old curfew law, or something +as stringent, against its troubling itself for anybody less exalted than +a sleek old prebendary." + +Mr. St. John saw through the artifice: he approached her, and lowered +his voice. "Georgina, he sent you his forgiveness for any unkindness +that may have passed. He sent you his love: and he hopes you will +sometimes recal him to your remembrance, when you walk over his grave, +as you go into college." + +Surprise made her turn to Mr. St. John: but she wilfully ignored the +first part of the sentence. "Over his grave! I do not understand." + +"He is to be buried in the cloisters, near to this entrance-door, near +to where we are now standing. There appears to be a vacant space here," +cried Mr. St. John, looking down at his feet: "I dare say it will be in +this very spot." + +"By whose decision is he to be buried in the cloisters?" quickly asked +Georgina. + +"The dean's, of course. Henry craved it of him." + +"I wonder papa did not tell me! What a singular fancy of Henry's!" + +"I do not think so. It was natural that he should wish his last +resting-place to be amidst old associations, amidst his old companions; +and near to _you_, Georgina." + +"There! I knew what you were driving at," returned Georgina, in a +pouting, wilful tone. "You are going to accuse me of breaking his heart, +or some such obsolete nonsense: I assure you I never----" + +"Stay, Georgina; I do not care to hear this. I have delivered his +message to you, and there let it end." + +"You are as stupid and fanciful as he was," retorted Miss Beauclerc. + +"Not quite so stupid in one respect, for he was blind to your faults; I +am not. And never shall be," he added, in a tone of significance which +caused the life-blood at Georgina's heart to stand still. + +But she could not keep it up--the assumption of indifference, the +apparent levity. The death was telling upon her, and she burst into +hysterical tears. At that moment, Lewis junior passed them, and swung in +at the cathedral door, on the master's errand, meeting Mrs. Beauclerc, +who was coming out. + +"Tell mamma I'm gone home," whispered Georgina to Mr. St. John, as she +disappeared in the opposite direction. + +"Arkell is dead, Mr. St. John," observed Mrs. Beauclerc. "The bell is +tolling for him. I wonder the dean ordered the bell to toll for _him_: +it will cause quite a commotion in the city to hear the college +death-bell." + +"He is to be buried here, in the cloisters, Mrs. Beauclerc." + +"Really! Will the dean allow it?" + +"The dean has decided it." + +"Oh, indeed. I never understand half the dean does." + +"So your companion is gone, Lewis junior," observed Mr. St. John, as the +boy came stealing out of the college with his information. But Lewis +never answered: and though he touched his forehead (he had no cap on) to +the dean's wife, he never raised his eyes; but sneaked on, with his +ghastly face, and his head bent down. + +Those of the college boys who wished it went to see him in his coffin. +Georgina Beauclerc also went. She told the dean, in a straightforward +manner, that she should like to see Henry Arkell now he lay dead; and +the dean saw no reason for refusing. The death had sobered Miss +Beauclerc; but whatever feeling of remorse she might be conscious of, +was hidden within her. + +"You will not be frightened, I suppose, Georgina?" said the dean, in +some indecision. "Did you ever see anybody dead?" + +"I saw that old gardener of ours that died at the rectory, papa. I was +frightened at him; a frightful old yellow scarecrow he looked. Henry +Arkell won't look like that. Papa, I wish those wicked college boys who +were his enemies could be hung!" + +"Do you, Georgina?" gravely returned the dean. "_He_ did not wish it; he +forgave and prayed for them." + +"They were so very----" + +She could not finish the sentence. The reference to the schoolboys +brought too vividly the past before her, and she rushed away to her own +room, bursting with the tears she had to suppress until she got there. + +It seemed that her whole heart must burst with grief, too, as she stood +in the presence of the corpse. She had asked St. John to go with her; +and the two were alone in the room. Save for the ashy paleness, Henry +looked just as beautiful as he had been in life: the marble lids were +closed over the brilliant eyes, never to open again in this life; the +once warm hands lay cold and useless now. Some one--perhaps his +mother--had placed in one of the hands a sprig of pink hyacinth; some +was also strewed on the breast of the flannel shroud. The perfume came +all-powerfully to their senses; and never afterwards did Georgina +Beauclerc come near the scent of that flower, death-like enough in +itself, but it brought all-forcibly to her memory the death-chamber of +Henry Arkell. + +She stood, leaning over the side of the coffin, sobbing painfully. The +trestles were very low, so that it was much beneath her as she stood. +St. John stood opposite, still and calm. + +"He loved you very much, Georgina--as few can love in this world. You +best know how you requited him." + +Perhaps it was a harsh word to say in the midst of her grief; but St. +John could not forgive her for the past, whatever Henry had done. She +bent her brow down on the coffin, and sobbed wildly. + +"Still, you made the sunshine of his life. He would have lived it over +again, if he could, because you had been in it. You had become part of +his very being; his whole heart was bound up in you. Better, therefore, +that he should be lying there, than have lived on to the future, to the +pain that it must, of necessity, have brought." + +"Don't!" she wailed, amid her choking sobs. + +Not another word was spoken. When she grew calm, Mr. St. John quitted +the room to descend--for she motioned to him to pass out first. +Then--alone--she bent down her lips to the face that could no longer +respond; and she felt, in the moment's emotion, as if her heart must +break. + +"Oh! Henry--my darling! I was very cruel to you! Forgive--forgive me! +But I did love you--though not as I love _him_." + +Mr. St. John was waiting for her below, on the landing, near the +drawing-room door. "You must pardon the family for not receiving you, +Georgina. Mrs. Arkell mentioned it to me this morning; but they are +overwhelmed with grief. It has been so unexpected, you see. Lucy is the +worst. Mrs. Arkell"--he compelled his voice to a lower whisper--"has an +idea that she will not be long behind him." + +The burial day of Henry Arkell arrived. The dean had commanded a holiday +from study, and that the king's scholars should attend the funeral. Just +before the hour appointed for it, half-past eleven, some of them took up +their station in the cloisters, in silent order, waiting to join the +procession when it should come, a bow of black crape being attached to +the left shoulder of their surplices. Sixteen of the king's scholars had +gone down to the house, as they were appointed to do. Mrs. Beauclerc, +her daughter, and the families of the prebendaries were already in the +cathedral; with some other spectators, who had got in under the pretext +of attending morning prayers, and who, when the prayers were over, had +refused to quit their seats again: of course the sextons could not +decently turn them out. Half a dozen ladies took up their station in the +organ-loft, to the inward wrath of the organist, who, however, had to +submit to the invasion with suavity, for one of them was the dean's +daughter. It was the best viewing place, commanding full sight of the +cathedral body and the nave on one side, and of the choir on the other. +The bell tolled at intervals, sending its deep, gloomy boom over the +town; and the spectators patiently waited. At length the first slow and +solemn note of the organ was sounded, and Georgina Beauclerc shrank into +a corner, contriving to see, and yet not be seen. + +From the small door, never used but upon the rare occasion of a funeral, +at the extremity of the long body of the cathedral, the procession +advanced at last. It was headed by the choristers, two and two, the lay +clerks, and the masters of the college school. The dean and one of the +canons walked next before the coffin, which was borne by eight of the +king's scholars, and the pall by eight more. Four mourners followed the +coffin--Peter Arkell, his cousin William, Travice, and Mr. St. John; and +the long line was brought up by the remainder of the king's scholars. So +slow was their advance, as to be almost imperceptible to the spectators, +the choir singing: + +"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth +in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and +believeth in me shall never die. + +"I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter +day upon the earth. And though after my skin worms destroy this body, +yet in my flesh shall I see God; whom I shall see for myself, and mine +eyes shall behold, and not another." + +The last time those words were sung in that cathedral, but some three +weeks past, it was by him over whom they were now being sung; the +thought flashed upon many a mind. At length the choir was reached, and +the coffin placed on the trestles; Georgina Beauclerc's eyes--she had +now come round to the front of the organ--being blinded with tears as +she looked down upon it. Mr. St. John glanced up, from his place by the +coffin, and saw her. Both the psalms were sung, and the dean himself +read the lessons; and it may as well be here remarked, that at afternoon +service the dean desired that Luther's hymn should be sung in place of +the usual anthem; some association with the last evening Henry had spent +at his house no doubt inducing it. + +The procession took its way back to the cloisters, to the grave, Mr. +Wilberforce officiating. The spectators followed in the wake. As the +coffin was lowered to its final resting-place--earth to earth, ashes to +ashes, dust to dust--the boys bowed their heads upon their clasped +hands, and some of them sobbed audibly; they felt all the worth of Henry +Arkell now that he was gone. The grave was made close to the cloister +entrance to the cathedral, in the spot where had stood Mr. St. John and +Georgina Beauclerc; where had once stood Georgina and Henry Arkell, the +day that wretched Lewis had wished him buried there. An awful sort of +feeling was upon Lewis now, as he remembered it. A few minutes, and it +was over. The dean turned into the chapter-house, the mourners moved +away, and the old bedesmen, in their black gowns, began to shovel in the +earth upon the coffin. Mr. Wilberforce, before moving, put up his finger +to Aultane, and the latter advanced. + +"You choristers are not to go back to the vestry now, but to come into +the hall in your surplices." + +Aultane wondered at the order, but communicated it to those under him. +When they entered the college hall, they found the king's scholars +ranged in a semicircle, and they fell in with them according to their +respective places in the school. The boys' white surplices and the bows +of crape presenting a curious contrast. + +"What are we stuck out like this for?" whispered one to the other. "For +show? What does Wilberforce want? He's sitting still, as if he waited +for somebody." + +"Be blest if I know," said Lewis junior, whose teeth were chattering. +"Unless it is to wind up with a funeral lecture." + +However, they soon did know. The dean entered the hall, wearing his +surplice, and carrying his official four-cornered cap. Mr. Wilberforce +rose to bow the dean into his own seat, but the dean preferred to stand. +He looked steadily at the circle before he spoke; sternly, some of them +thought; and they did not feel altogether at ease. + +"Boys!" began the dean. And there he stopped; and the boys lifted their +heads to listen to what might be coming. + +"Boys, our doings in this world bear a bias generally to good or to +evil, and they bring their consequences with them. Well-doing brings +contentment and inward satisfaction; but ill-doing as certainly brings +its day of retribution. The present day must be one of retribution to +some of you, unless you are so hardened in wickedness as to be callous +to conscience. How have----" + +The dean was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. St. John and Travice +Arkell. They took off their hats; and their streaming hatbands swept the +ground, as they advanced and stood by the dean. + +"Boys," he resumed, "how have you treated Henry Arkell? I do not speak +to all; I speak to some. Lewis senior, does your conscience prick you +for having fastened him in St. James's Church, in the dark and lonely +night? Aultane junior, does yours sting you for your insubordination to +him on Assize Sunday, when you exposed yourself so disgracefully to two +of the judges of the land, and for your malicious accusation of him to +Miss Beauclerc, followed by your pitiful complaint to me? Prattleton, +have you, as senior of the school, winked at the cabal against him?" + +The three boys hung their heads and their red ears: to judge by their +looks, their consciences were pricking them very sharply. + +"Lewis junior," resumed the dean, in a sudden manner, "of what does your +conscience accuse you?" + +Lewis junior turned sick, and his hair stood on end. He could not have +replied, had it been to save him from hanging. + +"Do you know that you are the cause of Henry Arkell's death?" continued +the dean, in a low but distinct accent, which penetrated the room. "And +that you might, in justice, be taken up as a murderer?" + +Lewis junior burst into a dismal howl, and fell down on his knees and +face, burying his forehead on the ground, and sticking up his surpliced +back; something after the manner of an ostrich. + +"It was the fall in the choir on Assize Sunday that killed Henry +Arkell," said the dean, looking round the hall; "that is, he has died +from the effects of the fall. You gentlemen are aware of it, I believe?" + +"Certainly they are, Mr. Dean," said the head master, wondering on his +own account, and answering the dean because the "gentlemen" did not. + +"He was thrown down," resumed the dean; "wilfully thrown down. And that +is the one who did it," pointing with his finger at Lewis junior. + +Two or three of the boys had been cognisant of the fact, as might be +seen from their scarlet faces; the rest wore a look of timid curiosity; +while Mr. Wilberforce's amazed spectacles wandered from the dean's +finger to the prostrate and howling Lewis. + +"Yes," said the dean, answering the various looks, "the author of Henry +Arkell's death is Lewis junior. You had better get up, sir." + +Lewis junior remained where he was, shaking his back as if it had been a +feather-bed, and emitting the most extraordinary groans. + +"Get up," cried the dean, sternly. + +There was no disobeying the tone, and Lewis raised himself. A pretty +object he looked, for the dye from his new black gloves had been washed +on to his face. + +"He told me he forgave me the day before he died; he said he had never +told any one, and never would," howled Lewis. "I didn't mean to hurt +him." + +"He never did tell," replied the dean: "he _bore_ his injuries, bore +them without retaliation. Is there another boy in the school who would +do that?" + +"No, that there is not," put in Mr. Wilberforce. + +"When you locked him in the church, Lewis senior, did he inform against +you? When you came to me with your cruel accusation, Aultane, did he +revenge himself by telling me of a far worse misdemeanour, which you had +been guilty of? Did he ever inform against any who injured him? No; +insults, annoyances, he bore all in silence, because he would not bring +trouble and punishment upon you. He was a noble boy," warmly continued +the dean: "and, what's more, he was a Christian one." + +"He said he would not tell of me," choked Lewis junior, "and now he has +gone and done it. O-o-o-o-o-o-h!" + +"He never told," quietly repeated the dean. "During the last afternoon +of his life, it came to my knowledge, subsequent to an interview I had +had with him, that Lewis junior had wilfully thrown him down, and I went +back to Arkell and taxed him with its being the fact. He could not deny +it, but the whole burden of his admission was, 'Oh, sir, forgive him! do +not punish him! I am dying, and I pray you to forgive him for my sake! +Forgive them all!' Do you think you deserve such clemency?" asked the +dean, in an altered tone. + +Lewis only howled the louder. + +"On his part, I offer you all his full and free forgiveness: Lewis +junior, do you hear? his full and free forgiveness. And I believe you +have also that of his parents." The dean looked at Travice Arkell, and +waited for him to speak. + +"A few hours only before Henry died, it came to Mr. Peter Arkell's +knowledge----" + +"I informed him," interrupted the dean. + +"Yes," resumed Travice. "The dean informed Mr. Arkell that Henry's fall +had not been accidental. But--as he had prayed the dean, so he prayed +his father, to forgive the culprit. Lewis junior, I am here on the part +of Mr. Arkell to offer his forgiveness to you." + +"I wish I could as easily accord mine," said the dean. "No punishment +will be inflicted on you, Lewis junior: not because no punishment, that +I or Mr. Wilberforce could command, is adequate to the crime, but that +his dying request, for your pardon, shall be complied with. If you have +any conscience at all, his fate will lie upon it for the remainder of +your life, and you will bear its remembrance about with you." + +Lewis bent down his head on the shoulder nearest to him, and his howls +changed into sobs. + +"One word more, boys," said the dean. "I have observed that not one in +the whole school--at least such is my belief--would be capable of acting +as Henry Arkell did, in returning good for evil. The ruling principle of +his life, and he strove to carry it out in little things as in great, +was to do as he would be done by. Now what could have made him so +different from you?" + +The dean obtained no reply. + +"I will tell you. _He loved and feared God._ He lived always as though +God were near him, watching over his words and his actions; he took God +for his guide, and strove to do His will: and now God has taken him to +his reward. Do you know that his death was a remarkably peaceful one? +Yes, I think you have heard so. Holy living, boys, makes holy dying; and +it made his dying holy and peaceful. Allow me to ask, if you, who are +selfish and wicked and malignant, could meet death so calmly?" + +"Arkell's mother is often so ill, sir, that she doesn't know she'll live +from one day to another," a senior ventured to remark in the general +desperation. "Of course that makes her learn to try not to fear death, +and she taught him not to." + +"And she now finds her recompense," observed the dean. "A happy thing +for you, if your mothers had so taught you. Dismiss the school, Mr. +Wilberforce. And I hope," he added, turning round to the boys, as he and +the other two gentlemen left the hall, "that you will, every one, go +home, not to riot on this solemn holiday, but to meditate on these +important thoughts, and resolve to endeavour to become more like Henry +Arkell. You will attend service this afternoon." + +And that was the ending. And the boy, with his talents, his beauty, and +his goodness, was gone; and nothing of him remained but what was +mouldering under the cloister gravestone. + + HENRY CHEVELEY ARKELL. + Died March 24th, 18--, + Aged 16. + Not lost, but gone before. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THOUGHTLESS WORDS. + + +This is the last part of our history, and you must be prepared for +changes, although but little time--not very much more than a year--has +gone by. + +Death has been busy during that period. Mrs. Peter Arkell survived her +son so short a time, that it is already twelve months since she was laid +in the churchyard of St. James the Less. It is a twelvemonth also since +Mr. Fauntleroy died, and his daughters are the great heiresses of +Westerbury. + +Westerbury had need of heiresses, or something else substantial, to keep +up its consequence; for it was dwindling down lower (speaking of its +commercial importance) day by day. The clerical party (in +contradistinction to the commercial) rose and flourished; the other +fell. + +Amidst those with whom it was beginning to be a struggle to keep their +heads above water was Mr. Arkell. The hope that times would mend; a hope +that had buoyed up for years and years other large manufacturers in +Westerbury, was beginning to show itself what it really was--a delusive +one. A deplorable gloom hung over the brow of Mr. Arkell, and he most +bitterly repented that he had not thrown this hope to the winds long +ago, and given up business before so much of his good property was +sacrificed. He had in the past year made those retrenchments in his +expenditure, which, in point of prudence, ought to have been made +before; but his wife had set her face determinately against it, and to a +peaceable-dispositioned man like Mr. Arkell, the letting the ruin come +is almost preferable to the contention the change involves. Those of my +readers who may have had experience of this, will know that I only state +what is true. But necessity has no law: and when Mr. Arkell could no +longer drain himself to meet these superfluous expenses, the change was +made. The close carriage was laid down; the household was reduced to +what it had been in his father's time--two maids, and a man for the +horse and garden, and he admonished his wife and daughters that they +must spend in dress just half what they had spent. But with all the +retrenchment, Mr. Arkell saw himself slowly drifting downwards. His +manufactory was still kept on; but it had been far better given up. It +must surely come to it, and Travice would have to seek a different +channel of obtaining a living. Not only Travice: the men who had grown +old in William Arkell's service, they must be turned adrift. There's not +the least doubt that this last thought helped, more than all else, to +keep Mr. Arkell's decision on the balance. + +And Peter Arkell? Peter was in worse plight than his cousin. As it had +been all their lives, the contrast in their fortunes marked, so it was +still; so it would be to the end. William still lived well, and as a +gentleman; he had but lopped off superfluities; Peter was a poor, bowed, +broken man, obliged to be careful how he laid out money for even the +common necessaries of life. But for Mildred's never-ceasing forethought, +those necessaries might not always have been bought. The death of his +wife, the death of his gifted son, had told seriously upon Peter Arkell: +and his health, never too good, had since been ominously breaking up. + +His good and gentle daughter, Lucy, had care upon her in many ways. The +little petty household economies it was necessary to practise +unceasingly, wearied her spirit; the uncertainty of how they were to +live, now that her father could no longer teach or write--and his +learned books had brought him in a trifle from time to time--chilled her +hope. Not yet had she recovered the shock, the terrible heart-blow +brought to her by the death of Henry; and her mother's death had +followed close upon it. It seemed to have cast a blight upon her young +spirit: and there were times when Lucy, good and trusting girl though +she was, felt tempted to think that God was making her path one of +needless sorrow. The sad, thoughtful look was ever in her countenance +now, in her sweet brown eyes; and her fair features, not strictly +beautiful, but pleasant to look upon, grew more like what Mildred's were +after the blight had fallen upon her. But no heart-blight had as yet +come to Lucy. + +One evening an old and confidential friend of Peter Arkell's dropped in +to sit an hour with him. It was Mr. Palmer, the manager and cashier of +the Westerbury bank, and the brother to Mr. Palmer of Heath Hall. As the +two friends talked confidentially on this evening, deploring the +commercial state of the city, and saying that it would never rise again +from its distress, Mr. Palmer dropped a hint that the firm of George +Arkell and Son had been effecting another mortgage on their property. +Mr. Peter Arkell said nothing then; but Lucy, who went into the room on +the departure of their guest, noticed that he remained sunk in +melancholy silence; and she could not arouse him from it. + +Travice Arkell came in. Travice was in the habit of coming in a great +deal more than one of the ruling powers at home had any idea of. Travice +would very much have liked to make Lucy his wife; but there were serious +impediments in more ways than one, and he was condemned to silence, and +to wait and see what an uncertain future might bring forth. + +The romance that had been enacted in the early days of William Arkell +and Mildred was being re-enacted now. But with a difference. For whereas +William, as you have seen, forsook the companion of his boyhood, and +cast his love upon a stranger, Travice's whole hopes were concentrated +upon Lucy. And Lucy loved him with all the impassioned ideality of a +first and powerful passion, with all the fervour of an imaginative and +reticent nature. It was impossible but that each should detect, in a +degree, the feelings of the other, though they might not be, and had not +been, spoken of openly. + +Travice reached the chess-board from a side-table where it was kept, +took his seat opposite Peter, and began to set out the men. Of the same +kind, considerate nature that his father was before him, he +compassionated the lonely man's solitary days, and was wont to play a +game at chess with him sometimes in an evening, to while away one of his +weary hours. But Peter, on this night, put up his hand in token of +refusal. + +"Not this evening, Travice. I am not equal to it. My spirits are low." + +"Do you feel ill?" asked Travice, beginning to put the pieces in the box +again. + +"I feel low; out of sorts. Mr. Palmer has been here talking of things, +and he gives so deplorable a state of private affairs generally, +consequent upon the long-continued commercial depression, that it's hard +to say who's safe and whose tottering. He has especial means of +ascertaining, you know, so there's no doubt he's right." + +"Well, what of that?" returned Travice. "It cannot affect you; you are +not in business." + +"True. I was not thinking of myself." + +"A game at chess will divert your thoughts." + +"Not to-night, Travice; I'd rather not play to-night." + +"Will you have a game, Lucy?" + +She looked up from her sewing to smile a negative. "That would be +leaving papa quite to his thoughts. I think we had better talk to him." + +"Travice," Peter Arkell suddenly said, "I am sure this depression must +seriously affect your father." + +"Of course it does," was the ready answer. "He has just now had to +borrow more money again." + +"Then Palmer was right," thought Peter Arkell. "Will he keep on the +business?" he asked aloud. + +"I should not, were I in his place," said Travice. "He would have given +up long ago, I believe, but for thinking what's to become of me. Of +course if he does give up, I am thrown on the world, a wandering Arab." + +His tone was as much one of jest as of gravity. The young do not see +things in the same light as the old. To his father and to Peter Arkell, +his being thrown out of the business he had embraced as his own, +appeared an almost irrecoverable blight in life; to Travice himself it +seemed but a very slight misfortune. The world was before him, and he +had honour, education, health, and brains; surely he could win his way +in it! + +"It is not well to throw down one calling and take up another," observed +Peter, thoughtfully. "It does not always answer." + +"But if you are forced to it!" argued Travice. "There's no help for it +then, and you must do the best you can." + +"It is a pity but you had gone to Oxford, Travice, and entered into some +profession!" + +"I suppose it is, as things seem to be turning out. Thrown out of the +manufactory, I should seem a sort of luckless adventurer, not knowing +which way to turn to prey upon the public." + +"It would be just beginning life again," said Peter, his grave tone +bearing in it a sound of reproach to the lighter one. + +He rose, and went to the next room--the "Peter's study" of the old +days--to get something from his desk there. Travice happened to look at +Lucy, and saw her eyes fixed upon him with a troubled, earnest +expression. She blushed as he caught their gaze. + +"What's the matter, Lucy?" + +"I was wondering whatever you would do, if Mr. Arkell does give up." + +"I think I should be rather glad of it? I could turn astronomer." + +"Turn astronomer! But you don't really mean that, Travice?" + +He laughed. + +"I should mean it, but for one thing." + +"What is that one thing?" + +"That it might not find me in bread and cheese. Perhaps they'd make me +honorary star-gazer at the observatory royal. The worst is, one must eat +and drink; and the essentials necessary for that don't drop from the +clouds, as the manna once did of old. Very convenient for some of us if +it did." + +"I wish you'd be serious," she rejoined, the momentary tears rising to +her eyes. She was feeling wretchedly troubled, she could not tell why, +and his light mood jarred upon her. + +It changed now as he looked at her. Travice Arkell's face changed to an +expression of deep, grave meaning, of troubled meaning, and he dropped +his voice to a low tone as he rose and stood near Lucy, looking down +upon her. + +"I wish I could be serious; I have wished it, Lucy, this long while +past. Other men at my age are thinking of forming those social ties that +man naturally expects to form; of gathering about him a home, and a +wife, and children. I must not; for what I can see at present, they must +be denied to me for good and all; unless--unless----" + +He broke off abruptly. Lucy, suppressing the emotion that had arisen, +glanced up at him, as she waited for the conclusion. But the conclusion +did not come. + +"You see now, Lucy, why I cannot be serious. Perhaps you have seen why +before. In the uncertain state that our business is, not knowing but the +end of it may be bankruptcy----" + +"Oh, Travice!" she involuntarily exclaimed, in the shock that the word +brought to her. + +"I do assure you it has crossed my mind now and then, that such may be +the final ending. It would break my father's heart, I know, and it would +half break mine for his sake; but others in the town have succumbed, who +were once nearly as rich as we were, and the fate may overtake us. I +wish I could be serious; serious to a purpose; but I cannot." + +"I wanted to show you a prospectus, Travice, that was left here to-day," +interrupted Peter Arkell, coming back to the room. "I wonder what next +they'll be getting up a company over? I put it into my desk, but I can't +find it. Lucy, look about for it, will you?" + +She got up to obey, and Travice caught a sight of the raised face, whose +blushes had been hidden from him; blushes called forth by his words and +their implied meaning. She had understood it. + +But she had not understood the sentence at whose conclusion Travice +Arkell had broken down. "That the ties of wife and children must be +denied to him for good and all, unless----" + +Unless what? Unless he let them sacrifice him, would be the real answer. +Unless he sacrificed himself, his dearest hopes, every better feeling +that his heart possessed, at a golden shrine. But Travice Arkell would +have a desperate fight first. + +The Miss Fauntleroys, co-heiresses of the wealthy old lawyer--who might +have died worth more but for his own entanglements in early life--had +become intimate and more intimate at the house of William Arkell. Ten +thousand pounds were settled on each, and there was other money to +divide between them, which was not settled. How Lawyer Fauntleroy had +scraped together so much, Westerbury could not imagine, considering he +had been so hampered with old claims. Strapping, vulgar, good-humoured +damsels, these two, as you have before heard; with as little refinement +in looks, words, and manner as their father had possessed before them. +Their intimacy had grown, I say, with the Arkell family. Mrs. Arkell +courted them to her house; the young ladies were quite eager to frequent +it without courting; and it had come to be whispered all over the +gossiping town, that Mr. Arkell's son and heir might have either of them +for the asking. + +Perhaps not quite true this, as to the "either," perhaps yes. It was +indisputable that both liked him very much; but any hope the younger +might have felt disposed to cherish had long been merged in the more +recognised claim to him of the elder; recognised by the young ladies +only, mind you, in the right, it may be, of her seniorship. Nothing in +the world could have been more satisfactory to Mrs. Arkell than this +union. She overlooked their want of refinement, and their many other +wants of a similar nature--of refinement, indeed, she may have deemed +that Travice possessed enough for himself and for a wife too--she +thought of the golden hoard in the bank, the firm securities in the +three per cent consols, and she pertinaciously cherished the hope and +the resolve that Barbara Fauntleroy should become Barbara Arkell. + +It is well to say "pertinaciously." That Travice had set his resolve +against it, she tacitly understood; and once when she went so far as to +put her project before him in a cautious hint, Travice had broken out +with the ungallant assertion that he would "as soon marry the deuce." +But he might have to give in at last. The constant dropping of water on +a stone will wear it away; and the constant, unceasing tongue of a woman +has been known to break the iron walls of man's will. + +Another suitor had recently sprung up for Miss Lizzie Fauntleroy. No +less a personage than Benjamin Carr. The reappearance of Mr. Dundyke +upon the scene of the living world had considerably astonished many +people; possibly, amidst others, Ben Carr himself. In the great relief +it brought to the mind of Mr. Arkell, distorted, you may remember, with +a certain unpleasant doubt, he almost forgot to suspect him at all; and +he buried the past in silence, and in a measure, took luckless Ben into +favour again; that is, he did not forbid him his house. + +Ben, in fact, had come out apparently nourishing from all past escapades +suspected and unsuspected, and was residing with his father, and +dressing like a gentleman. No more was heard of his wish to go abroad. +Squire Carr had made him a half promise to put him into a farm; and +while Ben waited for this, he paid court to Lizzie Fauntleroy. At first +she laughed in his face for an old fool, next she began to giggle at his +soft speeches, and now she listened to him. Ben Carr had some attraction +yet, in spite of his four-and-forty years. + +In the course of the following morning, Peter Arkell suddenly announced +his intention of going out, to the great surprise of Lucy. It was a most +unfit day, rainy, and bleak for the season; and he had not stepped over +the threshold for weeks and weeks. + +"Papa! You cannot go out to-day. It is not fit for you." + +"Yes, I shall go. I want particularly to speak to my cousin William: you +can help me thither with your arm, Lucy. Get my old cloak down, and air +it at the fire; I can wrap myself in that." + +Lucy ventured no further remonstrance. When her papa took a thing into +his head, there was no turning him. + +They started together through the bad weather to the house of William +Arkell. The dear old house! where Peter had spent so many pleasant +evenings in his youthful days. He crossed the yard at once to the +manufactory, telling Lucy to go indoors and wait for him. William Arkell +was alone in his private room, and was not a little surprised at the +visit. + +"Why Peter!" he exclaimed, rising from his desk, and placing an +arm-chair by the fire, "What has brought you out such a day as this? Sit +down." + +Before Peter did so, he closed the door, so that they should be quite +alone. He then turned and clasped his cousin by the hand. + +"William," he began, emotion mingling with his utterance, "I have come +to you, a poor unhappy man. Conscious of my want of power to do what I +ought--fearing that there is less chance of my doing it, day by day." + +"What do you mean?" inquired Mr. Arkell. + +"Amidst the ruin that has almost universally fallen on the city, you +have not escaped, I fear your property is being seriously drawn upon?" + +"And, unless things mend, it will soon be drawn to an end, Peter." + +"Heaven help me!" exclaimed Peter. "And to know that I am in your debt, +and cannot liquidate it! It is to speak of this, that I am come out +to-day." + +"Nay, now you are foolish!" exclaimed Mr. Arkell. "What matters a +hundred pounds or two, more or less, to me? The sum would cut but a poor +figure by the side of what I am now habituated to losing. Never think of +it, Peter: _I_ never shall. Besides, you had it from me in driblets, so +that I did not miss it." + +"When I had used to come to you for assistance in my illnesses, for I +was ashamed to draw too much upon Mildred," proceeded the poor man, "I +never thought but that I should, in time, regain permanent strength, and +be able to return it. I never meant to cheat you, William." + +"Don't talk like that, Peter!" interrupted Mr. Arkell. "If the money +were returned to me now, it would only go the way that the rest is +going. I have always felt glad that it was in my power to render you +assistance in your necessities: and if I stood this moment without a +shilling to turn to, I should not regret it any more than I do now." + +They continued in converse, but we need not follow it. Lucy meanwhile +had entered the house, and went about, looking for some signs of its +inhabitants. The general sitting-room was empty, and she crossed the +hall and opened the door of the drawing-room. A bouncing lady in fine +attire was coming forth from it, talking and laughing loudly with Mr. +Arkell; it was Barbara Fauntleroy. + +Shaking hands with Lucy in her good-humoured manner as she passed her, +she talked and laughed her way out of the house. Lucy was in black silk +and crape still; Miss Fauntleroy was in the gayest of colours; and Mrs. +Peter Arkell had been dead longer than Mr. Fauntleroy. They had worn +their black a twelvemonth and then quitted it. It was not fashionable to +wear mourning long now, said the Miss Fauntleroys. + +Charlotte Arkell, with scant ceremony, sat down to the piano, giving +Lucy only a nod. Nothing could exceed the slighting contempt in which +she and her sister held Lucy. They had been trained in it. And they were +highly accomplished young ladies besides, had learnt everything there +was to be taught, from the harp and oriental tinting, down to Spanish, +German, and chenille embroidery. Lucy's education had been solid, rather +than ornamental: she spoke French well, and played a little; and she was +more skilled in plain sewing than in fancy. _They_ never allowed their +guarded fingers to come into contact with plain work, and had just as +much idea of how anything useful was done, as of how the moon was made. +So these two fine young ladies despised Lucy Arkell, after the fashion +of the fine young ladies of the present day. Charlotte also was great in +the consciousness of other self-importance, for she was soon to be a +wife. That Captain Anderson whom you once saw at a concert, had paid a +more recent visit to Westerbury; and he left it, engaged to Charlotte +Arkell. + +Charlotte played a few bars, and then remembered to become curious on +the subject of Lucy's visit. She whirled herself round on the music +stool: it had been a favourite motion of her mother's in the old days. + +"What have you come for, Lucy?" + +"Papa wanted to see Mr. Arkell, and I walked with him. He is gone into +the manufactory." + +"I thought your papa was too ill to go out." + +"He is very ailing. I think he ought not to have come out on a day like +this. Do not let me interrupt your practising, Charlotte." + +"Practising! I have no heart to practise!" exclaimed Charlotte. "Papa is +always talking in so gloomy a way. He was in here just now: I was deep +in this sonata of Beethoven's, and did not hear him enter, and he began +saying it would be better if I and Sophy were to accustom ourselves to +spend some of our time _usefully_, for that he did not know how soon we +might be obliged to do it. He has laid down the carriage; he has made +fearful retrenchments in the household: I wonder what he would have! And +as to our buying anything new, or subscribing to a concert, or anything +of that sort, mamma says she cannot get the money from him. I wish I was +married, and gone from Westerbury! I am thankful my future home is to be +far away from it!" + +"Things may brighten here," was all the consolation that Lucy could +offer. + +"I don't believe they ever will," returned Charlotte. "I see no hope of +it. Papa looks sometimes as if his heart were breaking." + +"How soon the Miss Fauntleroys have gone out of mourning!" observed +Lucy. + +"Oh, I don't know. They wore it twelve months; that's long enough for +anything. Let me give you a caution, Lucy," added Charlotte, laughing: +"don't hint at such a thing as that Barbara Fauntleroy's not immaculate +perfection: it would not do in this house." + +"Why?" exclaimed Lucy, wondering at her words and manner. + +"She is intended for its future head, you know, when the present +generation of heads shall--shall have passed away. I'm afraid that's +being poetical; I didn't mean to be." + +Lucy sat as one in a maze, wondering WHAT she might understand by the +words. And Charlotte whirled round on her stool again to the sonata, +with as little ceremony as she had whirled from it. + +While Miss Fauntleroy was there, Mrs. Arkell had sent a private message +to Travice that she wanted him; but Travice did not obey the summons +until the young lady was gone. He came then: and Mrs. Arkell attacked +him for not coming before; she was attacking him now, while Charlotte +and Lucy were talking. + +"Why did you not come in at once?" asked Mrs. Arkell, in the cross tone +which had latterly become habitual; "Barbara Fauntleroy was here." + +"That was just the reason," returned Travice, in his usual candid +manner; "I waited until she should be gone." + +If there was one thing that vexed Mrs. Arkell worse than the fact +itself, it was the open way in which her son steadily resisted the hints +to him on the subject of Miss Fauntleroy. She felt at times that she +could have beaten him; she was feeling so now. Her temper turned acrid, +her face flushed, her voice rose. + +"Travice, if you persist in this systematic rudeness----" + +"Pardon me, mother. I wish you would refrain from bringing up the +subject of Miss Fauntleroy to me. I do not care to hear of her in any +way; she----Who's that? Why, I do believe it's Lucy's voice!" + +The colloquy with Mrs. Arkell had taken place in the hall. Travice made +one bound to the drawing-room. The sudden flush on the pale face, the +glad eagerness of the tone, struck dismay to the heart of Mrs. Arkell. +She quickly followed him, and saw that he had taken both of Lucy's hands +in greeting. + +"Oh, Lucy! are you here this morning? I know you have come to stay the +day! Take your things off." + +Lucy laughed--and Mrs. Arkell had the pleasure of seeing that _her_ +cheeks wore an answering flush. She shook her head and drew her hands +from Travice, who seemed as if he could have kept them for ever. + +"Do I spend a day here so often that you think I can come for nothing +else? I only came with papa, and I am going back with him soon." + +But Travice pressed the point of staying. Charlotte also--feeling, +perhaps, that even Lucy was a welcome break to the monotony the house +had fallen into--urged it. Mrs. Arkell maintained a marked silence; and +in the midst of it the two gentlemen came in. Mr. Arkell kissed Lucy, +and said she had better stop. + +But Peter settled it the other way. Lucy must go home with him then, he +said; but if she liked to come down in the afternoon, and stay for the +rest of the day, she could. It was so settled, and they took their +departure. Mr. Arkell walked with Peter across the court-yard, talking. +Travice, in the very face and eyes of his mother, gave his arm to Lucy. + +"Why did you not stay?" he whispered, as they arrived at the gates. +"Lucy, do you know that to part with you is to part with my life's +sunshine?" + +Mrs. Arkell was standing at the door as he turned, and beckoned to him +from the distance. + +"I wish to speak with you," she said, as he approached. + +She led the way into the dining-room, and closed the door on them, as if +for some formidable interview. Travice saw that she was in a scarcely +irrepressible state of anger, and he perched himself on a vacant +side-table--rather a favourite way of his. He began humming a tune; +gaily, but not disrespectfully. + +"What possesses you to behave in this absurd manner to Lucy Arkell?" she +began, in passion. + +"What have I done now?" asked Travice. + +"You are continually, in some way or other, contriving to thrust that +girl's company upon us! I will not permit it, Travice; I have borne with +it too long. I----" + +"Why, she is not here twice in a twelvemonth," interrupted Travice. + +"Don't say absurd things. She is. And she is not fit society for your +sisters." + +"If they were only half as worthy of her society as she is superior to +them, they would be very different girls from what they are," spoke +Travice, with a touch of his father's old heat. "If there's one thing +that Lucy is, pre-eminently, it's a gentlewoman. Her mother was one +before her." + +Mrs. Arkell grew nearly black in the face. While she was trying to +speak, Travice went on. + +"Ask my father what his opinion of Lucy is. _He_ does not say she is +here too much." + +"Your father is a fool in some things, and so are you!" retorted Mrs. +Arkell, a sort of scream in her voice. "How dare you oppose me in this +way, Travice?" + +"I am very sorry to do so," returned the young man; "and I beg your +pardon if I say more than you think I ought. But I cannot join in your +unjust feeling against Lucy, and I will not tolerate it. I wish you +would not bring up this subject at all: it is one we never can agree +upon." + +"You requested me just now not to 'bring up' the subject of Miss +Fauntleroy to you," said Mrs. Arkell, in a tone of irony. "How many +other subjects would you be pleased to interdict?" + +"I don't want to hear even the name of those Fauntleroys!" burst out +Travice, losing for a moment his equanimity. "Great brazen milkmaids!" + +"No! you'd rather hear Lucy's!" screamed Mrs. Arkell. "You'd----" + +"Lucy! Don't name them with Lucy, my dear mother. They are not fit to +tie Lucy's shoes! She has more sense of propriety in her little finger, +than they have in all their great overgrown bodies!" + +This was the climax. And Mrs. Arkell, suppressing the passion that shook +her as she stood, spoke with that forced calmness that is worse than the +loudest fury. Her face had turned white. + +"Continue your familiar intercourse with that girl, if you will; but, +listen!--you shall never make a wife of anyone so paltry and so pitiful! +I would pray Heaven to let me follow you to your grave, Travice, rather +than see you marry Lucy Arkell." + +She spoke the words in her blind rage, never reflecting on their full +import; never dreaming that a day was soon to come, when their memory +would return to her in her extremity of vain and hopeless repentance. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +MISCONCEPTION. + + +"It shall be put a stop to! it shall be put a stop to!" murmured Mrs. +Arkell to herself, as she sat alone when Travice had left her, trying to +recover her equanimity. "Once separated from that wretched Lucy, he +would soon find charms in Barbara Fauntleroy." + +There was no time to be lost; and that same afternoon, when Lucy +arrived, according to promise, crafty Mrs. Arkell began to lay the +foundation stone. Lucy found her in the drawing-room alone. + +"I will take my bonnet upstairs," said Lucy. "Shall I find Charlotte and +Sophy anywhere?" + +"No," replied Mrs. Arkell, in a very uncompromising tone. "They have +gone out with the Miss Fauntleroys." + +"I was unwilling to come this afternoon," observed Lucy, as she returned +and sat down, "for papa does not seem so well. I fear he may have taken +cold to-day; but he got to his books and writing after dinner, as +usual." + +"Does he think of bringing out a new book?" asked Mrs. Arkell; and Lucy +did not detect the irony of the question. + +"Not yet. He is about half through one. Is there any meeting to-day, do +you know, Mrs. Arkell?" she resumed. "I met several gentlemen hurrying +up the street as I came along." + +"I thought everybody knew of it," replied Mrs. Arkell. "A meeting of the +manufacturers was convened at the Guildhall for this afternoon. Mr. +Arkell and Travice have gone to it." + +"Their meetings seem to bring them no redress," returned Lucy, sadly. +"The English manufacturers have no chance against the French now." + +"I don't know what is to become of us," ejaculated Mrs. Arkell. +"Charlotte, thank goodness, will soon be married and away; but there's +Sophy! Travice will have enough to live upon, without business." + +"Will he?" exclaimed Lucy, looking brightly up. "I am so glad to hear +it! I thought your property had diminished until it was but small." + +"Our property is diminishing daily," replied Mrs. Arkell. "Which makes +it the more necessary that Travice should secure himself by his +marriage." + +Lucy did not answer; but her heart throbbed violently, and the faint +colour on her cheek forsook it. Mrs. Arkell, without looking towards +her, rose to poke the fire, and continued talking as she leaned over the +grate, with her back to Lucy. + +"It is intended that Travice shall marry Barbara Fauntleroy." + +The sense of the words was very decided, carrying painful conviction to +Lucy's startled ear. She could not have answered, had her life depended +on it. + +"Lucy, my dear," proceeded Mrs. Arkell, speaking with unwonted +affection, and looking Lucy full in the face, "I am speaking to you in +entire confidence, and I desire you will respect it as such. Do not drop +a hint to Travice or the girls; they would not like my speaking of it." + +Lucy sat quiet; and Mrs. Arkell quite devoured the pale face with her +eyes. + +"At first he did not care much for Barbara; and in truth he does not +care for her now, as one we intend to marry ought to be cared for. But +that will all come in time. Travice, like many other young men, may have +indulged in a little carved-out romance of his own--I don't know that he +did, but he _may_--and he has the good sense to see that his romance +must yield to reality." + +"Yes!" ejaculated Lucy, feeling that she was expected to say something +in answer. + +"There is our property dwindling down to little; there's the business +dwindling down to nothing; and suppose Travice took it into his head to +many a portionless girl, what prospect would there be before him? Why, +nothing but poverty and self-reproach; nothing but misery. And in time +he would hate her for having brought him to it." + +"True! true!" murmured Lucy. + +"And now," added Mrs. Arkell, "that he is on the point of consenting to +marry Miss Fauntleroy, it is the duty of all of us, if we care for his +future happiness and welfare, to urge his hopes to that point. You see +it, Lucy, I should think, as well as we do." + +There was no outward emotion to be observed in Lucy. A transiently white +cheek, a momentary quiver of the lip, and all that could be seen was +over. Like her aunt Mildred, it was her nature to bear in silence; but +some of us know too well that that is the grief which tells. There was a +slight shiver of the frame, visible to those keen eyes watching her, and +she compelled herself to speak as with indifference. + +"Has he consented?" + +"My dear Lucy, I said he was on the point of consenting. And there's no +doubt he is. I had an explanation with Travice this morning; he seemed +inclined to shun Miss Fauntleroy, for I sent for him while she was here, +and he did not come. After you left, I spoke to him; I pointed out the +state of the case, and said what a sweet girl Miss Fauntleroy was, what +a charming wife she would make him; and I hope I brought him to reason. +You see, Lucy, how advantageous it will be in all ways, their union. Not +only does it provide for Travice, but it will remove the worst of the +great care hanging over the head of Mr. Arkell, and which I am sure, if +not removed, will shorten his life. Do you understand?" + +"I--think so," replied Lucy, whose brain was whirling in spite of her +calm manner. + +Mrs. Arkell drew her chair nearer to Lucy, and dropped her voice. + +"Our position is this, my dear. A very great portion of Mr. Arkell's +property is locked up in his stock, which is immense. _I_ should not +have kept on manufacturing as he has done; and I believe it has been +partly for the sake of those rubbishing workmen. Unless he can get some +extraneous help, some temporary assistance, he will have to force his +stock to sale at a loss, and it would just be ruin. Miss Fauntleroy +proposes to advance any sum he may require, as soon as the marriage has +taken place, and there's no doubt he will accept it. It will be only a +temporary loan, you know; but it will save us a great, a ruinous loss." + +"_She_ proposes to advance it?" echoed Lucy, struck with the words, in +the midst of her pain. + +"She does. She is as good hearted a girl as ever lived, and proposed it +freely. In fact, she would be ready and willing to advance it at once, +for of course she knows it would be a safe loan, but Mr. Arkell will not +hear of it. She knows what our wishes are upon the subject of the +marriage, and she sees that Travice has been holding back; and but for +her very good-natured disposition she might not have tolerated it. +However, I hope all will soon be settled now, and she and Travice +married. Lucy, my dear, I _rely_ upon you for Mr. Arkell's sake, of whom +you are so fond, for Travice's own sake, to forward on this by any +little means in your power. And, remember, the confidence I have reposed +in you must not be broken." + +Lucy sat cold and still. In honour she must no longer think of a +possible union with Travice--must never more allow word or look from him +seeming to point to it. + +"For Mr. Arkell's sake," she kept repeating to herself, as if she were +in a dream; "for Travice's own sake!" She saw the future as clearly as +though it had been mapped out before her eyes in some prophetic vision: +Travice would marry Barbara Fauntleroy and her riches. She almost wished +she might never see him more; it could only bring to her additional +misery. + +Charlotte Arkell came in with Barbara Fauntleroy. Sophy had gone home +with the other one for the rest of the day. An old aunt, bed-ridden +three parts of her time, had lived with the young ladies since the death +of their father. But they were not so very young; and they were +naturally independent. Barbara was quite as old as Travice Arkell. + +"How shall I bear to see them together?" thought Lucy, as Barbara +Fauntleroy sat down opposite to her, in her rustling silk of many +colours, and no end of gold trinkets jingling about her. "I wonder why I +was born? But for papa, I could wish I had died as Harry did!" + +For that first evening, however, she was spared. Their little maid +arrived in much commotion, asking to see Miss Lucy. Her papa was feeling +worse than when she left home, was the word she brought, and he thought +if Lucy did not mind it, he should like her to go back to him at once. + +Lucy hastened home. She found her father very poorly; feverish, and +coughing a great deal. It was the foreshadowing of an illness from which +he was destined never to recover. + +Whether his allotted span of life had indeed run out, or whether his +exposure to the weather that unlucky morning helped to shorten it, Lucy +never knew. A week or two of uncertain sickness--now a little better, +now a little worse, and it became too evident that hope of recovery for +Peter Arkell was over. A bowed, broken man in frame and spirit, but +comparatively young in years, Peter was passing from the world he had +found little else than trouble in. Lucy wrote in haste and distress for +her Aunt Mildred, but a telegram was received in reply, announcing the +death of Lady Dewsbury. She had died somewhat suddenly, Mildred said, +when a letter came by the next morning's post, in which she gave +particulars. + +It was nearly impossible for her to come away before the funeral: +nothing short of imminent danger in her brother's state would bring her. +She had for a long while been almost sole mistress of the household; +Lady Dewsbury was ever her kind friend and protectress; and she could +not reconcile it to her feelings to abandon the house while she lay dead +in it, unless her brother's state absolutely demanded that she should. +Lucy was to write, or telegraph, as necessity should require. + +There was no immediate necessity for her to come, and Lucy wrote +accordingly. Lucy stayed on alone with the invalid, shunning as much as +was possible the presence of Travice, when he made his frequent visits: +that presence which had hitherto been to her as a light from heaven. +Mrs. Arkell, paying a ceremonious call of condolence one day, whispered +to Lucy that Travice was becoming quite "reconciled," quite "fond" of +Barbara Fauntleroy. + +On the evening of the day after Lady Dewsbury was interred, Mildred +arrived in Westerbury. Lucy did not know she was coming, and no one was +at the station to meet her. Leaving her luggage to be sent after her, +she made her way to her brother's house on foot: it was but a quarter of +an hour's walk, and Mildred felt cramped with sitting in the train. + +She trembled as she came in sight of it, the old home of her youth, +fearing that its windows might be closed, as those had been in the house +just quitted. As she stood before the door, waiting to be admitted, +remembrances of her childhood came painfully across her--of her happy +girlhood, when those blissful dreams of William Arkell were mingled with +every thought of her existence. + +"And oh! what did they end in!" she cried, clasping her hands tightly +together and speaking aloud in her anguish. "What am I now? Chilled in +feeling; worn in heart; old before my time." + +A middle-aged woman, with a light in her hand, opened the door. Mildred +stepped softly over the threshold. + +"How is Mr. Arkell?" + +The woman--she was the night nurse--stared at the handsomely attired +strange lady, whose deep mourning looked so fresh and new, coming in +that unceremonious manner at the night-hour. + +"He is very ill, ma'am; nearly as bad as he can be," she replied, +dropping a low curtsey. "What did you please to want?" + +"He is in his old chamber, I suppose," said Mildred, turning towards the +staircase. The woman, quite taken aback at this unceremonious +proceeding, interposed her person. + +"Goodness, ma'am, you can't go up to his chamber!" she cried out in +amazement. "The poor gentleman's dying. I'll call Miss Lucy." + +"I am Miss Arkell," said Mildred quietly, passing on up the staircase. + +She laid aside her sombre bonnet, with its deep crape veil, her heavy +shawl, and entered the chamber softly. Lucy was at a table, measuring +some medicine into a tea-cup. A pale, handsome young man stood by the +fire, his elbow resting on the mantel-piece. Mildred glanced at his +face, and did not need to ask who he was. + +Near the bed was Mr. William Arkell; but oh! how different from the +lover of Mildred's youth! Now he was a grey-haired man, stooping +slightly, looking older than his actual years--then tall, handsome, +attractive, as Travice was now. And did William Arkell, at the first +view, recognise his cousin? No. For that care-worn, middle-aged woman, +whose hair was braided under a white net cap, bore little resemblance to +the once happy Mildred Arkell. But the dying man, lying panting on the +raised pillows, knew her instantaneously, and held out his feeble hands +with a glad cry. + +It was a painful meeting, and one into which we have little right to +penetrate. Soon, very soon, Peter spoke out the one great care that was +lying at his heart. He had not touched upon it till then. + +"I am leaving my poor child alone in the world," he panted. "I know not +who will afford her shelter--where she will find a home?" + +"I would willingly promise you to take her to mine, Peter," said Mr. +Arkell. "Poor Lucy should be as welcome to a shelter under my roof as +are my own girls; but, heaven help me! I know not how long I may have a +home for any of them." + +"Leave Lucy to me, Peter," interposed Miss Arkell. "I shall make a home +for myself now, and that home shall be Lucy's. Let no fear of her +welfare disturb your peace." + +Travice listened half resentfully. He was standing against the +mantel-piece still, and Lucy, just then stirring something over the +fire, was close to him. + +"_They_ need not think about a home for you, Lucy," he whispered, taking +the one disengaged hand into his. "That shall be my care." + +Lucy coldly drew her hand away. Her head was full of Barbara +Fauntleroy--of the certainty that that lady would be his wife--for she +believed no earthly event would be allowed to set aside the marriage: +her spirit rebelled against the words. What right had he to breathe such +to her--he, the engaged husband of another? + +"I shall never have my home with you," she said, in the same low +whisper. "Nothing should induce me to it." + +"But, Lucy----" + +"I will not hear you. You have no right so to speak to me. Aunt! +aunt!"--and the tears gushed forth in all their bitter anguish--"let me +find a home with you!" + +Mildred turned and clasped fondly the appealing form as it approached +her. Travice, hurt and resentful, quitted the room. + +The death came, and then the funeral. A day or two afterwards, Mrs. +Arkell condescended to pay a stately visit of ceremony to Mildred, who +received her in the formerly almost-unused drawing-room. Lucy did not +appear. Miss Arkell, her heart softened by grief, by much trial, was +more cordial than perhaps she had ever been to Mrs. Arkell, before her +marriage or after it. + +"What a fine young man Travice is!" she observed, in a pause of their +conversation. + +"The finest in Westerbury," said Mrs. Arkell, with all the partiality of +a mother. "I expect he will be thinking of getting married shortly." + +"Of getting married! Travice! To whom? To Lucy?" + +The question had broken from her in her surprise, in association with an +idea that had for long and long floated through her brain--that Travice +and Lucy were attached to each other. Mildred knew not whence it had its +origin, unless it was in the frequent mention of Travice in Lucy's +letters. Mrs. Arkell heard, and tossed her head indignantly. + +"I beg your pardon, Miss Arkell--to _Lucy_, did you say? Travice would +scarcely think of wedding a portionless bride, under present +circumstances. You must have heard of the rich Fauntleroy girls? It is +one of them." + +Mildred--calm, composed, quiet Mildred--could very nearly have boxed her +own ears. Never, perhaps, had she been more vexed with herself--never +said an inadvertent thing that she so much wished recalled. How entirely +Lucy was despised, Mrs. Arkell's manner and words proclaimed; and the +fact carried its sting to Mildred's heart. + +"I had no reason to put the question," she said, only caring how she +could mend the matter; "I dare say Lucy would not thank me for the idea. +Indeed, I should fancy her hopes may lie in quite a different direction. +Young Palmer, the lawyer, the son of her father's old friend, has been +here several times this past week, inquiring after our health. His +motives may be more interested ones." + +This was a little romance of Mildred's, called forth by the annoyance +and vexation of the moment. It is true that Tom Palmer frequently did +call; he and Lucy had been brought up more like brother and sister than +anything else; but Miss Arkell had certainly no foundation for the +supposition she had expressed. And Mrs. Arkell knew she could have none; +but she chose to believe it. + +"It would be a very good match for Lucy," she replied. "Tom Palmer has a +fine practice for so young a man; there are whispers, too, that he will +be made town-clerk whenever the vacancy occurs." + +Home went Mrs. Arkell; and the first of the family she happened to come +across was Travice. + +"Travice, come to me for an instant," she said, taking his arm to pace +the court-yard; "I have been hearing news at Peter Arkell's. Lucy's a +sly girl; she might have told us, I think. She is engaged--but I don't +know how long since. Perhaps only in these few days, since the funeral." + +"Engaged in what?" + +"To be married. She marries Tom Palmer." + +"It is not true," broke forth Travice. "Who in the world has been +telling you that falsehood?" + +"Not true!" repeated Mrs. Arkell. "Why don't you say it is not true that +I am talking to you--not true that this is Monday--not true that you are +Travice Arkell? Upon my word! You are very polite, sir." + +"Who told it you?" reiterated Travice. + +"_They_ told me. Mildred Arkell told me. I have been sitting there for +the last hour, and we have been talking that and other affairs over. I +can tell you what, Travice--it will be an excellent match for Lucy; a +far superior one to anything she could have expected--and they seem to +know it." + +Even as she spoke, there shot a remembrance through Travice Arkell's +heart, as an icebolt, of the night he had stood with Lucy in the chamber +of her dying father, and her slighting words, in answer to his offer of +a home: "I shall never have my home with you; nothing should induce me +to it." She would not hear him; she told him he had no right so to speak +to her. She had been singularly changed to him during the whole period +of her father's illness; had shunned him by every means in her power; +had been cold and distant when they were brought into contact. Before +that, she was open and candid as the day. This fresh conduct had been +altogether inexplicable to Travice, and he now asked himself whether it +could have arisen from any engagement to marry Tom Palmer. If so, the +change was in a degree accounted for; and it was certainly not +impossible, if Tom Palmer had previously been wishing to woo her, that +Mr. Peter Arkell, surprised by his dangerous illness, should have +hurried matters to an engagement. + +The more Travice Arkell reflected on this phase of probabilities, the +more he became impressed with it: he grew to look upon it as a +certainty; he felt that all chance for himself with Lucy was over. Could +he blame her? As things were with him and his father, he saw no chance +of _his_ marrying her; and, in a worldly point of view, Lucy had done +well--had done right. It's true he had never thought her worldly, and he +had thought that she loved him; he believed that Tom Palmer had never +been more to her than a wind that passes: but why should not Lucy have +grown self-interested, as most other girls were? And to Travice it was +pretty plain she had. + +He grew to look upon it as a positive certainty; he believed, without a +shadow of doubt, that it must be the fact: and how bitterly and +resentfully he all at once hated Tom Palmer, that gentleman himself +would have been surprised to find. It was only natural that Travice +should feel it as a personal injury inflicted on himself--a slight, an +insult; you all know, perhaps, what this feeling is: and in his temper +he would not for some days go near Lucy. It was only when he heard the +news that Mildred was returning to London, and would take her niece with +her, that he came to his senses. + +That same evening he took his way to the house. Mildred, it should be +observed, was equally at cross-purposes. She hastened to speak to Lucy +the day of Mrs. Arkell's visit, asking her if _she_ had heard that +Travice was engaged to Miss Fauntleroy; and Lucy answered after the +manner of a reticent, self-possessed maiden, and made light of the +thing, and was altogether a little hypocrite. + +"Known _that_! O dear, yes! for some time," she said. "It would be a +very good thing for Travice." + +And so Mildred put aside any slight romance she had carved out for them, +as wholly emanating from her imagination; but the sore feeling--that +Lucy was despised by the mother, perhaps by the son--clung to her still. + +She was sitting alone when Travice entered. He spoke for some time on +indifferent subjects--of the news of the town; of her journey to London; +of her future plans. They were to depart on the morrow. + +"Where's Lucy?" he suddenly asked; and there was a restlessness in his +manner throughout the interview that Mildred had never observed before. + +"She is gone to spend the evening with Mrs. Palmer. I declined. Visiting +seems quite out of my way now." + +"I should have thought it would just now be out of Lucy's," spoke +Travice, in a glow of resentment. + +"Ordinary visiting would be," returned Miss Arkell, speaking with +unnecessary coldness, and conscious of it. "Mrs. Palmer was here this +afternoon; and, seeing how ill Lucy looked, she insisted on taking her +home for an hour or two. Lucy will see no one there, except the family." + +"What makes her look ill?" + +Miss Arkell raised her eyes at the tone. "She is not really ill in body, +I trust; but the loss of her father has been a bitter grief to her, and +it is telling upon her spirits and looks. He was all she had in the +world; for I--comparatively speaking--am a stranger." + +There was a pause. Travice was leaning idly against the mantel-piece, in +his favourite position, twirling the seals about that hung to his chain, +his whole manner bespeaking indifference and almost contemptuous +unconcern. Had anyone been there who knew him better than Mildred did, +they could have told that it was only done to cover his real agitation. +Mildred stole a glance at the fine young man, and thought that if he +resembled his father in person, he scarcely resembled him in courtesy. + +"Does Lucy really mean to have that precious fool of a Tom Palmer?" he +abruptly asked. + +Miss Arkell felt indignant. She wondered how he dared to speak in that +way; and she answered sharply. + +"Tom Palmer is a most superior young man. _I_ have not perceived that he +has any thing of the fool about him, and I don't think many others have. +Whenever he marries, he will make an excellent husband. Why should you +wish to set me against him? Let me urge you not to interfere with Lucy's +affairs, Travice; she is under my protection now." + +Oh, if Mildred could but have read Travice Arkell's heart that +night!--if she had but read Lucy's! How different things might have +been! Travice moved to shake hands with her. + +"I must wish you good evening," he said. "I hope you and Lucy will have +a pleasant journey to-morrow. We shall see you both again some time, I +suppose." + +He went out with the cold words upon his lips. He went out with the +conviction, that Lucy was to marry Tom Palmer, irrevocably seated on his +heart. And Travice Arkell thought the world was a miserable world, no +longer worth living in. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE TABLES TURNED. + + +Mildred had to go back for a time to Lady Dewsbury's. That lady's house +and effects now lapsed to Sir Edward; but Sir Edward was abroad with his +wife and children, and he begged Miss Arkell to remain in it, its +mistress, until they could return. This was convenient for Mildred's +plans. It afforded a change of scene for Lucy; and it gave the +opportunity and time for the house in Westerbury to be renovated; in +which she intended now to take up her abode. The house was Mildred's +now: it came to her on the death of her brother, their father having so +settled it; but for this settlement, poor Peter had disposed of it in +his necessities long ago. + +Charlotte Arkell married, and departed with her husband, Captain +Anderson, for India, taking Sophy with her. The paying over her marriage +portion of a thousand pounds--a very poor portion beside what she once +might have expected--further crippled the resources of Mr. Arkell; and +things seemed to be coming to a crisis. + +And Travice? Travice succumbed. Hardly caring what became of him, he +allowed himself to be baited--badgered--by his mother into offering +himself to one of the "great brazen milkmaids." From the hour of Lucy's +departure from the city, she let him have no peace, no rest. + +One day--and it was the last feather in the scale, the little balance +necessary to weigh it down--Mr. Arkell summoned his son to a private +interview. It was only what Travice had been expecting. + +"Travice, what is your objection to Miss Fauntleroy?" + +"I can't bear the sight of her," returned Travice, curling his lips +contemptuously. "Can you, sir?" + +Mr. Arkell smiled. "There are some who would call her a fine woman, +Travice: she is one." + +"A fine _vulgar_ woman," corrected Travice, with a marked stress upon +the word. "I always had an instinctive dread of vulgar people myself. I +certainly never could have believed I should voluntarily ally myself +with one." + +"Never marry for looks, my boy," said Mr. Arkell in an eager whisper. +"Some, who have done so before you, have awoke to find they had made a +cruel mistake." + +"Most likely, sir, if they married for looks alone." + +Mr. Arkell glanced keenly at his son. "Travice, have I your full +confidence? I wish you would give it me." + +"In what way?" inquired Travice. "Why do you ask that?" + +"Am I right in suspecting that you have cherished a different +attachment?" + +The tell-tale blood dyed Travice Arkell's brow. Mr. Arkell little needed +other answer. + +"My boy, let there be no secrets between us. You know that your welfare +and happiness--your _happiness_, Travice--lie nearest to my heart. Have +you learnt to love Lucy Arkell?" + +"Yes," said Travice; and there was a whole world of pain in the simple +answer. + +"I thought so. I thought I saw the signs of it a long while ago; but, +Travice, it would never do." + +"You would object to her?" + +"Object to her!--to Lucy!--to Peter's child! No. She is one of the +sweetest girls living; I am not sure but I love her more than I do my +own: and I wish she could be my real daughter and your wife. But it +cannot be, Travice. There are impediments in the way, on her side and on +yours; and your own sense must tell you this as well as I can." + +He could not gainsay it. The impediments were all too present to Travice +every hour of his life. + +"You cannot take a portionless wife. Lucy has nothing now, or in +prospect, beyond any little trifle that may come to her hereafter at +Mildred's death; but I don't suppose Mildred can have saved much. It is +said, too, that Lucy is likely to marry Tom Palmer." + +"I know she is," bitterly acquiesced Travice. + +"Lucy, then, for both these reasons, is out of the question. Have you +not realized to your own mind the fact that she is?" + +"Oh yes." + +"Then, Travice, the matter resolves itself into a very small compass. It +stands alone; it has no extraneous drawbacks; it can rest upon its own +merits or demerits. Will you, or will you not, marry Miss Fauntleroy?" + +Travice remained silent. + +"It will be well for me that you should, for the temporary use of money +that would then be yours would save us, as you know, from a ruinous +loss; but, Travice, I would not, for the wealth of worlds, put that +consideration against your happiness; but there is another consideration +that I cannot put away from me, and that is, that the marriage will make +you independent. For your sake, I should like to see you marry Miss +Fauntleroy." + +"She----" + +"Wait one moment while I tell you why I speak. I do not think you are +doing quite the right thing by Miss Fauntleroy, in thus, as it were, +trifling with her. She expects you to propose to her, and you are +keeping her in suspense unwarrantably long. You should either make her +an offer, or let it be unmistakably known that there exists no such +intention on your part. It would be a good thing in all ways, if you can +only make up your mind to it; but do as you please: _I_ do not urge you +either way." + +"I may as well do it," muttered Travice to himself. "_She_ has chosen +another, and it little matters what becomes of me: look which way I +will, there's nothing but darkness. As well go through life with Bab +Fauntleroy at my side, like an incubus, as go through it without her." + +And Travice Arkell--as if he feared his resolution might desert +him--went out forthwith and offered himself to Miss Fauntleroy. Never, +surely, did any similar proposal betray so much _hauteur_, so much +indifference, so little courtesy in the offering. Barbara happened to be +alone; she was sitting in a white muslin dress, looking as big as a +house, and waiting in state for any visitors who might call. He spoke +out immediately. She probably knew, he said, that he was a sort of +bankrupt in self, purse, and heart; little worth the acceptance of any +one; but if she would like to take him, such as he was, he would try and +do his duty by her. + +The offer was really couched in those terms; and he did not take shame +to himself as he spoke them. Travice Arkell _could_ not be a hypocrite: +he knew that the girl was aware of the state of things and of his +indifference; he believed she saw through his love for Lucy; and he +hated her with a sort of resentful hatred for having fixed her liking +and her hopes upon him. He had been an indulged son all his life--a sort +of fortune's pet--and the turn that things had taken was an awful blow. + +"Will she say she'll have me?" he thought as he concluded. "I don't +believe any other woman would." But Barbara Fauntleroy did say she would +have him; and she put out her hand to him in her hearty good-natured +way, and told him she thought they should get on very well together when +once they had "shaken down." Travice touched the hand; he shook it in a +gingerly manner, and then dropped it; but he never kissed her--he never +said a warmer word than "thank you." Perhaps Miss Fauntleroy did not +look for it: sentiment is little understood by these matter-of-fact, +unrefined natures, with their loud voices, and their demonstrative +temperaments. Travice would have to kiss her some time, he supposed; but +he was content to put off the evil until that time came. + +"How odd that you should have come and made me an offer this morning, +Mr. Travice," she said, with a laugh. "Lizzie has just had one." + +"Has she?" languidly returned Travice. His mind was so absorbed in the +thought just mentioned, that he had no idea whether the lady meant an +offer or a kiss that her sister had received, and he did not trouble +himself to ask. It was quite the same to Travice Arkell. + +"It's from Ben Carr," proceeded Miss Fauntleroy. "He came over here this +morning, bringing a great big nosegay from their hot-house, and he made +Liz an offer. Liz was taken all of a heap; and I think, but for me, +she'd have said yes then." + +"I dare say she would," returned Travice, and then wished the words +recalled. They and their haughty tone had certainly been prompted by the +remembrance of the "yes," just said to him by another. + +"Liz came flying into the next room to me, asking what she should do; he +was very pressing, she said, and wanted her answer then. I'm certain +she'd have given it, Mr. Travice, if I had not been there to stop her. I +went into the room with her to Ben Carr, and I said, 'Mr. Ben, Liz won't +say anything decided now, but she'll think of it for a few days; if +you'll look in on Saturday, she'll give you her answer, yes or no.' Ben +Carr stared at me angry enough; but Liz backed up what I had said, and +he had to take it." + +"Does she mean to accept him?" asked Travice. + +"Well, she's on the waver. She does not dislike him, and she does not +particularly like him. He's too old for her; he's twenty years older +than Liz; but it's her first offer, and young women are apt to think +when they get _that_, they had better accept it, lest they may never get +another." + +"Your sister need not fear that. Her money will get her offers, if +nothing else does." + +He spoke in the impulse of the moment; but it occurred to him instantly +that it was not generous to say it. + +"Perhaps so," said Miss Fauntleroy. "But Lizzie and I have always +dreaded that. We would like to be married for ourselves, not for our +money. Sometimes we say in joke to one another we wish we could bury it, +or could have passed ourselves off to the world as being poor until the +day after we were married, and then surprised our husbands by the news, +and made them a present of the money." + +She spoke the truth; Travice knew she did. Whatever were the failings of +the Miss Fauntleroys, genuine good nature was with both a pre-eminent +virtue. + +"Ben Carr is not the choice I should make," remarked Travice. "Of +course, it's no business of mine." + +"Nor I. I don't much like Ben Carr. Liz thinks him handsome. Well, she +has got till Saturday to make up her mind--thanks to me." + +Travice rose, and gingerly touched the hand again. The thought struck +him again that he ought to kiss her; that he ought to put an +engagement-ring on one of those fair and substantial fingers; ought to +do many other things. But he went out, and did none of them. + +"I'll not deceive her," he said to himself, as he walked down the +street, more intensely wretched than he had ever in his life felt. "I'll +not play the hypocrite; I couldn't do it if it were to save myself from +hanging. She shall see my feeling for her exactly as it is, and then +she'll not reproach me afterwards with coldness. It is impossible that I +can ever like her; it seems to me now impossible that I can ever +_endure_ her; but if she does marry me in the face of such evident +feelings, I'll do my best for her. Duty she shall have, but there'll be +no love." + +A very satisfactory state in prospective! Others, however, besides +Travice Arkell, have married to enter on the same. + +Some few months insensibly passed away in London for Miss Arkell and +Lucy, and when they returned to Westerbury the earth was glowing with +the tints of autumn. They did not return alone. Mrs. Dundyke, a real +widow now beyond dispute, came with them. Poor David Dundyke, never +quite himself after his return, never again indulging in the yearning +for the civic chair, which had made the day-dream of his industrious +life, had died calmly and peacefully, attended to the last by those +loving hands that would fain have kept him, shattered though he was. He +was lying now in Nunhead Cemetery, from whence he would certainly never +be resuscitated as he had been from his supposed grave in Switzerland. +Mrs. Dundyke grieved after him still, and Mildred pressed her to go back +with them to Westerbury, for a little change. She consented gladly. + +But Mrs. Dundyke did not go down in the humble fashion that she had once +gone as Betsey Travice. She sent on her carriage and her two men +servants. That there was a little natural feeling of retaliation in +this, cannot be denied. Charlotte had despised her all her life; but she +should at least no longer despise her on the score of poverty. "I shall +do it," she said to Mildred, "and the carriage will be useful to us. It +can be kept at an inn, with the horses and coachman; and John will be +useful in helping your two maids." + +It was late when they arrived at Westerbury; Miss Arkell did not number +herself amid those who like to start upon a journey at daybreak; and +Lucy looked twice to see whether the old house was really her home: it +was so entirely renovated inside and out, as to create the doubt. Miss +Arkell had given her private orders, saying nothing to Lucy, and the +change was great. Various embellishments had been added; every part of +it put into ornamental repair; a great deal of the furniture had been +replaced by new; and, for its size, it was now one of the most charming +residences in Westerbury. + +"Do you like the change, Lucy?" asked Miss Arkell, when they had gone +through the house together, with Mrs. Dundyke. + +"Of course I do, Aunt Mildred;" but the answer was given in a somewhat +apathetic tone, as Lucy mostly spoke now. "It must have cost a great +deal." + +"Well, is it not the better for it? I may not remain in Westerbury for +good, and I could let my house to greater advantage now than I could +have done before." + +"That's true," listlessly answered Lucy. + +"Lucy," suddenly exclaimed Miss Arkell, "what is it that makes you +appear so dispirited? I could account for it after your father's death; +it was only reasonable then; but it seems to me quite unreasonable that +it should continue. I begin to think it must be your natural manner." + +Lucy's heart gave a bound of something like terror at the question. "I +was always quiet, aunt," she said. + +None had looked on with more wonder at the expense being lavished on the +house than Mrs. Arkell. "So absurd!" she exclaimed, loftily. "But +Mildred Arkell was always pretentious, for a lady's maid." + +William Arkell called to see Mildred the morning after her arrival. Very +much surprised indeed, was he, to see also Mrs. Dundyke. He carried the +news home to his wife. + +"_Betsey_ down here!" she answered. "Why, what has brought her?" + +"She told me she had accompanied Mildred for a little change. She is +coming in to see you by-and-by, Charlotte." + +"I hope she's not coming begging!" tartly responded Mrs. Arkell. + +"Begging?" + +"Yes; begging. It's a question whether she's left with enough to live +upon. I'm sure we have none to spare, for her or for anybody else; and +so I shall plainly tell her if she attempts to ask." + +That they had none to spare, was an indisputable fact. Mrs. Arkell had +done all in her power to hurry the marriage on with Miss Fauntleroy, but +Travice held back unpardonably. His cheek grew bright with hectic, his +whole time was spent in what his mother called "moping;" and he entered +but upon rare occasions the house of his bride elect. Mr. Arkell would +not urge him by a single word; but, in the delay, he had had to +sacrifice another remnant of his property. + +The first use that Mrs. Dundyke put her carriage to in Westerbury, was +that of going in it to William Arkell's. Mildred declined to accompany +her, and Lucy was obliged to go with her; Lucy, who would have given the +whole world _not_ to go. But she could not say so. + +Mrs. Arkell was in the dining-room, when the carriage drove in at the +court-yard gates. She wondered whose it was. A nice close carriage, the +servants attending it in mourning. She did not recognise it as one she +knew. + +She heard the visitors shown into the drawing-room, and waited for the +cards with some curiosity. But no cards came in. Mrs. Dundyke, the +servant brought word, and she was with Miss Lucy Arkell. + +Mrs. Dundyke! Wondering what on earth brought Betsey in that carriage, +and where she had picked it up, Mrs. Arkell took a closer view of it +through the window. It was too good a carriage to be anything but a +private one, and those horses were never hired; and there were the +servants. She looked at the crest. But it was not a crest. Only an +enclosed cipher, D.D. + +It did not lessen her curiosity, and she went to the drawing-room, +wondering still; but she never once glanced at the possibility that it +could be Mrs. Dundyke's; the thought occurred to her that it must belong +to some member of the Dewsbury family, and had been lent to Mildred. + +It was a stiff meeting. Mrs. Arkell, fully imbued with the persuasion +that her sister was left badly off, that she was the same poor sister of +other days, was less cordial than she might have been. She shook hands +with her sister; she shook hands with Lucy; but in her manner there was +a restraint that told. They spoke of general subjects, of Mr. Dundyke's +strange adventure in Switzerland, and his subsequent real death; of +Lucy's sojourn in London; of Charlotte's recent marriage; of the +departure of Sophy with her for India--just, in fact, as might have been +the case with ordinary guests. + +"Travice is soon to be married, I hear," said Mrs. Dundyke. + +"Yes; but he holds back unpardonably." + +Had Mrs. Arkell not been thinking of something else, she had never given +that tart, but true answer. She happened just then to be calculating the +cost of Mrs. Dundyke's handsome mourning, and wondering how she got it. + +"Why does he hold back?" quickly asked Mrs. Dundyke. + +"Oh, I don't know," said Mrs. Arkell, with a gay, slighting laugh. "I +suppose young men like to retain their bachelor liberty as long as they +can. Does your aunt purpose to settle down in Westerbury, Lucy?" + +"For the present." + +"Does she think of going out again?" + +"Oh no." + +"Perhaps she has saved enough to keep herself without? She could not +expect to find another such place as Lady Dewsbury's." + +It was not a pleasant visit, and Mrs. Dundyke did not prolong it. As +they were going out they met Travice. + +"Oh, Aunt Betsey! How glad I am to see you!" + +But he turned coldly enough to shake hands with Lucy. He cherished +resentment against her in his heart. She saw he did not look well; but +she was cold as he was. As he walked across the hall with his aunt, Mrs. +Arkell drew Lucy back into the drawing-room. Her curiosity had been on +the rack all the time. + +"Whose carriage is that, Lucy? One belonging to the Dewsburys'?" + +"It is Mrs. Dundyke's." + +"Mrs.----what did you say? I asked whose carriage that is that you came +in," added Mrs. Arkell, believing that Lucy had not heard aright. + +"Yes, I understood. It is Mrs. Dundyke's. She sent it on, the day before +yesterday, with her servants and horses." + +"But--does--she--keep a carnage and servants?" reiterated Mrs. Arkell, +hardly able to bring out the words in her perplexed amazement. + +"Oh, yes." + +"Then she must be left well off?" + +"Very well. She is very rich. I believe her income is close upon two +thousand a year." + +"Two thou----" Mrs. Arkell wound up with a shriek of astonishment. Lucy +had to leave her to recover it in the best way she could, for Mrs. +Dundyke had got into the carriage and was waiting for her. + +The poor, humble Betsey, whom she had so despised and slighted through +life! Come to _this_ fortune! While hers and her husband's was going +down. How the tables were turned! + +Yes, Mrs. Arkell. Tables always are on the turn in this life. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +A RECOGNITION. + + +When the first vexation was overcome, the most prominent thought that +remained to Mrs. Arkell was, what a fool she had been, not to treat +Betsey better--one never knew what would turn up. All that could be done +was, to begin to treat her well now: but it required diplomacy. + +Mrs. Arkell began by being gracious to Mildred, by being quite motherly +in her behaviour to Lucy; this took her often to Miss Arkell's, and +consequently into the society of Mrs. Dundyke. Sisterly affection must +not be displayed all at once; it should come by degrees. + +As a preliminary, Mrs. Arkell introduced to her sister and Mildred as +many of her influential friends in Westerbury as she could prevail upon +them to receive. This was not many. Gentle at heart as both were, +neither of them felt inclined to be patronized by Mrs. Arkell now, after +her lifetime of neglect. They therefore declined the introductions, +allowing an exception only in the persons of the Miss Fauntleroys, who +were so soon, through the marriage of Travice and Barbara, to be allied +to the family. Mrs. Dundyke was glad to renew her acquaintance with Mr. +Prattleton and his daughter. + +Both the Miss Fauntleroys were making preparations for their marriage, +for the younger one had accepted Mr. Benjamin Carr. The old squire, so +fond of money, was in an ecstacy at the match his fortunate son was +going to make, and Ben had just now taken a run up to Birmingham to look +at some furniture he had seen advertised. Ben had a good deal of the +rover in his nature still, and was glad of an excuse for taking a run +anywhere. + +The Miss Fauntleroys grew rather intimate at Mildred's. Their bouncing +forms and broad good-natured faces, were often to be seen at the door. +They began rather to be liked there; their vulgarity lessened with +custom, their well-meaning good humour won its own way. They invited +Miss Arkell, her niece, and guest, to spend a long afternoon with them +and help them with some plain work they were doing for the poor +sewing-club--for they were adepts in useful sewing, were the Miss +Fauntleroys--and to remain to dinner afterwards. Lucy would have given +the whole world to refuse: but she had no ready plea; and she had not +the courage to make one. So she went with the rest. + +She was sitting at one of the windows of the large drawing-room with +Lizzie Fauntleroy, both of them at work at the same article, a child's +frock, when Travice Arkell entered. Lucy's was the first face he saw: +and so entirely unexpected was the sight of it to him, that, for once in +his life, he nearly lost his self-possession. No wonder; with the +consciousness upon him of the tardy errand that had taken him +there--that of asking his future bride to appoint a time for their +union. Once more Mr. Arkell had spoken to his son: "You must not +continue to act in this way, Travice; it is not right; it is not manly. +Marry Miss Fauntleroy, or give her up; do which you decide to do, but it +must be one or the other." And he came straight from the conference, as +he had on the former occasion, to ask her when the wedding day should +be. He could not sully his honour by choosing the other alternative. + +A hesitating pause, he looking like one who has been caught in some +guilty act, and then he walked on and shook hands with Miss Fauntleroy. +He shook hands with them all in succession; with Lucy last: that is, he +touched the tips of her fingers, turning his conscious face the other +way. + +"Have you brought me any message from Mrs. Arkell?" asked Miss +Fauntleroy, for it was so unusual a thing for Travice to call in the day +that she concluded he had come for some specific purpose. + +"No. I--I came to speak to you myself," he answered. And his words were +so hesitating, his manner so uncertain, that they looked at him in +surprise; he who was usually self-possessed to a fault. Miss Fauntleroy +rose and left the room with him. + +She came back in about a quarter of an hour, giggling, laughing, her +face more flushed than ordinary, her manner inviting inquiry. Lizzie +Fauntleroy, with one of those unladylike, broad allusions she was given +to use, said to the company that by the looks of Bab, she should think +Mr. Travice Arkell had been asking her to name the day. There ensued a +loud laugh on Barbara's part, some skirmishing with her sister, and then +a tacit acknowledgment that the surmise was correct, and that she _had_ +named it. Lucy sat perfectly still: her head apparently as intent upon +her work as were her hands. + +"Liz may as well name it for herself," retorted Barbara. "Ben Carr has +wanted her to do it before now." + +"There's no hurry," said Lizzie. "For me, at any rate. When one's going +to marry a man so much older than oneself, one is apt not to be over +ardent for it." + +They continued to work, an industrious party. Accidentally, as it +seemed, the conversation turned upon the strange events which had +occurred at Geneva: it was through Mrs. Dundyke's mentioning some +embroidery she had just given to Mary Prattleton. The Miss Fauntleroys, +who had only, as they phrased it, heard the story at second-hand, +besought her to tell it to them. And she complied with the request. + +They suspended their work as they listened. It is probable that not a +single incident was mentioned that the Miss Fauntleroys had not heard +before; but the circumstances altogether were of that nature that bear +hearing--ay, and telling--over and over again, as most mysteries do. +Their chief curiosity turned--it was only natural it should--on Mr. +Hardcastle, and they asked a great many questions. + +"I would have scoured the whole country but what I'd have found him," +cried Barbara. "Genoa! Rely upon it, he and his wife turned their faces +in just the contrary direction as soon as they left Geneva. A nice +pair." + +"Do you think," asked Lucy, in her quiet manner, raising her eyes to +Mrs. Dundyke, "that Mr. Hardcastle followed him for the purpose of +attacking and robbing him?" + +"Ah, my dear, I cannot tell. It is a question that I often ask myself. I +feel inclined to think that he did not. One thing I seem nearly sure +of--that he did not intend to injure him. I have not the least doubt +that Mr. Hardcastle was at his wit's end for money to pay his hotel +bill, and that the thirty pounds my poor husband mentioned as having +received that morning, was an almost irresistible temptation. There's no +doubt he followed him to the borders of the lake; that he induced him, +by some argument, to walk away with him, across the country; but whether +he did this with the intention of----" + +"Did Mr. Dundyke not clear this up after his return?" interrupted Lizzie +Fauntleroy. + +"Never clearly; his recollections remained so confused. I have thought +at times, that the crime only came with the opportunity," continued Mrs. +Dundyke, reverting to what she was saying. "It is possible that the heat +of the day and the long walk, though why Mr. Hardcastle should have +caused him to take that long walk, unless he had ulterior designs, I +cannot tell--may have overpowered my husband with a faintness, and Mr. +Hardcastle seized the opportunity to rifle his pocket-book." + +"You seem to be more lenient in your judgment of Mr. Hardcastle than I +should be," observed Lizzie Fauntleroy. + +"I have thought of it so long and so often, that I believe I have grown +to judge of the past impartially," was Mrs. Dundyke's answer. "At first +I was very much incensed against the man; I am not sure but I thought +hanging too good for him; but I grew by degrees to look at it more +reasonably." + +"And the pencil?" + +"He must have taken it from the pocket-book in his hurry, when he took +the money. That he did it all in haste, the not finding the two +half-notes for fifty pounds proves." + +"Suppose Mr. Dundyke had returned to Geneva the next day and confronted +him. What then?" + +"Ah, I don't know. Mr. Hardcastle relied, perhaps, upon being able to +make good his own story, and he knew that David had the most unbounded +faith in him." + +"Well, take it in its best light--that Mr. Dundyke fainted from the heat +of the sun--the man must have been a brute to leave him alone," +concluded Lizzie Fauntleroy. + +"Yes," was the answer, as a faint colour rose to Mrs. Dundyke's cheek; +"_that_ I can never forgive." + +The afternoon and the work progressed satisfactorily, and dinner time +arrived. Miss Fauntleroy had invited Travice to come and partake of it, +but he said he had an engagement--which she did not half believe. The +nearly bed-ridden old aunt came down to it, and was propped up to the +table in an invalid chair. Miss Fauntleroy took the head; Miss Lizzie +the foot. It was a well-spread board: Lawyer Fauntleroy's daughters +liked good dinners. Their manners were more free at home than abroad, +rather scaring Mildred. "How could Travice have chosen _here_?" she +mentally asked. + +"There's no gentlemen present, so I don't see why I should not give you +a toast," suddenly exclaimed Lizzie Fauntleroy, as the servant was +pouring out the first glass of champagne. "The bridegroom and bride +elect. Mr. Travice Ar----" + +Lizzie stopped in surprise. Peeping in at the door, in a half-jocular, +half-deprecatory manner, as if he would ask pardon for entering at the +unseasonable hour, was Mr. Benjamin Carr. His somewhat dusty appearance, +and his over-coat on his arm, showed that he had then come from the +station after his Birmingham journey. Lizzie, too hearty to be troubled +with superfluous reticence or ceremony of any kind, started up with a +shout of welcome. + +Of course everything was dis-arranged. The visitors looked up with +surprise; Barbara turned round and gave him her hand. Ben began an +apology for sitting down in the state he was, and had handed his coat to +a servant, when he found a firm hand laid upon his arm. He wheeled +round, wondering who it was, and saw a widow's cap, and a face he did +not in the first moment recognise. + +"_Mr. Hardcastle!_" + +With the words, the voice, the recognition came to him, and the past +scenes at Geneva rose before his startled memory as a vivid dream. He +might have brazened it out had he been taken less utterly by surprise, +but that unnerved him: his face turned ashy white, his whole manner +faltered. He looked to the door as if he would have bolted out of it; +but somebody had closed it again. + +Mrs. Dundyke turned her face to the amazed listeners, who had risen from +their seats. But that it had lost its colour also, there was no trace in +it of agitation: it was firm, rigid, earnest; and her voice was calm +even to solemnity. + +"Before heaven, I assert that this is the man who in Geneva called +himself Mr. Hardcastle, who did that injury--much or little, _he_ best +knows--to my husband! He----" + +"But this is Benjamin Carr!" interrupted the wondering Miss Fauntleroy. + +"Yes; just so; Benjamin Carr," assented Mrs. Dundyke, in a tone that +seemed to say she expected the words. "I recognised you, Benjamin Carr, +on the last day of your stay in Geneva, when you were giving me that +false order on Leadenhall Street. From the moment I first saw you, the +morning after we arrived at Geneva, your eyes puzzled me. I _knew_ I had +seen them somewhere before, and I told my poor husband so; but I could +not recollect where. In the hour of your leaving, the recollection came +to me; and I knew that the eyes were those of Benjamin Carr, or eyes +precisely similar to his. I thought it must be the latter; I could not +suppose that Squire Carr's son, a gentleman born and reared----" + +But here a startling interruption intervened. It suddenly occurred to +Miss Lizzie Fauntleroy, amidst the general confusion outward and inward, +that the Mr. Hardcastle who had figured in the dark and disgraceful +story, was said to have been accompanied by a wife. Considering that he +was now designing to confer that honour upon her, the reflection was not +agreeable. Miss Lizzie came to a hasty conclusion, that the real Mrs. +Carr must be lying _perdue_ somewhere, while he prosecuted his designs +upon herself and her money, conveniently ignoring the result of what he +might be running his head wholesale into--a prosecution for bigamy. She +went butting at him, her voice raised to a shriek, her nails out, +alarmingly near to his face. + +"You false, desperate, designing villain! You dare to come courting me +as a single man! You nearly drew me into a marriage! Where's your wife? +Where's your wife, villain?" + +_This_ charge was a mistaken one, and Ben Carr somewhat rallied his +scared senses. "It is false," he said. "I swear on my honour that I have +no wife; I swear that I never have had one." + +"You had your wife with you in Geneva," said Mrs. Dundyke. + +"She was not my wife. Lizzie Fauntleroy, can't you believe me? I have +never married yet. I never thought of marrying until I saw you." + +"It's all the same now," said Lizzie, with equanimity. "I don't like +tricks played me. Better that I should have discovered this before +marriage than after." + +"It is false, on my honour. You will not allow it to make any difference +to our----" + +"Not allow it to make any difference," interposed Lizzie, imperiously +cutting short his words. "Do you take me for a fool, Ben Carr? _You've_ +seen the last of me, I can tell you that; and if pa were living still, +he should prosecute you for getting my consent to a marriage under false +pretences." + +"If I do not prosecute you, Benjamin Carr," resumed Mrs. Dundyke, "you +owe it partly to my consideration for your family, partly to the unhappy +fact that it could not bring my poor husband back to life. It could not +restore to him the mental power he lost, the faculties that were +destroyed. It could not bring back to me my lost happiness. How far you +may have been guilty, I know not. It must rest with your conscience, and +so shall your punishment." + +He stood something like a stag at bay--half doubting whether to slink +away, whether to turn and beard his pursuers. Barbara Fauntleroy threw +wide the door. + +"You had better quit us, I think, Mr. Carr." + +"I see what it is," said he, at length, to the Miss Fauntleroys. "You +are just now too prejudiced to listen to reason. The tale that woman has +been telling you of me is a mistaken one; and when you are calm, I will +endeavour to convince you of it." + +"Calm, man!" cried Barbara, with a laugh. "_I_'m calm enough. It isn't +such an interlude, as this, that could take any calmness away from me. +It has been as good to me as a scene at the play." + +But the gentleman did not wait to hear the conclusion. He had escaped +through the open door. Those left stared at one another. + +"Come along," said Lizzie, with unruffled composure; "don't let the +dinner get colder than it is. I dare say I'm well rid of him. Where's +our glasses of champagne? A drop will do us all good. Oh dear, Mrs. +Dundyke! _Pray_ don't suffer it to trouble you!" + +She had sat down in a far corner, poor woman, with her face hidden, +drowned in a storm of silent tears. + +The event, quickly though it had transpired--over, as it were, in a +moment--exercised a powerful influence on the spirits of Mrs. Dundyke. +It brought the old trouble so vividly before her, that she could not +rally again as the days went on; and she told Mildred that she should go +back to London, but would come to her again at a future time. The +resolution was a sudden one. Mrs. Arkell happened to call the same day, +and was told of it. + +"Going back to London to-morrow!" repeated Mrs. Arkell in consternation; +and she hastened to her sister's room. + +Mrs. Dundyke had her drawers all out, and her travelling trunk open, +beginning to put things together. Mrs. Arkell went in, and closed the +door. + +"Betsey, you are going back, I hear; therefore I must at once ask the +question that I have been intending to ask before your departure. It may +sound to you somewhat premature: I don't know. Will you forget and +forgive?" + +"Forget and forgive what?" + +"My coldness during the past years." + +"I am willing to forgive it, Charlotte, if that will do you any good. To +forget it is an impossibility." + +Mrs. Dundyke spoke with civil indifference. She was wrapping different +toilet articles in paper, and she continued her occupation. Mrs. Arkell, +in a state of bitter vexation at the turn things had taken, terribly +self-repentant that she should have pursued a line of conduct so +inimical to her own interests, sat down on a low chair, and fairly burst +into tears. + +"Why, what's the matter, Charlotte?" + +"You are a rich woman now, and therefore you despise us. We are growing +poor." + +"How can you talk such nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Dundyke, screwing down +the silver stopper of a scent-bottle. "If I became as rich and as grand +as a duke, it could never cause me to make the slightest difference in +my conduct to anybody, high or low." + +"Our intercourse has been so cold, so estranged, during this visit!" + +"And, but that you find I am a little better off than you thought for, +would you have allowed it to be otherwise than cold and estranged?" +returned Mrs. Dundyke, putting down the scent-bottle, and facing her +sister. + +There was no reply. What, indeed, could there be? + +"Charlotte," said Mrs. Dundyke, dropping her voice to earnestness, as +she went close to her sister, "the past wore me out. Ask yourself what +your treatment of me was--for years, and years, and years. You know how +I loved you--how I tried to conciliate you by every means in my +power--to be to you a sister; and you would not. You threw my affection +back upon myself; you prevented Mr. Arkell and your children coming to +me; you heaped unnecessary scorn upon my husband. I bore it; I strove +against it; but my patience and my love gave way at last, and I am sorry +to say resentment grew in its place. Those feelings of affection, worn +out by slow degrees, can never grow again." + +"It is as much as to say that you hate me!" + +"Not so. We can be civil when we meet; and that can be as often as +circumstances bring us into the same locality. But I do not think there +can ever be cordiality between us again." + +"I had thought you were of a forgiving disposition, Betsey." + +"So I am." + +"I had thought----" Mrs. Arkell paused a moment, as if half ashamed of +what she was about to say--"I had thought to enlist your sisterly +feelings for me; that is, for my daughters. You are rich now; you have +plenty of money to spare; and their patrimony has dwindled down to +nothing--nothing compared to what it ought to have been. They----" + +"Stay, Charlotte. We may as well come to an understanding on this point +at once; it will serve for always. Your daughters have never +condescended to recognise me in their lives; it was perhaps your fault, +perhaps theirs: I don't know. But the effect upon me has not been a +pleasant one. I shall decline to help them." + +Mrs. Arkell's proud spirit was rising. What it had cost thus to bend +herself to her life-despised sister, she alone knew. She beat her foot +upon the hearth-rug. + +"I don't know how they'll get along. But for Mr. Arkell's having kept on +the business for Travice, we should be rich still. He has always been a +fool in some things." + +"Don't disparage your husband before me, Charlotte; I shall not listen +calmly; you were never worthy of him. I love Mr. Arkell for his +goodness, and I love your son. If you asked me for help for Travice, you +should have it; never for your daughters." + +"Very kind, I'm sure! when you know he does not want it," was the +provoking and angry answer. "Travice is placed above requiring your +help, by marriage with Miss Fauntleroy." + +And Mrs. Arkell gave her head a scornful toss as she went out, and +banged the chamber-door after her. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +MILDRED'S RECOMPENSE. + + +The consent of Travice once obtained, the necessary word spoken to Miss +Fauntleroy, Mrs. Arkell hurried the marriage on in earnest. So long as +Travice had only made the offer, and given no signs of wishing for the +ceremony to take place, not much could be done; but he had now said to +Barbara, "Fix your own day." + +There was no trouble needed in regard to a house; at least, there had +not hitherto been. The house that the Miss Fauntleroys lived in was +their own, and Barbara wished to continue in it. It was supposed that +her sister would be moving to a farm in the parish of Eckford. That was +now frustrated. "Never mind," said Barbara, in her easy way, "Lizzie can +stop on with us; Travice won't mind it, and I shall like it. If we find +afterwards that it does not answer, different arrangements can be made." + +The Miss Fauntleroys were generous in the matter of Benjamin Carr. Those +others who had been present were generous, even Mrs. Dundyke. The +identification of the gentleman with the Mr. Hardcastle, of Geneva +memory, was not allowed to transpire: they all had regard to the +feelings of the squire and his family. It was fortunate that the only +servant in the room had gone from it with Benjamin Carr's over-coat, and +Barbara had had the presence of mind to slip the bolt of the door. Mr. +Ben Carr, however, thought it well to take a tour just at this time, and +he did not show his face in Westerbury previous to his departure. + +Lucy Arkell was solicited to be one of the bridesmaids; but Lucy +declined. Mildred remembered a wedding which _she_ had declined to +attend as bridesmaid. How little, how little did she think that the same +cruel pain was swaying the motives of Lucy! + +Lucy and her aunt saw but little now of the Arkells. Travice never +called; Mr. Arkell, full of trouble, confined himself to his home; and +Mrs. Arkell had not entered the house since the rebuff given her by Mrs. +Dundyke. Lucy held aloof from them; and Mildred certainly did not go +there of her own accord. It therefore came to pass that they heard +little news of the doings there, except what might be dropped by chance +callers-in. + +And now, as if Mildred had really been gifted with prevision, Tom Palmer +made an offer of his hand and heart to Lucy. Lucy's response was by no +means a dignified one--she burst out crying. Mildred, in surprise, asked +what was the matter, and Lucy said she had not thought her old friend +Tom could have been so unkind. Unkind! But the result was, that Lucy +refused him in the most positive manner, then and for always. Mildred +began to think that she could not understand Lucy. + +There was a grand party given one night at Mrs. Arkell's, and they went +to that. Mildred accepted the invitation without consulting Lucy. The +Palmers were there; and Travice treated Tom very cavalierly. In fact, +that word is an appropriate one to characterise his general behaviour to +everybody throughout the evening. And, so far as anybody saw, he never +once went near Miss Fauntleroy, with the exception that he took her into +the supper room. Mr. Arkell did not appear until quite late in the +evening. It was said he had an engagement. So he had, with men of +business; while the revelry was going on in doors, he was in his +counting-house, endeavouring to negotiate for a loan of money, in which +he was not successful. Little heart had he at ten o'clock to go in and +dress himself and enter upon that scene of gaiety. Mildred exchanged but +a few sentences with him, but she thought he was in remarkably low +spirits. + +"Are you not well, William?" she asked. + +"I have a headache, Mildred." + +It was a day or two after this, and but a few days previous to the +completion of the wedding, when unpleasant rumours, touching the +solvency of the good old house of George Arkell and Son, reached the +ears of Miss Arkell. They were whispered to her by Mr. Palmer, the old +friend of the family. + +"It is said their names will be in the _Gazette_ the day after +to-morrow, unless some foreign help can come to them." + +Miss Arkell sat, deeply shocked; and poor Lucy's colour went and came, +showing the effect the news had upon her. + +"I had no idea that they were in embarrassment," said Mildred. + +"It is so. You see, this wedding of young Travice Arkell's, that is to +bring so much money into the family, has been delayed too long," +observed Mr. Palmer. "It is said now that Travice, poor fellow, has an +unconquerable antipathy to his bride, and though he consented to the +alliance to save his family, he has been unable to bring his mind to +conclude it. While the grass grows, the steed starves, you know." + +"Miss Fauntleroy was willing that her money should be sacrificed." + +"It would not have been sacrificed, not a penny of it; but the use of it +would have enabled the house to redeem its own money, and bring its +affairs to a satisfactory close. Had there been any risk to the money, +William Arkell would not have agreed to touch it: you know his +honourable nature. However, through the protracted delay--which Travice +will no doubt reflect sharply upon himself for--the marriage and the +money will come too late to save them." + +Mr. Palmer departed, and Lucy sat like one in a dream. Her aunt glanced +at her, and mused, and glanced again. "What are you thinking of, Lucy?" +she asked. + +Lucy burst into tears. "Aunt, I was thinking what a blight it is to be +poor! If I had thousands, I would willingly devote them all to save Mr. +Arkell. Papa told me, when he lay dying, how his cousin William had +helped him from time to time; had saved his home more than once; and had +never been paid back again." + +"And suppose you _had_ money--attend to me, Lucy, for I wish a serious +answer--suppose you were in possession of money, would you be really +willing to sacrifice a portion of it, to save this good friend, William +Arkell?" + +"All, aunt, all!" she answered, eagerly, "and think it no sacrifice." + +"Then put on your bonnet, Lucy, child," returned Miss Arkell, "and come +with me." + +They went forth to the house of Mr. Arkell; and as it turned out, the +visit was opportune, for Mrs. Arkell was away, dining from home. Mr. +Arkell was in a little back parlour, looking over accounts and papers, +with his son. The old man--and he was looking an old man that evening, +with trouble, not with years--rose in surprise when he saw who were his +visitors, and Travice's hectic colour went and came. Mildred had never +been in the room since she was a young woman, and it called up painful +recollections. It was the twilight hour of the evening: that best hour, +of all the twenty-four, for any embarrassing communication. + +"William," began Miss Arkell, seating herself by her cousin, and +speaking in a low tone, "we have heard it whispered that your affairs +are temporarily involved. Is it so?" + +"The world will soon know it, Mildred, above a whisper." + +"It is even so then! What has led to it?" + +"Oh, Mildred! can you ask what has led to it, when you look at the +misery and distress everywhere around us? Search the _Gazette_ for the +past years, and see how many names you will find in it, who once stood +as high as ours! The only wonder is, that we have not yet gone with the +stream. It is a hard case, Mildred, when we have toiled all our lives, +that the labour should come to nothing at last," he continued; "that our +closing years, which ought to be given to thoughts of another world, +must be distracted with the anxious cares of this." + +"Is your difficulty serious, or only temporary?" resumed Miss Arkell. + +"It ought to be only temporary," he replied; "but the worst is, I +cannot, at the present moment, command my resources. We have kept on +manufacturing, hoping for better times; and, to tell you the truth, +Mildred, I could not reconcile it to my conscience to turn off my old +workmen to beggary. There was Travice, too. I have a heavy stock of +goods on hand; to the amount of some thousands; and this locks up my +diminished capital. I am still worth what would cover my business +liabilities twice over--and I have no others--but I cannot avail myself +of it for present emergencies. I have turned every stone, Mildred, to +keep my head above water: and I believe I can struggle no longer." + +"What amount of money would effectually relieve you?" asked Miss Arkell. + +"About three thousand pounds," he replied, answering the question +without any apparent interest. + +"Then to-morrow morning vouchers for that sum shall be placed in the +Westerbury bank at your disposal. _And for double that sum, if you +require it._" + +Mr. Arkell looked up in astonishment; and finally addressed to her the +very words which he had once before done, in early life, upon a far +different subject. + +"You are dreaming, Mildred!" + +She remembered them; had she ever forgotten one word said to her on that +eventful night? and sighed as she replied: + +"This money is mine. I enjoyed, as you know, a most liberal salary for +seven or eight-and-twenty years; and the money, as it came in, was +placed out from the first to good interest; later, a part of it to good +use. Lady Dewsbury also bequeathed me a munificent sum by her will; so +that altogether I am worth----" + +His excessive surprise could not let her continue. That Mildred had +saved just sufficient to live upon, he had deemed probable; but not +more. She had been always assisting Peter. He interrupted her with words +to this effect. + +Mildred smiled. "I could place at your disposal twelve thousand pounds, +if needs must," she said. "I had a friend who helped me to lay out my +money to advantage. It was Mr. Dundyke. William, _how_ can I better use +part of this money than by serving you?" + +William Arkell shook his head in deprecation. Not all at once, in the +suddenness of the surprise, could he accept the idea of being assisted +by Mildred. Peter had taken enough from her. + +"Peter did not take enough from me," she firmly said. "It is only since +Peter's death that I have learnt how straitened he always was--he kept +it from me. I have been taking great blame to myself, for it seems to me +that I ought to have guessed it--and I did not. But Peter is gone, and +you are left. Oh, William, let me help you!" + +"Mildred, I have no right to it from _you_." + +She laid her hand upon his arm in her eagerness. She bent her gentle +face, with its still sweet expression, near to him, and spoke in a +whisper. + +"_Let_ me help you. It will be a recompense for the past pain of my +lonely life." + +His eyes looked straight into hers for the moment. "I have had my pain, +too, Mildred." + +"But this loan? you will take it. Lucy, speak up," added Miss Arkell, +turning to her niece. "This money is willed to you, and will be yours +sometime. Is it not at your wish that I come this evening, as well as at +my own?" + +"Oh, sir," sobbed Lucy to Mr. Arkell, "take it all. Let my aunt retain +what will be sufficient for her life, but keep none for me; I am young +and healthy, and can go out and work for my living, as she has done. +Take all the rest, and save the credit of the family." + +William Arkell turned to Lucy, the tears trickling down his cheeks. She +had taken off her bonnet on entering, and he laid his hand fondly on her +head. + +"Lucy, child, were this money exclusively your aunt's, I would not +hesitate to make use of sufficient of it now to save my good name. In +that ease, I should wind up my affairs as soon as would be conveniently +possible, retire from business, and see how far what is left to me would +go towards a living. It would be enough; and my wife would have to bring +her mind to think it so. But this sum that your aunt offers me--that you +second--may be the very money she has been intending to hand over with +you as a marriage portion. And what would your husband say at its being +thus temporarily appropriated?" + +"My husband!" exclaimed Lucy, in amazement; "a marriage portion for me! +When I take the one, it will be time enough to think of the other." Miss +Arkell, too, looked up with a questioning gaze, for she had quite +forgotten the little romance--her romance--concerning young Mr. Palmer. + +"I shall never marry," continued Lucy, in answer to Mr. Arkell's puzzled +look. "I think I am better as I am." + +"But, Lucy, you _are_ going to marry. You are going to marry Tom +Palmer." + +Lucy laughed. She could not help it, she said, apologetically. She had +laughed ever since he asked her, except just at the time, at the very +idea of her marrying Tom Palmer, the little friend of her girlhood. Tom +laughed at it himself now; and they were as good friends as before. "But +how _did_ you hear of it?" she exclaimed. + +Travice came forward, his cheek pale, his lip quivering. He laid his +fevered hand on Lucy's shoulder. + +"Is this true, Lucy?" he whispered. "Is it true that you do not love Tom +Palmer?" + +"Love him!" cried Lucy, indignantly, sad reproach in her eye, as she +turned it on Travice. "You have seen us together hundreds of times; did +you ever detect anything in my manner to induce you to think I 'loved' +him?" + +"_I_ loved _you_," murmured Travice, for he read that reproach aright, +and the scales which had obscured his eyes fell from them, as by magic. +"I have long loved you--deeply, passionately. My brightest hopes were +fixed on you; the heyday visions of all my future existence represented +you by my side, my wife. But these misfortunes and losses came thick and +fast upon my father. They told me at home here, _he_ told me, that I was +poor and that you were poor, and that it would be madness in us to think +of marrying then, as it would have been. So I said to myself that I +would be patient, and wait--would be content with loving you in secret, +as I had done--with seeing you daily as a relative. And then the news +burst upon me that you were to marry Tom Palmer; and I thought what a +fool I had been to fancy you cared for me; for I knew that you were not +one to marry where you did not love." + +The tears were coursing down her cheeks. "But I don't understand," she +said. "It is but just, as it were, that Tom has asked me; and you must +be speaking of sometime ago." + +The fault was Mildred's. Not quite all at once could they understand it; +not until later. + +"I shall never marry; indeed I shall never marry," murmured Lucy, as she +yielded for the moment to the passionate embrace in which Travice +clasped her, and kissed away her tears of anguish. "My lot in life must +be like my aunt's now, unloving and unloved." + +"Oh, is there no escape for us!" exclaimed Travice, wildly, as all the +painful embarrassment of his position rushed over his mind. "Can we not +fly together, Lucy--fly to some remote desert place, and leave care and +sorrow behind us? Ere the lapse of many days, another woman expects to +be my wife! Is there no way of escape for us?" + +None; none. The misery of Travice Arkell and his cousin was sealed: +their prospects, so far as this world went, were blighted. There were no +means by which he could escape the marriage that was rushing on to him +with the speed of wings: no means known in the code of honour. And for +Lucy, what was left but to live on unwedded, burying her crushed +affections within herself, as her aunt had done?--live on, and, by the +help of time, strive to subdue that love which was burning in her heart +for the husband of another, rendering every moment of the years that +would pass, one continued, silent agony! + +"The same fate--the same fate!" moaned Mildred Arkell to herself, whilst +Lucy sunk into a chair and covered her pale face with her trembling +hands. "I might have guessed it! Like aunt, like niece. She must go +through life as I have done--and bear--and bear! Strange, that the +younger brother's family, throughout two generations, should have cast +their shadow for evil upon that of the elder! A blight must have fallen +upon my father's race; but, perhaps in mercy, Lucy is the last of it. If +I could have foreseen this, years ago, the same atmosphere in which +lived Travice Arkell should not have been breathed by Lucy. The same +fate! the same fate!" + +Lucy was sobbing silently behind her hands. Travice stood, the image of +despair. Mildred turned to him. + +"Then you do not love Miss Fauntleroy?" + +"Love her! I _hate_ her!" was the answer that burst from him in his +misery. "May Heaven forgive me for the false part I shall have to play!" + +But there was no escape for him. Mildred knew there was not; Mr. Arkell +knew it; and his heart ached for the fate of this, his dearly-loved son. + +"My boy," he said, "I would willingly die to save you--die to secure +your happiness. I did not know this sacrifice was so very bitter." + +Travice cast back a look of love. "You have done all you could for me; +do not _you_ take it to heart. I may get to bear it in time." + +"Get to _bear_ it!" What a volume of expression was in the words! +Mildred rose and approached Mr. Arkell. + +"We had better be going, William. But oh! why did you let it come to +this? Why did you not make a confidante of me?" + +"I did not know you could help me, Mildred; indeed I did not." + +"I will tell you who would have been as thankful to help you as I +am--and that is your sister-in-law, Betsey Dundyke. She could have +helped you more largely than I can." + +"But not more lovingly. God bless you, Mildred!" he whispered, detaining +her for a moment as she was following Travice and Lucy out. + +Her eyes swam with tears as she looked up at him; her hands rested +confidingly in his. + +"If you knew what the happiness of serving you is, William! If you knew +what a recompence this moment is for the bitter past!" + +"God bless you, Mildred!" he repeated, "God bless you for ever." + +She drew her veil over her face to pass out, just as she had drawn it +after that interview, following his marriage, in the years gone by. + +And so the credit of the good and respected old house was saved; saved +by Mildred. Had it taken every farthing she had amassed; so that she +must have gone forth again, in her middle age, and laboured for a +living, she had rejoiced to do it! William Arkell had not waited until +now, to know the value of the heart he had thrown away. + +And the marriage day drew on. But before it dawned, Westerbury knew that +it would bring no marriage with it. Miss Fauntleroy knew it. For the +bridegroom was lying between life and death. + +Of a sensitive, nervous, excitable temperament, the explanation of that +evening, taken in conjunction with the dreadful tension to which his +mind had been latterly subjected, far greater than any one had +suspected, was too much for Travice Arkell. Conscious that Lucy Arkell +passionately loved him; knowing now that she had the money, without +which he could not marry, and that part of that money was actually +advanced to save his father's credit; knowing also, that he must never +more think of her, but must tie himself to one whom he abhorred; that he +and Lucy must never again see each other in life, but as friends, and +not too much of that, he became ill. Reflection preyed upon him: remorse +for doubting Lucy, and hastening to offer himself to Miss Fauntleroy, +seated itself in his mind, and ere the day fixed for his marriage +arrived, he was laid up with brain fever. + +With brain fever! In vain they tried their remedies: their ice to his +head; their cooling medicines; their blisters to his feet. His +unconscious ravings were, at moments, distressing to hear: his deep love +for Lucy; his impassioned adjurations to her to fly with him, and be at +peace; his shuddering hatred of Miss Fauntleroy. On the last day of his +life, as the doctors thought, Lucy was sent for, in the hope that her +presence might calm him. But he did not know her: he was past knowing +any one. + +"Lucy!" he would utter, in a hollow voice, unconscious that she or any +one else was present--"Lucy! we will leave the place for ever. Have you +got your things ready? We will go where _she_ can't find us out, and +force me to her. Lucy! where are you? Lucy!" + +And Mrs. Arkell! She was the most bitterly repentant. Many a sentence is +spoken lightly, many an idle threat, many a reckless wish; but the vain +folly is not often brought home to the heart, as it was to Mrs. Arkell. + +"I would pray Heaven to let me follow you to your grave, Travice, rather +than see you marry Lucy Arkell." _He_ was past feeling or remembering +the words; but they came home to _her_. She cast herself upon the bed, +praying wildly for forgiveness, clinging to him in all the agony of +useless remorse. + +"Oh, what matters honour; what matters anything in comparison with his +precious life!" she cried, with streaming eyes. "Tell him, +Lucy,--perhaps he will understand _you_--that he shall indeed marry you +if he will but set his mind at rest, and get well; he shall never again +see Miss Fauntleroy. Lucy! are there no means of calming him? If this +terrible excitement lasts, it will kill him. Tell him it is you he shall +marry, not Barbara Fauntleroy." + +"I cannot tell him so," said Lucy, from the very depth of her aching +heart. "It would not be right to deceive him, even now. There can be no +escape, if he lives, from the marriage with Miss Fauntleroy." + +A few more hours, and the crisis came. The handsome, the intelligent, +the refined Travice Arkell, lay still, in a lethargy that was taken to +be that of death. It went forth to Westerbury that he was dead; and Lucy +took her last look at him, and walked home with her aunt Mildred--to a +home, which, however well supplied it was now with the world's comforts, +could only seem to her one of desolation. Lucy Arkell's eyes were dry; +dry with that intensity of anguish that admits not of tears, and her +brain seemed little less confused than _his_ had done, in these last few +days of life. + +Mildred sat down in her home, and seemed to see into the future. She saw +herself and her niece living on in their quiet and monotonous home; her +own form drooping with the weight of years, Lucy's approaching middle +life. "The old maids" they would be slightingly termed by those who knew +little indeed of their inward history. And in their lonely hearts, +enshrined in its most hidden depths, the image that respectively filled +each in early life, the father and son, William and Travice Arkell, +never, never replaced by any other, but holding their own there so long +as time should last. + +Seated by her fire on that desolate night, she saw it as in a vision. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +MISS FAUNTLEROY LOVED AT LAST. + + +But Travice Arkell did not die. The lethargy that was thought to be +death proved to be only the exhaustion of spent nature. When the first +faint indications of his awaking from it appeared, the physicians said +it was possible that he might recover. He lay for some days in a +critical state, hopes and fears about equally balancing, and then he +began to get visibly stronger. + +"I have been nearly dead, have I not?" he asked one day of his father, +who was sitting by the bed. + +"But you are better now, Travice. You will get well. Thank God!" + +"Yes, the danger's over. I feel that, myself. Dear father! how troubled +you have been!" + +"Travice, I could hardly have borne to lose you," he murmured, leaning +over him. "And--_thus_." + +"I shall soon be well again; soon be strong. Be stronger, I hope," and +Travice faintly pressed the hand in which his lay, "to go through the +duties that lie before me, than I was previously." + +Mr. Arkell sighed from the very depths of his heart. If his son could +but have looked forward to arise to a life of peace, instead of pain! + +Mildred was with the invalid often. Mrs. Dundyke, who, concerned at the +imminent danger of one in whom she had always considered that she held a +right, had hastened to Westerbury when the news was sent to her, +likewise used to go and sit with him. But not Lucy. It was instinctively +felt by all that the sight of Lucy could only bring the future more +palpably before him. It might have been so different! + +Mrs. Dundyke saw Mr. Arkell in private. + +"Is there _no_ escape for him?" she asked; "no escape from this marriage +with Miss Fauntleroy? I would give all I am worth to effect it." + +"And I would give my life," was the agitated answer. "There is none. +Honour must be kept before all things. Travice himself knows there is +none; neither would he accept any, were it offered out of the line of +strict honour." + +"It is a life's sacrifice," said Mrs. Dundyke. "It is sacrificing both +him and Lucy." + +"Had I possessed but the faintest idea of the sacrifice it really was, +even for him, it should never have been contemplated, no matter what the +cost," was Mr. Arkell's answer. + +"And there was no need of it. If you had but known that! My fortune is a +large one now, and the greater portion of it I intended for Travice." + +"Betsey!" + +"I intended it for no one else. Perhaps I ought to have been more open +in expressing my intentions; but you know how I have been held aloof by +Charlotte. And I did not suppose that Travice was in necessity of any +sort. If he marries Miss Fauntleroy, the half of what I die possessed of +will be his; the other half will go to Lucy Arkell. Were it possible +that he could marry Lucy, they'd not wait for my death to be placed +above the frowns of the world." + +"Oh Betsey, how generous you are! But there is no escape for him," added +Mr. Arkell, with a groan at the bitter fact. "He cannot desert Miss +Fauntleroy." + +It was indisputably true. And that buxom bride-elect herself seemed to +have no idea that anybody wanted to be off the bargain, for her visits +to the house were frequent, and her spirits were unusually high. + +You all know the old rhyme about a certain gentleman's penitence when he +was sick; though it may not be deemed the perfection of good manners to +quote it here. It was a very apt illustration of the feelings of Mrs. +Arkell. While her son lay sick unto death, she would have married him to +Lucy Arkell; but no sooner was the danger of death removed, and he +advancing towards convalescence, than the old pride--avarice--love of +rule--call it what you will--resumed sway within her; and she had almost +been ready to say again that a mouldy grave would be preferable for him, +rather than desertion of Miss Fauntleroy. In fine, the old state of +things was obtaining sway, both as to Mrs. Arkell's opinions and to the +course of events. + +"When can I see him?" asked Miss Fauntleroy one day. + +Not the first time, this, that she had put the question, and it a little +puzzled Mrs. Arkell to answer it. It was only natural and proper, +considering the relation in which each stood to the other, that Miss +Fauntleroy should see him; but Mrs. Arkell had positively not dared to +hint at such a visit to her son. + +"Travice sits up now, does he not?" continued the young lady. + +"Yes, he has sat up a little in the afternoon these two days past. We +call it sitting up, Barbara, but, in point of fact, he lies the whole +time on the sofa. He is not strong enough to sit up." + +"Then I'm sure I may see him. It might not have been proper, I suppose, +to pay him a visit in bed," she added, laughing loudly; "but there can't +be any impropriety now. I want to see him, Mrs. Arkell; I want it very +particularly." + +"Of course, Barbara; I can understand that you do. I should, in your +place. The only consideration is, whether it may not agitate him too +much." + +"Not it," said Barbara. "I wish you'd go and ask him when I may come. I +suppose he is up now?" + +Mrs. Arkell had no ready plea for refusal, and she went upstairs there +and then. Travice was lying on the sofa, exhausted with the exertion of +getting to it. + +"My dear, I think you look better," Mrs. Arkell began, not altogether +relishing her task; and she gently pushed the bits of brown hair, now +beginning to grow again, from the damp, white forehead. "Do you feel +so?" + +He drew her fingers for a moment into his, and held them there. He was +always ready to respond to his mother's little tokens of affection. She +had opposed him in the matter of Lucy Arkell, but he was ever generous, +ever just, and he blamed circumstances more than he blamed her. + +"I feel a great deal better than I did a week ago. I shall get on now." + +Mrs. Arkell paused. "Some one wants to see you, Travice." + +The hectic came into his white face as she spoke--a wild rush of +crimson. Was it possible that he thought she spoke of Lucy? The idea +occurred, to Mrs. Arkell. + +"My dear, it is Barbara. She has asked to see you a great many times. +She is downstairs now." + +Travice raised his thin hand, and laid it for a moment over his face, +over his closed eyes. Was he praying for help in his pain?--for strength +to go through what must be gone through--his duty in the future; and to +do it bravely? + +"Travice, my dear, but for this illness she would now have been your +wife. It is only natural that she should wish to come and see you." + +"Yes, of course," he said, removing his hand, and speaking very calmly; +"I have been expecting that she would." + +"When shall she come up? Now?" + +He did not speak for a moment. + +"Not now; not to-day; the getting up seemed to tire me more than it has +done yet. Tell her so from me. Perhaps she will take the trouble to call +again to-morrow, and come up then." + +The message was carried to Miss Fauntleroy, and she did not fail in the +appointment. Mrs. Arkell took her upstairs without notice to her son; +possibly she feared some excuse again. The sofa was drawn near the fire +as before, and Travice lay on it; had he been apprised of the visit, he +might have tried to sit up to receive her. + +She was very big as usual, and very grand. A rich watered lilac silk +dress, looped up above a scarlet petticoat; a velvet something on her +arms and shoulders, of which I really don't know the name, covered with +glittering jet trimmings; and a spangled bonnet with fancy feathers. As +she sailed into the room, her petticoats, that might have covered the +dome of St. Paul's, knocked over a little brass stand and kettle, some +careless attendant having left them on the carpet, near the wall. There +was no damage, except noise, for the kettle was empty. + +"That's my crinoline!" cried the hearty, good-humoured girl. "Never +mind; there's worse misfortunes at sea." + +"No, Travice, you had better not rise," interposed Mrs. Arkell, for he +was struggling into a sitting position. "Barbara will excuse it; she +knows how weak you are." + +"And I'll not allow you to rise, that's more," said Barbara, laying her +hand upon him. "I am not come to make you worse, but to make you +better--if I can." + +Mrs. Arkell, not altogether easy yet upon the feelings of Travice as to +the visit, anxious, as we all are with anything on our consciences, to +get away, invited Barbara to a chair, and hastened from the room. +Travice tried to receive her as he ought, and put out his hand with a +wan smile. + +"How are you, Barbara?" + +There was no reply, except that the thin hand was taken between both of +hers. He looked up, and saw that her eyes were swimming in tears. A +moment's struggle, and they came forth, with a burst. + +"There! it's of no good. What a fool I am!" + +Just a minute or two's indulgence to the burst, and it was over. Miss +Fauntleroy rubbed away the traces, and her broad face wore its smiles +again. She drew a chair close, and sat down in front of him. + +"I was not prepared to see you look like this, Travice. How dreadfully +it has pulled you down!" + +She was gazing at his face as she spoke. Her entrance had not called up +anything of colour or emotion to illumine it. The transparent skin was +drawn over the delicate features, and the refinement, always +characterizing it, was more conspicuous than it had ever been. No two +faces, perhaps, could present a greater contrast than his did, with the +broad, vulgar, hearty, and in a sense, handsome one of hers. + +"Yes, it has pulled me down. At one period there was little chance of my +life, I believe. But they no doubt told you all at the time. I daresay +you knew more of the different stages of the danger than I did." + +"And what was it that brought it on?" asked Miss Fauntleroy, untying her +bonnet, and throwing back the strings. "Brain fever is not a common +disorder; it does not go about in the air!" + +There was a slight trace of colour now on the thin cheeks, and she +noticed it. Travice faintly shook his head to disclaim any knowledge on +his own part. + +"It is not very often that we know how these illnesses are brought on. +My chief concern now"--and he looked up at her with a smile--"must be to +find out how I can best throw it off." + +"I have been very anxious for some days to see you," she resumed, after +a pause. "Do you know what I have come to say?" + +"No," he said, rather languidly. + +"But I'll tell you first what I heard. When you were lying in that awful +state between life and death--and it _is_ an awful state, Travice, the +danger of passing, without warning, to the presence of one's Maker--I +heard that it was _I_ who had brought on the fever." + +His whole face was flushed now--a consciousness of the past had risen up +so vividly within him. "_You!_" he uttered. "What do you mean?" + +"Ah! Travice, I see how it has been. I know all. You have tried to like +me, and you cannot. Be still, be calm; I do not reproach you even in +thought. You loved Lucy Arkell long before anybody thought of me, in +connection with you; and I declare I honour the constancy of your heart +in keeping true to her. Now, if you are not tranquil I shall get my ears +boxed by your doctors, and I'll not come and see you again." + +"But----" + +"You just be quiet. I'm going to do the talking, and you the listening. +There, I'll hold your hands in mine, as some old, prudent spirit might, +to keep you still--a sister, say. That's all I shall ever be to you, +Travice." + +His chest was beginning to heave with emotion. + +"I have a great mind to run away, and leave you to fancy you are going +to be tied to me after all! _Pray_ calm yourself. Oh! Travice, why did +you not tell me the truth--that you had no shadow of liking for me; that +your love for another was stronger than death? I should have been a +little mortified at first, but not for long. It is not your fault; you +did all you could; and it has nearly killed you----" + +"Who has been telling you this?" he interrupted. + +"Never mind. Perhaps somebody, perhaps nobody. It's the town's talk, and +that's enough. Do you think I could be so wicked and selfish a woman as +to hold you to your engagement, knowing this? No! Never shall it be said +of Barbara Fauntleroy, in this or in aught else, that she secured her +own happiness at the expense of anybody else's." + +"But Barbara----" + +"Don't 'Barbara' me, but listen," she interrupted playfully, laying her +finger on his lips. "At present you hate me, and I don't say that your +heart may not have cause; but I want to turn that hatred into love. If I +can't get it as a wife, Travice, I may as a friend. I like you very +much, and I can't afford to lose you quite. Heaven knows in what way I +might have lost you, had we been married; or what would have been the +ending." + +He lay looking at her, not altogether comprehending the words, in his +weakness. + +"You shall marry Lucy as soon as you are strong enough; and a little +bird has whispered me a secret that I fancy you don't know yet--that +you'll have plenty and plenty of money, more than I should have brought +you. We'll have a jolly wedding; and I'll be bridesmaid, if she'll let +me." + +Barbara had talked till her eyes were running down with tears. His +lashes began to glisten. + +"I couldn't do it, Barbara," he whispered; "I couldn't do it." + +"Perhaps not; but I can, and shall. Listen, you difficult old fellow, +and set your mind and your conscience at rest. Before that great and +good Being, who has spared you through this death-sickness, and has +spared _me_, perhaps, a life of unhappiness, I solemnly swear that I +will not marry you! I don't think I have much pride, but I've some; and +I am above stooping to accept a man that all the world knows hates me +like poison. I'd not have you now, Travice, though there were no Lucy +Arkell in the world. A pretty figure I should cut on our wedding day, if +I did hold you to your bargain! The town might follow us to church with +a serenade of marrowbones and cleavers, as they do the butchers. I'll +not leave you until you tell me all is at an end between us--on your +side as on mine." + +"It is not right, Barbara. It is not right that I should treat you so." + +"I'll not leave you until you tell me all is at an end." + +"I _can't_ tell it you." + +"I'll not leave you until you tell me all is at an end," she +persistently repeated. "No, not if I have to stop in the room all the +blessed night, as your real sister might. What do I care for their fads +and their punctilios? Here I'll stop." + +He looked up in her face with a smile. It had more of _love_ in it than +Barbara had ever seen expressed to her from him. She bent down and +kissed his lips. + +"There! that's an earnest of our new friendship. Not that I shall be +giving you kisses in future, or expect any from you. Lucy might not like +it, you know, or you either. I don't say _I_ should, for I may be +marrying on my own score. We might have been an estranged man and wife, +Travice, wishing each other dead and buried and perhaps not gone to +heaven, every day of our lives. We will be two firm friends. You don't +reject _me_, you know; _I_ reject you, and you can't help yourself." + +"We will be friends always, Barbara," he said, from the depths of his +inmost heart, as he held her warm hand on his breast. "I am beginning to +love you as one already." + +"There's a darling fellow! Yes, I should call you so though Lucy were +present. Oh, Travice! it's best as it is! A little bit of smart to get +over--and that's what I have been doing the past week or so--and we +begin on a truer basis. I never was suited to you, and that's the truth. +But we can be the best friends living. It won't spoil my appetite, +Travice; I'm not of that flimsy temperament. Fancy _me_ getting +brain-fever through being crossed in love!" + +She laughed out loud at the thought--a ringing, merry laugh. It put +Travice at ease on the score of the "smart." + +"And now I'm going into the manufactory to tell Mr. Arkell that you and +I are _two_. If he asks for the cause, perhaps I shall whisper to him +that I've found out you won't suit me and I prefer to look out for +somebody that will; and when Mrs. Arkell asks it me, 'We've split, +ma'am--split' I shall tell her. Travice! Travice! did you really think I +could stand, knowing it, in the way of anybody's life's happiness?" + +He drew her face down to his. He kissed it as he had never kissed it +before. + +"Friends for life! Firm, warm friends for life, you and I and Lucy! God +bless you, Barbara!" + +"Mind! I stand out for a jolly ball at the wedding! Lizzie and I mean to +dance all night. Fancy us!" she added, with a laugh that rang through +the room, "the two forlorn damsels that were to have been brides +ourselves! Never mind; we shan't die for the lack of husbands, if we +choose to accept them. But it's to be hoped our second ventures will +turn out more substantial than our first." + +And Travice Arkell, nearly overcome with emotion and weakness, closed +his eyes and folded his hands as she went laughing from the room, his +lips faintly moving. + +"What can I do unto God for all the benefits that He hath done unto me?" + +It was during this illness of Travice Arkell's that a circumstance took +place which caused some slight degree of excitement in Westerbury. +Edward Blissett Hughes, who had gone away from the town between twenty +and thirty years before, and of whom nobody had heard much, if any, +tidings of since, suddenly made his appearance in it again. His return +might not have given rise to much comment, but for the very prominent +manner in which his name had been brought forward in connexion with the +assize cause; and perhaps no one was more surprised than Mr. Hughes +himself when he found how noted he had become. + +It matters not to tell how the slim working man of three or +four-and-thirty, came back a round, comfortable, portly gentleman of +sixty, with a smart, portly wife, and well to do in the world. Well to +do?--nay, wealthy. Or how he had but come for a transitory visit to his +native place, and would soon be gone again. All that matters not to us; +and his return needed not to have been mentioned at all, but that he +explained one or two points in the past history, which had never been +made quite clear to Westerbury. + +One of the first persons to go to see him was William Arkell; and it was +from that gentleman Mr. Hughes first learnt the details of the dispute +and the assize trial. + +Robert Carr had been more _malin_--as the French would express it--than +people gave him credit for. That few hours' journey of his to London, +three days previous to the flight, had been taken for one sole +purpose--the procuring of a marriage licence. Edward Hughes, vexed at +the free tone that the comments of the town were assuming in reference +to his young sister, made a tardy interference, and gave Robert Carr his +choice--the breaking off the acquaintance, or a marriage. Robert Carr +chose the latter alternative, stipulating that it should be kept a close +secret; and he ran up to town for the licence. Whether he really meant +to use it, or whether he only bought it to appease in a degree the +aroused precautions of the brother, cannot be told. That he certainly +did not intend to make use of it so soon, Edward Hughes freely +acknowledged now. The hasty marriage, the flight following upon it, grew +out of that last quarrel with his father. From the dispute at +dinner-time, Robert went straight to the Hughes's house, saw Martha Ann, +got her consent, and then sought the brother at his workshop, as Edward +Hughes still phrased it, and arranged the plans with him for the +following morning. Sophia Hughes was of necessity made a party to the +scheme, but she was not told of it until night; and Mary they did not +tell at all, not daring to trust her. Brother and sister bound +themselves to secrecy, for the sake of the fortune that Robert Carr +would assuredly lose if the marriage became known; and they suffered the +taint to fall on their sister's name, content to know that it was +undeserved, and to look forward to the time when all should be cleared +up by the reconciliation between father and son, or by the death of Mr. +Carr. They were anxious for the marriage, so far beyond anything they +could have expected, and, consequently, did not stand at a little +sacrifice. Human nature is the same all the world over, and ambition is +inherent in it. Robert Carr, on his part, risked something--the chance +that, with all their precautions, the fact of the marriage might become +known. That it did not, the event proved, as you know; but circumstances +at that moment especially favoured them. The rector of St. James the +Less was ill; the Reverend Mr. Bell was Robert Carr's firm friend and +kept the secret, and there was no clerk. They stole into the church one +by one on the winter's morning. Mr. Bell was there before daylight, got +it open, and waited for them. The moment Mary Hughes was out of the +house, at half-past seven, in pursuance of her engagement at Mrs. +Arkell's, Martha Ann was so enveloped in cloaks and shawls that she +could not have been readily recognised, had anybody met her, and sent +off alone to the church. Her brother and sister followed by degrees. +Robert Carr was already there; and as soon as the clock struck eight, +the service was performed. One circumstance, quite a little romance in +itself, Mr. Hughes mentioned now; and but for a fortunate help in the +time of need, the marriage might, after all, not have been completed. +Robert Carr had forgotten the ring. Not only Robert, but all of them. +That important essential had never once occurred to their thoughts, and +none had been bought. The service was arrested midway for the want of +it. A few moments' consternation, and then Sophia Hughes came to the +rescue. She had been in the habit of wearing her mother's wedding-ring +since her death, and she took it from her finger, and the service was +completed with it. The party stole away from the church by degrees, one +by one, as they had gone to it, and escaped observation. Few people were +abroad that dark, dull morning; and the church stood in a lonely, +unfrequented part. The getting away afterwards in Mr. Arkell's carriage +was easy. + +"Ah," said Mr. Arkell now to the brother, "I did not forgive Robert Carr +that trick he played upon me for a long while, it so vexed my father. He +thought the worst, you know; and for your sister's sake, could not +forgive Robert Carr. Had he known of the marriage, it would have been a +different thing." + +"No one knew of it--not a soul," said Mr. Hughes. "Had we told one, we +might as well have told all. I and Sophia knew that we could keep our +own counsel; but we could not answer beyond ourselves--not even for +Mary." + +"Could you not trust her?" + +"Trust her!" echoed Mr. Hughes. "Her tongue was like a sieve: it let out +everything. She missed mother's ring off Sophia's finger. Sophia said +she had lost it--she didn't know what else to say--and before two days +were out, the town-crier came to ask if she'd not like it cried. Mary +had talked of the loss high and low." + +"Did she never know that there had been a marriage?" asked Mr. Arkell. + +"Quite at the last, when she had but a day or two left of life. Sophia +told her then; she had grieved much over Martha Ann, and was grieving +still. Sophia told her, and it sent her easy to her grave. Soon after +she died, Sophia married Jem Pycroft, and they came out to me. She's +dead now. So that there's only me left out of the four of us," added the +returned traveller, after a pause. + +"And Martha Ann's eldest son became a clergyman, you say; and he died! I +should like to see the other two children she left. Do they live in +Rotterdam?" + +"I am not sure; but you would no doubt hear of them there. They sold off +Marmaduke Carr's property when they came into it, after the trial. It's +not to be wondered at: they had no pleasant associations connected with +Westerbury." + +Edward Hughes burst into a laugh. "What a blow it must have been for +stingy John Carr!" + +"It was that," said Mr. Arkell. "He is always pleading poverty; but +there's no doubt he has been saving money ever since the old squire died +and he came into possession. That can't be far short of twenty years +now." + +"Twenty years! How time flies in this world, sir!" was the concluding +remark of Mr. Hughes. + +There was no drawback thrown in the way of _this_ marriage of Travice +Arkell's, by himself, or by anybody else; and the day for it was fixed +as soon as he became convalescent. Mrs. Arkell had to reconcile herself +to it in the best way she could; and if she found it a pill to swallow, +it was at least a gilded one: Mrs. Dundyke's money would go to him and +Lucy--and there was Miss Arkell's as well. They would be placed above +the frowns of the world the hour they married, and Travice could turn +amateur astronomer at will. + +On the day before that appointed for the ceremony, Lucy, in passing +through the cloisters with Mrs. Dundyke, from some errand in the town, +stopped as she came to that gravestone in the cloisters. She bent her +head over it, for she could hardly read the inscription--what with the +growing dusk, and what with her blinding tears. + +"Oh, Aunt Betsey"--she had caught the name from Travice--"if he had but +lived! If he could but be with us to-morrow!" + +Aunt Betsey touched with her gentle finger the sorrowing face. "He is +better off, Lucy." + +"Yes, I know. But in times of joy it seems hard to remember it. I +wonder--I hope it is not wrong to wonder it--whether he and mamma are +always with me in spirit? I have grown to think so." + +"The thinking it will not do you harm, Lucy." + +"Oh, was it not a cruel thing, Aunt Betsey, for that boy Lewis to throw +him down! He was forgiven by everybody at the time; but in my heart--I +won't say it. But for that, Henry might be alive now. They left the +college school afterwards. Did you know that?" + +"The Lewises? Yes; I think I heard it." + +"A reaction set in for Henry after he died, and the boys grew shy and +cool to the two Lewises. In fact, they were sent to Coventry. They did +not like it, and they left. The eldest went up to be in some office in +London, and the youngest has gone to a private school." + +"It is strange that the two great _inflicted_ evils in your family and +in mine, should have come from the Carrs!" exclaimed Mrs. Dundyke. "But, +my dear, do not let us get into a sorrowful train of thought to-day. +And, all the sorrow we can give, cannot bring back to us those who are +gone." + +"I wish you could have seen him!" murmured Lucy. "He was so beautiful! +he----" + +"Here are people coming, my dear." + +Lucy turned away, drying her eyes. A clerical dignitary and a young lady +were advancing through the cloisters. As they met, the young lady bowed +to Lucy, and the gentleman raised his shovel hat--not so much as to +acquaintances, as because they were ladies passing through his +cloisters. + +"Who are they?" whispered Mrs. Dundyke, when the echo of their footsteps +had died away. + +"The dean and Miss Beauclerc. Aunt Betsey, she knew Henry so well! She +came to see him in his coffin." + +They were at Mr. Arkell's house, in the evening--Lucy, her aunt, and +Mrs. Dundyke. The breakfast in the morning was to be given in it, Miss +Arkell's house being small, and the carriages would drive there direct +from St. James-the-Less. Mrs. Arkell, gracious now beyond everything, +had sent for them to spend the last evening, and see the already +laid-out table in the large drawing-room. She could not spare Travice +that last evening, she said. + +Oh, how it all came home to Mildred! _She_ had gone to that house the +evening before a wedding in the years gone by, taken to it perforce, +because she dared make no plea of refusal. She had seen the laid-out +table in the drawing-room then, just as she was looking down upon it +now. + +"Lucy's destiny is happier!" she unconsciously murmured. + +"Did you speak, Mildred?" + +She raised her eyes to the questioner by her side, William Arkell. She +had not observed that he was there. + +"I?--Yes; I say Lucy's will be a happy destiny." + +"Very happy," he assented, glancing at a group at the end, who were +engaged in a hot and laughing dispute, as to the placing of the guests, +Travice maintaining his own opinion against Aunt Betsey and Lucy. +Travice looked very well now. His hair was long again; his face, +delicate still--but it was in the nature of its features to be so--had +resumed its hue of health. Lucy was radiant in smiles and blue ribbons, +under the light of the chandelier. + +"I begin to think that destinies are more equally apportioned than we +are willing to imagine; that where there are fewer flowers there are +fewer thorns," Mr. Arkell observed in a low tone. "There is a better +life, Mildred, awaiting us hereafter." + +"Ah, yes. Where there shall be neither neglect, nor disappointment, nor +pain; where----" + +"Here you are!" broke out a loud, hearty, laughing voice upon their +ears. "I knew it was where I should find you. Lucy, I have been to your +house after you. Take my load off me, Travice." + +Need you be told that the voice was Barbara Fauntleroy's? She came +staggering in under the load: a something held out before her, nearly as +tall as herself. + +A beautiful epergne for the centre of the table, of solid silver. +Travice was taking it from her, but awkwardly--he was one of the +incapable ones, like poor Peter Arkell. Miss Fauntleroy rated him and +pushed him away, and lifted it on the table herself, with her strong +hands. + +"It's our present to you two, mine and Lizzie's. You'll accept it, won't +you, Lucy?" + +Kindness invariably touched the chord of Lucy Arkell's feelings, perhaps +because she had not been in the way of having a great deal of it shown +to her in her past life. The tears were in her earnest eyes, as she +gently took the hands of Miss Fauntleroy. + +"I cannot thank you as I ought. I----" + +"Thank me, child! It's not so much to thank me for. Doesn't it look well +on the table, though? Mrs. Arkell must allow it to stand there for the +breakfast." + +"For that, _and for all else_," whispered Lucy, with marked emotion, +retaining the hands in her warm clasp. "You must let us show our +gratitude to you always, Barbara." + +Barbara Fauntleroy bent her full red lips on Lucy's fair forehead. "Our +bargain--his and mine--was, that we were all three to be firm and fast +friends through life, you know. Lucy, there's nobody in the world wishes +you happier than I do. Jolly good luck to you both!" + +"Thank you, Barbara," said Travice, who was standing by. + +"And now, who'll come and release Lizzie?" resumed Miss Fauntleroy. "We +shall have her rampant. She's in a fly at the door, and can't get out of +it." + +"Not get out of it!" repeated Mr. Arkell. + +"Not a bit of it. It's filled with flower-pots from our hot-house. We +thought perhaps you'd not have enough for the rooms, so we've brought a +load. But Lizzie got into the fly first, you see, to pack them for +bringing steadily, and she can't get out till they are out. I took care +of the epergne, and Lizzie of the pots." + +With a general laugh, everybody rushed to get to the imprisoned Lizzie. +Lucy lingered a moment, ostensibly looking at the epergne, really drying +her tears away. Travice came back to her. + +He took her in his arms; he kissed the tears from her cheeks; he +whispered words of the sweetest tenderness, asking what her grief was. + +"Not grief, Travice--joy. I was thinking of the past. What would have +become of us but for her generosity?" + +"But for her generosity, Lucy, I should have been her husband now. I +should never have held my darling in my arms. Yes, she was generous! God +bless her always! I'll never hate anybody again, Lucy." + +Lucy glanced up shyly at him, a smile parting her lips at the last +words. And she put her hand within the arm of him who was soon to be her +husband, as they went out in the wake of the rest, to rescue the +flower-pots and Miss Lizzie Fauntleroy. + + * * * * * + +And Mr. St. John and the dean's daughter? Ah! not in this place can +their after-history be given. But you may hear it sometime. + + +THE END. + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Mildred Arkell, (Vol 3 of 3), by Ellen Wood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MILDRED ARKELL, (VOL 3 OF 3) *** + +***** This file should be named 39693.txt or 39693.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/6/9/39693/ + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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