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diff --git a/40278-8.txt b/40278-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fba505d..0000000 --- a/40278-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13688 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Threatening Eye, by Edward Frederick Knight - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Threatening Eye - -Author: Edward Frederick Knight - -Release Date: July 19, 2012 [EBook #40278] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THREATENING EYE *** - - - - -Produced by Mark C. Orton, Jennifer Linklater and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net -(This book was produced from scanned images of public -domain material from the Google Print project.) - - - - - - - - - -"The idea of publishing cheap one-volume novels is a good one, and we -wish the series every success."--_Saturday Review._ - - -VIZETELLY'S ONE-VOLUME NOVELS. - -BY ENGLISH AND FOREIGN AUTHORS OF REPUTE. - -_In Crown 8vo, good readable type, and attractive binding, print 6s. -each._ - - -_FOURTH EDITION._ - -THE IRONMASTER; - -OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. - -BY GEORGES OHNET. - -TRANSLATED WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT FROM THE 146TH FRENCH EDITION. - -The above work, which may be regarded as the greatest literary success -in any language of recent times, has already yielded its author a profit -of upwards of £12,000. - -An edition of "The Ironmaster," in large crown 8vo, beautifully printed -on toned paper, and illustrated with 42 full-page engravings by French -artists, separate from the text, is also published, in handsome binding -and with gilt edges, price 7s. 6d. - - -NUMA ROUMESTAN; - -OR, JOY ABROAD AND GRIEF AT HOME. - -BY ALPHONSE DAUDET. - -TRANSLATED BY MRS. J. G. LAYARD. - - "'Numa Roumestan' is a masterpiece; it is really a perfect work; it - has no fault, no weakness. It is a compact and harmonious - whole."--MR. HENRY JAMES. - - "'Numa Roumestan' is a triumph for the art of literary - seduction."--_Spectator._ - - "The interest of the story is sustained from first to last. It has a - charm of its own which will be felt long after its final page has - been attained."--_Morning Post._ - - -COUNTESS SARAH. - -BY GEORGES OHNET, AUTHOR OF "THE IRONMASTER." - -TRANSLATED FROM THE 118TH FRENCH EDITION. - - "The book contains some very powerful situations and first-rate - character-studies."--_Whitehall Review._ - - "The translation, which forms one of Vizetelly's capital series of - one-volume novels, is a vigorous and obviously faithful one, and to - an interesting plot must be added a number of strongly marked and - cleverly drawn characters."--_Society._ - - -_THIRD EDITION._ - -A MUMMER'S WIFE. - -BY GEORGE MOORE, AUTHOR OF "A MODERN LOVER." - - "'A Mummer's Wife' is a striking book, clever, unpleasant, - realistic.... The woman's character is a very powerful study, and - the strolling player, if less original, is not less completely - presented.... No one who wishes to examine the subject of realism in - fiction with regard to English novels can afford to neglect 'A - Mummer's Wife.'"--_Athenæum._ - - "'A Mummer's Wife,' in virtue of its vividness of presentation and - real literary skill, may be regarded as in some degree a - representative example of the work of a literary school that has of - late years attracted to itself a good deal of the notoriety which is - a very useful substitute for fame."--_Spectator._ - - "Mr. Moore shows unquestionable power in telling Kate Lennox's - story, and the sketch of her second husband--big, frankly sensual, - yet good-natured--is probably as good as anything of the kind could - be."--_Academy._ - - "'A Mummer's Wife' holds at present a unique position among English - novels. It is a conspicuous success of its kind."--_Graphic._ - - -THE CORSARS; - -OR, LOVE AND LUCRE. - -BY JOHN HILL, AUTHOR OF "THE WATERS OF MARAH," "SALLY," &c. - - "It is indubitable that Mr. Hill has produced a strong and lively - novel, full of story, character, situations, murder, gold-mines, - excursions, and alarms. The book will give great pleasure to the - 'proud male,' as M. Zola says, and is so rich in promise that we - hope to receive some day from Mr. Hill a romance which will win - every vote."--_Saturday Review._ - - "The story is well worked out, and the characters have each and all - a distinct backbone. The strong point of the novel is - humour."--_Life._ - - -MR. BUTLER'S WARD. - -BY F. MABEL ROBINSON. - - "A charming book, poetically conceived and worked out with - tenderness and insight."--_Athenæum._ - - "'Mr. Butler's Ward' is a well-planned and well-executed novel. It - is worked out with much insight and considerable incidental - humour."--_Academy._ - - "'Mr. Butler's Ward' is of exceptional merit and interest as a first - novel. The style is excellent throughout."--_Graphic._ - - -PRINCE SERGE PANINE. - -BY GEORGES OHNET, AUTHOR OF "THE IRONMASTER." - -TRANSLATED FROM THE 110TH FRENCH EDITION. - -This is the work that made M. Ohnet's reputation, and was crowned by the -French Academy. - - -BETWEEN MIDNIGHT AND DAWN. - -BY INA L. CASSILIS, AUTHOR OF "SOCIETY'S QUEEN," "STRANGELY WOOED: -STRANGELY WON," &c., - - -THE FORKED TONGUE. - -BY R. LANGSTAFF DE HAVILLAND, AUTHOR OF "ENSLAVED." - - - - - _VIZETELLY'S ONE-VOLUME NOVELS._ - - IX. - - - - - THE THREATENING EYE. - - BY E. F. KNIGHT, - - AUTHOR OF "THE CRUISE OF THE FALCON." - - - - - ... "When Fortune means to men most good, - She looks upon them with a threatening eye." - KING JOHN, Act III., Scene IV. - - [Illustration] - - LONDON: - _VIZETELLY & CO., 42 CATHERINE ST., STRAND._ - 1885. - - Perth: - S. COWAN AND CO., STRATHMORE PRINTING WORKS. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. THE EDUCATION OF MARY GRIMM 9 - - II. ON THE ROAD TO RUIN 17 - - III. THE SECRET SOCIETY 27 - - IV. THE FIRST DAY OF LIBERTY 40 - - V. IN THE TEMPLE 51 - - VI. FROM SCYLLA TO CHARYBDIS 62 - - VII. THE TENTH PLAGUE OF EGYPT 74 - - VIII. LIGHT LOVER 89 - - IX. KILLING NO MURDER 102 - - X. A LOVE THAT DOES NOT RUN SMOOTHLY 115 - - XI. A WRECK 128 - - XII. IN GREAT PERPLEXITY 137 - - XIII. A SCIENTIFIC MURDER 144 - - XIV. SUSAN BRINGS MARY TO AN OLD LOVER 157 - - XV. IN THE LAND OF PHANTOMS 166 - - XVI. SUSAN GOES TO CHURCH 179 - - XVII. A DARKENED MIND 188 - - XVIII. AMONG THE GREEN LEAVES 200 - - XIX. CATHERINE KING VISITS MARY IN THE COUNTRY 211 - - XX. CATHERINE'S DISCOVERY 221 - - XXI. CONDEMNED TO DEATH 228 - - XXII. AN EVENTFUL DAY 238 - - XXIII. THE TAKING AWAY OF THE SHADOW 248 - - XXIV. DESPAIR 259 - - XXV. THE FIRST WARNING 268 - - XXVI. SHATTERED IDOLS 278 - - XXVII. THE SECOND WARNING 288 - - XXVIII. AGAIN THE SHADOW 299 - - XXIX. THE THIRD WARNING 307 - - XXX. THE LAST OF SUSAN RILEY 317 - - XXXI. PEACE 325 - - - - -THE THREATENING EYE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE EDUCATION OF MARY GRIMM. - - -A street in Brixton--one of those dreary streets of what the house-agent -calls eligible eight-roomed residences, in which all the houses are as -like each other as so many peas out of one pod: each two-storied; each -looking out on the street through six windows; each with its little -flight of stone steps leading up to the front door; each with its garden -just six yards square; each with its severe respectability of -expression. For houses, like men, have their expressions which reflect -the characters of their inmates. There is the prim Puritanical house; -the dissipated villa with its neglected gate; the ostentatious _nouveau -riche_ mansion, turning up its nose at its neighbours; the well-kept -pretty cottage, looking contented with itself and all the world, -containing as it does the newly-married couple; the cynical abode of -crusty old bachelorhood surrounded by whims and fads; and so on, each -from palace to slum with a face the meaning of which he who knows how -may read. - -Now the houses of this Brixton Street were of the respectable-genteel -class of houses, not over-wealthy, but very respectable; possibly come -down in the world some of them, but all essentially genteel. - -Married clerks in banks and merchants' offices, with small salaries and -large families, formed the bulk of the occupants of these dwellings. -Besides these there were generally one or two retired military men in -the street; they also with encumbrances, wives and families, that were -rather slip-shod, whereas the military men themselves preserved a -certain amount of fashion in their attire. These gallant officers and -their belongings were wont, however, to encamp for a while only as it -were in the street. They never stayed long, but would vanish -unostentatiously without fuss of any kind, leaving behind painful -regrets in the memories of sundry rate-collectors and tradesmen. These -nomadic warriors alone of all that street's inhabitants were not quite -respectable, though distinctly genteel. - -It was, in short, a dull Brixton street such as our London suburbs have -hundreds of, leading from nowhere in particular to nowhere at all, for -it terminated at its further end in a wilderness of "eligible building -land," a desert of mud and broken crockery that was only awaiting the -advent of the speculative builder to become yet one more excrescence of -this swollen metropolis. - -Of all the respectable houses of this highly respectable street none -were more respectable than No. 22. No grocer hesitated before he -permitted Mrs. Grimm to run up a three months' account at his shop; for -was not Mr. Grimm known to be a man of substance? He was a lawyer in the -city, a solicitor in fair but not clean practice: a Perpetual -Commissioner of Oaths too, it was whispered, and to the outside world -such a title could not but imply more than respectability, it even -savoured of dignity. Again he was wont to come punctually home to his -dinner every evening at seven; he had been five years at No. 22, and had -always paid his way; and finally, what established his credit more than -all else, he was known to own no less than three houses in the street, -bringing him in some thirty pounds a year each. - -The household of No. 22 consisted of this gentleman, his daughter, who -was sixteen years old at the period this story opens, and his second -wife. - -One maid-servant "did" for the family with the assistance of the -daughter. Mrs. Grimm did not condescend to work, but she _superintended_ -energetically. Thus it will be seen that though Mr. Grimm was fairly -well off he did not waste his means in ostentation, and kept up his -establishment on an economical footing. - -One of our most distinguished novelists started life as a gambler. He -was remarkably successful at play, and was rapidly amassing a fortune; -but one day, we are told, he happened to perceive the reflection of his -face in a mirror, when he was so horrified at the haggard appearance it -presented, that he incontinently threw up his destructive pursuit for -that of literature, in which he became even more successful than at the -green table. - -Even as wise as this great author was Mr. Grimm. At the commencement of -his career he too had been a gambler, a dabbler on the stock -exchange--with clients' money sometimes; but perceiving that the fierce -anxiety was turning his hair grey, he forswore gambling: not for -literature though, but for quiet safe swindling. Swindling doesn't age -one like play, and so far as results to oneself are concerned, is the -most innocent vice of the two. A thief is as often as not a dear amiable -fat jovial fellow, with the lightest of consciences. Is your gambler -ever anything but the reverse? - -Mr. Grimm was not a lovable man. He was that perhaps lowest of all -creatures that crawl the earth--a pettifogging attorney, capable of any -meanness, any dishonesty, any cruel robbery of orphan and widow, and -just sharp enough to know where to draw the line between _moral_ crime -and _legal_ crime. He had, it is true, on two occasions run rather close -risks of being scratched off the rolls, and had received many a -well-earned rebuke from judge in open Court or Master in Chambers; but -this "gentleman by Act of Parliament," knew what he was about, and so -far had not overreached himself to ruin as do so many of his class, -when long impunity has made them careless in their knavery. - -Mr. Grimm's first wife was a foolish weak woman of the pale eyes, pale -hair, and washed-out complexion type. - -She had been sold to the attorney by her father. The poor creature -herself, too feeble of will to offer resistance, was led submissively to -the altar. - -The father, one of those retired officers of the selfish, disreputable, -hard-up, red-nosed class, being well entangled in Mr. Grimm's toils, had -handed over his daughter to him in discharge of an old debt connected -with bill-discounting. - -The attractions of the said daughter consisted of an absolute reversion -that would some day fall into her possession. - -To recite the main points of the transaction, in consideration of the -tearing up of the captain's bit of paper, the marriage settlement, which -referred solely to the reversion, was drawn up in a way satisfactory to -Mr. Grimm, and the aforesaid virgin was duly conveyed to the aforesaid -Mr. Grimm, according to the forms which are sanctioned by the Church and -the Law. - -One daughter, Mary, was the sole child of this marriage. - -The unfortunate mother, after a two years' not very agreeable experience -of married life, died off, in the quiet uncomplaining manner which had -characterised her life, before anyone even realised that she was -seriously ill. - -From very early youth the life of poor little Mary was rendered -miserable. It seemed that her father was incapable of any touch of -parental affection; such characters are rare, but his character was a -rare one for its unredeemable meanness. - -He looked on his child as a nuisance--an expensive interloper in his -house that the law obliged him to clothe and feed. He did feed -her--badly, and clothed her somewhat better, for the sake of -appearances, having a regard for his respectability. - -He was cruel as well as mean. When he went down to the city he would -lock up his infant child, keeping her a pallid prisoner within doors, -all through the long summer day. - -But meanness as well as cruelty prompted this treatment. He would not go -to the expense of engaging a nurse for his daughter, and the little -maid-of-all-work, as she said herself, had "quite enough to do without -lugging that child out for an airing." Again it would not at all do for -the child of respectable Mr. Grimm to be seen by the neighbours playing -about the streets by herself like any little street arab--the street -arabs whom she so soon learned to envy; for though starved, cold, beaten -by drunken parents, they were free, free to romp about the gutters with -other children, having luckily parents who had no respectability to keep -up. - -I do not know how Mary learned to read and write: in after years she -could not say herself; but, at any rate, before she was seven, her -father found that he could make his daughter useful. Her small hands, -far whiter and thinner, alas! than they should have been, were employed -all day in copying deeds and legal documents for him, in the round hand -of a solicitor's clerk. - -In the bright summer afternoons, while other children played, her little -brown head was bowed over the dismal folios of chicanery. - -When Mary was about ten years old a stepmother was introduced into the -establishment. Why Grimm married her, what pecuniary or other inducement -was present on this occasion, I do not know. - -But now it came to pass that he--the mean, cowardly, foxy, little man -with the red hair and the shifty eyes--met his match. The second Mrs. -Grimm was a big woman with a purple face, a loud voice, and an almost -Papuan mop of faded-straw coloured hair, a woman who ever overawed the -solicitor. In this couple the offensive qualities of the two sexes were -reversed. She was the more masculine of the two. The little man's -readiest weapon was the feminine needle of nagging; hers the male -bludgeon of blustering brutality. - -Mrs. Grimm number two, without delay, conceived a violent dislike for -her husband's little girl. - -It was on this second marriage that the highly respectable family moved -to No. 22 in the genteel street in Brixton. - -And now the child's position was a more unhappy one than ever; and her -inner life became one of hate, a terrible hate--and children can hate -even more bitterly than their elders--against her father and -step-mother, a hate ever aggravated by the abominable treatment she -received at the hands of both. - -Hers indeed was a miserable childhood, made up of blows, imprisonment, -hard work, no play, no sunshine, no companion, and worse than all, -taunts and insults that made her writhe--hasty words of that description -which rankle deeply in an infant's heart, and are remembered through -life in some cases: a fact some parents do not seem to realize. - -So it was that all childishness was being driven out of the child and -all womanliness out of the woman. - -Before her father's second marriage she had sometimes made friends of -the maids-of-all-work of the house, but now this was no longer to be. -The stepmother not approving of such association was ever on the watch -for it, and on any signs of intimacy between the daughter and the drudge -declaring themselves, the latter was immediately packed off and some -stern and quite unsympathetic person substituted. - -The little girl toiled on at the law-copying and the domestic work, -silent, moody, with a stern expression gathering on her face that made -it look so old for her age. She became--who would not?--a liar and a -hater. But she was brave, she could hate, she could not fear; she gave -up crying before she was twelve years old. - -Her only pleasure, her sole consolation after the blows and insults, was -to lie awake at night and brood revenge. Child-like, she would build -castles in the air, complicated little stories of which she herself was -the central figure; but not the castles in the air of other children, -dreams of fairy-land and happy adventure. No; the plot of all her -fancies was revenge, punishment of her father and stepmother. - -These were her day-dreams too when she sat mechanically copying the -deeds--dreams always of hatred, of torturing her torturers; and at times -she would smile, oh! so strange a smile for a child! when some more -ingeniously terrible mode of repaying that debt of ill would occur to -her infant mind. - -HATE, suppressed but intense HATE! such was the education of Mary Grimm; -so things went on until the period at which this story opens, when Mary -was sixteen. - -She looked a few years older than her age. In spite of her unwholesome -training she was beautiful. She was tall and graceful. Her small head -was well-set on her shoulders. Her features were regular--too regular -perhaps if anything. - -When she went out on an errand, wrapped in her faded shawl, walking -fast, looking neither to the right nor to the left, meeting with cold -and impassive glance, the stare of the passing stranger, how many men, -and women too, would turn and look after the girl, struck by her pale -quiet face. - -It was a face that haunted one. There was something in it that puzzled, -something mysterious in the expression that one could not explain at -first, something inconsistent. - -Inconsistent--that was it. For in the first place her brown hair was out -in a fringe over her forehead. The vulgar boldness of that objectionable -fashion, though it could not make her ugly, was singularly inappropriate -to that Grecian face and head. - -But that was not all: even had her hair been tied up, as it should have -been, in the classic knot, the something inconsistent would still have -been present. It lay in the strange difference of expression between the -eyes and mouth. Looking into her eyes, those large violet long-lashed -eyes that are perhaps the most beautiful of all, one could read in them -delightful possibilities of love, womanly tenderness, the desire for -sympathy, indeed the look that attracts man to woman. - -But looking from the eyes to the mouth a chill would come over the -observer, a disappointment, a feeling as if a barrier were set up -between him and her, an obstacle that kept off love and sympathy. - -For that mouth, beautiful in its moulding, was yet so firm, so hard, not -a sad mouth in any way, but stern, almost cruel. - -It was on the mouth that the demon of strong hate, which the father had -conjured up to his daughter, had placed his mark. - -The woman, the angel in her, looked out of those pathetic eyes. - -One could easily foretell that hers would be a life of suffering--the -suffering of the strong, of fierce conflict between good and evil. - -The signs of battle were already on that young face. Would the tender -eyes come to look cold and hard, and the mouth wax firmer and wickeder, -or would the good angel win the day? would the eyes become tenderer -still, and the mouth soften to lines of sweetness and womanly kindness? - -As with women from the beginning, so with her--the victory depended upon -the MAN; upon whether when he came he threw his strong alliance with the -powers of good or evil. - -So far it was an equal battle. Mary at sixteen wanted but little to make -of her either a devil as only woman can be, or an angel as only woman -can be--which would she become? - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -ON THE ROAD TO RUIN. - - -It is not so much the custom now as formerly for unmarried men, -barristers and others, to reside in the Temple and the other ancient -Inns of Court. - -How many of us look back with a sigh of regret to that old jovial free -bachelor life in the snug chambers! Indeed, those were pleasant days. To -those who have led that life how full of associations is busy Fleet -Street! Ah me! the old taverns we frequented in our youth--the familiar -faces of the waiters in them who knew us and all our ways so well. The -boon-companionship of fellow-barristers, Bohemian litterateurs, and all -the wild, witty manhood that used to haunt that neighbourhood. - -Temple Bar was the centre of a land as interesting in its way as the -Quartier Latin was--a Cocagne of barristers, writers, and actors;--a -jovial trio of professions that much fraternise with each other even in -these sober respectable and rather dull days. - -Even now there are one or two of the old taverns left, where in -sand-floored rooms careless groups from Grub Street sit at night over -pipe and excellent punch--punch so cunningly mixed, of such good liquor -too, punch that you cannot find in those new gaudy cafés that have -lately sprung up in London, great palaces of sham and glitter, fit only -to fascinate the undergraduate and the shop-boy. - -But clubs have killed the old tavern life; and certainly some of the -lower class of literary clubs about the Strand are far from desirable -substitutes for the antique haunts of the Bohemian. - -On a fine summer evening, a young barrister sat in his chambers in the -Temple. He was in his shirt-sleeves, smoking meditatively, waiting till -it was time to go out and dine at a restaurant. - -His meditations did not seem to be of an over lively nature; indeed, he -looked excessively bored and melancholy. Just as he rose with a weary -yawn to go into his bed-room, and prepare himself for sallying forth, -there came a loud knock at his door. - -"Who the deuce can that noisy person be?" he muttered to himself, as he -approached the outer defences of his castle on tip-toe, and proceeded to -reconnoitre his visitor through the key-hole before admitting him. - -"A man. Can't make out who it is, but doesn't look dangerous, so here -goes," and he unfastened the ponderous lock. - -A young man of his own age was standing in the passage, whom he at once -recognised with a shout of cordial welcome. "Why, Duncan, old man, -you're the last fellow I expected to see; you have not looked me up -these six months. Come in, you rascal! what do you mean by it?" and he -struck his visitor on the back with a jovial familiarity that only a -long intimacy could warrant. - -"I have called on you half-a-dozen times, man," replied the other young -man, "but you are always out. I always find your oak sported, with a -little slip of paper on it saying that Mr. Hudson will be back in five -minutes. I'm the one who has just cause of complaint: you never call at -my diggings." - -"You live in such a deuced out of the way hole--where is it again--Chalk -Farm? You can't expect a man to travel a Sabbath-day's journey on the -remote chance of finding you in." - -"Well, now I _have_ got you, I am going to inflict myself on you for a -few hours," said Duncan. "What are you going to do to-night? Come and -dine at the Gaiety or Blanchard's, or somewhere, and we'll go to the -promenades afterwards." - -"With pleasure; just as you came in I was wondering what on earth to do -with myself to-night. I feel as if I wanted waking up. I am rather in -the blues to-day, but--" and a look of blank dismay came to his face. - -"Well?" said his friend in an inquiring tone. - -"The truth is, I'm rather hard up just now--don't like to risk another -cheque at the bank, and I don't think I've got three shillings in the -world." - -"I can lend you two pounds, old man, if that will do," Duncan promptly -urged. - -"Thanks very much; you're a brick. Just sit down and smoke a cigarette, -you'll find some good old cognac in that decanter, while I wash my hands -and brush up." - -These two young men had been friends for more than half their lives. -They had been chums in old Westminster as boys, were at Cambridge -together, and at the same college; but since they had been in town their -separate paths in life had gradually diverged, so that now they saw but -little of each other. - -Thomas Hudson--Tommy Hudson as his intimates called him--had taken up -the Bar as a profession. He was a pleasant young Irishman of -twenty-seven or thereabouts. His practice was a small one, and what -there was of it he had acquired rather by impudence than by knowledge of -law. - -He was to be found in the Criminal and Police Courts; and solicitors had -discovered his value in a certain class of cases. He was good on a -losing side. No one could talk down this bold young gentleman. He would -retort wittily to Sergeant Buzfuz, and turn the laugh against some -insolent old counsel, who thought to brow-beat so young an opponent--for -Tommy, with his fresh complexion and his merry Irish eyes, appeared -younger even than he was. - -But his was an inferior sort of a practice, one that did not benefit -his reputation, one that was not likely to improve or lead to anything -better. - -His income, if calculated from his fee-book, was small, but still -smaller was the reality. The solicitors who were on his books were not -the most respectable of their profession, and oftener than not, forgot -to hand over to Counsel the honorarium which they had taken very good -care to extract from their clients. - -But as Tommy had a small private income, he managed to scrape along -somehow, though he was generally head over heels in debt, and in a -chronic state of being "clean broke," as he himself jovially described -it to his friends. - -Like many other young barristers of small practice, he was Bohemian in -his ways: he frequented taverns, was often an associate of not -over-respectable characters, had rather drifted out of the society of -ladies, and indeed voted as slow any party at which a fair amount of -Bohemian freedom did not prevail. - -A merry supper-party, at which the feminine element was represented by -frolicsome young actresses from the burlesque theatres, was far more to -his taste than the duller entertainments of Mrs. Grundy. - -Careless, generous, with little evil in him, though his moral code was -not such as finds favour everywhere out of Bohemia, he was not naturally -a bad sort of a fellow, but being weak of will, was too easily -influenced by his surroundings, a fault which embraces every other. - -On the other hand, his friend Duncan, who enjoyed no private income, was -a struggling physician. - -His was a profounder and stronger nature; not so generally emotional as -Hudson, he was yet capable of far fiercer passions and deeper feelings -when they were aroused. - -"Now I'm ready to do anything you like," said the barrister as he came -out of the bed-room, and the two men went out arm-in-arm, exulting in -their youth and health, casting aside all care for the nonce, determined -to enjoy themselves. - -For, not being young men of the new school, they _could_ enjoy -themselves, and were not ashamed of their capacity for pleasure. They -were young barbarians who did not even have the good taste to effect the -elegant virtue of _ennui_, if they had it not. They could laugh at a -play; they could enjoy their pipes and grog as they chatted in their -rooms; they could devour steaks with a healthy appetite; they despised -mashers and lemon-squash; in short, were Philistines and not effeminate -beings of the new style, full of fads and affectations, serenely soaring -above all generous virtues and vices. - -They dined in the Gaiety grill-room, not without a cheering bottle of -Burgundy, and then adjourned upstairs for a cigar, and a cup of black -coffee, with its accompanying liqueur of cognac. - -Having now reached the point of perfect physical comfort, and the fit -state of mind for appreciation of amusement, the question arose whither -to go next. - -"The Promenade Concerts would be the best place to go to," said Dr. -Duncan. - -"Why, man, they don't commence for another two months yet," replied the -barrister, laughing. - -"You are right; you are more up to these things than I am. Well, suppose -as we are here we drop into the Gaiety Theatre: Nelly Farren and Terry -are always amusing." - -"It's the best thing we can do--time's up too, so let's move." - -Having enjoyed a burlesque, which was attractive in consequence rather -of the cleverness of the two above-mentioned comedians than the humour -of the author; the two young men returned to the Temple, to finish up -the evening in Hudson's chambers with an hour's chat over pipes and hot -whisky. - -The conversation commenced to assume rather a thoughtful tone, as it -often does when two old friends, who have not seen each other for some -time, are together. - -"Having answered all your cross-examination as to my doings, it's my -turn to pump you now," Dr. Duncan was saying. - -"How are you getting on at the bar?" - -"Badly, very badly. I wish to God I had never taken up such a -profession. I was never cut out for a lawyer." - -"But I see your name in the papers sometimes--" - -"_Sometimes!_ but it's a struggling, miserable sort of a practice. I -wish I had become a leech like you, Duncan. I might have done something -then. Now, _you_ were cut out for a barrister." - -"How do you make that out?" - -"Because you are steady--not a volatile ass like I am. It is this -idleness, this waiting for briefs, that ruins a weak man. You see, -Duncan, I'm a restless being that must be doing something, and doing it -hard. I can work hard when I get the work, but when I can't get it, then -I must be playing hard." - -"Dissipating hard, I suppose you mean," said the doctor with a smile. - -"Well, that's about it." - -"You ought to have sown your wild oats by this time, my boy. To begin -with, what makes you drink such a precious lot of whisky. If I had taken -half as many glasses as you have to-night, I shouldn't be fit for much -work to-morrow morning." - -"Oh, I'm not afraid of going much too far in that line. I can foresee -that my fate is rather to be driven to the dogs by the women," replied -Hudson. - -"That is very probable, judging from the reports that are current about -you," said the doctor. - -"Yes, Duncan," continued the barrister, "I don't mind confessing myself -to an old friend like you. It _is_ the women--and I seem to be becoming -a greater idiot every year. My mind's always distracted by some intrigue -or other, generally with some actress who chucks me up as soon as I have -spent upon her all the money I can raise by every means known to the -Gentiles. There's nothing that so unsettles a man's mind, so unfits him -for work, and is so certain to ruin him as such a life. I know all -this, but I can't pull myself together and reform. In short, I'm a -confounded fool." - -"Some wise man said that no man ever does any good in the world till he -gets women altogether out of his mind," said the doctor. - -"And how on earth does that same wise man propose to bring about that -happy consummation?" asked Hudson. - -"I suppose the wise man meant that as long as a man passed a large -portion of his life in a sort of restless fever, worrying about one -fancy after another, always full of anxiety and uncertainty over some -new intrigue, he was in too unsettled a condition to concentrate himself -on really good work. The remedy, I suppose, is to marry." - -"Marriage is certainly often a good settler," replied Hudson; "but it's -all very well to say marry--the question is how and to whom? You are -clever at diagnozing, doctor. You don't tell me where to get the -medicine." - -"That, of course, I can't," replied his friend with a laugh. "But -seriously, old man, you must take care what you are about. You are -drifting. I know your temperament. You are living here alone in -chambers; I know the life--too much leisure, unlimited temptations, -little society. It is not to be wondered at that so many of you young -barristers go to the dogs. - -"I knew a man, as clever, as good a fellow as ever lived. He was a good -deal my senior. He is a barrister, a briefless barrister, with a -considerable private income. By the very loneliness of his life, for he -too did not care about going into society, he was driven out for mere -companionship's sake into vicious ways. He was of an uxorious nature, -not sensual, but to be in love with some woman was a necessity of his -life. His idleness, of course, intensified the necessity. - -"His were not cold and heartless attachments. As long as it lasted, his -was a generous fierce love enough, God knows. Women adored him; but a -woman could twist him round her little finger; a bad, clever woman could -ruin him. But he was not ruined, in the ordinary sense of the word, by -women; but ruined morally he has been, utterly. A morbid restless -craving for excitement grew on him. When not with women he was generally -half-drunk. A good woman could have saved that weak generous -affectionate nature, and made his a noble and useful life. But he never -came across a really good woman, so what happened? As he grew older, -sentiment, idealism, became dull. His intrigues were no longer poetical. -His illusions vanished, but women of course became more than ever a -necessity to him. He became the cold sensualist, the miserable being -that has worn out all power of love, but yet is devoured by a desire -which seeks all sorts of abnormal means for its gratification. - -"He knew what a degraded wretch he had become, what an unhappy slave to -vices that tortured without giving joy. Sometimes, for a week or so at a -time, his conscience would wake up, and would present so terrible a -picture to him, that to avoid madness he would drink--drink deeply, -moody, sulky, and silent all the time, looking like a wild beast. - -"I have seen him during one of these long spells of despairing agony, -and the expression of his face was such as I could never forget. Hell -must be full of such faces. Hudson, I saw that man to-day, I left him -just before I came here." - -Dr. Duncan paused and seemed rather overcome by emotion; he mixed -himself another glass of grog, and after swallowing some continued: - -"I was called to see him in his present lodgings off the Strand, with -the object of signing a certificate of his lunacy." - -Hudson, whose face had assumed a thoughtful and gloomy expression during -this narrative, shivered perceptibly and put his glass to his lips but -returned it to the table untasted, and said in a low voice: - -"Ay, Duncan, I am afraid that same story will be told of me some day. -Even now, I sometimes think it is too late--too late.... But, dash it -all! let's have no more of this ghastly discourse. I am going to give -myself a stiff glass of grog to drive away the blues you have conjured -up to me." - -"It is getting late. I have to be up early, to-morrow, and I must be -off," said the doctor, and he rose and seized Hudson by the hand. "I -hope I have not riled you, old man, with my sermonizing. Sermonizing -isn't much in my line; but you know you are a very old friend of mine, -and I take real interest in you." - -"I know that," replied the barrister, giving his friend a warm grip of -the hand. - -"Well, good-night, old man; I'll look you up again soon." - -After Dr. Duncan had gone, Hudson opened the window, and leaning on the -sill, stayed there motionless, and thinking of many things as he looked -out on the beautiful court, with its splashing fountain, and across the -green to the Thames beyond, and the distant Surrey shore. - -This is one of the most delightful views in London, and on such a quiet -summer night as this was, with a clear sky filled with stars above it, I -doubt whether any of the great cities of Europe could produce a more -impressive scene than this oasis in the great desert of bricks and -mortar, this quiet old-fashioned garden between the quaint -buildings--all, too, so full of memories and associations. - -What memories of his thoughtless childhood, of his clever and flattered -boyhood with its high hopes, and of his utterly wasted manhood, -succeeded each other in crowds in the young man's mind, as he gazed out -upon that peaceful scene! - -"Ay!" he thought, "I'm nearly thirty now--and what have I -done?--nothing--and I'm becoming weaker and more idiotic every day, -drifting--yes, Duncan is quite right--I _am_ drifting. It will soon be -too late to travel back, too." - -Oppressed by his melancholy reflections he closed the window with a -slam, and returning to the table mixed himself a stiff glass of grog. -After drinking it he mixed himself another, and by the time he had -finished that one he felt more comfortable. His melancholy mood departed -and was succeeded by a very sanguine one. He became brave and hopeful -once again, and he said to himself, "It it not too late; I will do -something yet, and astonish all these sober dunces who shake their heads -and whisper to each other that poor Tommy has gone to the dogs. I have -ten times more ability than they have, and I will show them what I can -do when I like. I will knock off this silly trifling and buckle to -without delay." - -And he made a great many very noble plans and resolutions of reform -under the genial influence of his hot spirits and water, as he had done -dozens of times before--plans and resolutions that would evaporate from -his brain as quickly as the alcoholic fumes that begat them, to be -replaced by nerveless despair and sullen recklessness. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE SECRET SOCIETY. - - -Those secret societies, Nihilist or whatever else they may be called, -whose aim is the subversion of all existing institutions, find their -recruits chiefly among the discontented, those whose hopes have been -dashed to the ground, whose lives have been failures. If to this quality -of conscious failure be added a nature enthusiastic and dreamy, the very -readiest material for the dangerous conspirator is presented. There are -many men of this class in every civilized nation, and the ranks of the -fraternities are full of them. As education spreads there will be still -more; for the means of satisfying the ambitions and wants that education -brings cannot increase in anything like proportion to those -ever-multiplying wants. - -And if this be so with men, how much more is it so with women? women the -dependant, whose happiness in life so much hangs on marriage, and of -whom so many must be condemned to lives of single misery--women the -dreamers, the emotional, and for whose ambitions there is no field. - -How many tens of thousands there must be that gnaw out their hearts in -lives wasted and objectless, despised of men and happier sisters? - -Such women are ready to follow any crazed visionary. - -It is a necessity of a woman's nature to cling to the companionship of a -Man, to lean on the stronger sex. Woman too must have a God, a -religion. Without these her womanhood has not been perfected. - -A Man can stand alone, self-reliant. He can know no God, have no -religion and yet not be over bad and certainly not unhappy. His -life-work is enough religion for him. But a woman who has no religion, -is on the way to becoming a fiend; she is an unnatural monster. Weak, -unstable, she has no strength, no honour, no goodness by herself. - -Woman's goodness is as a delicate flower which, when brought into the -foul air of the city, withers and dies at once. Man's goodness is of -hardier growth. The Soul of Man can be soiled and yet remain -half-angelic; but the Angel in Woman spreads its wings and goes off -altogether when contamination comes, and straightway she is possessed of -a devil. - -For these reasons the Woman that has no God, no love for which to -sacrifice herself, is better than a man for the purpose of a secret -society. - -Again, a Woman is more thorough-going than a Man. If she throws herself -into a conspiracy, she throws her whole self. Weaker in nature than Man -she is yet stronger, for the whole of that nature is concentrated on one -object. The larger nature of a Man is divided among many objects. He has -a mind that grasps many things together. If he is a lover he is not -_wholly_ a lover as a Woman would be. He still thinks of his business, -of a hundred matters. He is selfish and wise; but a Woman in her love or -hate is possessed by the emotion and can think of nothing else. As a -conspirator a Man is not _wholly_ a conspirator; he weighs the result to -himself, to his family; he looks far ahead and around and behind; he -reasons, so is more timid than the Woman. She as a conspirator is -nothing else; she cannot consider all sides of a question; if she be won -over by some wild Nihilistic theory or other mad scheme, she becomes a -monomaniac; no arguments unfavourable to it can in the least prevail -with her. She is blind to obstacles, reckless of consequences; so she -is braver and more ready to act than Man, crueller more ruthless in the -execution of her schemes. - -In Paris in revolution time, when the people come down to the streets, -it is the Women that urge on the men to their mad excesses; it will ever -be so. - -Those who know Woman best, who know what godlessness and lovelessness -and failure combined can make of her, will not be much surprised that so -many were found to join the Sisterhood, a meeting of which I am about to -describe, although its objects were so horrible. - -Those scientific Ethics, which are so jubilantly preached by the -optimists now-a-days, lead logically to the opinions professed by this -sisterhood. The abominations which they contemplated are but the -_reductio ad absurdum_ of Utilitarianism, the Morality without a God. - - * * * * * - -Catherine King was well past forty, a tall, pale, angular, hard-featured -woman, with a strong obstinate narrow mind; that type of mind that has -done more harm in the world than all the vicious temperaments. Had she -been religious she would have been sternly Puritanical, fiercely -intolerant, willing to cast her children into the flames if they -differed from her own strict views. - -But Catherine King was not religious, neither was she a mother, so the -intensity of the narrow zeal within her found another vent. - -What her past history had been, who she was, none of those who came -across her knew. She had no intimates. All that could be said was that -she must have been of respectable family, was well educated, and that -she had a modest private income on which she contrived to exist -comfortably enough. - -Catherine King had for some years taken interest in social questions. -She became a fanatical Radical, a believer in the more violent -Socialist schemes--the champion of the oppressed against the oppressors. - -I do not imagine that it was so much the tendency of a logical mind, -still less genuine sympathy for the supposed oppressed, that caused her -to take up this line, as it was the fever of her vehement temperament -driving her to clutch at something in place of love or religion to -satisfy its restlessness. - -Once having tried them, she became absorbed in these studies; she was -enthusiastic, mad, in her hatred, of all that are in authority, of rank, -power, law, morality. She had her dreams of the perfect State--a curious -State, wherein the individual was considered of no account, was as a -worm, to be trodden under foot beneath the progress of the mighty -aggregate, the happy race; though how a race can be happy while its -individuals are not so, was a question that troubled her as little as it -does most other votaries of the religion of humanity, that car of -Juggernaut to the fanatics of science. - -She became a monomaniac, and of that sort of which rulers of men are -made. - -The strong-willed intolerant ones do not make leaders unless they have -something more, though they make good followers. To rule a mob, one must -be insane, as a crowd is ever insane; one must be crazed, full of mad -inspirations, as of a Mænad. The false prophet must be a lunatic, and -believe in himself as a prophet--at least sometimes, else he will not -attract the multitude. - -Now, Catherine was just one of those half-insane zealots that can -influence weak minds, that become Nihilist chiefs, founders of -religions, queens of hysterical shakers, or generalissimos of -street-perambulating fanatics, drunk with noise and folly. - -When addressing a meeting of political dreamers, her dark eyes flashed, -her gestures were commanding, her mellow voice trembled with impassioned -earnestness, the whole woman inspired respect, attention, and lastly -conviction in those who listened to her. - -So it was that she gradually became more and more influential among -certain strong-minded and certain silly women, who had (as they called -it) enfranchised themselves--by which was meant that they had unsexed -and so rendered themselves ridiculous to the outside world of -common-place people. - -She became the president of a society of rather garrulous ladies. This -society was open to any who cared to join, and pay the modest annual -subscription which defrayed the expenses of two rooms in Bloomsbury. - -But this was nothing more than an ordinary Radical debating club, and so -could not for long suffice the ambition and restlessness of Catherine -King. Breaking away gradually from the less violent members, she with a -few kindred spirits organized, with no little judgment, a secret -society, whose objects were undeniably seditious, of which debate was by -no means the sole business, actions as well as words being within the -plan. These objects were at first too vague--too general for practical -carrying out; but gradually they narrowed to a definite and feasible -aim. - -Catherine King and five other women alone were acquainted with the -entire scheme, with the names of all the members, and the more secret -machinery of the organization. These six comprised the inner circle. -There was a second circle of sisters who knew much, but were not trusted -to know all. These were to be the really active agents in the -movement--they executed the decrees of the six. - -There was yet a third circle of sisters who knew nothing of the -dangerous secrets of the aim. These were undergoing an apprenticeship of -careful trial and watching, before being admitted to the privileges of -the second circle. - -Save of the six of the inner circle, there were no meetings of the -members of this society. These six arranged a plan of action; then, as -much of it as was needful was confided by them to those of the second -circle, one by one. Then those of the second circle, by private -conversation and argument, educated those of the third circle up to -views advanced enough to allow of their initiation to the second circle. - -General meetings were dispensed with as being not only dangerous but -unnecessary; for all the members were agreed in their views. No one was -admitted even into the third circle who was not a thorough-going -revolutionist. It was merely a question as to who were to be -trusted--who were brave, zealous, wicked, mad enough for action. - -This society was not avowedly a branch of the formidable Nihilist -confederation; yet, most of the sisters entertained a belief that such -really was the case, though the secret was preserved by Catherine King -and one or two others of the inner circle alone. Catherine was reputed -to be the agent of the Nihilists. She encouraged this belief by a -well-calculated reticence when the subject of Nihilism was mentioned. -She well knew how a little mystery of this kind strengthened her hand. - -No ominous name suggestive of blood and destruction had been given to -this society. It was simply entitled--THE SISTERS. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. King--as she was always called, though there was no reason to -suppose that she had ever been married--lived with one maid-servant in a -little house in a northern suburb of London. - -In the parlour of this house, four of the inner circle were sitting one -evening. It was here that they always did meet to discuss their plans, -and yet that maid-servant, who was of rather dull intelligence, did not -entertain the least suspicion that her mistress was connected with any -political societies whatever. - -This was an important meeting--yet all looked innocent enough. The room -was quietly furnished, rather bare of pretty trifles for a woman's, and -in which the book-shelves were well filled with works on political -economy, infidel philosophy, and sociology. - -Like a woman thorough-going even to absurdity, she had cast away all -more frivolous literature for good, on taking to these studies. There -was not a novel--not a volume of poems in the room. - -Four quiet-looking women, drinking tea and conversing calmly--not a very -formidable conspiracy, this, to outward appearance; but Catherine King -hated theatrical clap-trap: there were no melodramatic properties about -this society. "The less fuss the better," she used to say, "for those -that mean action." - -Of the three women with Catherine King, only one was young--had -pretensions to good looks--had been a mother; and she was the most -ruthless, the most thorough-going of all, ready for any dark deed, -loving cruelty for its own sake. Perhaps Susan Riley had been gentle -once, but experiences, with which her youth, her beauty, and motherhood -had something to do, had turned the course of her life, stopped the -flowing of the milk of her affections, so that it returned on her -souring, and made of her a fiend. It is but too easy for the masterful -Man to thus drive away for ever the guardian angel of the woman, and -leave her the possessed of devils. - -Of the other two women, one--who was known to her associates as Sister -Eliza--was a stout, motherly-looking person with a jovial expression. -She kept a boarding-house in Bayswater, which generally contained all -sorts of intriguing, or, at least, mysterious foreigners, spies, or -Nihilists--it was difficult to say which. - -Now, this woman, though of so simple and innocent a countenance, and -apparently so unobservant of her boarders, so free from foolish -curiosity, contrived to know all their ways, and made use of this -knowledge at times in a manner that would have astonished them. - -A mercenary spy and a faithless confidant to others, she was faithful to -Catherine King, whom she had long known, and for whom she had acquired -that sort of unreasoning affection that all women, even the hardest of -them, are liable to, be it for a man, or for one of their own sex, or -even for a pet cat. - -So, seeing that she was a woman, this inconsistency in the character of -this treacherous creature is not strange. - -Loving her idol, she fell into her ways, became an ardent follower of -her in her visionary schemes, and prudent to excess in all her other -relations, would be ready to commit any rash act to further the aim of -the sisterhood when commanded to do so by her chief. With her cunning -and caution, she was of the greatest use to the Society. She was not so -mad as the others, was endowed with less genius, but then she was so far -more sensible. - -The third woman was a lean, spectacled, ugly blue-stocking, who had -gradually drifted into all this devilry, simply because there was -nothing else she could do. Her ugliness had driven her into the -sisterhood. She was not so useful as the others, not having the -eloquence and persuasive power of honest, mad Catherine King; the -winning _bonhommie_ of the intriguing and clever boarding-house keeper; -or the ready devilishness of Susan Riley, which won over many to the -cause, for under certain circumstances women are fascinated by -devilishness even in their own sex. - -No; she of the spectacles, with her ugliness and awkward ways, was far -from being a successful gainer over of disciples; but she was earnest, -discreet, clever, and above all, wealthy, and all her wealth was at the -disposition of the Society. - - * * * * * - -"Eliza," Catherine King was saying as she poured herself out some tea, -"things are beginning to look hopeful: we can trust these five at any -rate to educate girls for our purpose, and that is a good beginning." - -"I am not so sure of that," replied the boarding-house keeper. "I have -no doubt about the first three of the sisters on your list; but we -cannot be too cautious. Let us wait a few months longer before we tell -everything to the last two: they are good women, but I must say I should -like to keep my eye on them for some time yet." - -"You surely can have no suspicions." - -"I have not as to their honesty," continued sister Eliza, "but I have -still as to their prudence. They don't know the world well enough yet. -They will find plenty of disciples, hundreds who will agree with all our -theories. But will they know when these disciples are ripe, and can be -trusted with the secret?... and we must have no failures. - -"It is no easy matter to work up a girl until you know thoroughly -whether you can tell her all with safety, or must put her aside at once -as useless. It requires a lot of tact--have those two sisters got that -tact? I am not sure. Think of the danger of telling all to a girl too -soon. - -"Why, nine out of ten of the second circle, who profess so much and mean -it too, would look rather strange if you were to say, 'Now you are to go -and practice what you have been so long preaching.' The scheme looks -perfect as long as it's only a question of talking, but when it comes to -doing, what a lot of ugly holes one can pick in it at once. I know them, -I tell you." - -"It will be a question of time," said Catherine, thoughtfully. "I think -you are right, Eliza; but it _must_ succeed: there must be thousands -brave enough to act up to their convictions; and how much could be done -with only one hundred!" - -"Now, that girl living with me," continued the boarding-house keeper, -"is a good scholar. I have been educating her and watching her for -three years, ever since I persuaded you to admit her into the second -circle. I think she is safe. With your leave I will now tell her the -secret of the aim--she is ready for it." - -"My leave! of course," replied Mrs. King. "Who knows better than you -when a girl's mind is ripe? The sooner we begin the better, now that the -machinery is complete. Look in how many quarters we have interest! Why, -nothing will be easier than to scatter the girls through the -associations of nurses--to have them trained in the hospitals." - -"Yes," said Eliza, "I was looking through my little book to-day We have -enough correspondents and fools whom we have taken in, to get us as many -characters for our nurses as we want. I can guarantee now to obtain -places for our girls in the biggest houses in England, through my -innocent agents. You should look into my book of introductions, and my -collections of genuine characters. I think I deserve credit for them." - -"You have worked that department of yours very cleverly, sister Eliza," -broke in another voice: that of the woman who was young, and had been a -mother, a voice not unpleasant in tone, but very much so in its -suggestion, for it had a hard ring in it, of suppressed spite and -jubilant malice. - -It was as the voice of a female Mephistopheles, an enemy of mankind -generally; but she could hide this expression when she liked, and speak -like an angel of love and pity. - -"Sisters," continued the strange woman, "I have formed a purpose. Though -I am one of the six inner, and so properly should confine myself to -training girls, yet, first because I wish it, secondly, because I am the -only one of you six young and prepossessing enough to do so, I intend to -be an actor myself in this drama. I am now applying to enter an -association of nurses. I shall want some assistance from you in the way -of introductions and references, oh, ingenious Eliza! and then I'll -start the game myself." - -"You shall have them in two days," replied sister Eliza. - -"And by the way," continued sister Susan, with a gleam in her eye, and a -low cold laugh, "by the way, sister Catherine, are the little -Malthusians all ready?" - -"They are," replied the chief in a voice of calm seriousness that -contrasted with the jarring levity of the former speaker's manner. -"Sister Jane has brought some to me. You all know the history of the -stuff do you not?" - -"I have not heard it," said the blue-stocking. - -"Jane is a native of Demerara. She is, as you can see, of mixed breed; -yet her mother was not of negro blood, but an Indian woman belonging to -a tribe that lives far up in the unknown forests of the interior. - -"These Indians are a tall and handsome people that hold no commerce with -the white man. Jane's father was an old Colonial Dutchman, whose estate -was unjustly forfeited by a decision of the Court of the oppressors in -Georgetown. - -"A ruined, disheartened man, he went up to explore the interior, -possibly in search of the precious metals which are known to exist -there. He lived with the Indians for years--took the Cacique's daughter -as his wife. Jane is the child of this union. She stayed some years -among her mother's people, indeed until her father discovered the gold -that restored his fortunes and brought him to England. - -"Now, she was taught a secret by these Indians that is only confided to -the eldest born daughter of each family, according to a custom that is -looked upon as religiously binding. - -"This secret is the manufacture of the poison which we have selected as -the best for our purpose." - -"It is the wourali," interrupted the blue-stocking. - -"It is not," proceeded Catherine. "It is better still, more subtle, -though not so rapid in its effects. When an animal is wounded with an -arrow that has been dipped in this, it does not die at once; indeed, for -a couple of days or so no effects seem to be experienced; then -constitutional but not local derangement is set up; the wound heals -readily, but a gradual painless decay commences; the appetite is lost; -the creature wastes and weakens into death, which generally takes place -within a month of the innoculation. - -"We are now satisfied that no test known to modern science can detect -the presence of this poison. For our purpose it can be injected into the -arm, with a hypodermic syringe, or even dropped on any delicate mucous -membrane. We have experimented on it in every way, and are more than -satisfied with the result." - -"Ah!" chuckled the wizened blue-stocking, as she took off and wiped her -spectacles, "I can picture to myself the doctors puzzling over these -strange patients. They will shake their heads, mutter '_marasmus_,' and -be at a total loss to explain such rapid decline. There will be long -articles in the _Lancet_ on the subject of this new disease--this deadly -children's plague. It will be very interesting to read their theories -about it." - -"The game will soon begin," said Susan Riley, "and then woe to the -tyrants!" - -"Woe to them!" repeated the sisters in a low chorus, which brought a -smile to the beautiful wicked face of the young mother. - -After a pause sister Eliza spoke: - -"You yourself have no pupils at present, sister Catherine; have you -found a new one yet? You told me the other day you were looking for -one." - -"Not yet," Catherine replied. "I have not come across the sort of girl I -want in London. I wish to find a young girl whom I can educate for our -work from the very beginning. I am going to the North to-morrow, to my -own country, for a week, I have an idea that though I have failed in -London I shall succeed there. It may be a foolish fancy, but I think -something will come of it. The temper of our Northern people is better -adapted for this work than that of the flighty Southerners. But now I -must show you the results of my last experiment." - -She went out and returned with a little dog in her arms. So emaciated -was it, so weak that one would have imagined that only a long period of -starvation could have reduced it to this condition. - -It kept its eyes closed, save for an occasional lack-lustre glimmer -through half-shut lids. It was too weak to move a limb, but it was -patient, evidently not suffering, and it attempted to lick its -mistress's hand as she brought it carefully in. - -Said Catherine King, "Three weeks ago I injected one _minim_ of this," -showing a flask of straw-coloured fluid which she held in her hand, -"into this animal's leg. Its appetite fell away. It wasted gradually, -till it has come to what you see. For three days it has refused all -nourishment, and even within a few hours I expect--" - -As she spoke the little dog opened its eyes, gave one last affectionate -look at its mistress, and with a low whine stretched out its legs and -was dead. - -"Woe to the oppressors!" whispered the blue-stocking. - -"Woe to the oppressors!" again muttered the sisters in chorus. - -"Poor Toby!" said Catherine King after a pause. The sudden death of her -old pet, for such the dog had been, had startled her into a slight -passing emotion. - -Two of the sisters observed this emotion--the faithful Eliza, who looked -sympathetic, and Susan Riley, on whose face a sneering smile sat for a -moment. - -The blue-stocking of course noticed nothing, but continued her -employment of examining and smelling at the poison bottle with her thin -scientific nose. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE FIRST DAY OF LIBERTY. - - -It was so lovely a summer morning that even the dreary Brixton street -looked almost cheerful. So bright a blue sky was overhead, so glorious -was the sunlight, that the bushes and flowers in the make-believe -gardens in front of each house were fair to the eye as if they had been -growing in the pure atmosphere of some far country side. - -The smuts that covered them were not apparent under this flood of light, -and their foliage waved merrily when the gusts of the fresh breeze -passed them. It was the South West wind that was blowing, that most -blessed visitant of our isles, spite of its blusterous ways--the sweet -wind from over the seas that stirs the blood to the quick flow of joyous -youth again, and makes one to dance and laugh for very delight of life. -How, when the South Wester sweeps through the skies, even close London -feels its spell! it rushes down the innermost slums, drives back the -foul vapours, till the air is almost as that over the mid-ocean, and has -a taste of the salt in it, bringing colour to the cheeks of pallid -children of the alleys, and jollity to all who are still susceptible to -it. - -"Mary, I expect an important letter to arrive here by next post for me. -I must have it as soon as possible. Hurry off with it the moment it -comes. Here is your fare. Take train to Ludgate Hill and bring it to me -at the office. Don't loiter mind; bring it at once." - -It was Mr. Grimm who spoke as he took up his hat and umbrella after -breakfast, preparatory to going city-wards. - -"All right, father," replied Mary, as she removed the breakfast things, -and the next minute the little lawyer was out of the house and the door -slammed behind him--off to his pettifogging, lying, and cheating in his -offices, which were in a narrow street off the Ludgate Hill end of Fleet -Street. - -Mary continued to remove the cups, saucers, and plates, in a rather -nonchalant manner. - -The stout red-faced second wife of Grimm sat in the arm-chair eyeing her -not over kindly for a minute or so, and then in a harsh voice addressed -the girl: - -"You minx! you minx!" working herself up into a passion; "you do it on -purpose to aggravate me, I know you do." - -"Do what?" asked Mary, calmly. - -"I've been watching you these ten minutes--dawdling, dawdling, dawdling, -as slow as you can; that's what it is. Hurry up now over those things. -What do I give you your food for, and your clothes too, do you think? To -work: and work for your living you shall as sure as my name's Grimm. -Hurry up; don't stand there like a stuck pig, with your sulky putty -face. Do you hear?" - -This was a long speech for Mrs. Grimm, and she halted for breath and -further inspiration. - -Not a muscle of Mary's face moved, but she did hurry up a little; only -for a few seconds though, when, altering her mind, she stopped suddenly -in her work and said in a deliberate voice: - -"I suppose you think I ought to be very grateful to you, don't you?" - -"What! grateful, grateful!" ejaculated the angry woman, almost too -surprised at this exhibition of spirit to talk distinctly. "What on -earth do you mean, you little--you little--" - -But before she could find an epithet forcible enough for the occasion, -Mary interrupted her in the same cool, unimpassioned voice as before: -for she did not fear, and had learned to despise, her low-minded -step-mother. - -"Yes, grateful! and for what, if you please? I have worked hard here all -my life. You daren't make the hired slavey work as you make me; and my -father uses me as a clerk: and where will he get a clerk to copy so much -a day as I do? Slavey and clerk in one I am, Mrs. Grimm, and for just -enough food to keep body and soul together, and your worn-out -clothes--you have got a cheap bargain in me I think," and the girl, -losing some of her sang-froid in the memory of her wrongs, carried out -the tray and banged the door behind her. - -It was seldom that Mary bandied words with her stepmother in this way; -possibly the glorious weather without had stirred her up to this -ebullition, for the South West wind can excite us to honest indignation -as well as to jollity. - -Mrs. Grimm was what she would herself have described as bursting with -rage. When the girl returned in a minute or so, cool and pale as ever, -she smiled slightly when she perceived her stepmother's now purple -visage. It is pleasant to behold one's enemy apoplectic with vain fury. - -Then Mrs. Grimm broke out into the following fine oratorical display, -panting at short intervals for breath, "You wretch: to talk to _me_ like -that:--I'll let your father know of this when he comes back--we'll see -if a little less food will cool down your hot blood, my girl.... Go out -in the streets--go out, and see if with all your working and clerking -anyone will take you in, though you are such a good bargain;--go out, -and see if you won't starve; go. Why, with that ugly putty face of yours -you could not even--" - -She was about to be still coarser in her remarks, as was not unusual -with her, but Mary, flushing slightly, interrupted her mid-way. - -"I know all that, Mrs. Grimm; I know how hard it would be to find work -if I went from here. You don't think if it were otherwise that I'd stay -another half-minute, do you?" - -"Go out this minute and clean up all those breakfast things," shouted -Mrs. Grimm, rising from her chair, beside herself with rage. - -But Mary stood looking at her with folded arms aware that nothing could -be more irritating to this violent woman than her cool behaviour. -Whether she would have refused to obey, how much further her mutinous -spirit would have carried her is uncertain; for at that moment there -came a postman's knock at the door, and the servant brought in a letter -and handed it to Mrs. Grimm. - -"That's the letter your father wants," she said, throwing it to Mary. -"Be off with it; be off with it, you little devil, and no dawdling, -mind, no staring about. Don't imagine that anyone will admire that silly -face of yours." - -Mary did not feel this Parthian shaft as she hurried off, only too glad -to escape into the open air, to be free for an hour. - - * * * * * - -She walked fast down the streets, and then turned to the right towards -the Brixton railway station. Her step was elastic, for she was young, -and though her youth was ever being crushed down, it but lay latent, -ready to spring up when opportunity offered. The sunshine and wind of -this June day brought it out. She was happy for the time; there was a -sparkle of delight in her eye--delight for this short liberty which was -in so strong contrast to her usual drudgery. - -In five minutes she was outside the station; then suddenly the joy faded -from her face, and she stopped short, as she looked with dismay through -the archway into the dark passage by which the railway is approached, -appearing so cold and dismal after the outer warmth and light. - -She realized that her walk was over now--she must get into the train. -In a few rapid minutes she would be at Ludgate Hill--then in her -father's office, to sit perhaps through all the afternoon in the hateful -little inner room that she knew so well, and into which clients were -never shown, to copy papers till her head ached. Ah, the misery of it! - -She hesitated before taking her ticket. Oh, for a half-hour's more -freedom! She trembled with the strength of her desire. She yearned, as -no one can who has not lived her life, for a respite, for but a little -more time, to let her youth be filled with the glory of that summer day. - -Her head seemed to turn with the temptations and ideas that crowded one -on the other upon her. "Why should she go by train at all? Why not walk -all the way to Ludgate Hill? What was to prevent her? Fear of her -father--No!" and at the thought her head became defiantly erect, and her -expression more obstinate. "Fear, she didn't fear." - -Then in a moment her mind was made up; the impulse conquered; she turned -her back suddenly on the station and walked off, a gleam of guilty joy -in her eyes. - -Having gone so far in revolt, she, as is natural, went yet a step -further, and loitered quite slowly through the streets, looking into -shop windows and amusing herself by studying the people who passed her, -all which was very different from her usual behaviour when out of doors. - -She felt like a real girl now, and the childish joy and excitement that -flushed her cheek and shone in her eyes gave a rare beauty to her face, -such as it had perhaps never worn before, so that passers looked with -admiration and wonder at the fairy-like girl who, so shabbily and -quaintly dressed, yet so graceful and so pretty, tripped lightly by -them, the very model for a Cinderella. - -She reached Blackfriars Bridge, and in the middle of it she stopped for -a few minutes, leaning over the parapet, gazing up the grand sunny -river, while the fresh breeze fanned her cheek and ruffled her soft -hair. She was prolonging the short sweet spell of liberty: and when she -turned at last from that glorious view, it was with very slow steps that -she walked towards her father's office. - -When she came to Fleet Street, and was at the point where the narrow -street in which the office was situated branches from the great -thoroughfare, she stood still again, while she put her hand in her -pocket to bring out the letter.... It was not there! Her heart beat -violently. She felt for it again--she brought out all the pocket's -contents: an old thimble and a few other trifles--but no letter. - -As is the unreasoning custom of those who have lost anything, she -searched over and over again in the same places, hoping against hope. - -At last she could deceive herself in this way no longer; she was -convinced she had not got it--it was lost, and what was she to do now? - -A confused crowd of ideas rushed into the child's mind: what to do--to -go to the office and tell her father what had happened? or to walk back -the way she had come and see if she could find the letter on the road -anywhere? or to run away for good and trust to chance? - -Her head swam and her heart beat when this last plan suggested itself to -her, this grand and vague temptation--to run away--to have liberty, -entire liberty--never to go back to that cruel house in Brixton. Oh, the -delight, the mystery of it! - -She was a brave girl, and to be cast adrift on the world did not terrify -her much. This pluck was not due to childish ignorance; for she knew -well how hopeless were the prospects of one in her situation, how cruel -were the streets of the great city. - -Her brain was in a whirl. Anyhow she would put off the evil moment, she -said to herself; she would not decide at once, she would think the -matter over. So she walked away towards the bridge again. - -Then in her uncertainty she came back once more, and hardly knowing what -she did went up Fleet Street, up the Strand, and reached Trafalgar -Square. - -In her perplexity she stood for a few seconds gazing at the fountains -glittering in the sun. Then all of a sudden, in that great open place, -the passion of freedom so filled her soul, that it drove before it all -other considerations. Her wavering mind yielded at once, having no more -power to hesitate or reason. She stamped her foot on the stone pavement, -and cried aloud, "I shall not go back--never--never again--it is all -over now." - -Thus she decided to try the world, to throw herself on chance, they -could not be crueller than home. If all failed was there not the river? -She had read in the papers of poor women leaping in it when all hope was -over--"No, she would not go home." - -Now that her mind was quite made up, so strange and delightful a sense -of freedom, of adventure, filled that young soul that she could have -shouted for joy. She felt no care for the morrow, not she--this new -liberty quenched for the moment all other ideas and fears. - -"And where to go to now?" she thought. "Where seek employment?" - -She had the sixpence her father had given her for her fare, a small -capital to start life upon. Should she buy a broom and sweep a crossing, -or go out into the country and pluck flowers to sell in the town, as she -knew some poor girls did? - -She was well aware that she was far from being so ugly as her stepmother -had made out. She knew that many a gentleman would stop to buy a flower -from a pretty girl like herself, who would pass a plain woman unnoticed. -Oh, yes, she knew that. - -But she was so glad, so drunk with freedom, that she could not think -steadily of these matters just yet. No, she must run wild for an hour or -so, until this fever of delight had moderated. She must go to some great -open lonely place, where she could laugh and dance to herself for -awhile. - -This poor little Mary who had never been a child before! all the pent-up -childishness of the long sad years burst out in this her wild, mad, -first day of freedom. - -She thought she would go out of the crowded streets to be by herself in -Hyde Park for an hour or so. She had been there once before on a -winter's morning, and she had noticed what a vast lonely region it was. -So she went up Piccadilly, passed into the Park, and found herself at -the corner of Rotten Row. - -Imagine her bewilderment at what she saw. It was no longer the dreary -desert of the winter's morning, but a great garden filled with such a -crowd in carriage, on horseback, and on foot, as only Hyde Park at one -period of the day and in the height of the London season can show. - -She felt a new sensation of shame and terror creep over her in the midst -of all these grand people who were so different from herself. They were -looking at her, questioning her right to be there, she thought, and her -confusion increased. - -She glanced around with nervous bewilderment, and her face and neck -flushed crimson. Some were looking at her, it is true; her rare grace -and beauty contrasting with her old-fashioned shabby dress naturally -attracted attention. Dowagers deliberately raised their pince-nez and -stared at her, and young men of fashion gazed with open admiration. - -"Oh, this won't do at all!" she said to herself, and she hurried off -through the throng till she reached the comparatively deserted open -green space in the centre of the Park. - -And now she could give play to her feelings. When no one was by, she -went wild for a while and clapped her hands with joy, and all because -she was alone in the world with a fortune of just six pennies. - -At last she sobered down, and sitting on a bench began to ponder quietly -but no less happily. - -Now it happened that a Satyr of the Parks had seen her from afar off. - -So presently there came by an elderly gentleman who was dressed in the -height of fashion, belaced, bedyed as to whiskers, and with an -affectation of youthful suppleness that must have made his old limbs -ache again. - -He passed her once, glanced at her, then after a few paces returned -again and sat down beside her. - -She did not notice him, so absorbed was she in her speculations as how -best to invest her capital. - -After eyeing her askance for a few minutes, the old gentleman, wishing -to break the ice, and not being able to evolve on the spur of the moment -anything more original in the way of remarks, said in a smooth and -conciliatory voice: - -"It is a beautiful day, is it not, my dear?" - -She started from her reverie, looked straight at him, instinctively read -his meaning, and without a word got up, with proud gesture gathered her -shawl around her, and walked away. - -Her dream was broken, a chill came over her heart, the incident had made -her suddenly realise the horror of her position. - -She would find no help from any save from such as this man was. Oh! the -cruelty--the wicked cruelty of the city! She shuddered at the picture of -her future thus vividly presented to her, and tears, the first for -years, came to her eyes. - -As miserable as she had but just before been glad, she walked on, in an -objectless manner, anywhere. This new wild sensation of freedom had -turned her head for the while, and her emotions were intense and rapidly -changing to their contraries in an hysterical fashion. - -Without knowing how she got there, she again recognised around her the -familiar buildings of Fleet Street. She approached her father's office, -attracted there by the same sort of fascination that drags the murderer -to the scene of his guilt. - -Soon she considered how dangerous it was for her to loiter in that -neighbourhood. She was aware that she must have been missed by this -time; her father had probably made inquiries, had instructed the police, -and there were many persons about Ludgate Hill who knew her well by -sight. - -Feeling hungry she went up a side street near Fetter Lane, and entering -a small baker's shop bought a pennyworth of bread, and asked the woman -there to give her a glass of water. - -Refreshed by this frugal meal she went down to the Thames Embankment, -and sitting on a seat tried to think calmly over her position. She had -heard of casual wards where homeless penniless people could get lodging -for the night. She thought she would most probably have to seek this -shelter at least for this night, for even now it was getting late in the -afternoon. - -Yes! she would wait till it was dark, and then ask a policeman--she -dared not do so in broad daylight--to tell her where there was a casual -ward. - -And so she sat down on benches, or wandered restlessly up and down the -streets until it was dark and the long June day was done, when, dizzy -and weary, she was once again treading the pavements of Fleet Street. - -The bells of St. Clements had just pealed out ten hours, when the girl -of a sudden perceived, hurriedly approaching her, her father. - -He had evidently returned from home to find traces of her. - -For a moment the shock paralysed her, but only for a moment. To her -right was a narrow dark street; she darted in and ran down it with the -haste that terror and madness give. - -This street, or rather alley, is known as Devereux Passage. - -On reaching the bottom of it, the poor hunted creature found herself in -a sort of cul-de-sac. It was all over. There was no escape. The street -ended. On the left were the closed iron gates of the Temple. In front of -her was a wall. To the right her flight was also stopped, for there the -narrow passage that leads off to Essex Street had wooden barriers placed -across it, the pavement being up for repair of drain or water-pipes: so -this too seemed to her hurried gaze, and in the dim light, impassable as -the dead wall in front. - -She was at bay; trembling, faint, and sick with despair, she looked -wildly around for any chance of escape. - -She heard the man's step coming down the passage--slowly too, with cruel -deliberation; her father knew well that there was no way out, that she -was a secured prisoner. - -There was a doorway by her: she crouched into it, and with her breath -bursting out in difficult sobs, and her heart beating as if to break, -clung to the door-handle with all her strength. She determined that she -would not be torn away. Then her head swam round--the heavy tread -approached--she shut her eyes in her agony. - -When he was just in front of her the sound of the man's step ceased. - -There was a pause before his words came. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -IN THE TEMPLE. - - -A pause of a few seconds only, but seeming long terrible minutes, while -she waited for the harsh satirical tones of her father's voice, which -she knew so well. - -At last the words came. - -"You seem to be unwell; can I be of assistance to you in any way?" - -She started, opened her eyes wide, and stared in the speaker's face. - -It was not her father! - -For it happened that the solicitor had not seen her, and had continued -his route along Fleet Street, when she darted into Devereux Court. The -steps she had heard behind her were not her father's. The person who had -spoken was a stranger, young and of pleasing exterior. It was no other -than Mr. Thomas Hudson. - -On his way to the Devereux Court entrance to the Temple, he had seen -this girl crouching in the doorway. With the gallantry and sympathy of -an Irishman, and really thinking that she was ill, he came to the -rescue. Not that his motives for this were altogether unselfish. He saw -that the girl was young and graceful of form, and her face, he imagined, -must be agreeable also, to be consistent with the rest. He had nothing -to do for the moment, and was only too glad to fall into an adventure -with a pretty woman. - -She looked at him wildly for a few seconds, then cried: - -"Why, you are not--" and she checked herself. - -"No I am not," he promptly replied; "are you afraid of someone then. Is -any blackguard following you?" - -Her eyes wandered round like those of an animal in presence of a great -danger. Weariness and the reaction after her excitement had dulled her -courage. - -"Yes, I am hunted," she said at last, sadly. - -"Hunted! by whom?" asked the barrister, becoming rather suspicious that -his new friend might prove to be a runaway pickpocket, or something else -bad--"by whom?" - -She seemed only then to call her faculties together, to realise that she -was talking to, nay, confiding in, a stranger. Her cold collected look -returned to her, and it must be confessed that she did not appear nearly -as pretty as with her late timid expression. - -"Why do you wish to know?" - -"Well, I saw that you looked ill, or that you were in fear of something, -and I wished to be of service if possible." - -She laughed bitterly. "Is that all? Well, I'll answer your question. I'm -not running away from the police, but from my stepmother and father. I -don't mind telling you," she went on in tones of reckless despair, "I -don't see what harm it will do me, or what good it will do you." - -"Running away from home!" - -"Yes! for good." - -"But where are you going?" - -"Going--I don't know--to the casual ward I suppose--if--if I can get -there." - -Mary felt a strange faintness stealing over her, and the young man -noticed it. - -"You are ill--let me put you into a cab." - -"No thank you," she replied decidedly. - -"I live close here," he went on--"in the Temple. I wish you would allow -me to take you to my rooms--you seem faint--a rest for a little while -and a cup of tea will do you good. Now do let me persuade you." He -paused and their eyes met. "No, you need not be afraid of me," he said, -translating her look. - -She was looking at him, earnestly into him, and she read his character. -She saw that she need not fear him--that is so long as she took proper -care of herself. There was nothing violent or really wicked in the -merry, careless, rather weak face. This was not the old man of the Park. -She could distinguish that there were generous feelings in this young -man as well as self-indulgence. - -She smiled as she thought how shrewd she was getting at -character-reading, what a lot she had learned of the world in one day. - -"Why do you laugh?" he asked. - -"At my thoughts?" - -"Well I am glad that they are merrier than they were just now." - -"I was thinking how well I can read your character. I saw that I need -not fear you much. I can trust you." - -This was a very dangerous admission for a young girl to make to a young -man; but Mary, clever though she was, could hardly be expected to know -exactly how to behave under such novel circumstances. - -"I am delighted to hear you say so," replied Hudson excitedly. "Now take -my arm and we will go to my rooms. You want somebody to take care of -you, my poor little girl." - -There was a tenderness in his last words that cooled Mary's confidential -mood; but she took his arm, and she spoke no word while Hudson rang the -bell, and they passed into the Temple through a gate that was opened by -invisible hands, like that of some magic castle in the fairy tales she -had read, and then crossed the deserted quadrangle, and ascended two -flights of dusty stone stairs, till they came to a solid and ancient oak -door with bolts and bars enough to resist the siege of twenty locksmiths -for a week, and with Mr. T. Hudson painted over it in white letters. - -He opened this with one key, and there was another inner, less -formidable door which he opened with another smaller key. It was just -like going into a prison, she fancied, and the gloomy deserted passages -half frightened her. How easily one could be murdered in this lonely -place, she thought, and no one hear one's cries. - -She followed him into the dark chambers, then the barrister lit a lamp -and proceeded to do the honours of his establishment. - -"Here we are at last--a curious looking place is it not? Now you must -sit down in this armchair and make yourself comfortable, while I go out -and get you something to eat. It will do you good--I can see what you -want." - -"I really want nothing, sir; indeed I--" - -"Now, don't contradict your doctor, Miss--Miss--Miss--what is it you -said?" - -She smiled at his ruse as she remembered that she had not told him her -name as yet, but she replied, "Mary Grimm." - -"Miss Grimm, you must excuse my leaving you alone here for a few -minutes; I won't be long," and he hurried off to order a nice little -supper for his guest from a neighbouring tavern. - -Then he thought as he went, "There is nothing but whisky in the -rooms--she doesn't look the sort of girl to drink whisky--shall I get -her some beer? No, that won't do--champagne? Can't run to that to-night, -besides, it would look like dissipation and frighten her. -Claret?--that's better; I'll get a bottle of Burgundy--that's the stuff -to cheer the girl;" so he ordered a bottle of the generous wine, to be -sent over to his chambers with the supper. - -The adventure was a curious one and pleased him. This was no ordinary -girl, he saw that. He felt that her story was true, or nearly so. She -puzzled him somewhat, but this presumptuous young man flattered himself -that he could understand any woman after an hour's conversation, and he -intended to understand his new acquaintance. - -When a woman is left by herself in a bachelor's home for the first time, -she loves to prowl about it and look into every corner like a cat in a -strange house, endeavouring to satisfy her natural curiosity as to the -secret life of the unmarried man. Residential chambers in the Temple -have an especial charm for the inquisitive daughter of Eve. There is an -odour of mystery, a suspicion of wickedness about these dens of celibacy -which she cannot resist. - -So when the barrister was away, Mary, after she had first taken off her -shawl and hung it on a chair, and then looked at herself in the glass -over the mantelpiece, and arranged her hair a little, began to examine -her surroundings with considerable interest. She noticed how different -everything in this room was to what she was accustomed to see in other -sitting-rooms at home and elsewhere, where a woman's influence--though -it were even Mrs. Grimm's--made itself felt. - -There was a comfortable sternness about the bachelor's sanctum. There -were no frivolous cheap china shepherdesses on the mantelpiece, as in -the Brixton parlour, but pipes, tobacco-jars, and two bronze busts of -heathen deities. - -There hung by the side of the mirror four tin shields with the arms of -Hudson's University, College, School, and Inn of Court painted on them. -The walls were pannelled with dark oak. There were two carved -bookshelves of the same wood, and their contents showed that his erratic -and rather superficial mind had coquetted with many branches of human -thought. - -Some good old engravings hung on the walls, contrasting curiously with -coloured photographs by Goupil from well-known pictures of the modern -French school, all representing feminine beauty in more or less scanty -classic attire, these last in broad flat frames of dead gold that much -relieved the sombre effect of the furniture. - -There were guns, fishing-rods and riding-whips also hanging on the -walls, proving that our barrister was somewhat of a sportsman as well as -a student and voluptuary. - -In a recess were some silver prize-tankards won by his oar on Cam and -Thames. On the round table in the centre of the room were a decanter of -whisky, two or three empty glasses, some cigar ends in a saucer, an -album chiefly filled with pretty actresses, a French novel, and one -brief, the only sign of his profession; for I must explain that Hudson -had a room for business purposes on the ground-floor of his staircase. - -Mary heard her host coming up the stairs, so had one more look into the -glass to see if all was right. Her eye fell on her hat--it was very -shabby indeed; so, though she felt how cool and bold she was, she took -it off and laid it on the chair with her shawl. Her shame for its -appearance, her woman's vanity, were too much for her instinctive -feeling that this was far from the right thing to do. - -When Hudson came in he was surprised to see what a beautiful creature -this little captive of his was. Now that her shawl was off, her -tight-fitting black dress revealed the perfect moulding of her form. Her -small classical head was set on her shoulders wonderfully as that of the -Venus that came from Milo. She was leaning with one arm on the sill of -the window, looking across Fountain Court to the gleaming Thames. The -lamp shining through a coloured shade cast a delicate pink light upon -her figure, and she appeared even as the young Venus, a being born into -a happy world only to be loved and to love. - -But then no goddess of Love would have had that expression about the -mouth, so untender, so devoid of soft emotions. - -"I am sorry to have kept you so long," Hudson said. "I have ordered a -nice little supper, which will be here directly." - -"Oh, but it is too kind of you," she exclaimed. "I should not have come -up here if I had thought that you were going to take all this trouble." - -"Nonsense, Miss Grimm. You don't know how pleased I am to have met you. -What do you mean by trouble? There is nothing unselfish in my behaviour, -I assure you. It is a charitable action of yours to relieve my -loneliness in this dismal old place. It is not very cheerful to sup here -all alone, as you can well imagine." - -"It must be very lonely, living here," she said as she looked around. - -"Well, it is," he replied, but not without a smile as he thought how -much more jovial revelry than quiet loneliness those chambers had seen -since he had occupied them. - -"It is a pretty room," Mary said, "I like it very much. I have never -seen anything like it before. It is very interesting. There are so many -curious things in it." - -Suddenly her eyes fell on the dusty brief on the table, and she -exclaimed, "Ah! you are a barrister, I see." - -"How on earth do you know that?" he asked. "Have you ever seen any of -these interesting documents before?" - -"I should think I have," she replied as she picked it up, and turning -over the pages glanced at them with the eye of a connoisseur. "I have -drawn up so many of these, so many hundreds of folios of the dreary -stuff," and she sighed as she thought over the dismal hours she had -spent in that dingy back room off Fleet Street. She continued with -vivacity, "Why, after just looking through it for a moment, I could tell -you exactly how many _guas_ ought to be scrawled on the outside of a -brief like that one. A little assault case I see it is. Your fee would -not be much for that. I hope you get better work than that -sometimes--but I beg your pardon," she said in a confused way as she -remembered herself; "I did not mean to--" - -"The devil!" exclaimed the barrister in surprise, "are you a sister -lawyer, then? I didn't know that woman's rights had got as far as that -yet. As we are fellow chips we ought to get on very well together. Which -branch of the profession do you belong to?" - -She laughed merrily and said with a mock bow, "To the lower; I have -passed the greater portion of my life in a solicitor's office." - -"Dear me, how very interesting! I should like to hear about it if I may, -if it is not a secret." - -"Not at all; I know you are very curious to know who I am, so if you -like I'll give you my whole history." - -"I shall be very glad to hear it," Hudson said, this time speaking in a -serious tone. "I shall be able to know how I can help you when I know -more about you. But sit down in that arm-chair; it is more comfortable -and you look very tired." - -She sat down in the arm-chair by the window, while he took a chair near -her. - -"Well, to start at the beginning," Mary said; "my father is a -solicitor." - -"What! not that old rascal, Edmund Grimm!" Hudson exclaimed; "but I beg -your pardon, Miss Grimm." - -"Not at all, don't apologize; he is an old rascal, and that's putting it -very mildly. Do you know him then?" - -"I should think so," the barrister answered. "I have done lots of work -for him for which he has never paid me. I have long ago given up all -hopes of getting my fees out of him." - -"I don't think you ever will get them," Mary said quietly. - -"And how curious it is that you should be his daughter! It seems almost -impossible," and he gazed with admiration at her beautiful figure, -contrasting it mentally with the shrivelled anatomy of the ugly little -lawyer. - -"And how curious to think that the briefs and other papers he sent you -were most probably drawn up by my hand!" Mary remarked. - -"Is that indeed the case? I should have looked at them with much greater -interest had I known that; but there's a knock at the door, it's the -supper that's arrived. Excuse me a moment while I go and take it in. You -must give me your history afterwards. The first thing is to get -everything ready for you; I am sure you must be very hungry." - -Though Mary had spoken so frankly, there was still something in her -manner that made the young man feel that she was really keeping a sharp -watch over herself, and that she was bent on carefully preserving the -respectful distance that still lay between them. - -Whenever he tried to approach the sentimental and lead the conversation -beyond the line she had mentally fixed, she would turn her eyes on him -with a calm look that quite disconcerted him. His usual readiness of -tongue was strangely absent when talking with this quiet cold beauty. He -was ashamed of himself for his stupidity. He had lost all his impudence -and pertinacity. He could make no ground here. - -The barrister brought the dishes into the rooms, and sported his oak. - -Mary insisted on being shown where the laundress kept the cloth, knives, -plates and so on, and she laid the table for supper with an accustomed -hand. - -The girl was amused at the queer careless arrangements of the -establishment. - -"How funnily you bachelors keep house! Why, you don't seem to know where -anything is, what you have got, or what you haven't. Now do you think -there is any good in my hunting any more for the salt spoon, Mr. Hudson? -Can you tell me if you ever had one?" - -"I really can't say." - -She laughed merrily. "Oh dear, how you must get robbed by your servants! -Have you got servants, by the way?" - -Hudson, who had been watching with admiration the unconscious supple -grace of the girl as she bustled about the room replied, "Yes, a dirty -old woman, a laundress as we call them in the Temple, who comes for an -hour every morning and pretends to clean up the place." - -"How curious! but you should get her to clean your plates better; just -look at the dust on this one. Now I wonder where I'm going to find a -tea-cloth." - -At last Mary had arranged the table to her satisfaction, and they sat -down to a comfortable little supper. - -Mary had but very rarely drunk anything stronger than tea, and the -Burgundy was a new and, it must be confessed, not unpleasant sensation -to her after the wear of the first day of liberty. But she soon -perceived that it was a perilous pleasure and was cautious. - -The conversation was still rather constrained. Each was sounding the -other. He was trying to find out what was the real disposition of this -very incomprehensible girl. She, amazed at this unwonted kindness from a -stranger, was reserved, suspicious of his motives; for Mary was a London -girl, and was not gifted with that absolute innocence which is sometimes -attributed to such heroines--heroines who, living in pitch, are in some -miraculous way all undefiled, are even ignorant that the pitch is there. - -At eleven o'clock Hudson knew Mary's history, but he was as far as ever -from her. He was accustomed to shy, to bold, to coquettish, to silly, to -mercenary, women, to almost every sort of girl, and knew how to manage -them: but before this girl he was lost. - -This was not merely because she was cold--had she been _stupidly_ so, he -would have known how to act; but she inspired a real respect that kept -him at a distance. - -There was no enlargement of the intimacy, and after supper matters were -worse again: the awkward feeling on either side chilled the -conversation. - -Mary began to think that it was time for her to be going--to resume her -wanderings, to find some shelter for the night, and at the thought a -gloom fell on her face. - -Hudson read the look and said, "Miss Grimm" (he had got back to this -though he had called her Mary earlier in the evening), "if you go out -now you will find it very difficult to get a lodging. It is too late. -You had better stay here. I will camp out in this room on the sofa, you -can have my bed-room. To-morrow we will think together over what you had -better do." - -Mary looked at his kind face, and was touched; her coldness broke down. - -"You are very good," she said gratefully, and she rose and took his -hand. "You are the only one who has ever been kind to me. I will never -forget you." - -When she had retired, the barrister rigged himself up a berth on the -sofa, and lay smoking his pipe awhile, as he thought of this strange -girl who had awakened his emotions and chilled them again a dozen times -in the hour with her inconsistencies, her sympathy one moment, her -coldness the next. - -He had noticed the different expressions of her features and murmured to -himself as he blew out the light: "She has an angel looking out of her -eyes and a devil sitting on her mouth, but I believe I should fall -really in love this time if I saw much of her." - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -FROM SCYLLA TO CHARYBDIS. - - -Mary slept well after her long day of adventure and did not wake until -the sun was high. - -The laundresses had poured into the Temple, and were pretending to dust -their master's chambers and performing the rest of their desultory -duties, prior to the bustle of business commencing in those "dusty -purlieus of the law." - -It was indeed nearly nine o'clock when Mary woke. She heard the plashing -of the fountain outside, saw she was in a strange room, and gradually -recalled all that had occurred on the previous day. - -Like most people, she did not feel quite so brave in the morning as in -the evening, and her heart sank as her position, her hopeless future, -flashed across her mind. She could distinguish by the noises that her -host was up and about in the adjacent room, and she heard him -instructing his laundress to lay breakfast for two, an order which that -worthy received without exhibiting the slightest surprise. - -"If the lady puts her boots outside the door I will clean them before I -go," she merely said as she carried out his commands. - -Mary overheard this. "Good heavens!" she said to herself, "the servant -has divined that there is a woman in her master's bed-room, on being -merely told to lay breakfast for two instead of one. Such an event then -is not extraordinary in Mr. Hudson's home--what has the horrid old -woman mistaken me for, then?" and the blood rushed to her cheeks as she -thought of it. - -"Out of here I must go at once," she muttered to herself--"at once;" and -after dressing rapidly she opened the door of the sitting-room, and not -without exhibiting some signs of discomposure, found herself -face-to-face with the young barrister. - -He came up beaming and asked her politely how she had slept. - -"Very well, thanks," she replied, taking his proffered hand, rather -mollified by his kind manner, and by the knowledge that the laundress -had gone. She had looked quickly round the room and grasped this fact; a -great relief to her, as she considerably dreaded the gaze of a woman -under the present, to be confessed rather compromising, circumstances. - -She had intended to bid the barrister farewell, and hurry off at once; -but his honest manner, and the comfortable appearance of the -breakfast-table with its eggs, its rolls, its rashers of bacon, and its -coffee, prevailed on her. She came to the conclusion that to stay a -little longer could do no harm, and it would be well to start this day -of unknown work with a good breakfast. So it will be seen that this -young lady was practical, one result of her rough education; and her -anxiety had not diminished her usually healthy appetite. - -So the two sat down and breakfasted merrily enough, their conversation -being far more unrestrained than it had been on the previous evening. - -"Now, Mary," he no longer called her Miss Grimm, "we won't talk any -business till breakfast is over; then we will discuss your plans." - -Mary assented to this, and really began to feel so comfortable in her -new quarters, that she was getting quite loth to leave them; and who can -tell what decision the two counsellors might have come to--a dangerous -game, two young people, both free, discussing such a matter--had not -Mary's good genius, in the shape of the dirty and hideous old charwoman, -come in just as the breakfast was over? - -The hag performed a sort of awkward curtesy, while she gave Mary a look, -half of curiosity, half leer of evident speculation as to whether the -girl was likely to be a constant visitor, and so to be won over by -politeness to a liberality in the way of tips. - -Mary read all this, she realised how near she was to the edge of the -precipice, the fear returned to her, she started up and said with fierce -decision: - -"Mr. Hudson, I must go--at once." - -He stared at her, and the laundress raised her eyebrows and smiled as -she cleared away the breakfast things. - -"But we are going to talk over your plans." - -"No! I will go at once. It is better. I must." - -Mr. Hudson now began to perceive more or less clearly what was the -reason of this sudden haste, but he temporised. - -"Now sit down quietly and let us talk things over. Believe me, I really -wish you well. Do you mistrust me?" - -"No! no!" with her eyes filling with tears--"no, I do not. It is not -that." - -"You can go, Mrs. Jones," he said to the laundress who still loitered -about. - -When this woman was outside the chambers Mary continued, half sobbing, -and in tones that made the young man's heart feel very queer. - -"You are very good to me, but I know our talk will end in nothing; how -can it? I am _very_ grateful to you. Please don't think I am ungrateful, -Mr. Hudson; but I feel we had better separate at once." - -He looked steadily into the beautiful frank eyes for quite a minute, -then said sadly, in a low voice, - -"Miss Grimm, Mary, I think you are quite right; a talk will do little -good, it may do harm. Yes, it is sure to do harm." - -The young man, though a rake, was far from devoid of generosity, and yet -it may be that he would not have given her up like this were it not for -certain after thoughts. - -The girl, he imagined, poor little thing, would in all probability soon -be his, but he would not tempt her. To deliberately ruin her was a crime -his conscience rather stuck at. No, he would let her have her chance of -being respectable. If she could not find any honest employment, as was -most likely, why he would look after her and make her as happy as he -could as his mistress. Mr. Hudson was a casuist, as indeed are -ninety-nine men out of a hundred in these matters. - -So he continued, "Mary, you are right. I respect your motives. I am not -a good man and you are better out of my way. But remember you have a -friend in me. You must promise to come to me if you are in any -distress." - -"Promise," he said, taking both her hands in his and looking into her -eyes, "promise." - -She returned his gaze with one candid and earnest, and after a pause, -perhaps knowing exactly what she was undertaking, what this coming back -to him in case of failure to find employment meant, she replied in a -half-inaudible voice: - -"I promise." - -"Thank you; remember that I will always help you. Write if you don't -like to come here. And now I am going to lend you a little money which -will keep you going till something turns up," and he put a sovereign, -all he had just then, in her hand. - -She took it. For a few moments she could say nothing, then she cried -out, "God bless you! you are indeed good to me. I don't deserve such -kindness, I shall never forget you. I don't know how I--" and she burst -into tears. - -She, Mary Grimm, the cold and hardened child, who had never cried -through long years of cruel treatment, was now softened and wept like a -woman. - -Hudson felt his blood boiling within him as he looked at the girl. Short -as had been the acquaintance, he was filled with a real passion, he was -beginning to be vehemently in love with the little waif. - -He took her hand and kissed it, and would have covered her face with -fiery kisses next, for he had lost all his self-control, when Mary tore -herself away from him, rushed through the door, and was gone. - -Hudson's was, as has been stated, an impetuous and amorous nature. To be -in love with some woman had become a necessity of his existence. Now -this weak-minded young gentleman did not happen at this period to have -an object for his affections, a condition that made him restless and -unhappy. He had been vainly trying to fill up this want of late, so that -it is not so very wonderful that he fell, at such short notice, into an -infatuated passion for this piquante young girl. - -Throughout the day his thoughts were always of her--"Shall I see her -again?--Yes, she has promised to come if she fails to find work--She -must fail ... but no, I have a presentiment that she will never come." - -His restlessness, his changing fits of depression and exultation, were -the marvel of all his friends who met him that afternoon; but this -love-sick mood did not trouble his volatile mind for long, and subsided -rapidly, as might be expected under all the circumstances. - -Mary wiped her eyes and hurried down the stairs, blushing deeply, and -bitterly feeling her degradation when two young clerks, standing outside -a room on the second floor, laughed and made some remark as she passed -by. - -She knew that appearances were against a young girl coming out of a -barrister's chambers at 10 a.m.; and not till she was well out of the -Temple, and away from the glances of the lawyers, porters, and -laundresses did she collect her wits and walk with due calmness of mien. - -She went slowly up the Strand deliberating--she had one pound. This -would keep her for some time--until she found something to do; but she -must busy herself at once to find this vague something. - -She knew where there was a small registry office for domestics in a -street in Bloomsbury. Mrs. Grimm had on one occasion procured a servant -from it, and Mary, who had always entertained some vague idea of running -away at some time or other--the sole hope that buoyed up her youth--had -treasured up the address. - -So she went to this place and found there a motherly old lady in blue -spectacles, who happened not to be one of those grasping hags who keep -so many of the inferior class of registry offices, defrauding poor -servant girls of their hard-earned wages. - -Mary told her wants--she wished a place as housemaid, or even -maid-of-all-work if the family was a small one. - -The old lady looked kindly at the girl, explained the system on which -her business was conducted, and opening a large ledger asked: - -"Your name, my dear?" - -"Mary Barnes." The answer came out readily enough considering that it -had not occurred to her before to choose a new name. - -"Your address?" continued the dame, who transcribed the answers in a -deliberate round hand in the book before her. - -This staggered Mary, and unable to draw on her imagination quickly -enough, she blurted out her father's address. - -"Ah indeed," said her interlocutor, "Mrs. Grimm; I once provided her -with a girl--let me see--three years ago I think; and how long have you -been in her service?" - -"Two years, ma'am." - -"As housemaid?" - -"Yes, ma'am." - -"That is very good, my dear; and why are you leaving her?" - -To this query her reply was a fairly truthful one, though she stammered -over it a good deal. - -"The work was too hard; my step----Mrs. Grimm was very unkind, indeed -cruel." - -"Yes," went on the old lady thoughtfully, "yes, I remember her. She -appeared a disagreeable woman--very much so indeed; that's how I haven't -forgotten all about her, what with the many hundreds of mistresses I -see--and let me see, you are still living with her you say?" - -"Yes, my month is not up for three days yet," replied Mary, who was now -getting into a good glib way of lying--small blame to the poor thing. - -"Will she give you a good character?" - -"Oh yes." - -"Well, I do think I know of a place for you, a very kind lady living -alone with only her crippled son; she wants just such a one as you seem -to be. She's a friend of mine. I know her well, and if you do well by -her, she'll do well by you, my dear. Here is her address; you can go and -see her for yourself," and she wrote on a piece of note-paper the -address, which was somewhere in the direction of Maida Vale. - -Mary thanked her and went out. How vexed she was that she had been such -a fool as to be surprised into giving her father's address. It would be -no good going to the place after that. Fancy her employer writing to her -stepmother for her character, and she laughed aloud at the idea, to the -great scandal of an old maid and two pug dogs who were passing her at -the moment of this indecent ebullition. - -But on second thoughts Mary decided that she would go to the address. If -the lady in question was really so kind, might she not take her without -a character? Why not tell her the whole story and throw herself on her -generosity? Anyhow, she would call and see what she could make of -it--there could be no harm in that. - -Poor Tommy Hudson would have hardly liked to know how little he was in -this girl's thoughts this day, genuinely grateful though she was. - -He would not have confessed it to himself, but he would have preferred -had she been miserable on his account. - -How selfish at the bottom this love of a man often is; yet after all, a -woman will love him even for the very selfishness of his love; so as all -parties are suited there is nothing to complain of. - -Mary walked all the way by the splendid shops of Oxford Street, up the -long Edgware Road, then to the left along the canal which brought her to -the vicinity of the address she sought. - -While yet some few hundred yards from it, and uncertain of the way, she -found herself in a street of small two-storied houses, somewhat like -that in which her father lived. - -The street was quite deserted save for a little group in front of one of -the houses, the door of which was open. - -The group consisted of a cabman on a hansom, a rough-looking man and a -tall pale woman on the pavement, seemingly engaged in lively -altercation. - -Mary determined to ask her way of the woman and crossed the street to do -so. - -On approaching she perceived that the rough-looking man had placed his -foot in the doorway, thus preventing the woman from shutting him out as -she evidently wished to do. - -"No!" he was shouting in a menacing voice. "Bli' me if I move till you -give me a bob! D'ye think I've follered this ere cab at a run all the -way from Paddington, and lifted down that 'ere 'eavy box for a blooming -tanner? Not I, marm." - -Mary, being a London girl, grasped the situation at once. The lady had -arrived by train, had driven home with her luggage in this cab, which -had been followed by one of those pests of suburban London, the -cab-runners--ruffians that are on the look out for unwary travellers, -pursue the cabs to help take the baggage down--go away civilly enough -with their just pay if they have to deal with men; but, as in the -present instance, when they have to deal with women in lonely streets -with none to defend them, put on the bully and extort double their due. - -The cabman was leaning over the box of his hansom, looking pensively on -the fray, waiting to see how it would end, but not interfering, -remaining strictly neutral. - -Mary arrived at this juncture, and taking all in, was inspired to -address the woman with these words, spoken in a confident tone. - -"It's all right, ma'am, I've seen the policeman. He's coming on now; -he's just round the corner." - -The rough on hearing this stared at the girl, and thinking that she was -someone belonging to the house who had slipped out for the police -unobserved by him, considered it prudent, after an oath and a growl or -two, to shuffle off slouchingly but not slowly. The cabman too drove off -with alacrity, not being anxious to enter into explanations with his -natural enemy, the man in the blue coat. - -"Why, child!" exclaimed Catherine King in amazement, for she was the -tall pale woman, and had just returned from her expedition to the North -in search of a pupil. "Why, child!" - -"Well, ma'am, I saw what was up and I knew that tale would move the -fellows." - -"A sharp girl!" scrutinising her closely, "a clever girl! and you can -lie very fairly." - -Sister Catherine said this in an appreciative way, as if allotting -discriminate praise for some creditable accomplishment. - -"It is a good thing to know how to lie now and then," remarked Mary with -a hard laugh. - -"It is," replied the other woman thoughtfully. It did not take long for -an idea to possess Catherine King. Now, this young girl's face had -impressed her. "What, have I undertaken this long journey for nothing?" -she thought. "Have I travelled about in a vain search for a pupil of the -aim, only on my return to find the very prize I am seeking, on my own -door-step? It may be so by some wonderful chance. I have a sort of -inspiration that it is so." And this impulsive half-mad woman was just -thinking how best to open the question to Mary, when the latter cleared -the way by saying: - -"Can you direct me, please ma'am, to this address?" and she handed to -Mrs. King the paper that had been given her at the servant's registry -office. - -"It is close here," Catherine replied: then noticing at the head of the -paper the lithographed words, _Mrs. Anderson's registry for servants_, -she went on: "You are not looking out for a place are you?" - -She asked this doubtfully after glancing at Mary; for the girl, though -plainly dressed, had anything but the appearance of a domestic servant. - -"Yes, ma'am, I am." - -On hearing this the enthusiastic woman felt a joy as if her wildest -ambition had been realised. She certainly could read character well, and -she distinguished the power that lay in Mary Grimm. She felt almost -certain that she had found her pupil at last. Providence had sent -her--but I forget, Catherine King did not recognize a Providence, though -she, like many wiser sceptics, entertained a sort of sneaking -half-belief in its workings at times. - -"As it happens, I want a servant; will you come in, and then we can see -if we shall do for each other?" - -Mary followed her into the house, wondering what this new adventure -would lead to. - -"I live here by myself," said Catherine, when they were in the little -parlour I have before described, "with one servant who has been with me -for years. I am in want of another--a younger one to help her. Now tell -me all about yourself--your name, age, character, and so forth." - -This women awed Mary. There was something in that flashing -thought-reading eye, lofty pale brow, and curt masterful speech, that -compelled her to tell the truth. Was it that the head of the Secret -Society was possessed of some mesmeric influence that gave her this -strange power over other women? Anyhow, by dint of a few carefully -chosen questions, she extracted from Mary her whole story, even to the -fact of her having passed the previous night in the Temple, though the -girl had firmly intended to preserve this secret from all. - -Catherine watched her closely as she spoke, and knew that her narrative -was correct in every detail. "And you hate," she said, "hate bitterly, -your father and stepmother?" - -"I cannot help it: I do indeed," and the girl's dilating eye and -compressed lips showed how the passion of her youth possessed her as -soon as it was suggested. - -"Humph! you can hate well and you can lie well; I begin to think you -will do for me." - -Mary opened her eyes in genuine amazement. Was this woman speaking -sarcastically--sneering at her? for she could hardly conceive how lying -and hating could seem to any mistress as desirable qualifications for a -domestic. But Mrs. King looked perfectly serious, and was evidently -wrapped in deep thought; there was no pleasantry about her. - -"This is a curious sort of a woman," thought the girl. "I wonder what -next she wants in a servant? Will she like me all the better if I tell -her I am a thief? or perhaps she'll think me perfect if I say I've -murdered all my little half-brothers and sisters?" She little expected -how nearly her fancies had hit upon Catherine King's true state of mind. - -"Such an education so far!" meditated the strange woman. "Hate and -nothing else; clever too--of pleasing face to beguile fools with--why -this is the very girl." - -Then she said impatiently, for she was apt to be hasty in her plans when -they were once well considered, brooking no delay: "Mary, you can stay -with me if you like--not exactly as a servant though. I wish to educate -you--this is a hobby of mine. I am a lonely woman, you shall be my -companion. You shall have your board lodging and thirty shillings a -month. What do you say?" - -"What can I say to such a generous offer?" cried poor Mary, overjoyed. -"You are very good to have pity on me," and tears started to her eyes. -It is curious, by-the-way, how much more tearful she found this new -liberty and kindness than her old life of slavery and cruelty; but that -is an old experience in this world. - -Mrs. King looked savage and annoyed when she saw these marks of -tenderness. "Now, for goodness sake, don't cry," she exclaimed, "don't -be grateful. No gratitude here mind. You won't do for me at all if you -have affection or that sort of nonsense in you. It won't do here, no -softness for me." - -Thus it happened that Mary was engaged in a rather non-descript capacity -by this dreamer, who sent her off that very afternoon with a few pounds -to buy herself some necessary clothing; for she had, of course, nothing -but what she stood in. - -The next morning Mr. Hudson found a letter on his breakfast table. It -enclosed a post office order for one pound, and the following note, -which had no address at the head of it: - - "DEAR FRIEND.--Thank you a thousand times for your kindness to a - poor friendless girl. I have found a good place with a lady, so I - send you back what you so generously lent me. God bless you, dear - friend. - - "Believe me, Yours gratefully, - "MARY GRIMM." - -For the first time in his life, Hudson knew what it was to be bitterly -disappointed and angry on receiving back money that he had lent. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE TENTH PLAGUE OF EGYPT. - - -Two years have gone by and Mary is still living with Catherine King. She -is taller than she was, and of perfect figure. Her face seems less sad -than before. Her mouth has lost much of its hardness, but perhaps her -eyes have not got all their old pathos, their look that besought -sympathy. There is a strange thoughtfulness in her expression. It is a -face calm and inscrutable--a face more beautiful than ever. - -She is not dressed shabbily now, but in a well-fitting though simple -dress. She is delicately shod, and her hair is no longer cut in a -fringe, but the glorious auburn mass is tied up behind in a neat knot -that sets off to advantage the well-shaped head. She forms altogether as -delicious a picture as the eye of man could dwell on. - -Her education has been progressing all this time under the tuition of -Catherine King; and never was a girl so curiously educated. Her mind was -fed solely on such food as Logic, Compte's "Religion of Humanity," and -what her teacher was wont to rather sarcastically call "_Our_ Political -Economy," for it was not the orthodox science of Mill and Fawcett, but -the wild revolutionary doctrines of the Socialists, and of such apostles -of Land Nationalization as Mr. George and his crew. - -Catherine King had proceeded cautiously with the girl, had gradually -moulded her to her will, and by well-directed conversation had imbued -her with her own enthusiasm on these matters. - -Mary was at first much perplexed, and did not know what to make of all -this new light. But the great gratitude and affection she entertained -for her benefactress inclined her to listen to her teaching with -patience and attention, and in time these ideas began to interest her, -and to fill with suggestions her intelligent mind. - -She was soon brought to imagine that she clearly perceived the gross -iniquity and injustice of all existing institutions. She began to feel a -hot indignation against those that accumulate wealth, against the -persecuting hypocritical churchmen, against those that make laws, only -to oppress the poor and protect the rich rogues from meeting their -deserts. She became as bitter a little radical as could well be found. - -She was rather shocked when Catherine King set to work, to prove to her -that religion was a pack of fables, another instrument in the hands of -the rich to oppress and rob the poor, to keep them ignorant, and -frighten them with its bogies into obedience to authority. - -There was a long struggle in her mind before the arguments of the clever -and sincere enthusiast convinced her that mankind knows nothing of a -God, that there is no reason to believe in one. - -Her woman's instincts revolted against a good deal of all this at first. -She did not feel comfortable when it was suggested to her that morality -was but another creation of superstition; that marriage was a terrible -evil productive of infinite misery; that were this loathsome institution -abolished, and were the sexes allowed to enter into temporary -arrangements recognised by law, which could be broken off when the -parties wearied of each other, there would be little of that gross vice -which was undermining society, especially at the present time, when the -new conditions of life made the marriage-tie an intolerable burden that -few young men would undertake to bear, and which was quite out of the -reach of the many. - -Thus was that one side of sociology, which is for destruction and -radical change, put before the young girl's wondering reason; and though -her common-sense caught glimpses sometimes of the other side also, and -though she would often venture to ask very puzzling questions, and point -out fallacies in the course of a conversation, yet, as was natural, the -intellectual weight of the elder woman told in the long run and Mary was -gradually brought over to agree in theory with Catherine's wildest -views. However, it remained still to be seen whether the convert would -be logical or foolish enough to approve of their being carried into -practice, for that is quite another matter. - -Catherine King had acquired a great influence over Mary, not by working -on her gratitude, which was deep, but by the intense strength of her -character. She inspired her pupil with a respect, an awe, an unreasoning -devotion, a sense of inferiority, more like the sentiment which a girl -entertains for the man she loves, than for one of her own sex. - -Yet Mary was of a nature the reverse of weak; but it happened that -Catherine, like some others who have lived her life of stern -self-denial, of passionate and maddening thought, through many long -silent hours of concentration on one great object, had developed a sort -of mesmeric power over her fellow-beings. - -The will of the girl was paralysed in the presence of that other -mightier will, and became as weak as water. This influence became -stronger daily, as the two women saw more of each other--as their -spirits entered into closer communion. - -Sometimes after a long afternoon's earnest discussion on the _one_ -topic, in the mystic between-lights, a strange feeling would steal over -Mary. It was as if her soul had gone out of her, as if she was but a -body having sensation only. Hearing the low, monotonous words as they -fell from her mistress's lips, but not understanding them, her soul, her -will, seemed to be away--to be in Catherine, to be for the time _with_ -the other's mind, receiving its impressions, echoing its workings--to -return to her again when the spell was over; but different from what it -had been, modified by that strange visit, and having brought with it a -portion of that other's nature, a portion which was to cleave to it for -ever. - -Catherine herself was not conscious of this power at first, but when she -discovered it she did not fail to make use of it, and to employ all -methods to increase the fascination. - -She herself returned to a great extent the girl's affection; she became, -to her own surprise, greatly attached to her, fonder of her than she had -ever been of any other human creature. - -Alas! it was no happy outlook for the ill-fated girl that her will -should become the helpless slave of the will of a dangerous mad woman. - -No other woman could have persuaded the child against her instincts that -there was no God, no good--not that she had known much of either in her -short life. - -Such was the education for which Mary was indebted to her new friend, -one that, coming after her Brixton bringing-up, well tended to develop a -strange character--unwomanly, unnatural. She had never known a mother's -love, never had a doll when a child, or a dream of a hero when a girl. - -Very skilful and cunning was the method employed by the Chief of the -Secret Society in the training of her pupil. She did not too -precipitately disclose to her the more startling doctrines of her creed. -Step by step she prepared her mind. - -Thus one day, after Mary had been more than a year with her, the -Malthusian doctrine was the subject of a long conversation between the -woman and the girl. - -"Timid--yes of course they are timid!" the teacher was saying, in reply -to some remark of the pupil--"all our English democrats are so. They see -what ought to be, they even hint vaguely at it, but they never dare -speak out. - -"No one doubts that over-population is the great curse of the -world--they all allow it. Look at the horrors, the misery it produces in -this very city. And what are the remedies suggested? - -"How silly, how weak they are! Read Mill; he saw clearly what we were -coming to, and all he has to recommend as a remedy is prudence in -marriage, and such restrictions. This is nonsense, cheese-paring; -besides, if feasible, it would only lead to ten times the vice there is -now. - -"No, the passion of the beast man is a constant factor in the problem -that cannot be disregarded. Bradlaugh had a little more pluck--spoke -out; and how were his words received! - -"There is only one way of getting out of the difficulty, but that is one -that our virtuous politicians of to-day would never entertain: make it -an offence for anyone to have more than one child; let it be lawful to -kill a new-born infant, and to employ those other measures for -preventing a woman from becoming a mother which are now felonies in the -eyes of the law." - -Mary half understood and shuddered. She said, thoughtfully, "I suppose -that is the only remedy; but it can never be carried out--it is, after -all, too horrible." - -"Horrible!" exclaimed the teacher. "Not at all; that is, if you look -fairly at the question. You are biased by old prejudices. Your reason -will gradually shake them off, as mine has long ago. We are -Utilitarians, we look to the greatest happiness of the greatest number. -Now by the method _we_ propose of checking population, we inflict no -pain. We prevent a multitude of creatures coming into the world only to -be miserable, so there is left a less crowded, a happier race, not -slaving as now to keep starvation off, and often failing even to do -that, while a few fatten on the product of their labour." - -She paused a moment to watch the effects of her words on Mary's face, -then continued: "Man will then know what leisure is, will become a -nobler being; not a slave running a race for bread with machinery. Ah, -Mary! and they call the measures that alone can bring about this happy -consummation cruel, immoral, criminal. It is the religion--the accursed -morality--that tyrannizes over the people, and forces a man and woman to -keep alive their wretched offspring, that is cruel." - -With such conversation did the woman prepare Mary's mind, until, after -they had been two years together, the girl was familiarized with all the -perilous fallacies of the Nihilists, and accepted the theory that murder -is no sin when necessary for the enfranchisement of mankind, whether it -be the secret execution of the tyrants by poison, knife, and dynamite, -or the practical exposition of the Malthusian doctrine by the -destruction of babies. - -And now the teacher considered that the pupil's mind was ripe, that she -could be intrusted with the _secret of the aim_, and was ready to be an -actor in the terrible drama which the Sisterhood was preparing. - -At last the day of initiation came. It was a windy, rainy day of the -spring equinox--a day of tempest and disaster. - -Catherine and Mary had been confined to the house all the day. - -In the afternoon the hurricane increased in fury, and the wind raved so -loudly without that the two sat in silence for some time in the little -parlour, awed and impressed. - -The wild sounds of the storm with its fitful gusts seemed to harmonize -well with the thoughts of Catherine King. She sat by the table with her -brow knit, her eye glittering, and her lips curling occasionally into -strange smiles, as pictures of the work of vengeance that was to be, -thronged to her busy brain. - -Then her eyes falling on Mary, she watched the girl furtively for some -minutes, carefully deliberating, till at last she came to a decision, -and spoke. - -"Mary!" - -"Yes, Mrs. King," replied the girl with a slight start. - -"I want to have a long talk with you. In the first place, did you read -that article on land nationalization in the ---- _Review_ which I gave -you yesterday; and if so, what do you think of it?" - -"Yes, I have read it carefully," said Mary, "but I am not sure that I -properly understand it. The writer appears to me to hardly know his own -mind. He says he does not advocate confiscation, and yet the hints he -throws out as to the working of his scheme seem to me to really imply -confiscation under another name." - -"Of course," said Catherine, "that's just like these cautious -politicians; they don't want straightforward confiscation, and yet they -are dimly conscious that by confiscation only is land nationalization -practical. It requires little thought to come to that conclusion. How on -earth could the state possibly afford to compensate the landlords--where -would the money come from? Capitalists would be shy to lend at three per -cent. to a government that was passing such sweeping measures." - -"And supposing they did raise the money," said Mary, "what an oppressive -taxation would be necessary in order to pay the interest!" - -Catherine spoke with impatience: - -"It's not worth while discussing that matter over again, Mary; it's too -plain. For a state to take possession of the land, and compensate the -landlords for it, is merely taking money out of one pocket to put in the -other, and dropping half of it on the way too." - -"I suppose they will see that at last," Mary said; "but do you think, -Mrs. King, that we are near land nationalization? Don't you think that -confiscation of property is unfortunately a long way off yet?" - -"I do not think it is far off," replied the chief. "I do not mean that -the State will dispossess the proprietors at once by one violent -measure, though I wish the people were strong enough to do so; but all -is tending the right way at present. You see, Mary, this land -nationalization is a very important step indeed. It will be far the -heaviest blow that democracy has ever struck at aristocracy. It is land -that keeps these great families together. Once we have destroyed the -aristocracy of land we can concentrate our energies on the destruction -of the aristocracy of wealth, we will abolish capital." - -Mary thought a little and then said: - -"In that pamphlet on the "International" which you gave me to read, Mrs. -King, there is an extract from a speech of Bakounine. Let me see--here -it is," and she took the book from the table and read: "_After the -rights of private property in land have been got rid of, society must be -wound up; that is, we must abolish the political and judicial system, -which is the only sanction and safeguard of present proprietors. We must -take back everything we can seize, just as fast as we can seize it, as -events shall open out a way._" - -"Exactly so," went on Catherine. "Ah! it is amusing to observe what -blind fools these capitalists, these manufacturers, these employers of -labour are. For the sake of power they have coquetted with Revolution. -They have called themselves Liberals and Radicals. They have become our -allies in our fight with the landed interests. Little do the idiots -imagine that they are but the tools of the Internationalists and of the -Nihilists, that they have to go to Limbo with the rest. We shall soon be -strong enough to dispense with the aid of these wealthy hypocrites who -prey on the people, swallow the results of their toil, and then delude -them with their windy talk, their sham-Liberalism, their rant about -Political economy. The day is not far off when they will bitterly regret -that they have helped us destroy their only allies, and so left -themselves defenceless, an easy prey for us when the day of vengeance -comes." - -After a pause Mary spoke: "How strange it is, Mrs. King, that Political -Economy was once actually looked upon as a Liberal science, was -stigmatized as Revolutionary by the Tories, and now it is clearly seen -to be quite the reverse." - -"That is it!" exclaimed Catherine. "Political Economy is the cleverest -snare the capitalists ever set for the unsuspecting people. It professes -to be so Liberal, so philanthropical, and tries to persuade the workers -that capital is their best friend without whose assistance they would -starve. It is one great organized lie invented by the rich to delude the -poor. The Political Economists, though favourable to the rights of -property in all else, questioned the tenure of land and undermined the -old sanction that supported that right. This science has been a useful -weapon against the landed proprietors, but it is useless against the -capitalists. Its arguments are specious enough. It does not appeal to -first principles, to ancient sanction as the landowners do. It does not -try to prove that the manufacturer has a _right_ to his vast gains, so -disproportionate to those of the real workers, but it sets to work to -try and prove that such a system is positively _good_ for the labourers, -_better_ indeed than any other system would be." - -"Do you think, Mrs. King, that there will soon be any really Radical -alterations in the tenure of land?" asked the pupil. - -"Mary, I know it," replied the teacher with a voice of conviction, "I -know it. The general election that is coming will give us an enormous -majority in the House of Commons. The moderate Liberals are struck with -panic, foreseeing what will happen. The timid leaders of that party feel -that they will be powerless to stem the tide. In a few months a bill -will be driven through Parliament that will astonish the world." - -"But then there is the House of Peers," suggested Mary. "Will the Lords -let the bill through?" - -"The Lords!" exclaimed Catherine with a contemptuous laugh. "Don't talk -to me about the Lords, they will be too frightened about their skins to -dare to offer a long resistance to the will of the people. Now, Mary, -the most important clauses of this great measure will be to the -following effect: any alienation of real property by sale, gift, -testament, or otherwise shall be void unless it be to an immediate -descendant of the holder, except when under certain circumstances the -land courts shall sanction or command a sale for the public good. In -failure of any descendant or of such sanction of the land court, the -land will become the property of the State on the holder's decease--you -understand?" - -"I understand," said Mary rather disappointed, for she expected to hear -something far more startling than this. "But it is not much, even a -moderate like Mill proposed nearly as much as that." - -"Mary," continued Catherine King looking steadfastly at the girl, "it -does not sound much, but nevertheless it is the death-blow to property. -I too would like to see all the old tyrannies swept away at once, but -that cannot be, the country is not ripe enough for that. Now, Mary, you -must remember that there are two methods by which politicians bring -about their ends. - -"The first method is that which all the world sees and hears--the open -action--agitation--the press--debate--culminating in an Act of -Parliament. - -"The second method is secret--this is the work in the dark that, going -far beyond the timid public opinion as represented by Parliament, dares -great things. - -"So we of this Sisterhood, and hundreds of similar associations all over -Europe, are ever on the watch. - -"Our allies--the politicians that work openly, that employ the _first_ -method--prepare the way for us, loosen the foundations of tyranny in -Parliament. Then we come--we that employ the _second_ method, and -complete their work.... Now follow me. This will be the result of this -new Bill. Unless a landed proprietor have children, his estate will -lapse to the State on his death." - -She paused, and the eyes of the two women met. - -Mary had never before seen such an expression in the bright black eyes -of Catherine King. Their pupils were dilated. They blazed with a fierce -intensity of purpose, of passionate thought. They were the eyes of a -madwoman, but a madwoman with a terrible method in her madness. - -She continued in slow, deliberate tones: "Now, after this Act is passed, -supposing that the Secret Societies such as ours come in and _prevent -the landed proprietors from leaving children_, what will happen? In a -generation or two all the land will be in the hands of the people. Do -you follow me?" - -"I think so," replied Mary, in a low voice. - -Catherine proceeded: "Such a scheme may sound impracticable to you at -first, but it is anything but that. We have gone thoroughly into it. It -does not, to begin with, necessitate nearly so many _removals_ of heirs -as you would imagine. You would be surprised to find what a very large -proportion of the land would be recovered by the people in the space of -a few years by no more than say thirty well-selected _removals_. A -little study of the pages of Debrett would soon convince you of this. -The object of our Society is to assist the working of the coming Act of -Parliament by effecting these removals, do you know _how_?" - -Mary had anticipated for many months a revelation of this kind. She was -not taken by surprise, but she turned very pale and said: "How, Mrs. -King?" - -The dreaded moment had come at last, and she felt even as if she was -going to die as she listened to her mistress, who spoke again in calm -but thrilling tones. - -"Mary, I know you well enough to trust you now. When you were enrolled -some months ago as a member of our Sisterhood, you were informed what -would be the penalty of disclosing what was told to you." - -"Death," said Mary, looking up with a brave smile. "It is death, I know -that." - -"I do not mention this because I in any way doubt you. I believe in you -as in my own self. If you are not true, no one in the whole world is. -But it is my duty to remind you of your promise and the consequences of -treason before I reveal to you the secrets of the Inner Circle. Now the -time has come, and you shall know our immediate plan. You already know -how far-spreading our organization is. You know that we have been -training nurses--nurses for the sick and nurses for children--and -domestic servants of all classes. You know how we have scattered these -over the country, and how many there are now at our disposition, -provided with excellent characters and entirely devoted to our cause. -Have you ever wondered--have you ever guessed what all this was for?... -I can see by your face that you have done so.... At the proper time the -secret is revealed to each of these, even as I now reveal it to you. We -seek to find places for these sisters in different capacities, but -chiefly as nurses in the houses of the wealthy landowners--_especially -those houses in which the heirs are yet to be born, or are children_. Do -you understand?" - -"I think so." - -"For the means, we have to thank Sister Jane--a method safe, impossible -of detection, by which the life that is in the way of social good can be -extinguished, painlessly too.... Yes, it is more like sleep than death;" -and when she spoke of death the woman's voice became tender, the fire of -her eyes was dimmed, as a far-away look came into them, and she sighed. - -It seemed as if she was envying the peaceful fate of the babies she was -devoting to an early grave. No wonder that she felt weary at times -beneath all that weight of fierce thought, of subtle plot, of -disappointment. Death was no gloomy shadow to this poor distracted mind. - -Then she pulled herself together again, and said, in a dreamy voice: -"Mary, these Christians believe that their merciful God killed all the -first-born of the Egyptians in one night because they had enslaved his -people and would not let them go. But that slavery was as nothing to -that of the down-trodden millions of Europe." - -The young girl felt as if her heart was becoming cold and dead within -her, but her will was not hers, and she believed altogether in the -righteousness of the cause. She _knew_ that it was her _duty_ to become -one of the assassins--to save humanity by being a baby-killer. - -So, Mary--Mary! Heavens! what a name for a child-murderer!--bowed her -head meekly, and said in a low, passionless voice--a voice that was -without modulation, sounding automatic, as if from one in a trance, one -not knowing the sense of what she said: - -"I will do all you say ... you have me ... body and soul." - -Catherine looked at the white fixed features, and felt a keen pang of -compunction. She came to her senses for a moment.... What was this thing -she was doing? ... sacrificing this poor girl--this one creature that -she loved.... But then she loved her creed still better; and there was -none who could be so useful to the cause as this her pupil; so she -stifled her emotion, and said in a voice grave and collected as ever, -while she rose from her chair: - -"To-morrow, Mary, you shall receive full instructions from the Inner -Circle. Sister Eliza will explain to you what you have to do." - -"I will do all that I am ordered," replied the girl in the same strange -absent tone as before. "Yes, all ... anything...." - -Then suddenly the nature of her duties rose to her mind with such -appalling distinctness that for the moment she was overwhelmed by the -horror of the vision. - -She rose quickly from her chair and paced up and down the room, her face -quite colourless, one hand pressed to her painfully working heart.... -Then, with a cry which seemed full of all the anguish that humanity is -capable of, she threw herself at the feet of her mistress, who stood -looking at her with a stern sadness. She lay there on the ground, her -head hidden in her hands, and the piteous words came out between her -choking sobs. - -"Oh, why was I ever born?... Why were any men or women ever born? Let me -die at once; life is too horrible.... Oh, mistress! Oh, mother! you say -you love me; kill me now then; kill me at once, and spare me this -life--this terrible life." - -But Catherine had now steeled her heart. She hardly heard the pitiful -pleading. Her soul was filled with a wild enthusiasm as she thought of -her long-matured schemes, now so soon to bear fruit. She was possessed -with the _idea_ ... she stood there at her full height; a stately -figure, with her face illumined by the inspiration, having a nobility, a -glory in it, such as even saints and martyrs have worn. Her thoughts -were too exalted just then for her to pay heed to the victim at her -feet, and she said nothing, offered no consolation. - -After this wild first burst of anguish had partly passed, another mood -seized the girl. She leaped to her feet, and with eyes aflame with hate, -and teeth set, exclaimed: - -"Oh! oh! if there is a God how I hate him--no man, no devil could be as -cruel as He is! Why has He made all this misery? Why has He created us -at all? He has arranged things so that in order to save mankind from -still worse suffering we have to kill innocent children. Oh, mother! we -had better all die at once and leave the world to wild beasts." - -Then her former mood returned again, and she threw herself upon the -sofa, weeping bitterly, and her whole body was convulsed with grief and -despair. - -Catherine King had foreseen that such a mental struggle would come to -Mary when the "secret of the aim" was put before her clearly for the -first time. Her experience in other cases led her to hail this paroxysm -as a favourable symptom. - -All the initiated had to go through this agony when the supreme moment -came. This was usually the last, shortest, but fiercest struggle between -the old nature and the new--the old nature of religious instincts, -Christian sympathies and pities, and the new nature that sought to break -through all the tyrannies, to be free of God, of evil and remorse. - -It was an unnatural contest that would rend the poor spirit that engaged -in it until the new nature had gained the victory, then the angel that -is with every soul that is born on earth would go away from it and for -ever, leaving it alone, without _conscience_, free to carry out without -scruple whatsoever _Reason_ should order. - -So Catherine, familiar with the great crisis through which the girl was -passing, said nothing, but quietly left the room, as she knew was the -wisest thing to be done, leaving the victim to fight with her agony by -herself, and little doubting what the result would be. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -LIGHT LOVER. - - -When a man turns his face definitely in that direction, and sets out on -his melancholy road to the dogs, he can get over a good deal of ground -in two years. - -Two years had passed since we last saw him in his Temple chambers, and -in that time Tommy Hudson had travelled a long way down the hill. He had -considerably degenerated. He had drifted into hard drinking, and his -once-refined features indicated the habit too clearly. His practice at -the bar had nearly melted away; solicitors could no longer rely on the -drunkard. - -Feeling his degradation, stricken by remorse, he would make resolutions -of reform which his nature, originally weak and unsteady and ever -further sinking, was unable to carry out. - -His friends shunned him. He had become one in whose company men were -ashamed to be seen. He had recently been black-balled when put up for -election at a small legal club in the neighbourhood of the Law Courts; -and this last disgrace more than anything else hurried on his descent by -driving him to despair and recklessness. - -However, he was still far from being irreclaimably lost, and it was only -occasionally that his condition was demonstratively disgraceful. - -His originally strong tendency for adventure with the fair sex was much -exaggerated by his chronic alcoholism, and was becoming with him a sort -of monomania. A diseased brain made him restless and fearful of -solitude, so that the company of some strange woman or other grew to be -a constant necessity. - -As decent men would not associate with him now--as he was still too -proud to make friends of the loafers, unprincipled, broken-down -gentlemen, and other rats of society who would have gladly welcomed him -among them--he was perforce driven into the at any rate far less -degrading companionship of the free-living members of the other sex. - -But at the end of these two years an event happened that turned the -current of his life for a time. A relative died and left him a few -thousand pounds. - -This brought Hudson to his senses. He made up his mind to live a more -cleanly life. He suddenly abandoned his drinking habits, and really -struggled hard to retrace his steps to respectability. - -He knew that his practice would not return to him at once; so, in order -to occupy his time, he determined to take to literature--he had dabbled -in it before, and was not unknown to the editors of the magazines. He -resumed a novel that he had commenced and put aside years back, and felt -a great delight in finding that he had not to any great extent lost his -power for steady work. - -He had been living this reformed life for a fortnight, when he bethought -him to take a holiday one fine afternoon and visit the academy. One who -had seen him only two weeks before would scarcely have recognized him, -as he walked with a light step along the streets. He was a man once -more. He held his head erect, and there was a happy smile about his -mouth, that spoke of high hope and ambition. He felt a lightness of -heart, an exultation of spirit, he had not known for years. Once more he -had an honest pride in himself, once more the future looked bright with -glorious dreams. - -He had been strolling through the academy--which was rather empty at -the time--for about half an hour, when he remembered that an artist who -had been his friend in former days, and with whom he had taken several -very pleasant walking-tours on the continent, had made himself famous -this year by exhibiting two very well-executed landscapes. - -He referred to the catalogue and soon found where one of these was hung. -He had been before it for some minutes, when he became conscious that a -lady was standing by him looking at the same picture. - -He was rather in her way and was obstructing her view, so he stepped -aside, and taking off his hat murmured some slight apology. - -She bowed and smiled faintly, but it was a particularly pleasing smile. - -He looked at her and was immediately struck by her peculiar beauty. Her -rich complexion, long voluptuous eyes and full well-moulded form, were -indeed well fitted to attract the attention of man. She appeared to be -about twenty-four years old. There was nothing fast in her appearance. -She was well, though plainly dressed. He also noticed that she had tiny -and well-shaped hands and feet. - -He was so fascinated, that without intending it, he was staring very -hard at her. At first she was--or pretended to be--unconscious of his -earnest gaze; then she looked up and their eyes met, hers calm and -wondering, his full of meaning admiration. - -She dropped her eyes and blushed prettily, and then commenced to take a -great interest in the picture before her. - -He stood by her, also pretending to be intent on the painting for about -half a minute, when, as she did not move away, he ventured to speak. - -"I see our tastes are similar. It is a beautiful picture, is it not?" - -She looked at him calmly. - -"Indeed, it is; but I don't seem to recognize the artist's name, Is he -well known?" - -"I don't think he had much reputation till this year; but the two -pictures he is exhibiting here now have been much admired. He has now -become quite a celebrated man." - -"Then he has another picture in the academy!" - -"He has, and I believe it is the best of the two. If you will allow me I -will find out for you where it is. They say it is quite one of the -pictures of the year." - -She hesitated a little before she made a reply. - -"It is very kind of you--I should very much like to see it. But I must -not trouble you." - -"Please don't imagine it will be any trouble to me. Besides I am anxious -to see the picture myself. I used to know the artist very well." - -"Oh! that must be very interesting for you. I have often thought how -nice it must be to know the authors and painters of the books and -pictures we admire." - -"I am afraid you would be very often disappointed in them," he said, -laughing. "I see from the catalogue that the picture is in the next -room. Would you like to go there now?" - -They walked into the room together, and after a few more common-place -remarks and interchange of ideas in front of the picture in question, -the ice was still further broken between them. The two young people -entered into quite a lively talk. He became still more fascinated; for -her voice was low and sweet, and there was a frank, trusting, -communicativeness in her conversation that was perfectly delicious. - -They sat for a considerable time together on the divan in front of the -picture, but they paid little attention to that great work of art. - -Said she, "You must think me very fast to come here all by myself, and -what is worse allow you, an entire stranger to me to enter into -conversation with me." - -"No! It is all my fault. I forced myself upon you. It was very kind on -your part not to snub me for my presumption." - -She sighed. "Ah! I am afraid I was wrong; but you see I am alone in -London, I have no friends here. It is so very lonely for me. It is so -pleasant to talk sometimes with--with--well with people like yourself. I -think I have some excuse, don't you?" - -"Every excuse!" - -"And after all, what great harm is there in it? It is rather -unconventional perhaps." - -"And therefore the pleasanter. I don't see why we should be always tied -down by those silly hard-and-fast rules of society." - -"No more do I! though I am not one of those strong-minded women who -believe in woman's rights. Besides,"--and she laughed prettily--"what -harm are you likely to do me? You don't look like a pickpocket or an -ogre. I am quite old enough to look after myself, even if you do prove -to be anything but what I take you for--a gentleman." - -He bowed and said, "I do not think you need fear me." - -"Dear me," she continued, "how curious it is! Here are we two, who had -never even seen each other an hour ago, talking as freely as if we had -known each other for years." - -"That is the advantage of being frank and straightforward. Those stiff, -reserved people, who are always suspicious of strangers, miss a lot of -pleasure in this world. Now you see we were both dull, moping about here -alone, and now how happy we are!--at least I speak for myself." - -He persuaded her to have some tea in the refreshment room, when she -confided to him a little of her history. The misfortunes of her family -had obliged her to seek a livelihood in the metropolis. - -"I have been trying to start a small school for little boys," she said, -"but my capital was slender, and nobody knows me in London. I have spent -far more than I can properly afford in advertisements, and they seem to -produce no effect. I shall have to abandon that project." - -The barrister's compassion was much excited by the simple tale. "And -what do you purpose doing then?" he said. "But forgive me; I am so -interested that I am afraid I am asking questions I have no right to -ask." - -"Why not?" she replied simply. "I am thinking of becoming a nurse in a -hospital. I had some training of the kind a few years ago." - -"It is rather a hard and unpleasant life I should imagine." - -"Perhaps so--but you know beggars cannot be choosers; but I must not -bore you any longer with my foolish history." - -"On the contrary I am deeply interested--and you say you have no friends -at all in London?" - -"None!" she replied with a forlorn sigh that went to his heart. - -After a pause he spoke again in earnest tones. - -"I wish you would allow me to become a friend. I think it would be very -foolish of us to separate to-day without arranging any plans about -meeting again. We have already agreed that conventionality ought -sometimes to be dispensed with. Here surely is a very good case in -point. I should like exceedingly to see you again; I should be very -sorry if we did not continue this friendship. Have you any objection?" - -"Of course not. I should very much like it," she replied looking at once -into his eyes. "The idea is charming to me. Ah! if you knew how terrible -it is to have no friend, no one to confide in, you would feel for me I -know." - -"I find my own life a little lonely too sometimes," he said, "I am a -barrister--" - -"A barrister!" she interrupted. "Ah! I have long wished to know a -barrister. I have always thought they must be such clever men." - -"Well, I suppose we are quite up to the other professions. But now I -think, as we have settled that we are to be friends, it is not worth our -while to delay about it. Let us imagine we have been friends quite a -long time--and will you do me the honour of dining with me to-night?" - -"Dine with you!" she exclaimed, as if startled by the idea. - -"Yes--why not? It will enable us to learn more of each other. We will -dine at a restaurant, and if you like we will go to a theatre -afterwards." - -She only hesitated a moment, then replied, "You are very kind--you don't -know what a treat you are proposing to me. I have been so very dull of -late--No!" she cried joyfully, "I cannot refuse you. The prospect is too -delightful." - -They passed an exceedingly pleasant evening together. When the play was -over he put her in a cab and they separated. She would not tell him -where she lived, but gave him an address at a stationer's shop to which -he might write; and also made an appointment to meet him on the -following day. - -He walked home aflame with a passion which he fondly believed was love. -He considered that he had fallen into a very lucky adventure. Knowing -well the weakness of his own character, he argued with himself that it -would be an excellent thing for him to be fond of a really nice little -woman like this. An intrigue of this kind would keep him straight. It -had always been one of his maxims that to have a mistress was a grand -thing for a man; it settled him, and preserved him from dissipation. - -It was perhaps a rather wild thing to hope to find salvation in such a -union as the one he contemplated; nevertheless it has happened to many -men of his nature to be regenerated by a mistress. - -There are certain men--not of the meanest order--whose happiness and -success in life, or misery and failure, entirely depend on women. Of an -amorous disposition, love is a necessity to these. If such a man take a -good woman as his mate, he is indeed happy in her. She makes him a god; -she stimulates him to noble endeavour; encourages him in the dark hours; -and raises to success a life that would have yielded to temporary -failure. - -Happy too is the woman who has thus completed the nature of the powerful -weak man, happy in that her benign influence has made a being -intellectually so far her superior yet morally her inferior, admirable -instead of despicable. Happy too is she, in that the man knows it, and -his grateful love burns true and holy until death. - -But the bad woman can as easily drag down such a nature, as a good woman -can ennoble it. A crisis had now come to the life of the barrister. He -had already checked himself on his downward career, he was struggling -after the lost good. Were this new friend of his to prove a woman of the -right sort, he might probably still become a distinguished man in his -profession or in literature. - -But, alas! the Fates were against him. - - * * * * * - -For it happened that this young lady whom the barrister had met was no -other than our old acquaintance Susan Riley--the youngest member of the -Inner Circle of the Secret Society--the one who had known the pains and -joys of motherhood. - -Cat that she was, she had a cat-like love for prowling about in the -evening with no definite purpose, but in search of adventure. She might -be often seen in Regent Street in the afternoon. She would on occasion -allow strange gentlemen to enter into conversation with her. Ah! how -modest and demure she would be at first! By-and-bye the befooled man -would become infatuated. Dinners, suppers, bonnets, gloves and jewellery -would be showered upon her; but at last when the swain thought it full -time that his amours should advance a step further, and leave the cold -regions of Platonic love she would as likely as not turn and laugh him -to scorn, leave him, and start to pastures new in search of fresh game. - -She could talk low and sweetly, this cunning beauty, and her blue eyes -would so well lie of love as they looked up timidly from under their -curling lashes. By the very manner with which she would draw on her -glove, she could make a man believe she loved him. - -The result of the adventure at the academy was that she and the -barrister saw a good deal of each other. Their friendship ripened. She -played her cards cunningly, and soon made her conquest complete. - -She told him a lamentable tale about a runaway husband--a clergyman, she -said. He looked the name up in an old clergy-list, and there indeed it -was, so he believed her tale. She filled him with pity for her forlorn -state. - -A very considerable proportion of Hudson's income found its way, if not -directly, indirectly, into her pockets. She wheedled him well, though he -was no fool. But what young man can look through the glamour that -surrounds a beautiful and clever woman? He deceives himself willingly, -and believes she is an angel, though he knows how silly he is to believe -so. - -Susan understood her man, and she thought it worth her while to take -considerable trouble over his conquest. Cautiously she wove her web -around him. She did not yield her heart (?) too soon, but kept him for -some time in suspense. - -How candid she appeared to be! One day she placed her daintily-gloved -hand gently on his arm, and looking openly into his eyes, said: "Ah! Mr. -Hudson, it is very kind of you to take so much interest in me--to do so -much for me; but I will not deceive you; you must not speak to me again -of love. I cannot love. I am deeply grateful--I like you very much--but -I will never, never love you!" - -He poured out a flood of wild protestations of undying, boundless -affection; he implored, lamented, made oaths, and so forth, as is usual -with men under like circumstances. - -"No!" she went on with a sigh--"no, Mr. Hudson, I dare not love again. I -know how sweet is love--no one better. Sometimes I think I was created -only to love and be loved. But after that one terrible disappointment, I -dare never love again. Oh, Mr. Hudson!"--looking at him with swimming -eyes, and speaking in thrilling tones--"how can I ever trust a man -again?--to trust and be deceived--to love and then to lose! Oh, it would -kill me! I can never allow my poor heart to love again." - -Then of course followed fresh protestations and oaths of constancy from -the victim, to which she only replied by a piteous sigh. - -This sort of thing went on for a fortnight or so; then she got sick of -it. She thought that there had been quite enough of this preliminary -play; and that the time had come for her to yield gracefully to his -importunity. - -One fine Sunday afternoon, they were walking together in Kew gardens. - -"Do you not like me a little bit?" asked Hudson, imploringly. - -"Of course I like you. You are my dearest--my only friend!" - -"But cannot you love me, my darling? Oh! indeed you can trust me--this -is no boy's love of mine! I am old enough to know my own mind. I love -you as few men ever loved a woman, as I never knew that I myself could -love. You are the one thing in the whole world to me. Trust me--this is -no passing fancy." - -A profound sigh was her sole reply. She was rather proud of her sighs; -they were wonderfully expressive. - -"Cannot you love me a _little_, Edith?" She called herself Edith to her -young men as being a more euphonious name than Susan. - -Her answer this time was a nervous stirring up of the sand with her -parasol, and a downcast look and silence. - -"Oh, Edith! I do so hunger for your love," he urged again. "Can you not -give me a little for all this love of mine? Oh, my darling! if you can -only give me back a hundredth part of my love for you, I shall be -satisfied." - -She turned her head--as if to conceal her emotion, but really to hide a -smile that she could not altogether suppress, having a strong sense of -the ridiculous--and said, in accents of piteous pleading: - -"Don't! don't, Tom!--don't take advantage of my weakness." - -"Then you _do_ love me?" he cried, passionately. - -"It is cruel of you to force me to confess my feelings. Oh, Tom!--I -can't help it!--now you know all!--I _do_ love you!" - - * * * * * - -She had still a few pretty scruples which she allowed him to talk her -out of gradually. It was very wrong, she urged, for her to accept him as -a lover--she a married woman!--her husband still alive! But the eloquent -barrister managed to persuade her to the contrary. - -It was a grotesque burlesque of love at which these two were playing. -She, of course, felt no love whatever for the man. Love was a sentiment -unknown to her, though she had the voluptuous nature of a Messalina. She -also knew that his was not a real unselfish love for her. He himself was -more or less conscious of this latter fact. This new intrigue -disappointed him in a way; he instinctively felt that there was -something wrong about this pretty woman--that her society would probably -do him more harm than good. - -His affection for her was passionate enough, but it would not bear -analysis--and he knew it--being made up as it was of equal parts of lust -and vanity. - -A man who has gone mad over a girl in this way will squander everything -he has on her, not because he loves her, not even spending it so as to -benefit her, but merely in display--in suppers, dress, and folly, -whereby the vanity of both is gratified. - -A very selfish love after all is this quasi-love of a man, however -fierce, however self-devoted it appear; and women of the world such as -the Riley know this well. Little wonder, then, that they laugh at their -admirers behind their back; and determine to fleece them well before the -inevitable weariness comes, and the men go off in search of newer loves. - -These two contrived, however, to get on very well together, and their -intimacy continued for month after month, involving much expenditure of -hard cash on his side, of sighs and lies on hers. - -The infatuation of the man increased. He would have thrown away his all, -nay, his life, for this woman. He became her very slave; and yet all the -while he felt that she was not a good woman; he was ashamed of his -ignoble passion. - -Disgusted at his own folly, he took to drink again; he broke through his -resolution of reform, and, turning his face round, began to retrace his -steps down the hill--this time never to come back. - -Susan had wormed out of him all his history, and found that he had -considerable prospects on the death of some relative, so she did not -desert him when his rapidly-increasing drinking propensities made of him -a not over pleasant companion at times; but she tried to play the part -of reformer and beautiful guardian angel of the man. - -In reality, she contrived to sink him further into the abyss, and by -this means make him more and more her slave. While preaching to him like -a saint about his bad habits, she would put in suggestions and -tantalizing thoughts, despairs and regrets that she knew were calculated -to make him unhappy and drink the deeper when she was not by him. She -made up her mind to be indispensable to him; he should be a miserable -drunkard when she was not by; he should not forsake her, at any rate -till his property came in and she had taken her fair share of it. - -Of all the circumstances that combined to drag this weak, vacillating -creature down, none were so dire as his friendship with this fiend in -the shape of an angel. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -KILLING NO MURDER. - - -In the vicinity of one of our great London Hospitals, there is a -pleasant Park. Very diversified in its character: laid out most -artistically in shady groves, sloping lawns of soft grass, retired -rockeries where water drips among giant ferns, and lakes winding in and -out between banks covered with fine trees and exotic flowers. It is one -of the most charming of the many charming oases in the vast Saharah of -brick and mortar. And yet the fashionable world know nothing of it save -by name. It is the playground of the people, and perhaps has never been -visited by any of the daughters of Mayfair, except on the one occasion, -when Royalty went down into that poverty-stricken quarter of the great -city, to formally open these beautiful gardens to the humblest of its -subjects. - -But being within easy reach of the hospital, it was a common thing for -the worn-out house-surgeons, the nurses and others connected with that -noble charity, to snatch a few moments of fresh air in that pleasant -place, in the intervals of their labour among the sick. - -It was early in November, but the autumn had been so mild, and so free -from the usual blustering South Westers, that the leaves were still on -the trees, and the glorious colouring of the foliage was such as to -remind Canadian visitors of their own mellow Indian summer. - -Two young women were walking leisurely by the path which bordered the -lake. The elder of the two, who seemed to be about twenty-five, was of -middle height, well filled out, dumpy she might almost be called, not -over much so, however, but to that extent only that many of the other -sex prefer in a woman. She was pretty, decidedly so, but not of a _good_ -prettiness; she had the sort of evil beauty that tempted the old saints, -the purely carnal attractiveness. - -When a man's met her eyes, he was fascinated; but the thoughts that they -excited in him were of madness and lust, and not of the pure and -chastening delight which the beauty of the true woman inspires. - -Those eyes were large, languid, with full pupils, and lids that -generally half closed over them--eyes that would not look frankly into -yours, though they would voluptuously--eyes that to him who can read the -tale the human features tell, betrayed the lascivious, deceitful, cruel -temperament--the three qualities so often go together--and let the man -that values his manhood avoid such eyes as he would the lord of hell, -who, as the hermits of old believed, created them. - -If the affection of such a woman be cast upon a man he is lost; for it -is not the sweet flower of love that they will enjoy together, but -another, a flower indeed, but a flower of hell. - -The other woman was taller, slighter, much younger, and of a very -different style of beauty; for this other was Mary Grimm, whereas her -companion was Susan Riley. - -The two would-be baby-killers were now members of an association of lady -nurses, and were undergoing their training for ministry of the sick at -the neighbouring hospital. - -They were conversing: Susan in a flippant volatile fashion, not -forgetting to cast sidelong glances of conquest through the corners of -her eyes at the men that passed her, as ever eager for admiration; Mary -in an earnest manner, not observing the people, and while she talked, -throwing, in an absent way, crumbs of bread she had brought with her -for the purpose to the tame swans and ducks that swam on the artificial -water. - -The contrast between the two was immense, and indeed they were at the -opposite poles of womanhood. - -Mary was speaking: - -"And do you really find an absolute pleasure, as you say you do, in -being in the possession of a secret like this, Susan? I cannot say that -I do. It is necessary of course to work in the dark: but I should like -so much better if we could work out our ends openly, before all the -world, and not in round-about ways, in holes and corners." - -Sister Susan laughed. - -"You are not half a woman, Mary; why, you talk just like some silly -young man might. Love a secret! of course I do. All women love secrets. -Anything that smells of mystery and intrigue exerts a fascination on the -feminine imagination. I should not care a bit to be a leader of -revolution in the face of all the world--but to be an executioner of the -unknown terror, the pitiless secret punishment that works in silence, -that strikes in the dark, unseen, unexpected. I must confess that has -for me a delightful charm. It's quite irresistible." - -Mary replied: "Yes, women may love secrets, but--" - -Susan interrupted her with a hard laugh. "Love secrets! I should think -so, indeed; why, a woman is so fond of a secret and considers it such a -precious thing that she cannot even keep it to herself. She must needs -go, unselfish generous creature, and share the treasure with all her -friends. Nasty people hint so, anyhow. Now as you are not a bad little -thing, though a little fool, I'll tell you a secret. I'm going to leave -the hospital soon. I've got a very good _place_ through Sister Eliza." - -"What are you going to do?" asked Mary, deeply interested, for she knew -what "a place" signified, without the emphasis which Susan had laid on -the expression. - -"Nothing less than be a sort of nursery governess in Lord Doughton's -house," was the reply. - -"Lord Doughton!" exclaimed Mary. "Why, Sister Eliza says that he is the -largest landed proprietor in England since his marriage with that -heiress whose estates adjoined his." - -"Sister Eliza is quite right," said Susan. "She makes it her business to -keep a registry of all that concerns the great landed proprietors. Lord -Doughton has been married eleven years; he has three children; the -eldest is a boy of ten, a cripple. Think of that, no less than three to -get rid of. Aren't you jealous?" - -"But you don't mean that a child as old as that has to be--to be--" - -"But of course I do," interrupted Susan sharply, then continued with her -usual heartless flippant tones. "I'll tell you what it is, my girl, the -sooner you get the rest of this sentimentality out of you, the better. -It's sickening." - -"Surely there is a great distinction between removing babies just born, -who have not really begun to live, and killing big boys and men." - -Susan laughed. - -"Bless me, here's a fine moral distinction! What _is_ the difference -pray, Miss Casuist? But turn off here, across the grass. If we are going -to talk of these things we had better go where there is no chance of -eaves-dropping. Our conversation would rather surprise that -shabby-looking old person there if he overheard it, wouldn't it? Let's -go and ask him what is the latest age at which it is justifiable to put -away a human being for the public good." - -"For God's sake, Susan, let us talk seriously!" Mary said. - -"For _whose_ sake? don't know him; but for your sake I'll be sober for a -little time as you hate joviality; you'll be jovial enough though when -you are as old as I am, and have gone through as much. It's by joviality -people who have suffered plenty make up for it when it's all over. -You'll find that out. People who have lived untroubled lives are seldom -jovial." - -They walked on in silence a short distance, then Mary after looking -around her said: - -"There is no one about here; there is no danger of anyone overhearing us -now." - -"Right you are, Mary; so now I'll answer your question. _Did_ you ask me -a question by-the-bye?" - -"I don't think so; but we were talking about this boy of Lord -Doughton's." - -"Ah, yes! to be sure, the sprig of nobility you thought was too old to -die. I've heard of people being too young to die; but you seem to think -that one gets a sort of prescriptive right of living, that life's like -land out of which one shouldn't be turned if there have been so many -years undisputed possession. Droll theory! But I see you are frowning, -so I'll try to be serious. Now, what _is_ the difference between killing -a baby or a ten-year-older? The latter doesn't feel more pain in the -process of being put out of the way; why should his life be considered -to be of more value? Why, bless the girl! We must kill all the _heirs_, -whatever age they may be. Of course we must kill them as babies if -possible, because it is easier to get at them." - -Mary had been scanning with great curiosity the woman's face as she -glibly chattered on in her flippant way. - -"Susan," she asked, "_have_ you ever killed a child?" - -"Yes, one," was the prompt reply, delivered in a cool matter-of-fact -fashion. - -"Lately." - -"No, long ago; not for the cause, before I even joined the Sisterhood, -or dreamed of all the theories and plots my head is now chokefull of. It -was my own baby." - -The two women looked at each other, the one with a hard stare of brazen -effrontery, the other with an expression of terror and disgust. - -"Ay!" went on the elder with a voice which, breaking through its usual -false ring, was full of malice and bitterness. "Ay! you cream-faced -beauty, you are shocked are you? Of course you are right. One should not -kill except for the good of the Society, other private killing is -objectionable. I know all that. But wait until you have gone through -what I have, and see what you will be then...." Changing back to her old -light tone she continued, "Ah, Mary! it was the same old story with me -as with the rest. A warm temperament"--and she laughed as she made this -cool confession--"a warm temperament, a man, and a baby, that's all--and -a little tragedy mixed up with it that won't be worth your while to hear -about now." - -Mary had never liked this woman, she now began to conceive an intense -dislike for her. Susan would never have converted her to the cause, -though she was the very person to win over girls naturally flighty and -wicked. But Mary concealed her dislike as much as possible, for she was -interested in drawing out this strange being, so wicked, so like a -female Mephistopheles, so different in every way to her own ideal, her -mistress, Catherine King. - -"Did you have such a thing as a conscience when you were a little girl, -Sister Susan?" she inquired. - -"I don't know--not much of a one anyhow. I never had the fight you had; -and yet your conscience still raises his head now and then. You are full -of pities, and scruples, and trashy sentiment. I'll tell you what it is. -Mary; I know what you want; I know what will soon make you happier, what -will altogether knock on the head that nasty, teasing conscience of -yours. Would you like to know what it is?" - -"I wish you _would_ tell me the cure; but time is the only one. It is -not conscience though, it is cowardice." - -"Indeed! I should not have taken you for a coward," Susan observed. - -"But I am. It can be nothing else than cowardice. I know it is my -duty--I know it is for the good of the world that I should do certain -things. Of course I will do those things when I am ordered to do so. -But, oh! how I shall shirk that horrible duty! How I shall suffer! I -sometimes think I shall go mad when the time comes." - -"Nonsense. I've heard young medical students talk like that. Yet see how -soon they get hardened into chopping and probing away into our quivering -anatomies. No! You go and try my patent cure for conscience--never known -to fail, cures pain at the heart, prevents softening--testimonials from -Mrs. Jezebel, several empresses of Rome, and many of the nobility and -gentry. Try it, Mary!" - -"Well, what is it?" asked the girl, laughing in spite of her melancholy -frame of mind. - -"_A regular bad man_," replied the other fiercely--"that's my -prescription, my dear. You've got a pretty face enough, so the drug can -be easily 'presented,' as the doctors say. It's not a difficult medicine -to procure. It is not even unpleasant to the taste at first--on the -contrary; but it rather upsets you when it's working its effect and -purging the morbid secretion conscience out of you. Go and get one, one -of your haw-haw club dandies; get him to fall in love with you, as they -will for a time. It's easy to make him do that--work on his vanity, -that's all. Flatter him--you'll catch any man like that. Talk about -woman's vanity--it's nothing to a man's. Then you must fall in love with -him--you may find that difficult, but it is necessary, else the medicine -won't work. Now after a period more or less long--after babies, -coolness, insult, desertion--after your hero proves but a mean, -heartless cad after all--after all this, the devil of a bit of -conscience you'll find left in you, I'll guarantee." - -Mary looked at Susan, wondering at this strange nature, feeling a great -antipathy, yet not unmixed with pity, for the vain, wicked, hardened -creature by her side. - -At last she said, - -"I often wonder what you were like when you were a child, Susan." - -Susan seemed buried in thought, and did not reply for a few minutes. -"You want to know how my antecedents developed the charming being, Susan -Riley? I don't suppose my nature was what some people would call a good -one to begin with; but, child--for you are a child to me--you have -suffered nothing to what I have. Your life at Brixton was an unhappy -one, there ends your suffering; my life as a child, too, was no merry -one. But it was what happened afterwards. It was _a man_ that completed -my education and finished my conscience. Ah, what a bringing up was -mine! I, full of animal life, high-spirited, was kept down by my parents -as few children have been. They, both father and mother, were religious -monomaniacs, cruel, selfish, hard Puritans of the severest school. And -what fools they were too! Just think of it! My father thought that any -person who did not exactly believe in his own narrow views, must be -altogether a child of sin--capable of any possible crime. So my brother, -who would not play the hypocrite enough, was so mistrusted by my father, -that when my cousin, a pretty girl, came to our house to tea, as she -often did, he was not permitted to escort her home afterwards. No! a -man-servant, a sneaking hypocrite, was sent with her instead--that man -seduced my sister, and, I believe, my cousin also. My brother was driven -to the dogs, of course, by the judicious treatment of his parents. I -will tell you what happened to him some day. Ha! there's an education to -drive religion out of you. How I hated the very name of it! How I hated -my father and mother, and all the sneaking, sickly crew that surrounded -them! Anyhow, my dear parents died broken-hearted at their children's -behaviour; that was one consolation for us anyhow." - -Neither spoke for some time, then Mary asked, "Do you think, Susan, -that after I have once removed a child I shall be different, will this -feeling of horror go away then? Oh! it is awful, Susan. I believe even -you would pity me if you knew. My life is now like one long night-mare. -In the day-time I wish that it was night-time again, that I might be -asleep; and in the night it is no better and I wish it was day again; -and I always wish that I was dead. I would kill myself were it not for -my dear mistress. Are many of the sisters like this? Shall I go mad do -you think, Susan?" - -Susan replied, "It is the first step that costs, as we used to translate -some sentence in the French exercise book when I was at school. I can't -give you the original, I've forgotten my French, and piano, and other -accomplishments now; but it means that when you have killed your first -baby you will feel better: that is the experience of all Nihilists. All -have the horrors, more or less, at first. They think that as soon as -they have done the deed some frightful bogie, some maddening remorse -worse than anything imaginable before, will jump up and seize them. It -is the dread of this bogie that does all the mischief. Now, as soon as -they have done the deed, they are so agreeably surprised to find that -this dreaded bogie does _not_ come, that a delightful reaction sets in. -You should see how mad some of them get with joy. As soon as you have -killed your first baby, or boy, or man, your horrors will go. You will -experience immediate relief. It's like having a tooth out." - -"I see what you mean. It sounds natural enough, too," said Mary, -musingly. - -"Of course; and at last you'll become a jovial body like me, and you'll -come to like your duties and take a relish in blood for its own sake." - -Mary shuddered perceptibly, and said, "I shall never come to that I -hope--that is, I fear." - -"Don't be afraid of speaking out, my dear! I'm not -thin-skinned--besides, I take pride in being cruel. I can hate. It -would be well for you if you could. You will always suffer somewhat. You -will have to keep a picture of your duty always before you, between you -and the sight of the blood. You will have to work yourself up to blind -enthusiasm every time you have work to do. I wouldn't wonder if you have -to take to opium. It is not a bad temporary conscience-duller. But look -how much more convenient my state of mind is. I don't require winding -up. I have no scruples. I enjoy my work." - -"And I loathe it," exclaimed the girl. "It is all a matter of -temperament I suppose, Susan." - -"I suppose it is," Susan continued. "Do you know, I have observed that -most voluptuous women are cruel as well. It is a curious fact, Mary. I -sometimes think that my nature is chiefly made up of these two noble -qualities. My man used to call me Faustina. Now you are all made up of -cold duties, and so you will suffer. Hot passions are better for the -Nihilists." - -Mary with difficulty concealed her feelings of disgust, and spoke again. -"And yet I have known what hate is, how I hated my father and -step-mother! How cruel I felt I could have been! But now that I am away -from their persecution the hate seems to be all going. I even sometimes -find myself thinking of my father with pity, wishing I could see him; -yet he was always cruel to me." - -"That sort of hate's no good. You are as fickle in your hates as I am in -my loves. Yours was an _artificial_ hate, such as a saint could acquire -if ill-treated as you were. But mine is a good, genuine, _natural_ hate, -Mary, and I'm proud of it." - -"Ah! I wish I could be brave, and fearless, and thoughtless like you, -Susan." - -"Do you?" cried Susan. "Perhaps I, too, have a skeleton hidden away in a -cupboard, somewhere, my girl. You always see me jolly. Yes! if it were -not for one horrid thing"--she spoke slowly and shivered--"I should be -perfectly happy." - -"What is that?" asked Mary, wondering what possible secret sorrow could -be a constant bugbear to this frivolous being. - -"The fear of old age, Mary," was the reply. "The dread of being old, -ugly--like withered Sister Jane, for instance. Oh! how I fear that -loathsome thing." - -The woman's face actually blanched as she spoke these words, and her -accents betrayed an emotion that surprised Mary. Yes! this indeed was -the one phantom that ever pursued this butterfly creature. This terror -that possessed her was ever present to her, as happens sometimes to such -natures. To be no longer beautiful, to be no longer sighed after by men, -was to her imagination terrible as is the thought of hell to some. - -"Let us sit down on this seat and rest a little, Susan," suggested Mary. - -"Very well; but it's getting late, and my time will soon be up. Ah! I -wish I was like you, Mary, living at home with that amiable old -Catherine King, instead of being boxed up with a lot of foolish women in -that hospital, with strict discipline about being out at nights and so -on. I must say I like my liberty: but luckily this won't be for long." - -"I never could make out how they allowed the rules to be broken through -in my case," Mary said. "There was another nurse who wanted to live with -her mother. But she was told they would not have her in the hospital -unless she lived there altogether, as the rest do." - -"The King has great influence in all directions. She must be very fond -of you, must the King--your aunt as she calls herself now. Ah! I wish -she would adopt me and take me out of this hateful place. I would make -her a most dutiful niece." - -"Yet, most of the nurses seem to be well contented with their home," -urged Mary. - -"Oh! it's nice enough for those women--innocent creatures--they have -never known the delights of sin and liberty. I'm not like them--like -Miss Anerly for instance. She's fun, isn't she? They have put her to -sleep in the same room as I do. She is always at me about saying my -prayers. She kneels down for half an hour at least, before getting into -bed, and when she gets up, she has a sort of way of looking at me with a -superior see-how-much-better-I-am-than-you air, that is sickening. I -often feel tempted to bring out some remarks that will make her open her -weak, little, grey eyes; but of course that won't do. What do you think; -she insists on reading a chapter in the Bible to me every morning before -I get up." - -Mary replied with a deep sadness in her voice. "Ah! it is well for us to -laugh, that know so much, but how happy are these people with their -Bible! They cannot know our suffering. They find such comfort in their -superstition. They say in the Bible that the tree of knowledge is the -tree of evil; we have proved it so." - -"Some wise man once said, Wherever truth is, there too is Golgotha," put -in Susan. - -"That is very true," continued Mary. "Wherever truth is, there too is -Golgotha. I feel that. Now that I know so much, now that I know that all -this religion that keeps society together is a fable, I feel as if I was -no longer as other people, as if I was some other sort of being, -standing quite apart from my fellow-creatures, with such different -instincts and ideas that we can never understand each other again, that -there can never more be pleasant sympathies between us." - -Susan again laughed her disagreeable laugh. "Dear me! Why, you are a -sort of Miltonic Satan, Mary; but it's too late to rant on in this -ignorance-is-bliss style, now, my girl." - -"But don't you feel it yourself sometimes, Susan?" asked the girl in -wonder. "Don't you feel dreadful, when you pass by all these crowds of -happy people, and think that if they only knew what you were they would -loathe you, and tear you to pieces? It is horrible to me to be -separated from all the world by such a barrier as that of our _Aim_. -Never to approach them, never to know their little joys, and hopes, and -affections. They seem only foolish to our eyes, but how detestable would -we appear in theirs if they only knew." - -Susan turned and looked contemptuously into the girl's face. "Why, Mary, -you are talking treason. You'll be going back to your dear Bible next." - -"Go back to the Bible--no, never! It would be better if I could ... -perhaps. Ah, Susan, I sometimes think that mankind will never get on -without religion, that _truth_ will bring worse tyrannies and horrors -than _superstition_ ever did. A fearful outlook--man must have a -religion or die; and yet there is no religion to be had." - -"Oh, Mary, you are a little fool! When will you be wise and cunning like -me? You talk of the horror of being different from other people; I -delight in it. It amuses me to look at the happy simpletons, and know -that I have secrets that would make their cheeks blanch to hear. You -have not got the proper temper for a Nihilist." - -Mary thought in silence for a few minutes, then said, "Susan, I have -often wondered what motives led you to join the society. You are a -zealous member, I know; but yet I can scarcely believe that it was a -good motive, that it was a true love of humanity, an unselfish desire to -benefit the world, like our Chief's, that induced you to become a -conspirator in the first instance." - -"Mary, shall I tell you my real reason?" - -"Do." - -"Because I am a woman--that is a sufficient reason. We women are driven -to do strange things, by motives that cannot be put into words, motives -that we cannot ourselves analyze. But see, here comes the doctor. He's -sweet on me--so he's safe to come and talk with us." - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -A LOVE THAT DOES NOT RUN SMOOTHLY. - - -The gentleman who was approaching the two girls was a quietly-dressed -man of about thirty-two, but he looked somewhat older. He was tall and -broad-shouldered. His clean-shaved face was massive in its make, and -indicative of power. His expression was grave, and women would have put -him down as plain were it not for his eyes, clear thoughtful brown eyes, -with a noble look in them that inspired confidence and respect. - -Dr. Duncan had acquired a considerable reputation as a surgeon since we -last saw him in the Gaiety with Tommy Hudson. He was still working in -the same hospital--that in which Mary and Susan were undergoing their -training as nurses. - -Taking off his hat, he addressed the girls in a pleasant tone. "I am -glad to see that you are making the best of this beautiful afternoon. -How lovely the foliage of the trees is, Miss Riley; is it not? I don't -think I ever remember seeing such fine autumnal effects in the heart of -London." - -Susan replied in a sentimental voice: "Yes, doctor; but it means hard -work for us I fear. This still dank weather makes nature look like a -sort of huge death-bed, the vegetation rotting slowly, and the steam of -decay hanging over everything. It's just the weather to breed fevers and -rheumatisms. The weakly ill-fed poor will inhale the foul breath of the -dying air, and rot off like all these pretty hectic leaves you are -admiring so much." - -The false voice in which she said this rather jarred on Dr. Duncan. He -looked at her curiously, and said: - -"Yes! but it is better for them than the cold winds and the snow and the -frost after all, Miss Riley. The maladies and deaths _they_ cause are -out of the reach of us doctors, though the remedies are simple enough, -God knows. Coals and bread, that is all that is wanted to stop -nine-tenths of the illness of what is called a good old-fashioned -winter." - -Susan gave the doctor a soft look out of her voluptuous wicked eyes, and -exclaimed in a sort of mellow cooing voice, which she knew how to put on -when she wanted to fascinate: and it was well calculated to effect this -object: - -"Ah, doctor! they say that you give away a great deal of that sort of -medicine among the poor of this district sometimes. How gratefully they -speak of you! You are idolized in the lowest slums. They would die for -you. It must be delicious to be loved by all as you are," and she threw -out a sigh and another bewitching glance. - -But the flattery was a little too thickly laid on for a man of this -stamp, though he liked flattery well enough, as all men do, bad or good. - -He turned to Mary and said, "Miss King, I have been concerned to see how -pale and ill you have been looking of late. I am afraid the hard work is -upsetting you. You should take a holiday. Why don't you run down to the -sea-side for a week?" - -Mary coloured slightly, and said, coldly: "Indeed, I feel very well, -thank you, Dr. Duncan. I generally am rather pale, but I think I am as -strong as anyone can be." - -Susan felt rather annoyed at the manner with which her remarks had been -received. She wanted to monopolize the doctor's conversation. She had -been setting her cap at him for some time, for what purpose it is -difficult to say, unless it were out of mere malice and vanity; for in -her heart she disliked this cold man who would not fall into a violent -infatuation about her, as most others would have done after a quarter -of the love-making she had thrown away on him. - -And now she remembered her time was up. She must return to the hospital, -and perhaps the doctor would walk part of the way home with Mary. It was -most provoking; for she felt that Mary's charms were as great as her -own, greater perhaps, she suspected, when a wise man was concerned, -though that silly child did not know how to employ them. - -"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "I wish I could stay a little longer in this -pretty place, and have a pleasant chat with you two, but it is time for -me to go home." - -"I am going home now, Susan," said Mary, "and I will walk as far as the -hospital with you. It is on my way." - -"And on mine too," said the doctor. "If you allow me I will accompany -you." - -Mary made no reply. - -"Oh! how nice," gushed Susan. "It is so lonely to walk down all those -dingy streets by oneself. It is a treat to have somebody with one, -especially--" and the cunning beauty checked herself, and pretended to -be embarrassed. - -They talked on indifferent matters till they reached the gates of the -hospital, through which Susan passed after affectionately kissing the -younger woman, and a parting, "Good-bye, Mary, I'll see you to-morrow -morning; good-bye, doctor." - -"I am going to Praed Street," said the doctor. "That is in your -direction I think. I am going to walk. It will do you good to walk too, -Miss King, if you are not tired. Shall we go together? It will be a very -great pleasure for me." - -"Thank you, Dr. Duncan, I shall be very glad. I don't feel inclined to -go in a stuffy omnibus on such a fine afternoon." - -So they went together through the now gaslit streets, that were filled -with that haze of the still November afternoon, which the true Londoner -loves for the soft melancholy of it. It is all very well for us to abuse -our London fogs; but there are fogs and fogs, and who would exchange -that dreamy poetic indistinctness of effect, which Turner so well knew -how to express on canvas, for all the hard clear outline of your -Southern cities. - -I remember once, in Buenos Ayres, seeing tears come to the eyes of an -old Bohemian of Fleet Street, who had for years been dwelling in that -city of pellucid atmosphere, when one winter evening a genuine English -mistiness made its appearance for a while, reminding that home-sick -exile of his dear dingy city of the far Northern island. - -This was by no means the first time that the doctor had walked home with -Mary. A mutual liking had for some time existed between them; but so far -the keenest observer could not have detected, in a word or look of -either, any signs of serious affection, if such existed. They were not a -demonstrative couple, and did not carry their hearts on their sleeves as -Sister Susan seemed to do. - -The doctor would speak to her in a calm respectful way, paying only -those attentions a well-bred man always pays to a young woman. - -She, very much on her guard when with him, affected a manner that would -have repulsed many less earnest admirers. She would be cold, curt almost -to rudeness, and went so far as to assume, at times, a flippant -cynicism, which she was far from feeling. - -But the soft languor of this November afternoon seemed to have entered -into the girl's soul; and during this particular walk her power of -putting on such defensive affectations failed her for once. - -Said the doctor: "What a strange girl that Miss Riley is; I cannot make -her out at all." - -"She is a very good nurse," replied Mary. - -"Excellent; but she is different from all I have ever seen. She shows -none of the nervousness, the more or less concealed repugnance, all -other girls exhibit at the commencement of this unpleasant training." - -"She is kind to the patients." - -"Oh, yes! She in a way is the kindest of you all. She is never awkward. -She sets to work in such a business-like way, and is so quick and deft. -She is so free from nervousness that she inflicts a minimum of pain on a -patient. She would make a splendid surgeon. But she seems to have no -feeling for them, or, at any rate, conceals it as no novice ever did -before. I have seen her assisting at a horrible surgical case, and she -looked as calm, even absent-minded, over it, as if it had been a case of -gardening, trimming and pruning plants, and not poor human flesh." - -"I wish I was like her: I am very stupid and nervous sometimes." - -"And yet I think I would rather be nursed by you, Miss King." - -"I don't think it is very charitable of us to be criticising poor Miss -Riley behind her back," said Mary, wishing to turn the conversation. - -"Of us! Of me you mean. I am the only culprit. You have been generously -taking up the cudgels in her defence. But we will change the subject. I -have heard nothing of your aunt for some time. May I ask how she is?" - -"My aunt! Oh, Mrs. King! She is very well indeed, thank you, Dr. Duncan; -but I did not know you were even aware of her existence." - -"I only heard, by accident, the other day, that she was your aunt, and -that you lived with her; but I have known of her existence for years." - -"Indeed!" exclaimed Mary. - -"Oh, yes! She used to speak and lecture on woman's rights, on the -abolition of the House of Lords, and such like questions. I heard her -several times: very eloquent she was too. I was rather a Radical myself -then, but I have changed my views since.... I trust you do not follow -your aunt in _all_ her opinions, Miss King?" and he looked rather -anxiously at her. - -"I think I do, Dr. Duncan." - -There was a silence for a while. The man was evidently troubled, and was -carefully pondering his next remark. Mary regarded him furtively, -wondering what was coming. - -"Some of your aunt's views are rather startling," he said. He was -thinking of one of her speeches he had heard, in which she had upheld -the unsavoury teachings of Mr. Bradlaugh, and had declared her favourite -opinions as to the abominable nature of religion and morality. - -"Startling! yes, I suppose they are startling--truth often is so," she -replied. - -"Is it truth?" - -"Is what truth?" and she turned and looked him full in the face. - -Finding himself driven into a corner, he spoke out boldly. "Miss King, I -hope you will forgive me when I tell you that I feel a deep interest in -you. I hope you will look on me as your friend, and that we shall know -each other better some day. Do not think I am impertinent if I explain -what I meant." - -"I do not think so, Dr. Duncan." - -"Well, I know what your aunt's opinions on certain matters--religion for -instance--are, and I should be very sorry to think that you entertained -the same." - -"Oh! are they false opinions?" - -"I think so; but that is hardly the question. Some false opinions are at -any rate harmless, but these I speak of are certainly bad in their -effects, whether they be true or false." - -"Do you then believe that to know the truth can be bad?" she asked in a -sarcastic tone. - -"I don't say that; but don't you think that when a theory is put before -you, you should be much more careful than usual in your examination of -it, should require much more--indeed, absolute proof--before you accept -it, if it is a theory, the belief in which cannot fail to have bad -consequences?" - -"A theory should stand on its own merits. It is no argument against an -opinion to say that it is an unhappy one." - -"Certainly not; but, surely, unless we are quite convinced that such a -theory is correct--a difficult matter, as a rule--we should be very rash -in not only accepting it, but in acting up to it. Take a parallel case, -Miss King. In a court of law a far stronger and more indisputable chain -of evidence is required to bring about an adverse verdict in the case of -a prisoner charged with a capital crime, than in the case of one who is -accused of an injury to a fellow that only makes him liable to a civil -action. It is in that spirit, I think, we should try opinions on which -the whole happiness of mankind depends. Before we condemn religion, and -put away the system of morality which follows it, we should surely ask -for more convincing evidence against them, than if it were merely a -question of the truth or falsehood of some opinion which cannot -influence mankind much either way for good or evil." - -"Don't you call that an '_argumentum ad hominem_?'" Mary said. - -"I see I have a logician to deal with in you, Miss King. Mind, I do not -wish to discuss religious truths with you. I am not a clergyman. I am -merely throwing out suggestions as to the state of mind with which, I -believe, one ought to approach speculations of this nature." - -"Are you a religious man, Dr. Duncan?--but it is very rude of me to ask -such a question." - -"I am sorry to say I am not. My work is my religion at present, and -fills all my thought." - -"Why should not my work be my religion?" - -"If it was it would be very well. To alleviate human misery is to act -religion. Though I am far from being a religious man, and rarely go -inside a church; though I may be a bad man, I do not question the -fundamental laws of morality, on which I believe the whole happiness and -loveliness of the human race depend. Now, your aunt does this; and -though one may--mind, _may_--get on, and be virtuous, and good, and -lovable, without being what people call religious, I doubt whether one -can be so if one is constantly trying to prove to oneself that _a -priori_ religious and moral systems are untrue--if one comes to think -that no action is _per se_ bad and to be avoided. We must have a -dogmatic morality, Miss King. I don't say that we can altogether _act -up_ to it, but we must _believe_ in it. The evil-living man, who still -admires and respects virtue, is in a happier way, I think, than a man, -good in action, who yet has no belief in good. I know Mrs. King is one -who has carried Utilitarian ethics to their extreme conclusions. This is -a dangerous thing for us poor mortals to attempt. Misery is the result. -Utilitarianism may do for angels--it won't do for us." - -There were tears in Mary's eyes as he concluded. She had been too long -fed on unwholesome doctrine to be in any way influenced by his -arguments. He had merely told her what she already knew too well, that -such a belief as she professed--that truth--was an apple of Sodom, full -of bitterness and sorrow; but, somehow, his kind words brought vividly -before her the utterness of her desolation, and she said in mournful -tones, "Oh, how wicked you would think me if you knew all my thoughts; -how you would loathe me!" - -"Pray, don't say such a thing, Miss King," he exclaimed. "Whatever your -opinions and doubts may be, you are not wicked. Do you know, I have -often watched you in the hospital. I have taken great interest in you. I -saw how sad and thoughtful you were, and I saw how kind you were to the -sick--how patient, how sympathetic. I observed how you felt with their -suffering, not in mere physical revolt at witnessing pain, but with a -true woman's pity. No! I know you are not wicked." - -He spoke earnestly, with a deep feeling, the meaning of which could -hardly be mistaken. - -Mary answered not a word. She was overawed by this man. She felt as if -she could have sunk into the ground with her sense of shame and -degradation. "What, this good man believes that _I_ am good," she -thought. "He has faith in me--affection for me! He loves me for my -kindness to the sick--me, that am training to be a murderess--me, a -baby-killer! Oh, the horror of the thing--the despair of my position!" -She realized bitterly how deep, how irreconcilable must be her -estrangement from her race. "She must never know love--she must steel -her heart--crush her sympathies, and, oh! she must never again trust -herself to talk in confidence with her fellows, especially with this -doctor." - -She could not speak with that choking sensation in her throat, so she -walked on in silence. - -Her companion looked at her and perceived the tears glistening in her -downcast eyes. The doctor had, of late, found himself constantly -thinking tenderly of this lonely, sad-looking girl, whose only companion -was the frivolous Susan. He had, to a certain extent, guessed the cause -of her sorrow, living as she did with the half-insane atheist and -revolutionist he knew Mrs. King to be. He felt a great pity for the -beautiful unprotected creature, in whom he saw such sweet possibilities -of love and all the graces and good qualities of woman. The love that -was coming to him was deep and strong and fierce as was his nature, and -the girl was beginning to divine this. - -No wonder that she was filled with dread when she knew that she had -inspired such a feeling in such a man; for there lay that terrible -secret between them, a secret whose nature he had so little suspected, -when she warned him that he would loathe her, did he know it. She found -that she was on the edge of a precipice, and felt a sick dizziness to -see it, but also a painful fascination. - -They walked on together through the dreamy November haze--both feeling -as in a dream--without speaking, but each in some strange manner vaguely -conscious of the spirit of the other's thought, of a close sympathy that -was fast drawing them together. It was as if their hearts beat, their -souls sung, in unison, to some awful music from another sphere. The -streets and the people were no longer with them. - -So it was, that when at last he spoke, the words were expected by her. -She seemed to have felt their meaning before they came. They had been -led up to by the unspoken emotions of either. - -"Oh, Miss King, if you could only confide in me, and make me your -friend! I would die, to be able to drive away that cloud from your mind, -if I could only see you happy and smiling.... All that beautiful youth -of yours, with its sweet possibilities, being destroyed by these dark -phantoms! Oh, Mary, for God's sake, trust in me! Have you guessed how I -love you? You must have done so. You fill all my thoughts. You know that -you are everything in the world to me.... Oh, my sweet! my sweet! that I -could make you throw yourself on my love. I believe I would make you -happy. I would understand you, Mary, and we would make all your sadness -go. We would go right away from the streets for a time, and walk through -the green fields hand in hand like children again. In the bright, pure -country we should drive all these phantoms right away; our human love -would drive them right away. Mary! Mary!--" and he stopped and seized -her two hands in his, carried away by his emotion. - -They were standing by the railings of the garden of a deserted square, -and the rays of a lamp fell full on her pale face. - -He had raised an image of wonderful joys to her mind--but, oh! so -impossible--so impossible! - -She trembled in his grasp. She dared not raise her eyes to meet his. - -"Mary! O Mary! can it be true? Do you care for me; do you love me a -little?" - -She could not preserve that outward calm any longer, with all that storm -raging within her. She was stifling with it, and for an answer burst -into hysterical sobs. - -"Oh! my dear! my dear!" He folded her in his arms, and his passionate -kisses were on her eyes and on her mouth. - -Then, with a strength that surprised him, she suddenly thrust him off, -and retreating a few yards back, stared at him with eyes dilated with -horror and anguish. - -"Oh! Dr. Duncan!" she cried, with a voice full of such tragedy that the -strong man felt his veins tingle with terror. "Oh! go away! go away, and -leave me.... You do not know what you are saying.... You are mad. Never -speak to me again. Forget me, if you do not wish to be more miserable -than ever man was before. You don't know what I am--what I must be. If -you married me, you would go mad with what you discovered. You would -blow your brains out, and mine too.... I am not exaggerating. I am -talking sober truth. I mean this.... Yes, more.... Think of all the -greatest criminals you have ever heard of. Think of the most hideous, -unspeakable crimes ever invented by man, and then look on me as guilty -of them all--yes, all of them, and worse. I warn you--remember, I have -warned you." - -The intense earnestness of her look--of her speech--terrified him. "What -could she mean? Was she mad?" And he felt sick and dizzy with the pain -of this thought. - -"Now, Dr. Duncan, not another word. I won't bring you any further out of -your way. Good-night." And she walked rapidly away. - -He stood where he was, supporting himself by the railing--for a moment -half-dazed at the shock he had received. Then there came a curious -reaction to him after the first effects of her wild words. He was seized -by a sort of frenzy--by the strongest of all the passions in its very -greatest strength: love--love that is insane, and thinks of -nothing--reckless of crime and consequence--the strong man's love that -can make of him a fiend or an angel. - -His blood tingled through his veins like fire. "Mary," he thought to -himself, "Mary, you must be mine. Even if you _are_ mad, I will still -have you. I do not care what you are. I would be mad too, rather than -lose you. Were you a thousand times worse than you say--if you _have_ -committed every crime--it can make no difference now to me. If you were -a devil, I should have to become devil too, to please you. It must be -love between us--love for good or bad. If it cannot be of heaven, it -must be of hell; but love it must--shall be...." And the usually -self-possessed man hurried through the streets with his brain on fire, -his hands clenched, and his eyes glaring, so that people he passed got -to one side or other of him in fear to let him go by, for his face was -as that of a madman. - -The devil had got hold of him for the time; and after the fit was over, -he shuddered when he remembered how wild and wicked his fancies had -been--how, in a moment, it had seemed as if all the good of years of -careful training had run out of him, and left him a fiend without -conscience or fear, capable of any deed, if by it he could but compass -his desires. - -And so it is with all of us at times. The passionate temptations of a -man reveal to him, in flashes, what horrible depths of possible sin lurk -in his nature--hidden unsuspected, awaiting their opportunity. - -But he had clasped that slight, girlish form in his arms--he had kissed -that unkissed mouth, and drawn madness from it--he was the slave of his -passion for better or for worse. - -Even when he thought more calmly over the whole matter on the following -day, he still knew that his love for the girl was altogether his master. -He still determined to press his suit. - -Even were she really bad, he must risk all, and make her his. But he -knew that she was not really bad in heart, though she might have been in -action. He would gain her confidence, share with her her repentance for -her sin, take on himself her burden. Even had she been the most -abandoned of creatures, he would take her to his arms now. Go back he -could not--would not. - -And yet, of all men this was the one whom none would have suspected -capable of making a rash marriage. Ah! how little we know how we -ourselves would behave when the moment comes! We are all of us mad and -weak then--yes, every one of us. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -A WRECK. - - -A week or so after the events related in the last chapter. - -It is about the hour when the theatres close, and the scene is the -interior of the Albion--the well-known tavern near Old Drury, where -actors and others of the male sex are wont to sup, after the play and -opera are over. - -At a table is a man sitting by himself, moodily drinking whisky--which -he takes with very little water--and smoking cigar after cigar. - -At a glance, you can see that he is a wreck--a gentleman who has become -the slave of alcohol. His hand shakes, his eye is fierce and restless, -and his three days' beard and unbrushed clothes show that carelessness -of appearance which are the early signs of a man's going to the dogs -through drink. The recklessness of a man who has lost his self-respect -is apparent in his every gesture. - -This is Tommy Hudson, but terribly changed. He is not beautiful and -refined of features now, but coarse, bloated, spirit-sodden. Not now are -the bright, merry eyes, the hopeful buoyancy of manner; but, in their -place, sullenness, or the sneers and flippancy born of a gnawing -consciousness of degradation and failure. - -This man had known a lofty ideal--so was his fall the greater. - -The life of the young London barrister is perhaps the most perilous of -all for weak natures such as his. Hundreds of promising young lives have -fallen victims to its strong temptations. Living in solitary chambers, -waiting for work that never comes, desponding at his want of success, -the young man is driven out night after night into dissipation--first, -by desire of society; lastly, by a morbid restlessness that makes -dissipation a necessity. - -As long as the man is strong, the whirl of wild amusements may do little -harm. He may, in spite of his rackety youth, become a leader of his -profession. The lives of many of our greatest judges have been -notorious. But, for these few hard ones that do pass through unscathed -or slightly wounded, how many fall and perish! How many, in that -apprenticeship to the legal profession, play so fiercely in the frequent -leisure, that at last, when the work does come, they cannot do it--it is -too late! The giants survive--the pigmies are destroyed. Some of these -Old Bailey men, we know, have drank deeply in the old-fashioned way, and -have thrown themselves into every form of dissipation for forty years -and more, and yet are at the top of their branch of the profession. But, -young man, before you set out to emulate their ways, and live their -lives, remember that they are as one in a hundred, and consider whether -you are stronger than ninety-nine men out of a hundred. - -It is so easy for a jolly good fellow to degenerate into the drunkard; -then to the disreputable drunkard--cut by all his acquaintance; and then -to the wreck. - -Thus was it with the unfortunate Tommy Hudson. His youth, his beauty, -his wit, were all gone; and people now seeing the abject wretch for the -first time would never have guessed what he once had been. - -No wonder that men, observing such things, carry their gospel of -temperance to fanaticism--indeed, no wonder! - -And so this nervous wretch stooped there over his drink, casting fierce, -furtive glances around him like some hunted animal, as is the way of -one on the brink of delirium tremens--ever impressed with an idea that -those around were watching him, and talking of him. - -Dr. Duncan, who had been spending the evening at a neighbouring theatre, -came into the Albion to have some supper before going home. - -His passion for Mary and her strange behaviour, when he declared his -love to her at his last interview, had disturbed him greatly, so that, -contrary to his wont, he had been nightly visiting some theatre or other -place of amusement, with the vain hope of distracting his mind from the -uneasy misery which oppressed it, and almost unfitted him for work. - -Since that interview, she had rather avoided him, and he had held no -conversation with her, save of the briefest and most matter-of-fact -description, in the course of their respective duties in the hospital. - -There was a gloom on the doctor's brow, and his usually keen-glancing -eye was dull of expression. As he walked to an unoccupied table in the -corner of the room, he took no notice of anything that was going on -around him. - -On the other hand, the barrister--who was nervously watching all that -passed, and followed every movement with his eyes--raised his head from -his elbows, and stared at the other with a savage, insolent manner. Then -his expression changed--suddenly grew softer, and a puzzled look came to -his face. He passed his hand across his forehead; shook his head, as if -to throw off some painful idea; looked again; then cried, in a surprised -voice that sounded half-timid, the tone of one who had fallen, but not -beneath all sense of shame--of one doubtful whether his old friend will -acknowledge him. - -"Why! Duncan! Duncan! Is that you?" - -The doctor started--stared at him, evidently puzzled, and not -recognizing the man who addressed him. - -The drunken man continued, in melancholy tones: "Am I so altered as all -that, then? Why, don't _you_ even remember me?" - -The doctor looked at him, and replied, with hesitation: "I do know you. -I know your face, but I cannot exactly--." - -The barrister interrupted him: "I was once your friend, old -man--once--long--long ago." He drawled out these words in a maudlin -fashion; then, conscious that he was just on the point of weeping, he -pulled himself together, and stretched out his hand to seize his glass, -but, in doing so, knocked it off the table, and it broke into pieces. - -"Like that glass, sir," he continued, "like that glass, I'm -broken--broken altogether." - -Then he hung down his head, and laughed to himself in a foolish manner. -Suddenly he raised it again, and cried out, in a savage voice: "Duncan! -Damn it, man! Don't you know me, or are you going to cut me, like all -the rest of them? Eh?" - -His friend recognized him at last. "Why, it is Hudson!" he exclaimed -much shocked at the fearful change that had come over his once intimate -friend. "Hudson! my dear old boy, I am so glad to see you again. What -has become of you all this time?" - -"How many years is it since you saw me last, Duncan?" asked the -barrister in a sulky voice. - -"Between three and four years, I think," was the reply. - -"Don't you think you might have taken the trouble to look your old -friend up all that time? Eh?" - -"So I have," replied the doctor, "several times. But I never found you -in. I have written to you too, don't you remember? You never replied to -my letters though. I began to think you wanted to cut me, old fellow." - -"Yes! now I do remember," said his friend sadly. "It's just like -me--just like me; and now I turn round and reproach you. I'm an ass, an -ungrateful blackguard. Drink, drink--that's what does it, Duncan. It -dulls all the good feeling in a man. Look at me! you are my old chum. I -get your kind letters and invitations, I never reply to them. I am drunk -and chuck them aside. I neglect and quarrel with all my old--my true -friends; I have no friends now, a few harpies only around me who drink -and laugh with me, as long as my pocket gives out a clinking sound. -Forgive me, Duncan." - -The doctor took a chair and sat down opposite his friend. - -The barrister continued after a pause, "How many years did you say it -was since you saw me last, Duncan?" - -"About three." - -"And I have changed so much in that time that you didn't know me. Pooh! -what do I care? It's all over. No good crying over spilt milk. Have a -drink, my boy. What will you take?" - -"Nothing now, thanks; I am going to sup." - -"Nonsense! Waiter, two brandies. If you won't name your poison yourself -I must do it for you. Let's look at you, Duncan. You look fit -enough--not much older. I've heard of you--got all the best appointments -at your hospital--lucky man!" - -The brandies came. The doctor observed that Hudson drank his neat this -time, and then commenced to become quite sober again--a dangerous -symptom. - -"Hudson," said the doctor, "excuse me, old man, but what on earth is the -meaning of all this? You don't look the man you were. You are twenty -years older." - -"Well! I am older, old man," Hudson replied, flippantly. - -"Yes, but only by three years or so. What a fellow you were then, and -now you look as if you were going to the dogs." - -"Going! gone, you mean," the barrister exclaimed with a bitter laugh. -"But do I look so very much worse then, Duncan?" - -"Much worse! Why, man, I should not know you for the old Hudson of -Caius, our stroke, our scholar, our rowdy, jolly, clever, healthy Tommy -Hudson. Oh, my dear boy, if you could but see what you were and what you -are. You must put on the brake. You'll have to come and live with me, -and you'll soon be your old self again." - -Hudson shook his head. "Never! No! no! It's too late--too late now, old -man, you don't know all. I've chucked up the sponge." - -"Nonsense, man. It's not too late." - -Hudson sat up in his chair and appeared quite sober as he replied: - -"It's too late. You don't know what a weak fool I am. It is no good my -making resolutions. No, my boy, 'It's all up with poor Tommy now,' as -that music-hall man sings--and I don't care. I used to try and reform -once. It was no good--Ha! ha! Why it was only three months back, that I -made my last attempt. I actually had resolution enough to live one whole -week of the most abject virtue; think of that! but it was all the worse -afterwards. I've gone a long way further down the hill these last three -months." - -He paused for some time, resting his head on his hand, as he tried to -collect his scattered ideas, then he continued: - -"Duncan, I am the most miserable of men--I am the slave of half-a-dozen -vices. I have drunk them all to the dregs, yet I am not blasé; I wish to -God I were. No, I still love the world, love my vices more than ever, -but cannot enjoy them--and in that is the hell of it. I hate -respectability; I hate work. I love dissipation, and can't dissipate. I -look at steady fellows grinding away for little incomes and I hate them, -I hate myself. No one can pity me--it's all my own fault. I feel sick -and mad sometimes with regret, almost to killing myself--yes, with -regret, and what for? I'll tell you--listen--regret that I cannot fly -about, as I used to before health and coin and all had taken wings. Not -regret for the wasting of any good there might have been in me--not a -bit of it, I am too far gone to envy and admire _good_. Who can pity a -man who suffers from so selfish and ignoble a grief? and yet, dear -Duncan, I believe that such a suffering is as bitter as any the human -soul is capable of--all the bitterer because it can meet no sympathy, no -pity. God help me!--The other day I heard a theatre-girl ask of another -about me, 'Who is that bloated-looking old masher? Doesn't he look an -old beast?' Yes, women have come to talk about me like that; you don't -know, old man, you with your steady mind, what a hell I am in. Despised -where I loved. I gave up all for pleasure.--She is a hard mistress, not -only does she jilt one--chuck one over with a heartless laugh when she -has wrung all the good out of one--but she leaves one without the -possibility of ever getting another mistress. Ambition will not come to -the old rake--Fortune, mind, constitution all gone.--Well, it can't be -helped--Damn it! I can still drink anyhow. Bring me a shilling's worth -of brandy, waiter. What for you, dear boy?" - -"Nothing for me, old man, and don't you have any more just now.--Look -here, Hudson, come along with me--to my diggings--we'll have a drink and -a chat there. It will remind us of old times. I can give you a -shake-down for the night." - -The barrister smiled with that knowing and suspicious smile that is -peculiar to drunkards. "Not to be caught, doctor," he cried, "none of -that gammon for me.--I know your game--but I'm not so drunk as all that. -You are right, quite right, old man; I'm going to hell--but I'll go -there my own way--damn it! the sooner the better." - -"Hush, man!" said his friend. "Those two men at that table are listening -to our conversation. We'll clear out of this. We can talk much better in -my rooms, or your's if you prefer it as they are nearer." - -Hudson glared at the men in question, rose a little from his chair, so -that the doctor feared he was about to engage in a quarrel with them, -but then altered his mind, drunk some of his brandy--neat again--sobered -down, and continued in more subdued tones: - -"No! no! doctor; don't think I am as bad as I appear. I'm a flabby -idiot, but I'm never as far gone as I am to-night. But I've been upset -to-day, Duncan. I saw a girl to-day--for the first time for three years. -She passed me in Oxford Street--a girl that I knew when I was a -different man. She was beautiful then as I had never seen woman before, -and now she is more so. O God! I loved her then; I have often thought of -her since; and to-day I saw her again.... I felt mad to see her beauty; -and I, shabby, bloated drunkard, dared not speak to her, dared not -contaminate her by my companionship. She did not recognize me, I passed -by her, and I have been mad ever since.--Oh, mad! to love and know that -it is too late--too late--to think what might have been. Oh, dear old -friend, pity me, do pity me a little--no one loves, no one pities me -now." - -There were tears in his eyes and his voice trembled--he was becoming -maudlin again. - -"Pity you! of course I pity you, old friend. I know poor human nature -too well to do otherwise. Who am I to judge other's weakness? Good -Heavens! I have been lately on the edge of a precipice myself, and I -know how easy it is for a mind to lose its balance. Come with me, old -man. I too am a miserable wretch even as you are. We will comfort each -other. There is comfort in comforting one's fellows. I will help you and -you will help me. Come along, Hudson," and he rose from his seat, -anxious to get his friend quietly out of the place. - -Hudson looked softened, then he smiled--an inscrutable smile: perhaps it -had no meaning. He swallowed his brandy and got up from his chair. He -was quite sober now and calm, but with an ominous glitter in his eyes -that the doctor understood. He rose and said quietly, "Good night, -Duncan; I can't come with you to-night, but I'll look you up in a day or -two." - -He then paid the waiter, carefully counted the change, and walked out of -the Albion with the manner of a perfectly sober man. - -But the doctor knew that the poor wretch was on the very verge of -delirium tremens, and that a paroxysm might occur at any moment, so -followed him close. - -Once out of the Albion, the madman--before his friend could seize his -arm--leaped back a few yards, laughed a discordant laugh in the doctor's -face, and ran like a deer down the street. - -Dr. Duncan ran after him; but the barrister's veins were full of fire! -his nerves tingled with the poison of alcohol, and he ran as only one in -such a state of fearful exaltation of all the faculties can run; not to -the right or to the left, but straight on, careless whither he rushed, -unconscious of effort--feeling light as the wind, and as if impelled by -spirits. The doctor soon lost sight of him, good runner though he was, -and returned home with a heart heavier than ever. How dark all life -seemed just then to this successful and prosperous man! - -Deep was his compassion for his unfortunate friend--for he knew now that -it would not have taken so much to have seen himself on the same -downward career to destruction. - -His passion for Mary had revealed to him how weak his nature too was, -how circumstances may overset the balance even of the strongest mind. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -IN GREAT PERPLEXITY. - - -Mary had known what wretchedness was during her old life at Brixton; but -that was almost happiness to the mental agony she was now experiencing. -For the image of one man was ever in her mind; the sound of his voice -rang in her ears; and when the remembrance of his burning kisses came to -her, as it often did, her cheek flushed and her heart beat with a flood -of new emotions that terrified her. - -She could not put him out of her thoughts. She hardly knew whether she -loved him; but, with the exception of Mrs. King, he was her only friend, -the only human being she liked and venerated; and though to be with him -raised only thoughts of pain, yet when she was away from him, there came -to her a worse misery, a want, that made her wish for that sweet pain -again. - -But it could not be; she must not love him; she, one of "the Sisters," -committed to a Cause that killed its children! No, it could not be! She -must suffer and endure in silence, but never know love. - -A first, great love filling her being and a fearful consciousness of its -hopelessness--so great a delight within her grasp and duty preventing -her from seizing it--such was the mental conflict, full of agony, that -had now come to her young life. - -Her feverish restlessness undermined her health. When alone at night, -she would sob through the long hours in broken-hearted despair. She -would go through her duties by day with a listless languor. - -Catherine King noticed how pale and thin and sad the girl was becoming; -but shrewd as she was, she had no suspicions as to the true cause of -this change. - -I have said that a great affection had sprung up between the Chief of -the Secret Society and her disciple. This affection was ever deepening. -The relation between them had long ceased to be that of mistress and -servant; it was no longer merely that of teacher and pupil; but they had -become to each other as mother and daughter. Catherine represented to -the outside world that Mary was her niece; but the girl had of late -fallen into the way of calling her protectress, when they were alone -together, by the more affectionate name of mother. - -One dismal November afternoon, before the lights were lit, Catherine -King was sitting in her chair by the fire sewing. Mary was sitting by -the window, listless, motionless, looking out to the street with a -strange, sad air, as of one that despaired yet was resigned. - -The elder woman occasionally cast keen glances towards her, and at last, -putting down her work, said, "Mary!" - -"Yes, mother!" replied the girl, starting suddenly from her reverie, -while a bright flush came to her pale cheeks for a moment. - -"You seem ill, Mary." - -"Yes, mother; I am not very well," she replied in a low, apathetic -voice. - -"What is it? There seems to be something on your mind. Is it the idea of -the work that has to be done soon that is weighing on you?" - -"No, no! I know it is my duty, mother. I am proud to be a helper in the -Cause. Oh, no! mother, it is not that.... I don't know what it is; but I -fear I am weak and foolish. I am getting nervous.... I am a coward and -unfit for so great a mission." - -"Strange! that is not like you! I think a little change of air would do -you good. We will take a holiday, Mary, and go to the sea-side." - -"Thank you, mother; how very kind you are to me! but indeed I do not -deserve it." - -"You are a good girl, Mary. Happy for me was the day on which I first -met you. Your companionship has been very dear to me. I, who thought -that I had altogether given up tender emotions, that my whole being was -absorbed in my work for Humanity, that I would never again care for any -individual--I have come to love you dearly." She continued absently, not -intending her words for the girl's ears: "Yes! I half regret sometimes -that you should have to be one of the workers, poor girl"--then -recollecting herself again, and putting aside her unwonted softness for -her usual exalted zeal for Humanity that over-rode all lesser -sentiments--"but this is nonsense. How nobler our lives, how happier -even, though severing us from mankind and human sympathies, than the -weak loves and affections of the ordinary men and women! How glorious to -feel we are so far above them!" - -She did not suspect how she sent the arrow home to Mary's heart. Tears -came to the girl's eyes. The sacrifice of human affections might be a -little thing to the enthusiast, but to her, alas! it meant death. But -she had determined that she would not waver in her allegiance; for the -wild theories were to her great truths. She had such entire faith in her -protectress, that she would not have hesitated to tear her heart out for -the Chief and the Cause. - -"Mother!" she cried out at last. "Oh, mother! you _must_ love me! I am -so weak, I do not feel fit for the life that is before me. By myself I -can do nothing. I shall be stronger if I may lean on you--if I may see -you often--if you will let me love you. I cannot explain what I mean--I -do not understand it myself." She spoke in a pitiful voice that -expressed the great yearning that was in her. - -Catherine King looked at the girl in silence for some moments, and the -quivering of her lips showed that she was struggling with some strong -emotion; then she said: - -"I fear we are entering on a dangerous path--but, Mary! Mary! I do -love you ... very much indeed--dear"--she hesitated over the last word -as if ashamed of using it; she had never used it before--"too well, -perhaps ... for it is our duty to look far beyond individual sympathies; -we must steel our hearts; we must be of stern stuff; but I do love you, -child. Come here, that I may kiss you!" - -Mary knew what deep affection it must be to make this woman confess to -such weakness. She came up to the chair where Catherine was sitting, and -knelt before her. The woman kissed her on her forehead, and gently -stroked the soft hair of the girl, feeling a tenderness in her heart -that she had not known for many long years. - -"There can be no harm in our loving each other, I think, Mary," she -said, doubtfully, and with a tremulousness in her one as of -consciousness of guilt, as of one hesitating on the brink of some sweet, -strong temptation to crime--"no harm--but we must not be too -affectionate; we must not fear for each other, or we shall be unnerved -when the battle begins. Now, Mary! don't! don't! My dear child, I cannot -bear it!" for the girl had seized her hand and was kissing it -passionately, while she shook with a paroxysm of sobs. - -"Oh, mother! mother! I am so miserable--without your love I should die! -It is the only thing that makes life bearable. I cannot be strong and -brave like you"--raising her head and looking admiringly at her through -her tears--"but your love will make me braver too. Why are you not angry -with me for being so silly and so weak?" - -The poor child hardly suspected herself what this longing for affection -signified. She did not yet know her own heart altogether; she did not -confess to herself that it was the strange, budding love of a maiden -for a man that brought on this need for the sympathy of one of her own -sex. - -"Weak, weak!" replied Catherine, pensively; "no I do not think that you -are weak--the reverse in this case. These old moral instincts, or -whatever we like to call them--this intense like to adopting means -condemned by antique ethics, for the working of righteous ends, are -difficult to contend with. You have strong instincts which are in -opposition to your sense of duty. Had you been weaker-minded in this -conflict, you would have abandoned duty and followed instinct. In you, -both the sense of duty and the instinct are very strong. It is because -of this--because your nature is strong and not weak--that the conflict -for you is a terrible one--that you are a martyr--as such a martyr as -Ridley or Latimer, who gave up all that natural instinct makes -dear--even life, and things dearer than life, for duty's sake." - -Mary felt that what the Chief said was very true. The instinctive horror -at the nature of her duties preyed on her mind; but she was ashamed as -she considered that she was quite undeserving of these words of praise, -knowing as she did that there was now another element that complicated -the conflict, the nature of which her kind protectress little guessed. - -It has been shown how Mary's Brixton education had made of her a liar; -but somehow although her latter training in Maida-Vale, with its -Jesuitical teachings as to all means being good if for the advancement -of the "Cause," was hardly calculated to cure her of this vice, she -could never lie to her benefactress; and now that she had known Dr. -Duncan, she had begun to feel a repugnance to deceiving anyone at all. -Such is the power of love. The woman looks up to the lord of her heart, -and if he be good, she will seek to be good too; she wonders that he can -look on her as an angel, and she endeavours to come as near as possible -to his ideal. - -So it was that Mary felt a great desire to reveal the fact of her -dangerous friendship with Dr. Duncan to her protectress. She could not -deceive her any longer, and determined to unburden her mind at once. So -she commenced by timidly asking, "Mother, have you ever ... loved? Have -you ever loved ... anyone beside me?" Then she paused, in confusion, not -knowing how to proceed, a deep blush suffusing her cheeks. - -Catherine King stared at her, but evidently did not understand her -meaning. No one possessed keener powers of observation than the Chief of -the Sisterhood; but when pondering over subjects connected with the -Cause she would often become absent-minded, and notice nothing. She had -now drifted into this condition, so replied to Mary in a rhapsodical -tone: "Oh, love, love! what a deep-rooted instinct of life thou art! But -we ill-fated, born into a miserable age, must trample on our instincts -for Humanity's sake. Until the old order is altogether changed for the -new, such as you and I, Mary, can have nothing to do with love." - -The girl's courage melted--she dared not tell her tale just then, whilst -Catherine King was in that mood, so she replied, submissively: "So -be it ... so long as I have your love, mother ... for oh, I am weak, -miserably weak, and love I must have; or I will fail!" - -Catherine spoke again: "Love is, indeed, a noble instinct, Mary, but of -all loves love of Humanity is the most noble, the most unselfish. We -must sacrifice all lesser loves for that one. Future ages will look back -to us as the martyrs of Humanity, my child," and as she uttered these -words the woman's eyes blazed with enthusiasm, and assumed that far-away -look that was usual to them. - -The conversation here dropped. "Martyrs! Martyrs, indeed!" thought the -poor girl, and she fell again into her miserable brooding, and her soul -grew darker and darker, as the early night settled down on the city, and -the gas-lights came out one by one in the dismal, rainy street. - -But on the other hand, to the woman absorbed in her dream of Humanity, -the dingy little room faded away; and to her exalted mind vision after -vision, each more glorious than the last, arose--of future peoples, -perfect, happy, good; and her brain whirled with the magnificence of her -fancies, and her soul wandered in a paradise of beautiful imaginations; -so that there came to her expressive features a nobility, such as the -face of some saint of old drunk with God, on the point of martyrdom, -might have worn. - - * * * * * - -Catherine King was perplexed--she could perceive that the girl's illness -was mental rather than physical. She considered that it was the horror -of the nature of her duties working on a young mind; but she could -hardly account for the recent rather sudden aggravation of these -symptoms in her pupil. - -Loving the girl as she did, she was much troubled. Remorse for the agony -to which she was dooming this young life tormented her; but her thorough -belief in the righteousness of her scheme made her stifle these natural -feelings.--"Yes, it must be--the child must be sacrificed." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -A SCIENTIFIC MURDER. - - -On those occasions when Susan Riley obtained the usual forty-eight -hours' leave of absence from the hospital, it was her custom to pass -most of this time in the company of her lover the barrister. - -Now, it happened on the night that Dr. Duncan had come across his old -friend at the Albion, the latter had made an appointment with his -mistress to take her to the theatre after a dinner at a restaurant. - -He had given her the set of keys to his chambers, so that she might let -herself in at six o'clock, and there await his coming. - -Susan arrived at the appointed hour. Hudson was generally punctual when -he had to meet her; but seven o'clock passed, then eight, and yet he did -not come, so that Susan, who had first felt only extremely angry at his -delay, began to be fearful of some disaster. - -This is what had occurred. At three o'clock in the afternoon, for the -first time for three long years, the man had caught a glimpse of Mary -Grimm as she was walking down Oxford Street. - -He recognised her at once. The sight brought back to him a host of -memories and regrets. His mind, weakened and excitable from habitual -alcoholism, was altogether unbalanced by this meeting. - -A senseless passion--such as are the curse of such enfeebled brains, in -which all the emotions are exalted to the verge of madness--possessed -him. It was not that he had, through all these years, nursed any love -for the young girl whom he had only seen for a few hours altogether. He -had almost forgotten her. He had long since given up thinking about her. - -But now, no sooner did he perceive her, than he felt as if she had been -all the world to him ever since that strange adventure in the Temple. He -really believed that this had been the case; and the mad delusion took -command of him and carried him away with it. He loved her--her only, he -thought--the dear little girl who had passed that evening with him in -his rooms--Oh! so long ago, it appeared now to him, not in years though, -but in change of nature. Yes, he was sunk now beyond redemption, he was -utterly lost--a degraded wretch--so he dared not go up to her and speak -to her; he was too foul a thing to approach _her_--and he almost burst -into hysterical tears, as he turned his back to her while she passed -him, that she might not see his face; and then he walked away in an -opposite direction--whither he cared not--in that condition when all -good has abandoned the soul of a man, and it is empty, and will only -open to devils. - -He no longer thought of his mistress, his beloved Edith, or of his -engagement with her. He went into refreshment bar after refreshment bar, -asking at each for brandies, which he swallowed neat and at a gulp one -after the other; so that men looked askance at him, and the bar-maids -who served him pitied him, and begged him to drink no more. - -He did not become drunk, he was beyond that stage; but a fierce -despairing sullenness seized him and was expressed in his features, -which were now as pale as death, with two large eyes blazing out from -darkened circles. - -And so on and on, hour after hour, until the time when we left him -outside the Albion, running away from the one human being who wished to -befriend him. - -All this while Susan Riley, in no contented mood, was waiting for him -in his chambers, which appeared cheerless enough, for no fire was -burning in the grate, and she could find but one candle to place on the -table, whose light only threw out in stronger gloom the dark -wainscotting and sombre-coloured furniture. - -As the tedious hours went by, she paced up and down the rooms, and sat -down in turns. She took down book after book from his shelves but could -find nothing to interest her. Then she opened his drawers and desks, and -looked over some of Hudson's private papers. This was a favourite -amusement of hers when she was left alone in his chambers; and she had -contrived, by reading his letters whenever she had an opportunity, to -learn a good deal about his family, and pecuniary prospects. - -She was examining the contents of a desk, turning over some manuscript, -poems, and articles in a cursory fashion, when her eye happened to fall -on the title of one of these, "La Fille de Marbre." - -"Dear me!" she said to herself, "here is a poem addressed to me. He told -me the other day, when he was in bad a humour, that I reminded him of -the heroine of a French novel he had been reading--'La Fille de Marbre.' -I begin to think he almost sees through me sometimes now, and does not -consider me quite such a perfect being as he did. I will read this -'Fille de Marbre,' and see what nonsense he has been writing about me. I -may learn something about the true state of his sentiments." - -There was an amused smile on her face as she read the barrister's latest -poetical production:-- - - -"LA FILLE DE MARBRE." - -I. - -THEN. - - "Children of pleasure are we: the whole of our life is a play; - With white breasts, music, and wine we while the hours away. - You scorn and revile us and hate us, would put us to torture and shame, - You virtuous! Ah, well! We will not pause in the game, - To be bitter in our turn on you and wax hot. Not we! for we know - Life is too short for such folly. Away all pother and woe! - Think not of the After! Drink deep of the Present! This world's - good enough; - Has infinite sweets: fool he that follows the way that is rough! - - "The maudlin sage drones out, 'All pleasure is vain.' Let him try! - He will weep and rend his clothes with regret that he did deny - These rapturous joys to himself through so many pitiful years. - What do we know of the After? Why brood upon it with fears? - The Now is enough for the wise. Come, ye daughters of joy! - Help me to live as one should. Let thy white feet glance in my hall: - Of all the gifts of the good gods, ye are the sweetest of all! - - "Hark to the sour recluse! He says, 'Woman's a perilous toy,' - That 'the girl is selfish and false, and follows the luck of the dice, - Smells gold afar off as a vulture, with caresses feigned for the rich, - And when the gold is all gone will let her love die in a ditch.' - - "A liar! a coward he! that fears what he does not know. - 'Tis the cold, not the fierce Bacchante's blood, the red gold - mastereth so. - - "For we too have died for each other--we 'selfish' children of vice, - Our passionate kisses are warm, yea warmer than virtue can tell. - Ho! ho! while I live, I will live, nor give thought to God or his hell!" - -II. - -NOW. - - "Cold is the wind and the rain of the autumn night in the street. - My rags are so thin. Chill death ascends from my sodden feet. - Up to my heart. What care I? For I can laugh at the cold. - My head is hot; my blood boils. I have just met a friend of old. - I was proud, I was dying for food, yet dared not beg for a crust; - But he asked me to drink, and I drank--and now I feel as a god, - As a god who has something to give, and so can rule with a nod. - - "I stand by a well-known house, a house of gambling and lust, - Where in the bright-lit rooms, men flushed with the fever of play - Win and lose. If they win, the she-devils rake it away. - Win and lose. If they lose, they must out in the cold and die; - Or if they be callous and tough, why, then become even as I. - - "Ah, me! for yon beautiful woman. Ah, me! for the passionless mart - Ah, me! for the soft, warm flesh that covers the cold, hard heart. - _He_ was lucky to-night at play; look at her wanton grace: - The kisses, the toying hands, the flushed and amorous face, - The moist lips lying of love!--she will lead him up to the gate - Of Ruin and Death and Hell, and leave him there to his fate. - With a low and musical laugh, as of silver as hard and as cold, - At his folly to think _she_ could love--she has treated so many of old. - - "For is it not true that every gem your round white limbs do bear, - And every star that shines in the night of your ebon hair, - Was bought with a good man's soul? Each is a trophy sweet - Of a noble life that was trampled under your delicate feet. - The wine of your mouth is poison unto the fool that sips; - Your fair white bosom is bruised, but not with a baby's lips, - Child never drew life from those breasts, no gentle mother thou art, - No, nor woman! warm blood of a woman ne'er fed such a pitiless heart. - - "And now from the steps of the house I see her descending again, - Again after years, and there gnaws at my heart a twinge of an - ancient pain: - See!--still she is fair! nay, yet fairer! I gaze, as she pauses awhile - To draw a delicate glove on a hand that has toyed with mine. - Lo, from the perfect lip there dies the last shade of a smile, - A smile for the fool she has left, drunk with gaming and wine. - Alas! for that lip and that hand, and those heavy-fringed, amorous eyes. - Oh, the days of passion that were--the days I believed in thy sighs-- - The days when I loved thee so--as now, I hate and despise. - And, lo! I seek in vain to trace on thy mouth, in thine eyes, - A _little_ remorse, a _little_ of woman. Thou knowest well to hide - All feeling; but when awake, and thy lover sleeps by thy side, - Does a serpent gnaw at thy bosom, a shade chill thy heart? Is thy brow, - When thou sittest alone, as unruffled, as coldly tranquil as now? - ... Fool to ask! Heart she has not. Had she ever so little a one, - 'Twould have seared and wrinkled her beauty with thought of the ill - she has done. - - "She has gone! and I stand alone in the rainy, desolate street. - Is it famine or wine?--but never before did my heart so madly beat, - And this pain of my whirling brain: the keen, quick sense of my _Now_! - Unpitied--self-unpitying--I know my want is my guilt. - I feel no remorse for the past--the cup was wantonly spilt. - I do not want pity--I have _no_ contrition. Knowing all that I know, - Had I aught--why, then, that--and my life--and my soul--I'd stake - at a throw, - On the chance of winning once more sufficient to buy her kiss, - To buy the dear false smile--the sweet lies whispered low, - With the poisoned wine of her lips to drug the memories of this, - Till the lies seemed delicious truths.... - - "... I _will_ forget all that I know, - Oh, my love! and only remember how wondrously sweet thou art. - Ah, yes! Thou lovest me well; let me die in one long embrace. - Draw thee closer, yet closer. Let me feel thy breath on my face; - Let us forget all things save our love--yes, even till we die - In dreams of impossible joys, of more than human delight, - Each sweet, passionate secret wringing from love, you and I. - Through the mystical garden of Eros, hand in hand we will go, - Plucking the magical fruits that poison the human heart. - And what if they do? Why we care not! While we live let us live! - We have ate of the magical fruit; we are drunk, and can no more strive. - So hail, mad excesses of pleasure! In spite of cold virtue; in spite - Of Hell, let us know once again, _one_ hour as we used to know! - - "... But why art thou gone in the darkness?... A dream!... - My brain swims to-night. - Hunger may be, or madness.... Ah, this pain at my heart.... Let me go! - It is death ... death in the streets.... Well, I care not--it is - better so." - -"Very pretty indeed," said Susan to herself, when she had read this -poem; "very pretty, though I can't help thinking some of the ideas are -hardly original. I wonder if I am the heroine, if I am this lovely -'Fille de Marbre?' I'm afraid he's hit me off pretty well. Clever of -him; yet, after all, he must be the greater fool to stick to me if he -knows me so well. Yes, he is evidently beginning to understand me. I -must look out." - -She took the manuscript up again and re-read some of it. "Yes, my man! -you were certainly thinking of yourself when you wrote this," she -reflected; "you are just the weak, passionate fool described here. You -are going to the dogs pretty fast. Who knows that you too will not die -like a rat in the streets?" - -She glanced at the clock and started to see how late it was. "Where can -he be? I believe I am getting superstitious; sitting all alone in this -dark room is enough to give one the jumps; but somehow I can't help -feeling that there is something ominous in this ridiculous poem I have -been reading. 'Death, death in the streets.... Well, I care not; it is -better so.' Pooh! what nonsense! I am a fool," she shivered and looked -uneasily around the room; then she rose from her chair, and, drawing -aside the curtain, peered out of the window at the deserted court. -"Where can he be? He has never been late like this before. He has been -drinking like a madman for the last few days. Who knows?--perhaps he may -have foretold his own end in those verses. He may even now be dying.... -But this is sheer folly; he can look after himself. But I must get rid -of these blues. Ah! here is his beloved brandy bottle." - -With the aid of some spirits and water, she contrived to dispel her -nervousness. But still he did not come. She fidgeted about the rooms -vainly seeking something to amuse her. At intervals she would walk up to -the mirror, and contemplate the image of her face with a close scrutiny -to see how the wrinkles about her eyes were getting on--a common trick -of this unfortunate being, whose whole pleasure in life, whose every -interest hung on her youth and beauty, who was haunted by the perpetual -dread of age and ugliness. - -For six hours she waited in the chambers, but she would not go--she -would see the end of this. - -One o'clock boomed out in melancholy tones from the spire of St. -Clements, answered by Big Ben in the distance, and a dozen city -churches. A quarter of an hour afterwards there was a hurried rush of -someone up the stairs, then a long fumbling at the keyhole. - -She went to the door and opened it, and the aspect of her lover, as he -stood there with the light of the passage lamp falling on his distorted -features was so terrible, that she shrunk back in fear. - -"Don't be frightened, Edith, I won't hurt you--only drunk," and he -laughed discordantly as he pushed by her without further greeting, -without offering to kiss her, for which last omission she was thankful. - -He entered the sitting-room, threw himself into a chair by the table, -and buried his head in his hands, as he placed his elbows on the -wine-stained mahogany. - -What a contrast between this scene and one three years before! The -chambers were the same, though not so tidy as of old; then it was -summer. It was now winter, with no fire in the grate, and a cheerless -look about the place. Then there were two, a man and a woman together--a -man young, in the prime of life, happy, hopeful, and a girl of noble -instincts, and lovely as the young Aphrodite. Now it was the same man -but how changed, how fallen! and the woman was another--the evil genius -of the man, just as the first woman might have been his good genius. - -Susan stood by him for some minutes without speaking, too terrified to -bring out the nasty little speech she had meditated before he came in. - -At last she touched him on the shoulder. "Tommy, dear, you are ill." - -He raised his head and stared at her with a look in which there was no -recognition, and quite empty of its usual love, and said angrily, -"Ill--not at all--who the deuce are you?--where's the brandy?" - -He rose and walked to the cupboard, took out the decanter of brandy and -a tumbler, which he half-filled and drank off. - -"Oh, Tommy!" she cried, much alarmed and seizing him by the arm. "For -God's sake don't go on like this--go to bed--I will watch by you, love." - -He flung her from him, and glaring at her savagely and sullenly, cried, -"Love! love! what do you mean by calling me that? Who are you to use -that word? I have only got one love and she is dead. Ha! ha! and I -killed her--yes, killed her, do you hear that?" - -"No! no! darling," she exclaimed clasping him in her arms. "Look at me, -I am your love." - -"You!--not you--I don't know you--she was nothing like you--you are not -Mary." - -"Now dear, be quiet. Don't be so foolish; you are only putting on all -this to frighten me. You'll be sorry to-morrow that you have been so -unkind to your little sweetheart--when you come to your senses. Now -dear, do go to bed, and don't talk any more nonsense about your Mary." - -"Don't mention _her_ name!" he almost screamed. "Mary! Mary! O God! if -she could see me now--Mary--a saint not anything like you--Mary. She -died three years ago, here in these rooms--and I saw her ghost this -afternoon--I killed her--the only thing I loved, and I killed her--Oh! -oh!" - -"No dear, she is not dead--are you sure her name was Mary--was it not -Edith? Come think now--look at me, my poor old boy," and she pressed his -head to her bosom and stroked his hair softly with her hand, in the -hopes of soothing him somewhat. - -"Edith be damned!" he shouted at the top of his voice, as he threw her -off once more. "No, it was Mary.--Her name was Mary Grimm, and she is -dead! dead! dead!" - -"Mary Grimm!" said the woman in a low voice between her clenched -teeth--"did you say Mary Grimm?" - -"Yes, Mary Grimm--an angel whose name your mouth should not pollute by -mentioning." - -"Mr. Hudson, do you remember who I am?" - -"I do, I do. Do you think I don't see through your wicked heartless -wiles. I never loved you really. I was mad for a moment--a drunken -affection--blind with drink. I have only made a beast of myself with -you--but Mary!--Oh, I loved her, as no man ever loved before." - -The woman stood before him, very pale now, biting her lips to conceal -her malice and rage--she hated as well as despised this fool now. - -"What do you mean by saying such things--are you mad, man?" - -"I mean what I say." - -"Very good. You know a woman can never forget or forgive such words as -you have spoken to me." - -"I don't care a damn, if you don't!" cried Hudson. - -She took up her cloak and hat, stood for a few moments looking fixedly -at him, the very picture of intense hate, and hissed through her teeth, -"I leave you--madman! Idiot! You will have the horrors soon, and perhaps -then you will see faces more pitiless and loathsome than even mine--I -leave you to enjoy yourself with them. Good-bye, dear, good-bye!" and -she left his rooms. - -When she had got out of the gate at the top of Middle Temple Lane into -Fleet Street, she did not immediately leave the spot, but stood a few -moments considering her position. She knew the man she had left was on -the verge of a severe attack of delirium tremens. She thought it highly -probable that in his present condition he would not remain alone in his -chambers, but would soon be driven out by the fever within him once more -into the deserted streets. She would wait and watch his proceedings from -a safe distance. It would be amusing. So with this object in view she -crossed to the other side of the road and stood there. - -Her surmise was correct. She had not to wait many minutes. The gate -swung open, and the barrister staggered out. The porter looked out after -him for a few seconds, and then closed the door again. - -Hudson did not perceive her. A new mood was on him. He walked slowly -along Fleet Street westwards, his eyes turned to the ground. - -Suddenly a fantastic idea seized his ever-changing mind. He would go -down Devereux Court. He would look at the doorway in which he had first -found Mary Grimm. - -Susan Riley followed him afar off, like a vulture waiting till its prey -fall. - -At last he came to the dark doorway, and then followed a strange scene, -which the observer, not having the clue to it, merely set down to the -unreasoning frenzy of one mad with drink. - -The poor wretch sobbed aloud. He threw out his arms towards the door, -and kissed the panels against which the young girl had crouched in that -summer evening long ago. Then with a cry he cast himself on the ground -and kissed the stones on which her feet had trod. - -It often happens that when a mind is in the condition his was in then, -exalted by disease, it will for a moment become unnaturally clear and -acute, capable of suffering impossible to the sane. So there arose -suddenly to his crazed mind so vivid a vision of his past--of what might -have been--of what was, so terrible a contrast, that in his anguish and -despair he deliberately dashed his head violently three times against -the stone column of the house; then he rose up to his full height, the -blood streaming down his features, gazed wildly round for a few seconds, -and fell down on his face, insensible. - -Susan Riley, pale, calm, with a bitter smile on her mouth, watched all -this. Then she went to him, turned his face upwards, and gazed at it -with the same unmoved expression; that once noble face, now distorted, -hideous, with the locks steeped with blood lying on the brow, and the -red stream trickling over it. - -"Faugh!" she said to herself, "what a beast a man can make of himself!" -Then she deliberated for a short time what she should do next. - -Of a sudden, a triumphant smile broke out on her face; she laughed low: -"Oh, it is too good," she thought, "what a capital idea--what a scene we -will have!" - -She looked around her stealthily to see that no one was by; then she -drew a small hypodermic syringe from her pocket, and standing under the -lamp by the Temple gate carefully filled it from a bottle of -straw-coloured fluid. After another careful look up and down the two -streets, and at all the windows that commanded a view of the scene, she -approached the insensible man. She stooped down and bared his left arm, -then with one hand she took up a bit of the fleshy part of it, with the -other she pushed the fine tube under the skin, and slowly pressed down -the piston. - -She held it there for a few seconds, then withdrew it, and placed it -again in her pocket. - -"Number one!" she muttered to herself. "Ah, Mary! so quiet and yet so -sly; I shouldn't have thought it of you. You have robbed me of this -fool. I believe you are trying to rob me of that prig, Dr. Duncan. We -shall see, my girl, who wins in this game. I never liked you; now I hate -you, and that's bad for you. I flatter myself I'm a dangerous person to -make an enemy of--subtle and unscrupulous enough anyhow. Yes, Susie -dear, you are decidedly dangerous." - -Then she walked up to Fleet Street and found a policeman. She informed -him that there was a man who had been seized by a fit at the bottom of -the court. - -The policeman accompanied her to the spot, and examined the prostrate -form by the light of his bull's eye. - -"He's only drunk," he said at last. "He's fallen down and cut his face a -bit; nothing serious. We'll take him to the lock up." - -Susan stooped and pretended to feel the barrister's pulse. "Policeman," -she cried, "you must do nothing of the kind. He is not drunk, but -seriously ill. I am an hospital nurse, and understand this case. He -must be removed to the hospital at once, and without delay; do you -hear? It is a question of life and death! Get a cab and drive him to -the ---- hospital; it is my hospital. There will be a doctor in -attendance there who will save him, if any one can." - -The constable still hesitated; but when the sergeant came up her -earnestness overcame the doubts of both, and her advice was followed. - -She saw her lover carried off, and then she walked away to a lodging -where she was known, and where they would put her up for the night. She -was too excited to feel any fear for the consequences of her act as yet. -"Yes, it will be too delightful," she said to herself as she went along. -"I will send Miss Mary her old sweetheart." - -The barrister had not been so far from being the prophet of his own -fate, when he penned those verses to "La Fille de Marbre." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -SUSAN BRINGS MARY TO AN OLD LOVER. - - -On losing sight of the barrister, Dr. Duncan returned to the hospital, -hurried over certain professional duties which he could not neglect, and -then went off to Hudson's rooms in the Temple in the hope that his -friend had found his way home. He did not forget to take with him some -sedative drugs, which he knew the unfortunate man would most certainly -be in need of. - -He did not reach the Temple until three in the morning. - -On mounting the stairs he found both doors of the chambers wide open, -for Hudson had not thought of closing them after him when he rushed out -in his mad frenzy. - -The doctor entered the rooms; they were deserted. He looked around him -and saw the half empty brandy bottle on the table. The mirror over the -mantel-piece was broken, and fragments of the glass were lying on the -floor; the madman, after Susan had left him, seeing his own image in the -mirror, had mistaken it for some other person, and had thrown a chair at -it. The candle was still burning, a fact which proved to the doctor that -his friend had been in his chambers, since he left him outside the -Albion. - -Dr. Duncan went out, and on inquiring of the porter at the Middle Temple -gate learned that Hudson had left the Temple nearly two hours before. - -Alarmed for his friend's safety, he returned to the chambers, and passed -the rest of the night there, vainly waiting for him. - -Morning came, and he could stay no longer; he would be soon due at the -hospital, so he called on a barrister whom he knew to be a friend of -Hudson's, put the whole circumstances before him, and persuaded him to -watch for the return of the man to his chambers, and see that the proper -steps were taken for his safety. - -On going out, he found that he had still some little time to spare, and -it occurred to him that he would not walk directly to the hospital, but -take a road on which he thought he might probably meet Mary Grimm on her -way to the same destination. He knew it was about the hour that she -usually started from home. - -He had been very anxious to find an opportunity of speaking again to her -in private. He determined to discover what were her objections to -accepting his love, and whether they were really insuperable. - -He walked on, until he reached the street in which she lived without -encountering her; so he stood at the end of it, waiting till she came -out, his heart beating with excitement. - -He stood there several minutes, then looking at his watch he saw it was -later than he had imagined; and thinking that he must have missed her, -he was about to turn away sick at heart with disappointment, when -suddenly he perceived her well-known figure approaching him. - -When she saw him, her feelings were as strongly stirred as were his own, -and her face lost all its colour. - -They shook hands in silence, each conscious that the other was too -deeply moved for language. - -Then the doctor spoke words simple in themselves, and with a calm voice; -but yet they seemed to her to breathe forth all the passion that a human -being under that fiercest spell of love can feel. - -"I knew that you walked by this road to the hospital. I have come here -to meet you, Miss King." - -Mary answered nothing. He continued, "I have come to see you, to speak -to you. No, let us go this way," and he turned off into a road, which -was not the direct one to the hospital, but which led through the -neighbouring park, and was little frequented by pedestrians at that -early hour, so afforded opportunity for undisturbed conversation. - -They walked on side by side for some minutes without either speaking. - -"Mary!" then said the doctor--"you must let me call you Mary, even if I -am only to be your friend--I have so longed to see you by yourself, to -learn from your lips what my fate is to be!" - -The girl walked firmly on, but with downcast eyes, hardly seeing whither -she went, but guiding herself in some strange way by the consciousness -of the one who walked by her side. - -After a pause he continued: "Mary, you know that I love you. I must -know--you must tell me--if it is altogether impossible for you to return -that love." - -"Altogether impossible," she replied, in a scarcely audible voice. - -"Altogether!" he repeated after her in a dazed way. "Then I have nothing -more to live for. Oh, pardon me, Miss King! Why should I speak to you of -my happiness or misery? What a selfish being I am, even in my love for -you? And yet I do not think that it is altogether selfish. I know that I -would willingly endure endless misery if by that I could lighten your -burden, my child. Mine is a love that, be it selfish or unselfish, fills -my whole being. Oh, Mary! cannot you love me a little? I would so -endeavour to make your life a happy one." - -His voice was subdued, but full of profound tenderness, and it pierced -Mary's heart with a sharp pain. - -"I know it--I know it," she whispered; "but, oh! it is impossible, quite -impossible." - -They were now on a lonely path among the bushes of the park. They came -to a seat under a tree; Dr. Duncan sat down on it and Mary sat by him. - -"I cannot at all understand your meaning, Mary," he said sadly. - -"Oh why do you love me?" she cried in tones of anguish, "why do you love -me? Try and put me out of your heart. If you only knew my heart you -would do so at once." - -He looked at her for a few moments, then asked in despair, "Do you -dislike me?" - -"Dislike you!" and she raised her head and looked into his eyes as she -exclaimed the words. "Dislike you! How can I dislike you who are so kind -to me? Ah no! Dr. Duncan--it is not that; but have mercy on me--you are -torturing me. It can never be--never--never--I cannot love you. There is -something between us, something awful, and you must not ask me what it -is!" - -She looked so wildly as she spoke that the suspicion of insanity again -flashed across the doctor's mind, but he felt that whatever this burden -of hers might be, it could only increase the vehemence of his love by -deepening his pity. - -"Mary!" he said, "this love is too great a matter to be trifled with. We -must understand each other. Are you right in throwing this love of mine -away? Oh think! if you do love me--and I sometimes half believe you -do--is it right to allow this fearful something whatever it is to -separate us? Why, what should separate us? If you have any great sorrow, -if you are persecuted by any enemy, if there is any horrible secret that -torments you, so much the more reason that you should allow the one who -loves you, and whom you love, to help you, to defend you, and ward these -off. Mary! Mary! believe me, you said the other day that I should loathe -you did I know what this secret of yours was. Believe me, whatever it -was, I could do no less than feel for you the more, love you the more. -For heaven's sake, Mary! let nothing stand between us." - -She looked at him with a terrified air, and said, "And supposing that I -had committed some abominable crime--what then?" - -"What then? I should protect you, fold you to my arms, and help to -soften your bitter remorse into sweet repentance. I would share your -agony and delight in doing so. Whatever this secret is, it would but -deepen the sympathy between us. Oh, Mary! Love can cure every wound." - -"Oh, mercy!" she cried in tones of anguish. "Dr. Duncan! Dr. Duncan! do -not talk to me like this. I shall go mad if you do. I tell you again I -can never know love--never! never! I am the most miserable creature on -earth, and I cannot tell you why." - -He seized her arm in his passion, and said in a voice fierce and -tremulous: "Mary! Mary! this is all wrong. You are throwing away your -whole life's happiness for an utterly false idea. Oh, my sweet love, -tell me all! tell me all! I repeat from my heart, that nothing you could -possibly disclose can lessen my affection. Put the idea altogether out -of your mind that whatever you tell me can make any difference. Mary! -were you the lowest of creatures, I would love you all the more. It -would be all the sweeter to know that I had saved you. Whatever you are, -I am your lover, your slave. Ah, Mary! with such a love as ours will be, -we will be the happiest of people. In spite of anything that has been, -you will be all the world to me until death, Mary!--until death." - -The man had made the girl's heart thrill responsive to his own great -passion, and she could conceal this no longer. "Oh, spare me! spare me!" -she whispered. - -"Then you do love me," he exclaimed. - -She closed her eyes as she spoke in a dreamy voice. "Oh, spare me! this -will kill me. Oh, my love! for I do love you--as I can scarcely believe -woman ever loved man before--you don't know what you ask." - -He folded her in his arms and kissed her lips, but she turned from him, -and rising from the seat stood before him very pale, and trembling, -while the secret thoughts of her heart, that she would fain have hidden -for ever, but could not in that weak moment conceal, were revealed to -him in her passionate words. "Yes, I love you! I will die soon, so it -cannot matter much that I tell you this. I love you! but this must be -the last time I see you. We two cannot love each other--oh, that -I could tell you: and then be clasped in your arms and die there -straightaway--die in your arms dear!--for I cannot tell you and live. -Oh, how delicious it would be--oh, my love!" she clenched her fists and -looked up to the skies--"do not raise these visions of Paradise to -me--only to madden me with the contrast between them and what must -be--glimpses of Heaven through the black clouds of Hell." - -She paused and began to weep. - -Her lover stood by her with both her hands in his. - -He was about to say what little he could to comfort her, when she -snatched her hands from his and exclaimed, as she wiped her eyes with -her handkerchief, "Come away, let us go, Dr. Duncan. I can bear no more -of this." - -They walked along the path in silence for a few minutes, she with a -heart aching with its misery, he puzzled, not knowing what to make of -her behaviour, and feeling a strange mixture of joy and sorrow. - -At last he spoke, and there was a triumphant ring in his voice. "Mary, -you _shall_ be mine! We love each other. In that all-absorbing love we -will forget all your secret whatever it may be." He went on in fierce -accents, carried away by his passion. "Yes, Mary! in spite of crime, or -madness, or the power of hell, it shall be--Oh, my dear! my dear!..." - -At that moment Mary interrupted him with a slight exclamation, and at -the same time put her hand on his arm in order to draw his attention. - -He looked up and saw very inopportunely tripping towards them, with her -usual jaunty step, the plump figure of Susan Riley. - -This young lady's keen glance detected in the looks of the two lovers -that some serious conversation had been going on. - -"Good morning, doctor," she said as he lifted his hat and bowed. "Good -morning, Mary. Good gracious! how glum you look. You seem quite ill; -doesn't she, doctor? Why, what's the matter with you?" - -"I am perfectly well, thank you, Susan." - -"I think Miss King requires a change." - -"I have told her so," remarked Dr. Duncan. - -"By-the-bye, Mary!" exclaimed Susan, "something very curious has -happened which concerns you. An old friend of yours has been asking for -you." - -"An old friend of mine?" - -"Yes! and a gentleman, too; but I will not keep you in suspense. They -brought in a man suffering from delirium tremens last night, a very bad -case. He is a young man, and has the appearance of a gentleman. No one -knows who he is. He has no card on him: his linen is unmarked. Well, he -called out your name several times this morning." - -"My name!" - -"Yes; called out 'Mary Grimm!' 'Mary Grimm!' a dozen times, at least. -Now, yours is not such a common name, is it?" As she spoke the woman's -eyes twinkled with malice. - -Dr. Duncan looked from one to the other. What Susan had said puzzled and -disturbed him. Was this the clue to Mary's secret, he wondered. She -called her Mary Grimm, too; why _Grimm_? - -Mary divined his thoughts, and turning to him said simply, "I _was_ -called 'Grimm.' That was my real name, but when my aunt adopted me I -took her name." Then addressing Susan, "I cannot conceive who this poor -man can be, for I am not aware that I know any gentlemen, even by -sight, except the doctors and students at the hospital." - -Mary instinctively knew what suspicions were passing through her lover's -mind, but conscious of her innocence she spoke without exhibiting any -signs of confusion. His mind was much relieved by her words. "No, it is -not a man that is between us," he said to himself. - -Then suddenly he called to mind the adventures of the previous night. -"How old would you take this man to be?" he asked anxiously of Susan. - -"About thirty," was the reply. - -He quickened his pace unconsciously, and did not speak again till they -were at the gate of the hospital. - -Then he turned to Mary and said, "I will go and see this poor fellow -myself first; then I will come for you. You may be able to identify -him." - -The three entered the hospital together. - - * * * * * - -Dr. Duncan went into the private ward in which the man lay. He found him -asleep and breathing stertorously. Drugs had done their work for the -time. - -The nurse who was in attendance on him had left his bedside a few -minutes before, so the doctor was alone with the sick man. - -He approached the bed. It was as he expected. He recognised Hudson's -face at once, partly concealed though it was by the bandages that had -been placed on the wounds the barrister had inflicted on himself against -the stones of Devereux Court. - -He re-arranged the pillow of the insensible man, and then stood by him a -few moments, contemplating the altered features of his old -school-fellow. - -Dr. Duncan was anything but a religious man, but the idea came to him -then to do a thing which he had not perhaps done for several years. - -Recent circumstances had made the strong wilful man feel as a little -child again. He knelt down by the bedside of his friend and prayed for -him, or rather did something very like it; for his thoughts as he knelt -were not framed into distinct language. - -No _words_ came to his mind, but he was filled with a vague aspiration, -a sense of his own weakness, a consciousness of higher things, a -confident belief that the Universal Mercy would have a pity for his poor -friend infinitely greater than was even his own pity--a prayer without a -petition, without words, or even distinct ideas, but perchance a true -prayer for all that. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -IN THE LAND OF PHANTOMS. - - -When the barrister came to consciousness, he found himself lying in a -bed in an unfamiliar place, a small, light-coloured room, with only the -most indispensable articles of furniture in it. His brain was too -deranged by the effect of the poison to allow him to speculate where he -might be and how he got there. To think was agony, and sent his head -whirling round with a dizzy sickness and horror. - -His reason returned to him in fitful glimpses only, and then he realised -that he was in a room, in bed, and that people who were strangers to him -came in and out. But all around him was changing and indistinct and full -of confused noise, and the bed and room seemed to shake and heave -beneath him as if he were on some small craft tossing on a stormy sea. - -Then all the real faded away from his vision, and his mind set forth to -travel through a land of phantoms. - -The delusions of delirium vary much with the individual. The finer the -fabric of the mind, the more vivid, the less gross become the wandering -fancies; and all the learning and experiences and ideas of its past are -wrought by the disordered brain into long and complicated histories of -agony, all the store-house of the memory is ransacked for instruments of -torture. - -Again, it may have happened in his case that the poison administered by -Susan Riley in some way modified the effects of the alcohol; but, -whatever the cause, his delirium did not assume the form generally -produced by drink. He passed through a long series of strange and highly -imaginative dreams, all full of terrible and consistent adventures of -calamity; and the key-note of every one of these dreams was WOMAN. In -every one was some beautiful evil female form that tempted him on into -varieties of new and indescribably horrible ruin. The dominant idea, the -morbid bias of his mind, coloured each delusion. - - * * * * * - -A desolate coast in the extreme sad North; along the sea stretches a -narrow beach of black rocks; behind this tower huge mountains, bare of -any vegetation, cloven by black ravines streaked here and there with the -ghastly white snow. It is the region of eternal death, of endless winter -sprinkling daily snows to be the sport of the Arctic hurricane. - -A leaden-coloured sea moans incessantly on the dismal beach, and on it -sail fast to the southward, silently, great icebergs riven from the -mountains by the storms. And beyond the lea of the shore, the sea breaks -and shivers beneath the keen blast that sweeps down the dayless gorges -from the awful glaciers. And there is no horizon anywhere around, for -above is a sky of rolling clouds through which the sun never shines, and -the mists of the mountain-tops mingle with the clouds of the sky, and -so, too, does the sullen haze that lies on the grey sea. It is the -region of death--no life, no light, no love. - -On the black rocks between the mountains and the sea, a wretched man is -lying. The deadly cold wind blows through him, but he cannot die. It -seems to him that he has lain there for ages, and will lie there for -evermore, away from all things human; and there is not even so much as a -flower to comfort the castaway--no life, no light, no love. - -Of a sudden, a faint pink flush illumines the northern sky. - -Hope comes back doubtfully to his despairing soul. He raises himself on -his elbows, and looks with straining eyes up the icy north wind at the -new light. - -The rosy light deepens and collects into a form, first thin and vague as -a ghost, then gradually becoming distinct and solid. - -There is standing before him the figure of a woman, a gigantic woman, -whose head reaches to the clouds--a Titan. Her beauty is beyond the -beauty of earth. Her massive rosy limbs are more delicious than ever -Greek sculptor dreamt of, and her long, fair locks blow out all over the -heavens, crowning her head with a golden halo. - -Her lips are red and voluptuous, and pleasure sparkles in her eyes. - -She does not look down at the man, but gazes far away over the mountains -and the seas towards the South. - -A breath of hope thaws the despair in his soul. Life and light and love -are coming back to the regions of death. - -He lies there at her feet and looks up, and his spirit is filled with -the sense of her beauty. His soul is faint with an impossible love for -her, a love greater than the awe he feels in the presence of the -goddess. He lies prone on the ground and longs that her great white feet -may crush him, and that he may die at once. To be killed by her were -sweet! - -Oh, that he were not a pigmy! that he, too, were a god, and might become -fit mate of hers, might know her love! - -His desire, his intense aspiration reaches her. The Titan looks down -upon him with a smile whose meaning he cannot understand; then she -stoops and touches his heart with her hand. - -At that moment his wish commences to be realised. He feels that his body -is extending rapidly; his stature is becoming that of a god. - -But now a fantastic and horrible idea seizes him. As he grows larger and -larger, his senses, his consciousness, spreading through the mass, -dilute lessen. As he increases in bulk, vitality diminishes; the -numbness and coldness of death comes gradually on him. - -As his senses dim, the Titan woman fades away into mist, and all is -darkness. He can no longer hear the sound of the waves, and his body -still increases till it becomes as a vast mountain, the extremes of -which are so far off as to be almost out of sensation. - - * * * * * - -Possessed by this fearful delusion, mathematical calculations kept -running through the barrister's disordered brain--distracting sums ever -repeating themselves, and he could not shake them off. - -Life, the wild train of his reasoning ran on continually. "Life filling -one body--the body doubles in size--then the life is half as strong. Now -my body is three times as big--life is three times as weak--now five -times--six times--now a hundred times. Oh, this numbness is reaching my -heart! Oh, this horrible, horrible death!" and his frame shook and his -muscles were drawn up in hard knots, and great beads of sweat rolled -down his agonised features. - - * * * * * - -Then a hand that waited on him unseen took a cup in which some white -crystals had been dissolved and placed it to his lips. - -As his teeth rattled against it, he drank the draught fiercely, as if -for life, though he knew not what he did. - - * * * * * - -His delusions then became softer, even happy, as of one under the -influence of opium. - -He saw around him an immense landscape--plains and rivers and hills -spreading for hundreds of leagues beneath a blue sky--a nature bathed in -a pellucid atmosphere that lent all a beauty beyond earth. Scattered -over the plain were many cities, and by merely willing it he found -himself walking within any of them--strange, beautiful cities of bright -colour, whose banner-hung streets were thronged with processions of -people clad in a medieval costume. The quaintness of an olden time was -over all. - -All these processions tripped on to one tune, a tune to which they sang -a song in an unknown language--a song low, monotonous, sweet; and the -church bells rang out the same tune perpetually, and the very air shook -to it, and the trees waved to it, and so did the banners that hung from -the houses; and all his own words and thoughts ran on ever to the same -jingle without his power to prevent it. - -Then he turned off from the main into the side streets, tempted by the -glance of a white-faced woman with a face of marvellous beauty, -fascinating, yet ominous, with immovable, inscrutable expression of -features. - -Knowing that he was plunging into danger, horror, death, he yet followed -recklessly, led on by the magic of the woman. And from one side street -she would turn off at right angles into another, and from that to -another, and so on; and each street was narrower than the last and more -gloomy. The brightness and loveliness of the main thoroughfares was not -in these. There were no longer the gaily-dressed throngs and the harmony -of that universal tune; but these streets were silent, deserted, with -dark, moss-grown pavements, in which here and there were pools of black -water. The grim houses rose on either side storey upon storey of black, -hideous stones, ancient, rotten, crumbling with age; and each storey -overlapped the lower, till the upmost of either side of the street met, -high, high up, rickety structures of rotten wood from which black rags -flaunted. And for thirty feet or so up, there were no windows to these -houses--bare, leaning walls alone. After that were the windows, -irregular in size and in position, with wooden balconies running along -them carved into shapes of grinning monsters. - -As he advanced from narrower street to narrower, the silence and the -sense of impending horror intensified. And the woman brought him to a -crevice half-way up in a sort of battlement; a recess which seemed to be -her bower wherein to receive her lovers--a foul recess where was a pile -of bones, and where the dark mould was discoloured with soaking blood. -Then she stopped, turned and looked him in the face; for the first time -her features moved--relaxed into a smile, he fled shrieking. - - * * * * * - -Again in those horrible narrow stifling alleys, which became darker and -filthier as he went on; and though he met no one in them, yet he saw -that from each of the innumerable windows there looked out at him the -beautiful, melancholy, deadly-white face of a woman, with black eyes as -of a basilisk burning out of it. - -None of the women spoke, or moved, or beckoned, or looked glad or wroth. - -But he knew, as he passed by them, that they came down the stairs of -their houses behind him and followed him. He could not see them or hear -them, but he felt their terrible presence. They poured out behind him, -silent, invisible crowds ever increasing. - -He rushed on, but the streets were still ever narrower and loftier; oh, -the deadly fear that was on him, the desire to find escape to the broad, -bright streets again, and flee this horrible thing! - -But he could not--it was not to be--not broader but ever narrower were -the foul alleys that he hurried through. Would he never come out to the -light? Was he altogether cut off? Would he reach some blind alley and be -at the mercy of the pursuing crowd? - -At last the streets were so narrow that the houses altogether joined. He -found himself no longer on the stone pavements, but going through the -crazy houses themselves. He passed along old wooden corridors that shook -and crumbled beneath his tread, while below were black depths of rushing -water--open sewers whose filth was alive with fearful reptiles; then -along great galleries, and through rooms; door after door, yet no escape -for the phantom-pursued wretch. And the rooms were of all characters, -but all deserted and all terrible to the fancy. Now he was in a garret -with noisome walls, with their dirty paper torn, waving in a cold wind, -and hideous vermin crawling over it; now in a magnificent boudoir with -sofas of purple pile and great mirrors, and a thousand nicknacks -glittering with diamonds, a chamber heavy with voluptuous odours, fit -nest for some loveliest, young Hetaira or Cleopatra's self, but always -with some unspeakable loathsome thing in it; then into cellars, foul -charnel-houses strewed with bones--bones of men that a voice within him -told had been former victims of the horror, even as he should be--and so -on and on and on before the nameless terror, fleeing from the unseen -women that were ever noiselessly following. - -At last he felt a breath of fresh air on his cheek. O, God, was it -escape at last? - -No! No! He was at the end of an alley, but it terminated on the foul mud -of a river bank, a broad, dark river--no escape, and the crowd behind -neared--neared--they had surrounded him--seized him.... - - * * * * * - -Once more the precious crystals calmed the overwrought brain for awhile. - - * * * * * - -The mouth of a pit--a pit of endless depths of suffocating darkness, and -this darkness and the suffocating poisonous density of the air of it -increased with the depth. - -A pit of indefinite breadth, it might be a hundred miles or a hundred -yards or of no breadth at all, for it was in a realm beyond the limits -of space. - -In the middle of the pit--that is at an equal distance from the edges, -and on a level with them--the wretch was poised. - -He breathed labouriously--a difficult painful expiration, an agonising -inspiration; and as he breathed out the air he sank--sank into the -darkness of the pit--down into the suffocating darkness, into horror and -death. - -Then he gasped for life; drank the difficult thick air and rose again to -the surface; with each expiration sinking, with each inspiration rising -to the lighter air of the surface. - -There was present to him all the agony of the drowning with a horror -such as no death can give. But when he rose, he was not able to stay -above the pit long; for he could not hold his breath--after a few -minutes he was forced to breathe out--breathe out and sink down--down -into that unutterable horror. - -And the whole mouth of the pit was domed with a gigantic dome of -millions of human heads, grinning, laughing, jeering at the wretch; -mocking him that he could not stay on the surface but must breathe out -and sink again--the heads of beautiful, bad women, some that he -recognised as erst the companions of his orgies, the hideous heads too -of satyr-like old men, that shook with palsy as they grinned with lust, -in which he seemed to recognize his own distorted likeness; and heads of -horrible things not describable in the language of the sane world. - -So up and down he rose and fell between the grinning faces and the -suffocating darkness, each time weaker, more unable to fight upwards to -life, each time sinking deeper, staying longer in the stifling depths. - - * * * * * - -Once more the hand that ministered unseen, placed the glass to his -chattering teeth; the crystals again did their blessed work, and his -delirious fancy changed. He was in an old ivy-grown parsonage in a -pleasant, western village among hills and apple-orchards; a child once -more in his old home. He wandered up the valley, by the crystal -trout-streams, between the heathery hills; a child so glad, so pure, and -he wept bitterly for the very delight of the flowers and all the beauty -of the land, wept, though so simple and innocent; with a foreboding of -future sin and misery and vain, vain, regrets. - -Then the clouds darkened and gathered, and a girl walked towards him by -the river bank, a beautiful girl with golden hair and purple eyes, with -a great sorrow in her young face--and she passed, seeing him not, -turning not aside, though he stretched out his hands in passionate -yearning and pleading--but he could not step one step towards her, nor -could he cry out to her to stay, though he knew that she alone could -save him. - -Then another woman followed, beautiful also, but with the eyes of a -snake; and she saw him and looked into him till his heart chilled and -his veins tingled, but with a terrible fascination. To look at her, to -love her was death; but he would look and love notwithstanding, and die -with a laugh of joy on his lips. - - * * * * * - -"This is the poor wretch, Mary. He is asleep now. Do you think you can -recognize who it is?" - -It was Susan who spoke; she and Mary were standing alone by the bed-side -of the unconscious Hudson. - -Mary scanned his features closely--a look of pity on her face; but in -reply to the other's question, shook her head--she did not know him. - -"Yet from what he said this morning he evidently knows you," went on -Susan. - -"I cannot remember the face--and yet there is something in it"--Mary -said, doubtfully, as she paused to consider again the altered features. - -"I think I know what he is," interrupted Susan. "I made out from his -ravings that he was a barrister." - -"A barrister!" cried Mary, and she started back and her cheek blanched. -Yes! she knew him now. And was this poor wretch so changed, so degraded, -indeed the bright, young man who had first befriended her? - -"Oh, Susan, I know who it is now. Poor fellow! poor fellow! I have not -seen him for years--Then he was so different, so noble. Oh! what could -have caused this? He was my first friend in the world, when I had no -others and was sorely in need of one! Oh! what can I do? what can I do?" -and she wrung her hands with anguish. "Oh, Susan! if I had but known of -this." - -Susan interrupted her. "If you had but known you might have prevented -this. Yes! I dare say." - -"What did the doctor say, Susan? Will he recover?" - -"The doctor says the case is a bad one; but then the man is young, so -there is hope of recovery, unless--unless something happens to -complicate the mischief." - -So strange was the tone in which the woman uttered these last words, -that Mary turned round and looked at her, and felt a great terror creep -over her when she perceived the glitter in her eye and the sinister -smile about her mouth. - -Even a coward will become recklessly brave when possessed by some strong -passion. Susan was at heart a coward, yet she now did what she well knew -was an extremely imprudent thing. She could not control herself; her -malice overcame her fear of consequences. She so hated Mary, the girl -who she believed had robbed her of two lovers, that she could not resist -the dear temptation of torturing her, of watching her agony as she -played with her feelings like a cat with a mouse, though she was aware -how perilous the amusement was. So she went on with a voice that could -scarcely conceal her delightful sense of triumphant cruelty. - -"Now, Mary, listen carefully to what I am saying--I know who this old -lover of yours is. We of the Inner Six know everything. Nothing can -escape our vigilance--no treason especially"--and she looked earnestly -into the other eyes. "This Mr. Thomas Hudson--you see I know him--has -just come into a considerable fortune--poor fool, if he had but known -it! His uncle died two days ago. It's a pity you did not know that, is -it not, Mary?" - -"I don't know what you mean," exclaimed the girl, "and I don't -understand how you can speak in so heartless a manner. Has this man ever -done you any injury?" - -"That is not the question, my dear Mary," said the woman in bland tones. -"Now follow me carefully and don't interrupt. This Mr. Hudson, you see, -is now entitled to a large landed estate. Now Mr. Hudson may marry, may -have children, may leave tyrants after him to hold the people's land. We -should have to remove those children, should we not, Mary?" - -Mary made no reply, so Susan, after a pause, continued: "But, on the -other hand, if Mr. Hudson happened to die now, the estate would go to a -certain old gentleman who is over seventy. This old gentleman is -unmarried, and is hardly likely to beget children if he does marry; so -when he dies in his turn, there will be no descendant of his to take the -land, and so it will revert to the State--that is, unless he dies before -this new Landed Property Act is passed, and becomes law--an improbable -contingency; as next session of Parliament will certainly settle -that--you follow me, don't you, Mary?" - -Mary, scarcely knowing what she did, replied with an affirmative motion -of the head, but she said nothing. - -Susan proceeded: "Now, Mary, this is the question: which will be the -better plan, to put this Thomas Hudson out of the way now, and so secure -this property to the people by one stroke, or to wait till by-and-bye -and then contrive, not without much danger and difficulty, perhaps, to -put away his children? I consult you because I look on you as one of the -cleverest members of the Sisterhood. Let us have the benefit of your -opinion." - -The malicious woman never took her glittering eyes off the girl as she -said these words, and waited for an answer. - -But the girl only trembled, and turned deadly pale, staring at the other -with fixed dilated eyes. She could not speak, for she felt a strange -numbness creeping over her whole body, gradually intensifying, and -paralysing her every sense. - -Susan left her in suspense for a minute or so, gloating over the agony -of her rival, and then continued in a cold voice, calmer and more -deliberate than most women would employ when discussing how a gown was -to be made up, or some such equally important matter: - -"To me it seems absurd to miss such a glorious chance. What an -opportunity, too, of watching the working of Jane's poison! So I -have--look here, dear--" She raised one sleeve of the man's shirt, and -pointed to a small blue spot, surrounded by a slightly inflamed circle, -which stood out in contrast to the white flesh. - -Susan then looked up with a smile into the girl's face, but when she -perceived the expression on it, she felt frightened at what she had -done; for Mary was gazing straight in front of her with a fixed stupid -stare, as if not understanding what she heard or saw. Susan dropped the -man's arm and ran towards her, just in time to support her as she fell -fainting to the ground. - -Having now satisfied her malice, the cowardly element of the woman's -nature came to the front again. She shook with fear, and cursed her -folly at having told this thing to Mary; why, the girl in her hysterical -weakness, or in the delirium that might come of this shock, might easily -reveal the whole transaction. - -She laid Mary down on the floor, and stood staring at her without -rendering any assistance for a few minutes. In her fear, she had lost -all her presence of mind. Then somewhat recovering herself, she was -about to employ measures to bring the girl back to consciousness, when -her eyes happened to fall on the barrister. - -One of his eyes was covered by the bandage across his forehead, but the -other was open wide, staring fixedly at her out of the pale face, while -his swollen lips moved, as if trying to give utterance to words, but -unable to do so. - -The sudden sight of this, the suspicion that he had perhaps overheard -and understood all that she had revealed to Mary, completely unnerved -her, and in the shock of the moment she screamed aloud, so that Dr. -Duncan and one or two others hearing the cry ran into the ward. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -SUSAN GOES TO CHURCH. - - -The doctor soon discovered that Mary's was no mere passing fainting-fit. -The girl was evidently seriously ill, the symptoms being those of acute -brain fever. - -Her nervous system had for a considerable time been dangerously -overstrained by the mental agony resulting from the conflict between her -love, and what she considered her duty; so that even without the final -shock described in the previous chapter, she would have most certainly -succumbed in time. - -She was put to bed in a room by herself, and a messenger was sent to -Mrs. King to acquaint her with the illness of her niece. - -Susan Riley was now terrified at all the mischief she had caused. She -was beside herself with fear. For the time, out of her many interesting -qualities, cowardice became the dominant one; voluptuousness and cruelty -slumbered a while. - -She felt she was between two great perils. On one side was the -barrister, who at any moment might recover his reason sufficiently to -accuse her of his murder, on the other side was Mary, who might divulge -everything in her delirium. A slight accident might send her to the -gallows. She was tortured by the dread and the suspense. - -She could not attend to her duties properly that day, but wandered about -in a distracted objectless way, at short intervals taking glimpses into -the two wards where her victims lay, but carefully avoiding being seen -by them. - -In the evening Dr. Duncan contrived to meet her alone on the balcony -that surrounded the hospital. - -"You look very ill, Miss Riley," he observed. - -"I am," she replied hastily. "I am worried about Mary." - -All her old flippant manner had departed. She was evidently much -concerned about her friend's illness. "She has a heart after all," -thought the doctor. - -"I wanted to speak to you about Miss King," he said; "I have not clearly -understood from you yet why or how she fainted. Did she recognize the -man?" - -"I don't know," replied Susan, hap-hazard, and not considering what she -was saying. "I don't think her fainting had much to do with seeing him -in any case. She has been very ill for some time." - -The doctor nodded his head as in acquiescence to this view. "Yes!" he -reflected, "it must be so; the mere sight of poor Hudson, even if she -has known him at some time, would not have been a sufficient cause by -itself." - -He remembered, too, how on the previous day Mary had stated that she had -no male acquaintances, save those connected with the hospital. He loved -her too well to mistrust her. He knew she would not deceive him, so the -fact of Hudson's having called out her name in his delirium gave him no -uneasiness. - -"What do you think is the matter with her, Dr. Duncan?" asked Susan -timidly. - -"I am afraid it is brain fever," was the reply. - -"Is she delirious?" she asked anxiously. - -"Not at this moment, but she doubtlessly will be." - -"I will go and see her, Dr. Duncan." - - * * * * * - -Susan was exceedingly anxious that she alone should sit by the bedside -of the sufferer, and overhear her ravings. She begged so earnestly for -this that she was allowed to have the special nursing of Mary. - -Her behaviour on this occasion quite won her the esteem of Dr. Duncan, -who naturally could not divine the real motives of her anxiety for her -friend. She was so untiring in her attention, so jealous of anyone else -relieving her, and was so evidently upset by the critical condition of -the girl, that the doctor could not but put it all down to a real -affection. He came to the conclusion that he had greatly misjudged this -woman, and he began to entertain a respect and liking for her. - -Susan was indeed too anxious, and her health began to suffer in -consequence. She did her best to conceal her nervous state; but at last -it was so patent that Dr. Duncan, in spite of her protestations, -insisted on her abandoning her work of love (or rather of fear), and -ordered her away for a holiday. - -She seemed almost heartbroken at having to part from her friend, and the -doctor was more surprised than ever to find that the frivolous woman -could exhibit so much devotion. - -So within a fortnight from the commencement of Mary's illness, Susan, -prostrated by sheer terror, and with her nerves thoroughly unstrung, -went down to a little sea-side village by herself, to recover her -strength. - -And even there she ate out her heart with that perpetual fear. She was -no longer the same woman. She did not flirt with men. She avoided her -fellow-beings. When indoors she would sit brooding, with knit brows, -starting and trembling at every noise. When out of doors she would -wander up and down unfrequented portions of the beach, pale and haggard, -and make a long circuit when she saw anyone in the distance, were it -only a fishing-lad, so as not to pass within recognisable distance of -him. - -For a strange thing had come to Susan Riley. It will be remembered how -she explained to Mary, in the course of a conversation, that the -experience of all Nihilists was as follows: They suffered from the -horrors _before_ committing the deed. They were wont to fear that, as -soon as their hands were red with a first murder, some frightful bogie, -some maddening remorse, worse than anything imaginable before, would -leap up and seize them; but as soon as they _had_ committed the deed, -they were so agreeably surprised to find that this dreaded bogie did not -appear, that a delightful reaction would at once set in, they became mad -with joy. "As soon as you have killed your first baby," she told Mary, -"your horrors will all go. You will experience immediate relief. It's -like having a tooth out." - -But now Susan, in her own person, found this process altogether -reversed. - -She had felt no compunction, no horror, before the deed. She had -murdered her lover, the barrister, with a light heart. But, lo! now that -she _had_ done the deed, she was haunted by the terror--the avenging -Furies never left her. She was consumed by a perpetual and awful fear. - -She would start out of her disturbed sleep, twenty times in a night, to -see distinctly before her the disfigured face of her victim, looking -into her very soul, even as he had looked that last time in the hospital -ward, with his one unbandaged eye. - -In her first panic she thought of leaving the country and concealing -herself in some foreign town. But she soon perceived that this would be -a most imprudent step. The chances were, after all, that her crime would -not come to light. Even if Mary or the barrister did accuse her, it -would be better for her to remain at home and brazen it out than to -invite suspicion by flight. - -Besides, she remembered that though it might be comparatively easy to -hide herself from the justice of the law with its clumsy machinery, it -would be altogether impossible to escape from the vengeance of the -secret societies. - -She knew that, if Mary accused her of murdering the barrister--if the -Sisters discovered that she had made use of the secret of the society to -satisfy her own private malice--her fate was sealed. - -She knew how the Nihilist societies all over the world were connected -with each other. She knew that wherever she might hide herself, she -would be hunted down and executed by their agents: first, because death -was the punishment always awarded to one who prostituted the methods of -the societies to work his own private ends; and secondly, because the -Sisterhood would decree her removal in their own defence, so as to -anticipate the law, and obviate all chance of her betraying them, did -the police succeed in tracking and arresting her. She saw clearly that -flight was worse than useless, so remained where she was. - -Dr. Duncan had promised to write to her every day and report the -progress of Mary's illness. - -On one fine Sunday morning, a few days after her arrival at the -sea-side, she received a letter from him, which considerably allayed her -fears for the time. She felt almost cheerful after reading it, and ate -her breakfast with some semblance of appetite, to the delight of her -landlady, a sympathetic soul, who pitied and took great interest in her -sick lodger. - -For in the letter occurred the following passage: - -"That poor Mr. Hudson died this morning. His constitution seemed unable -to rally after his last attack. He never spoke a single word since you -saw him last. He became totally paralysed. His case, indeed, was a very -unusual one in some respects." - -"Ah, then, she was safe," she said to herself. "He was dead--had died -without revealing anything--there could not be produced a tittle of -evidence against her now--he would be buried by this time--even if they -dug him up again," she chuckled to herself. "No examination could betray -her work. The poison of the Sisterhood was too subtle." - -Again, even if Mary disclosed what she knew, who would believe her? Her -story would be put down as the delusion of a madwoman. Yes! she was safe -now. - -She felt then quite her own self again, and was so full of will joy, -that she must needs put on her bonnet and start out for a long walk -across the sands--she was too jolly to be still. - -"Take care now, Missy, take care," said the motherly old landlady in a -warning tone as she observed her flushed cheek and sparkling eye. "You -have had good news in that letter, but that doesn't make you strong and -well all of a sudden, though you feel so just now. Don't go and tire -yourself, or you'll be as bad as ever again to-night." - -"Nonsense!" replied Susan impatiently as she tripped merrily down the -stairs. - -As she walked down the village street, she met all the people going to -church, and being a stranger she was naturally thoroughly inspected and -criticised. She soon noticed this, and fear having been driven away, up -came her old vanity again, and she ogled the men unmercifully. - -An idea struck her, she too would go to church. It was the proper thing -to do in the country--besides, it might afford her an opportunity of -captivating some young squire or other local grandee. - -"What a lark!" she said to herself. "Fancy _my_ going to church." - -She entered the church, and was placed by an old gentleman, who acted as -pew-opener, in an empty pew which was in a very prominent position. - -Once there, all her pluck and gladness seemed to run out of her finger -ends again quite suddenly. - -Her old landlady was right. The letter had only produced a temporary -relief, a reaction all the more quickly fleeting, that it was so -intense. The Furies had not left her yet. - -It was a strange sensation that came over her. The silence of the church -before the service commenced, the number of quiet faces--faces that had -assumed that look of solemn misery which the rustic considers proper to -the sacredness of the day and place--seemed to mesmerize her. A sense of -vague terror crept over her, her nerves were strung to breaking. It was -as if some explosion, something horrible, was about to happen at any -moment. - -The wretched woman was on a rack of mental agony and suspense. She could -not move and leave the church; she was held there by the mesmeric gaze -of all those quiet faces, which she believed was concentrated on -herself. - -Everything that occurred through that awful hour was as a separate stab. -And all was so deliberate too, so cruelly deliberate. - -The old clergyman mounted slowly into his pulpit, and putting on his -spectacles deliberately, looked at her for a moment or two. It was -horrible! - -Then commenced the slow, deliberate, monotonous words of the service, -each an instrument of torture. She rose, and sat, and knelt, without -knowing what she did, with the other people. - -At last came the dreary intoning of the ten commandments. - -On hearing the first, she suddenly remembered that there was another -further on, the sixth, which said, "_Thou shalt do no murder_." She felt -as if her face must express her guilt, when these words were drawled -out. She would be betrayed to all those people. - -She waited for it without breathing. Her heart seemed to stop. She -thought she would die when it came. - -One by one the commandments seemed to boom out in her ears like some -distant death-knell. - -Slowly the last words of the fifth were uttered by the sleepy old -clergyman. He actually paused before the sixth to adjust his spectacles. -"Oh! it was done on purpose," she thought. "They knew all!" She could -not suppress a low groan, and then a dark veil seemed to fall over her -eyes. - -"_Thou--shalt--do--no--murder._" - -Her head swam, a great roaring sound filled her ears, but still louder, -above it, rang out those awful words. - - * * * * * - -"A sort of epileptic fit," said the village doctor rather vaguely to the -squire as he met him at the church door after the service. "Poor thing! -I wonder who she is. We took her home to her lodgings. It seems she's -been here about two weeks. The landlady says she's been very strange and -in low spirits till to-day, when a letter cheered her up. There's the -danger of sudden reaction and excitement, you see," rubbing his hands -and winking with one eye in a knowing way at the squire, who himself was -a choleric man, with a tendency to apoplexy. - -Endowed with a vigorous constitution, she soon recovered from the -effects of the seizure, whatever it was. - -But she could not shake off the terror. The Furies would not let her go. - -She felt that she must go mad if this continued. She even contemplated -suicide. - -Then she took to opium, and was never without a bottle of laudanum in -her pocket, from which she would take frequent sips. - -Yet she _knew_ that she was quite safe. She tried to prove this to -herself. She tried to laugh away her senseless fears, but it was no -good. The horrors will not give way to logic. - -Though human law could not punish her, she suffered enough in all -conscience to satisfy those strictest lovers of retributive justice who -would require even more than a tooth for a tooth. - -A month of this condition robbed her of a considerable portion of her -beauty. Her peachy complexion was no more; her cheeks were sunken and -sallow; and the crows' feet about her eyes were as those of a woman -twice her age. - -Curiously enough, it was the very loss of beauty which at last brought -about her recovery, and prevented her from becoming a hopeless lunatic. - -The horror had to battle with a formidable foe--vanity, and, indeed, had -ultimately to retreat before it. - -Her great dread of age and ugliness saved her. - -She observed the fast deepening wrinkles, the fading roses, and felt -greatly alarmed. "This must not be allowed to go on," she thought. "I -must live more healthily. I must get calmer, or all my beauty will go." - -So now she had another idea, though it was an unpleasant one, to occupy -her thoughts. - -The horror did not now altogether absorb her mind--one terror distracted -her attention from the other. Thus monomania was averted. - -It is better to be possessed by two or even a legion of devils than by -one alone. - -So, gradually, she became something like her old self again, but not -quite so. She had lost a good deal of her nerve, and could not -altogether abandon her laudanum drinking. The horror faded away, but the -wrinkles would not. She could not smooth those crows' feet out. Her -cheeks resumed their roundness, but not all their purity of complexion. - -This soured her temper. Her old jovial flippancy, objectionable though -it was, gave way to a still more objectionable cynical ill-humour, which -made her hurt the feelings of others whenever possible. She could not -help revealing this at times even to the men she wished to fascinate. -She made a practice of saying very nasty things on all occasions, and -became a very disagreeable person generally. - -She never returned to the hospital to resume her duties as nurse, but -when she was fairly recovered from her strange illness, she went up to -London, reported herself to the Secret Society, and threw herself with a -zeal she had never displayed before into its machinations. With -congenial villainy and occasional laudanum, she hoped to drown thought -and so recover her lost beauty. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -A DARKENED MIND. - - -As soon as Catherine King heard of Mary's illness, she hurried to the -hospital in her great anxiety. She loved the girl with the intensity -which characterised all her passions--loved her far more dearly than her -own life and happiness--almost as much as she loved the "cause" itself. - -Pale and trembling with fear for her darling, the usually cold, stern -woman appeared before Dr. Duncan. - -"Let me see her," she said, in a choking voice. - -"Dear Mrs. King," he replied, "I think it will be better for her if you -do not see her just yet. Sit down and I will tell you all about her. -Pray do not alarm yourself." - -"Is it dangerous?" she interrupted in the same tones, seemingly not -having heard what he said. - -"We cannot tell yet; she has received a severe shock. It may prove to be -merely a passing attack, or it may be--" - -"May be what?" - -"Brain fever." - -Catherine looked down on the ground, and thought a little before she -spoke again. "You say she received a shock. Who gave her a shock?--what -was it?--who was it?" and the look of a wild beast that has been robbed -of its young came into her eyes, as she waited for his answer. - -The doctor knew that she could easily acquire the information from -other sources, so thought it best to tell her all that had occurred at -once. - -"The poor girl has appeared to me to have been unwell for some time, -Mrs. King--to have had something on her mind, some great worry that has -been destroying her peace and undermining her health." - -"Oh, yes! I know all about that," exclaimed Catherine, impatiently; "but -the _shock_--what do you mean by that?" - -"The shock would not have affected her in the way it did, if she had not -been in the unstrung condition I speak of, Mrs. King." Then he told her -how a patient suffering from delirium tremens had been brought into the -hospital, how his attendants had heard him call out the name of Mary -Grimm several times in his delirium, how Mary had been brought into his -ward to see if she could identify him, and how she had fainted away on -seeing him. - -After he had completed his narrative, Catherine rose from the chair and -paced up and down the room several times, a deep frown on her brow. Then -she stopped, and facing the doctor commenced to question him in a calm -but abrupt manner. - -"_Did_ she recognise him?" - -"I don't know; she is not in a state to explain anything yet." - -"Was anybody by when she saw him?" - -"Yes, one of our nurses--a Miss Riley." - -"Ah!" - -After a pause she spoke again: - -"Then the man has not been identified." - -"Oh yes, he has! I recognised him. He is a barrister; his name is -Hudson." - -Catherine turned her face away that the doctor might not read the -terrible expression that had come to it, and which she could not hide. -She asked one more question: - -"You say he was heard to call out the name of Mary Grimm several -times--who heard him?" - -"I believe it was Miss Riley." - -"Ah!" - -Any man who has ever been possessed by a mad love for a woman, and -suddenly has certain proof brought before him that she has deceived him, -that there is another man whom she loves as she never loved him, can to -some extent realise what were the feelings of Catherine King, as she -listened to the doctor's narrative. - -For the love she felt for Mary was of a kind not very uncommon among -women, especially when one of the two is of a more masculine nature than -the other. It was as the deep tender love of a strong man for a weak -timid girl. It was a love accompanied by passionate jealousy. This demon -of jealousy now possessed Catherine. She choked with rage and vexation. -"What!" she reflected, "this man, this miserable drunkard, has robbed me -of Mary's affections! The gross ingratitude of the girl too, and her -deceit!" She remembered Mary's story about the barrister's kindness to -her when she first ran away from home. Doubtlessly she had been holding -clandestine meetings ever since. This accounted for the treacherous -girl's melancholy of late. - -As all these thoughts and erroneous though not unnatural suspicions -flashed across her brain, she felt so bitter a hatred against the viper -she had cherished to her breast, that she could have choked her there -and then; but she concealed these emotions as much as possible, and said -to the doctor in a calm voice: - -"Let me see this man." - -A jealous curiosity seized her to discover what this rival of hers was -like. - -"Certainly! you may see him if you wish to do so," Dr. Duncan replied; -and he took her into the special ward where Hudson was lying, insensible -just then, enjoying a respite between the horrible visions. - -She stood by the bed and looked at the miserable man with an expression -of indescribable loathing and hatred which she could not conceal. The -doctor observed it. - -"Will he live?" she asked turning suddenly to him. - -"I think so. It is a bad attack; but then he is a comparatively young -man," he replied. - -She turned away from the bed with a gesture of disgust. - -"Take me out, doctor. I won't see Mary to-day, as you think it better -for her to be quiet. Besides, I don't feel well; I am rather dizzy, I -should like a glass of water, if you please." - -After her glass of water, she left the hospital and walked home rapidly, -as miserable, as savage, as all the pangs of jealousy could make her. - -For several days she endeavoured to come to some resolution concerning -Mary. To love, perhaps to marry this barrister, must of course -altogether cut the girl off from the Secret Society. Why, there was but -one thing to do--Mary must be removed, must be killed. Yes, Mary, the -only thing that she loved must be killed--she was a traitor to the -Cause! - -Catherine's mind was distraught by the conflicting passions her -discovery had excited in her. - -She nearly went mad with them. - -At one moment she felt that she hated Mary with the greatest of hates, -that she could laugh to see her suffer and die before her sight; at -another moment, the woman would lie on her solitary bed moaning in -despair over her lost love. - -And even when her mind was calmer, it was so miserable to sit in the -dark little parlour all alone; there was no Mary there now to caress and -converse with. - -One day she collected all the girl's little effects, her work-box, her -two or three books, and after kissing them each passionately a dozen -times, put them away together in a cupboard in her own bed-room, where -she could visit and kiss them again privately at intervals. - -But the next day, the remembrance of the girl's perfidy, of her love for -a man, so excited her jealous hatred again, that she turned all the -treasures out of the cupboard, tore them up and threw them in the fire, -feeling a grim satisfaction in so doing. - -But an hour after she repented again with moans and tears for what she -had done. - -She felt as if she had been tearing her own heart strings out. She hated -herself for her cruelty in having destroyed all her darling's little -favourite things. - -The ruthless Nihilist, in short, acted generally in much the same silly -fashion as the greenest school-girl would have acted under similar -circumstances. - -Dr. Duncan was very surprised to find that day after day passed, and yet -Catherine King did not call at the hospital to make inquiries about her -niece. - -At last he wrote to her. He informed her that Mary's illness had taken -the form of brain fever, but that she would in all probability recover. -He also incidentally conveyed to her the same bit of news which had so -relieved the fears of Susan Riley--the death of the barrister. - -This letter caused a revulsion in the woman's feelings and greatly -excited her. She started for the hospital as soon as she received it, -and on arriving there asked for Dr. Duncan. - -She was shown into a waiting-room and the doctor soon appeared. - -"Well, doctor, so she is much better?" - -"Not exactly that, Mrs. King, but progressing favourably." - -"Can I see her?" - -"I think she is asleep. Sleep of course is of the greatest importance -just now, but I think if you desire it you might see her without -disturbing her." - -"Is she in her right mind? can she recognize people?" - -"Hardly yet; the fever is still on her, but she does not exhibit much -delirium." - -"So the 'shock' is dead?" - -"The unfortunate Mr. Hudson, if that is what you mean, is dead, but I -don't consider the shock of seeing him was the real cause of your -niece's illness. It would have come sooner or later without that." - -"Indeed! Then what do you consider was the cause, Dr. Duncan?" - -"As I told you the last time you were here, Mrs. King, there is -something on her mind." - -"There is," said Catherine, "and I think I know what it is." She spoke -irritably, as the thought of the love which she imagined existed between -Mary and the barrister rose to her mind. - -"And until that something is taken off her mind she will never recover," -continued the doctor. - -"The something is gone now, Dr. Duncan," she said, looking straight into -his eyes. - -"I hope that is so," he replied doubtfully. - -"What a fool the man must be not to understand me," thought Catherine; -but the doctor had very good reasons to know that it was not love for -Tom Hudson that weighed on the young girl's mind. - -"Well! let us go and see Mary now," she said. - -The girl had been placed in a small private room by herself. When they -came to it the door was opened by the nurse who was in charge of the -patient. - -Catherine looked keenly at the young woman, then turning to Dr. Duncan, -exclaimed: - -"I thought you told me the other day that Miss Riley was nursing my -niece." - -"She has been nursing her," replied the doctor, "but we have sent her -away for a holiday. She has been much overworked lately, and is far from -well." - -"Indeed!" exclaimed Catherine. - -"Yes, she is not at all well, and her anxiety about your niece, who is a -great friend of hers, seems to have upset her very much." - -This information very much puzzled Catherine. "Susan is not the person -to get overworked and ill," she reflected, "and still less the person to -get anxious about a friend, and she's gone off without giving me any -notice. There is some mystery in all this, but I will get to the bottom -of it." - -She entered the room and walked softly up to the side of the bed. - -The room was darkened, but there was sufficient light to enable her to -clearly distinguish the features of the sick girl. - -Mary was lying there sleeping peacefully. She had been in this condition -for some hours. It was the first natural and refreshing sleep that had -come to her fevered brain since her attack. Nature was working her -remedy in her own fashion. - -Catherine stooped and looked intently at the quiet face. She saw that it -was pinched and white and that a circle of dark purple surrounded the -closed eyelids. - -She also noticed how thin had become the arm on which the head was -lying, the poor head off which all the beautiful hair had been shorn -close. - -But there was a happy smile on the half-parted lips of the sleeping -girl, her dreams were sweet. - -Catherine looked at her for several minutes without moving or speaking. - -All her anger and jealousy melted away now, before her great pity and -her great love. She asked herself reproachfully how she could have -harboured one hard thought about her darling. The poor child could not -help loving the man who had befriended her, and now he was dead. It was -all the more incumbent on herself to cherish and console the poor girl -in her affliction. - -At last she made a sign to the doctor that she was ready to go, and they -left the room with silent tread. - -She did not speak till they were once more in the waiting-room, then she -asked, simply: - -"How often may I see her?" - -"Every day," he replied. - -"Then I will come every day, and oh, Dr. Duncan!"--she seized his hand -passionately--"I can see you are a good man. She is all the world to me. -Do your best to make her well again, spare no pains, I implore you! But -of course you will do all that; pardon my folly, but I love her so much, -I forget what I am saying." - -"You can rely on me to do my best I think, Mrs. King," he replied, as he -pressed her hand. - -So Catherine came every day to the hospital, sitting by and ministering -to the sick girl when she happened to be awake, or if that was not the -case, contenting herself with one long, yearning look at her sleeping -form. - -The fever left Mary in a very weak and precarious condition. - -Her reason did not wholly return to her. Her memory of everything that -had passed was very imperfect, and came only in flashes. She seemed to -have forgotten all about the Secret Society. She had no remembrance of -having stood by the barrister's death-bed and heard Susan's cold-blooded -confession. She even could only recognize in a vague way the friends she -had known before her illness. - -But all that occurred around her during her convalescence was written -indelibly on her memory. She did not forget the slightest incident. - -So, as all that did occur around her at this period, as all her -experiences consisted merely of the kind attentions of her friends, -doctors, and nurses, her mind was occupied entirely by the consciousness -of all this sympathetic care. A sense of boundless gratitude possessed -her; it was the one idea or emotion of the poor feeble intellect. - -It moved to tears the most callous of her nurses, hardened to pitiful -sights, to see how grateful the girl was for every little attention. In -an imbecile way, she would fondle and stroke with her thin hand anyone -who performed some slight service for her. Her eyes swam with love as -they followed the movements of all those kind people. All the passions -and sorrows and fears seemed to have departed from the weakened mind, -leaving only this gentle love. - -Sometimes, but rarely, her expression would suddenly change; a look of -terror would come to her eyes; she would start up in her bed, staring -wildly and pointing at some imaginary object. It seemed to always assume -the same form; for she would cry whenever it appeared to her: "Oh! there -is the shadow again--the black shadow!" or words to the same effect. - -For days after one of these attacks, she would be silent and sullen, and -pay no heed whatever to the events and people around her. - -Dr. Duncan noticed that these painful relapses would nearly always -originate when Catherine King was by her. Mary seemed to be fonder of -her adopted aunt than of any other of the people that she saw. She would -shower her caresses on her as she would on no one else, though she only -half recognized the woman as one who had known her and been kind to her -before her illness. - -But it happened sometimes that she would gaze fixedly into the stern, -pale face, as if trying to recall to mind some forgotten association; -she would look puzzled, draw her hand across her forehead, turn her eyes -away with a sad and pensive expression, and at last be seized by the -imaginary horror of the shadow that I have described. - -Sometimes, too, the sight of Dr. Duncan seemed to awake in her some -dormant memories; but in this case, after gazing at him in the same -earnest, puzzled way, not a look of horror but a wonderful smile of love -would come to her face; and she would stroke his hand caressingly, in a -simple, artless fashion, making the strong man himself feel as if he -could scarce prevent himself from bursting into passionate tears over -her. - -But Catherine King, led off the scent by the episode of Tom Hudson, -never for a moment suspected that any tender relations had existed -between Mary and Dr. Duncan, though she was rather surprised on one -occasion to hear the crazy girl--who was in one of her affectionate -moods--call him "Harry," which, by the way, she had never done when in -her right senses. - -Seeing how Mrs. King's presence occasionally produced an injurious -effect on his patient, Dr. Duncan persuaded her to diminish the -frequency of her visits. - -Mary's strength gradually returned, till at last, after she had been -laid up for two months, it was decided that she could leave the hospital -with safety. - -So one afternoon, Dr. Duncan called on Mrs. King to inform her of this, -and was shown into the little parlour where the heads of the Secret -Society were wont to hold their councils. - -As he waited for her to come into the room, he picked up a book from the -table and read a page or two of it to while away the time. It was a -pamphlet on some social question published by the "Free Thought -Association." He threw it down in disgust. "Yes! I must get Mary out of -this house," he said to himself. "This is no fit place for her." - -As soon as Catherine came in, he communicated to her the object of his -visit. - -"Mrs. King, I have brought you some good news. Your niece is now so much -better that I think we ought to get her out of town as soon as we can. -That is all she wants now. She will quickly recover her health in the -country." - -Catherine's face brightened up with the great joy she felt; she had been -so eagerly looking forward to the time when she should have her darling -all to herself again. - -"I am so glad to hear this, Dr. Duncan," she said. "It is very kind of -you to bring this news to me in person. I will take her to the sea-side -without delay. When do you think she could start?" - -"Very soon. But, Mrs. King, if you have no place in view to which you -would like to take her, I have a suggestion to make. The sea-side is -very well if you have really good lodgings; but, as a rule, you can't -get the care and cooking in sea-side lodgings that I should like Miss -King to have. It will not do to risk anything with her at present. Now -my sister, who is a widow with two little children, lives in a cottage -near Farnham, in the prettiest and healthiest part of Surrey. I have -talked to her on the subject, and she would be so pleased if Mary would -pay her a visit. She would get pure air and good country food there. I -believe it would do her a great deal of good, far more so, indeed, than -going to some strange lodging in a sea-side place. She would have -pleasant society there, too, and I know that she and my sister would get -on well together. Farnham is only about an hour from London, so you -could easily run down and see her, and stay a few days occasionally. -Now, Mrs. King, let me persuade you, as you love your niece, to agree to -this." - -Catherine first frowned, then the picture of that poor thin face rose to -her mind. - -"It would do her good, you think?" - -"I am sure of it, and I have yet another reason for her going down -there: after attacks like those your niece has suffered from, it is -often advisable to change all the associations of the patient for a -time. It is better, sometimes, that there should be a complete -separation from old intimates, especially relatives I think it would be -unwise if you lived entirely with Miss King for the present. To see her -occasionally, though, would of course do her good." - -The woman was grievously disappointed, but she said: - -"Yes, I have heard that. It is hard for me to be separated from Mary; -but I know it will be good for her. I will accept this kind offer of -yours. You are a good man, Dr. Duncan," she added, as he rose to shake -hands with her before going. "I am very grateful to you; and what is -more, I admire and respect you. Excuse my eccentric way of putting -things, but I always mean what I say, and, alas! there are very few -people to whom I would say those words." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -AMONG THE GREEN LEAVES. - - -"Aunty Mary, are oo wicked?" - -The speaker was a pretty healthy-looking boy of five. - -The young girl whom he addressed as Aunty Mary was leaning back -languidly in a comfortable arm-chair, which had been placed under the -shade of a fine old beech-tree, standing on the lawn of a small but -beautiful garden. - -At the back of the lawn was a cheerful-looking little cottage, almost -smothered in flowering creepers. - -The girl was propped up on pillows, and there were wraps around her to -protect her from the spring wind. She was evidently in a state of -convalescence from a serious illness; and, indeed, she still seemed so -fragile that one would have said she was hardly likely to see the -ripened fruit of the blossoms that made the apple orchard beyond the -garden look so lovely on that early spring day. - -As she lay back, a closed book in one hand, and a bunch of violets and -primroses, which the children had just brought her, in the other, her -large wistful eyes were gazing pensively through an opening in the green -foliage, to where below the orchards, at some distance off, there -stretched a broad sheet of blue water rippling in the soft wind, -surrounded by dark spreads of moor and glittering streaks of yellow -sand, backed afar off by undulating hills of heather. - -It was indeed a lovely view, as lovely a one as even beautiful Surrey -can show. Not many Londoners know this Frensham Pond, as it is called, -and all that sweet valley of the upper Wey into which its waters drain, -though these are not more than thirty miles from the metropolis. - -The little boy who spoke was sitting at the girl's feet with his head -resting on her lap. - -He had been looking up into her face for some minutes silently, in a -solemn wondering manner, as she gazed over him towards the lake in an -absent-minded mood. - -"Aunty Mary, are oo wicked?" - -"Why do you ask such a funny question?" she said as she stroked his soft -curls. - -"Cos mummy says, 'Good people is always happy and laugh, but bad ones -cry and are sorry.' Oo never laugh, Aunty Mary, but oo are not bad, are -oo?" - -"You silly little boy!" interrupted a little girl who was a year younger -than her brother, "you know poor aunty's not well. That's why she don't -laugh. You'd cry, you'd be very naughty if you felt bad like aunty -Mary." - -"You little darlings!" cried the girl as she pressed them to her with -warm affection and kissed them. - -"But oh, Aunty Mary," continued Bobby, who had a great taste for -philosophical disquisitions, and was especially fond of adducing -arguments to prove the fallacy of the doctrine as regards retributive -justice, which those in authority over him tried to inculcate into his -acute little mind. "But oh, Aunty Mary, I believe that Anne (the cook) -is an awful bad woman, and yet she laughs very loud." - -"She isn't bad, Bobby!" emphatically denied the sister. - -"She is! doo know, aunty," and he spoke in a tone of mysterious -confidence, "doo know--mummy told them not to tell me; but I know--Anne -drowned all the poor baby dogs. There was six of them. Isn't she very -bad to kill all the poor little baby dogs, aunty?" - -To the surprise of the children, Mary's response was a flood of -hysterical tears. Weakened by her illness, and in the early stage of -convalescence, she could not contain her feelings, and the innocent -words of the babies pierced her heart with bitter memories. - -At this moment the mother of the children approached the group. - -"Oh, mummy!" cried the puzzled Bobby running up to her, "poor Aunty -Mary's so bad. She's so sorry because the little baby dogs is killed." - -Mrs. White was an active pretty little woman in a widow's cap. Her face -had a calm serenity in it, a great amiability which was yet free from -weakness, and which at once fascinated anyone who looked at her. - -No one could know the sister of Dr. Duncan and fail to love her. - -She came up to Mary and kissed her, and soothed her in her own sweet -feminine way. No influence could be more soothing than hers. To lessen -affliction was with her a gift. - -The girl feeling tranquil again, put her arms round her neck and kissed -her. - -"You have been out too long, dear," said Mrs. White. "Come in now. I -want you to lie on the sofa, and hear me play a new piece of music Harry -has just sent me." She had observed before how beneficial an effect -music had on the girl, and she knew when to employ it. - -For such was this woman. She would notice all the little tastes of those -who were with her, especially of this sick girl, whom her brother had -confided to her care, and unobtrusively, without the object of her -attention ever guessing it, she would do the right thing to please at -the right time. - -Mary had not been long in this pleasant cottage among the Surrey hills -before she conceived a great affection for this good woman and her three -little children. - -At times now she was very happy; but it was a painful happiness, for she -was frightened at the very greatness of it, feeling that it could not be -for long. When the shadow, as it often did, came across her mind, it -seemed all the more horrible and dark in contrast to the innocent light -around her. - -So her sadness deepened. The thought of the terrible future preyed on -her mind. The knowledge that she was pledged to perform a fearful duty, -made her tremble at the deliciousness of this new life, this glorious -paradise, of which she was allowed a passing glimpse, but which must be -for ever closed to her. - -This prevented her brain from recovering beyond a certain point, and on -some days her memory would leave her, and she would be like a child -again, a helpless, lovable witless creature, to see whom was to bring -tears to the eyes of the hardest. - -One circumstance, happily for herself, was entirely erased from her -memory, never to return to it--this was Susan's confession of the -barrister's murder. She distinctly remembered going into the ward and -recognizing her old benefactor, but on what happened after that, her -mind was a complete blank. She knew nothing of Susan's cold-blooded -explanation, or of her own fainting-fit. - -Mrs. White was a truly religious woman, and Dr. Duncan, thinking it -well, if only from a physical point of view, to divert the girl's -thoughts into ways of consolation, had hinted to his sister that Mary -had been educated by an atheist, and so most probably herself -entertained rather strange opinions on the subject of religion. - -Thereupon the woman, without obtruding it in any way, yet contrived to -bring before the girl's observation, how intimately religion entered -into the daily life of herself and others, how in sorrow they were -comforted by their faith, and looked forward to happiness beyond the -grave. - -All this seemed so strange to the girl at first. She looked on with a -mild mournful wonder, yet envied this mental state so entirely opposite -to her own. - -"The simple happy people," she thought. "Ah! that I was like them and -did not know." - -The two entered the drawing-room of the cottage, a cheerful room, whose -graceful ornaments and profusion of flowers reflected the spirit of the -lady of that peaceful abode. - -Mary was forced by her hostess to lie back on the sofa; then Mrs. White -sat down at the piano and began to play. It was a new piece of the -German school, not cheerful exactly, certainly not melancholy, but full -of a dreamy exaltation, suggestive of wanderings into some glorious -realm. Indeed, it breathed all the rapture of religion. - -Mary listened to it, feeling really happy as that noble harmony filled -her soul, and for the moment drove away the shadow altogether. - -She felt as if she were floating away into a shadowless heaven on that -flood of music, and odour of flowers, and sunshine, that harmonising -together pervaded all the room. - -Then the music stopped. - -After a pause Mrs. White said, "How do you like that, dear?" - -"Oh, it is beautiful! too beautiful! It makes one so sad afterwards!" - -"Do you find that? I don't at all." - -"It seems to carry one away into some altogether impossible happiness, -and when it is over one feels a regret for it. It is like waking out of -a very pleasant dream." - -"Poor dear, you won't talk like that when we have got you round. I'm a -witch, and I foretell lots of happiness for your young life yet." - -"You are always happy, Mrs. White." - -"Of course I am. I should be a very discontented person if I was not, -with everything to make me happy as I have." - -Mary sighed. "And this woman," she thought, "has yet lost her husband, -she has lost her love forever, and yet is happy! Could I ever be happy -again if I lost mine?" She would have liked to have asked her a question -yet dared not. She wondered whether the widow was happy because she knew -she would meet her love in another world. "She could not be happy unless -she believed this. How sweet must be the lives of such as this woman, so -full of love and joy, which even death, they believe, cannot destroy. -How different," she thought, "from the agony, the despair, of those like -me who know no world but this, who, when their loved ones are taken from -them, lose them for ever. Ah, the hopelessness of it!" She felt that she -was alone in the world, altogether cut out from the innocent joys and -beliefs, for she had tasted the fruits of that poisonous tree of -knowledge. - -At last she said, - -"Music generally raises one curious idea to me, not altogether sad but -so strange. That last piece did not raise that idea though, but made me -feel wonderfully glad while it lasted." - -"And what is it that most music suggests to you then?" asked Mrs. White. - -"It is very curious. It makes me feel as if I was all alone, far away -somewhere, apart from other beings, and that all else was nothing but a -series of pictures passing by me. Did you ever read Greek plays, Mrs. -White?" - -"Dear me! no! never. Why, you don't mean to say that Greek too was one -of your studies?" - -"No! but my aunt has read me translations of some of the Greek plays, -and she explained to me the spirit of them. I often feel when I am -listening to music as if I was the central figure of one of those old -tragedies, a being hunted by a relentless fate; and sometimes it seems -as if all that comes across me in life were incidents and characters in -the play--characters subsidiary to mine, instruments of the Fate which -is the key-note of the play, some knowingly, some unknowingly. Those -who harm me will not be punished, those who are kind to me will not be -rewarded; they are but the blind tools of the same Destiny. For in my -play there is not, as in modern plays and novels, a retributive justice -setting all things right at the end, but this pitiless Fate, careless of -anyone. It is a fearful fancy and it seems to haunt me." - -She said this in a languid dreamy way, beating the sides of the sofa -nervously with her thin fingers as she spoke. - -The idea was a common one of hers, and as she said, haunted her, with -many others of like nature, born of that most pernicious habit of -self-introspection which her recent education had inculcated. - -"It's not a very healthy fancy, dear," said Mrs. White; "but we'll soon -drive it away. Life is not a Greek drama if that's what a Greek drama is -like. No human being stands alone in that way. There is no relentless -Fate. We are all bound together by something better than that. I am sure -I don't feel like a subsidiary character to you"--and she laughed -merrily--"but as your dear friend who loves you very much." - -"Oh, I wish I could believe all that you do, Mrs. White. I am altogether -lost in a maze of contrary ideas. I don't seem to know what is right or -wrong now in the least--since my illness. I am getting so puzzled about -everything--" a little hysterical half-sob, half-laugh divided her -sentences. "I don't think my head will ever get right again--when I try -to think my brain gets quite sick and dizzy, and I don't know where I -am." - -"Poor little girl! but you must not think at all, at present; you've got -to please your friends by being quiet and allowing them to get you well -again." - -"I wish I was good and unselfish like you, dear Mrs. White." - -"Nonsense, child--I am not more unselfish than other people. What -greater pleasure is there than to make others happy? It's not so -unselfish after all to do what is the pleasantest to oneself." - -"Ah! that is it--I am beginning to feel it. There is only one thing -about which I am quite certain." - -"And that is?" - -"That to help others, that to love, is the only happy thing on earth. It -is so nice to love. Sometimes when I am altogether miserable I can make -myself happy by thinking of all the dear friends that I love, and -planning little things I can do for them.--Ah, my dear friends! I would -die to help them--Love! It is the only thing I do understand. I have -grown so weak that I cannot realize now all I once thought and knew, and -believe in it as I did--but I do love." - -"And what more is wanted? I do not believe that any human being is -altogether miserable as long as he can love. Love, dear, is the key of -all happiness. Religion is love. Scientific people may talk of their -discoveries--may talk about our having no wills, about our being -machines--excuse me, dear, for I am not clever in these things--but can -they explain this love? Not a bit of it. No machinery, no evolution, no -fortuitous concourse of atoms--you see I know some of the learned -terms--can make love, I know!" - -The simple woman spoke with conviction. This was her favourite, indeed, -her only argument against materialism. She would listen to no other -arguments for or against. This one, in her opinion, entirely crushed -vain philosophy, so there was no necessity to look further into the -question. - -She felt rather proud of her logic and eloquence, so looked through the -corners of her eyes at Mary, to see what effect her speech had produced. -She was disappointed to discover that it had not impressed the girl -much. - -"But oh, what a puzzle this life is!" said Mary. "There can be no doubt -that to love humanity, that to work for the happiness of the race, is -far higher than merely to love and help our friends. But it is so -difficult a problem; the interests of humanity and of the individual are -so often entirely different." - -Mrs. White looked thoughtful. The idea expressed by Mary was evidently -rather novel to her, and she did not know whether it ought to be -considered as an orthodox one or the reverse. Anyhow as being something -new, it must be regarded, with suspicion--it might be some subtle -fallacy of materialists and socialists--so she said, - -"To work for humanity is far beyond most of us anyhow. We must be -content to love and help each other, or do nothing. I don't think we -poor simple women need trouble ourselves much about humanity. We must -leave that to wiser heads, and even they seem to go wrong as often as -not when they make the circle of their sympathy too wide. - -"Besides how much nicer to love people you can be with and see, how -pleasant to make them smile! To love humanity generally, and to think -only about nations and races instead of individuals, must be rather a -cold sort of a love. I am a weak woman and must love something I can -touch. Now you see I am not so unselfish as you imagined," she laughed, -"and I like to get an immediate reward for anything I do, and you will -have to give me a reward at once dear for all this learned lecture, in -the shape of a nice kiss." - -At this juncture the maid announced that the tea was ready, so the -debate on love was postponed till another day, the artless prattling of -the little children, who then came indoors, turning the conversation -into a very different groove. - - * * * * * - -Gradually by weakness and human love, Mary was brought over to doubt her -old teachings. "Were they after all infallible? Was religion true? -Surrounded by all the mysteries of life, with all these loves, these -emotions, these profound instincts, was it not presumptuous folly for -man to despise their whisperings, and from the limited data of science -to argue that there was no God, no religion, no free will, no _a priori_ -ethics?" - -Mary begun to yearn after that religion of love which she saw so -beautifully exemplified in this woman. - -At times, when she felt her head turn as if her senses were altogether -going, when the shadow rushed on her mind as if to darken it suddenly -and for ever; she would clasp her hands and shut her eyes, and repeat to -herself the word, "Love! love! love!" in a monotonous passionate way. -She felt as if doing this prevented the darkness from utterly closing on -her. The uttering of this word seemed a charm to her in her half-witted -state. It was her first attempt at prayer. - -In this weak imbecile condition, love, as she said herself, became her -master idea. She loved, loved that one man, and also in another way, her -friends, especially her benefactress Catherine King, and this kind -sister of Dr. Duncan. - -Her mental disease seemed to have intensified this emotion; and well it -was so, perhaps, for it relieved her overwrought brain from the presence -of the shadow, which otherwise would have alone occupied her thoughts -and oppressed her constantly. - -Her love for the children was an intense one. She had never played with -children for years, hardly ever when herself an infant, and she had -actually come to consider them as a sort of half-conscious creatures, -for Catherine generally talked about them as if they were so, when -advocating her strange views as to their removal if they stood in the -way of humanity's progress. - -But now Mary, being in close companionship with babies, felt a true -woman's sympathy for them, and fully realised the horrible nature of the -work she was pledged to. - -The natural result came at last. Her mind underwent a gradual change; -but it was not till after a long time, not without much doubt and -wavering, that she finally made a certain step of supreme importance. -This was no less than a determination that she at any rate would not be -guilty of child-killing, however expedient it might be for humanity. She -made up her mind to acquaint Catherine King with this resolve at the -earliest opportunity. - -But this left her still in a great perplexity. That intolerable secret -would still be on her mind. She could not betray her benefactress. -Though herself innocent of blood, she would still know of the terrible -work of the Sisterhood; she would be constantly hearing of its results, -and yet not be able to utter one word to save the children. - -Painfully she reflected what she ought to do, but could see no way open -to her; and as the problem daily stood out more terribly bright before -her, and yet daily more insoluble, her reason began to wane once more. -What health she had gained was being gradually lost again. - -She felt that she was dying and she was glad to die, poor perplexed -child, for whom circumstances had made life so portentous a problem! - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -CATHERINE KING VISITS MARY. - - -So it was that Mary by degrees began to entertain a half belief in -religion, or rather she had come to altogether believe in a religion of -her own--a vague religion that had no dogmas, but the key-stone of which -was a profound faith in love. That was the cross to which she clung, a -reality; she knew nothing else for certain, of Gods or creeds. They were -as yet dark and shifting to her vision. She could not immediately accept -all the beliefs of her new friends. - -But this mysterious love that carried her soul so far above merely -earthly things, opened possibilities, nay certainties, of higher -mysteries. She could no longer accept the cold ethical schemes in which -she had been educated. She thought the reasonings must be fallacious -that were so opposed to these divine supersensual instincts. - -Taught by nature herself, she worshipped in her way the unknown God, -whose sole revelation to her was love. - -At first she would listen with sad wonder to the little prayers that -Mrs. White's eldest children would lisp at their mother's knee, in which -they invoked their God's blessing on their mother, Aunty Mary, all their -kind friends, and even their pet animals. It was very beautiful and -sweet to have this belief she thought. - -She fell into a way of _wishing_ a sort of prayer of her own, when she -got into bed at night. - -At last she would even kneel down by the bedside, as she had seen the -children do, and pray earnestly in a more definite manner. - -It was the crying out of a soul in darkness, a prayer true as was that -of the publican in the parable. It was a prayer to the unknown God -somewhat in this wise: - -"O God! if there be a God, O God of Love! God of the Christians! if, -indeed, thou art; I love Thee. I do not pray for myself, except that I -may die. But oh, bless all my dear friends, and especially Mrs. King, my -mother; make her happy in knowing Thee; and make Harry happy, make him -not miss me much, and not be very sorry when I am gone, but give him a -true good wife. And, O God, let me die soon, else I shall be the curse -of him I love, and ruin his happiness. Take me away from him and let me -die." - - * * * * * - -As Mary's cure was no longer a question for medical science, but -depended solely upon the cheerfulness of her surroundings and such like -natural remedies, Dr. Duncan had not considered it necessary, so far, to -visit his sister's cottage. He was afraid, too, lest his presence might -distress the girl, and decided not to see her until her convalescence -was at a more advanced stage. - -He also hinted to Mrs. King that it would be well if she too abstained -from seeing her niece for the present. - -Mrs. White kept her brother fully informed by letter of the progress of -the patient. Of late these letters had not been quite so hopeful as they -were at first. She told him that the convalescence which at first had -been so rapid, had reached its limit; that Mary's health was no longer -improving, but seemed to her to be even retrograding. - -At last she wrote him a long letter in which she expressed her great -anxiety about the girl. She begged him to come down himself, and also to -send down Mrs. King, as it was possible that the woman's presence would -be of benefit to Mary. "At any rate," she wrote, "send her down for a -couple of days, the experiment is worth trying." - -"She is sure to be right," thought the doctor as he read his sister's -letter, so he called on Mrs. King and told her that it would be -advisable now for her to visit her niece, but he asked her to make this -first visit a very short one, merely to run down one afternoon and -return the next morning, then, if the effect on the girl was -satisfactory, the visits could be frequent and of longer duration. - -Catherine was of course overjoyed at the prospect of again seeing her -darling, and arranged to go to the cottage on the following evening. - -So the next morning's post brought Mrs. White a letter announcing this -fact. - -She went out upon the lawn with Mary after breakfast with the intention -of breaking this news to her. - -Mrs. White had never been able to quite make out what were the exact -feelings between Mrs. King and her niece. Mary always exhibited a -strange dislike to speaking about her aunt. She never voluntarily -introduced her into the conversation. She seemed troubled when -questioned about her; and yet, on the rare occasions when the girl was -more communicative than usual on this subject, she always spoke of -Catherine King in terms of the highest praise. She evidently entertained -a great admiration and love for her. - -"Mary," said Mrs. White when they were upon the lawn, "I have good news -for you, your aunt is coming to see you." - -Mary clapped her hands with childish joy, "Oh! I am so glad," she -exclaimed. "I have so looked forward to this. I have been waiting so -long; I thought I should never be allowed to see her." - -"She is coming this evening and will stay till to-morrow morning, so you -will be able to have a long talk with her." - -Mary stood still and her brow became clouded. "Yes, I have much to talk -to my aunt about," she said, slowly. - -"You never speak to me about her, dear. I should like to know her -better. She must be very fond of you." - -"She likes me much better than I deserve," replied Mary, sadly. "I have -been very ungrateful to her." - -Mrs. White, who was too true a woman not to suffer from curiosity, after -a little thought said: - -"My brother tells me that Mrs. King has some rather startling political -and social theories." - -"She has," replied Mary, rather curtly. - -A long pause followed. - -"Has she succeeded in converting you to her views?" then inquired Mrs. -White. - -A look of distress came to Mary's face. "I don't know," she cried, in an -excited, nervous way. "Don't ask me now about those things, dear Mrs. -White. I am too ill to think." She passed her hand across her forehead -as if to wipe away some painful vision. - -Mrs. White took the girl's hand tenderly in hers. "Forgive me, Mary -dear," she said. "It is cruel of me to worry you with inquisitive -questions; but I will be good now." - -The little woman reproached herself bitterly for having so thoughtlessly -caused the girl pain, and turned the conversation into another channel. - -Throughout the day, Mary was strangely excited and changeable in her -moods. One moment she was wild with delight at the prospect of seeing -again her beloved chief; the next she felt sick with fear, as she -thought of the confession that she had to make; for she had made up her -mind to tell Catherine all--her doubts as to the righteousness of the -cause; her love for Dr. Duncan; she would throw herself at her feet and -make a clean breast of it. - -She endeavoured to divert her thoughts by taking up any employment she -could to fill up the tedious hours of this exciting day. In the -afternoon, she begged Mrs. White's permission to relieve her at her -usual task of bathing the youngest baby and putting him to bed before -tea. - -He was soon splashing and chuckling away in the bath, while Mary was -assiduously sponging him, playing and laughing with him in an unusually -happy mood for the time. - -While she was engaged at this performance, there came a ring at the -entrance bell; but she did not hear it. - -Soon after she heard the voices of two people who were mounting the -stairs leading to the nursery. - -The door opened, and her hostess entered with a smiling and excited -face. - -"See whom I have brought to see you, Mary," she said. - -Mary looked up and perceived, closely following Mrs. White, the tall -figure of Catherine King. - -The sudden meeting produced a strange shock and revulsion of feeling in -both the mistress and pupil. - -Mary dropped her sponge, but did not move from where she was kneeling by -the bath. Her face and neck and ears turned a vivid crimson, and she -looked aghast at Catherine, deprived of all power to speak for the -moment, so startled was she at this abrupt appearance. - -The effect on Catherine was no less strong. She had entered the room -with her heart beating with joyful anticipation, like a lover's when at -the door of his mistress's house; but as soon as her eyes fell on Mary -engaged at so unexpected a task, she turned pale and involuntarily -stepped backward a pace. - -She stood looking at the girl without speaking, her eye going -alternately from her to the child in the bath. - -The sight of the naked baby that lay between them, now squalling loudly -at being neglected, suggested strange and fearful thoughts to both their -minds, and either knew of what the other was thinking. - -It must have been many years since the head of the Secret Society had -seen a naked baby, and now to come suddenly upon one, and with her -favourite pupil tending it, too, forced her to realize, in a vivid way -she had never done before, what her scheme meant. She felt a strange -sickness and vertigo when she looked at the innocent being before her. - -Mrs. White was not unnaturally very astonished at the curious manner of -the meeting of this affectionate aunt and niece; but she came to her -senses first, and as no one else seemed inclined to break through the -awkward silence, said: - -"There is the dear girl; she looks much better, does she not, Mrs. -King?" - -This broke the spell. Mary sprang to her feet and rushed into -Catherine's arms, kissing her with great warmth. - -Catherine returned the embrace in a shy manner that seemed cold; she was -ashamed of being effusively affectionate, especially before strangers; -but she felt as if her very soul was going out to the girl who hung -about her neck. - -She said in a quiet voice: "I should have come long ago, you know, Mary, -but the doctor would not hear of it." - -She still held the girl's hand in her own, unwilling to part with it. - -"I know that. But, oh! I have so longed to see you, aunt dear--and I -have so much to talk to you about!" - -"We will have a long chat together to-morrow morning, Mary, before I go; -but you must not tire yourself now. Indeed you do look better--much -better," and she stepped back so as better to see her pupil. "What -should we have done without you, Mrs. White? Ah! I have reason to be -grateful to you for your kindness to my niece." - -"But, oh! I am altogether neglecting Tommy!" cried Mary; "poor little -chap, sitting there all alone, covered with nasty soap-suds!--no one -paying the slightest attention to him! Aren't they naughty, Tommy? No -wonder he cries, poor little man!" She was beginning all her tender -woman's nonsense with the child again, when her eyes suddenly met those -of her mistress, and she became confused and silent again before that -sad, puzzled gaze. - -Catherine felt she ought to say something complimentary to the mother; -it was the usual thing, she supposed; so she spoke in a curious, -constrained tone, hesitating between the words as if repeating a -half-learned lesson: - -"That is your--youngest--I presume--Mrs. White? He is a--a fine--a fine -boy." - -Mrs. White smiled involuntarily at the stiff manner of the woman; could -this be the kind, sympathetic aunt whom Mary had praised so warmly? - -"Yes," she replied; "he is the youngest of the three--a great friend of -Mary's; isn't he, Mary?" - -"Ah!" ejaculated Catherine, and lapsed into awkward silence again. -Everything was so strange to her that she could not collect her thoughts -at all. - -"Leave him to me, darling--I'll dry him," said the mother to Mary; and -the little mortal was soon dried, chuckling and crowing again in a warm -blanket. - -He looked at the stranger and laughed, pointing to her with his chubby -fist to attract her attention. - -"He has evidently taken to you, Mrs. King," said the proud mother. -"Isn't he a fine boy?" and she handed him to her--the baby stretching -out his arms and kicking lustily in his eagerness to be taken up by a -new friend. - -Catherine mechanically took him in her arms and held him in a -constrained, stiff way, looking at him as if he were some entirely new -animal to her, and as if she did not know what to make of him, or -whether he was dangerous or not. - -It had doubtlessly been a long time since she had held a baby in her -arms, though she discussed them a good deal in the abstract. - -The extreme awkwardness of her position, and the uncomfortable look of -her face, as she stood with the infant White in the middle of the room, -would have made Mary laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole situation, -were it not that the hidden meaning of the scene made her heart bleed -with pity and sorrow. - -It was indeed a relief to Catherine when the baby was put to bed and -they went downstairs into the drawing-room. - -The invalid, tired out by the day's excitement, was sent to bed shortly -after tea, and the two women were left alone. Notwithstanding the -incongruity of the society, the evening passed pleasantly enough. - -Catherine soon became herself again, now that distressing phenomenon, -the baby, was no longer present. - -Mrs. White, who could soon make anyone feel at home, discovered that her -guest was very fond of chess, a game which she herself played a little. -So after a long talk over Mary's illness, the chessmen were brought out -and they sat down to a game. - -But as they played, the thoughts of both wandered constantly to the same -subject, one in which both were deeply interested--the fate of Mary -Grimm. Both loved the girl, both were anxious about her future, and -either dreaded the influence of the other. - -Catherine King instinctively felt that her own influence over her pupil -would be lessened by her association with Mrs. White; she dreaded that -Mary's new surroundings would unfit her for her work in the Secret -Society. - -So, too, did Mrs. White fear Catherine. She knew how devoted Mary was to -her aunt, how thoroughly she believed in her wisdom and goodness, and -she also knew from her brother what objectionable views Catherine held -on the subject of religion and morals. She felt how perilous it must be -for a young girl to have faith in such a teacher. - -Thus it happened that as they played at chess, the two women were -playing another more subtle game at the same time. Each was endeavouring -to sound the other as to her views and intentions with regard to the -girl. - -But both were cautious, and would reveal nothing of their plans. - -At last, towards the end of the game, Mrs. White asked: - -"Do you think it will be well for Mary to return to her hospital work -after so serious an illness?" - -"Check!" said Mrs. King. "You can only save yourself by sacrificing your -bishop--I beg your pardon, Mrs. White, but I have not considered that -matter yet. I shall certainly not permit her to return to the hospital -for a long while yet." - -After a few more moves, Mrs. White spoke again: "I hear that you are a -great politician, Mrs. King?" - -"I take deep interest in social questions, but I am afraid you would not -consider my views quite orthodox, Mrs. White." - -Another long pause ensued. - -"That white knight of yours is much in the way of my schemes; but I -think I shall get him out of the way very soon," said Catherine, who was -deeply interested in the game, and was too confident of success to fear -the result of thus disclosing her tactics to the enemy. - -Mrs. White started; the words seemed ominous, for she was just then -thinking what a dangerous foe to Mrs. King her own brother would prove, -as Mary's lover, how he would frustrate her plans. - -So, from that moment, she began to take a peculiar interest in the game -before her. She was possessed by a fancy that whoever would win that -game, would win Mary. She remembered the old legend of the Angel and the -Demon playing for the man's soul, and she felt a strange awe, when she -looked at the dark frowning face of her adversary contemplating the -pieces before her. - -It was soon evident that the game was in Catherine's hands; a few more -moves and the Mate was inevitable. - -Mrs. White was filled with quite a superstitious terror and despair, as -the end approached. She was ashamed of her folly, but could not help it -in the presence of this woman. - -Catherine had been observing her face with some amusement; she had, with -her peculiar faculty of placing her mind in sympathy with that of -another, half-read her thoughts. She divined that Mrs. White was -identifying the game with another more important one that was yet to be -fought out. Her eccentric mind was seized with a curious inspiration. -She suddenly, as if by accident, upset the light chess-table with her -elbow, and the pieces rolled rattling to the floor. - -The eyes of the two women met. - -Catherine smiled and said, "I should have won I think, but this accident -makes it a drawn game. _The Fates won't reveal their secret._ But I must -not keep you up any longer, Mrs. White; I know it is long after your -usual bed-time," and she rose from her seat as she spoke. - -"Why, the woman is a witch!" thought the startled little woman, as she -showed her guest the way to her room; "but I believe the White Knight -will be too strong for her game nevertheless." - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -CATHERINE'S DISCOVERY. - - -Catherine left the cottage with its uncongenial atmosphere of babies and -innocence, on the following morning, but before going she expressed a -wish to have a quiet talk with Mary. - -They went out into the garden together, and sat down on the seat under -the great beech-tree. For some time neither spoke. Catherine was looking -across the moor to the lake, strangely softened by the beautiful view. -The sternness faded from her brow and mouth as she gazed at it, and her -thought travelled along gentle and unwonted ways for her. - -But Mary sat motionless with downcast eyes, oppressed by a great fear. -It was a dreadful thing for her to think of the confession she was about -to make. - -At last Mrs. King remembered that she had little time to spare, so broke -through the silence. - -"Mary, dear! I wish to talk over a few necessary matters with you, that -is if you are sure you are strong enough now, if you think that -conversation won't hurt you." - -Mary indeed felt very ill; a strange sensation came to her heart as if -it was about to stop, but she pressed her hand to it, and said firmly, - -"I am quite well enough; I particularly wish to talk things over with -you, mother, for I have much to tell you. I have been so anxious to see -you and explain all to you--though I hardly dare--but I must, I must!" - -"Don't be frightened Mary, don't be anxious! You must not worry -yourself. We wish you to get well; so put our secret entirely out of -your mind, at any rate for the present. You were very unhappy, dear, -when you were with me. I am not quite certain why, but I think I can -guess. Now, Mary, tell me if there is still anything on your mind, has -the weight, whatever it is, been removed?... Don't be afraid of telling -me all; I shall not blame you, poor child." - -Very tender was the tone in which she uttered the last words as she saw -Mary's pale, frightened face. - -The girl took the woman's hand in hers and kissed it. "Yes, mother," she -said in a scared excited manner, "there is still very much on my mind. -Oh! how can I tell it to you? What will you say? But I must, though I -know you will hate me when you hear it." - -"You loved him then, Mary, loved him very much?" said Catherine sadly, -half reproachfully. "I think you ought to have confided in me, dear; but -never mind, don't cry, I am not angry with you, my poor child." - -Mary looked up through her tears, and asked timidly, "Did he tell you -then, mother?" - -"How could he have done so, Mary? I never saw him alive." - -"Alive! but he is not dead--whom are you talking about, mother?" - -"Why, of Mr. Hudson, to be sure! Good heavens! what a cruel fool I am! I -had no idea that they had not told you. Oh, Mary, I am so sorry!" - -A very strange look came to Mary's face, half of bewilderment, half of -terror. She put both hands to her forehead, and her brows knit, as if -she were endeavouring to recall some terrible memory. - -"Mr. Hudson!" she said in a dreamy voice as if speaking to herself. -"Yes, I know he is dead--but how do I know it? Who told me? I can't -remember. Something horrible happened to him--oh, my head, my head!" -and an expression of pain passed over her pale features. - -Catherine kissed her forehead. - -"O, Mary, what have I done? I ought to have known."... - -The girl interrupted her. "But I did not understand you, mother. Did you -ask me whether I loved him very much?" - -"Yes, darling! but let us not talk about this now!" - -"You are mistaken," went on Mary quietly. "There never was any love -between Mr. Hudson and me. Why, I only saw him once. He was very kind to -me three years ago. I told you all about it. I was, of course, very -grateful to him, and liked him very much, but love never entered my -head." - -"Is that so?" cried Catherine eagerly, clutching tightly the girl's arm. -"Is that so? Oh, I am so glad, Mary! If I had only known this all these -miserable weeks!--Oh, my darling, my darling, I have been so unjust to -you all this time! I believed that you loved this man, and I thought it -was so cruel, so wicked of you to keep this from me. I began to hate -you, Mary--ah! if you knew what I suffered all those sleepless nights -thinking how all that care and love of mine had been wasted on you. And -now to find I was wrong! Forgive me for suspecting you--Forgive me, my -darling! Oh! it nearly killed me when I discovered, as I thought, that -you loved him. I could have killed you, I hated you so. It was only -after I heard he was dead that I began to relent, and I did not forgive -you even then. No! not till I saw your poor, thin face in the hospital, -and I could hate you no longer. Oh, my darling--you have made me so -happy! Will you forgive me?" - -A man who has had a serious quarrel with the woman he loves, and finds -that he was in the wrong, that he has behaved unjustly, could not have -shown a more passionate tenderness over the reconciliation than did this -strange woman. She was carried away by her joy; she looked pleadingly -into the girl's eyes as she seized her hands and begged for her -forgiveness. - -Mary shrunk back from her. She was shocked and frightened at this -unwonted display of profound affection. She felt sick with shame and -sorrow, for she knew she did not deserve all this love; she knew that -when she told her story, all the woman's triumphant happiness would -change again to a bitterer misery and hate than ever. How to tell her -kind protectress that she had deceived her--that she did love--though -not Hudson, and that this was a live love, not a dead one! She could -never be forgiven for that. She would be spurned--hated; and she sobbed -as she buried her head in her hands, not daring to show her guilty face. - -But she determined to deceive her no longer, so throwing herself at -Catherine's feet, she exclaimed wildly, "Oh, mother! mother! you are -killing me; don't talk about forgiving _me_! don't love me any longer! -don't speak to me kindly. I am a wicked bad girl and unworthy of your -love, indeed I am." - -"These people have been spoiling Mary with their religion and -sentimental nonsense," thought Catherine as she observed the girl. "She -has been brought round to feel a horror for our work. She wishes to be -absolved from her duty, and she is afraid of my anger if she asks me to -free her." - -Then she said aloud, "Mary, dear, I know all; but don't worry about that -now. You have come to feel a horror of the work we have to do. You are -weak, but I cannot blame you, poor girl. You wish to leave us, to be -free. We will see what can be done. For the present do not worry at all -about the matter." - -Catherine was so overjoyed at finding her suspicions with regard to -Mary's love affairs unfounded, that she now said a good deal more than -she really meant. She never for a moment entertained the idea of freeing -Mary. The girl would be far too useful to the Society, for the carrying -out of that scheme that was dearer to the woman than was even the -happiness of her darling. But it was well, she thought, to humour her -now that she was ill. It would hasten her recovery to remove this -weight of anxiety from her for the time. When this weakness was passed -the girl would see clearly again, be brave once more, and return to her -allegiance. - -"Oh, mother," cried Mary, "you are so generous, so unselfish, I don't -know how to tell you all; you will, I know, be angry; but I must tell -you now. I cannot deceive you that have been so kind, so good. You don't -suspect the half of what is on my mind." - -"Well, dear, tell me then. It will do you good to relieve your mind of -it." - -Then the girl steeled herself for her task, and continued in a calm -though tremulous voice, casting down her eyes, not daring to meet the -woman's gaze. "Mother! I have changed--I have come to think that perhaps -we are all wrong. We that know so little, are we not rash in believing -that good will come of what we propose to do? May it not be altogether -bad from every point of view to do this terrible thing, even if it does -produce a great good in another direction? Oh, mother! I have come to -see what love is, I have come to see how these Christians love. It is -not as you taught me they did. I cannot believe all these instincts are -false." She paused; though she was determined to tell the secret of her -heart to Catherine King, she could not bring herself to do it; the words -would not come. - -"The poor little children, mother!" she cried passionately, raising her -head, "Oh! since I have been living among them--if you had been living -among them you too would have felt as I do. Oh, mother, mother!" - -The girl's excitement overcame her, she could speak no more for the -choking sensation in her throat. - -Her words stung Catherine. "You have indeed changed!" was all she could -reply, in a dry, stifled voice. - -"Ah! but that is not all," cried Mary. "Oh, my God! my God!" and she -wrung her hands with anguish as she met the stern glance of the Chief. -The girl's new faith and love were contending with the strong influence -of her old mistress, and the conflict seemed to tear her heart. - -"Go on!" said Catherine, in the same tones as before. "What more have -you to say?" - -Mary endeavoured to proceed--to confess her love for Dr. Duncan without -further hesitation or digression. She made a great effort. But the weak -brain could do no more. It became suddenly paralyzed. Her thoughts froze -within her, and she could not utter a single word. A dazed look came to -her eyes. She looked at Catherine with a vacant smile. All memory of the -subject of the conversation vanished in a moment from her mind. - -Bitter indeed was the resentment and disappointment of Catherine, as she -listened to what Mary had said. She had not suspected that matters were -so bad as this. She clearly saw that her pupil had definitely deserted -the Cause--that she had become a Christian. - -But she noticed the girl's condition. She saw it was impossible to -discuss the question further then, so said, in as collected a manner as -her conflicting emotions allowed: - -"I must leave you now--good-bye, Mary, good-bye. I will write to you--I -must think about all this. I don't know what to say now." - -She kissed the girl, rather coldly this time, and turned to go. - -Mary stood quite motionless during the embrace, as if in a state of -unconsciousness. - -But after Catherine had gone a few yards across the lawn, the girl awoke -suddenly from her stupefaction. She took two or three rapid steps in the -direction of the retreating figure, then feeling her strength fail her -she stood still, and stretching out her arms, shrieked out, "Stop! stop! -stop!" - -Catherine was startled by the wildness of the cry, and turned round and -looked at her. - -"Stop!" once more cried the girl with fierce energy as she approached -the woman. "You _shall_ know before you go--I _do_ love him--not Mr. -Hudson--but another--Dr. Duncan!" - -It had come at last. - -Catherine strode up to her and grasped her by the arm. - -"Do I hear you aright? You tell me _that_--you love him?" she exclaimed -savagely. - -Mary gave one low wail and fell fainting to the ground. - -One of the little children who was at the other end of the lawn saw her -fall, and ran indoors to tell her mother. - -Mrs. White was soon on the spot. She found Mary lying insensible on the -grass, and standing by her, deadly pale, with her fists clenched, and a -fierce glare in her eyes, Catherine King. - -"What was the cause of this?" asked the little woman, as she -administered restoratives to the girl. - -Catherine made no reply. The Fury of despairing jealousy had possessed -the woman; she scarcely knew where she was, in the first burst of her -mad anger; but after a few moments she recollected herself, and said in -a hard voice that concealed every emotion: - -"My presence seems to do her harm. I will go away. Good-bye, Mrs. White; -I see the fly has arrived," then abruptly, without another word, she -walked out of the cottage gate and was driven off. She never so much as -once turned her head to look at the insensible girl. - -Mrs. White was intensely amazed. "And this," she thought, "is the aunt -Mary describes as having so much affection for her!" - -The White Knight had indeed considerably foiled Catherine King's scheme. -It even looked as if he would checkmate her soon. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -CONDEMNED TO DEATH. - - -It was evening, in Mrs. King's parlour in Maida Vale. Darkness had set -in, but the wretched woman who was sitting over the neglected and nearly -extinct fire, alone with her gloomy thoughts, did not rise to light the -lamp. - -After nearly a week of stormy and conflicting emotions and ever-changing -plans, the troubled mind had calmed somewhat. Catherine had decided to -put the matter of Mary's desertion before the Inner Circle, and was even -then awaiting the arrival of Sisters Susan and Eliza, whom she had -summoned for that object. - -Mary must die! Looking at it from every point of view, she could see no -other way out of the difficulty. The girl could not be a wife and a -baby-murderer, or even an innocent accomplice of baby-murderers at the -same time. Yes, Mary must die! But Catherine could not trust herself. -She could not look at Mary's case with an unbiassed mind. Her great hate -and love of the girl prevented her from considering the question merely -as it affected the interests, the safety of the Secret Society. She felt -this keenly, so, as she above all things desired to act with strict -justice, and knew that her present mood might as readily drive her to -undue leniency as to unnecessary sternness, she determined to leave the -judgment of Mary entirely in the hands of the other sisters of the Inner -Circle. She would put the whole case before them: she would abide by -their unimpassioned verdict. - -But yet she could scarcely doubt what that verdict would be. How could -such a society exist unless deserters were removed beyond all -possibility of their becoming traitors? - -So Catherine sat in the deserted room awaiting the two Sisters who were -to decide her darling's doom. How dreary that room now appeared to the -miserable creature! There was no Mary there now to lighten it, and she -knew that there never again would be. The only human affection of her -heart had been ruthlessly trampled upon. Were it not for the scheme she -would have died; but she still had that to care for, and for that alone -she must live for the remainder of her loveless life. - -At last there came a ring at the street-door bell. She started, she felt -fearfully nervous now that the interview on which so much depended was -so near. - -The maid-servant ushered in Sister Eliza and Sister Susan. - -Sister Eliza, fresh from the comfortable and substantial dinner, at -which she had just been presiding in her Bayswater boarding-house, -looked stout and beaming as usual; but Susan Riley looked pale and ill, -her eyes, surrounded by dark circles, glittered strangely, and their -contracted pupils showed that she had not yet abandoned her practice of -laudanum-drinking. She was even then excited with the drug; her brain -was on fire with it. - -Catherine rose and motioned the women to two chairs. Until the -indispensable green tea came up they spoke little and on indifferent -matters. The anxiety and nervousness of the Chief communicated itself to -the others: even the volatile Susan was subdued in her manner. - -The servant brought up the tea and went downstairs. Then there was a -complete silence for some minutes, each waiting for another to speak -first. Catherine was staring fixedly into the fire, with a look on her -face that awed the two women, they imagined that some great calamity -must of a certainty have befallen the Cause. - -At last Sister Eliza spoke, she could bear the suspense no longer. - -"Sister Catherine, you say you have summoned us to discuss some -important matter?" - -The Chief looked up, and replied with a forced calmness in her voice: -"Yes; I wish to put before you the conduct of one of the Sisterhood--of -Mary Grimm, in fact." - -"I suspected her!" put in Susan eagerly, the shadow of fear passing from -her face; she had not forgotten her hatred for Mary, though so far she -had found no opportunity for gratifying it. - -"Mary wishes to leave us," continued the Chief. - -"So I suspected," broke in again the exultant voice of Susan. - -"I have discovered that she has formed an attachment with a man." - -"I knew it, and you have called us here to decide what shall be done -with the traitor?" - -"She is not a traitor yet." - -Sister Eliza spoke next. "But if you do not take care, she soon will be -a traitor, Sister Catherine. I too have heard something of this before; -she is in love with that doctor. You should not have allowed her to go -to his sister's house at Farnham. I thought at the time it was very -imprudent." - -"It was the inevitable, Sister Eliza--the girl was dying," replied the -Chief. - -"It would have been safer had she died." - -"Perhaps so; but the question before is, what is to be done now?" -Catherine spoke sharply. She was considerably nettled at the cool and -unfeeling way in which the sisters entered on the discussion, though she -knew that it was unreasonable on her part to expect anything else. - -It was Susan's turn to speak, and she did so in an irritatingly calm and -business-like voice. - -"I can only see one answer to that question." - -"Well!" - -"Mary must be put out of the way." - -A long pause followed; the three women sipped their strong tea in -silence. - -Then Catherine said, "That is dangerous--now is it necessary?" - -Sister Eliza raised her eyes in wonder. What was the Chief hesitating -about? what doubt could there be? - -"Necessary! of course," said Susan. "We cannot allow her to leave us and -betray us to her lover the doctor." - -"She is no traitor," exclaimed Catherine indignantly; "whatever happened -she would never betray us." - -"I am not so sure of that," said Sister Eliza. "Mary is no traitor; she -is devoted to you, Sister Catherine, and to the Cause. I know all that. -But now consider the facts: She loves this doctor. She is surrounded by -a religious family. May she not, too, come to accept this religion in -time? Why, she is sure to do so! The influence of those she loves, and -with whom alone she associates, must mould her opinions. Now, when she -_has_ become religious, do you think she will quietly read in the papers -the accounts of our doings--murders as she will call them, and do -nothing--hold her tongue? Of course not! Religion will command her to -save the children by betraying us. It cannot be otherwise. However much -she loves you, Sister Catherine, let her once come to look on our Cause -as wrong, duty will force her to tell all. That religion which enjoins -its followers to abandon wives and children for its sake, will not allow -your safety to stand in its way. You must not leave her at Farnham." - -Too well did Catherine know how true all this was, but in her anxiety to -be strictly neutral and unprejudiced, she would not allow herself to be -convinced yet, she would even plead for the girl, and endeavour to find -any arguments that might tell in her favour. - -Susan spoke next with tones of ill-concealed malice. "I tell you, Sister -Catherine, that this Mary among the buttercups and babies down there at -Farnham, cannot but be a fearful danger to us. Buttercups and babies are -frightfully demoralizing to soft-hearted novices like that weak girl. -Sister Eliza is right. There are but two alternatives. She must give up -her doctor. She must leave his people in the country, and come back to -us in London, or she must be removed. She is weak--she is in -love--weakness and love make religion and treason." - -Catherine shook her head as she answered, "You know well, Sister Susan, -even as you speak, that the first of your alternatives is quite out of -the question. To come back to us would kill her. She will never do our -work. She is unfit for it. She is not of the proper stuff. We must, -whatever we do, absolve her of her engagements. We must abandon all hope -of her becoming one of us again." - -"Abandon your favourite pupil!" exclaimed Sister Eliza, "but is it -really as bad as this? Are you sure she cannot be brought back?" - -"You know, Sister, what it must mean to me to abandon her," replied -Catherine. "You must know. But I see no remedy. It is useless to force -her. If I asked her, she might, but I doubt it, return to us, only to -die of a broken heart."... She paused till she could command her -emotion, and till the pain at her heart subsided, then commenced again -in a calm and proud voice: "Now that I have heard your opinions I will -tell you all. Sister Eliza, what you have just foretold as likely to -happen, has happened. Not only is Mary in love with the doctor, but her -love and her new associations _have_, as you said they would, made her -look with horror on our Cause. She _has_, in her weakness of mind, -forgotten all the teachings of years; she _has_ accepted the religious -creed of fools; she _has_" ... but she paused suddenly, her fury was -carrying her away; with a great effort of will she calmed herself once -more and concluded, "Such being the state of things, I ask you, -Sisters, what must be done?" - -Sister Eliza replied in a serious voice: "There can be no mercy shown in -this case, we cannot risk the whole of this glorious fabric we have -built up with such toil and care, we cannot endanger our great Cause for -one weak girl's sake. She must die." - -"I agree with you," said Catherine slowly and still quite calmly. - -"She must die," said Susan with a slight ring of exultation in her cold -voice. - -Catherine rung the bell and the maid brought up a fresh supply of green -tea. - -There was a silence for some minutes--during which the Chief looked -broodingly into the ashes of the now extinct fire. - -Susan broke the silence. "The next question is--how--" - -Catherine started from her black reverie. "How what?" - -"How the deserter is to be removed with the greatest safety and -expedition." - -Catherine shuddered visibly, then she spoke again--"Sisters, you have -never known me weak or vacillating or cowardly." - -"Had you been so, you would not have gained the confidence of such a -Sisterhood as this is," replied Sister Eliza. - -"No! I thought I was above all foolish weakness, but I find I am not so. -This is the first time that we have had to take away life for the Cause, -but do not imagine that I shall ever again behave in this manner. I -confide this to you two, for you will understand me--you will not -consider I have forfeited my right to be the Chief of the Sisterhood, -because on one exceptional occasion I cannot be altogether as I would -be. Think of it!--This girl has lived with me so long. I believed I had -in her one who would have been of the very highest service to the -Cause--I am disappointed--I feel this more than you suppose. Now, I wish -to have nothing personally to do with the--the removal of this girl," -she could not bring herself to utter Mary's name now. "Arrange it among -yourselves. Tell me when it is all over. I do not feel strong enough to -go into this matter--besides, it is not necessary I should. But after -this," and she raised her voice to tones of haughty determination, "no -one will ever see me weak again. Unpitying stern justice should be the -only sentiment of one who aspires to lead such a Cause as ours." - -But Susan, who was full of malicious ecstacy this evening, did not feel -inclined to spare her Chief all further pain. She was filled with a -delicious lust for torturing anything that came across her. It was her -way when she felt happier than usual, so she said, "But, Sister -Catherine, we must at any rate have your advice. This is a very delicate -task we have to perform. How are we to get at Mary while she is in the -country? It will not be easy. She knows our rules, our methods of doing -things. A very slight mistake and we are lost. Who can we send down to -do this thing? I would go myself, but she knows me, dislikes me, and -would at once divine my object. Now I have a plan by which she can be -removed with the very least amount of danger." - -Catherine felt sick with disgust and horror, but she could not refuse to -listen--it was her duty--_her duty!_ she had to keep that idea -constantly before her during the interview, so that she might not fail -in this terrible ordeal. - -"What is it?" she asked in a feeble voice--she could not bear this -torture much longer. - -Susan spoke deliberately and without making any effort to gloss over the -horror of her proposal. - -"There is only one of us that Mary loves and trusts--that is yourself, -Sister Catherine; is it not so?" - -"It is." - -"Well," continued the torturer, "as you alone of us would have any -chance of seeing her at Farnham--" - -"Impossible," interrupted Catherine with a smothered shriek, as she rose -from her chair, her hands clenched, quite forgetting herself beneath the -scourges of that devil's tongue. - -Susan smiled--"You understand me, Sister Catherine--I do not propose, -after what you have said, that you should do the deed. I will do it -myself if you will it. But what I mean is this: To effect this removal -with safety, Mary must be induced to leave the country--she must be -brought to town, to some house, where she can have a relapse, and where -we can nurse the invalid." The woman smiled again her evil smile as she -watched her Chief writhe beneath the words--"Once in town, in this or -some other safe house, I will guarantee to produce a relapse, and that -once produced, it would be hardly difficult to administer Sister Jane's -preparation, without ever arousing the patient's suspicions. Then we can -call in the doctors--even her own dear doctor--without fear. They won't -be able to bring her round from that relapse I think." - -Sister Eliza, after a little thought said, "I quite agree with Sister -Susan. This is the only really safe method before us, and there is -absolutely no risk in it if we work carefully. It is true that you -alone, Sister Catherine, have sufficient influence over the girl to -bring her to London. It will be well for you to write to her. I should -suggest you tell her that, seeing how her views have altered for good, -you have decided to absolve her from her vows. Ask her to come up and -stay with you for a few weeks. Write in affectionate terms. She is sure -to come, and she will do so for none else." - -"Like Judas Iscariot betraying her with a kiss," said Susan, who could -not resist the dear temptation of giving this thrust. - -Catherine started as if stung but said nothing. Sister Eliza frowned, -and her face flushed with indignation, when she heard this gratuitously -unpleasant remark. - -"What do you think of my proposal, Sister?" inquired Susan of her Chief, -eyeing her furtively. - -Catherine pondered in silence for a while. She saw that this was, -indeed, the only safe method; she would have liked to have had nothing -to do with the execution of this just decree--but that, she said to -herself, was cowardice on her part. Her instrumentality was necessary, -at any rate to bring the girl to town, so she replied in a low weary -voice: "So be it--you are right--but there is one thing"--and her voice -trembled--"she must not come to this house--I must be spared that." - -"You need not even see her, Sister Catherine," said Eliza. "I know a -little furnished villa on the Thames. We can take it for a couple of -months. Persuade her to come there for a visit. It is just the place -that a convalescent would be taken to. You will only require one -servant, I can supply you with one from the Sisterhood. Leave all the -rest to Sister Susan and myself; I understand your feelings on this -matter--I do not think you need be ashamed of them. It is the first time -I have ever seen emotion come in the way of your duty, and you have -resisted it nobly, Sister." - -"Then," said Sister Susan, "all is settled. The cottage by the Thames -shall be hired. Can we get it at once, Sister Eliza?" - -"It is ready for immediate occupation: we can enter the day after -to-morrow." - -"Good; then you will write to Mary," said Susan turning to the Chief. -"The sooner this business is completed the better for us all." - -Catherine was not listening; she was staring again into the embers, her -brow knitted into a deep frown of pain. The image of her pupil--her Mary -whom she was about to sacrifice--rose before her. She yearned to see the -girl once more--only once more before she betrayed her to the -executioners. She could not strive against this great desire, so she -said: - -"Sisters, I will not write, I will go myself down to Farnham--I will see -her--I will ask her with my own lips to come; she will not refuse -then--I know." - -"Can you trust yourself?" asked Eliza doubtfully, and scanning the -woman's sad face, keenly. - -"I should not advise that measure," urged Susan, apprehensively. - -But the masterful spirit had come back again to Catherine, and she said -sternly and with authority, "I will do as I say, Sisters." - -Eliza knew by the tone that the Chief was in no humour to listen to -contradiction now, so she rose and said: - -"Then all is settled--I will at once take the cottage. Write to me, -Sister Catherine, and let me know exactly when Mary is to arrive in -town. I will meet her at the station, make some excuse for your absence, -and take her with me. I think I can do that better than anyone else. As -Susan herself allows, Mary dislikes her, so she had better not appear on -the scene at first. We will now leave you. Good-night, Sister! remember -_Courage and the Cause_, but I need not repeat that to you. Good-night!" - -"Good-night, Sister!" said Susan with a happy smile. - -Catherine had broken down at last; she turned her head from them and -made no reply to their salutations. - -Sister Eliza looked at her Chief thoughtfully for a moment; then made a -sign to Susan, and they went out together. - -Catherine sat alone in her chair over the dead fire. For hours after -they had gone she remained there brooding, motionless, in agony; and -when at last she rose with a shiver to retire to her bed, it seemed as -if many years had passed over her head in that time, so old and haggard -appeared her features. Her eyes were red but not with weeping--for she -could shed no tear--but hot and dry with a tearless anguish that could -never find relief. - -But she determined--even if she died of the agony of it--that she would -do her duty. "_My duty! My duty!_" she kept murmuring to herself in her -fierce resolve; and she had strong need, indeed, to keep the Cause -constantly before her mind, in order to enable her to do this thing she -had to do--"My duty!--my duty!--but oh, it is hard--hard!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -AN EVENTFUL DAY. - - -Mary's health improved rapidly after her interview with Catherine King, -painful though it had been. A great weight was taken off her mind by the -full confession she had made. - -One day, about a week subsequent to that confession, as the weather was -warm and seemed to be settled, Mrs. White, who was ever planning some -little amusement or other to distract the girl from her gloomy thoughts, -proposed that they should drive with the children the next morning to a -certain pleasant wood on the banks of the Wey some five miles off, and -take their lunch with them. - -The children were delighted at the prospect of a picnic, and watched the -preparations that were made for it during the afternoon with the keenest -interest. When everything had been packed up ready for the morrow, a -telegram was brought to Mrs. White. - -She read it, and a smile of pleasure lit up her face. "Mary," she said, -"I am afraid we must postpone our picnic after all. My brother Harry is -coming down here to-morrow to see us." - -Mary blushed slightly. "The poor children will be very disappointed if -they do not have their picnic," she replied, feeling compelled to make -some remark to cover the confusion which this sudden news produced in -her. - -The widow looked at her with rather an amused expression. "Well, Mary," -she said "after all there is no great necessity for altering our plans. -Harry can come with us. I will telegraph to him that we will meet him at -the station. It is a pity though that he has to return to town in the -evening." - -The morrow proved to be a beautiful day. It was in the month of May, and -the pulse of young life beat with pleasurable quickness through all -animate Nature. - -Mary felt unusually well and happy as they drove through the fresh -morning air to Farnham station, where Dr. Duncan was to be met. The -spirit of the spring stirred her blood and exhilarated her in an -unwonted fashion. She could have sung for joy. Her heart felt full of -love for these innocent friends around her, for the glorious sunshine, -and for the kind warm breeze that kissed her pale cheeks and ruffled her -soft hair. - -She wondered how it was that the Shadow seemed to be so far away. That -sick dread, that terrible presence which she always felt to be so near, -so ready to fall, even in her happiest moods, seemed this day to be -removed to a vague and immense distance. It had never been so far off -before. A presentiment came to her that it was soon to be removed -altogether, that it would fall away from her, and that she would know -peace at last. It was as if the happiness of death was coming over her, -so deeply calm was her delight. She mused to herself how sweet indeed it -would be to die on this delicious spring day, with the fresh breeze and -the sunlight around her--to fade away and be at rest, ere the sun set -and the darkness and the cold came on, bringing with them the shadow. - -The carriage with its merry party at last reached Farnham Station. The -train by which the doctor was expected had not yet come in, so they had -to wait there for some minutes. - -The cessation of the motion of the carriage turned the course of Mary's -thoughts. Her happy dream passed away. A vague uneasiness stole over -her; and she began to realize, in a vivid manner she had not done so -far, that this was to be an eventful day in her life--she was to see -her lover. What could she reply if he asked again that question so sweet -and yet so bitter that he had asked her on that misty autumn afternoon -in London--so long ago it now seemed to her? - -Things had much changed with her since then. She was no longer the -infanticide, the atheist, the wretched being separated from all human -sympathies. She asked herself whether marriage with the man she -worshipped was now altogether so impossible a happiness as it had been -then! She thrilled at the thought. What should she reply were he to ask -that question again? - -She knew not what she ought to do, all the future seemed still so -unsettled and cloudy. It was true that she had told Catherine all--that -she had abandoned the Sisterhood; but was that enough? The secret was -still with her. The Society would some day commence its horrible work. - -So her thought was confused between a great dismay, and a dream of -wonderful delight, and her perplexed mind could make nothing of the -puzzle. She could not marry this man with that secret on her mind--she -ought not to keep that from him--yet how could she betray Catherine King -and the Sisterhood. - -The bell rang, there was a bustling of porters, and then the train from -London thundered into the station. - -Mary forgot her trouble for the time: with eyes dim with emotion, she -looked out timidly yet eagerly from under the cover of her broad straw -hat, as the passengers trooped out into the white road. - -Yes! there he was at last, handsomer than ever, he seemed to her, and -she was filled with pride to see how his noble head towered above all -the men by his side. - -He came out and joyously saluted his sister and her children, then he -shook hands with Mary quietly, his clasp of the little hand that was so -dear to him lingering almost imperceptibly, and he felt that she was -trembling. - -But it was no time just then for love-making. The children were -clustering round their uncle, pestering him for the chocolate or other -delicacies which they knew he would have brought down for them. So -laughing and joking, the merry party drove off at a rapid pace along the -dazzling white roads that wound among the pleasant Surrey hills, until a -spot was reached where the carriage had to be left. Then they carried -the kettle and provisions for a hundred yards or so through the woods, -till they came to a place on the river bank where a huge oak tree spread -its branches over a space of soft green turf. Here they pitched their -camp and lit their fire. - -Beautiful indeed is this portion of the county of Surrey. Between -Farnham and Godalming the river Wey, whose surface is here never -disturbed by the frailest boat, winds down a valley of great loveliness. -Steep hills descend to its waters, clothed with fine trees and close -bushwood; the mossy interspaces being glorious with a profusion of -wood-anemones primroses and hyacinths in the early part of the year, and -of purple foxgloves in the ripe summer. For a considerable distance no -road is visible to one following the river, nor any sign of man's -presence. Indeed so wild and lonely is the scenery, that one might -easily imagine oneself to be on some unexplored stream of the Western -World, instead of being in the county of Surrey, an easy day's march -from Charing Cross. - -It was a day to be remembered by all of that party as a happy one. To -Mary it was to be the sweetest so far of her young life. - -After lunch the two lovers separated from the others. They walked -together through the woods by the river bank, and he gathered for her a -nosegay of the wild spring flowers. - -After a short time he stood still, and turning to her said, "Ah, Mary! -how I have looked forward to seeing you again! And how well you are -looking! I did not dare to hope that you would recover so quickly. You -know how impatient I must have become at being so long banished from -your side; but I thought it better not to come here till you were much -stronger. It would have been cruel to come and trouble you before!" - -"Trouble me!" she exclaimed raising her eyes to his with a look of -surprise. - -"Yes, Mary!" he continued sadly, "for whenever I saw you before, my -presence seemed to cause you pain and sorrow." - -She turned her eyes from him and gazed pensively towards the distant -hills beyond the river. - -He spoke again in a troubled voice, "Mary, oh, Mary! do not turn away -from me. Look at me and reply to the question I am going to ask. You -must do so!" he raised his voice in passionate earnestness and seized -her hand. "You must reply, this last time, I know you will; for you are -too kind and womanly to torture me any longer with suspense." - -She looked up at him without speaking, but he read encouragement in the -look and continued, "Mary, I must speak to you again of my love. It -grieved you once. You told me all hope was impossible. You implored me, -in a manner that terrified me, never to speak to you of love again; but -you confessed you loved me a little." - -He hesitated when he uttered the last words, and waited with an intense -anxiety for her reply. - -"I do!" she said with a simple earnestness, "I love you very much." - -"My darling!" he cried, "my whole life is yours. Even if you still -refuse to marry me, I can never again love another after loving you. But -what did you mean by those cruel words you spoke before? You told me to -go from you, never to see you again. You said love between us was -altogether impossible. You do not still think that? Oh, tell me, Mary. -It is cruel to leave me in this fearful suspense." - -She looked down on the ground and said mournfully, "I don't know--indeed -I don't know." - -"But it is not so impossible now as it was then?" he cried eagerly. - -"No! it is not," she said in a low voice speaking to herself rather than -to him. - -Then an infinite joy rushed into the man's soul, and his eyes sparkled -and his cheek flushed. He had come down here in an almost hopeless -spirit; he remembered how emphatic she had been before in refusing his -love--with what horror and vague hints of an impassable barrier between -them she had rejected him--and, lo! now she had allowed that his heart's -sole desire was no longer impossible of attainment--there was hope for -him, nay more, there was certain victory! - -He raised her face to his and kissed her passionately on her mouth and -eyes. This time she did not tear herself away from his embrace, but -remained in his arms trembling. - -He released her and gazed with keen delight at her beautiful flushed -face. - -She was frightened at his passion, and was filled with wonder that he -should feel thus towards her. She understood how she or any woman could -love this good and noble man; but why should he worship in this way one -so unworthy as her! He must surely have mistaken her true nature; she -must in some way have unwittingly deceived him. - -"Then I may hope to make you my wife?" he asked in a voice of ecstacy. - -She lowered her eyes again. "You ought not to make _me_ your wife. You -deserve a good woman," then she continued timidly in a low voice that -was delicious to him, "Would it make you much happier, dear?" - -"Dear!" How that word coming from her lips for the first time stirred -him! - -"Happier!" he cried. "Oh, my darling! my darling!" - -A blush half of joy, half of shame, again suffused her cheeks, and she -said, "For your sake, to make you happy, I would do all you willed; but -still--still--I doubt very much--whether I should make you happier if I -consented to be your wife." - -"I have no doubt at all about it, my darling," he exclaimed; "but I -don't want you to marry me, to please _me_ only;" then looking at her -face he was satisfied on that point and said no more. - -He seized her hand, and they walked on through the green woods hand in -hand, now conversing in low tones, now in happy silence. - -They acted as most true lovers do under like circumstances, and felt, as -most true lovers do, that no others since the world began could have -loved so well as they. It was all so strange to Mary; too sweet, too -near Heaven to endure long, she fancied. It was the first real -love-making that had passed between these two. Never had their spirits -been so near before; they understood each other now, and each confessed -that they must for the future be all in all to each other, come what -might, but Mary would make no promise to marry him yet. - -He perceived that it was not mere maidenly coyness that prompted this -refusal, and that there was some serious reason for it; but he was -content, she loved him, loved him in a way that shut out all other -possibilities of love for both. - -"I will be your wife or no one's, Harry," she at last replied to his -passionate pleading, and they sealed the compact in a long delicious -kiss. - -"Mary!" he said, "I do not know why you will not promise to marry me -by-and-bye, but I will not press you for your reasons now. There is -plenty of time to do that, and I know you will give in at last. Oh, my -sweet! it is enough, it is more than I deserve, to know that you love -me, to know that you will not drive me from you, that I may often be -with you. Do you remember how cruel you were in London, when you told -me to go away from you for ever, when you forbade me ever to speak to -you of love again?" - -"Yes, but it is different now," she said gently. - -"And you really love me?" - -"Why do you ask me what you know so well?" - -"And I may come and see you as often as I like?" - -"I did not say that." - -"But I may." - -There came a pause, then she said, "Promise me something, Harry." - -"I will promise anything you wish." - -"I want you to promise me not to come here again until I write to you." - -"How cruel!" - -"No! I am not cruel, Harry, you do not understand; but I must think over -all this, I do not see things clearly yet, I must think," she stopped in -the middle of the sentence, and an expression of agony passed over her -face, as the memory of her secret came to her mind. - -"Oh, Mary! don't you love me well enough to trust me yet?" he asked -reproachfully. - -"It is you who are cruel now. Oh, Harry, you know it is not that. You -know how I should like you never to leave me at all, you know that, -but...." - -"I _am_ cruel! Tears in my poor little pet's eyes too, and I have -brought them there by my brutality," and he stooped to kiss her eyelids. - -"Harry! Harry! Ah, if you knew what makes me hesitate! If you knew and -could help me! But there is no one that I can go to for advice--no one!" - -There was a keen anguish in her voice as she uttered these words. - -He seized her hands. "Mary, my love, cannot you come to _me_ for -advice?" - -"I cannot without betraying the secrets of others." - -"Is it this secret then that prevents your marrying me?" - -"Yes," she said sadly. - -"You think that you ought not to marry me without revealing it to me, -and yet you cannot reveal it; is that it?" - -"Yes, Harry." - -"Why, you silly little pet," and he kissed her, "is that all the -difficulty? We can soon get out of that. Don't tell me the secret. I am -not such an ogre that I wish to know all my little wife's secrets. Is it -your idea that a wife is bound to tell her husband every single thing? I -am afraid few wives take that view. Anyhow, I will relieve your -conscience by ordering you not to tell me that particular secret. I -shall be very angry--oh! I can be very angry, if you ever dare to let -out a word of it." He spoke playfully and kissed her again. "Now, are -you satisfied, pet?" - -"But, oh! that is not all, Harry. Supposing this secret is one that I -cannot reveal, and yet one which I ought to reveal, as it affects the -happiness of many other people. Supposing that by saying a few words I -could save much misery to hundreds. Oh! what can I do? What _am_ I to -do? How can I live happily with this awful thing on my mind?" - -She uttered these words in accents of the wildest misery. He looked -puzzled and very grave. He suspected that some mad socialist scheme of -Catherine King was at the bottom of this mystery, but he was, of course, -far from having the faintest idea of the real nature of it. - -"Mary," he said, "I have more than a suspicion that Mrs. King has -admitted you into some wild Political Secret Society, that is destined -to regenerate the world in some way or other. If that is your secret I -think you can keep it to yourself with an easy conscience. These people -talk a good deal of sedition, but have not the pluck to carry out their -preaching. They will never do any harm, you will see." - -"You do not know, you do not know," she said hurriedly and alarmed that -she had allowed him to guess even so little as he had; "but I must not -say more now. Do not talk about this now, Harry, please. I will think -over what you have said. In a day or two I shall see things more -clearly, and I will write to you." - -"And say in your letter 'Come to me.' Will you promise that." - -"When I write it will be to ask you to come to me, Harry." - -"That will be delicious! to receive from you, your first love-letter, -and with that sweet invitation in it, too. How anxiously I shall look -for it each day!" - -He gave her the nosegay he had gathered, and slowly they retraced their -steps to the merry party under the great oak tree. Then the doctor had -to leave them to catch his train to town, and he walked off with the -proud step and the glad eye of a true man who has won his sweetheart. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -THE TAKING AWAY OF THE SHADOW. - - -When her lover had gone, a strong inclination came over Mary to be alone -for a time, she felt so perplexed and yet so happy. Taking in her hand -the nosegay of wild flowers he had gathered for her, she went off by -herself for a stroll in the woods, to think quietly over all that had -happened and that was to be. One moment the idea that she might some day -call the man she loved so dearly by the sweet name of husband, made her -heart beat quick with delight. The next moment her hope died out, and -she shuddered as she thought of that secret of hers which must surely -divide them for ever. How was it all to end? But, on the whole, she felt -very happy. She could not feel miserable on this day. A great part of -the shadow had already been cleared away. Possibly, but how she could -not tell, the rest would go too--she even felt sure that it would be so -soon. - -She reached the river again, and sat down on a mossy bank by the side of -it, and now the excitement of the day began to tell on her yet enfeebled -brain. - -Lulled by the slumberous hum of insects, the gentle rustling of the -leaves overhead, and the dashing of the stream across its shingle bed -below, a drowsiness, or rather a waking dream, stole over her senses--a -delicious, weary calm full of changing visions. - -It seemed to her as if the sky and hills and trees were further off -from her, vaster, lovelier than of earth; and a music of birds was in -the trees such as might have charmed some grove of the innocent Eden. It -was as if the trance of him who has eaten of the magical Indian herb had -fallen on her--a trance magnifying, glorifying all her surroundings. The -warm breeze was as a lover's kisses on her cheek and neck, so lovingly -it played around her; an intoxicating delight was in the scent of the -flowers; and the air she breathed was as liquid joy. And it seemed to -her as if she were quite alone in the midst of this beautiful Nature. -She forgot all about the picnic and the people that were not far from -her, all about the great world beyond. She was a being alone, the -solitary Eve of a lovely Eden--alone save for one god-like man who had -just left her. - -She felt the delight, the glory of the garden, and that was all; so, -scarcely knowing what she did, she took off her shoes and stockings, and -dipped her pretty feet and ankles in the stream as she sat by it, -singing softly the while in a mellow, dreamy voice even such a chant as -some lone Lorelei or sad, soul-less Undine might have sung by the sunny -Rhine. Then she took up the primroses and hyacinths her lover had given -her, and separated them; some she fastened in her straw hat, the rest -she strewed in her lap. - -She remembered that they had all been plucked by him, and she laughed -low as she kissed them one by one. Then she threw them up so that they -fell over her head and shoulders in a soft shower; and she sang again a -song, not of words, but breathing forth inexpressible delight--a song -that at times almost trembled into sobs with the very fullness of that -delight. - -She formed a beautiful picture indeed, as of a half-crazed Ophelia; but -there was no occasional touch of sadness in _her_ mood, for she knew -that her love was true to her and kind, and the shadow was so far away -now--away--away--beyond the glorious woods and gardens, below the faint -horizon, sunk under the world--and gone for ever, it seemed to her -imagination--there would be no more shadow now. - - * * * * * - -But two fierce eyes were watching her unseen. Someone had approached -noiselessly as a snake, and stood motionless a little way off, looking -at the girl with a fixed and intent stare through the dense bushes. - -The intruder was a woman with pale face and deep-sunk, flashing eyes, -and with lips lined at the corners as with much anguish. She stood there -concealed by the foliage, her fists clenched, her body leaning forward, -rigid, as of a tigress ready to spring on its prey. - -The happy girl sang on and played with the flowers unconscious of the -danger near her. - -The woman was Catherine King. She had come down as she had promised, to -carry out the mandate of the Secret Society, with a Judas kiss to invite -Mary to her destruction. - -On reaching Mrs. White's cottage that morning, she was informed by the -maid that all the family were away, that they had gone to picnic in the -woods. - -"They will be back early this evening, then?" asked Catherine. - -"Yes, ma'am." - -"Very well, I will wait for them," and she went into the little -drawing-room. - -She waited there for about half-an-hour. She sat first on one chair, -then on another; then paced up and down the room quickly. She looked out -of the window; she took up book after book, only immediately to put it -down again unread. She could not read just then--she could not -think--she felt she could not even wait idle in that room any longer, or -she would go mad. - -She was distracted by a feverish nervousness, which was ever -intensifying. She felt that she must go to Mary at once and do what was -required of her--she must do it at once, before it became altogether -impossible for her--so she rang the bell. - -The maid entered the room. - -"How far off is this picnic?" asked Catherine, curtly. - -"About four miles I think, ma'am." - -"Can you tell me the way there?" - -"Yes, ma'am. You will have to walk along the road across the moor until -you come to the bridge. If you cross the bridge, ma'am, and turn to the -right, following the river, you will come to them." - -"You are the only girl I ever met who could direct one clearly; thank -you, I will go there." - -She followed the maid's instructions and walked very fast all the way, -in hopes that the rapid motion would drive away her nervousness. - -At the bridge she stood still for a few moments, and drawing a bottle -from her pocket which contained laudanum, or some other drug, she drank -a small quantity of it. - -Then she looked down the white road before turning off into the wood, -and she saw in the distance a countryman dragging along a ram by a cord. -The sight called up memories of old lessons of her childhood. She -laughed bitterly to herself. "Ah! were I a Christian, I might accept -that as a good omen. Jehovah found Abraham such a substitute at the last -moment when he was about to sacrifice his only son. But for me, alas! -there can be no such hope." - -She walked along the narrow foot-path by the river-side for some way, -when suddenly she heard a sweet human voice rising and falling in a song -wild and untaught as a lark's, a song that seemed to ring with such -ecstacy of pure happiness that she paused to listen. In her present mood -the gladness of it stung her, and she ground her teeth in her agony. - -Then she turned pale and listened intently--yes, the voice was familiar -to her! Cautiously she approached, until she came to some bushes, from -behind which, herself concealed, she perceived Mary sitting on the -river-bank close to her, singing and playing with the flowers. - -The woman stood quite still and watched the girl for several minutes. - -What a storm of passions was sweeping across her fierce mind, torturing -the iron will! At first she felt nothing but a mad hate--the strong hate -of jealousy. But the pathetic image of the happy, half-crazed girl soon -raised other emotions. Love and hate together, joining in one new, wild -passion rose to torment her. Ah, how she hated, how she loved, that weak -child yonder! Her soul yearned upon her. Yet she longed to kill her then -and there--to stab and then clasp the dying girl in her arms--to lie -down by her, kissing the beloved lips--to drink her last breath and die -with her! Ah! how sweet to die with her!--in one long, last -kiss--kissing and stabbing her, loving and torturing her, at the same -time. Strange, impossible fancies crowded on her mind. A passion that -was not love, that was not hate, but the unnatural offspring of the two -and fiercer than either, possessed her--such a discordant passion, as we -are told by the Grecian myths, the Furies sow in the minds of men whom -the Gods have doomed to destruction. - -She looked, and she gnashed her teeth with hate; she looked again, and -tears came into her hot eyes to see her Mary--the dear child--the sole -human being she had ever loved! Yes! she must run forward to her, fall -down and kiss those bare white feet, forego her vengeance and beg -herself for forgiveness. - -But no, no--it could not be. The girl loved a man. She had herself -confessed to it. She must die. - -Then her reason, if reason it could be called, returned to her for a -moment. She hardened her heart. Was not Mary a traitor to the cause? The -safety of the Sisterhood, the success of this grand scheme, called for -her death. She _must_ die. - -But yet, she thought, how was the poor child to blame for all this? Was -it not her own cruel self--she, Catherine King--that had enticed Mary -into the Secret Society, and led her into danger? But she smothered -these fancies--steeled herself for her task. She hesitated no longer, -and stepping out of her ambush, she stood before the girl. - -As soon as Mary perceived her, she dropped the flowers and sprang to -meet her with a smile of joyous welcome. She was not startled by -Catherine's sudden appearance. Her happiness had been too deep to be -disturbed in a moment by any fears. The discord that divided them did -not occur then to her mind; she only remembered the old love between -them. - -But to the girl's surprise, Catherine did not return her fond caresses; -she scarcely seemed to recognize her, but drew back averting her gaze, -as if afraid of meeting those pleading eyes. - -"Mother, dear mother!" cried Mary, looking up to her face as she put her -arms about her. "What is it? Are you still angry with me?" - -The woman took the girl's hands in hers, she could not help it, and -spoke in dreamy absent tones, looking away from her the while across the -river. - -"No Mary, no! but I do not feel very well to-day." - -"Poor mother! I am so sorry," Mary commenced, in a sympathetic voice. - -Catherine could not bear this. She felt she must hurry through her duty, -or else break down. She wished now that she had not come to see the -girl, but had written to her, so she strove against the horror that was -paralyzing her will and spoke again, but with a painful excitement which -she could not suppress. Her words came hurriedly and confusedly. - -"Mary, I must go in a few minutes--I have to catch a train--I wished to -see you for a moment; I want to know if"----she almost broke down -now--"if you will come and stay with me a week or two in town -before--before--" ... but she could trust herself to say no more, and -paused. - -Mary was astonished at the strangely excited, yet constrained manner of -her former mistress, but suspected nothing. - -The woman waited for the girl's reply, waited breathlessly, hoping -against hope that she would refuse the invitation. The pause seemed an -eternity of agony to her, yet it was but of a few seconds. - -Mary answered in a voice full of affection and confidence, "Dear mother! -How can you doubt what my answer will be? I was afraid you would never -be friends with me again. You know how glad I shall be to be with you." -She was going to say more, but stopped suddenly, observing the terrible -change, the expression of extreme anguish that crossed Catherine's face. - -One choking sob escaped the woman, and feeling dizzy she sat down, -almost fell, on the bank, and supporting her head on her hands gazed -into vacancy with an awful look upon her fixed features, a look that -told clearly of her soul's utter despair. - -Mary ran up to her in great bewilderment and alarm, knelt before her, -stroked her hand with her own, fondled her. - -"Mother, my dear mother, what is it? What can I do?" - -Catherine still answered nothing, but she slowly raised her now ghastly -white face toward the girl's; turned her eyes that seemed dim, and to -have no sense in them upon her; eyes that looked at her, yet appeared -not to see, as those of one sightless; and the nervously twitching mouth -moved as if speaking, but no words came forth. - -"Mother! mother!" cried the terrified girl. "Speak to me--are you ill--I -will get you some water--wait for me, only a few moments and I will -fetch assistance." - -"No, no, no!" cried the woman in a spasmodic way. "No! I am better--it -is nothing--stay here--fetch nobody--I have something to say to you." - -She spoke with such a stem authority that the girl could not but obey. - -Then came a long silence, a great suspense--the girl watching her -mistress with open, frightened eyes; the woman sitting motionless with -a fixed inscrutable look again on her features, as if absorbed in -painfully intense thought. - -But Catherine King was not thinking at all. The image of Mary, the touch -of the dear hand, had fascinated her, had paralyzed her brain for the -time. She was conscious of no mental operations; memory and emotion were -effaced. Her mind was a blank, or rather in a state of expectant -attention, waiting for some accident to wake it again to a rush of -thought; like a magazine of powder, inactive till the spark should come. -Such a complete suspension of the mental faculties often succeeds to -excessive excitement and conflict of ideas, only to precede another -mightier wave of emotion, and fiercer gust of will, even as the calm -precedes the storm. - -Of a sudden the spark came, the mind was at work again. But a strange -thing had come to pass. It seemed to Catherine as if her brain had -become a mere machine. Will was dead; there was no deliberation, no -weighing of conflicting motives; but some other power, some dominant -idea that had come from outside, took the place of will, and worked the -mind--drove it along one narrow groove, allowing it to go neither to the -right nor to the left, but straight on, wandering into no side -associations, hindered by no opposing fears, hopes, or memories. - -It was if some demon had possessed her, before whom her reason bowed, a -demon whose biddings she must obey without resistance. - -She felt as if the chord of volition had snapped in her brain, when this -strong impulse fell on it. So without hesitation, or thought of -consequences, she obeyed the impulse and spoke what she was compelled -to--spoke in a dreamy passionless voice at first, like one under the -mesmeric influence. All the fierce love and all the fierce hate were -slumbering for the time, the idea was alone in her mind. - -She rose to her full height, and taking the girl's hand again in hers, -the words, unpremeditated by her, came forth slowly. - -"Mary, you have left us, but you have not betrayed us. I know you too -well to suspect you of that. You are free. It is unnecessary to release -you from your promises to us--you are free without that. Oh, Mary! my -heart is broken. We have failed--failed miserably. Our Society is broken -up. When it came to action, the weak women would not support me. The -very object of the Society is no more. Everything has gone wrong. The -Act of Parliament relating to the Tenure of Land on which all our hopes -hung will not be passed after all. There are signs to show that the -Radicals will not obtain that overwhelming majority we looked forward to -at the coming elections. Our plans are postponed indefinitely, which -means that all is lost. There is an accursed reaction in the country. It -is all over, my scheme, my hopes. You are free--marry, do what you will. -You need not fear the weight of the secret any more. You need not -tremble to read in the papers accounts of our doings. It is all over, -and there is nothing left me now but to die." - -Thus had Catherine King been driven by the irresistible power to tell -this comforting lie to the girl; all the ideas and plans that filled her -mind when she came down having vanished completely as if they had never -been. And she said the very thing that was alone needed to make Mary -really free and happy. The girl had no further cause to fear the secret. -It was a harmless secret now. The horrible work would not be done. Her -conscience would not torment her for preserving a criminal silence, and -so becoming the accomplice of assassins. - -A light of supreme triumphant joy came to Mary's eyes. She could not -speak at first, so moved was she, but stood with her hands clasped -together, trying to realize all that those precious words meant for her. - -Then Catherine was inspired once more by the power to speak--to complete -her work. - -"Mary! you must promise me one thing. Kneel down, girl,--kneel and -swear by the God in whom you now believe that you will keep this -promise." - -She spoke in a terrible voice that compelled obedience. It was not -herself but _that_ which possessed her, that cried through her mouth in -such commanding accents. - -Mary knelt down, pale and trembling. - -"I swear it," she whispered. - -"Remember! as long as you live, if I, or any of the Sisterhood, at any -time, invite you to visit them or meet them anywhere--you must not go. -Avoid us all for ever. If you act otherwise you will die." - -"But, oh! dear mother! what a cruel promise to exact from me," and the -girl embraced the woman. "I must see _you_, you cannot mean that." - -Catherine drew herself back quickly, as if stung by the girl's -affection. "You have sworn," she interrupted her in a hoarse voice. "I -tell you girl that you will surely die if you do not observe that oath." - -Mary approached as if to embrace her mistress once more, her arms -stretched out towards her pleadingly; but Catherine seized, her by the -arm and pushed her back savagely--she was coming to her senses, and -began to realize all she had done. - -"Keep away, girl; keep away!" she almost shrieked. "You don't know what -I have sacrificed for your sake--accursed be the day I met -you!--accursed be my own weakness! Keep away from me! Don't come fawning -on me or I will kill you." - -Then without another word she turned and walked away rapidly through the -woods and was lost to sight, leaving Mary confused, dazed, and full of -compassion for the miserable woman whom she had loved so well; but after -a few moments all other ideas vanished before the great happiness that -had come to her. - -_The shadow had gone._ - -Oh, the blessed relief to the poor distracted soul! It was too intense a -joy for her to bear! She lay down on the grass, and sobbed wildly, -until Mrs. White, who had become anxious about her, came and found her -there. Then the girl rose, and placing her arms round her friend's neck, -cried with an hysterical laugh, "Dear, dear, Mrs. White! the kind God -has answered your prayers for me." - - * * * * * - -That very evening, as soon as she reached Mrs. White's cottage, Mary -wrote her first letter to Dr. Duncan, the first love letter of her life. -It was a very short one. - - "My love, Come to me as soon as you can, - - "Your loving, - "MARY." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -DESPAIR. - - -"What have I done? what have I done? Am I mad?" asked the wretched woman -of herself, as she rocked herself to and fro uneasily, sitting in an -arm-chair by the fire. The weather was warm but Catherine King had lit -the fire; she felt chilly and ill, and could not bear to be left alone -in that still room without some moving thing by her, were it only the -leaping flames. - -It was early in the evening of the day after her interview with Mary -Grimm. She sat in the little parlour of her house in Maida Vale gazing -at the red embers, waiting for the arrival of the two leading Sisters of -the Inner Circle. They were coming to learn from her own lips the result -of her visit to Farnham, to prepare for the execution of the traitor. - -How could she meet them, how to tell them what she had done? She could -not herself distinctly call to mind how it had all happened. She had -gone down to the country with a firm resolve, and had been driven by she -knew not what to act in direct opposition to that resolve and strong -desire. She had done what she now cursed herself for doing. - -"Yes, I am mad--I must be mad to have done this thing!" she muttered to -herself with impatient fury. "With my own hands I have ruined the Cause. -It is all over. I am mad." - -As the time of the appointment drew near, the repugnance she felt to -entering into a personal explanation with the Sisters intensified. No! -she dare not meet them--she would write to them; so she put on her -bonnet and cloak, and was just about to leave the house when a ring came -at the street bell, and the maid-servant announced Sisters Susan and -Eliza. - -"Good-evening, Sisters," said the Chief, "I did not expect you so soon; -you are before your time." - -"I think we are," said Sister Eliza. "The fact is, we were anxious to -learn how you fared at the cottage yesterday." - -"Fared!" exclaimed Catherine bitterly. - -"Yes, Sister Catherine," Susan said, "we are very anxious to get that -girl up here as soon as possible. For my part, I cannot feel safe as -long as she is away." - -"Then I am afraid you will never feel happy again, Sister Susan," -Catherine replied with a mocking ring in her voice. - -"What do you mean?" exclaimed Susan. - -"Sit down--sit down, Sisters! I think you had better hear the worst at -once," said the Chief with a reckless laugh. - -The other two women looked at each other when they heard these -discouraging words; Susan's face turned very pale. - -Catherine observed her and laughed again. "No, no! Susan, it is not so -bad as _you_ think--we are not betrayed--your pretty neck is not -endangered _yet_." - -The strange manner of the Chief--the savage despair of her tones were so -different from anything they had ever noticed with her before, that the -women were too startled to question her. They sat in awed silence while -Catherine paced up and down the room restlessly. Suddenly she stopped, -and turning to the elder of her two accomplices said, "Sister Eliza! I -will tell you what I have done--I will hide nothing from you--I am too -maddened to care what you may think. I know after this, all my influence -will be lost, but it matters not now. I have seen Mary Grimm. I have -done exactly the reverse of what I went down to do. I did not invite her -to town--but I made her swear to keep out of our way. I have given her -her freedom. I told her the Society was broken up, that we should need -her no longer, I did all this--What do you think of it? Eh! What do you -think of it?" - -She spoke very rapidly and wildly; then she sat down in the chair by the -fire and turned her head away from them. - -For several minutes there was a complete silence in the room, none of -them made the slightest movement. At last Catherine turned abruptly and -exclaimed with passionate vehemence, "Are you both dumb? Can you not say -anything?" - -Sister Eliza first recovered her composure. "Sister Catherine," she -said, "I do not understand you. You are not yourself this evening. You -are ill and excited. We will wait until to-morrow morning, then you will -explain this matter to us. I have sufficient faith in you to know that -you have acted for the best." - -"And I," exclaimed Susan with a contemptuous bitterness in her voice, -"believe that this is the beginning of the end. I foresee that the -Society has received its death-blow. This weakness of yours will leak -out, Sister Catherine. Oh, yes! I understand what you have done. You -_must_ know what will happen now. When the Sisters discover that the -Chief has so little care of their safety, that she refuses to remove a -great danger, because forsooth to do so stands in the way of her private -affection, do you think they will believe in her any more, trust her -again? Why, they will never know from what side to expect danger next. -They will desert the Cause in panic, seeing that their very general has -betrayed them." - -Catherine paid no heed to Susan's angry words, but rose slowly from the -chair, and said in an absent weary way, "I wish to be alone. I have told -you everything. If you desire to know more come to-morrow--but leave me -alone now, I pray you--good-night!" - -"This is the shortest meeting we have ever had," said Susan with a -sneer; "but if the business of the Society is to be transacted in this -way, it looks as if we are likely to have a last shorter meeting still -some day--one in front of the gallows. Treachery--" - -"Silence, Sister Susan!" interrupted the boarding-house keeper, sternly. -"Let us go. Sister Catherine, I will come here to-morrow morning. -Good-night! you want rest; sleep will do you good." - -"Sleep!" echoed Catherine in a despairing voice. Sister Eliza looked -over her shoulder anxiously at her Chief, as she went out of the room -with Susan Riley, and the woman was once more left alone with the -thoughts that were killing her. - -Sister Eliza and Susan Riley walked together down the Edgware Road. For -some time neither spoke. Each in her different way was dismayed at the -prospect before the Secret Society, and was pondering over the -situation. - -Susan felt absolutely ill with rage and disappointment. Her scheme of -vengeance against the girl she hated had been frustrated, at any rate -for the time. But this was not all. She clearly saw that the Chief's -line of conduct with regard to Mary, boded great peril to the Society. -She felt that Catherine King would never recover her self-esteem and -consciousness of power. She knew the woman's character too well. And she -was well aware what an unstable institution that Society was, how soon -it would be scattered when the master-mind failed to hold its sway. -Susan's passion for intrigue and conspiracy had made her an enthusiast a -selfish one it is true, of the Cause. It had now become a necessity of -her life, and she trembled as she thought how near the collapse of it -threatened to be. - -She spoke in a low voice to her companion as they walked along: "Eliza! -the Chief will never recover from the results of this piece of folly. I -know her: she is lost, and after her the Cause." - -"I don't know," replied the boarding-house keeper. "She has not fully -explained her motives to us yet. Wait until to-morrow, then we will -understand everything. I cannot believe that she has not acted for the -best. Her wisdom is not ours, Susan." - -"Ha!" laughed Susan, contemptuously, "I understand you. You amuse me. -You remind me of what happened a few years back when the prime minister, -that then infallible idol of England, committed that terrible mistake in -his foreign policy. Do you remember how all the thinking men of his own -party, though they perceived his errors, tried to stifle their -convictions and reason? You remember with what timid vague speeches, men -who ought to have known better, defended that suicidal policy in the -House. They thought that venerated man, whose gigantic intellect so -towered above their own, could not be at fault. They said to themselves -that he must be right in everything. He doubtlessly saw what they could -not. Who were they to question his wisdom? Well, Eliza, that's exactly -the way you always think and talk about your infallible idol, our Chief. -You believe she must be right somehow, though you can't see how, though -she seems to be acting as wrongly as possible. But you will soon find it -out, Sister Eliza, very soon. Catherine King will never again hold up -her head, and dictate to the Sisterhood as she could two days ago. Her -power of compelling them to believe in her, will all go. You will see -it, I tell you--you will see it." - -Susan spoke excitedly. Sister Eliza's sinking heart told her that the -words were true, but she was unwilling to confess this. "Take care, -Susan," she said, wishing to turn the conversation. "The street is -rather too crowded for discussion of these matters. We shall be -overheard, if you don't take care." - -"Trust me," was the reply, "I'm keeping my eyes open; besides, I shall -say nothing that can possibly be understood by passers-by. But tell me, -Sister Eliza, don't you agree with what I said?" - -"No! I cannot yet see wherein lies the very great danger of sparing this -wretched girl." - -"Not see it! but this is absurd, you do see it. You know what she now -is, religious, love-sick, and a lunatic to boot. How can you expect such -a one to keep a secret like ours? Sister Eliza! you must understand as -well as I do, the meaning of what has happened. You see that the Chief -has sacrificed the Cause to her private feelings. You know how she will -hate and despise herself when she awakes from her folly, and then she -will be as weak as Samson after the loss of his locks; for she will have -lost what is _her_ strength, _her_ secret of success--belief in herself. -And without Catherine King what do you think will happen to the Cause?" - -"I am afraid, without her, it will be lost." - -"Of course it will. But we must do our best. Even the Inner Circle must -not know how it is that the judgment on Mary Grimm has not been -executed. We must see Catherine to-morrow. We must concoct between us -some plausible lie for the Sisters. We might make them believe that the -girl is dead, anything rather than let them guess the fatal weakness of -the Chief." - -"That does seem the only thing to do," said Sister Eliza, thoughtfully. -"I will try and think the whole matter over to-night." - -"There is one other way out of the difficulty." - -"And what is that?" - -"Cannot we execute this judgment still, without consulting Catherine -King? But, no, no!" she continued, in tones of suppressed rage, "that is -too dangerous now; she told us that she has actually warned the girl -against us. Why, the Chief herself is a traitor!" - -"Sister Susan, I should advise you to take care what you say," quietly -observed the boarding-house keeper. - -"Ah! yes, I know," said Susan, contemptuously. "You are a strong friend -of hers, you will stick to her through anything. You believe in all she -does." - -"Well, here we are in Oxford Street," interrupted the other, "I think I -shall get into this omnibus. I will call on you early to-morrow morning, -and we will talk over everything before we see Catherine King." - -"I feel very upset," said Susan to herself after they had separated. -"All seems to be going wrong just now; but it won't do to worry--worry -brings grey hairs. I must amuse myself--I must have dissipation to-night -to keep the blues away. Let me see, it's only six o'clock now; a stroll -in the Burlington, and a few glasses of sherry, will be a good -beginning." So she got into a hansom and drove to Piccadilly, touching -up her complexion on the way, with the apparatus she carried in her -little hand-bag. - -She sauntered up and down the Arcade several times, looking into the -shop windows, and feeling quite happy again when she perceived that she -attracted a satisfactory share of the attention of the men. - -"How do you do, Miss Riley?" said a quiet voice by her side. - -She started, and turning round saw Dr. Duncan. - -"Why, doctor!" she exclaimed, rather confused. "You are the last person -I should have expected to meet here." - -"Well, it is not very often I am to be seen in the Burlington," he -replied; "but as it happened to lie on my way, I am strolling through -it." - -"And I," she said, with a laugh, "have been calling on my bootmaker." - -"I have not seen you since you left the hospital, Miss Riley." - -She saw that he glanced with some surmise at her fashionable and -expensive attire, so different from the simple dress of the hospital -nurse he had always been accustomed to see her in. It might prove -inconvenient to her, at some future time, were this man to entertain any -suspicions as to her mode of living, so she said, with a pretty attempt -at a bashful smile, "You must not call me Miss Riley now, Dr. Duncan. I -have changed my name." - -"Let me congratulate you? May I ask by what name I am to call you for -the future?" - -"Well I have changed my name and yet not changed it--I am Mrs. Riley--I -have married a cousin. But, doctor! I am so glad to have met you, I am -anxious to know how poor Mary Grimm is now. Have you heard from your -sister lately?" - -"I am very glad to have good news to tell you, Mrs. Riley. I saw Miss -Grimm yesterday. Her health is certainly improving very rapidly. I am -looking forward to her complete recovery, at an early date." - -"Ah! you saw her yesterday; did she say whether her aunt had been there -lately?" - -"I don't think Mrs. King has been down there for about a week." - -"Indeed! She told me she was going to Farnham yesterday." - -"She was certainly not there before I left, and that was late in the -afternoon." - -"And shall you see Mary again soon, doctor?" - -Mary's letter was in his pocket; he had received it that morning, and -had been beside himself with delight ever since. His exultation rang in -his voice as he replied: - -"I am going to see her to-morrow morning." - -Susan perceived the expression in his eyes, and his joy irritated her -excessively. "Well, good-night, Dr. Duncan," she said, in a harder tone. -"Thank you for your good news. When you see Mary, to-morrow, give her my -love, and please tell her that I inquired about her. Say that I have not -forgotten her and won't. Don't forget will you, doctor?" - -"I don't like that cunning face of yours, Mrs. Riley," he said to -himself when she had gone. "I distrust you. It is foolish of me, but I -cannot help it. I cannot help imagining you dislike my poor little bird -down there--and yet you seemed very anxious about her when she was ill. -There is thorough malice in your voice and eye, but we don't fear you." - -His love for Mary had inspired him with a subtle instinct, that told him -when danger to her was near; and he felt a strong antipathy for the -pretty woman with the wicked languishing eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -THE FIRST WARNING. - - -On the following morning Dr. Duncan took the train to Farnham, and full -of delightful anticipation walked over to his sister's cottage. - -It was the most lovely spring day imaginable. The young vegetation -glowed beneath the bright sky, and a warm fresh breeze stirred it to -happy music. It was, indeed, the very morning to go a-wooing. All nature -was in harmony with the man's feelings, and he felt all its joyous -sympathy as he walked with buoyant step along the fair English lanes, -and the open moorland tracks, with fancies exultant and blithe as a -lark's morning song. - -At last he reached a little iron gate that opened on to the grounds of -the cottage. He passed through it, and followed the path that clove the -shrubbery, whose waving blossoms of lilac and laburnum seemed to whisper -a glad welcome to him. Then, his heart beating fast, he walked on, till -turning round a corner of the bushes, the lawn opened out before him, -with the creeper-covered cottage beyond it. - -And then he saw a sight that made him stand quite still suddenly, and -hold his breath with keen emotion. - -One who loved him had been watching for him, and had seen him from her -window coming down the road, then she had gone out to meet him. - -He saw the young girl walking towards him across the fresh -daisy-sprinkled grass which still sparkled with dew at her feet. Her -hands were slightly extended as if eager to greet him. She wore a -morning dress of white muslin. There was no hat on her head, and the -sunshine gleamed in her tresses. A faint blush lit her cheek, and on her -lips played that smile of pleasure which, when a lover finds his -presence brings it to his mistress, makes him know the most exceeding -happiness this world can give. - -He did not move, but stood still, wishing to prolong each stage of his -delight, gazing with adoration at the lovely figure as it approached. So -ethereal a being did she appear in that white robe, with her face pale -save for the faint glow of joy that flushed either cheek; so fair, so -fragile a creature, that she seemed to her lover as of some sweet noble -order of spirits, too high, too pure, for the coarse affections of this -earth; and tears came to his eyes with the tenderness he felt in his -worship of this delicate girl. - -She came up to him, and placed her hands in his. He held her at his -arms' length for a few moments, saying nothing, feasting his eyes with -her beauty; then he drew her close to him and kissed her passionately. - -She tried to free herself from his grasp with a little low laugh that -only encouraged him to hold her the closer, and they felt their hearts -beat against each other. - -When he released her there was a deep colour on her face, and she looked -up at him with a pretty expression, a half smile, half-pout upon her -mouth, as if she did not quite know whether to laugh or cry, be pleased -or angry. - -He led her to the bench under the beech-tree, and when they were seated -spoke to her, her hands still held in his. - -"My darling! so you have sent for me. Oh, my love! I can see that it is -good news you have to tell me this day." - -She made no reply, but he felt her hand tighten its grasp of his. - -"Mary! dare I hope at last, that you will allow me to be your friend, -your husband? Have all the difficulties you spoke of been removed?" - -"Harry! the shadow has gone from my life. What I feared would be done -will not be done. You were right in what you said. To reveal my secret -now would do no harm nor good to anyone. The mischief of the secret has -gone for ever." - -"Thank God!" cried her lover excitedly; "and now, Mary, there is nothing -between us. Keep the secret; do not betray your friends. I do not care -to know it. I understand you, this precious scheme, whatever it was, has -come to nothing, has been abandoned. My darling! What do I care what it -was? I know well it is nothing that should bring blame to your innocent -soul. Poor child! that you should have become the tool of these wicked -designing wretches! But now it is all over. You trust me, Mary, don't -you?" - -Another pressure of the hand was a sufficient answer to him. - -"Then, Mary, the whole of my life will be devoted to your happiness. Ah! -I never imagined that I could ever love a woman as I do you! Oh, Mary, -Mary! I do not deserve to have been made so happy by you. And you really -will have me as a husband? This is not a dream is it?" - -"If you wish it," she whispered; "I will do all you wish." - -"All _I_ wish, that is how you always speak; but what do _you_ wish?" - -She raised her eyes till they met his, and whatever doubts he might have -held about her feelings towards him, were dispelled by that soft, yet -passionate look. - -"Mary, Mary, my love!" - -"Harry! my love! my husband! You ask me for my love. Ah! indeed, you -know you have it. Oh, Harry, do you think that all women feel this, do -they love their husbands as dearly as I love you? It seems all so -strange, so wonderful." - -He drew her head towards him and kissed the tears from her tender eyes; -suddenly she started. - -"Harry!" - -"Yes! my dear little girl." - -"I must pray." - -He looked at her with some surprise. There was a great earnestness in -her eyes as she clung to his hand and exclaimed, "Oh, Harry! you know -how wicked I have been. You know how for many years I did not even -believe in God. I was an atheist!" She shuddered as she uttered the word -in accents of loathing. "And yet, see! he has sent me this wonderful -happiness, this sweet, sweet love. How good this God must be! He is kind -even to me, to me! Do you think he will hear me, will he be pleased if I -pray to him, Harry, if I thank him for all that he has done?" - -Her wistful look, the simple pathos of her speech touched the man's -heart and his eyes dimmed, as he cried out passionately in reply, "Oh, -my darling! my dear, dear, little sweetheart! You wicked, indeed! If God -does find pleasure in any prayer, he must surely do so in such true, -pure prayer as yours. You are right, Mary, you are right. We ought, -indeed, to thank God together for having filled our hearts with this -delicious love. I even more than you; for unlike you I have had -everything in my favour, and yet I have lived an irreligious wicked -selfish life. You have taught me a lesson, oh, my sweet little wife!" - - * * * * * - -Can Heaven itself disclose greater delights than did this glorious May -day for these two! Ah! those golden hours; how the one, who later on -will be left alone in the cold world will recall the magic rapture of -them! Ah, precious hours, glimpses of Paradise, of which so few come to -brighten the long dark days of most of us. - - * * * * * - -After a time the lovers went indoors, and the doctor told his sister -everything. Poor little Mrs. White, how fussy and excited she was all -that day! I verily believe she was happy as were they themselves on -seeing that matters had been settled definitely at last between these -two people whom she loved so dearly. - -At lunch exceedingly high spirits prevailed, high spirits that were not -far removed from tears at times, from so profound depths they sprung. -The little children caught the contagion from their elders and became -very unruly in their merriment; and yet they were not reproved by their -mother, who seemed to have lost her head in the excess of her gladness, -and laughed so much at their pranks that their quick perceptions grasped -the situation in a way; they saw that some very joyful thing had -happened, and that discipline was to be ignored for the day; they -discovered that mother, uncle, and "Auntie Mary," would tolerate -anything, and they profited by the occasion. - -"Uncle Harry, have you brought me some chokkies?" asked the little boy, -and was not even rebuked for his rudeness. - -Uncle had forgotten all about chocolates this time, but replied, "Bobby, -I'll send you pocketsful of chokkies to-morrow." - -"And a boat, Uncle Harry?" - -"Yes, and a nice boat, and a new rocking-horse." - -The children clapped their hands and shouted with delight; they thought -their elders had surely gone mad, and that the Infant Millenium had -come. - -"And a new dolly for me?" cried the eldest girl. - -"Yes! and a doll's house too, with lots of furniture," immediately -responded the evidently insane uncle. - -But, at last, the nurse, a worthy female, who alone in the establishment -had not altogether lost her head, thought fit to come down and -intervene, and she marched the reluctant youngsters off. - -Mrs. White had to attend to her household cares, so the lovers were -again left alone. They had somewhat settled down to their new relations -by this time, so they sat side by side and talked over the vague bright -future before them. They arranged where they would live and so on, and -formed all manner of plans, as is the way of young people in their -situation. - -"Why, I feel quite like an old married woman already," said Mary at -last, with a smile. - -"You see we know each other pretty well by this time--we are not -strangers to each other," he replied. - -"No, Harry! but I can hardly realize all this yet. Poor Mrs. King! what -will become of her?" she exclaimed suddenly, as the recent events -flashed across her mind. - -"Oh! she will be all right, I suppose," replied the doctor, who could -hardly be expected to take much interest in Catherine's welfare. - -"She was very good to me," said Mary, thoughtfully. "We loved each other -very much." - -"How came you to live with her, Mary? I beg your pardon; that may be -part of your secret." - -"Oh no! It is not. I can tell you all about that. In fact, I had made up -my mind to tell you some time to-day. You ought to know something about -me before you make me your wife, dear." - -"I know quite enough about you, my darling, to know that I shall always -love you very much, and that you deserve the love of a better man than -me," he replied, kissing her. - -"Ah! but you will be ashamed of me when I tell you this. Harry, I have -deceived you. Mrs. King is not really my aunt." - -"So much the better, my pet. I am very glad to hear it." - -"I must tell you who I am, Harry. It has been on my mind for a long time -to do so. Now listen, and don't interrupt me till I have finished." - -Dr. Duncan had never before inquired into her history, and now, for the -first time, she told him who her parents were, of her life at Brixton, -how she had run away from home, how she had been kindly treated by the -unfortunate barrister, and how, at last, she had met Catherine King and -had been adopted by her. - -When she had completed her narration, she sobbed and covered her face -with her hands. "Ah, Harry!" she cried, "now you know what a wicked girl -I have been. You will not put trust in me any more. Do you hate me now, -Harry?" - -"Hate you!" he exclaimed, taking her hands from her face and kissing it. -"You silly little thing! you say that to tease me." He paused a little, -looking into her eyes as he held her head, and then continued in a voice -that shook with strong passion, "You know I trust you--trust you as I -would--as I would--yes!--even as I would trust the good God himself, who -created that pure soul of yours, my queen! Ah! Mary, Mary, you do not -half understand how dear you are to me now!" - -"Yes I do, Harry; I have only to think of what you are to me, to -understand it," she said, smiling through her tears. - -"It _is_ delicious to hear those words from your lips, Mary!" - -"And you are not ashamed of me then, dear, after what I have told you?" - -"Ashamed of you? No! prouder of you than ever. It is a strange history -this of yours, Mary. Very few could have come out of such an ordeal -unscathed, as you have done." - -"I wish I could tell you all the rest too, dear; I do so wish you knew -my secret. But I have sworn not to reveal it." - -"There is now no object for revealing it, pet, except to gratify my idle -curiosity; and I would not have you do that. But I have an important -question to ask you." - -"What is it?" - -He put his arm round her and drew her close to him. "When are we to be -married?" - -"Oh! I have not thought of that yet." - -"Well, it is rather sudden; but, Mary, it will do you so much good to -go abroad for awhile. Now, if we are married soon, we can go away -together for a long holiday. I can get someone to do my work for me in -my absence." - -So it was settled that the marriage should take place in the course of a -few weeks; and when the sun set that evening, and the lights were lit in -the cottage, there were no happier people in all merry England than the -doctor, his sweetheart, and his sister. - - * * * * * - -But even on that, the first evening of unalloyed happiness for the -lovers, the stern Fate that seemed to hunt relentlessly the unfortunate -girl put forth her grim finger in warning. While the three were sitting -down in the cosy drawing-room after dinner, the postman's knock was -heard at the door and the maid brought Mary a letter. - -"A letter for me!" she exclaimed as she took it, and her face paled, and -a shiver ran through her body as she turned it over in her hands -uneasily without opening it. No one ever wrote to her, and she felt a -foreboding of some great ill. Instinctively she moved her chair a little -nearer to her lover, who was sitting by her, as if to lean upon him for -protection against the unknown danger. He understood that pleading -gesture, and placed his arm firmly round her. - -Then she opened the letter, she turned to the signature at the end of it -and saw that it was from Susan Riley. She dropped it again on her lap. - -"Harry," she said, "I feel that I am going to read something terrible. -All through this bright day I have felt that such perfect happiness -could not last long, that some misfortune must soon follow." - -"Read the letter, dear, and don't be so superstitious," said Mrs. White. - -She took it up again and read steadily through it. It ran thus-- - - "DEAR MARY,--So you have left us. I thought you would. I fear the - Society has gone to the dogs, so I will have to look out for some - other field for my energies. Did the doctor give you my message? I - asked him to tell you that I would never forget my little sister - nurse. You don't trouble much about me, but see how considerate I am - for you. Three weeks ago I saw the enclosed extract in a suburban - paper. I did not send it to you then, fearing that it might give you - a shock in your feeble state of health--little as you loved your - father. But now I hear from Dr. Duncan that you are very much - better, so I forward it to you. The doctor tells me that he will be - with you this evening, so you will have someone by to help you bear - up under your affliction. Accept my condolence for your loss, also - my congratulation on your coming happiness--for I have eyes in my - head, Mary, and I can guess that you will soon be married. I suppose - what has happened will put off the happy day though. I suppose - you'll have a baby or babies. How funny that _one of us_ should go - in for that sort of thing! I promise you that I'll take a great - interest in your life, dear. _I'll stand as fairy god-mother to your - baby._ Good-bye, dear. Yours ever, - - "SUSAN." - - "_P.S._ Did Dr. Duncan tell you that I have married my cousin? - Sha'n't I make a capital wife?" - -The cutting from the newspaper which was enclosed in the letter was an -announcement of her father's death. - -Mary read the letter slowly, and each line seemed a separate sting, as -doubtlessly it was intended to be. Little as she loved her father, she -was shocked to hear that he was dead. She had intended to go to him as -soon as she was married, and implore his forgiveness. She had looked -forward to the reconciliation with him, for all her hate had died away -long since. She was troubled, too, by the vague threats the letter -contained, couched though they were in terms of affectionate -solicitude. She felt a great terror when she read the underlined promise -of the woman who hated her, to stand as fairy god-mother to her child. -She could not shake away the fear that the shadow, far away though it -was now, would once again rise up from the horizon to cloud her -happiness; but she stifled these fancies with a great effort, and said, -"Oh, Harry! my poor father is dead." - -There were no exaggerated protestations of sympathy where little grief -was felt, but the event cast a chill over the party. - -This letter had come at so inopportune a moment, that it could not but -raise forebodings. Even the doctor felt a vague dread, and Mrs. White -was quite upset by what she considered a very bad omen indeed. - -No one had spoken for some time, Mary had been holding the letter in her -hand thinking; at last she said, "Harry, I cannot tell whether I ought -to show you this letter. Will you be angry if I don't. There is -something about the secret in it." - -"Mary, darling, unless there is something in it you want to preserve, I -should put that letter in the fire. Observe your oath, and don't worry -yourself about showing me everything as if I was suspicious of you. You -know I am not that." - -"Thank you, dear; I will burn it then." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -SHATTERED IDOLS. - - -About six months had passed away since the events narrated in the last -chapter. In that short time a considerable change had come over the -lives of the characters of this story. - -Dr. Duncan and Mary were husband and wife, and had settled down in a -comfortable little house in St. John's Wood, in which district he had -purchased a practice. - -As Susan Riley had foretold, the decay of the Secret Society commenced -on that day when the Chief had shown weak mercy to a deserter. Catherine -King gradually lost her hold of the wills of the Sisterhood. She was -changed; the difference might have been imperceptible to a casual -observer, but there it was. She was no longer infallible to her -followers; she was no longer believed in, because she no longer believed -in herself; and that subtle power which faith in self gives, and which -compels faith and obedience in others, had gone for ever. The magic of -her direct personal influence had been her best, perhaps her only true -qualification for the task she had set herself. She was wanting in the -faculty of organization, and was fully conscious of this; so when her -personal influence waned, the real instability of the Society soon -commenced to make itself manifest. Disputes and doubts arose, and many -of the Sisters having lost all confidence in their Chief, became timid, -and kept quietly away from the Society. - -So far nothing had been done by this band of fanatics; the abominable -work contemplated by them had not yet commenced. They were waiting for -those expected changes in the laws relating to the tenure of land, which -were to be rendered more effective by their action. - -With an intense anxiety did Catherine King await the general election. -All her hopes depended on that. Were the enemies of private property to -gain the day, were the desired act of Parliament to be passed, the -signal would be given to the Sisters to proceed at once upon their -labours. A new vitality would then stir the Society; the old enthusiasm -would return, and in the midst of the peril of the battle she would soon -regain all her lost influence. But she thought it best, in the present -temper of her associates, to keep aloof from them until the moment for -action came. She did not show herself to them, but entrusted Sister -Eliza to see that everything was prepared. It was a period of anxious -suspense, of oppressive inactivity for all. - -At last the general election took place. An intense excitement pervaded -the whole country. Questions of the utmost importance were in the air. -The programme of one party was so violent and revolutionary, that its -supporters would, not so long since, have rendered themselves liable to -the penalties for treason; and all moderate men were filled with dismay. -Democrats of the extremest type seemed to be having it all their own way -in the land, if one could judge by their noise and confidence of -success. Several boroughs returned men of this stamp during the first -few days of the polling. Eagerly did Catherine snatch up the different -editions of the papers to follow the progress of each contest, and hope -and ambition returned to her as she read the results. - -But after the first few days, matters did not look so bright for the -Radicals. The intemperance of their language, the wildness of the -reforms they promised, defeated their own ends. A reaction set in. The -great mass of Englishmen who are not led away by the impracticable -theories of political adventurers recorded their votes as usual for the -candidates of common sense belonging to both of the two great parties; -but that considerable army of vain men, who, though they possess -property, and therefore an interest in the order of the State, yet pose -as philosophical Radicals and talk communism without understanding what -they mean, became alarmed at the destructive programme of their -friends--they perceived that they themselves were threatened as well as -the lords and landed proprietors they hated and envied. So panic seized -them, and in their selfish fear they did exactly what might have been -expected from such creatures--they rushed to the opposite extreme, -babbled about Constitutionalism, and voted for ultra-Tories to protect -them. - -And lo! instead of the Radical House that was to return the great Land -Act and other more startling measures, an assembly of which the large -majority held very different views indeed was elected, to the exceeding -surprise of the over-cute wire-pullers, who thought they had arranged -everything so cleverly. - -Catherine stayed at home, greedily reading the papers, day after day, -and hope died away again and she became sick at heart. When at last -there could be no doubt about the result, she wrote to Sister Eliza and -asked her to come to her. - -Her friend was shocked when she entered the little parlour in Maida Vale -to see how ill and worn her Chief was looking. - -"Good-afternoon, Eliza," said Catherine in a feeble voice; "I sent for -you because you are the only one I could bear to see. You do not look at -me with reproachful eyes as the others do--and I am unwell and weak." - -There was sympathy expressed on Sister Eliza's homely features as she -replied: - -"No wonder, Sister Catherine, after what you have been suffering. But -brighter days will come." - -"Never, never! Sister Eliza--but I have sent for you to learn the whole -truth. What has happened--what do _they_ say now?" - -"Fools and cowards!" exclaimed the boarding-house keeper, -contemptuously; "they do not know their own minds." - -"I thought it would be so; and what do they say? Tell me all!" - -"The Sisters are in a very discontented mood; they grumble at -everything. Many have for the first time discovered that our whole -project is ridiculous in the extreme. They say that they have wasted -time and money for nothing." - -"And whose fault is it that it has been for nothing?" - -"Those who supplied the treasury of the Society with considerable sums -of money, notably Sister Jane, are clamouring for its restitution or a -full account of how it has been spent." - -"They shall have neither," cried Catherine, indignantly. - -"Some of the Sisters even hint that you have put by a pretty purse for -yourself out of the funds--those were the very words of one." - -"They dare say that!--they dare accuse me of that!" exclaimed the Chief, -rising to her feet and walking impatiently up and down the room, her -eyes blazing with wrath and her fists clenched. "Cowardly wretches! are -these the earnest martyrs with whose assistance I hoped to forward the -emancipation of humanity?--and what more do they say?" - -"One fool--it was Sister Jane, by-the-bye--even spoke of suing you for -the money she advanced, until I explained to her that Justice will only -listen to a plaintiff who comes into court with clean hands, and -reminded her that there were slight objections to her revealing in court -the objects for which she had advanced the money." - -"Do you mean that she actually proposed to betray us?" - -"No! she spoke wildly, not thinking of what she was saying. She dare not -be a traitor." - -"And what does Susan Riley and the others of the Inner Circle say?" - -"They, of course, dare not desert the Cause; but they hint that it -would be as well to dissolve the Society, now that the object of it has -been indefinitely postponed by this unfortunate election. They say it -cannot hold together much longer." - -"And Sister Susan says this, too?" - -"She has virtually left us; at any rate she keeps away now, and seems to -take no interest whatever in the Society," replied Sister Eliza in -scornful tones. - -"And it has come to this, then!" said Catherine, musingly; then she -turned and asked abruptly, "and what do you think about it?" - -"I don't know what to think. I should like to make an example of a few -of the wretches, curse them!" muttered Eliza between her teeth, feeling -a bitter indignation as she thought of the meanness of her associates. -"Ah! they are unworthy to follow you, Sister Catherine." - -Catherine sat down again, and was silent for several minutes. A black -despair settled down upon her mind. She saw that it was all over--the -Cause had received its death-blow. Of all her friends and disciples, but -one was left her--this faithful Eliza, who would, if she let her, cling -all the closer to her fallen Chief. It was all over--the hopes, the -doubts, the suspense, were gone; and when she spoke it was in a quite -calm and passionless voice. - -"I understand now, Sister Eliza; I will give my last order to the -Sisterhood. Go to them and tell them the Society is dissolved--they may -all go their separate ways. Remind them that they must, throughout their -lives, observe their oath of secrecy--that is all I ask of them. If they -fail to do this, a higher Society will know how to punish traitors. Tell -them that I will render no account of the moneys that have passed -through my hands. I have never taken one penny of the fund for my own -use. Whatever balance there is I will send to another Society--a Society -of men, not of cowardly women--who will make good use of it. This is my -last message to the Sisters." - -"But if--" her amazed listener was commencing in a faltering voice. - -"No, no! Eliza," interrupted Catherine, impatiently; "no buts and -ifs--it is too late for them. I do not wish to discuss this matter. I do -not wish ever again to hear the Society mentioned before me. To think of -it maddens me. Please do not talk to me about it. Let us change the -conversation; I will ring the bell for some tea." - -The strong green tea was brought up. Sister Eliza sipped hers in -silence, gazing sadly at her broken-hearted Chief. - -Soon Catherine got up from her chair, and going to a cupboard, drew out -a small bottle. She laughed a little hysterical laugh--one of those -laughs that have more pain in them than any sob--and said: - -"I am taking a leaf out of our friend Susan Riley's book. She found -laudanum useful. A little mixed with one's tea is good; at any rate it -prevents rage from driving one quite mad," and she poured some of the -contents of the bottle into her cup. - -"It is a dangerous practice though," observed her friend. - -"Dangerous! how so? What have I to fear? The habit of laudanum-tippling -soon spoils a young woman's beauty. Look at Susan, it has made her -vanity suffer somewhat, I know; but it can't hurt me in that way, or in -any other way, for the matter of that," and she laughed that terrible -laugh again. - -Sister Eliza felt a sincere sorrow for this one human being she admired; -she saw that Catherine ought not to be left alone in her present wild -state of mind. "I should like to come and see you often, Sister -Catherine," she ventured to say. - -"It is very kind of you, Eliza, but it cannot be a good thing for you, -as I don't feel like being a very pleasant companion just now. I leave -town to-morrow, perhaps for years, and I cannot tell you where I am -going." - -Sister Eliza found that her presence, far from soothing, only irritated -the more the miserable woman. Catherine would not be comforted. She was -in that mood when the mind rejects all consolation, and loves to torture -itself--when one purposely hurts the feelings of one's best friends to -make one's own heart bleed the more; so Sister Eliza, seeing that no -good would be effected by staying longer, bade her good-bye and left -her. - - * * * * * - -The Sisterhood was no more. Susan Riley, like a rat, had early deserted -the falling house: unlike the Chief, she had profited not a little in -various ways from the Society, and had been in receipt of a salary as -one of the officers; but gratitude was not one of this young lady's -characteristics. Having saved some money, she now took a small -tobacconist's shop in the neighbourhood of the Strand. She thought it -would be the very business to suit her, genteel, idle, and affording -excellent opportunities for flirtations and intrigues with such of her -customers as were possessed of more money than brains. - -But there was little store of happiness for Susan now. The gay butterfly -portion of her life was over, and weary ennui, alternating with bitter -reflections, filled most of her long hours. For it happened that in the -course of a few months her beauty had faded rapidly. Bad temper and -laudanum had deepened her wrinkles, sallowed her complexion, and even -scattered a few grey hairs through her once lustrous locks. - -All the object of her life had gone from her. She perceived that men no -longer admired her, she was old, she was ugly, there was nothing sweet -in the whole world for her now, she hated life, but, still more, she -feared the grim phantom death. A restless nervousness tormented her. She -became subject to what she would herself describe as "the blues," a -despondent fearful condition peculiar to temperaments such as hers. - -She was in a miserable state--a state not uncommon though among the men -and women of luxurious cities, whose lives have been devoted to selfish -indulgence only, when they have exhausted every joy, and dull satiety -alone remains. Such a melancholy darkened the last days of many a -worn-out voluptuary of ancient Rome, driving him to insane deeds of -cruelty, and orgies of strange vices in vain hope of relief. - -In this condition a man or woman is tortured by observing the happiness -of others in contrast to his own misery. Susan hated youth, beauty, -virtue, happiness, with a bitter hate. - -Sometimes she thought of Mary, the girl she despised, who, she -considered, had twice stood between her and her lovers, who had -indirectly brought about the collapse of the Society. She thought of her -as being now a young wife, happy, and loved, and the thought made her -feel so absolutely ill with the intensity of her ungratified malice, -that she was often obliged to withdraw her mind from the painful -contemplation. - -Now it happened one day, about six months after Mary's marriage, that -Susan, being in a more restless and irritable mood than usual, deserted -her counter, leaving the girl who assisted her in charge of the shop. It -was a mellow October afternoon, and she walked to her favourite haunt of -old at that hour--Regent Street. - -The usual idle well-dressed crowd of men about town, lady-adventurers -and so on, was taking its wonted promenade. In former days many of these -men would have stared pretty hard at Miss Susan Riley, but now no one -would notice her, or at most a gentleman would glance momentarily at her -with a look void of admiration, and then turn his eyes to some more -tempting object. She felt the humiliation of this bitterly, and her -ill-temper was written on her mouth and brow, which rendered her less -attractive than ever. She could have cried with rage. - -At last she came to a well-known photographic establishment, and joined -the throng in front of the window, contemplating the portraits of -actresses, statesmen, professional beauties, bishops, and other -celebrities, when she heard a merry laugh by her side that made her -start. - -She hated now to hear the glad innocent laughter of her fellows, but -there was something in that laugh which she seemed to recognize. She -turned suddenly and perceived Dr. Duncan and his wife walking away from -the window. - -She followed them for a short way, keeping a little to one side of them, -so as to scan Mary's features without being herself observed. She -contrived to catch a glimpse of her face; it was enough to show her that -all the anxiety had died away from it. The face was not so thin as of -old, it had more colour, it was prettier than ever. - -The husband and wife were engaged in a lively conversation. Then Susan -heard Mary laugh again, the same low happy laugh. Its gladness jarred -upon her own black thoughts. She turned away suddenly, uttering a savage -oath to herself. - -The sight of her enemy's happiness goaded her into a state of great -fury; she walked back to her shop as fast as she could. On entering it -she found her assistant engaged in a mild flirtation with a customer -across the counter. - -Here was a pretext for venting her wrath on some one. She called the -assistant into the back-room and reprimanded her in such insulting terms -that the girl burst into tears and said she would leave her on the spot. - -"Go at once then!" cried the enraged woman, "out with you into the -streets. You'll find as many men as you want there." - -Susan could not sleep all that night for malice; and from that day she -was absorbed by her hatred for Mary. It was a hate that became a very -monomania with her. It was the only passion left to relieve the -monotonous weariness of her existence, and it ever grew more intense. -She would rub her hands together and laugh in her excitement when she -sat alone. "I have again something worth living for," she would mutter -to herself, "I will ruin that girl's happiness--somehow--somehow," and -her subtle mind pondered and plotted how to effect a sweet revenge. - -But weeks passed, and so far she had formed no definite plan, had -discovered no safe but extreme torture, so she determined for the -present to do all she could in a small way to annoy her foe -periodically. She knew that with her devilish ingenuity she could not -fail to find some method of undermining the young wife's happiness. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -THE SECOND WARNING. - - -During these early months of her married life, Mary enjoyed an almost -perfect happiness, for the first time of her short existence. She -sometimes wondered and was afraid when she thought of it, looking upon -herself as being altogether unworthy of so many joys. - -She had passed through the terrible ordeal, and the strange vicissitudes -of her life had produced an ennobling and refining effect upon her -character, which was reflected on her beautiful face. She was, indeed, -as sweet a woman as the soul of man could desire. There was something -peculiarly winning about her now; every graceful movement, every word -and smile told of a heart full of innocent gladness and love. There was -a childish simplicity, there was a delightful playfulness about her, -that yet betrayed profound depths of feeling. She fascinated all with -the unconscious witchery of her manners. The coarsest man could not fail -to feel better in her company; she could touch what good was yet left in -his nature; it would seem to him as if she were surrounded by some -subtle atmosphere that affected his heart somewhat in the way that -beautiful music does, a hymn of perfect chastened joy breathing of the -lost Paradise. - -When the husband and wife returned from their honeymoon--a long -leisurely ramble among Italian lakes--Mary entered into the spirit of -housekeeping with great zest. It was pretty to observe the delight she -took in her new duties. She was quite in love with the little villa in -St. John's Wood, with its trees and garden and greenhouse, there was so -much to look after and take a pride in, and she was always busy at one -thing or the other, filling the house with her blithe song. - -Mrs. White passed some time with them at first to give the young wife -some lessons in house-keeping, and very merry lessons they were. - -One evening, the three were sitting in the drawing-room after dinner. -The doctor was pretending to read a newspaper, but was really, under -cover of it, watching his wife and sister with quiet amusement. They -were engaged at a little work-table strewed with account books and other -domestic documents, now chattering earnestly over them, now laughing -together at Mary's blunders. - -At last Mary caught her husband's eye; she stamped her foot in simulated -anger, "You must not watch me, sir!" she cried. "This is not your -business. If you confuse me by looking over me, all the accounts will -get muddled, and then you'll be complaining of my extravagance." - -"You are ruining me as it is, Mary," he replied, laughing. "You won't -let me do anything for myself--you are always running here and there -anticipating all my wants. Do you know you are spoiling me? I am -becoming quite lazy and good-for-nothing in consequence of your -treatment." - -"Don't talk nonsense, sir, or I shall come and kiss you." - -"Then I certainly shall talk nonsense," he emphatically exclaimed, -putting down the newspaper. - -"No one would imagine you had been married so long, Harry--you ought to -have become more staid by this time." - -"So long! Why we have not been married six months yet." - -"Well it does seem a long long time to me. I suppose it is because all -my life has been so different, Harry--but I threatened to kiss you if -you talked any more nonsense, and I shall keep my word," and she walked -towards him and inflicted the threatened punishment. - -He seized her and made her sit on his knee. "You dear little wife," he -said, "I thought you were perfect before I married you, but every day I -see something new in you to love; I get quite afraid of you, I begin to -think you are some sort of spirit, and will suddenly fly away from me -one of these days." - -She put her hand upon his lips, "No more of this nonsense, sir!--Now let -me go. It is time for you to have that horrid grog of yours--I will ring -the bell for the hot water--then we will leave you to read the paper by -yourself--I am sure that is more instructive for you than watching us -adding up butcher's bills." - -"But not half so amusing. I am sick of these elections--the papers are -full of nothing else. I am glad though that these detestable Radicals -have been so well thrashed." - -"Is that so then, Harry?" asked Mary becoming suddenly serious, and -sitting again on his knee from which she had just commenced to rise. - -"Yes, Mary, and it is their own fault too, they boasted too much about -the revolutionary measures they intended to pass. They were going to -confiscate the land and do all sorts of wild things, so people got -frightened and would not vote for them." - -A thoughtful look came to Mary's face; she said nothing more about the -elections, but became unusually quiet for the rest of the evening. Soon -Mrs. White retired to her room, and Mary mixed her husband his glass of -punch. She sat by his side nestling close to him, placing her hand in -his. - -He drew her head to his shoulder and stroked her soft hair as he gazed -down at her pensive face. "Mary," he said at last, "what is it, my pet? -How quiet you are! and you look quite sad." - -Her eyes filled with tears, and he was startled by the vehement passion -with which she spoke. "It is--because I love you so! I cannot help being -sad sometimes--Oh, Harry! Harry! I _do_ love you so!" and she put her -arms round his neck and began to sob. - -"You curious little pet!" he said tenderly. - -"Oh, Harry!--If I could only tell you my secret!--I wonder if you would -still love me, if you would ever forgive me, were you to discover it." - -"My darling! I thought we had settled that matter long ago. Really it is -very silly of you to worry yourself about it." - -"I cannot help it sometimes, Harry--but I will be good now, and think no -more about it," she said, smiling through her tears and kissing him. - -This was the one thorn in her happiness which still troubled her -occasionally. Now and then, some circumstance, such as her husband's -chance allusion to the elections on this occasion, would recall memories -of her dark past. She could not tell him all. It was true that she was -not deceiving him. He knew she had this secret, and he quite approved of -the scruples that forbade her to confide it to him. But yet--there was -this secret between them; and to her simple heart this was a terrible -thing to be. There should be nothing of this kind, she told herself, -between husband and wife. In her sensitive affection she imagined that -the existence of a secret could not but separate them, though it were by -an imperceptible distance only, that his love for her could not be quite -perfect so long as this one chamber of her mind had to be kept shut to -him. - -It was, perhaps, an unnecessarily morbid view to take of the matter, but -it caused her some painful reflection. However, it was but rarely that -even this small cloud came to mar the serenity of her life. - - * * * * * - -The happy summer had passed away, and autumn had come again. One -morning, after breakfast, Mary, who was in an exceptionally gay mood, -insisted on taking her husband by the hand and leading him into the -greenhouse, where she was about to gather the nosegay of flowers which -it was her custom to give him every day to carry with him in his -carriage on his round of visits. - -"What a shame!" she exclaimed as she plucked the sober-hued autumnal -blossoms. "The flowers that are out now are such dowdy-looking things. I -can't give you the bright-looking bouquets you used to like so much a -month or two ago, Harry." - -"Why, this is very nice, pet; look what rich colours your chrysanthemums -have! I often wonder how you manage to keep up such a brilliant show of -flowers here at all seasons. I believe it will be just the same in -mid-winter." - -"I shall try my best; but here is your bouquet all ready; so take it and -be off, sir," she said playfully. "You are late, the carriage has been -at the door these ten minutes." - -"Good-bye, dear!" he said taking the bouquet and kissing her, "I shall -be back early to-day." - -She stood still, watching the carriage with a wistful look in her eyes -as it drove down the road. "Ah! do I deserve such happiness as this?" -she said to herself with a sigh. She was about to return to the house -when she perceived the postman stop at the garden gate and drop some -letters into the box. "What a pity! Harry has just missed his letters," -she thought as she walked down the drive and took them out. - -There were two letters. She saw that one was addressed to her husband, -the other to herself. She looked at the last. It bore a London -post-mark. She at once recognised the dreaded hand-writing on the -envelope, and the colour left her cheeks. She knew that the woman who -penned that letter would not write to her save with the object of -inflicting pain. - -She opened it with trembling hands and read the contents. They were not -quite so ingeniously cruel as might have been expected from the author -of them: yet they were well calculated to seriously alarm the young -wife, and wake her from her dream of happy security. - - "DEAR MARY,--I write to warn you that you are in great danger. The - mouchards know all about a certain scheme. Some of the former - Sisters have blabbed. It has been falsely stated that you, Catherine - King, and myself are organising a new Society. There are certain - definite accusations against you which you will find it difficult to - disprove. It would be a good thing if you could go abroad for a - time. I warn and advise you, not because I love you, but because my - own safety depends on yours. There will be an exposure of all if you - neglect my advice. Above all, say nothing of this warning to your - husband. He must know nothing if he is questioned. Remember your - oath and the penalty. You are being watched. If you love your - husband you will be cautious and spare him _what may happen_." - -There was no address at the head of this letter, nor signature at the -foot of it, but there could be no doubt as to the identity of the -author. - -Susan Riley's first warning had been sent to Mary on that day when the -girl at last consented to become the doctor's wife. This was the second -warning, a malicious pack of falsehoods inspired by the sight of the -young wife's happy face in Regent Street. Susan Riley could not tell -whether Mary would place any credence in her alarming story; even if -that were the case, she hardly expected her to follow her advice and go -abroad; but she knew her letter could not fail to terrify and inflict -some mischief on her enemy, how much, chance would decide. - -Mary was glad that her husband was not by to observe the scared look -which she felt had come to her face. She could think this letter quietly -over by herself for some hours before she saw him again. - -She went into the drawing-room, and stood by the fire-place for some -time meditating, and unconsciously she tore the letter into minute -fragments and threw them one by one into the fire. - -She felt very miserable and frightened: but the danger instead of -paralysing her mind seemed to stimulate it at first, and she met the -blow bravely. She considered the matter over with a calm resolution -which astonished herself. - -She pondered what would be the right thing to do, the most Christian -course of action; for, as is the usual case with converts, religion was -a great reality to her now, a leading motive in her every deliberation, -even making her rather intolerant at times. She could not tell her -husband the contents of the letter without betraying her secret: that -she must not do for several reasons. Again, to fly abroad as Susan -suggested, was of course out of the question: besides, how could she -know that there was any truth in the statements of this wicked woman who -hated her so bitterly? - -Had there been an address to Susan's letter she would have written to -her for a more definite explanation of this danger which threatened her. - -She saw that her only course was to take no notice of the communication, -to wait and pray. - -But, in spite of her bravery, the cruel letter did its work. The -uncertainty, the vague suspense, was more than she could bear. That day -she excused her paleness and distraught air by saying she had a -headache; but the next day she was no better; and after a week she -shuddered as she felt that the shadow was slowly gathering once again to -veil the happy sunshine of her life. - -Her husband watched her with anxious eyes. "My poor darling!" he said -one day, "you are getting quite ill and pale again. We must take you to -the sea-side to bring the roses back to your cheeks." - -She put her head on his shoulders and burst into tears. - -"My dear little girl!" he said tenderly, as he stroked her hair, "what -is it? Is there anything that is making you unhappy?" - -But to his questionings she would only reply that she felt nervous, and -suffered from fearful dreams. This was the truth, though she concealed -the cause of the disease. - -There was one dream which occurred to her almost nightly, so full of -horror that she came to be afraid of going to bed, knowing what she was -to suffer. In this dream she found herself a prisoner at the Bar in a -dingy Law Court. She was on her trial as being an accomplice in an awful -crime. She looked around; and on the faces of the judge, and lawyers, -and jury, and witnesses, and lookers on, she saw only an intense -loathing expressed. No sympathy, no pity, hate alone was felt for the -abominable murderer of babies. Susan Riley, too, was standing in the -witness-box, her eyes glittering with malice, giving Queen's evidence, -nay, more, bearing false witness against her, weaving tissues of lies -around her that there was no disproving, cunningly making her to appear -more detestable a wretch than any criminal that had ever been tried -before in that accursed place through all its long annals of crime. And -her husband was there also, pale, haggard, his hair turned grey with -woe, his eyes cast down, not daring to raise them towards his guilty -wife. Oh, most horrible thing of all! even he, he whom she loved, -worshipped, turning away from her, disbelieving, despising, loathing -her! - -And then she would wake up with a start, with cries and tears, to find -her husband by her side, soothing her with loving words and fondling her -as she lay sobbing on his breast. - -She knew that she had an implacable enemy. She could not tell in what -way Susan would work her harm, but she was only too certain that the -malicious woman would do so to the utmost of her ability. The shadow -darkened around Mary as she waited for the blow to strike, not knowing -at what moment it might come. Yet how to prevent it! What to do! - -In a fortnight after the receipt of the letter, a great change had come -over her. All the innocent gladness had forsaken her. She wandered about -the house a pale and listless being, taking no interest in the pursuits -she once loved. Her great delight had been to take the green-house -completely under her care; she had been very proud of it, and would -allow no one else to interfere in its management. But now it made the -doctor's heart bleed to see its neglected condition, its melancholy show -of withered leaves that lay unswept, and faded blossoms on the untended -plants, a sure sad sign to him of the darkness that was coming to his -young wife's mind. - -It was in vain that he tried to discover the cause of this change: his -questions could elicit nothing from her. One evening towards the end of -this miserable fortnight, they were sitting together in the -drawing-room. He drew his chair close to hers, and after some -conversation in which he did his best to coax her with affectionate -words into her happy confiding mood of old, he said: - -"Mary, dear! I know that there is something on your mind, you are just -as you used to be in those sad days when I first knew you. You know I do -not wish you to tell me your secret: but there can be no harm in your -saying if your present trouble is connected with it in any way." - -She moved uneasily in her chair, as if afraid of his earnest gaze, and -replied with hesitation, "I don't know, Harry, I can't say. But there is -no good in talking about it. I shall grow out of this nervous state -again soon, I suppose." - -"But there _is_ good in talking about it. I want to understand what to -do with you, how to make my poor little pet happy again. Here you are, -getting sadder, and paler, and thinner, every day, and you will give me -no clue to all this. You will not allow me to help you. Do so, Mary, -please now! for my sake if not for your own. You don't know how -miserable I am all day thinking of you." - -"You promised not to ask me my secret," she replied in wretched accents. -"Besides," she continued in desperation "what is the matter with me now, -has nothing to do with my secret," and she could have bitten her tongue -out immediately afterwards that she had uttered the untruth. - -"Then _what_ is it?" he asked. - -"I don't know," she replied in a sullen voice. - -"My darling," he said sadly, "I don't think you are treating me quite -fairly." - -"Don't you believe what I say?" she said, half crying. - -"Mary! I did not imply or mean that, and you know it. It is my love for -you that makes me speak, and it is hard that you should reply to me as -if I was trying to extract some secret from you out of mere curiosity." - -"Oh, Harry! it will do me no good to worry me in this way. Please let us -change the conversation." - -She spoke in a pettish way, almost angrily, feeling the while bitterly -ashamed of herself, knowing that she was in the wrong. She hated herself -for having told a falsehood to her husband, and she revenged her misery -on him. It is the way of our poor human nature when we hate ourselves, -to torture those we love the most. - -He thought in silence for a few minutes and then said sadly, "I don't -understand you to-day, Mary; but I will ask you no more questions now." - -Here the conversation dropped and a painful silence followed. Both were -very miserable. It was the first approach to a quarrel that had occurred -between them, and though slight, was keenly felt by natures rendered -delicately sensitive by the great love that bound them together. - - * * * * * - -Dr. Duncan could not understand the change that had come over his wife. -He saw that some sorrow preyed upon her health, that she was not -suffering from mere bodily illness, though she would often impatiently -deny this. - -Occasionally he spoke to her in terms of mild annoyance. This stung her -to the quick; she would become moody, and sink into stubborn silence. - -Sometimes she would prevaricate when he questioned her, for her mental -and moral strength were gradually failing beneath the great strain. - -He perceived that her manner towards him was not sincere as of old. This -caused him great uneasiness. Vague suspicions that assumed no definite -shape crossed his mind, and by degrees a sort of estrangement really -sprang up between them. Not that they were less affectionate than -before; they were even more so, but by fits only, divided from each -other by periods of coolness felt instinctively rather than openly -shown, arising from mutual misunderstanding. - -A really serious secret existing between a husband and wife cannot fail -to bring about this result. It is more than can be expected from human -nature, that such a mystery should not call up some doubts, though to be -indignantly put away as soon as they have risen. But the doubts _did_ -rise and that was enough to work much mischief. - -So on one side there was the doubt, and on the other side, indignation -at being doubted, and shame, and sorrow, and dread foreboding. Susan -Riley's second warning did its work well, and had cast a shadow on the -happy home. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -AGAIN THE SHADOW. - - -But as time wore on, Dr. Duncan put away his suspicions, whatever they -might have been, and repented bitterly every unkind word he had -addressed to his little wife. His solicitude for her evidently failing -health made him more tender than he had ever been in his conduct towards -her. He determined that no harsh word or slightest coolness of manner -that might wound the delicate girl should escape him, however peevish or -unreasonable she should become. For a great fear was weighing on him, -lest her mind was on the eve of a still deeper darkening than before. He -did all that he could to render her life cheerful, to make her -surroundings bright and changing; but all seemed of no avail; the shadow -was ever deepening; a pathetic melancholy possessed her which there was -no dispelling. - -At last he made a discovery which still more increased his anxious care. - -His wife was about to make him a father. - -He now humoured her every whim, and finding that his presence exercised -a most soothing effect upon her, he devoted to her all the time he -possibly could, attending to her with a loving watchfulness that did -doubtlessly keep off the terrible calamity with which she was -threatened. - -She herself was conscious of this--she felt, when he was by her, that -the brightness of his love stood between her and the impending shadow, -hiding it for the time. - -But when alone she would weep miserably at the awful fancies which she -could not drive away. The shadow was gradually, daily, surrounding her. -She felt that soon it would close in altogether upon her--she would be -mad--there was but a slight partition to break down, and then her mind -would die. - -The long silence of Susan Riley terrified her. She knew that an evil eye -was ever watching an opportunity for her destruction, and in her -monomania--for her terror of the woman amounted to this--she attributed -impossible powers of mischief to her malignant hate. - -She had received two warnings from her enemy already, and she felt an -intuition, a certain conviction, which she could not reason away, that -there would be a _third_--that a last, cruellest blow would be struck -which would prove fatal to her; and she would kneel down in her room and -pray in tears and agony that the blow might strike herself alone, and -not her husband and the little babe that was to be soon born into the -world. - -To her it seemed unnatural and dreadful that she who had once so nearly -been a killer of babes should become a mother. Was it--she thought--the -just vengeance of God that was about to visit her? Was she to have a -child, only that it might be torn from her at once, only that her -punishment might be the more severe in its remorse-awaking appositeness -to her crime! - -She remembered that first warning, that letter in which Susan had -written, "_I'll stand as fairy godmother to your baby_," underlining the -ominous sentence. These words seemed now full of fearful meaning; they -were never out of her mind; and she could always see them before her -standing out in characters of blood. "She is capable even of that," she -thought with horror, as the idea of a fiendish revenge occurred to her. - -Shortly before her confinement, she suffered from an extreme agitation. -She felt that the whole world was about to slip away from her. "And what -will happen to my baby," she said to herself, "if I go mad and cannot -protect it? No! I must not go mad! O God! give me strength against -madness. She will take my innocent babe away if I am not there to -watch." - -In her fear for her unborn child, she thought of breaking her oath and -telling her husband all; then she reflected that to do this would be of -no avail. What could she tell him?--that the Secret Society to which she -had belonged had been formed for a certain object; that the Society had -broken up. That was all--what definite accusation could she make against -anyone? She had no reason for imagining that Susan Riley was plotting -her destruction, except that a strong, instinctive voice told her so. If -she confided this to her husband, he would merely regard her dread as a -species of insane delusion. No! better far to preserve her secret, and -endeavour to shield her child by other means. - -So one night she came up to the chair on which her husband was sitting, -and placing herself at his feet, she seized his hands and looked -earnestly into his face. - -"Harry!" she said, "I have something very important to ask you." - -"What is it, my pet?" - -"You will not laugh at me or think me foolish?" - -"Why, Mary! you know I will not do so, especially when your poor little -face looks so serious as it does now." - -"Yes! but, Harry," she persisted, "I know you _will_ think me foolish; -you will imagine that I have got some delusion into my head when you -hear what I have to say." - -"Well, let us hear what it is, darling," he said, kissing her. - -"Harry, if--if--anything happens to me, what will become of my baby?" - -He looked puzzled, not understanding the drift of her question, so -replied: "My dear Mary, you must not take it into your head that you are -going to be ill." - -"Yes! but _if_ I am," she continued, anxiously--"if I am, who will take -care of my baby?" - -"My dear child, don't worry yourself about such a matter as that. -Supposing even that you were ill, there are such things as trustworthy -nurses to be found, I suppose." - -"Never!" she almost shrieked in her excitement, as she tightened her -clasp of his hands. "Never, oh, never! You don't know--you don't know! -Harry, if I am ill, send for your sister's nurse--I can trust her. But -you must promise me that no strange nurse--no other nurse but that -one--comes into this house. I should go mad--I should die, if I thought -that there was any chance of your doing so. Oh, Harry! you will kill me -if you won't grant me this. I tell you you will kill me and your child, -too." - -"My darling! my poor little darling! do not be so agitated. I will -promise you this. Calm yourself, Mary; you can rely on me to carry out -all your wishes." - -"That is it! I must feel that I can rely on you or I shall die. Do not -promise me this merely to humour me, Harry--to humour what you think is -a morbid fancy. When I am lying ill, dear, I must feel that friends are -watching my baby as I would myself. Oh, Harry! if I could only tell -you--if I could only tell you! This is not a mere fancy--I know that -there is a great peril before us, and I do not know whether we can -escape it." - -She wrung her hands as she uttered these last words in accents of wild -anguish; then pausing, she looked into his eyes for a few moments and -continued, earnestly: "Harry, I see in your face that you do not believe -this: you think that I am merely crazed and nervous. For God's sake, put -that idea out of your mind. Oh, if I could tell you! and yet what could -I tell you? I don't myself know yet what is the danger, or whence it is -coming." - -She burst into hysterical tears and hid her face in her hands. - -"Mary, dear," her husband said in earnest tones as he folded her in his -arms; "my dear little wife, I promise to you, whatever opinions I may -hold about this fear of yours, that no one shall go near our baby except -my sister and her own children's nurse, if you are ill. No strange -servants shall be allowed to enter this house. You can be quite sure, -dear, that I will do what I say." - -"Thank you, Harry! Ah! I know I can rely upon you now. What a weight you -have taken off my mind!" She paused a moment and shuddered as she began -to speak again in an awed voice. "Oh, husband! I dreamt last night that -I was so ill. They had to take my baby away from me; and a woman who -hates me came up, and they gave my baby to her to nurse. She took it in -her arms and smiled at me--such a smile of triumphant malice! I knew -then that my baby would die, I knew that she would kill it; but I could -not tell you, I could not warn you. I lay there on the bed, so very ill, -so weak, that I could not move even a finger. I tried to scream out, but -no voice would come. I lay there and saw my child being carried off to -perish, and a word would have saved him, and I could not utter it. Oh, -it was awful!" Her brow knitted, and her gaze seemed to turn inwards as -she recalled that dreadful vision. "But, Harry!" she continued -anxiously, "remember that it is not because of dreams and delusions that -I fear for my baby. There is a real danger. Oh, it is horrible that I -cannot explain it all to you!" - -He soothed her mind; and she felt satisfied that, were she to be ill, -and were it found necessary to take her baby from her, her husband would -keep off all approach of the danger she feared, even as much as if he -himself believed in its reality. - - * * * * * - -Mary's fears, though exaggerated by ill-health, were far from being -without foundation; for Susan Riley was now possessed by the one idea -how to gratify her fierce lust of vengeance against the girl who had -stood in her way and thwarted her plans. She discovered where Mary -lived, and she made it almost a practice to walk to St. John's Wood -every Sunday, so that, herself unseen, she could observe her enemy -coming out of church. - -On the Sunday that followed the sending of her second warning, Susan -waited in this manner outside the church-door, and her keen eye detected -on the face of Mary a shade that had not been there before. It was clear -to her that the letter had made the young wife unhappy; she noticed how -pale and thin the face was becoming again; so she returned to her -cigar-shop with a light and exultant heart, encouraged by her success to -ponder over a more deadly attack. - -A month or so after this, an illness compelled Susan to abandon these -visits to St John's Wood for some time. - -When she was recovered she started one Sunday morning to the church -door, anxious to see what change might have come over Mary during those -weeks. - -It was a bitterly cold day towards the end of winter. A keen north-east -wind was blowing. Occasional strong squalls accompanied by stinging -sleet rushed down the dreary streets; but yet Susan, with the energy of -hate, walked all the way, and posted herself as usual on a path among -the grey grave-stones, to await the coming out of the Duncans from the -church. - -She had to wait long, for in her eagerness she had arrived much too -early. She walked up and down the frozen gravel-path, reading the -inscriptions on the grave-stones, stamping her feet to keep them warm, -and listening impatiently to the sounds of alternate chanting, reading -and hymn-singing, that issued from the building. Then there came, what -appeared to her outside the church to be a long silence. This, she knew, -must be the sermon. - -"Curse that parson! How long he is with his Firstly, Secondly, -Thirdly!" she muttered to herself. "When _will_ he come to his Lastly? -Ah! there is the final hymn at last. Now for the collection, and the -respectable crowd will pour out to their early Sunday dinners. We will -see what you look like now, Mrs. Henry Duncan. If you look happy, I must -find something to check your joy without delay." - -But Susan was to be disappointed this day. She stood by the side of the -path, her thick veil drawn over her face to prevent recognition, and -watched all the congregation as they came out. But she saw neither Dr. -Duncan nor his wife. This puzzled her a good deal, for she knew that -Mary had become very regular in her attendance at church. - -She went there again on the following Sunday, and then she saw Dr. -Duncan come out alone at the conclusion of the service. She longed to go -up to him and learn what was the cause of his wife's absence, but she -felt afraid of the doctor, and did not relish the idea of confronting -him. - -But she carefully scanned his face, and thought she could read much -anxiety on it. "I suppose Mary is ill," she pondered, "I wonder what it -is, but I will soon find that out." - -A few days afterwards, the wind having changed, the weather became -delightfully mild and pleasant. It was the birthday of the young spring, -a glorious sunny morning, when Susan, who had been fretting herself with -curiosity, at last made up her mind to take a bold step. She would call -at the doctor's house on some pretence or other when he was out, and -discover what had happened to Mary. - -As usual she went on foot. Her route lay through the Regent's Park. She -was passing along a path, bordered by tall shrubberies, meditating on -what she was about to do, on what she should say to Mary in case they -met, when she perceived two women walking slowly towards her who -evidently bore the relation to each other of mistress and maid. - -When they approached nearer, she recognised in the mistress the very -woman she was seeking--Yes! there could be no doubt about it--she had -found her enemy at last. - -There was a seat in a little recess among the bushes. Susan went to it -and sat down, concealing her face as much as possible, but closely -watching Mary as she went by. Susan saw that Mary walked on with a step -that seemed mechanical, as if she was not conscious of what she was -doing, or where she was. She looked neither to the right nor to the -left, her eyes were directed to the ground. She did not address or -notice in any way her companion, and appeared as one wholly absorbed by -a hopeless melancholy. - -"Why, she must have gone mad again!" thought Susan, and an -incontrollable desire seized her to rise from her seat and address her -victim--to satisfy herself as to the correctness of the suspicion. She -was just on the point of following the impulse--Mary was now close by -her--when an astonished look came suddenly to her face; she sank again -upon the seat and sat still, allowing the two women to pass out of sight -without disclosing her identity. - -Then having recovered from her surprise, she laughed to herself. "Oh! -that is the matter with you, my lady, is it? What a fool I must be not -to have suspected that before. So I shall have to carry out my promise -about acting as fairy god-mother soon, shall I?" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -THE THIRD WARNING. - - -Susan saw that her opportunity had arrived. She conceived the devilish -plan of striking another blow at Mary, while she was in the sensitive -condition of approaching maternity. - -So maddened by her hate was this woman that she even thought of gaining -access to her enemy's baby when it was born, and stealing it from her, -or, perhaps, killing it; but she dismissed this as too perilous to be -practicable; for her malice had not made her altogether reckless of -consequences. - -She felt that there must be some other method as sure, though free from -danger to herself, by which she might attack the mind of Mary with a -sudden shock from which she could never recover. But how to carry out -this design? To write another letter was out of the question. Susan -Riley dared not commit to writing the venom with which she determined to -complete her work. - -Time passed by and she felt greatly disgusted with herself that she had -so far been unable to devise anything. All her ingenuity could not -discover a means of satisfying her hate, tempered as it was by -cowardice. - -One morning she read the announcement of the birth of Mary's child in -the papers--"The wife of Dr. H. Duncan of a son." The words seemed to -burn themselves into her brain. - -So entirely was she the slave of her mania of hate that she now -neglected her business and employed the greater portion of each day in -watching the home in St. John's Wood. - -She did not herself question the doctor's servants, as it might stand in -the way of future plans to be recognized by them, but she discovered -several shops at which the family dealt, and would go into these under -the pretext of buying some small article, and elicit a good deal of -information by means of casual inquiries about Mrs. Duncan. - -She learnt that Mary was "doing well, but suffering from great -weakness." - -There was one old woman who kept a newspaper shop. She was very fond of -a gossip with a customer, and was also wont to take a deep interest in -all her neighbours' affairs, prying assiduously into them whenever -possible. - -Susan had soon discovered these useful traits in the old woman's -character, so often called on her with the object of sounding her. - -One day, about a week after the birth of Mary's child, Susan went into -the shop and purchased a copy of _The Guardian_ newspaper. - -"Good morning, Mrs. Harris," she said, "I have not seen you for some -days; I hope you are well." - -"As well as can be expected, Miss, in this world of misery and trouble." - -"Why, Mrs. Harris, I should not have thought that the world was using -you very hardly. But I suppose when one is a sympathetic soul like you, -ever thinking over other people's woes, one gets through a good deal of -suffering by proxy." - -Mrs. Harris hardly understood the meaning of the words, certainly not -the sarcastic drift of them, but took them as a complimentary tribute to -the tenderness of her heart; so she shook her curls slowly backwards and -forwards and looked mournful. - -"Ah yes, Miss!" she said, "I really do think that I take as much -interest in other peoples' sorrows as in my own." - -"As a true Christian should," replied Susan, biting her lips to conceal -the smile she could scarcely keep down. "I noticed how feelingly you -spoke about that poor lady who had the baby the other day--the doctor's -wife--Mrs. Duncan I think her name was. How is she getting on now, by -the way, Mrs. Harris--have you heard?" - -"Poor thing! Poor thing!" said the old lady in a lackadaisical voice, -putting on a very solemn expression and shaking her corkscrew curls -again. - -"Is she worse then?" asked Susan. - -"No, no! It is not that--at least not exactly that. I believe that her -confinement has passed by in a very satisfactory way; but--" and she -shook her head yet once again in a mysterious fashion. - -"I do not quite understand you," observed Susan. - -"If I were a gossip, which I am glad to say I am not," spoke up Mrs. -Harris in deliberate tones, "I might say strange things about that -house." - -"Good gracious! what _do_ you mean?" - -"Her husband is a popular man hereabouts it is true--but--" and Mrs. -Harris shut her mouth with a snap, as if determined to say no more. - -"You don't mean to say that her husband ill-treats her!" - -"No, Miss! I don't exactly say that, I don't know that he does. All I -say is that it is very, very strange, but I'd rather say nothing more -about it, Miss." - -Susan made no further remark just then, but proceeded to select and -purchase a few copies of _The Family Herald_; she knew that if she -waited a little longer, the old lady's gossiping instincts would compel -her to tell all her story, even without any questioning. - -"Do you think, Miss," Mrs. Harris recommenced at last, "that a lady with -everything she can have in the way of comfort around her, could get pale -and melancholy and hardly ever speak a word to anyone for weeks, -without any reason at all?" - -"No, I should think not--that is unless she is becoming mad," replied -Susan. - -"Now that's exactly it, Miss! _Is_ she becoming mad, or is she -ill-treated by her husband--it's one or the other--now which is it?" - -"Did you say that they quarrelled?" - -"I have spoken with the servants--they come over here to get a paper now -and again. _They_ say there never was a kinder husband than the -doctor--but they can't tell--it may be all his deceit like. I once read -of a husband--he was a doctor too--and his wife began to ail; she got -paler and thinner and weaker every day. He pretended to love her so -much, and was so concerned about her, and he nursed her himself, and -allowed none but himself to prepare her food. Well do you know, Miss, at -last she died--and what do you think was discovered afterwards?" At this -point of her narrative she put on her spectacles and looked steadfastly -at Susan. - -"I really cannot imagine--what was it?" - -"He had been poisoning her all the time for her money--There!" whispered -Mrs. Harris in a melo-dramatic voice. - -"Dear me! how shocking! you make my flesh creep. And do you really think -that this Dr. Duncan is doing the same?" asked Susan, much amused at the -old woman's folly. - -"No, no, Miss, don't go away and think I believe that," Mrs. Harris -exclaimed in alarm; "all I say is that it's strange--very strange -indeed." - -"And what do the servants think about it?" - -"They think that there's something wrong here," and she tapped her -forehead. "The maid says she's got the horrors like. She's very afraid -about her baby; she seems to think that there's some harm coming to it; -she won't let it out of her sight, and when anyone comes into the room, -she starts and trembles fearful. They say, Miss, that it's just as if -she had a delusion that everyone wanted to murder the child. Now that -ain't natural like, allowing for all a mother's affection." - -"It is indeed very strange," said Susan musingly; "but I must not waste -your time any longer, Mrs. Harris--I am a sad gossip. Good morning to -you, I will see you again soon." - -So this was Mary's vulnerable point. Susan had suspected as much. She -fancied that it would not be very difficult to make use of this extreme -anxiety of the mother for her child. - -As she came out of the shop she noticed an old woman, shabbily dressed -in black and much bent with age, tottering feebly along the pavement on -the opposite side of the street with a large basket on her arm. - -Had Susan kept her eyes as open as usual during these expeditions to St. -John's Wood, she would have observed, before this, that she herself was -not the only person who was acting the detective round Dr. Duncan's -house. On nearly every occasion that she had come to the neighbourhood, -the shabby old woman had been there too, dogging her footsteps, watching -her movements unsuspected, spying the spy. - -Susan had contrived to discover that Dr. Duncan was in the habit every -Saturday of visiting a patient who lived a considerable way out of -London. Failing, as I have said, with all her cleverness, to mature a -definite plan of action, she determined to risk all, and call boldly on -Mary while her husband was away on the following Saturday. - -She had a great confidence in her luck; she felt that something would -turn up to favour her purpose, if she once gained admittance into the -house. Knowing Mary as she did, she considered that it would not be -difficult to terrify her again into her former crazed state. - -For a few days prior to her contemplated visit Susan was very fidgety; -so to occupy her mind and prevent it from dwelling too anxiously on the -perils of her task, she employed herself in a way which was peculiarly -congenial and interesting to her. She set to work to forge as well as -she was able--and she succeeded very fairly--a variety of documents; -some purported to be letters from Catherine King, and other members of -the late Secret Society; there were copies too of imaginary warrants for -the arrest of unknown persons, whose appearance was carefully described. -All these pointed to a great danger which threatened those who had been -connected with the Sisterhood, especially Mary Duncan. There were other -papers too which tended to show that the members of the Society -attributed their peril to the treason of one of their number--clearly -Mary--who was accused of having made certain disclosures to the -authorities. They were alarming documents, intended to prove clearly -that the young mother was suspected by both sides, was being hunted down -by both the police and by her old associates. - -Susan would laugh to herself as she completed each of these works of -art, and would look at them with no small pride. "I wonder if she will -be fool enough to swallow all this?" she asked herself. "And yet why -not? If she does believe in them, she will see that one course only is -left to her--to fly from England, to desert her husband and her child, -so as not to bring disgrace upon their heads. I believe I am on the -right track at last. Ah! Susie, you have not forgotten your cunning -after all!" - -At last the fatal Saturday arrived, and she started for St. John's Wood, -armed with her papers, intending to show some, all, or none of them, to -Mary, exactly as circumstances should make expedient. - -She prowled about in the neighbourhood of the house, till she saw the -doctor go out. She followed him to the railway station and satisfied -herself that he had started; but she did not observe that the shabby old -woman with the basket was following her also, though at a long distance, -never losing sight of her. - -Susan walked back to the doctor's house, reaching it about ten minutes -after he had left it, and rang the bell. - -The housemaid opened the door. - -"How is Mrs. Duncan to-day? I have called to see her," Susan said. - -"Mrs. Duncan is very ill, ma'am, and she is not allowed to see anyone." - -"Oh! but it is all right," Susan explained, "I am Mrs. Duncan's oldest -friend. I have just met the doctor on my way here. He would have come -back with me; but he said he had no time to do so, as he was obliged to -catch the train to P----" - -"Did Dr. Duncan know that you wished to see my mistress, ma'am?" - -"Indeed he did. He particularly asked me to see Mary--Mrs. Duncan I -mean, he thinks it will do her good. Will you kindly tell your mistress -that Mrs. Riley has called to see her, that the doctor has sent me to -see her. Kindly tell her also that I have some news of great importance -to communicate to her." - -The girl hesitated. She had received strict injunctions to admit no -visitors to her mistress. But she could scarcely discredit the statement -of this lady, who, she reasoned, must certainly have conversed with the -doctor on his way, else she could not have known his destination. - -But then she remembered that Dr. Duncan had enjoined her not to take any -letter or message to his wife under any circumstances whatever, so she -replied: "It is very difficult for me, ma'am, to do as you wish. I have -received such strict orders from my master not to carry any message from -anyone to my mistress. Could you not call to-morrow, ma'am, when my -master will be here." - -"You stupid girl!" exclaimed Susan angrily, "do you not understand me? I -tell you I have just seen your master; he knows that I am going to call -on your mistress. Do you disbelieve my word?" - -"No, ma'am, but--" - -"But! But what?" - -"I don't exactly know, ma'am, but--" the girl stammered, looking very -confused and red, then suddenly her face brightened, and she exclaimed, -"Ah! here is the nurse, ma'am; I will ask her about it." - -For at that moment a comely-looking strong country girl came out of a -door leading into the hall, carrying a little white bundle in her arms. - -"Ah!" cried Susan, "is that dear Mrs. Duncan's little boy? Do let me see -it!" - -There could be no harm in allowing the strange lady to see the baby for -a moment, at any rate, so the proud nurse drew back the clothes and -disclosed a little sleeping face. - -Susan felt her veins tingle with an excitement, the meaning of which she -could not herself understand, as she approached and looked at the -innocent features. - -"Mary's child," she said, "Mary's child; dear me, how strange!" and she -stooped to kiss him, as she knew it was her bounden duty to do, if she -did not wish to offend the nurse beyond pardon, and so prejudice her -chance of seeing the mother. - -But just as her lips were about to touch the soft cheek, a sudden -surprised cry from the housemaid made her raise her head again. - -Then her cowardly spirit failed her, and she looked aghast at what was -before her, motionless, save for the tremor that shook her frame. - -A form more like a ghost than a living woman was hurrying down the -stairs towards her, with arms outstretched, a form that seemed to glide -rather than run, so evidently unconscious was its motion. - -Clad merely in her white bed-clothes, with face as white as they, the -mother was rushing to save her babe. Her expression was one of fixed -intense horror; her lips were apart, her eyes dilated, but she spoke no -word. She flew to the nurse and snatched her infant into her arms, -pressing it against her breast, palpitating with her frightful emotion. - -She stood erect and firm, but trembling in every limb, staring at Susan -with the same fixed look. Her white throat rose and fell convulsively -with the choking sensations that prevented her from speaking. - -She stood thus an awful image for many minutes, the frightened servants -gazing at her open-mouthed, not knowing what to do. At last she spoke; -she raised her arm, and pointing at Susan, cried in a voice that did not -sound like her own, so strange and hollow it was, "Go! Go!" - -Susan hesitated, and seemed to be about to speak, when the mother made a -step towards her, with so menacing a gesture, with such fury in her -eyes--altogether so different a being from the timid girl of old--that -Susan was quite cowed, and lost her presence of mind. She shrank back -and tried to smile, but she could not manage it; the grin as of a wild -beast at bay, full of rage and mortal fear, was the only result. - -"Go!" cried the mother again. - -Susan felt that she was beaten, she could do no more, she looked round -at the group, and then without a word slunk out of the door, which the -housemaid, recovering her presence of mind, slammed indignantly behind -her. - - * * * * * - -Mary hurried upstairs with the baby, saying nothing, and went into her -bed-room, the two women following, full of simple sympathy, yet knowing -not how to show it. - -Then to their astonishment the poor mother, with frantic haste, yet with -tender care, pulled the clothes off her child, and laid him on the bed. -With an eager anxiety that was painful to see, she examined all the -little body, dreading lest she should find the small spot which showed -that the accursed instrument of the Sisterhood had done its work. - -But there was nothing to be seen. "Oh, my God! I thank Thee, I thank -Thee. Oh, my God! My Christ," she cried, incoherently, as she fell -weeping on the child, covering it with passionate kisses. Then she rose -and said wildly, "Jane! Jane! please look and see that there is no -mark--no wound--nothing. I cannot see, my eyes are so dim. Please look -carefully, and make quite, quite certain of it." - -The nurse, thinking to humour her poor crazed mistress, pretended to -examine the baby, though her own eyes were really as dim with tears as -were the mother's. "No, ma'am, I assure you that there is nothing at -all--nothing. The little darling is all right; but now you must go to -bed, poor dear; you will be very ill if you don't. For your little -baby's sake go to bed, and try and rest." - -Mary, now as docile as a child, allowed herself to be put into her bed, -and sobbed herself asleep--a broken slumber full of frightful dreams, -from which she awoke into as painful a delirium. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -THE LAST OF SUSAN RILEY. - - -When Susan was outside Dr. Duncan's house, she walked away rapidly, -careless whither, cursing and hating herself and all the world besides, -in the sense of the ignominious manner of her failure in her plans. - -She was not yet fifty yards from the house, when she perceived, hobbling -towards her along the pavement, the same stooping, shabby, old woman -whom she had observed near Mrs. Harris's shop a few days previously. - -In her irritable mood, Susan would not move aside for the old creature, -but pushed roughly against her as she passed. - -But to her surprise, the apparently feeble hag, instead of reeling -aside, or even falling, as she had half expected her to do, suddenly -extended her hand and seized Susan by the arm with so firm and nervous a -grip that it stopped her short, notwithstanding the speed at which she -was walking. Susan turned round fiercely to face her, and then was -astonished to see every sign of decrepitude disappear from the woman who -held her. The stooping back straightened; the hands no longer trembled -with the weakness of extreme old age; it was a tall, middle-aged woman -who stood erect before her; and she recognized the stern, pale face of -Catherine King, whose eyes were looking intently into hers as if reading -her inmost thoughts. - -Unnerved by her recent discomfiture, Susan shrank beneath the strong -grasp and keen eye of her former Chief, and was too startled by her -unexpected appearance to speak a word. - -These few months had worked a great change in the features of Catherine -King. She appeared much older; her hair was much whiter; and though her -eye had lost little of its old fire, the light in it was unnatural as of -fever, and there were several signs about her to indicate that some slow -but fatal disease had taken hold of her. - -She was indeed broken-hearted. She had lost Mary and the Scheme--the -only two affections in the whole world for her; so she had gone away, as -a wounded wild beast does, to die alone in some out-of-the-way spot in -the wilderness of London where no one knew her. When she changed her -residence, she left behind her no clue by which she might be traced. She -avoided even her one faithful friend, Sister Eliza, whose society was -now painful to her for the memories it called up--a standing reproach. - -For a few moments Catherine King looked into Susan's face, a bitter -smile playing on her lips the while, then she addressed her. - -"And what are you doing in this part of the world, my old associate?" - -"That is my business, Mrs. King, and not yours," hissed out Susan. - -"Indeed, Sister Susan! I am not so sure of that," said Catherine, -quietly. "But I have not come down here to argue with you, but to give -you certain orders which you will have to obey." - -"Orders! from you!--obey you! Why, you must be mad!" - -"You think so!" continued Catherine, as quietly as ever. "Well, to begin -with, I know why you have been down here so much lately. I know whom you -are hunting down." - -"Catherine King! too much learning has made you mad!" exclaimed Susan, -with a derisive laugh which could not conceal the uneasiness she really -felt. - -"Mad, perhaps; but not so mad that I cannot put a stop--and at once, -too--to all this plotting of yours, Sister Susan." - -"I have no fear of you now, Mrs. King, I can assure you." - -"But you have of the gallows." - -"It strikes me that those same gallows would have to string you up as -well, O my accomplice! O great centre of the Sisterhood!" replied Susan -with a bow, and in tones of mock politeness. - -Catherine looked at her contemptuously and said, "I am not a coward like -you. Do you imagine that fear of death would deter me from anything? -Life has nothing for me now. I tell you, woman! that if I was to be -hanged to-morrow, the knowledge would trouble me far less than the -discovery of one new grey hair in your head, or of one fresh wrinkle on -your face, would trouble you. I may tell you that I _am_ dying. An -incurable disease of the heart is hurrying me to the grave; and it is -sweet to me to know this, I am so weary of this world. But enough of -that--you know me by this time. Now, Susan Riley, I intend to prevent -you from carrying out your scheme of vengeance against that girl. I warn -you to desist, or I shall have to make matters very unpleasant for you." - -Susan here made a gesture of impatience, and withdrawing herself from -Catherine's grasp, commenced to walk down the road. The Chief let her -go, but walked by the side of her and continued: "Very well, Sister -Susan, we will walk on if you like it better. Certainly we will attract -less attention than if we stand discussing in one spot--not that I care -who sees, or even overhears us, for that matter." - -"Be quick, then, and let me hear what you have to say--then leave me," -said Susan, in a sullen voice. - -"That is exactly what I intend to do. I shall leave you as soon as I -have brought you to reason. Now mark me, Susan Riley! I intend to call -on Dr. Duncan to-morrow. I shall tell him all about the Society--that -is, all that is necessary for my purpose--and without endangering -anyone. I shall also tell him all your history, and acquaint him of your -plots against his wife." - -"And hang yourself as well as me!" - -"Not necessarily. Dr. Duncan will not make use of his information except -in self-defence. He will not molest you unless you become dangerous to -him." - -"Traitor that you are and mad-woman!" cried Susan, passionately, "What -are you doing? You inveigled us all into this precious scheme of yours, -and then betrayed us on account of this miserable hysterical girl. And -now--" - -"Stop!" interrupted Catherine, sternly, "I never betrayed you. I would -not sanction an unnecessary assassination; on this you all deserted me. -But the work you are engaged on now is in no way connected with the -Society, you are merely satisfying your private malice. I have been -watching you for some time, Sister Susan; and I intend to take the sting -out of you before I leave you to-day." - -"I do not fear you," replied Susan with a forced carelessness of manner. -"You have no hold upon me. Now come, Sister Catherine! after all, what -could you prove against me that could do me much injury? Why, absolutely -nothing!" - -"So you think that, do you? so you defy my power!" said Catherine with -the same quiet smile of assurance that had made Susan's heart sink -before. "Well! I shall have to go into details, that is all. Now, listen -to what I have to say, Susan! I am quite aware that little could be made -out of your connection with the Society, seeing that we never carried -our scheme into action, save on one occasion, by the way, I think you -had something to do with that, a barrister was it not? Private malice -was not the least of your motives then, too." She paused and seemed to -enjoy the sight of Susan's blanching face. "But let that matter pass. It -would be difficult to bring that home to you." - -"Impossible," said Susan, recovering a little of her courage. - -"I think you are right," went on Catherine in the same calm voice, "I am -not so foolish as to threaten you with that charge; but I will go on to -other little doings of yours which I imagine will be more to the -purpose." - -Susan looked up and felt all her courage ooze out again when she read -the expression on her companion's face. She felt that Catherine was -playing with her as a cat plays with a mouse, certain of being able to -secure her prey when the fancy takes her to extend her claw. - -The woman spoke again, but now in stern and earnest tones. - -"Now, look you, Sister Susan; when you first came to us, I saw what sort -of a woman you were. I knew that you might be of great service to us; I -felt you might also prove to be exceedingly dangerous to us. Do you -think I should have been so foolish as to admit you to the Inner Circle -before I had carefully inquired into all your antecedents? Do you -imagine that I did not make myself acquainted with your most secret -history first? At all events, I gathered sufficient to satisfy myself -that I could hold you in my power when necessity should demand it. I -knew you had claws, so, before I would entrust our secrets to you, I -learnt how to clip those claws, in case they ever showed themselves. I -can prove all that I know, too. I can hang you, Miss Susan, for a very -old crime committed long before you knew us." - -She stood still, and facing Susan, continued in a louder voice than she -had hitherto employed, "I know all about something that occurred in the -little cottage near Bath. Do you remember the incident? Do you -understand me, or shall I be more explicit?" - -Susan started, and looked uneasily around her. She could not mask her -terror now. Could Catherine King, indeed, know that black secret, which -she had fondly imagined her own soul alone possessed? She said to -herself it was impossible. How could Catherine have found _that_ out? -So she tried to smile, and determined to brazen it out. - -Catherine, who was scrutinizing her face, read the expression of it. So -she came close to her and whispered into her ear for nearly a minute. - -Susan caught every damning word of the story of her ancient crime, and -her livid face and twitching lips confessed to her guilt. - -Her accuser stepped back a few paces and smiled as she read the effects -of the communication on the cowardly features, then she spoke again, -this time aloud: - -"Now, remember this, Susan Riley. If you ever again approach Mary -Duncan--if you write letters to her, or annoy her in the slightest or -most indirect manner--Scotland Yard shall know your little secret. Dr. -Duncan shall know it to-morrow. He will use it to defend his wife, if -you ever dare to renew your malicious cowardly attacks. You understand -me, don't you?" - -"I am not a fool," answered Susan in a voice choking with vain spite. - -"And I have something more to say, you must leave London within four -days. You must never return to it, nor come within a hundred miles of -it. You will be closely watched. Remember that there is a mightier -Society than the one you were initiated into; a Society of which you -know nothing, though ours was in reality but a branch of it. It is a -Society that has a myriad eyes, and a myriad secret weapons which it can -use well against traitors. Remember that you have committed one of the -greatest crimes that a member of a Secret Society can commit. You -prostituted the methods of political execution to private malice, when -you murdered the barrister Hudson. This has been marked down against -you. You will have now to obey my orders; and take care that you do not -slip again. Wherever you are, your every action will be watched, you -cannot escape. Why, fool! you little guessed that we have known all your -doings for the last many years; your secret thoughts were hardly hidden -from us. Now you have received your orders; will you obey them?" - -Susan did not reply for some time; she hung down her head as she -pondered over it all. She did not wish Catherine to see her face on -which she felt that the anguish of defeat was too plainly written. All -her brazen effrontery had vanished now. She knew that she could not -fight longer against the heavy odds that were opposed to her. At last -having succeeded in smothering her feelings to some extent, she replied -to Catherine's question in a dogged voice, - -"I must yield to the force of circumstances; I will go away from -London." - -"Very good!" said Catherine, "I will now leave you. We will never meet -again. I cannot wish you a farewell--it would be a vain wish, for you -will never know happiness again. I almost pity you sometimes--poor -wretch! With that unfortunate temperament of yours, what a Hell you will -make to yourself, and carry about with you in your mind wherever you go, -now that you are getting old and ugly, now that those transitory joys -which were your only joys have forsaken you! Your bitterest enemy could -not wish you a more terrible retribution for your many sins. I almost -think it would be a mercy to put you out of your agony at once, to hand -you over to the police now." - -She paused and looked into Susan's face, which was fixed in a strange -half vacant stare, as if she were in a sort of cataleptic state. - -"You don't look well. Ah, yes! I remember. You have already had two -epileptic fits have you not, Susan? The strain of your amusements and -your hates is telling on your nervous system. I suspect that that death -in life in which the live mind burns in agony out of the dead body is -not far from you, Susan. Poor butterfly! your summer day is over. Your -wings are even now faded and no longer beautiful; they will draggle -impotently by your side soon, no longer able to carry you out into the -delight of the sunshine. There will be no more sunshine for you, but -cold darkness and biting pains. I must leave you now, wishing you a -speedy release, and in the meantime do not forget your orders." - -Catherine turned from her and walked away: but Susan did not move. -Catherine took one glance over her shoulders as she went, and she saw -that the fixed expression had not left Susan's face; the wretched woman -was standing motionless and speechless, heedless of the sharp wind of -March that swept by her; but two large tears were now hanging from her -eyes. Catherine saw them and was touched. It was indeed so strange a -thing to see tears in _those_ eyes! and her heart smote her as she -walked home, and she reproached herself that she had allowed herself to -be carried away in the rage of victory to trample so ungenerously on a -fallen foe, and inflict needless torture on one sufficiently punished. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -PEACE. - - -When Dr. Duncan returned home, he found his wife suffering from a -nervous fever, and in a delirious condition. The servants told him in -what way it had been produced--how a lady who gave the name of Mrs. -Riley had called at the house, representing that he had sent her; how -Mary had heard her voice from upstairs, had hurried down and ordered her -to go, exhibiting extreme agitation; and had been ill ever since. He -closely cross-examined the two women who had been present at the -interview, and learnt every detail of it; and it was perhaps well for -Susan Riley that she was not by, so transported he was with grief and -rage. - -He watched by the side of his wife all the night, and on the following -day, which was Sunday, he perceived that the crisis was past. But she -was still delirious, starting up wildly at times to cry out that her -baby had been murdered, and not being satisfied when it was even brought -in and shown her. - -Dr. Duncan began to suspect that there must be some cause in facts at -the bottom of this fancy, that it was something more than the delusion -of an unhinged brain; so he carefully listened to every word she dropped -in her delirium, hoping to gather some clue to the mystery, which might -enable him to take definite action against these enemies of his wife, -and for once and all, remove the weight of terror from her mind. He -determined that he would find out what this secret of hers was, what -was this dread which was goading her to madness. To begin with, he -would put detectives on the track of this Mrs. Riley--he would spare no -pains or expense to discover whether Mary was the victim of a mania or -of a foul conspiracy; he would no longer remain in this state of -perplexity as to which it was. - -On Sunday afternoon Mary fell into a refreshing sleep. Her husband sat -by her bedside hour after hour watching and thinking over the problem -which he had set himself to solve. - -At last she woke with a sudden cry and looked round her with a puzzled -frightened expression. Then her eyes met his, and a softer look came -into them. She stretched out her arms feebly towards him and said in low -half conscious tones, her mind still wandering, "Kiss me, Harry, dear;" -he kissed her--she closed her eyes and continued in an intermittent -dreamy way, "My love! my love! how delicious to be with you again after -so long, so long--going through the green fields hand in hand with you -plucking the pretty flowers. Ah! you told me of all this happiness in -those dark old days in horrible London; but I never thought they would -come. Do not let me go back there! Do not leave me, Harry! I am afraid!" -She looked wildly around the room as she uttered the last words. - -"Of what, my poor little pet?" he said, clasping her in his arms. "See, -I am with you--there is no cause to be afraid." - -"Ah! but, dear, I am afraid of all this great happiness--something will -happen. See even now how clouded it is getting, and the green grass and -the flowers are turning black and withering--and, oh! all those dead -leaves whirling about! But I will not be afraid, I am with you. How nice -to be in the fields once more with you and baby--and baby--baby! O God!" -she started up in the bed, her eyes dilated and staring in a horrible -fashion. "O God, my baby! oh, they have taken away my baby--Harry! -Harry! where is my baby? She has got him at last, yes, she--that woman -there--Susan Riley! Ah, my baby!" and her awful cry rang through the -house and was even heard in the street, so that passers-by stopped and -turned pale at the agony of it. "Oh, my beautiful baby! oh, give me back -my baby! Pity me, Susan, I kneel before you--kill me--torture me in any -way, but spare my baby! What have you done with him? Oh, do not smile -that cruel smile--what do you mean? Oh, murderess! murderess!" - -The very extremity of her anguish prevented its continuance. After this -paroxysm she appeared dazed and was quiet for some time, then her mind -commenced to wander in other channels. "Mrs. King! mother! do not look -so coldly at me. Pity your poor little girl! you used to love me once. I -have not betrayed you, mother. I have never breathed the secret that was -killing me, even to my husband. I have given you my life." - -Then she closed her eyes for a few minutes. She opened them again and -looked wistfully at her husband. "Harry, kiss me--am I so ugly, dear? I -think they have cut off all my hair; but they said I was ugly before -that. Mrs. Grimm used to say I was ugly; but you don't think so, do you, -dear?" - -The man put his lips to hers and his tears fell on her cheek, he could -not keep them back. Then her eyes lit up with a beautiful light of great -love. "Kiss me once more, dear--I am dying; one last sweet kiss from you -just as I am dying. I will die as you kiss, die in your dear arms, -Harry," and she stretched out her hands to him. - -He clasped her softly in his arms and kissed her hot brow. She lay there -with a contented smile on her lips, her eyes closed, and in a few -moments she fell into a deep tranquil sleep. - -He did not move his arm away lest he should disturb her, and nearly an -hour passed, and his heart became light within him, as he saw that the -danger was passing, that in all probability she would awake refreshed -and calm, with a sound mind. - -At last there came a gentle tap at the door, and the nurse entered. - -"Please, Dr. Duncan," she said, "there is a lady downstairs who has -called to see you. I told her that you were engaged--as you ordered--but -she will not go: she said she must see you, that her business is of the -utmost importance." - -"Tell her that I cannot possibly see her just now," whispered the -doctor. - -The woman went out but returned in a minute or so. - -"Has she not gone?" he asked, an angry look on his face. - -"No, sir! she won't go; she says she will wait for you till you can see -her." - -"What name did she give?" - -"She wouldn't give her name, sir," replied the nurse, "she says you must -see her, that she has come on a matter of life and death. She says that -what she has to tell you is a secret that affects Mrs. Duncan." The -woman hesitated as she continued, "She told me to tell you, sir, that -she can save Mrs. Duncan's life. I think she is crazy, sir; but she -looks as if she were very much in earnest." - -The doctor pondered for a few moments, then seeing that his wife was -still in a profound sleep, he drew his arm gently from under her head, -and after whispering to the nurse to remain there until he returned, he -noiselessly left the room. - -On entering the study he saw Catherine King standing by the fire-place, -erect as of old, but with a face deadly pale. - -His brain had been rendered irritable by his anxious watching, and as -soon as he beheld her a great rage seized him. He said to himself that -it was this woman and her crew that had tortured, maddened his little -wife: and now she, the worst of all, had even dared to beard him within -his own doors. - -Scarcely knowing what he did, he approached her, his arm doubled -menacingly, and trembling with passion. - -"What are you doing here, woman?" he cried. "Another of the accursed -brood! Out, or I shall forget myself--out, I say! But no! stay here! you -shall not go out," he went to the door, locked it and put the key in his -pocket. "You will have to tell me what all this means before I let you -go, Mrs. King." - -"That is exactly what I have come here to do, Dr. Duncan," she replied -quietly. She was standing firmly and proudly, meeting his furious look -with a calm sad eye in which there was no wrath or fear, but a great -pity. - -He saw that look, and in spite of his strong prejudice against her, he -felt the sympathy of it, so he checked himself and stood still, gazing -at her with an expression of doubt and wonder on his face. - -She spoke again: "Dr. Duncan, you will understand me soon. You -altogether mistake my intentions now, and no great wonder is it that you -do. Dr. Duncan, believe me, I have come to save your wife, to bring her -happiness back to her, to make reparation for a great wrong, before I -die." - -He looked at her face and clearly perceived the signs of fatal illness -on the passion-lined features. He was touched. He felt that the woman -was speaking the truth; he imagined that he might be wrong after all in -his suspicions of her--she might have come as a friend and not as a foe. - -"Take this chair, Mrs. King," he said kindly. "You look very tired. I -apologize for my ungentlemanly rudeness, but I am off my head almost -with worry and anxiety. I am very glad you have come. You can throw some -light on all this. I must tell you"--and he scanned her face earnestly -as he spoke--"that certain circumstances have made me suspect that you -have something to do with the cause of my wife's illness." - -"I have all to do with your wife's illness. I am the cause of it," -Catherine replied, meeting his eye fearlessly. "Dr. Duncan, I have much -to say to you. I will help you to understand Mary's illness. I will -teach you how to ward off all danger from her for the future, and I will -bring peace to her mind." - -She placed her hand to her heart, as if in pain, and looked so ill that -he exclaimed, "Mrs. King, you are seriously ill--you must not excite -yourself--speak quietly, I entreat you." - -"I know that--I am dying; but I have come to save Mary's life." - -She dwelt lovingly on the beloved syllables of the girl's name, and she -closed her eyes for a moment to shut out the present, as the picture of -the old happy days, when her darling lived with her, rose to her memory. - -Seeing how weak she was and how weary were her tones, he mixed her a -draught to ease the labouring of the strained heart and persuaded her to -drink it. - -"I feel better now," she said with a sigh of relief. "Doctor,"--she then -continued quickly as if in fear that something might occur to prevent -her from completing the long explanations which was before her. "Dr. -Duncan, your wife has a secret--she cannot tell it you--it is this that -troubles her." - -"It is so." - -"I will tell it to you." - -He drew a chair to the table opposite to her, and leaning his head on -his hand gazed into her face, as he listened to her narrative with so -intense an attention, that he found himself holding his breath at times -lest his own heart should beat too loudly, and he should miss one word. - -Then she told him the whole strange story from the beginning to the -end--of her scheme--its failure--of her love for Mary--of her intention -to kill the girl--of her repentance at the last moment--of Susan and her -crimes and plots--she omitted nothing. - -When she had come to the end of it she said, "Now you know all. I -dragged poor Mary into this against her will. I loved her, yet I would -have destroyed her. The only wish I have left now in the world is to -make atonement, to take away all this weight from her, and make her life -happy. You may not believe me, but it matters not--I care not--if I can -only save her." - -But Dr. Duncan did believe her. He listened to her and he understood all -now. He pitied the brave and generous, though misguided woman before -him. In his joy at what he had heard, he forgave her everything for her -great unselfish love for his darling. A crowd of thoughts rushed across -his mind. He recalled many remarks of his wife that corroborated this -story. He remembered how she had ever expressed love and admiration for -Catherine King. Yes, this was the Secret!--and what did all this -confession of Catherine mean to him? Why! that his wife had not been the -victim of delusion--that she was not drifting as he so much feared, into -some terrible and incurable form of insanity. Her fears had been but too -reasonable--and now it needed but a few words to clear the shadow from -her mind for ever! All this trouble was over now. In the excess of his -delight he could bear no ill-will to the bringer of such good tidings, -he could not reason calmly about her crimes and errors. - -He rose from his chair, and approaching Catherine he seized her hand and -said with a deep emotion, "Mrs. King, I have misjudged you. In spite of -all you have confessed, I believe that you are a good--a noble woman. I -should like you to consider me as your friend." - -She took his proffered hand without saying a word. He continued, "Ah! -Mrs. King, you have told me what will save my darling's life. How can I -thank you sufficiently?" - -"You can do one thing for me," she replied anxiously. - -"What is it?" - -She clasped her hands together. "Oh, Dr. Duncan!" she cried imploringly, -"let me see her sometimes. I must be vile in her sight, and you too must -hate me, though you speak so kindly. But I will do you no more harm--you -know that. I nearly brought her to ruin; but you need not fear me now. -Oh, Dr. Duncan! you do not know how I love her, how my heart yearns -after her--you yourself do not love her more. I cannot live much -longer--you can see that yourself. Let me see her now and then during -the short remainder of my life! For your God's sake be merciful to me; -have pity on me and grant me this thing!" - -"Mrs. King, believe me, when I tell you that I bear you no ill-will -whatever, very much the reverse indeed; and Mary has always spoken of -you in terms of the deepest affection. If all goes well now, as I fully -expect it will, you may come as often as you like to see Mary, and you -will be really welcome. I shall be very glad if you will call to-morrow -afternoon. By that time I shall have told Mary all; and I think she will -be well enough to see you." - -"Thank you very much, Dr. Duncan!" said Catherine simply, but with a -grasp of his hand that fully expressed the depth of her gratitude. "I -will go now and I will come again to-morrow afternoon." - - * * * * * - -When Mary woke she found her husband sitting by her bedside, with the -light of such a great joy in his eyes, that a glad wonder at once came -into her own. She felt that some very happy thing must have come to -pass, and she raised herself in the bed, and, taking his hand in hers, -she gazed expectantly into his face. - -"Mary, I have some very good news indeed for you," he said gently but -very earnestly. - -"I knew it! I knew it!" she exclaimed, trembling violently. - -"Mary, can you bear to hear it now?--how do you feel?" - -"Oh, now--now!" she cried vehemently. "Tell it to me now, at once, -before I go away again. Oh! Harry--you don't understand--sometimes the -whole world seems to slip away from me. I feel as if my soul was being -carried right away into some dark place--and I leave memory and love and -everything but sensation behind me--I cannot think then, Harry. Tell me -quick, for I can understand now. Tell me at once, or the darkness will -come again, and it will be too late!" - -"My darling! my darling! The darkness will never come to you again. -Mary, dear, listen to me. I know your secret, and your enemies can never -trouble you more." - -She passed her hand across her brow several times, then said in a feeble -puzzled voice, "You cannot know all, or you would hate me." - -"I do know all, and I love you more than ever!" he exclaimed -passionately as he put his arms about her and kissed her. - -She hid her head on his breast and sobbed in the fulness of her great -joy. - -"Mary," he continued, "you need no longer fear Susan Riley's plots. She -will never molest you again. And who do you think is the friend who has -saved us? It is Mrs. King--she is coming to see you to-morrow." - -Gradually he told her all that Catherine King had revealed to him. At -first she could not bring herself to believe that this was more than a -very happy dream; she feared she would awake again soon and find herself -in the presence of the shadow. But before he left her, she had realized -all that had happened on that day; and with tears and inarticulate -prayers of gratitude to the God who had not deserted her, she relieved -her o'er-wrought spirit, until a sweet sleep closed her weary eyes. - - * * * * * - -Catherine King called as she had promised on the following afternoon. -"How is she? Shall I be able to see her?" she asked anxiously, as soon -as the doctor came into the room. - -"Mary is very much better. Indeed there is very little the matter with -her now," he replied. "But I wish to say a few words to you before we go -upstairs. Mrs. King, I have had a long talk with Mary about you. My dear -friend!--I hope you will allow me to call you that now--we have decided -that you are to stay with us; you must live here with Mary. She insists -on it. You know how she loves you--it will be cruel of you to refuse. It -has been settled that you are not to leave us even this night. The -weather is very bad, and you are too ill to be out in it. Indeed you -must be looked after. A room has been got ready for you, and to-morrow -you can give up your lodgings. No! No refusal! I am your doctor now, and -my orders are peremptory. You will be happy yet and live long with us." - -She shook her head and smiled. "I will not trouble you long. But oh, Dr. -Duncan!" and she stooped and kissed his hand in the fervour of her -gratitude, "I thank you from my heart for what you have done this day. -Oh, generous man! I have not deserved this kindness. I have done much -wrong to Mary and you, and yet you forgive me like this. Ah! if a dying -woman's true gratitude be of any good, you indeed have it now." - -Catherine followed the doctor upstairs. Mary was slightly hysterical at -first with the excitement of the meeting. She put her arms round -Catherine's neck and cried, "Oh, mother! dear mother! You too! you too! -and I loved you so. But you have forgiven me now, and you will not hurt -my baby, my poor little baby!" - -Catherine wept. Her heart had been softened by her lonely misery of the -last few months--she wept, and stooping she kissed Mary's forehead and -said, "My darling, I will love your baby, even as I love you." - - * * * * * - -Mary soon entirely recovered her health. This was her last shock. The -terror was no more, the shadow had disappeared for ever; and the -knowledge that there was now no secret between her husband and herself, -removed the last cloud from her mind. She went through life with him -along a smoother way, a happy wife and mother. - -But Catherine's health grew rapidly worse. Soon she was confined to her -bed, peacefully, painlessly, fading away, and Mary nursed her. - -Her last days were made even delicious to her by the love of her two -friends. She was very happy in that she had saved Mary, happier than she -had ever been before--even in the old time when she had been drunk with -the glory of her visionary scheme. She had learned at last that highest, -intensest of pleasures--self-sacrifice for those we love. No shadow came -across the glory of those last bright days. She was so grateful, so full -of love, so peacefully happy, and at last she died even as a saint might -have died with Mary by her side. - -The noble, erring soul had gone to find Divine mercy. Her last words -were, as she turned her eyes to Mary with a wistful look, "Mary! I feel -that I know nothing about it, it is all a mystery. But it may be that -there is another world, the other side--pray for me, Mary! pray for me! -I cannot pray for myself; for if there is another world I do so want to -meet you again there, my darling! my darling! but it is all a -mystery--all a mystery. Kiss me, Mary!" - -The funeral of Mrs. King took place on one wild winter's day. Dr. Duncan -accompanied it as the only mourner. But on reaching the cemetery he -perceived there a woman dressed in black and closely veiled. - -She stood by the grave as the coffin was being lowered, and was -evidently weeping bitterly. - -He wondered who she could be, but she carefully concealed her face, and -went away without disclosing her identity. - -It was the boarding-house keeper of Bayswater, Sister Eliza, of the -Secret Society, who, after much vain search, had only two days before -discovered where her beloved Chief had gone. - - -THE END. - - - * * * * * - - - - 42, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND, - MAY, 1885. - -_VIZETELLY & CO.'S NEW BOOKS, AND NEW EDITIONS._ - -[Illustration] - - -_Second Edition, in Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, price 12s. 6d._ - -A JOURNEY DUE SOUTH; - -TRAVELS IN SEARCH OF SUNSHINE. - -BY GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. - -ILLUSTRATED WITH 16 FULL-PAGE ENGRAVINGS BY VARIOUS ARTISTS. - -CONTENTS:-- - - I.--A Few Hours in the Delightful City. - II.--Life at Marseilles. - III.--Southern Fare and Bouillabaisse. - IV.--Nice and its Nefarious Neighbour. - V.--Quite Another Nice. - VI.--From Nice to Bastia. - VII.--On Shore at Bastia. - VIII.--The Diligence come to Life again. - IX.--Sunday at Ajaccio. - X.--The Hotel too soon. - XI.--The House in St. Charles Street, Ajaccio. - XII.--A Winter City. - XIII.--Genoa the Superb: the City of the Leaning Tower. - XIV.--Austere Bologna. - XV.--A Day of the Dead. - XVI.--Venice Preserved. - XVII.--The Two Romes. I. The Old. - XVIII.--The Two Romes. II. The New. - XIX.--The Two Romes. II. The New (_cont._). - XX.--The Roman Season. - XXI.--In the Vatican: Mosaics. - XXII.--With the Trappists in the Campagna. - XXIII.--From Naples to Pompeii. - XXIV.--The Show of a Long-Buried Past. - XXV.--The "Movimento" of Naples. - XXVI.--In the Shade. - XXVII.--Spring Time in Paris. - XXVIII.--"To All the Glories of France." - XXIX.--Le Roi Soleil and La Belle Bourbonnaise. - XXX.--A Queen's Plaything. - - - -IMPORTANT NEW WORK BY THE AUTHOR OF "SIDE LIGHTS ON ENGLISH SOCIETY." - -_Two Vols. large Post 8vo, attractively bound, price 25s._ - -UNDER THE LENS: - -_SOCIAL PHOTOGRAPHS._ - -BY E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY. - -_ILLUSTRATED WITH ABOUT 300 ENGRAVINGS BY WELL-KNOWN ARTISTS._ - - -CONTENTS OF VOL. I. - -=JILTS:=--Mrs. Pinkerton--A Western County Belle--Zoe, Lady Tryon--An -Inconsolable Jilt--A Jilted Drysalter--Love and Pickles--An -Entr'acte--Mrs. Prago and Miss Daisy Caunter--A Widow with a Nice Little -Estate--An Unmercenary Pair of Jilts. - -=ADVENTURERS AND ADVENTURESSES:=--Of the Genus Generally--Matrimonial -Adventurers--The Joint Stock Company Chairman--A Financial Adventurer--A -Professional Greek--The Countess D'Orenbarre--Lady Goldsworth--Mirabel -Hildacourse--Lily Gore--Bella Martingale--Pious Mrs. Palmhold--Mrs. -Decoy--Mrs. Lawkins. - -=PUBLIC SCHOOLBOYS AND UNDERGRADUATES:=--Drawbacks of Eton--Of Various -Eton Boys--Rugby and Rugbeians--Harrow, Winchester, Westminster--Oxford -Undergraduates--University Discipline--Sporting and Athletic -Undergraduates--Reading and Religious Undergraduates. - - -CONTENTS OF VOL. II. - -=SPENDTHRIFTS:=--Prefatory--The Gambletons--Lord Charles Innynges--Lord -Luke Poer--Lord Rottenham--Lord Barker--The Marquis of Malplaquet--The -Lords Lumber--Sir Calling Earley--Tommy Dabble--Dicky Duff. - -=HONORABLE GENTLEMEN (M.P.'s):=--Preliminary--Erudite Members--Crotchety -Members--Free Lances--The Irish Contingent--Very Noble M.P.'s--Money -Bags--Beery M.P.'s--Workingmen M.P.'s--Party Leaders--A Seatless Member. - -=SOME WOMEN I HAVE KNOWN:=--An Ex-Beauty--Miss Jenny--Mademoiselle -Sylvie--Miss Rose--Madame de l'Esbrouffe-Tourbillon. - -=ROUGHS OF HIGH AND LOW DEGREE:=--How Roughs are Made--The Nobleman -Rough--The Foreign Garrison Rough--The Clerical Rough--The Legal -Rough--Medical Roughs--The Rough Flirt--The Wife-Beating Rough--Vandal -Roughs--The Tourist Rough--The Nautical Rough--The Professional -Bruiser--The Low-Class Rough--Women Roughs. - - "Brilliant, highly-coloured sketches ... contains beyond doubt some - of the best writing that has come from Mr. Grenville-Murray's - pen."--_St. James's Gazette._ - - "Limned audaciously, unsparingly, and with much ability."--_World._ - - "Distinguished by their pitiless fidelity to nature."--_Society._ - - "Extremely personal. The author, brilliant as were his parts, - appears to have laboured under a delusion which obliged him to - mistake personal abuse for satire, and ill-nature for moral - indignation."--_Athenæum._ - - "Some of Mr. Murray's trenchant blows do real service to the cause - of public morality and order."--_Daily Telegraph._ - - "Includes unvarnished portraits of various characters who have made - a flutter in recent times in this little world of ours."--_Vanity - Fair._ - -[Illustration: THE MISSES D'ORENBARRE EXHIBIT THEIR AVERSION TO FAT MEN -AND SMOKERS: _from_ "_UNDER THE LENS_."] - - - -VIZETELLY'S ONE-VOLUME NOVELS. - -_In Crown 8vo, good readable type, and attractive binding, price 6s. -each._ - - "The idea of publishing cheap one-volume novels is a good one, and - we wish the series every success."--_Saturday Review._ - - The Book that made M. Ohnet's reputation, and was crowned by the - French Academy. - - -PRINCE SERGE PANINE. - -BY GEORGES OHNET. - -AUTHOR OF "THE IRONMASTER." - -TRANSLATED, without Abridgment, from the 110TH FRENCH EDITION. - - -MR. BUTLER'S WARD. - -BY MABEL ROBINSON. - - "A charming book, poetically conceived, and worked out with - tenderness and insight."--_Athenæum._ - - "The heroine is a very happy conception, a beautiful creation whose - affecting history is treated with much delicacy, sympathy, and - command of all that is touching."--_Illustrated News._ - - "'Mr. Butler's Ward' is of exceptional merit and interest as a first - novel.... All the characters are new to fiction, and the author is - to be congratulated on having made so full and original a haul out - of the supposed to be exhausted waters of modern society.... A - writer who can at the outset write such admirable sense and - transform the results of much minute observation into so pathetic - and tender a whole, takes at once a high position."--_Graphic._ - - -THE CORSARS; OR, LOVE AND LUCRE. - -BY JOHN HILL. - -AUTHOR OF "THE WATERS OF MARAH," "SALLY," &C. - - "It is indubitable that Mr. Hill has produced a strong and lively - novel, full of story, character, situations, murder, gold mines, - excursions, and alarms. The book is so rich in promise that we hope - to receive some day from Mr. Hill a romance which will win every - vote."--_Saturday Review._ - - -COUNTESS SARAH. - -BY GEORGES OHNET. - -AUTHOR OF "THE IRONMASTER." - -TRANSLATED, WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT, FROM THE 118TH FRENCH EDITION. - - "The book contains some very powerful situations and first-rate - character studies."--_Whitehall Review._ - - -BETWEEN MIDNIGHT AND DAWN. - -BY INA L. CASSILIS. - -AUTHOR OF "SOCIETY'S QUEEN," "STRANGELY WOOED: STRANGELY WON," &C. - - -NUMA ROUMESTAN; OR, JOY ABROAD AND GRIEF AT HOME. - -BY ALPHONSE DAUDET. - -TRANSLATED BY MRS. J. G. LAYARD. - - "'Numa Roumestan' is a masterpiece; it is really a perfect work; it - has no fault, no weakness. It is a compact and harmonious - whole."--MR. HENRY JAMES. - - -A MUMMER'S WIFE. A REALISTIC NOVEL. - -BY GEORGE MOORE, Author of "A Modern Lover." - - "A striking book, different in tone from current English fiction. - The woman's character is a very powerful study."--_Athenæum._ - - "'A Mummer's Wife,' in virtue of its vividness of presentation and - real literary skill, may be regarded as in some degree a - representative example of the work of a literary school that has of - late years attracted to itself a good deal of the notoriety which is - a very useful substitute for fame."--_Spectator._ - - "'A Mummer's Wife' holds at present a unique position among English - novels. It is a conspicuous success of its kind."--_Graphic._ - - -THE FORKED TONGUE. - -BY R. LANGSTAFF DE HAVILLAND, M.A. - -AUTHOR OF "ENSLAVED," &C. - - -THE THREATENING EYE. - -BY E. F. KNIGHT. - -AUTHOR OF "A CRUISE IN THE FALCON." - - -_In Large Crown 8vo, beautifully printed on toned paper, and handsomely -bound, with gilt edges, price 7s. 6d., suitable in every way for a -present,_ - -An Illustrated Edition of M. Ohnet's Celebrated Novel, - -THE IRONMASTER; OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. - -TRANSLATED FROM THE 146th FRENCH EDITION AND CONTAINING 42 FULL-PAGE -ENGRAVINGS BY FRENCH ARTISTS, PRINTED SEPARATE FROM THE TEXT. - - "M. Georges Ohnet's 'Ironmaster' has proved the greatest literary - success in any language of recent times, the author having already - realised £12,000 from the French edition of the work." - -"The Ironmaster" is published in small 8vo, without the Illustrations, -price 3s. 6d. - - -_Second Edition, in small 8vo, price 3s. 6d._ - -A MODERN LOVER. - -BY GEORGE MOORE. AUTHOR OF "A MUMMER'S WIFE." - - -_In small 8vo, price 3s. 6d._ - -CAROLINE BAUER AND THE COBURGS. - -FROM THE GERMAN. - -ILLUSTRATED with TWO carefully engraved PORTRAITS of CAROLINE BAUER. - - "Caroline Bauer's name became in a mysterious and almost tragic - manner connected with those of two men highly esteemed and well - remembered in England--Prince Leopold of Coburg, the husband and - widower of Princess Charlotte, afterwards first King of the - Belgians, and his nephew, Prince Albert's trusty friend and adviser, - Baron Stockmar."--_The Times._ - - "Caroline Bauer was rather hardly used in her lifetime, but she - certainly contrived to take a very exemplary revenge. People who - offended her are gibbeted in one of the most fascinating books that - has appeared for a long time. Nothing essential escaped her eye, and - she could describe as well as she could observe. She lived in - England when George IV. and his remarkable Court were conducting - themselves after their manner, and she collected about as pretty a - set of scandals as ever was seen."--_Vanity Fair._ - - - -[Illustration] - -_Fourth Edition, in Post 8vo, handsomely bound, price 7s. 6d._ - -SIDE-LIGHTS ON ENGLISH SOCIETY: - -Sketches from Life, Social and Satirical. - -BY E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY. - -_ILLUSTRATED WITH NEARLY 300 CHARACTERISTIC ENGRAVINGS._ - -CONTENTS:--I. FLIRTS. II. ON HER BRITANNIC MAJESTY'S SERVICE. III. -SEMI-DETACHED WIVES. IV. NOBLE LORDS. V. YOUNG WIDOWS. VI. OUR SILVERED -YOUTH, OR NOBLE OLD BOYS. - - "This is a startling book. The volume is expensively and elaborately - got up; the writing is bitter, unsparing, and extremely - clever."--_Vanity Fair._ - - "Mr. Grenville-Murray sparkles very steadily throughout the present - volume, and puts to excellent use his incomparable knowledge of life - and manners, of men and cities, of appearances and facts. Of his - several descants upon English types, I shall only remark that they - are brilliantly and dashingly written, curious as to their matter, - and admirably readable."--_Truth._ - - "No one can question the brilliancy of the sketches, nor affirm that - 'Side-Lights' is aught but a fascinating book.... The book is - destined to make a great noise in the world."--_Whitehall Review._ - - -_Second Edition, with Frontispiece and Vignette, price 5s._ - -HIGH LIFE IN FRANCE UNDER THE REPUBLIC: - -SOCIAL AND SATIRICAL SKETCHES IN PARIS AND THE PROVINCES. - -BY E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY. - -AUTHOR OF "SIDE-LIGHTS ON ENGLISH SOCIETY," &C. - - "Take this book as it stands, with the limitations imposed upon its - author by circumstances, and it will be found very enjoyable.... The - volume is studded with shrewd observations on French life at the - present day."--_Spectator._ - - "A very clever and entertaining series of social and satirical - sketches, almost French in their point and vivacity."--_Contemporary - Review._ - - -_In Large Post 8vo, cloth gilt, price 9s._ - -IMPRISONED IN A SPANISH CONVENT: - -AN ENGLISH GIRL'S EXPERIENCES. - -BY E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY. - -ILLUSTRATED WITH PAGE AND OTHER ENGRAVINGS. - -[Illustration: THE RICH WIDOW (reduced from the original engraving).] - - -_Second Edition, in large 8vo, handsomely bound, with gilt edges, price -10s. 6d._ - -PEOPLE I HAVE MET. - -BY E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY. - -_Illustrated with 54 tinted Page Engravings, from Designs by FRED. -BARNARD._ - -CONTENTS:-- - - The Old Earl. - The Dowager. - The Family Solicitor. - The College Don. - The Rich Widow. - The Ornamental Director. - The Old Maid. - The Rector. - The Curate. - The Governess. - The Tutor. - The Promising Son. - The Favourite Daughter. - The Squire. - The Doctor. - The Retired Colonel. - The Chaperon. - The Usurer. - The Spendthrift. - Le Nouveau Riche. - The Maiden Aunt. - The Bachelor. - The Younger Son. - The Grandmother. - The Newspaper Editor. - The Butler. - The Devotee. - - "Mr. Grenville-Murray's pages sparkle with cleverness and with a - shrewd wit, caustic or cynical at times, but by no means excluding a - due appreciation of the softer virtues of women and the sterner - excellences of men. The talent of the artist (Mr. Barnard) is akin - to that of the author, and the result of the combination is a book - that, once taken up, can hardly be laid down until the last page is - perused."--_Spectator._ - -=An Edition of "PEOPLE I HAVE MET" is published in small 8vo, with -Sixteen Illustrations, price 6s.= - - - -_In Crown 8vo, price 5s._ - -DUTCH PICTURES, and PICTURES DONE WITH A QUILL. - -_Illustrated with a Frontispiece and other Page Engravings._ - -FORMING THE FIRST VOLUME OF THE - -CHOICER MISCELLANEOUS WORKS OF GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. - -A SMALL NUMBER OF COPIES OF THE ABOVE WORK HAVE BEEN PRINTED IN DEMY -OCTAVO, ON HAND-MADE PAPER, WITH THE ILLUSTRATIONS ON INDIA PAPER -MOUNTED. - -_The Graphic_ remarks: "We have received a sumptuous new edition of Mr. -G. A. Sala's well-known 'Dutch Pictures.' It is printed on rough paper, -and is enriched with many admirable illustrations." - - [Illustration: A BUCK OF THE REGENCY: _from "DUTCH PICTURES."_ - - "Mr. Sala's best work has in it something of Montaigne, a great deal - of Charles Lamb--made deeper and broader--and not a little of Lamb's - model, the accomplished and quaint Sir Thomas Brown. These 'Dutch - Pictures' and 'Pictures Done With a Quill' should be placed - alongside Oliver Wendell Holmes's inimitable budgets of friendly - gossip and Thackeray's 'Roundabout Papers.' They display to - perfection the quick eye, good taste, and ready hand of the born - essayist--they are never tiresome."--_Daily Telegraph._] - - - -_Uniform with the above Volume_, - -UNDER THE SUN. - -ESSAYS MAINLY WRITTEN IN HOT COUNTRIES. - -BY GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. - -_Illustrated with an etched Portrait of the Author, and various Page -Engravings._ - - - -_In One Volume, Demy 8vo, 560 pages, price 12s., the FIFTH EDITION of_ - -AMERICA REVISITED, - -From the Bay of New York to the Gulf of Mexico, and from Lake Michigan -to the Pacific; - -INCLUDING A SOJOURN AMONG THE MORMONS IN SALT LAKE CITY. - -BY GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. - -ILLUSTRATED WITH NEARLY 400 ENGRAVINGS. - -CONTENTS. - - Outward Bound. - Thanksgiving Day in New York. - Transformation of New York. - All the Fun of the Fair. - A Morning with Justice. - On the Cars. - Fashion and Food in New York. - The Monumental City. - Baltimore come to Life again. - The Great Grant "Boom." - A Philadelphian Babel. - At the Continental. - Christmas and the New Year. - On to Richmond. - Still on to Richmond. - In Richmond. - Genial Richmond. - In the Tombs--and out of them. - Prosperous Augusta. - The City of many Cows. - A Pantomime in the South. - Arrogant Atlanta. - The Crescent City. - On Canal Street. - In Jackson Square. - A Southern Parliament. - Sunday in New Orleans. - The Carnival Booming. - The Carnival Booms. - Going West. - The Wonderful Prairie City. - The Home of the Setting Sun. - At Omaha. - The Road to Eldorado. - Still on the Road to Eldorado. - At Last. - Aspects of 'Frisco. - China Town. - The Drama in China Town. - Scenes in China Town. - China Town by Night. - From 'Frisco to Salt Lake City. - Down among the Mormons. - The Stock-yards of Chicago. - -[Illustration: "It was like your imperence to come smouchin' round here, -looking after de white folks' washin."] - - "In 'America Revisited' Mr. Sala is seen at his very best; better - even than in his Paris book, more evenly genial and gay, and with a - fresher subject to handle."--_World._ - - "Mr. Sala's good stories lie thick as plums in a pudding throughout - this handsome work."--_Pall Mall Gazette._ - - "A new book of travel by Mr. Sala is sure to be welcome. He - possesses the happy knack of adorning whatever he touches, and of - finding something worth telling when traversing beaten - ground."--_Athenæum._ - - "A pleasant day may be spent with this book. Open where you will you - find kindly chat and pleasant description. The illustrations are - admirable."--_Vanity Fair._ - - "As for the style of this entertaining and lively book, it is - exactly what we should have expected. The writer is full of life, - observation, and swiftness to seize upon salient and characteristic - points. His description of the Chinese quarter of San Francisco may - be strongly commended."--_Saturday Review._ - - "This brilliant work possesses an irresistible charm, difficult to - define indeed, but none the less delightful. Reading it is like - listening to a good talker--the usual slightly wearisome sense of - reading is effaced by the vivaciousness of the style in which the - cleverest _feuilletoniste_ of the day has narrated his experiences - on the occasion of his last visit to America."--_Morning Post._ - - "'America Revisited' is bright, lively, and amusing. We doubt - whether Mr. Sala could be dull even if he tried."--_Globe._ - - - -[Illustration] - -_Seventh Edition, in Crown 8vo, 558 pages, attractively bound, price 3s. -6d., or gilt at the side and with gilt edges, 5s._ - -PARIS HERSELF AGAIN. - -BY GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. - -WITH 350 CHARACTERISTIC ILLUSTRATIONS BY FRENCH ARTISTS. - - "The author's 'round-about' chapters are as animated as they are - varied and sympathetic, for few Englishmen have the French _verve_ - like Mr. Sala, or so light a touch on congenial subjects. He has - stores of out-of-the-way information, a very many-sided gift of - appreciation, with a singularly tenacious memory, and on subjects - like those in his present work he is at his best."--_The Times._ - - "Most amusing letters they are, with clever little pictures - scattered so profusely through the solid volume that it would be - difficult to prick the edges with a pin at any point without coming - upon one or more. Few writers can rival Mr. Sala's fertility of - illustration and ever ready command of lively comment."--_Daily - News._ - - "'Paris Herself Again' furnishes a happy illustration of the - attractiveness of Mr. Sala's style and the fertility of his - resources. For those who do and those who do not know Paris these - volumes contain a fund of instruction and amusement."--_Saturday - Review._ - - "This book is one of the most readable that has appeared for many a - day. Few Englishmen know so much of old and modern Paris as Mr. - Sala. Endowed with a facility to extract humour from every phase of - the world's stage, and blessed with a wondrous store of recondite - lore, he outdoes himself when he deals with a city like Paris that - he knows so well, and that affords such an opportunity for his - pen."--_Truth._ - - "'Paris Herself Again' is infinitely more amusing than most novels, - and will give you information which you can turn to advantage, and - innumerable anecdotes for the dinner-table and the smoking-room. - There is no style so chatty and so unwearying as that of which Mr. - Sala is a master."--_The World._ - - - -ZOLA'S POWERFUL REALISTIC NOVELS. - -_In Crown 8vo, price 6s. each._ - - -PIPING HOT! - -("POT-BOUILLE.") - -_Translated from the 63rd French edition. Illustrated with Sixteen Page -Engravings by French Artists._ - - -NANA: - -TRANSLATED WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT FROM THE 127TH FRENCH EDITION. - -_Illustrated with Twenty-four Tinted Page Engravings, by French -Artists._ - -[Illustration: THE ARRIVAL OF THE ELEVEN YOUNG MEN AT NANA'S EVENING -PARTY.] - - Mr. HENRY JAMES on "NANA." - - "A novelist with a system, a passionate conviction, a great - plan--incontestable attributes of M. Zola--is not now to be easily - found in England or the United States, where the story-teller's art - is almost exclusively feminine, is mainly in the hands of timid - (even when very accomplished) women, whose acquaintance with life is - severely restricted, and who are not conspicuous for general views. - The novel, moreover, among ourselves, is almost always addressed to - young unmarried ladies, or at least always assumes them to be a - large part of the novelist's public. - - "This fact, to a French story-teller, appears, of course, a damnable - restriction, and M. Zola would probably decline to take _au sérieux_ - any work produced under such unnatural conditions. Half of life is a - sealed book to young unmarried ladies, and how can a novel be worth - anything that deals only with half of life? These objections are - perfectly valid, and it may be said that our English system is a - good thing for virgins and boys, and a bad thing for the novel - itself, when the novel is regarded as something more than a simple - _jeu d'esprit_, and considered as a composition that treats of life - at large and helps us to _know_." - - -THE "ASSOMMOIR;" - -(The Prelude to "NANA.") - -TRANSLATED WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT FROM THE 97TH FRENCH EDITION. - -_Illustrated with Sixteen Tinted Page Engravings, by French Artists._ - - "After reading Zola's novels it seems as if in all others, even in - the truest, there were a veil between the reader and the things - described, and there is present to our minds the same difference as - exists between the representations of human faces on canvas and the - reflection of the same faces in a mirror. It is like finding truth - for the first time. - - "Zola is one of the most moral novelists in France, and it is really - astonishing how anyone can doubt this. He makes us note the smell of - vice, not its perfume: his nude figures are those of the anatomical - table, which do not inspire the slightest immoral thought; there is - not one of his books, not even the crudest, that does not leave - behind it pure, firm, and unmistakable aversion, or scorn, for the - base passions of which he treats."--_Signor de Amicis._ - -=The above Works are published without the Illustrations, price 5s. -each.= - - -_In Preparation. Uniform with the above Volumes._ - - GERMINAL; OR, MASTER AND MAN. - THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. - THE LADIES' PARADISE. - THÉRÈSE RAQUIN. - - -_In large 8vo, handsomely bound and gilt, price 7s. 6d._ - -A NEW ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF M. EMILE ZOLA'S REALISTIC NOVEL, - -NANA. - -_Illustrated with upwards of 100 Engravings, nearly half of which are -full-page._ - -TO BE FOLLOWED BY ILLUSTRATED EDITIONS OF - -THE "ASSOMMOIR," PIPING HOT! - -AND THE REST OF M. ZOLA'S MORE POPULAR WORKS. - - - -_In Crown 8vo, handsomely bound and gilt, price 6s., the Third and -Completely Revised Edition of_ - -THE STORY OF - -THE DIAMOND NECKLACE, - -COMPRISING A SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF THE COUNTESS DE LA MOTTE, PRETENDED -CONFIDANTE OF MARIE-ANTOINETTE, WITH PARTICULARS OF THE CAREERS OF THE -OTHER ACTORS IN THIS REMARKABLE DRAMA. - -BY HENRY VIZETELLY. - -AUTHOR OF "BERLIN UNDER THE NEW EMPIRE," "PARIS IN PERIL," &C. - -_Illustrated with an Exact Representation of the Diamond Necklace, from -a contemporary Drawing, and a Portrait of the Countess de la Motte, -engraved on Steel._ - - "Mr. Vizetelly's tale has all the interest of a romance which is too - strange not to be true.... His summing up of the evidence, both - negative and positive, which exculpates Marie-Antoinette from any - complicity whatever with the scandalous intrigue in which she was - represented as bearing a part, is admirable."--_Saturday Review._ - - "We can, without fear of contradiction, describe Mr. Henry - Vizetelly's 'Story of the Diamond Necklace' as a book of thrilling - interest. He has not only executed his task with skill and - faithfulness, but also with tact and delicacy."--_Standard._ - - "Had the most daring of our sensational novelists put forth the - present plain unvarnished statement of facts as a work of fiction, - it would have been denounced as so violating all probabilities as to - be a positive insult to the common sense of the reader. Yet strange, - startling, incomprehensible as is the narrative which the author has - here evolved, every word of it is true."--_Notes and Queries._ - - -_In Large Crown 8vo, handsomely printed and bound, price 6s._ - -THE AMUSING ADVENTURES OF GUZMAN OF ALFARAQUE. - -A SPANISH NOVEL. TRANSLATED BY EDWARD LOWDELL. - -_ILLUSTRATED WITH HIGHLY-FINISHED ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL FROM DESIGNS BY -STAHL._ - - "The wit, vivacity and variety of this masterpiece cannot be - over-estimated."--_Morning Post._ - - "A very well executed translation of a famous 'Rogue's - Progress.'"--_Spectator._ - - "The story is infinitely amusing, and illustrated as it is with - several excellent designs on steel, it will be acceptable to a good - many readers."--_Scotsman._ - - -_In Crown 8vo, attractively bound, price 2s. 6d._ - -THE RED CROSS, AND OTHER STORIES. - -BY LUIGI. - - "The short stories are the best--Luigi is in places tender and - pathetic."--_Athenæum._ - - "The plans of the tales are excellent. Many of the incidents are - admirable, and there is a good deal of pathos in the - writing."--_Scotsman._ - - -_In Two Volumes, post 8vo, prices 10s. 6d._ - -SOCIETY NOVELETTES. - -BY F. C. BURNAND, H. SAVILE CLARKE, R. E. FRANCILLON, JOSEPH HATTON, -RICHARD JEFFERIES, the Author of "A French Heiress in her own Château," -&c. &c. - -_Illustrated with numerous Page and other Engravings, from Designs by R. -Caldecott, Linley Sambourne, M. E. Edwards, F. Dadd, &c._ - - "The reader will not be disappointed in the hopes raised by Messrs. - Vizetelly's pleasing volumes.... There is much that is original and - clever in these 'Society' tales."--_Athenæum._ - - "Many of the stories are of the greatest merit; and indeed with such - contributors, the reader might be sure of the unusual interest and - amusement which these volumes supply."--_Daily Telegraph._ - - -_In Crown 8vo, price 3s. 6d._ - -A NEW EDITION, COMPRISING MUCH ADDITIONAL MATTER, OF - -IN STRANGE COMPANY. - -BY JAMES GREENWOOD (the "Amateur Casual"). - -ILLUSTRATED WITH A PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR, ENGRAVED ON STEEL. - - -_In square 8vo, cloth gilt, price 3s. 6d._ - -LAYS OF THE SAINTLY; - -OR, THE NEW GOLDEN LEGEND. - -By the LONDON HERMIT (W. PARKE), - -_WITH HUMOROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. LEITCH_. - - "Lovers of laughter, raillery, and things ludicrous would do well to - become possessed of this volume of humorous poems levelled against - the absurd though amusing superstitions of the Middle - Ages."--_Newcastle Chronicle._ - - -_In Post 8vo, price 2s. 6d._ - -THE CHILDISHNESS AND BRUTALITY OF THE TIME: - -SOME PLAIN TRUTHS IN PLAIN LANGUAGE. - -By HARGRAVE JENNINGS, Author of "The Rosicrucians," &c. - - "Mr. Jennings has a knack of writing in good, racy, trenchant style. - His sketch of behind the scenes of the Opera, and his story of a - mutiny on board an Indiaman of the old time, are penned with - surprising freshness and spirit."--_Daily News._ - - -_In Demy 4to, handsomely printed and bound, with gilt edges, price 12s._ - -A HISTORY OF CHAMPAGNE; - -WITH NOTES ON THE OTHER SPARKLING WINES OF FRANCE. - -BY HENRY VIZETELLY. - -CHEVALIER OF THE ORDER OF FRANZ-JOSEF. - -WINE JUROR FOR GREAT BRITAIN AT THE VIENNA AND PARIS EXHIBITIONS OF 1873 -AND 1878. - -Illustrated with 350 Engravings, - -FROM ORIGINAL SKETCHES AND PHOTOGRAPHS, ANCIENT MSS., EARLY PRINTED -BOOKS, RARE PRINTS, CARICATURES, ETC. - - "A very agreeable medley of history, anecdote, geographical - description, and such like matter, distinguished by an accuracy not - often found in such medleys, and illustrated in the most abundant - and pleasingly miscellaneous fashion."--_Daily News._ - - "Mr. Henry Vizetelly's handsome book about Champagne and other - sparkling wines of France is full of curious information and - amusement. It should be widely read and appreciated."--_Saturday - Review._ - - "Mr. Henry Vizetelly has written a quarto volume on the 'History of - Champagne,' in which he has collected a large number of facts, many - of them very curious and interesting. Many of the woodcuts are - excellent."--_Athenæum._ - - -_In large imperial 8vo, price 6d._ - -THE SOCIAL ZOO; - -SATIRICAL, SOCIAL, AND HUMOROUS SKETCHES BY THE BEST WRITERS. - -_Copiously Illustrated in Many Styles by well-known Artists._ - -NOW READY. - - OUR GILDED YOUTH. By E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY----NICE GIRLS. By R. - MOUNTENEY JEPHSON----NOBLE LORDS. By E. C. - GRENVILLE-MURRAY----FLIRTS. By E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY----OUR - SILVERED YOUTH. By E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY----MILITARY MEN AS THEY - WERE. By E. DYNE FENTON. - - -_In double volumes, bound in scarlet cloth, price 2s. 6d. each._ - -NEW EDITIONS OF - -GABORIAU'S SENSATIONAL NOVELS. - -_NOW READY_ - - 1.--THE MYSTERY OF ORCIVAL AND THE GILDED CLIQUE. - 2.--THE LEROGUE CASE, AND OTHER PEOPLE'S MONEY. - 3.--LECOQ, THE DETECTIVE. 4.--THE SLAVES OF PARIS. - 5.--DOSSIER NO. 113, AND THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF BATIGNOLLES. - 6.--IN PERIL OF HIS LIFE, AND INTRIGUES OF A POISONER. - 7.--THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 8.--THE CATASTROPHE. - - -_Uniform with the above_, - -THE OLD AGE OF LECOQ, THE DETECTIVE. - -BY F. DU BOISGOBEY. - - - -_In Small Post 8vo, ornamental covers, 1s. each._ - -GABORIAU'S SENSATIONAL NOVELS. - -_THE FAVOURITE READING OF PRINCE BISMARCK._ - - "Ah, friend, how many and many a while - They've made the slow time fleetly flow, - And solaced pain and charmed exile, - Miss Braddon and Gaboriau!" - - _Ballade of Railway Novels in "Longman's Magazine."_ - - -IN PERIL OF HIS LIFE. - - "A story of thrilling interest and admirably translated."--_Sunday - Times._ - - "Hardly ever has a more ingenious circumstantial case been imagined - than that which puts the hero in peril of his life, and the manner - in which the proof of his innocence is finally brought about is - scarcely less skilful."--_Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News._ - -THE LEROUGE CASE. - - "M. Gaboriau is a skilful and brilliant writer, capable of - so diverting the attention and interest of his readers that - not one word or line in his book will be skipped or read - carelessly."--_Hampshire Advertiser._ - -OTHER PEOPLE'S MONEY. - - "The interest is kept up throughout, and the story is told - graphically and with a good deal of art."--_London Figaro._ - -LECOQ THE DETECTIVE. Two vols. - - "In the art of forging a tangled chain of complicated incidents - involved and inexplicable until the last link is reached and the - whole made clear, Mr. Wilkie Collins is equalled, if not excelled, - by M. Gaboriau. The same skill in constructing a story is shown by - both, as likewise the same ability to build up a superstructure of - facts on a foundation which, sound enough in appearance, is - shattered when the long-concealed touchstone of truth is at length - applied to it."--_Brighton Herald._ - -THE GILDED CLIQUE. - - "Full of incident and instinct with life and action. Altogether this - is a most fascinating book."--_Hampshire Advertiser._ - -THE MYSTERY OF ORCIVAL. - - "The Author keeps the interest of the reader at fever heat, and by a - succession of unexpected turns and incidents, the drama is - ultimately worked out to a very pleasant result. The ability - displayed is unquestionable."--_Sheffield Independent._ - -DOSSIER NO. 113. - - "The plot is worked out with great skill, and from first to last the - reader's interest is never allowed to flag."--_Dumbarton Herald._ - -THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF BATIGNOLLES. - -THE SLAVES OF PARIS. Two vols. - - "Sensational, full of interest, cleverly conceived and wrought out - with consummate skill."--_Oxford and Cambridge Journal._ - -THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. Two vols. - -INTRIGUES OF A POISONER. - -THE CATASTROPHE. Two vols. - - - -_Publishing in Monthly Volumes, 1s. each._ - -=UNIFORM WITH GABORIAU'S SENSATIONAL NOVELS.= - -DU BOISGOBEY'S SENSATIONAL NOVELS. - -_NOW READY._ - - THE OLD AGE OF LECOQ, THE DETECTIVE. Two vols. - THE SEVERED HAND. - IN THE SERPENTS' COILS. - -_TO BE FOLLOWED BY_ - -THE THUMB STROKE.--BERTHA'S SECRET.--THE GOLDEN TRESS.--THE MATAPAN -AFFAIR, ETC. - - - -_In Small Post 8vo, ornamental covers, 1s. each; in cloth, 1s. 6d._ - -VIZETELLY'S POPULAR FRENCH NOVELS. - -TRANSLATIONS OF THE BEST EXAMPLES OF RECENT FRENCH FICTION OF AN -UNOBJECTIONABLE CHARACTER. - - "_They are books that may be safely left lying about where the - ladies of the family can pick them up and read them. The interest - they create is happily not of the vicious sort at all._" - SHEFFIELD INDEPENDENT. - -FROMONT THE YOUNGER & RISLER THE ELDER. By A. DAUDET. - - "The series starts well with M. Alphonse Daudet's - masterpiece."--_Athenæum._ - - "A terrible story, powerful after a sledge-hammer fashion in some - parts, and wonderfully tender, touching, and pathetic in - others."--_Illustrated London News._ - -SAMUEL BROHL AND PARTNER. By V. CHERBULIEZ. - - "M. Cherbuliez's novels are read by everybody and offend nobody. - They are excellent studies of character, well constructed, peopled - with interesting men and women, and the style in which they are - written is admirable."--_The Times._ - - "Those who have read this singular story in the original need not be - reminded of that supremely dramatic study of the man who lived two - lives at once, even within himself. The reader's discovery of his - double nature is one of the most cleverly managed of surprises, and - Samuel Brohl's final dissolution of partnership with himself is a - remarkable stroke of almost pathetic comedy."--_The Graphic._ - -THE DRAMA OF THE RUE DE LA PAIX. By A. BELOT. - - "A highly ingenious plot is developed in 'The Drama of the Rue de la - Paix,' in which a decidedly interesting and thrilling narrative is - told with great force and passion, relieved by sprightliness and - tenderness."--_Illustrated London News._ - -MAUGARS JUNIOR. By A. THEURIET. - - "One of the most charming novelettes we have read for a long - time."--_Literary World._ - -WAYWARD DOSIA, & THE GENEROUS DIPLOMATIST. By HENRY GRÉVILLE. - - "As epigrammatic as anything Lord Beaconsfield has ever - written."--_Hampshire Telegraph._ - -A NEW LEASE OF LIFE, & SAVING A DAUGHTER'S DOWRY. By E. ABOUT. - - "'A New Lease of Life' is an absorbing story, the interest of which - is kept up to the very end."--_Dublin Evening Mail._ - - "The story, as a flight of brilliant and eccentric imagination, is - unequalled in its peculiar way."--_The Graphic._ - -COLOMBA, & CARMEN. By P. MÉRIMÉE. - - "The freshness and raciness of 'Colomba' is quite cheering after the - stereotyped three-volume novels with which our circulating libraries - are crammed."--_Halifax Times._ - - "'Carmen' will be welcomed by the lovers of the sprightly and - tuneful opera the heroine of which Minnie Hauk made so popular. It - is a bright and vivacious story."--_Life._ - -A WOMAN'S DIARY, & THE LITTLE COUNTESS. By O. FEUILLET. - - "Is wrought out with masterly skill and affords reading which, - although of a slightly sensational kind, cannot be said to be - hurtful either mentally or morally."--_Dumbarton Herald._ - -BLUE-EYED META HOLDENIS, & A STROKE OF DIPLOMACY. By V. CHERBULIEZ. - - "'Blue-eyed Meta Holdenis' is a delightful tale."--_Civil Service - Gazette._ - - "'A Stroke of Diplomacy' is a bright vivacious story pleasantly - told."--_Hampshire Advertiser._ - -THE GODSON OF A MARQUIS. By A. THEURIET. - - "The rustic personages, the rural scenery and life in the forest - country of Argonne, are painted with the hand of a master. From the - beginning to the close the interest of the story never - flags."--_Life._ - -THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT AND MARIANNE. By GEORGE SAND. - - "George Sand has a great name, and the 'Tower of Percemont' is not - unworthy of it."--_Illustrated London News._ - -THE LOW-BORN LOVER'S REVENGE. By V. CHERBULIEZ. - - "'The Low-born Lover's Revenge' is one of M. Cherbuliez's many - exquisitely written productions. The studies of human nature under - various influences, especially in the cases of the unhappy heroine - and her low-born lover, are wonderfully effective."--_Illustrated - London News._ - -THE NOTARY'S NOSE, AND OTHER AMUSING STORIES. By E. ABOUT. - - "Crisp and bright, full of movement and interest."--_Brighton - Herald._ - -DOCTOR CLAUDE; OR, LOVE RENDERED DESPERATE. By H. MALOT. Two vols. - - "We have to appeal to our very first flight of novelists to find - anything so artistic in English romance as these books."--_Dublin - Evening Mail._ - -THE THREE RED KNIGHTS; OR, THE BROTHERS' VENGEANCE. By P. FÉVAL. - - "The one thing that strikes us in these stories is the marvellous - dramatic skill of the writers."--_Sheffield Independent._ - - - -_In large 8vo, with Picture Cover in Colours, from a Design by R. C. -WOODVILLE, price 1s._ - -GORDON AND THE MAHDI. - -An Illustrated Narrative of the Soudan War - -_TO THE FALL OF KHARTOUM AND THE DEATH OF GENERAL GORDON._ - -=Illustrated with 100 Engravings by the Artists of the "Illustrated -London News."= - - - -MR. HENRY VIZETELLY'S POPULAR BOOKS ON WINE. - - "Mr. Vizetelly discourses brightly and discriminatingly on crus and - bouquets and the different European vineyards, most of which he has - evidently visited."--_The Times._ - - "Mr. Henry Vizetelly's books about different wines have an - importance and a value far greater than will be assigned - them by those who look merely at the price at which they are - published."--_Sunday Times._ - - -_Price 1s. 6d. ornamental cover; or 2s. 6d. in elegant cloth binding._ - -FACTS ABOUT PORT AND MADEIRA, - -GLEANED DURING A TOUR IN THE AUTUMN OF 1877. - -BY HENRY VIZETELLY. - -WINE JUROR FOR GREAT BRITAIN AT THE VIENNA AND PARIS EXHIBITIONS OF 1873 -AND 1878. - -With 100 Illustrations from Original Sketches and Photographs. - - -BY THE SAME AUTHOR. - -_Price 1s. 6d. ornamental cover; or 2s. 6d. in elegant cloth binding._ - -FACTS ABOUT CHAMPAGNE AND OTHER SPARKLING WINES, - -COLLECTED DURING NUMEROUS VISITS TO THE CHAMPAGNE AND OTHER VITICULTURAL -DISTRICTS OF FRANCE AND THE PRINCIPAL REMAINING WINE-PRODUCING COUNTRIES -OF EUROPE. - -=Illustrated with 112 Engravings from Sketches and Photographs.= - - -_Price 1s. ornamental cover; or 1s. 6d. cloth gilt._ - -FACTS ABOUT SHERRY, - -GLEANED IN THE VINEYARDS AND BODEGAS OF THE JEREZ, & OTHER DISTRICTS. - -=Illustrated with numerous Engravings from Original Sketches.= - - -_Price 1s. in ornamental cover; or 1s. 6d. cloth gilt._ - -THE WINES OF THE WORLD. - -CHARACTERIZED AND CLASSED. - - -_VIZETELLY & CO., 42, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND._ - - - * * * * * - - -Transcriber's Note: - -Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal signs=. - -In the Table of Contents, Chapter VIII "Light Lover" was printed as -"Light Loves"; this has been changed to match the chapter title as -printed on page 89. - -Variations in hyphenation and spelling have been preserved. - -Punctuation has been standardised, and typographical errors have been -silently corrected. - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Threatening Eye, by Edward Frederick Knight - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THREATENING EYE *** - -***** This file should be named 40278-8.txt or 40278-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/2/7/40278/ - -Produced by Mark C. 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