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diff --git a/40333.txt b/40333.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a003218..0000000 --- a/40333.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5223 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's A Rich Man's Relatives (Vol. 3 of 3), by Robert Cleland - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: A Rich Man's Relatives (Vol. 3 of 3) - -Author: Robert Cleland - -Release Date: July 27, 2012 [EBook #40333] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A RICH MAN'S RELATIVES *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the -Web Archive (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - - 1. Page scan source: - http://www.archive.org/details/richmansrelative03clel - (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign) - - 2. Pages 86-87 are missing. They do not appear to be critical to - the story. - - 3. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. - - - - - - - A RICH MAN'S RELATIVES - - - - - - - PRESS NOTICES - - OF - - "INCHBRACKEN," - - A NOVEL BY R. CLELAND - - * * * - - _Westminster Review, October_, 1883. - -"Inchbracken" is a clever sketch of Scottish life and manners at the -time of the "Disruption," or great secession from the Established -Church of Scotland, which resulted in the formation of the Free -Church. The scene of the story is a remote country parish in the north -of Scotland, within a few miles of the highland line. The main -interest centres in the young Free Church minister and his sister and -their relations, on the one hand, with the enthusiastic supporters of -the Disruption movement, mostly of the peasant or small tradesmen -class, with a sprinkling of the smaller landowners; and, on the other -hand, with the zealous supporters of the Established Church, -represented by the Drysdales of Inchbracken, the great family of the -neighbourhood. The story is well and simply told, with many a quiet -touch of humour, founded on no inconsiderable knowledge of human -nature. - - _Academy, 27th October_, 1883. - -There is a great deal of solid writing in "Inchbracken," and they who -read it will hardly do so in vain. It is a story of the Disruption; -and it sets forth, with much pains and not a little spirit, the -humours and scandals of one of the communities affected by the event. -The main incident of the story has nothing to do with the Disruption, -it is true; but its personages are those of the time, and the uses to -which they are put are such as the Disruption made possible. Roderick -Brown, the enthusiastic young Free Church minister, finds on the -sea-shore after wreck and storm, a poor little human waif which the -sea has spared. He takes the baby home, and does his best for it. One -of his parishioners has lost her character, however; and as Roderick, -at the instigation of his beadle, the real author of her ruin, is good -enough to give her money and help, it soon becomes evident to -Inchbracken that he is the villain, and that the baby of the wreck is -the fruit of an illicit amour. How it ends I shall not say. I shall do -no more than note that the story of the minister's trials and the -portraitures--of elders and gossips, hags and maids and village -notables--with which it is enriched are (especially if you are not -afraid of the broadest Scotch, written with the most uncompromising -regard for the national honour) amusing and natural in no mean degree. - - W. E. HENLEY. - - _Athenaeum, 17th November_, 1883. - -"Inchbracken" will be found amusing by those who are familiar with -Scotch country life. The period chosen, the "Disruption time," is an -epoch in the religious and social life of Scotland, marking a revival, -in an extremely modified and not altogether genuine form, of the -polemic Puritanism of the early Presbyterians, and so furnishing a -subject which lends itself better to literary treatment than most -sides of Scottish life in this prosaic century. The author has a good -descriptive gift, and makes the most of the picturesque side of the -early Free Church meetings at which declaimers against Erastian -patronage posed in the attitude of the Covenanters of old. The story -opens on a stormy night when Roderick Brown, the young Free Church -minister of Kilrundle, is summoned on a ten-mile expedition to attend -a dying woman, an expedition which involves him in all the troubles -which form the subject of the book. The patient has nothing on her -mind of an urgent character. "No, mem! na!" says the messenger. - -"My granny's a godly auld wife, tho' maybe she's gye fraxious whiles, -an' money's the sair paikin' she's gi'en me; gin there was ocht to -confess she kens the road to the Throne better nor maist. But ye see -there's a maggit gotten intil her heid an' she says she bent to -testifee afore she gangs hence." - -The example of Jenny Geddes has been too much for the poor old -woman:-- - -"Ay, an' I'm thinkin' it's that auld carline, Jenny Geddes, 'at's -raised a' the fash! My granny gaed to hear Mester Dowlas whan he -preached among the whins down by the shore, an' oh, but he was bonny! -An' a graand screed o' doctrine he gae us. For twa hale hours he -preached an expundet an' never drew breath for a' the wind was -skirlin', an' the renn whiles skelpin' like wild. An' I'm thinkin' my -granny's gotten her death o' ta'. But oh! an' he was grand on Jenny -Geddes! an' hoo she up wi' the creepie am' heved it a the Erastian's -heid. An' my granny was just fairly ta'en wi't a', an' she vooed she -beut to be a mither in Israel tae, an' whan she gaed hame she out wi' -the auld hugger 'at she keeps the bawbees in, aneath the hearthstane, -for to buy a creepie o' her ain,--she thocht a new ane wad be best for -the Lord's wark,--an' she coupet the chair whaur hung her grave -claes,' at she airs fonent the fire ilika Saturday at e'en, 'an out -there cam a lowe, an' scorched a hole i' the windin' sheet, an' noo, -puir body, we'll hae to hap her in her muckle tartan plaid. An' -aiblins she'll be a' the warmer e'y moulds for that. But, however, she -says the sheet was weel waur'd, for the guid cause. An' syne she took -til her bed, wi' a sair host, an' sma' winder, for there was a weet -daub whaur she had been sittin' amang the whins. An' noo the host's -settled on her that sair, she whiles canna draw her breath. Sae she -says she maun let the creepie birlin' slide, but she beut to testifee -afore some godly minister or she gangs hence. An' I'm fear'd, sir, ye -maun hurry, for she's real far through." - -The excuse for this long extract must be its excellence as a specimen -of a long-winded statement, just such as a Scotch fisher boy would -make when once the ice was broken. Not less idiomatic is the interview -between Mrs. Boague, the shepherd's wife, and Mrs. Sangster "of -Auchlippie," the great lady of the congregation, when the latter has -had her painful experience of mountain climbing, till rescued by the -"lug and the horn" at the hands of her spiritual pastor. Other good -scenes are the meeting of the two old wives in mutches an the brae -side, and the final discomfiture of the hypocritical scamp Joseph -Smiley by his mother-in-law, Tibbie Tirpie, who rights her daughter's -wrongs and the minister's reputation by a capital _coup de main_. Of -more serious interest, though full of humour, are the trials the -excellent Roderick endures at the hands of his kirk session. Ebenezer -Prittie and Peter Malloch are types of many an elder minister and -ministers' wives have had to groan under, and the race is not extinct. -But all who are interested in such specimens of human nature should -refer to Mr. Cleland, who knows his countrymen as well as he can -describe his country. - - - - - * * * * * - - Select Novels by Popular Authors. - - _Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. each_. - - By Florence Marryat. - - MY SISTER THE ACTRESS. - A BROKEN BLOSSOM. - PHYLLIDA. - THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL. - FACING THE FOOTLIGHTS. - - By Annie Thomas. - - ALLERTON TOWERS. - FRIENDS AND LOVERS. - EYRE OF BLENDON. - - - By Mrs. Eiloart. - - THE DEAN'S WIFE. - SOME OF OUR GIRLS. - - - By Lady Constance Howard. - - SWEETHEART AND WIFE. - MOLLIE DARLING. - - - By the Author of "Recommended to Mercy." - - BARBARA'S WARNING. - - - By Mrs. Alexander Fraser. - - A PROFESSIONAL BEAUTY. - - - By Harriett Jay. - - TWO MEN AND A MAID. - - - - - - - A - - RICH MAN'S RELATIVES. - - - - BY - - R. CLELAND, - - AUTHOR OF "INCHBRACKEN." - - - - _IN THREE VOLUMES_. - - VOL. III. - - - - - LONDON: - - F. V. WHITE AND CO., - - 31, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C. - 1885. - - - - - - - PRINTED BY - KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS; - AND MIDDLE MILL KINGSTON-ON-THAMES. - - - - - - - CONTENTS - - * * * - - CHAP. - - I.--Banks and Brays. - - II.--A Confidante. - - III.--Friends in Council. - - IV.--Moonlight and Shadow. - - V.--Murder. - - VI.--Nemesis. - - VII.--Rescue. - - VIII.--It was all Webb's Fault. - - IX.--Joe Proposes. - - X.--At Gorham. - - XI.--Planting Hyacinths. - - XII.--Randolph's Buckling. - - XIII. At Caughnawaga. - - XIV.--Therese's Revenge. - - XV.--The Selbys. - - XVI.--Betsey as Good Fairy. - - XVII.--At Last. - - XVIII.--The Broker Broke. - - - - - A RICH MAN'S RELATIVES. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - BANKS AND BRAYS. - - -Ralph's satisfaction at carrying through his man[oe]uvre with the -mining company's directors amounted almost to elation. The unexpected -appearance of opposition in that docile body had startled him at -first, but he had been able to ride it down in so summary and -highhanded a fashion that he doubted not but the spirit was quenched -for ever, and congratulated himself on its having appeared at a moment -when it could so easily and utterly be crushed and abolished. A -meeting of the bank directors next door was now due. Glancing at his -watch, he found that he was already fifteen minutes late, caught up -his portfolio of bank papers in haste, and passed by way of the -dressing-room into the bank, confident as an Alexander mounting his -war-horse, and riding forth to new victories. - -A breath of chill air blew in his face as he entered the board-room -and met reserved and distant glances on every side. They had not -waited for his coming, and were already deep in business. His own -arm-chair, he observed--the arm-chair of pre-eminence at the end of -the table, heretofore sacred to his own use, was occupied by M. -Petitot, the pork packer, vice-president of the bank, who, however, -had the grace to rise apologetically, and make way, observing that -they had feared Mr. Herkimer did not intend to be present, when Mr. -Jowler, the bark dealer, sprang to his feet, and moved that the -vice-president retain the chair for the present, M. Petipomme -seconding the motion. - -Ralph bit his lip, and something like a scowl passed momentarily -across his face at the overt act of mutiny, which not so long before -he would have quelled with a crack of the whip, and brought the unruly -curs to heel with drooping neck and tail. But the moment was not -opportune for the exercise of authority; his brow grew clear again, if -somewhat pale, his features calm, if a trifle set, and expressionless, -and he sat down in a vacant chair at the lower end of the table. - -The business, however, appeared to have come to a stop; no one spoke, -and each looked at his neighbour, while the vice-president moved -restlessly in his chair, and twiddled his watch chain with uneasy -fingers. He coughed, cleared his voice, lifted his eye-glass to his -eyes, and let it drop, but still he said nothing, while Ralph looked -inquiringly round the board. Several ledgers had been brought in from -the bank and lay upon the table, every one open at the page headed, -"Ralph Herkimer & Son;" and while he waited, a clerk entered with yet -another, containing some further variety of information which he laid -before the chairman, opening it and officiously pointing out the -desired record, then looking up as he turned to withdraw, his eyes -lighted on the president himself, when a guilty flush and a -deprecatory glance betrayed that the information he had been -presenting bore upon the same point as the rest. - -"You appear, gentleman, to be looking into the working of my account," -said Ralph, after a further period of silence; "Pray go on, don't mind -me! You will find it is a profitable account, perhaps the _most_ -profitable in your books. Satisfy yourselves by all means. It is -your right. But permit me to say that the time and the manner are not -well chosen. There is something not altogether friendly, nor quite -above-board, in this way of gratifying your curiosity. Is it -honourable, gentleman, or manly, to watch till you get a man's back -turned before proceeding to overhaul his account?" - -"Strong language, Mr. Herkimer," said several voices at once. - -"Most unwarrantable," muttered Jowler. - -"It is true, gentlemen, and not a bit stronger than the facts -warrant." - -"Indeed, Mr. President," said Petitot blandly--he was noted for a -courteous benignity which never failed, so long at least as there -remained a chance of the other side's ability to make him regret being -otherwise. After that--well, after those others became too weak for it -to matter, the world took little heed how he behaved, and he acted -accordingly, as pleased him best--brutally, the sufferers called it. -"Indeed, Mr. President, you take up the matter too seriously. The -accident of your absence when the question arose was a mere -coincidence. We are all, I assure you, well aware of the value of your -account." - -"Should think so," muttered Jowler, pleased to find how quickly they -were drifting to the pith of the grievance. "It amounts to half or -two-thirds of the bank's capital already, and it promises to swallow -up the whole before long." - -"Which would not suit you, Jowler," retorted Ralph, sneering -assiduously to conceal his wrath, and perhaps his dismay. "But it -might be well for the country and for the bank itself, that it should -not have any funds to dissipate in the bark business. I say -'dissipate' designedly, gentlemen. I know of four cargoes of cutch and -gambler now on the way for this port, with more to follow. Bark prices -must collapse, and the less we have to do with the article at present, -the better for us. It is well for the country, I consider, that -discouragement should arise to stop the reckless destruction of our -hemlock forests. If Jowler and his like are allowed their way, we -shall not have a hemlock left standing in ten years' time." - -"And how much better off is the bank with its tons of plumbago, which -cannot be brought to market?" retorted Jowler angrily. "The plumbago -paper has been renewed three times already, and the amount increased -without the sanction of the board." - -"Are we not drifting into a wrangle, gentlemen, and wasting time to no -good purpose?" said Mr. Seebright, of the _Journal_. "The bank -settlements are going against us week after week, and the specie -reserve is running down. What are we to do? That is the question." - -"Circulation going down every day," added Petipomme, with an air of -wisdom. - -"And pray, gentlemen, did you ever know it otherwise at this season?" -cried Ralph, eager to score any point an injudicious speaker might put -in his way. "Look into the government returns for last year, look into -them for any year, and you will find the circulation of the country -reaches its lowest points in August and February. It has several weeks -to go on diminishing yet, but it is larger than it was this time last -year. Wait till September, and you will see it go up and increase -steadily till it reaches its highest point in November. The thing is -as regular as the seasons, and no resolution this board can pass will -alter it." - -"All very true, President," said Seebright; "but this drain of the -reserve must be stopped somehow. How do you propose to do it? We must -contract--realize. Where shall we begin to prune?" - -Ralph was silent. He wanted to borrow more, and with the particulars -of the account actually on the table, it seemed best not to excite -ill-will by proposing to impose a reduction on any one else. Jowler -had taken up a share list to cover his chagrin under Ralph's attack; -he now laid it down with a loud "Hillo! St. Euphrase mining shares -down four per cent since yesterday! What's up, President? Things going -badly?" - -"I walked down street with old Mr. Premium this morning," said -Petipomme--"parted from him not half-an-hour ago. He says there's -something up, he could not make out what, but some villager had been -to him, eager to sell out at once, and at any price. The man was very -close and would say nothing, but he was so eager that Premium grew -panicky and was going to unload." - -"The bank has made you an advance, President, on some of that stock," -cried Jowler. "Four per cent off the security at one drop! I call on -you to put up a fresh margin." - -"I scarcely think you will consider that necessary, gentlemen, when I -tell you that, at the meeting held this morning, the directors have -agreed to declare a dividend of five per cent. It will be in all the -papers to-morrow. You will find the announcement on your table, Mr. -Seebright, when you get back to your office, and an advertisement for -to-morrow's issue." - -"Five per cent?" said Petitot, congratulating himself on not having -joined in the late attempted onslaught. "Is not that unexpected? I -have heard no word of it." - -"It was only decided this morning, and we agreed to declare it at -once, so that _bona fide_ shareholders should reap the advantage -rather than mere speculators." - -"And it is not known yet?" asked Petitot eagerly. "But it _will_ be, -in an hour's time," he added, answering himself. "Gentlemen! I think -there is no other business before the board. I declare the meeting -adjourned to this day next week;" and, seizing his hat, Mr. Petitot -was gone, and half-way across the street to his broker's before any of -his brethren could have interposed a word, which, however, none of -them seemed wishful to do. Such a rush for hats and general stampede -had never been seen before; the assistant cashier, who wrote the -minutes, found the room deserted, when he laid down his pen, by all -but the president, and the roll of bills, which should have been -shared among the several gentlemen, still before him--an unprecedented -circumstance. - -"What is to be done with this, Mr. Herkimer?" - -"You and I had better share it between us, Briggs," he chuckled. "What -would they say if we did? They have all skipped off to buy St. -Euphrase mining shares, and they will make so much money they will -never miss this--that is, not before the shares are bought. -Afterwards, when they have completed their operation, they will -recollect, and come asking for it. Put it in your desk for the -present, it will not be long till they relieve you of the charge." - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - A CONFIDANTE. - - -The day came for the Misses Stanley's return to the country. Muriel's -classes were over, and the streets grown hot and dusty past endurance. -Life was a burden under the all-pervading glare shot from the vault -overhead, and the two miles breadth of glassy river, the acres on -acres of shining tin-roofs, and the heated face of limestone -pavements. The breeze felt withering like breath from a furnace, -hotter even than the air at rest, and cool was attainable only by -ingenious contrivance, and in twilight darkness. - -"Ah!" said Considine; he had been lingering in town till now, and had -suddenly found out that it was time to take his yearly _villagiatura_ -at St. Euphrase, his plans coinciding with those of his friends so -closely, that when the ladies reached the railway station he was -already on the platform to assist them about tickets and baggage as -well as to join them in the parlour car; which Miss Penelope -considered quite remarkable, but most fortunate and "very nice." "Ah!" -said Considine, raising a window as the train rolled into the country, -"what a different air to breathe! It smells and feels of the country -already." - -"Yes," said Miss Matilda, "I feel myself absorbing new vitality from -the verdure as we pass along. Do the woods not look seductive after -the baking and withering we have suffered of late? One grudges even -the delay of railway speed. What will it not be this afternoon to -sit among the trees, with coolness rustling softly through the -foliage--just to sit and feel one's self alive--with every breath a -new deliciousness, and the sense of rest and freshness making one -happy and new down to the finger-tips. You will find it delightful at -Podevin's to-day, so close by the river. I can imagine you will get -into a boat immediately, and go out in the stream and drift, and smoke -your cigar, I dare say; you gentlemen seem always doing that, though -it must spoil the flavour of a day so exquisite as this, it seems to -me." - -"As Podevin, whose house is full, has fitted me up the room over the -boat-house for my chamber, I imagine I shall have my share of any -coolness stirring; yet it would, I dare say, be pleasant to make a -beginning of the freshness at full strength by getting into a boat. -However, I shall not stay long, and if you will permit me, when the -afternoon heat grows moderate, I will walk up to your house and learn -if you and Miss Stanley are still alive--and my young friend Muriel -also, though indeed, the weather appears to suit her well enough." - -And truly at that moment Muriel was in perfect comfort, sitting a -little apart with an escort of her own--her friend Gerald who had -deserted the cares of business for her sweet company. Not that he -found her difficult of access at other times, for they often met; but -there is a privacy in a public railway carriage when the rumbling of -the wheels drowns conversation for every ear other than the one -addressed, and a safety from intrusion and interruption while the -journey lasts, not easily to be found elsewhere. - -Muriel sat in one corner of a sofa, with Gerald in the other, -listening to his purring, and purring softly back. It may have been -owing to the heat of the day, but their talk seemed less lively than -at other times, and their glances drooped shyly on the ground instead -of seeking and meeting each other's as they were wont. Gerald drew -closer as they talked, and by-and-by his hands secured one of hers, -and held it in possession. He would have slipped his hand behind her -waist, perhaps, if her position in the corner of the sofa had not been -beyond his reach; and as it was, she used some effort to liberate the -imprisoned hand, and regained it at last. Hushing and growing pale the -while in her fear of having become grouped with her companion into a -_tableau_ too interesting to escape notice. And then her eyes rose -shyly to his face, and shining with a light they had not held before, -and her lips parted tremulously to smile, and faltered out words which -were lost in the roar and hubbub of the rattling wheels, and Gerald -could not hear them; but the eyes which had looked in his a moment, -the rosy flushing and the tremulous smile, were proof the unheard -answer was not "no," and he was happy. When the train reached St. -Euphrase Muriel was "engaged," while still it wanted a week of her -sixteenth birthday. - -It is not very remarkable, if, in view of his success, young Gerald -stepped on the platform with something of the victor in his mein--his -head thrown back, and his coat unbuttoned, flapping away from the -expanded chest, while his eyes looked forth on the world at large, -with the broad imperial gaze of a new-crowned conqueror, while Muriel -leaned on his arm perhaps a shade more clingingly than she was aware. -It struck Betsey Bunce, at least, who, according to her custom, was -awaiting the city train, to espy the new arrivals, and pick up any -fragments of news dropped by her acquaintance--it struck Betsey that -summer day, that Gerald was a far finer and handsomer fellow than -theretofore she had thought him. She bowed and waved her hand with -much _empressement_; she even stepped forward to welcome him to St. -Euphrase at that unusual hour; but Gerald did not see her. His head -was in the clouds, and he inhaling that upper ether where swim the -stars and the souls of the most blest, to whom the gods have granted -all their desire. He was dazzled by the brightness of his own -felicity--alas, that the felicity should be as fleeting as its power -to dazzle--and saw little of what passed around him. Only he felt, and -felt only the pressure of a slender hand resting on his arm. And so, -unwittingly, he strode past Betsey Bunce; and Muriel, too, being with -him, and somewhat overcome, looking down, and with her mind disturbed -with new and confusing thoughts, and feelings which, if not so -altogether new, were yet now first acknowledgedly to herself permitted -to harbour there. - -And Betsey believed herself to have been slighted, and her wrath grew -hot against the young man, and her envy greener-eyed against the girl, -who continued to secure so many things which in justice should have -been hers; but having a "spirit," as she considered, she only tossed -her head, and walked forward through the arriving passengers in search -of other acquaintance. - -It was the same train which carried home the directors of the mining -association after their board meeting. Podevin was the first to -alight. He appeared a happier man than when setting out in the -morning. With him was Belmore, who had sunk through the whole gamut -from confidence to despair, and whose barometer of feeling had again -risen to "tranquil." His golden hopes for the future, indeed, had -vanished, but he expected under Stinson's direction to sell out -without loss, and by aid of the village notary to make everything snug -in case of after litigation. Joe Webb alone looked troubled and -oppressed. The dangers to his investment, and of his position as -director, had now for the first time been disclosed to him, and he was -at a loss how to act; and yet to take professional advice seemed to -his scrupulous mind to be a breach of confidence towards his fellow -directors, while to act with them appeared dishonest to the -shareholders and the general public. It was useless to open his mind -to Belmore and Podevin; they were resolved to save themselves at -whatever cost to other people. He felt that he must not breathe a word -among his neighbours, and at home he was a lonely bachelor with only -his faithful pipe to soothe counsel and console him. It was with -something akin to gratitude, therefore, that he received the friendly -greeting of Betsey Bunce. Had his dog been near to lick his hand in -that hour of darkness he would have been thankful; how much more when -human sympathy and goodwill were offered him. - -"You are back from town early to-day, Mr. Joe," cried Betsey, holding -out her hand with demonstrative cordiality. She had felt snubbed -before the eyes of all St. Euphrase by her "cousin Gerald," as she -called him when out of hearing, not having noticed her, and she owed -it to herself, she fancied, to show that she did not care, and had -plenty of other young men to speak to. - -"Yes," said Joe with a sigh, clasping the proffered hand as a drowning -man lays hold on a straw. Anything is good to catch at when one is -sinking. - -"And you look tired," she added with plaintive sympathy. - -"Worried, any way. Those town folks, you know. Miss Betsey, ain't like -us here in the country." - -"Ah! worried. I know the feeling so well; when one does not quite -know, perhaps, what it is one wants, and yet is quite sure that what -they would have is what we don't want. I know it, and town folks are -so selfish." - -It is marvellous how some big broad-shouldered fellow, with a fist of -his own and the will to use it, who ruffles it among his peers and -holds unabated his manly front before odds, opposition, and -misfortune, will wilt and weaken into drivelling self-pity for a few -soft words, spoken, mayhap, in doubtful sincerity, by some -insignificant dot of a woman, and one for whom he feels no more than -friendship. Is it a survival of the habit in childhood of bringing his -pains and troubles to his mother's lap? Or is it that man needs woman -to complete his being?--drawing courage from her sympathy in his hour -of darkness, even as she needs the protection of his strength in hers? -It is a fact, at least, that the bands which knit him in his pride, -soften like wax before her, and bully Bottom lays his honest ass's -head contentedly upon any Titania's knee, smiling in fatuous content -as she twiddles his long ears between her dainty fingers. - -"Town folks are very selfish," said Betsey again. - -"If they were honest one would not mind that. We country folk do the -best we can for ourselves, and would have both hands under, too, every -time, if only we could get it." - -"You are generous, Mr. Joe. I always said it of you." - -"I try to be fair," he answered, looking pleased. - -"And some people don't know what fairness means," rejoined Betsey, -with fervour, and a glance of appreciation into his face. She did not -know what she meant or was speaking about, but her companion did, and -approved her sentiments, which did just as well. She had begun the -conversation merely with a general desire to be pleasant, but now she -was growing interested in his evident depression, and curious to learn -its cause. He was not in love, that seemed certain--love always struck -our tender Betsey as the trouble most natural to a fine young man. He -would not be so ready, surely, to indulge his "dumps," for some other -girl in _her_ company; and if it were herself, there was no ground for -dumps at all; he might have her for the asking, she half suspected, -though she would not demean herself in her own eyes by considering the -point until the gentleman brought it properly under her notice. -Wherefore Miss Betsey went a fishing, and baiting her hook with a -gentle enthusiasm, she spoke again: - -"There's nothing so rare, I think, as fairness. Only the manly men are -ever fair, and women never." - -"I _want_ to do what's fair. Miss Betsey, and I guess I have managed -slick enough so far; but now it's a teaser to know which way to turn. -Is a man bound, think you, to harm himself to save his neighbours?" - -"I guess not, Mr. Webb; leastways, you know well enough they wouldn't -harm themselves to benefit you--not by a good deal, and you know it." - -"But what is a fellow to do? If I hold my tongue and let them walk -into a trap they will be sure to say it was me ensnared them--that I -being a director knew all about it." - -"Director? Mr. Webb. Surely it's not your mining company you are -talking about?" - -Joe looked confused. He had let his cat out of the bag without meaning -it. He had begun by thinking aloud, or rather by letting the oozing of -his thoughts escape into his talk. Then it had occurred to him that -while "naming no names," he might be able to draw a sort of sample -opinion in the abstract, and learn therefrom how his position must -appear in the eyes of others; and here he found himself on the brink -of a full disclosure, with an extremely compromising admission already -past recall, and confided to the doubtful secrecy of a woman--the most -talkative woman, perhaps, in the village. - -"Oh, no. Miss Betsey, you are quite mistaken, I assure you," he -faltered forth, with the shame-faced effrontery of one unused to -deception, and who scarcely expects his falsehood to succeed. - -"No, you don't, Mr. Joe Webb. You don't fool _me_ with your -assurances. I know quite well when a gentleman means what he says. You -may just as well trust me with the whole story. You _know_ you can -depend on my discretion." - -"And you will promise not to say a word to any living soul? And you -will give me your hand on it? Honour bright?" - -"My hand on it, Mr. Webb. Honour bright," and she looked her -winningest up into his face. "Who knew?" she thought, "here she was -giving a first solemn promise to handsome Joe Webb, and sharing a -secret with him, who knew but that she might make him another promise -yet?--and what the purport of that promise might be?" - -"And I may really trust you?" - -"Mr. Webb!" - -"Well! It is something to have any kind of fellow bein' one may let -out one's breath to. I've 'most 'bust, these last few hours, for want -of a soul I could speak to; but now I feel relieved like, and think I -can bear up. But I'll be round and see you. Miss Betsey, and we'll -have a talk about it if ever I feel nigh busting again." In fact, -Betsey's glances had been too deeply laden with expression. She had -forgotten the advice of wise King Solomon, and the wary bird had -descried in time the net so flagrantly spread out within his view. - -"Then it's nothing at present you've been so anxious to confide to me, -Mr. Webb?" cried Betsey just a little tartly. "I wondered at your -precautions, and, really, they frightened me; and I am very glad you -have changed your mind and are going to keep them to yourself. So you -give me back my promise and my 'honour bright?' I can breathe free -again----" "What you told me," she added after a pause, and with just -a suspicion of mischief twinkling under her eyelids, "about your -directorship and the company's going soon to smash, don't count, of -course, for that was before we said 'honour bright.'" - -"How you do run on, Miss Betsey. Of course I hold you to your promise, -and it covers everything we have said since we met. If I do not tell -you a lot, it is only because there isn't a lot to tell. But really -you must not talk about the mining company, or there will be the -d---- to pay. Fact is, old Herkimer has not been acting on the -square." - -"I can believe that," cried Betsey eagerly. Gerald's offence was too -recent to be forgotten or forgiven yet awhile. - -"He made us declare a div-- at the meeting to-day, though he knows -there is nothing to divide, and that most all the metal in the mine -has been dug out already. He expects to get shut of his shares that -way without losing money, and he don't care what becomes of the -concern after that, and he is just using us directors as cats-paws to -save his chestnuts." - -"Quite likely. They are deep scheming men, both father and son. Just -look at Gerald there, and the way he is going on with poor little -Muriel! See how the little fool is hanging to his arm." - -"She's a fine little girl, Miss Muriel Stanley, and I can excuse -anything a fellow does to win her, if only he is good to her -afterwards. You think he's after the aunts' money I guess, Miss -Betsey? That _would_ be mean, but he can't help liking, the sweet -little thing herself all the same." - -"Sweet little humbug! And she isn't a Stanley after all! and not the -Stanleys' niece. She's nobody's child, that I tell you, and nobody's -niece. She was found inside a paper parcel. And as for their money, -it's me and my uncle should get it by right, when they are done with -it, and they won't sleep easy in their graves if they leave it past us -that are their proper flesh and blood; and what's more, I mean to give -them a bit of my mind about it, and that right smartly. I'd after them -at once, but there's that old fool Considine holding the sunshade over -Matilda's head, and we'd best keep family matters at home. Just look -at the old thing! Faugh! It makes me sick to see a woman of her age, -that should be at home making her soul, philandering about the country -with an old dandy like that! Her sunshade lined with rose-coloured -silk and no less, to mend her old complexion--while young girls like -me must go without--and her curls like sausages flapping about -half-way down to her waist. Ha! There they go in at auntie's door to -get a drink of ice-water or something. I'll to them there. Good-bye, -Mr. Webb! You may depend on me, and trust me fully;" and she hastened -away with the "bit of her mind" she had spoken of already on her -tongue tip waiting to be launched. - -The launching was scarcely a success, however, or so Joe Webb -inferred, when, having claimed his horse at the stable, he rode past -the rectory on his homeward way. The Misses Stanley were just then -leaving the house, looking flushed and indignant, the wife following -them to the door with deprecatory looks which changed into dismay as -they departed without a sign of leave-taking, and Betsey in the -background, too crushed and ashamed to be aware even that it was Joe -as he went by. - -Whatever unpleasantness occurred passed harmlessly by Muriel. She was -walking with Gerald down by the river's bank--her very first walk with -an acknowledged lover, for hitherto they had kept up the boy and girl -traditions of their earlier friendship, and these now were discarded -for the first time as the petals fall from the blossom when their work -is done, and they can lend no more assistance to the forming fruit. -She missed the altercation, and her aunts took care that she should -not hear of it. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. - - -It was a fortnight later, it was August, and it was dusk. Having -dined, the men had stepped forth through open windows to smoke upon -their lawns, the ladies, not far off, snuffing the fragrance wafted -through the gloom, or, Canadian-wise, setting out on visitations to -their neighbours' precincts, or receiving uninvited raiders on their -own; the middle-aged to sit and fan and gossip lazily, the young to -sing or even dance, chasing the sultry oppression with active -exercise, as youth alone is privileged to do. - -Jordan had dined, and his shadowy figure would show now and then sharp -against the sky, to be lost momentarily again on the dim background of -surrounding trees. Only the red spark of his cigar was always seen, -travelling back and forth fitfully across the dusky vagueness. Now it -would flash out bright and travel briskly, and then anon it would -dwindle and grow dim in rusty redness, creeping along or even -stationary for a while, starting again into brightness and hurried -movement--signs of pre-occupation, doubt, and suppressed excitement in -the smoker. - -"Ho! Jordan." The hail came suddenly out of the dimness; the light of -another cigar drawing near gradually, like the drowsy flight of a -belated beetle, being the only sign that Jordan was no longer alone. -He started, pulling briskly at his cigar till it glowed and lighted up -not only his own features, but those of Ralph Herkimer, who now stood -before him. - -"Herkimer! Most pleased to see you. Will you--will you come in?" - -"No, I had rather join you here in your stroll and smoke, if you don't -mind," lighting a fresh cigar as he spoke. - -"Well? And are you sorry now you took my advice?" he went on when the -process of lighting up was completed. "The difference between the rise -we brought about and the impending collapse which you foresaw--and -which would inevitably have taken place if your original block of the -stock and Rouget's, which I believe you now hold, had all been offered -at once. Must be a little fortune." - -"Scarcely that, perhaps, but I admit it has turned out a very pretty -thing, and does you the very highest credit as a financial engineer. -But tell me, how long will this boom last?" - -"Till the bubble is pricked, of course--provided the offerings at one -time are not more than can be easily absorbed. You can choke even a -hungry dog by stuffing too big pieces down his throat." - -"Will the price go higher yet?" - -"Naturally, if we restrict the supply." - -"Fact is, I am holding, still. Never _could_ bring myself to sell on a -rising market. I should feel as if I paid every after advance out of -my own pocket. But I mean to begin to-morrow--moderately, that is." - -"Right," said Ralph between two puffs. He had himself "unloaded" a -week before, and had little faith in the future; but it seemed -unnecessary to mention that. - -"And there is no fear of the ugly rumours coming out again? If the men -are seen hanging idle about the tap-rooms, for example, will it not -excite inquiry?--from those blockheads with hammers, for instance, who -are prowling about the neighbourhood, and trying to get at our people -to treat and pump them?" - -"The men speak mostly French, the prowlers English. There is safety in -that. The men are good Catholics, too; M. le Cure recommended many of -them, and they think the English want to tamper with their religion, -so they give them a wide berth." - -"But how do you keep them busy? And how long can you keep it up?" - -"I am getting all who are likely to be troublesome away to Montana, -engaging them for a mining concern, which, if it could be found, would -no doubt employ them. The men cannot get back from Montana before -Fall." - -"Bright idea, that. But there are Podevin and the two others. They -will blab, I fear, as soon as they succeed in selling out." - -"Podevin won't. You made sure of him at the board meeting, when you -told him that if it were known the directors would be indictable for -fraud. Or was it that fool Webb said it? Podevin and Belmore have sold -out, I know, but they are too frightened, both, to say a word. I have -seen them come out of the notary's more than once, and doubt not they -are conveying their property to their respective wives. I pity Belmore -if he does; his wife is Catholic and a devotee, she is sure to leave -it all to the church for the benefit of his heretical soul. The other -fellow is your--I mean our--real danger. He is as obstinate and as -stupid as a pig, and he thinks it would be _wrong_ to save himself, as -the rest are doing, while at the same time he bears us a grudge for -leading him into the scrape. He has been to me in town several times, -but I can make nothing of him, and I fear he is up to some virtuous -devilment or another. The fool has honour enough to fit out a -township, common cad though he be. Wish I had known sooner." - -"Hm! Then I must make haste and get out of the sinking boat." - -"Take care you do not founder the whole thing in your panic. Unload by -degrees--only so much each day, and, if possible, a little less than -is asked for. That will keep the price up, and the quotations of daily -transactions will preserve confidence." - -"I owe you thanks, Ralph, for your suggestions. So far they have been -most valuable. I shall not soon forget how wisely you encouraged me to -hold on. I only wish I could reciprocate your favours; but that is not -to be hoped. You know all the ropes so much better than I do. Take the -will for the deed, old man! and if--by good fortune--if ever----" - -"But you can, my dear Jordan, you really can--and I am glad to know -that your goodwill is equal to the test; though indeed it is nothing I -am asking after all--nothing to cost you anything." - -"Name it," mumbled Jordan with a good deal less effusion than he had -been indulging in the minute before, though still as cordially as the -staccato shock to his nerves would allow. To say truth, he felt not -unlike the sportive mouse, which, in pure lightness of heart, has -nibbled through the thread whose yielding liberates the spring which -catches and holds as in a vice. What wonder that instinctively he -should wriggle to withdraw, the moment he felt himself being held, -even to a position of his own choosing? Bitten by his own teeth, he -would have felt less foolish--less like the stag entangled by his own -antlers in a thicket, to wait the coming of the hunter and his hounds. - -Ralph noted the change in manner and tone; and the humour of it, -causing inward laughter, made the smoke he was inhaling lose its way, -and brought on a fit of coughing. - -"I want you to pay up Gerald's fortune at once," he said at length. -"It wants not much more than a year, you know, to the time fixed. He -is of age, and he is my partner, so we shall both be responsible. I am -Gerald's next heir, too, so it can have no bad consequences for you, -besides being a great convenience to us." - -The tumult in Jordan's circulation had had time to subside, and his -voice had grown even again. It was more mellifluously soothing now -than even its professional wont. "How I wish it had been something -else," he said; "something within the bounds of possibility. It -distresses me to--but----" - -"Quite so, my friend. The usual way of the world. Anything that is not -wanted you would have felt it a privilege to do. Is it not so?--even -to pulling out your eyes, only you know I am not a cannibal and prefer -oysters; so they would be of no use." - -"Really, my dear Ralph, you must not put it in that way, you know. -Indeed, you have no right to say so. Just think----" - -"Oh, I know--quite so--by all means, if you wish it. I know better -than chop arguments with a lawyer. That would be worse than an -altercation with a woman. He is not satisfied, like her, with the -_last_ word, he must have the best of it as well. But the facts -remain." - -"Is that not an admission, my friend, that you know your position will -not bear examination?" - -"Look out for your own position, friend Jordan! I have a presentiment -it would not be impossible to knock that over like a house of cards on -the Stock Exchange to-morrow morning, however easily you might -overthrow me in argument to-night." - -"I used the word 'position' to express your statement of the case, my -dear fellow; I meant nothing offensive." - -"And what sort of statement would you make of your own case if I were -to dismiss all the miners to-morrow open the gates, and let the world -in to see?" - -"Pray do be calm, Ralph, and don't grow excited, I had almost said -violent. You forget that I am only one of two. I can do nothing -alone." - -"I know it; but you can persuade your brother trustee, I believe, as I -cannot. Besides, he will say, like you, that he is one of two; so I -make sure of you before approaching him. Now, what do you say?--My -Canadian interests are in a mess. I have washed my hands of those -mines--I can ruin you, observe, if I like, without hurting myself--I -am already deeply dipped in Pikes Peak and Montanas and I must throw -in all the rest I have to save what is there already. My interests are -across the lines now, and I mean to be there myself also. So you see I -can have no personal interest in sparing you, and I have no doubt that -Webb's fear of a criminal prosecution of the directors will come -true." - -"I am not a director." - -"It would be proved that you attended the meetings and influenced the -board in favour of every irregularity--and there are plenty of -irregularities, I can tell you. The others will insist, you may depend -upon it, on the pleasure of your company with them in the dock; and, -for myself, I don't see why they shouldn't. I imagine that weak chest -of yours will need at least six months to recuperate in Florida--but -there will not be time for you to save your fortune and get away if -you do not listen to reason----" "You force me to speak plainly," he -added, as Jordan stopped short in his walk and dropped heavily upon a -garden seat, deprived of strength to stand upright. His cigar had -dropped from between his teeth, and he sat a mere black shadow in the -dusk till Ralph, pulling his own smouldering spark, into brilliancy, -bent near and saw how sickly pale his visage had become. - -"What say you, Jordan? How are we to arrange?" - -"It will take time to realize and gather in. The accounts, extending -over eighteen years as they do, are voluminous and complicated; it -will take time to make them up. You see it is nearly two years yet -till the time for handing over the trust, so there has appeared to be -no hurry so far; but it will take months to get the thing into shape." - -"I see. And you know that within a week or two I shall be across the -lines, and that it will be a couple of years at least before I shall -care to revisit Canada. Now, really, my friend, do you take me for the -sort of person it is worth while talking such slop to? Hand me the -securities as they are; I am surely as well able to negotiate them as -you can be." - -"I could transfer you those mining shares, of course, if you wished -it. Yes! That will simplify matters; part of them, I mean, the second -part." - -"Mining shares? Come now, that's a rum un. My uncle's estate don't -hold a dollar's worth of them. You forget the transfer books lie in my -office, and I could not have overlooked Considine's name either for -himself or as trustee. Our company is not in his line. He knows too -much and too little for that class of investment. But I see! and it is -what I might have suspected from your sudden rise in the world, only -that I did not think you could have got round Considine--I know _I_ -could not. I admire your management, Jordan. I really do, you must -have finessed very cleverly to nobble old Cerberus like that! A good -slice of the money has passed through your hands, we may infer; and, -of course, as would happen with any one else--I don't blame you, -mind--it has got a little confused and mixed up, as it were, amongst -your own, which is natural; and I do not mind accommodating you as -far as may be. We will take, say, half of your holding--the first -half--and it to be sold before you disturb the rest. We will take it -at par, and give you credit for it. What else will you give us?" - -"Par? Man alive! I bought Rouget's at a premium, and I have been -holding the whole ever so long, with the risk of its falling all -the time. You must take it at the market value, say a hundred and -seventy-six." - -"Whose money is it? By your own admission? And do you not receive a -pension under the will for looking after it? If the price had gone -down, would you have made good the loss?" - -"You have no right to insinuate that I would have done anything -improper. However, I will not yield to so outrageous a demand. No man -in his senses would; especially when you have no more business with it -than the parish priest, for two years to come." - -"You will force me, however unwillingly, to make Gerald file a -petition to have your trusteeship overhauled; with the affidavit I can -make in support the court cannot possibly refuse." - -"I shall have an information lodged against _you_ for swindling before -the petition can be heard. Who will mind your affidavit after that?" - -"Good for you, old man. A stale mate! It does one good to play a match -against you, Jordan; it brightens one's wits. Well now, can we make a -truce? If I do my best to gain you time to realize, and promise to -keep Gerald quiet for the next two years, will you get me that money -out of Considine's hands? How much is it, by-the-way?" - -"Half. We divided the property to avoid the endless consultations, -each agreeing to do his best with half, and trust the other." - -"Well, get Considine to hand over, and you shall be left undisturbed." - -"I don't believe he will do it." - -"Will you try to persuade him?" - -"Yes." - -"Come, then, we will find him at Podevin's, and have it out before we -sleep." - -"He is not there. I saw him walk past as I sat down to dinner; gone to -Miss Stanley's, I fancy, as usual." - -"He will be back before long, now; let us go down and wait." - -"Better wait here, there are always inquisitive loafers around there. -Come in and sit down, the moon is rising. He will not leave his -friends till it is high enough to light him home." - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - MOONLIGHT AND SHADOW. - - -Considine retired early to his chamber by the river-side. The moon was -up and emerging in lucent clearness from the bands of dimming haze -which joined the transparent heaven to the grosser earth. There was no -wind, only a stealing deliciousness on the sweet night air, lulled by -faint whispering among the aspen leaves hard by, and the lapping of -the waters round the boat-house. It was far too good a time to waste -in the unconsciousness of sleep: merely to exist and feel was tranquil -joy. He extinguished his lamp, threw off his coat, and lighting a -pipe, sat by the open window, and puffed and dreamed. - -Swiftly the stream swept by beneath the casement, each swirling eddy -touched with a ring of moonlight, and wavy gleaming lines threading -the dusky current in its course, showing the volume and the swiftness -and the might--like time, like life, like fate. And yet it was not -gloomy. The flickering lustre brightened as the moon rose higher, and -Considine's eye rested meditatively upon the scene. The river, it -seemed to him, was not unlike the passing of his own existence, with -something cold and something solitary in it, issuing from one -obscurity, and hurrying onward to another--nothing but a passing, and -yet not all a cheerless one. - -A gentle influence, it seemed to him, was shining just then on _his_ -life also, one as pure and good as the beams upon the passing tide, -but like that, far off, and cool, and unapproachable. The swellings of -the current seemed to leap and glance up, longing and responsive, but -the Lady Moon smiled back still in the same cool gentle brightness, -coming never the nearer, however the waves might flicker and burn in -impotent desire and longing. Matilda, too, was very far away. The -sense of yearning to be near her had long been in his soul; it had -germinated and grown so gradually that he had not known its presence, -till at length in its spreading it grew into his thought, and he knew -that he desired. - -Yet to disturb the pleasant present by a word seemed far too -hazardous--too like hurling a stone into the stream and breaking up -the radiance. Better, perhaps, be content to bear in silence the cool -reflection in his bosom, than, in leaping to catch the reality, lose -even the shadow. When the pulses sober down to the steady task of -living--when the turbulence, the cascades, and rainbows of the upper -reaches of life are past, and the even stream has entered on the level -country of middle age, love grows less confident and bold even in -those better natures which alone retain the capacity of loving. -Familiarity with disappointment makes man less willing to tempt his -fate, and he clings more eagerly to such good as the gods vouchsafe, -knowing its rarity and his own weakness to hold fast. "Better enjoy -the friendship," thought Considine, "than tamper with and disturb it -by futile endeavours to warm it into love;" and he drew a long breath; -and somehow the air seemed to have grown dim, though in truth it was -only a film of cloud stealing athwart the moon. - -He rose and stretched himself, and yawned, and concluded that now it -was time to turn in, when a tap at the door of his chamber surprised -him. - -"Who is there? Ha! Jordan? Glad to see you. And Herkimer! Let me light -the lamp. How fortunate I had not gone to bed. Oh, no apology! Should -have been sorry to miss you both. Smoking I see. So am I. Brandy and -water? Bless my soul, the ice has nearly all melted. Enough? Glad of -that--or here is soda if you prefer. Splendid night, is it not?" and -so on. His visitors' flow of talk seemed blocked in a strange way for -persons who had taken the trouble to visit him so late. He jerked out -his disjointed sentences in answer to nods and monosyllables, doing -his best to fulfil the rites of hospitality under difficulties. - -Smoke, brightened by brandy and soda, however, had its perfect work at -last. It dispensed, for one thing, with talk for talking sake, till -its own soothing and clarifying influence had time to act; for is not -the cloud blown by a fellow-smoker companionable and sufficient -without a word? Then Jordan, clearing his voice with a preliminary -cough, began: - -"You are surprised, Considine, to see us at this hour; but Herkimer -thought it our only chance of finding you alone. You popular bachelors -are so run after. Fact is, Herkimer says that it would be of advantage -to them to have young Gerald's fortune paid up at once, instead of -waiting for the short remainder of the twenty years to run out. After -talking it over, I am free to confess that much may be said in favour -of his view; and, indeed, he has quite brought me round, so I agreed -to come with him and assure you of my willingness to join you in -acceding. Young Gerald, you will remember, is of age now, and can -legally confirm his father's demand. They are partners in business, -and nearest of kin to each other, and can give us a full and complete -acquittance of our responsibilities, which, speaking for myself, I -shall be thankful to be rid of; for candidly I am not as young as I -have been, and I grow lazy, I suppose, as well as fat, and I find my -own concerns require all the attention I have to bestow. It has been a -long and an onerous trust, and I dare say that, like myself, you will -not be sorry to be rid of it." - -"I need scarcely say," observed Ralph, "that Gerald sees the -importance to our affairs of winding up the trust at once, as strongly -as I do. He has no desire, though, that the trustees should be -deprived of their commission for management before the expiration of -the twenty years. On the contrary, he appreciates their services so -highly that it is his wish to make the allowance permanent, by -granting them a capital sum sufficient to represent at eight per cent -their emolument from the property." - -When Jordan began to speak Considine had set down his pipe and lay -back in his chair, his left foot across his right knee, stroking it -with his hand, while he fixed his eyes upon the speaker. When Ralph -began, an incipient frown hovered about his eyebrows, the blood rose -hotly to his forehead as the speaker proceeded, and he sat bolt -upright, with fingers clenched and lips compressed, ere the conclusion -was reached; when he answered in a voice of suppressed indignation: - -"I am humiliated, Mr. Herkimer, that you should have felt at liberty -to speak as you have done. Your words might be taken to imply an -insinuation against Jordan's probity and my own, for which I am -certain that neither I nor he have given occasion. Take back what you -have said, or I, for one, must decline to say a word upon the subject -of your demand." - -"My dear general!" cried Ralph in amazement, not untouched with scorn -for the "canting old prig" who could pretend that the mode of earning -a dollar made any difference in its value. "You have completely -misunderstood me, I do assure you. No idea could have been farther -from my mind, or indeed from the mind of any one who knows as I do -your delicate sense of honour. I really must protest against your -entertaining so erroneous an impression; and it seems hard that I -should be prevented from expressing my boy's sense, and my own, of -your assiduous attention to our interests." - -"That will be time enough after you know what we have done," answered -Considine dryly. "At present you know nothing, nor can, till the -accounts of the estate have been made up, and submitted to your -examination. However, as you agree to take back the promise of a -consideration for violating the trust reposed in us, no more need be -said." - -"Violating the trust!" remonstrated Jordan. "And who, pray, my dear -Considine, uses unguarded language now?" - -"Not I. Remember the terms of the will, if you please, Mr. Jordan." - -"Technically, my dear sir, and verbally, I will not dispute your -accuracy; but more than that is due to the intentions of a testator, -from friends, and among friends." - -"You think you know Gerald's intentions better than he did himself, -then? For my part, I have thought the will a model of clearness." - -"Think of the circumstances, general--the present circumstances--and -all that has occurred since the will was made." - -"Nothing has occurred for which the will did not provide." - -"Excuse me, general. Gerald has come of age, he has gone into -business, he sees a use to which he can turn his inheritance. What -right have _we_ to balk him, and keep him out of his own?" - -"I deny that it is his own, or can be, till the time appointed has -arrived." - -"Literally speaking, of course, your position cannot be gainsaid; but -consider the circumstances, as I say. When the will was made, there -was every chance that quite another person would inherit. That person -would have received the money before reaching majority. It seems -therefore unfair, and contrary to the testator's wish, that Gerald -should have to wait." - -"I don't see it. What if that other should appear and claim the -inheritance?" - -"Is it likely?" - -"It is possible. Again, Gerald may die within the next -year-and-a-half. We should be personally liable then to the heirs." - -"His father is one of them, his three aunts are the others--all our -friends of long standing. From what you know of them, you can have no -misgiving as to our old friend Ralph's doing what is right by those -ladies. Had the testator been alive he could not but have been glad to -confide them to the care of so good a fellow as his nephew Ralph." - -"That is just where I must beg to differ. I knew old Gerald most -intimately, and I have the best ground for being sure that he would -not." - -"There it is, Considine! You have always had a kind of grudge against -me. You know you have," said Ralph. - -"Not at all, sir. Search your memory, and I defy you to produce one -token of ill-will. Did I not prove myself a useful friend at Natchez?" - -"Never mind Natchez," growled Ralph sulkily. - -"Did we not do business together for years after the war?--business by -which _you_ profited as much as I did? Have I ever made use of an -unfriendly or disrespectful word in your presence?" - -"You have thought and looked them; and you know it." - -"Men are not held responsible for thoughts and looks. They cannot help -them. But let us close all this at once. It is contrary to the letter -of the will to do as you propose, gentlemen, and I will not take the -responsibility. I believe, too, it will be for the young man's own -interest that he should come into possession later, when his hands may -be less trammelled by business engagements." - -It was useless to say more. The schemers speedily took their leave, -Ralph growling and muttering under his breath about pig-headed -ramrods, while Jordan reflected pensively what an impracticable old -Spartan he would have to reckon with, if ever his peculiar method of -trusteeship should come up for discussion. "Not a business man," he -muttered to himself. "Emphatically not!" - -"If he were to die now, would not the whole be in your hands?" asked -Ralph. - -"Undoubtedly. Why?" - -"It just struck me, when we were up there, and he was holding forth by -the open window--and the river outside so swift and deep." - -Jordan started. - -"By G-- I could have pushed him out, and there would have been an end. -But you're chicken-hearted, Jordan. You could not be counted on to -keep quiet." - -"I would rather not be present at such a transaction, certainly," and -Jordan felt a creeping run up his spine. What a desperate fellow the -man must be! He must speak him fair and keep out of his clutches. -Considine was impracticable, he thought again, and Ralph was violent. -If the two came in collision, what loss would it be to him? Either of -them might some day become troublesome. The thought shot through his -mind, and the sickly faintness, bred of suggested murder, tingled into -a glee of terrified exultation, which made him tremble, and the very -teeth rattle in his jaw. - -"It would be all right? Would it not?" asked Ralph. - -"Ye--ye--yes. But really, my dear friend, is it necessary to take me -into your confidence? Considine bathes in the river every morning, -by-the-way--you may count on my eagerness to forward your views--in -any--contingency--but----" - -"Quite so, Jordan. I'm to play cat, am I, to your monkey, for the -chestnuts? Very well. I won't compromise you. You weren't born to be -hanged--a deal more likely to die a sneak-thief's death in a -penitentiary hospital! Bathes every morning, does he, in the river? -Good-night. Sound sleep and pleasant dreams." - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - MURDER. - - -It was a summer morning, between six and seven. The last thread of -mist has melted in the warming air, air suffused with sunshine and -crisp with a lingering freshness from the night; the banks all dewy, -and the river asparkle in the slanting light. - -Considine stepped into a skiff in the boat-house beneath his chamber, -and shot out into the stream to take his morning plunge. Then -lingeringly snuffing the sweet cool air and surveying the upward -moving banks as he drifted down, with fingers idling among the -intricacies of buttons, and talking aloud, he leisurely undressed -himself for his swim: - -"Can that be the glitter of a gunbarrel in the sun? It is--reminds one -of the sharpshooters on the Rappahannock river during the war. What -can the fellow be skulking for, like that, among the bushes? He -remembers it's the close season for duck perhaps; but he might take -courage, and stand boldly forth this morning; there is not one on the -river to pop at, as far as I can see. I must give the Game Preserving -Association a hint when I go to town, though. Well! here goes. -One--two--three!" He dived into the river, and the bracing coolness -licked his languid limbs into a new feeling of firmness and strength. - -Regaining the surface, and shaking his eyes clear of the dripping -hair, he turned to survey his sportsman, now standing full in view. - -"Ralph Herkimer!--and taking aim!--last night--I understand. My -God!--if he aims straight--I'm done for." - -The skiff had drifted on in front during his gambols, and he now -struck out with all his might to gain its side and interpose it -between himself and danger; but he never reached it. A flash and a -puff of smoke upon the shore, a crack, and a stinging sensation in the -shoulder, paralyzing the arm, and he went under water. Rising -presently, he struck out anew, straining every sinew to overtake the -boat, and almost reaching it, when he lifted the sound arm to lay -hold--lifted it too soon. It fell short, fell back on the water, and -he plunged headforemost to the bottom. His head may have struck upon a -sunken rock, or--or anything. He struggled, feeling himself drowning, -and then he grew drowsy, his consciousness grew vague and dreamlike, -and then there was an end. The current swept onward undisturbed, and -the empty boat drifted down stream towards the sedgy islands, where -the river took a turn, and was lost from view. - -Ralph Herkimer stood upon the shore watching with an intentness which -left him deaf and impervious to every other impression. The rifle had -slipped from his shoulder, the butt rested on the ground, and a thread -of smoke still crept out from the barrel. His hand supported it -mechanically. His perceptions were out upon the river. The victim was -hit, he saw so much, and when he sank, Ralph drew a breath of infinite -relief between his tight-set teeth; but still he could not turn away -his eyes. - -The head emerged above the tide again. What?--and he was wounded?--and -yet about to escape!--and it would be known that it was he--Ralph--who -had fired. He must not let him escape--and yet, to fire again? The -first shot, being unlooked for, would pass unnoticed; the next, all -ears along the river being now aroused, would surely be observed. He -clutched the rifle, with one barrel still to fire, and watched the -swimmer. How heavily he floundered through the water, yet with what -desperate force; and, really, he was gaining on the boat. If he -should reach it the deed would be out--everything known--and it would -then be too late to shoot. A boat with a corpse--an empty boat, with -blood-stains, would be enough to set the law and the detectives to -work. He lifted the gun, but his heart beat far too wildly to take -aim. His eyes were clouded, his hands shook; while out in the stream -the swimmer could be seen in frantic effort struggling along and -gaining on the boat. - -And now it seems to Ralph there is no choice. He _must_ fire again, or -the swimmer will gain the boat, and everything be known. Why should -his hand tremble now? When did he ever fail to knock a squirrel from -the tree? Has he not shot a bear in his time? Is not the danger of -letting this man escape worse than any mischief the bear could have -done him? and yet---- - -Ha! The swimmer rises in the water, throwing out his arm as though to -grasp the boat. It is beyond his reach. He falls forward in the tide -and disappears. A foot is seen above the water for an instant, and is -gone. The boat drifts onward all alone. The gun has not gone off, and -Ralph sinks on the bank, panting and weak in the revulsion of -excitement. His eyes follow the drifting boat and watch the even -glassy flowing in its wake, but the waters part not asunder any more. -No head emerges panting and struggling to disturb the mirrored lustre -reflected from the morning clouds. The thing is done. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - NEMESIS. - - -Ralph Herkimer was late for breakfast. He had been out with his gun; -for Gerald, setting out to catch an early train for town, came -on him stepping from the shrubbery to gain the verandah and his own -dressing-room window--met him right in the face, to his own no small -surprise, and not, apparently, to the satisfaction of his parent. - -"Ducks! Father? Ain't you three weeks ahead of time?" - -"Sparrows! my son. We shall not have a black cherry left, for those -blasted English sparrows." - -"And you took the rifle? That would have been putting a big blast with -a vengeance into one of their little persons. Head, claws, feathers, -would have been blown to the four winds. The rest would be nowhere." - -"Humph," grunted Ralph in surly wise, entering his open window without -further parley. - -"Old man must be out of sorts this morning," said the son, proceeding -on his way. "Never saw him so grumpy of a morning before. And to take -a rifle to the sparrows! He must have gone out half awake--taken it up -without noticing, and been ashamed at being seen--stolen back, no -doubt, before Solomon Sprout would arrive with his spade and barrow. -Solomon isn't an early bird by any means. I suppose no gardener is. -Has the whole day before him to potter about the place. Solomon would -have laughed at the rifle, and told us about blowing Sepoys away from -the cannon's mouth when he was soldiering in 'Indy.'" - -Ralph was very late for breakfast. He had rung for his man, and sent -him for sherry and bitters, and then dismissed him, peremptorily -refusing to be shaved, or to be bothered in any way. - -Nine o'clock. Mrs. Martha sat by her coffeepot, but her spouse did not -appear. She rang for Joseph, and inquired for his master, but he could -only say that he had rung for sherry and bitters, refused to be -shaved, and ordered him out of the room. - -"He's out of sorts," soliloquized Mrs. Martha. "Smoked too many cigars -with Jordan last night, that's what's the matter! What fools the men -are! Making themselves sick with nasty tobacco, just for manners to -one another! I'm sure they don't really like it. I've known the time -when Ralph would sit the whole evening with me and Gerald--Gerald was -a baby then--and never a cigar. Just a few peaches before going to -bed, and a Boston cracker. Heigh-ho! I was young then, to be sure, and -better looking, but I don't suppose that signifies to Ralph. I am sure -I like _him_ as well, and think him as fine a man as ever I did; and -why would he not think the same of me? It's just that eternal -_business!_ The men are that dead set on it they think of nothing -else, and they make believe to like tobacco to be with one another, -and keep the women away, that they may talk business. The weary, weary -business! Whatever good has it done us? The richer we get, the harder -Ralph seems to work, and the less I see of him. But I'll keep him at -home to-day, anyhow. See if I don't." - -With a cup of coffee and a piece of toast, she hastened to her -husband's room. - -"Well, Ralph? Still up? I fancied you must have lain down again. Drink -your coffee. It will do you good. Dear me! How pale and limp you -look." - -"Nonsense! I'm all right." - -"Not you. You must not think of going to town to-day. We'll hang a -hammock on the shady side of the house and you can swing there. The -river view feels cool, and there always comes a breeze up from the -water. Joseph!" - -"Bid him hang the hammock in the front of the house, Martha. It amuses -one to see who comes and goes. Yes; I shall stay at home with you -to-day. I don't feel up to much--yesterday's heat, I suppose. Bid him -hang the hammock up in front." - -"There's no shade worth speaking of on that side till the afternoon. -You'll broil yourself with the glare off the flower beds. The west -verandah is the place at this hour, and there's the pleasant outlook -over the river." - -"River be d----d. It makes me giddy to look at it this morning. My -head seems all aswim." - -"Bilious--the brandy and cigars last night. You never _could_ stand -much of that, Ralph. It's not for you! Leave it to the dull fellows -who want brightening. You have too many nerves to agree with -stimulants in quantity." - -"Don't preach, Martha, my good soul. My head is splitting. Open the -window wider, and close the blinds. Now leave me, please; I think I -could sleep. Send Joseph with the brandy and some soda-water and ice." - -"A hair of the dog that bit you, eh? My poor old man. But I think you -would be better without it," and she laid her cool hand on his -forehead as he lay. - -It was the touch that of all things soothed and softened him the most. -In the hurry of life and the scramble for its prizes he had long -outgrown the early transports of the honeymoon, real though they had -been at the time--as real as it was in his nature to experience. The -light of her eye had less power to kindle a response within him; -it shone more dimly, doubtless, than of old, and his receptive -organ--heart, call it?--had toughened with the years, and was too -occupied with greed to hold much else. Her bright and sensible talk, -grown familiar, had ceased to interest; but the touch of that cool, -soft, firm, and sympathetic hand upon his brow, had still the old -power to soothe and charm away pain and care. She was so true, and -strong, and faithful; and a healing virtue dwelt for him in her -touch--the one truly good and holy nature he had ever believed in. And -she believed so thoroughly in him--the only one, perhaps, who did, in -all the world--except their boy--and he had only learnt the faith from -_her_. - -She believed in him, and she was good and true. His brow revelled in -the cool, soft, firm touch. He could have pressed it as a dog will rub -against his mistress's caressing palm, but that he was ashamed of the -one still lingering softness in his nature. Remembering the -chicaneries of his money-making career, how glad he was she did not -know them; and yet he felt a rogue in gaining this testimony of her -faith, more than in all the swervings from uprightness he had ever -been guilty of. And the morning's work. For the fraction of an instant -it had been less present with him in the luxury of that caress. What -would she think of that, if ever she came to know? He guessed the -horror she would feel, though, strictly speaking, he felt no horror in -himself. Would he ever come to feel any? he wondered. It was merely a -dull, stupid consciousness as yet that he was not as other men; that -they would none of him if they but knew; that he was separate from the -rest of his kind. And she? Her hand appeared to burn him at the -thought. He felt spattered and sticky with the dead man's blood, and -it was soiling her clean pure hand. If she knew it, she would renounce -him. Shrinkingly he turned his head beneath her touch, and the gentle -wife, pained at perceiving her caress grow irksome, stole silently -from the room. - -"Alas! How they had been drifting apart through all the years!" -thought Martha. "The world had come between, a broadening wedge -pressing them ever more and more asunder. Ralph had never been unkind, -but how slowly, yet steadily, he had been growing not to care. He had -so many other things to think on." She, who sat at home with her -thoughts, and still cherished the old fancies of her girlhood, grew -hungry at the heart with the old hunger for a perfect love; and the -food had grown sparer and slighter while her mind and soul had been -waxing with the years--for a woman's heart need not wither with her -complexion--and now, when she sought sign of love, what got she? A -roll of bank bills--a handful of Dead Sea fruit--or costly trinkets -which had no value now that the eyes she would have pleased did not -care to look. Still, until now, he had submitted to her caress; she -had even pleased herself by fancying that he liked it, he had -submitted always so calmly. Now he had shrunk from her--turned away -his head. "Alas! she was growing old," she thought, "he had ceased to -care for her save as his housekeeper and Gerald's mother. How hard the -men were, and utterly selfish!" She wiped her eyes a little, and went -about her morning occupations. At least he should never know that she -had suffered this wound. He should never know that she had observed a -change. But never again should he have the opportunity to spurn. She -would give him his way. - -Ralph spent his morning in a semi-invalid fashion strange to one of -his habits. "What was the matter with him?" he asked himself, "and -what was he afraid of?" To both queries he answered positively -"nothing." Yet the oppression on his spirits would not lift, and there -was a tremor or dismay at his heart which would not be calmed or -reassured. Why would not the man roll over and have done, and let -there be an end, as there was with the squirrel and the bear he -recollected? - -Of moral sense Ralph may be said to have had as little as any one -living in the civilized state. He certainly had not enough to trouble -sleep or digestion, and might have been warranted impervious to -remorse. With little benevolence, and without imagination, he was -insensible to pain or misery beyond the circumference of his own -cherished hide, as had been shown by his pleasure in the torture and -ill-usage of his uncle's slaves. He had even prided himself on being -proof to such phantasies as limit other men in working out their will; -and if not brave, he had at least the judgment which reduces danger to -its true dimensions. He surveyed his position now, The probabilities -were in his favour. Who could have seen him? Who suspect him? It was -unlikely at that hour that any one had, seeing he had fired but once. -In his position nobody would suspect him, even if he had been seen and -were accused. He need only say he had seen a bird on the water, and, -having the gun in his hand, after frightening the sparrows from his -cherry trees hard by, he had let fly. Jordan could testify to his -spending the previous evening amicably with the deceased, and no one -could suggest a reason for the deed. Possibly, too, the body being in -mid-stream would be carried down. Once in the St. Laurence it was safe -to be carried over the Lachine Rapids, or rendered unrecognizable by -mere lapse of time. Danger, he told himself, there was none, and yet -the gloom upon his spirits would not lift. Not all the brandy and soda -he could swallow availed to cheer him. - -There is a social atmosphere in which we live, a subtile sense of the -general sentiment of our fellows, which no obtuseness of the nerves, -no clearness of the understanding, can be wholly proof against. We -breathe it, and live in it, and are of it, exceptional endowment -counting for but little in opposition. The sanctity of human life, and -the solidarity of each member with the rest of the community as far as -mere existence goes, are sentiments so derived--foregone conclusions -which nobody disputes, and nobody finds it necessary to assert. They -go without saying, and are in the basis of our notions. And now, as a -murderer, Ralph felt himself in the position of a lurking wolf, liable -to be found out at any moment, and hooted from the company of men. He -was already of a different kind from his fellows--a man apart and -outside of human sympathy. If it were known, whom would he have to -depend on? Would not his closest intimates be ready to assist the -sheriff in bringing him to punishment? The loneliness weighed on him. -Brandy would not lighten it. The rush of that detestable river was in -his ears, and would not be expelled, nor the swift glassy sweeping of -the tide be obliterated from his view, use his eyes or close them as -he might. - -"Let me take you for a drive, Martha," he called out at last. "A long -drive in the sun and wind, I think, will do me good." - - -That drive was not a happy experience for the unfortunate horse. Urged -to his utmost speed, over endless miles of dusty way, in the heat and -glare of an August afternoon, Ralph suffered him not to flag, though -his sides were wet with foam and his ears drooped with fatigue. -Heedless of all else, Ralph strove to escape or outstrip the dull -oppression that had fallen on his spirit, the dismay which, like a -shadow, stood by his shoulder and at his ear, whispering in the -rushing river's voice, and pointing him to the shimmer of waters -closing on the swimmer's head, turn his eyes whithersoever he might. -Martha sat pensively and silent by his side. In his miserable -pre-occupation he forgot her presence, and spoke to her not a word, -bent on urging the horse forward, in feverish merciless impatience. - -"Ralph!" Martha cried at last in genuine alarm. She had known him in -feverish moods before, which violent motion and exertion had been able -to relieve, but she never before had seen him act and look as now. She -feared for his sanity, and kept silence while she could, trusting to -his out-wearing the fit; but in time it seemed to her that their lives -were in danger, they were liable to be thrown out at any moment, and -succour was miles away. "Ralph!" and she laid her hand on his sleeve. -"Where are you going? Where do you want to take us? You will break -down the horse and throw us out upon the road, if you do not mind. -Look at him!--he seems fit to drop." - -Ralph started, and but for his wife the reins would have slipped from -his hand. He was like one awakened from a horrid dream, roused to what -is going on around him. He checked the horse, brought him to a walk, -and shortly stopped. The relief he experienced at the moment he was -disturbed was inexpressible, he could have laughed and babbled with -delight; but then, too quickly, he recollected. There was something to -conceal as well as to forget; he must guard his every word and -movement. By-and-by unheeded incidents might be re-called, and pieced -together into a web of circumstantial evidence from which it would be -impossible to escape. He must command himself. - -"It's the heat, Martha, the heat. My head has been turning round all -day. Wonder if I can have had a slight sunstroke? It was well you -spoke; I must have been asleep--sleeping with my eyes open, and -driving like mad. Poor Catchfly! I've nearly killed him. What will -Gerald say to me for ruining his nag? Too bad! Really I did not know -what I was doing. You should have spoken an hour ago, Martha." - -"How could I, Ralph? You have not spoken a word since we came out. I -did not know what might be the matter. It was only when Catchfly began -to look as if he must drop, and the road got stony, and I saw the -gravel pits by the wayside, that I began to fear for our necks and -spoke. Where are you going? Where are we?" - -"I do not know where we are. As to where I am going, it can only be -_back again_, if we can find the way." - -"We must 'light then, and give the poor beast an hour or two's rest, -at any rate. See how used up he is! It will be no wonder if he goes -lame; and see, he has lost a shoe!" - -"We must get out of this sun-beaten road, at any rate, into the shade. -There is a grove by the road-side, a mile on the way back. See it? A -sugar-bush[1] it looks like from here. There must be a homestead not -far from it. We may hire a fresh horse there, perhaps, and let them -bring home Catchfly to-morrow." - -In time the sugar-bush was reached, and by-and-by, the farmer's house. -The way seemed long, they traversed it so slowly, for Catchfly fell -lame as he began to cool; and they had to alight and lead him ere the -end. - -In consideration of money paid, the farmer complied with their wishes. -Catchfly was liberated from the shafts, and another horse took his -place--a horse which had toiled all day in the turnip field, and at -his best was not remarkable for speed. They were condemned to sit up -helplessly behind, while this patient beast trudged wearily along the -road. The day waned into twilight, and Martha's patience died out with -the light. - -"Say! Ralph, you can go home and have your dinner. I've had enough of -buggy-riding for one day. Let me out here, at Miss Stanley's gate, -she'll give me a cup of tea. After dinner you can send up Gerald to -bring me home." - -"I don't feel hungry either," answered Ralph. "It will be dull without -you. I'll go in, too, and bring you home myself by-and-by." - -The ladies were sitting in the dusk without candles. Penelope drowsed -over some knitting by the window, while Matilda and Muriel played old -duets from memory; the former seemingly without much interest or -attention, though she still kept on playing, notwithstanding Muriel's -frequent exclamations that she had gone astray. The window was -darkened for an instant, but the music still went on, hurrying just a -little, perhaps, to reach its close. It was only a lady who had come -and sat down by Penelope, speaking softly, as if unwilling to -interrupt. And then, through the other window there entered a man, the -dark outline of whose figure alone was seen against the dimly-lighted -garden, and the music ceased, for Matilda had risen. - -"Mr. Considine--at last. And we have been looking for you since two -o'clock. The horses harnessed, lunch baskets packed, everything ready. -What an apology you have got to make us! I really do not think -Penelope can bring herself to forgive you, whatever you say." - -Ralph gasped and started, stopped short, looked wildly behind him, and -catching hold of a chair to steady himself, dropped into it in a -momentary palsy of fright. - -"Mr. Herkimer!" Matilda corrected herself, "What a ridiculous -mistake!" and she coloured, perhaps, but it was growing dark, and no -inquisitive eye was near. "You seem quite faint with the heat. Muriel, -get him some wine and water. And Martha! I did not observe you come -in. Mr. Herkimer seems quite poorly." - -"He has been out of sorts all day. Biliousness and the heat combined. -No! You did not observe _me_. It was impossible to mistake _my_ shadow -for Considine's." - -Ralph started and stamped his foot. That man's name again; and _he_ -striving so strenuously to forget! - -"Are you worse? Ralph," asked Martha, noticing his movement. "I -wonder, Matilda, you should mistake Ralph for Considine. They are both -men, that is all the resemblance I can see between them." And Martha -smiled. - -"We expected Mr. Considine, that is all. We have been looking for him -since two o'clock. He has not come, and he has not sent. I never knew -him serve us so before. He is so very particular in general." - -"I should think so. Depend upon it there is some good reason, or a -message has miscarried." - -Ralph writhed. Why _would_ they speak of the man? It seemed as if they -could speak of no one else. And yet they did not know, and they must -not know. Nobody must know; and he must exert a vigorous control upon -himself. How was it that control should be needed at all? What -weakness was this that had fallen on him? He did not understand it. -About a man already dead--done with; non-existent; wiped like a cipher -from a slate--vanished and disappeared? - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - RESCUE. - - -The wooded islands which closed the river view from St. Euphrase, shut -out from sight the homestead of Farmer Belmore lower down the stream. -Only the unreclaimed outskirts of his land could be seen from the -village, repeating the shaggy bush of the islands upon the farther -shore, and carrying it backward and upward to the sky line. A dense -umbrageous bush it was, containing much choice timber, a resort of -game, and also, in the warm weather, of tramps, at times, and -specimens of the rougher dwellers in the city, who sought in its leafy -recesses temporary change of abode, to the loss of neighbouring -gardens and hen-roosts. The farmer, however, was safe while the -depredators dwelt upon his land, by tacit understanding; and therefore -he made a point of closing his eyes, and never was cognizant of their -presence. - -At this moment a gang of gypsies[2] were encamped in Belmore's bush. -Their waggons, tents, and children had lain there for a week or two, -while the men scoured the surrounding country, selling horses, and -picking them up, the screws in honest trade, the others as might -happen: for strays were certainly not unfrequent about the time of -their visits, though none were ever traced into their hands, which is -not remarkable, as who would look for a Canadian colt in New York -State, or a New York one in Ohio or Kentucky? - -These people, like other European products transported to America, -have thriven luxuriantly. They have ceased to be tinkers, though -fortune-telling is still practised by the women; their donkeys have -been exchanged for waggons and horses, and they traverse the settled -States from the Gulf of Mexico to the St. Lawrence, following the warm -weather northward, as the red-birds and wild canaries do, and -returning South again when summer is over, in time to avoid the cold. -Their native love of wandering finds a wider range in their new -country, and they are comparatively wealthy, though still, as ever, -they live in the open air and apart from their fellow men. - -The morning fires were alight in the gypsy camp near the river bank. -The meal was over, but the children and the dogs still brawled and -scrambled for the scraps. The women, and such young men as were not -away, had dispersed themselves along the woody banks to fish or bathe; -and old Jess, the mother of the gang, sat smoking her corn-cob pipe -upon a fallen pine which stretched far out, dabbing its humbled -plumage in the current, and raising murmurs for its downfall in the -lapping of the water among its boughs. Jess sat and smoked in the -pleasant morning air, so full of warmth and sunshine and gentle sound, -watching the smoke-rings vanish into air and thinking the passive -unconscious thoughts of physical well-being, the thoughts which want -no words because they call for no expression. The ox knows them, -ruminating in his meadow; and mankind, innocent of printed lore, and -under no stress to act or say, must know them too, in their harmonious -vagueness, bringing the luxury and refreshment of perfect sleep, -without the diminishment of sleep's unconsciousness. - -The even movement of the glancing water called up in a day-dream the -images of bygone things--her childhood and youth in England, her -voyage across the sea, her husband and her sons; and then her -husband's death, as he was fording Licken River in a freshet, riding -an unruly horse. The current before her seemed to swell and darken and -grow turbid as she recalled the affrighted beast plunging and -floundering through the swirling flood, swerve suddenly aside, losing -his footing, and roll over, disappearing in a vortex, and by-and-by -emerge alone and struggle up the bank. It was a long time since it all -had happened; the very recollection had ceased to be present in her -daily life, with its cares and enjoyments so completely of the -present--the affairs of her numerous descendants and their hangers-on, -over whom she would fain retain authority as much as might be; and its -equivalent, the money, in her own hands. - -This morning it felt different, the long ago seemed more actual than -the present as she sat and smoked, her grizzled hair hanging in wisps -upon her shoulders, and her sun-bonnet of yellow gingham pushed back -upon her head. A something in the water, surging up through the -surface and sinking again, leaving rings upon the current coming down, -caught her eye as she sat gazing up stream. It might only be a log, -but yet, how it carried back her thoughts to her old man hurried down -on that Licken freshet into the muddy Ohio, and rolling on and on for -hundreds of miles through the yellow oozy water, till the body stuck -fast in a clay-bank and was hid for ever. It might be a log; but no, -it was not, for now she saw white hair, which spread and shrank again, -as it sank and rose in the water. A horse, was it? or an ox, with a -hide worth stripping off to sell? but no--it was a man! She could see -it plainly now, as it drifted near, and she felt the thud as it struck -against the branches of her tree, branches which caught it and blocked -its forward course. A man! and still alive, perhaps, for there was a -redness as from oozing blood around. She threw her pipe away, and -shouting to those within hail, she leaped into the water and waded out -with the assistance of her tree. A youth had hurried to her aid, the -water did not reach above his chest, and their united efforts drew the -body ashore. - -"A fine clean-limbed man," sighed Jess, comparing him with her own old -man, whom partial hap, alas, had carried away for ever. "A fine -strapping man, but never so spry as thy own grandfer. Will. _He was_ -the man, but he's away; let's see to this coon. Hm----" a smothered -exclamation, and a suspicious glance at Will, to see if he had -observed her pull a diamond ring from the drowned man's finger; but -Will's attention was drawn to something else at the moment. - -"He ain't come by's end fair, granny," he said; "see to the blood on's -back--running still, by gum! The man maybe ain't dead, granny." - -Granny slipped the ring into her mouth for safety, till she should -find leisure and privacy to conceal it elsewhere, and then resumed her -interest in the drowned man. - -"Runnin' sure, the blood is, Will. And shot he's been. I heard the -crack of a gun up stream the now, I reckon, but I gave no heed. Lay -down his head, lad, and lift his feet. Help shake the water out of -him, and roll him round. There was none by to roll thy poor grandfer -the day he fell in Licken River. Never fear to hurt him, lad! The man -can't feel, and more's the pity. Shake him well and roll him round, -keep down his head, and let the filthy water run off his stommick." -There was little of that same fluid ever privileged to enter Jess's -anatomy, or, indeed to come near her person, save in the inevitable -form of rain or a fordable stream. - -It was a rough and uncouth process of resuscitation, in which the -others, as they gathered about, joined with energy, chafing the limbs, -rubbing, rolling, and kneading; but fortunately for himself Considine -was unconscious of the liberties which the gypsies were taking with -his person; a brown skinned black-eyed rabble, pawing, and pulling, -and fingering him all over, without diffidence or any respect. - -The warm sun and the vigorous handling had their effect at last, a -sigh escaped from the inactive chest, and by-and-by another, and then -old Jess had him carried into the bush and laid on her own bed in one -of the waggons, where she practised such surgery as she knew in the -way of binding up his wound, poured a quantity of whisky down his -throat, and left him to sleep. - -Just then some of the gypsies, who had come on the boat lying grounded -among the weedy shallows round the island, brought it ashore; and -Considine's towels and clothing were appropriated and divided among -the gang, who then pushed the boat back into the stream and let it -drift. When this was done, the camp sank back into rest and leisure. -The people wandered off into the bush, to spend the summer day as -liked them best, some to stretch themselves in the shadow, others to -bask in the sun, while the children picked berries or snared birds, a -happy and unsophisticated crew, till the lengthening shadows of -afternoon warned the women to prepare supper against the return of -their men. - -The men returned earlier than was expected. A shrill whistle rang -through the bush as they appeared, which brought in the stragglers -from every direction to hover round the fire and snuff in expectancy -the savoury odours which issued from the bubbling pots. - -Reuben, the chief man, led Jess aside, muttering to her a rambling -story of his troubles during the day, which she listened to with -impatience and disgust. - -"As usual, Reuben, al'us getting in a row along of them strays you -pick up and let join us. Thou'lt have the hull country raised agin us -ere long, and we shan't know whar to go--us as were so well liked -every whar a while back." - -"It was yourself let him wive with Sall, mother; and you've no call to -cast it up to me. A fine thing it would have been to let the pore -wench go off with her lad, all alone; and her the handiest gal to tell -a fortn' 'twixt here and Allegany. Needs must when the devil drives, -so we let the coon stay. And there's no harm in the lad as I kin see, -'cep' that he's kind o' soft like, and not peart. He's cl'ar off the -now, and he's makin' for the Lines, but, like's not, they'll be down -here the morrow to look for him, and there's a many thing's round this -camp as wuddn't be good for sheriff's men to see. We mun cl'ar out, -mother; cl'ar out the night." - -"I have a half-drownded man in the waggon wi' me, lad--I pulled him -out o' th' water myself, for the love o' your old dad as is drownded -and gone this many a year--and what am I to do with 'n, think you?" - -"Let him slide. Put him back whar you brought 'n from. I wants no -stranger wi 's this night." - -"We cud not leave him here for the sheriff to find. They'd say we did -for him. He has a gunshot in's body as it is, and I hain't a rag to -cover him wi' when we leave him. You'd not be for givin' him your own -coat, I reckon, and I know of nowt else, for I need my blanket to keep -my own old bones warm o' nights. The lads have his pants, and boots, -and things among them, the gals have the shirt and the towels, and I -have the gold ticker for yourself, Reuben, and you wouldn't be for -hanging it round's neck, I reckon, to show we didn't rob him, if we -tote him to Belmore's place afore we start." - -Reuben took the watch, opened it, held it to his ear, bit the chain -with his teeth, tested it in such ways as occurred to him, and -finally, satisfied of its value, slipped it into his pocket. - -"We'll have to take him, I s'pose. Keep him quiet, and keep the duds -away from him. He'll be bound to stay then, cuddn't make off ye know -wi' nothin' but's own pelt on's back. He'll kin pay for's liberty and -new duds afore long. And willin' too. But you'll have to keep dark." - -There was no light in the gypsy camp that night. The fires had -smouldered out, and the shadows of the trees excluded every glance of -the moonlight. There was no sound either; no yelp of cur or cry of -wakeful infant; only the hooting of a solitary owl overhead, blinking -at the moon through the leaves, or the rustle of a fox stealing away -through the underbush, making off with a half-picked bone. A mile away -a creaking of wheels labouring through deep encumbered ruts, and the -cracking of branches might have been heard in the stillness, while -dusky figures shone momentarily in the moonlight as they passed from -one obscurity of shadow to the next. - -Ere morning the gang was encamped again in another quiet corner, -twenty miles distant from Belmore's bush, and next day they resumed -their retreat to the Vermont Line, journeying calmly through a -neighbourhood which knew nothing of the misdoings of Sall's husband. - -Old Jess rode in the waggon with her charge, nursing and caring for -him with much skill, but unable to extract the bullet from his wound. -That was now growing fevered and inflamed, the jolting must have -caused him pain, and might have elicited a groan liable to be -overheard at an inconvenient moment; but she contrived to keep him in -a drowse with strange drinks of her own devising, which she -administered to him, and it was a whole day from the time of his -rescue before he was able to take note of his situation. Even then his -head was dizzy, his shoulder ached; his body was so wretched, and his -mind so confused, that he was glad to turn round and court sleep and -unconsciousness again. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - IT WAS ALL WEBB'S FAULT. - - -It was a day or two before Ralph's nerves recovered their tone. It -mortified him to discover that such things formed part of his internal -economy, for he had supposed himself to resemble the strong and -successful men of history and finance, who march straight forward to -their purpose, looking neither behind nor to either side, careless -alike of the downtrodden and the overthrown who mark their onward -path, conquering and to conquer. It was a day or two before he calmed -down, or, as his wife expressed it, "got over that little turn, which, -now it was over, she was free to confess, had made her feel real -anxious." The cares of business had been too much, she thought, and -she was sure he wanted a change. "Why would he not take her for a few -weeks to the sea; or to the White Mountains she was so fond of? Why -keep a dog and be always barking himself? Had he not made Gerald a -partner? Then why not leave him in charge of the business? She was -sure her boy, with his inherited smartness and fine education, could -manage very well for a week or two; and at the worst there was always -the telegraph, and he could recall his father if he found the -responsibility too much for him. Is he not a fine young man, Ralph? -Own up for once, though he is your own son." - -"Yes, my dear, certainly!--Very fine indeed, and very nice--and a good -lad to boot; but he knows no more of my business than you do, and I do -not wish that he ever should." - -Martha sighed. She had her misgivings that there were depths and -recesses in her husband's thoughts and his affairs, which she had -never sounded or peered into, and which might yield up skeletons and -unwelcome truths to an over-inquisitive search. She had never -attempted to know more than was disclosed, therein manifesting her -wisdom. "Why should she, indeed?" as she asked herself. Ralph had -always been kind; once upon a time, at least, he had been more, he had -been really fond of her; and, for herself, she knew that she still -loved him very dearly, and therefore it was wisdom to keep disturbing -considerations out of sight. It is so always. There is much in life to -make the moral perceptions jar. Good and evil are linked in such close -relations--concurrent streams which occupy one channel amicably, and -with mutual convenience, but without mingling--the wheat and tares -growing up together, and both contributing to the luxuriance of the -scene, however the strictly moral eye may disapprove. Still, Martha -had her misgivings; or rather, if she would have heeded them, her -intuitions. They started from the most trivial grounds, an inadvertent -phrase, a laugh, or even a shrug of scorn, at something good or noble, -which betrayed that there were things, and not so far either from the -gates of speech, which, if they came forth, would raise a barrier -between them which could never be pulled down; and so, as the guardian -of her own happiness and peace, she resolutely turned her observation -the other way, rather than see what it would cost her far too dear to -know, as leading to an alienation worse than widowhood; for there -could be mingled with it no tender regret, no hope, or even wish for -reunion. - -"Then is Gerald to have no holidays this year?" said Martha, by way of -resuming the talk. "If you will not go away yourself you may surely -send _him_." - -"I don't think he wants to travel farther - ---------------------------------------------- - -[Pages 86-87 missing.] - ---------------------------------------------- - -was finished. No, sir-ree! Not if I know it." - -"But, my dear fellow, I really do not know whom you are talking about. -I assure you. I have not seen or heard of him since the other evening -when we called on him together." - -"Who _has_ seen him since then, I should like to know? But it is clear -you know well enough what I'm driving at. Now, tell me, for we have -little time to act in, have you taken any steps towards getting hold -of his papers yet?" - -"What steps would you wish me to take? or rather, what steps would be -possible? Podevin--his host, remember, and the man has no one -belonging to him, or more nearly interested in him, in this -country--thinks he must have gone to New York by the early train the -other morning; that he went straight from his room to the station -without going into the hotel. You see the train stops for breakfast at -that small station, fifty miles down the line. So he is no way -disturbed at his guest's absence, who has taken his room for the -season, and goes and comes as he likes." - -"But the man is drowned! I saw him sink with my own eyes." - -"If you will report that to the authorities, it will both simplify and -hasten matters. Only the first question which they will ask is sure to -be why you waited so many days before saying a word. The heat, no -doubt, may be made to account for a good deal, but you had better have -medical advice before committing yourself." - -"But there is the boat. He undressed in the boat. That will tell the -whole story. One of Podevin's boats, too." - -"Ha! Yes; I think I remember, now you mention it, Randolph's telling -us at dinner, yesterday, that Podevin's boat-house had been broken -open and a boat carried off--yes, and the boat was picked up far down -the river, and brought back all safe. And the old man has been -fretting himself to make out which of his servants could have given -it, for he is sure the boat-house has been opened from the inside. Not -a word about clothes, though, and you see there is no anxiety whatever -about his disappearance. We must wait. The body may be found." - -"But I am going off--off to the White Mountains with my wife, for the -rest of the warm weather, and there is no saying when I shall get -back." - -"No; I suppose not." - -"And I want to take those securities, or whatever they are--you don't -seem to know yourself? a pretty trustee!--along with me. Can I depend -on you to send them after me?" - -"_You_ should know. Would you do it yourself?" and Jordan, braced into -self-assertion by the overbearing tone of the other, looked defiantly -in his face. "In a year and ten months from now your son will have a -right to dictate, if, as Considine phrased it the other evening, he -shall then prove to be the heir. In the meantime, I am accountable -only to my fellow-trustee, and if he does not call me to account I -know of no one else in the position to do so. At the same time, your -assistance in unloading my copper shares might be of vast benefit to -me, and I am willing to pay for that, and pay handsomely, though it is -idle to discuss at present what I may see my way to doing if ever I -become sole trustee." - -Ralph turned away with a shrug to buy his morning newspaper. "Brag is -a good dog, but Hold-fast is a better," was all he said to himself as -he seated himself in the railway carriage, and began to look over the -news. It was a truism he had long been familiar with, but one which -came pleasanter when he happened to own Hold-fast, instead of poor -Brag. However, one must fight the dog he happens to have, there are -chances, always, only one need not lament when what might have been -expected comes to pass. It did seem to him, however, that he had very -needlessly befouled himself with crime; he was going to make nothing -out of it, that was pretty clear, and, as he cynically expressed it, -the devil was picking him up a bargain, dirt cheap. His hide, -however--his moral hide, that is--was tough and callous, and he -congratulated himself on the circumstance. So long as the "untoward -incident" was not known, it should not interfere with his appetite or -his spirits. Already he had become accustomed to that ugly word -"murderer" in his mind; it was bearable he found, so long as it -carried no external mark; though he regretted it, undoubtedly, now -that it had turned out so utterly useless. As there was every prospect -of its never being known, he would survive it well enough, he felt; -but he would take precious good care next time that there should be no -mistake about the _quid pro quo_, before again running the risk of so -many ugly possibilities. - -He reached town busied with these reflections, and hurried to his -office, where he soon was deep in the correspondence of the days he -had been absent, with Stinson behind his chair contributing condensed -verbal information by way of commentary as he went along. - -"Yes, Stinson, you'll do," he said, when he had laid down the last -letter. "You've been a good clerk, and an apt pupil. You have -feathered your nest nicely, I make no doubt, and when the house goes -up, as it must, in three weeks at the outside--I think I can keep it -standing till then--you will be in a good position, no one better, to -start for yourself; and, with what I have taught you, to make your -fortune right off. You will be able to start at once, I say, but if -you take the advice of an old friend--who has not been a bad friend to -you either, though I say it--you will wait on here and wind up the -business. The creditors will be only too glad to have you. In fact, -there is no one else who ever will unravel things. You will, and can, -make your own terms with them, I doubt not; and the only favour I have -to ask of you is that you will do what you can to let that boy Gerald -down easy, and get him his discharge as soon as possible. It is well -for him now, that he should have been so unfit for business--financial -business, I mean, or rather, perhaps, our special application -of the science of finance. He would have done well in some steady, -old-fashioned, respectable concern, I make no doubt, for he is not a -fool; but he wants enterprise, vim, go, and he has too many scruples -for a rising man. His mother, good woman, has spoiled his prospects -for life in this walk; but, as he will probably be independent, -perhaps it is best so. There's nothing like high-souled honour to keep -a man's head up in the world--when he can afford it, that is--I never -could, not till after my road was chosen, at least, when it would have -been too late; so broad views in economics and morals were the only -ones for me, and I fancy some of my admirers will find them to have -been even broader than they thought, after I have cleared out, and -they find their money scattered past picking up again. But this is -digression, Stinson; never mind _me_, only keep the boy's name clean. -It would break his spirit and kill his mother--the truest woman -alive--if any reproach fell on him. Fling everything on me, I shall -have so much to carry that a trifle more or less will make no matter. -And, after all, when Pikes Peak and Montana comes up to par, I shall -be back again with a pocketful of money big enough to make them all -keep quiet. If anybody strong enough to carry on a lawsuit for years -has a colourable claim, I can settle with him out of court; and as for -the small fry, I shall snap my fingers at them, and they will think me -a finer fellow than ever for being able to over-ride them. They're -like dogs, they reverence the man who can hide them soundly. But I -talk discursively this morning. Eh, Stinson? I hope you will -impress upon the lad, what, indeed, is the fact, and what the books -of the firm show conclusively, and that is, that the _firm_ is -solvent--almost, that is; ninety-eight cents to the dollar they show, -and there would be a surplus, if the firm's funds had not been -diverted to my private operations, with which he has no concern, and -which it would be casting a reflection on me for him now to touch. -There is the Bank, the Copper Company, and the St. Lawrence and -Hudson's Bay, in which he has absolutely no interest whatever. If the -creditors of these come to him with representations, and claims of -honour--I know how they will put it--asking him to promise a payment -out of my uncle's fortune when he gets it, tell him from me, that I -expect him as a good son to close his ears to every slanderous story, -and to have nothing to do with those who tell it, and never to admit -the possibility of such claims having a foundation, by attempting to -settle them. It will not surprise me much if that inheritance of his -turns out to be no great thing after all. It has not been in the most -judicious keeping, and----But see, who is that at the door. Tell him, -whoever he is, I am engaged, and can't see him. There are several -drawers full of papers in the safe--the accumulation of years--I shall -need your memory to help me, perhaps. We will tackle them to-day in -case of accidents." - -"Engaged most particularly," cried Stinson, unbolting the door and -holding it ajar. "Can see nobody, Mr. Jordan. Indeed, sir--you cannot -come in--no, indeed!" - -"Stand back, you fool. Don't I tell you I must?" and Jordan, looking -red and white in patches, hot and cold at once, his hat on his head -askew, and his waistcoat torn open, struggled in, pushing Stinson -aside, closing the door again, and locking it himself. - -"See here! Herkimer. Have _you_ been served with this?--I have got one -as solicitor, but you as president should be served also, and so -should each individual director, I hold, and I mean to push the point -as to their being served individually; but there can be no question -about the necessity of serving the president." - -"What is it? Let me see. Hm! Webb v. St. Euphrase Mining Association. -Motion to show cause--pay dividend. Don't know, I'm sure. It may be -in the outer office. Have been busy this morning--let nobody in but -you--and that was only because Stinson failed to keep you out. Ask in -the office as you go out, they will tell you--if you think it of -consequence." - -"Consequence? If they have not served you I can certainly get the -hearing postponed, and secure time to unload." - -"Time to unload? Who wants to unload? _I_ don't. I unloaded long ago." - -"But _I_ do." - -"And pray, Mr. Jordan, what of that? _You_ are not a director of this -company--only the solicitor, its paid professional adviser. Send in -your bill, it will be filed with the rest of the claims, and rank as -the law prescribes when we go into liquidation." - -"Good God! Ralph. It will ruin me!" Jordan had grown all white now, -and beads of moisture were standing on his forehead. "We _must_ stave -off this argument in court. The shares will be unsaleable at a cent in -the dollar. As it is, my brokers have been able to get off none for -three days back--some inkling of this, no doubt. But if I can stave -off the argument in court for a fortnight, there will be time for us -to circulate encouraging rumours." - -"_Us?_ What have I to do with it? I will have no hand in circulating -false reports. Understand that clearly, Mr. Jordan. I wonder what I -can have done"--turning to Stinson, who stood by the door enjoying the -comedy--"to give any one the right to approach me with such a -proposal," and he blew his nose loudly, grinning the while under cover -of his pocket-handkerchief. - -"Do you want to ruin me, Herkimer? I have all the shares I ever took -up still on my hands, not only those I subscribed for, but all -Rouget's, and I was to have given him up his mortgage in payment of -them; but I had already realized that, and bought more of your -infernal shares with the money; and now, the fat's in the fire! If I -can't unload I am a ruined and a dishonoured man. Everything I have -will go, and then the Law Society will come down on me for -irregularities, when I have lost the ability to square the benchers, -and I shall be disbarred. Ralph!" and he clasped his hands, "I shall -be ruined if you do not help me at this pinch. You must!" - -"I don't seem to see it. I fear it is impossible. Unfortunate, of -course; but just what happens constantly, when a man leaves the groove -of his own profession, and ventures into fields of enterprise he does -not understand, and has no experience in. You lawyers are so very -superior to the rest of us. You go into court and talk so glibly of -our affairs, and so much more knowingly than we can do ourselves, that -by-and-by you persuade yourselves that you really understand them. -Then you try a hand at them yourselves, and then you cut your fingers. -It is droll, my dear fellow. Forgive my saying so, but as a man of the -world you must see it yourself; and if only it had been some one else -you would have appreciated the humour of the situation thoroughly." - -"Keep your jesting, Mr. Herkimer, for a more seemly opportunity," -cried Jordan, rallying into something like manhood under the sting of -the other's gibes. "It will prove no very amusing jest for yourself if -I am ruined. Your son's inheritance is involved with my fortune, and -both must sink or swim together. Remember that! I have something in -_my_ power, too, so beware!" - -"I know. You seem to have forgotten our conversation this morning very -quickly. You then defined your position with a frankness which left -nothing more to say. You made it perfectly clear that you would never -leave hold on my uncle's fortune till we compelled you, and we cannot -do that at present. If you saved your money at the present pinch, you -would lose it again next opportunity; or, at least, you would make -sure that we should not get at it. No! Mr. Jordan. I shall put in no -rejoinder, or whatever may be the proper name for it. Mr. Webb may -have his order, and welcome, for any obstruction from me. In fact, as -I am taking my wife on a tour through the White Mountains, it would be -inconvenient for me to be detained watching a lawsuit. If I might -suggest, change of scene will be beneficial to your own health, as a -relief from the worries of share-jobbing. Meanwhile, let me wish you -good-bye. No saying how long it may be before we meet again. Stinson! -Let's get on with those papers. I think I may be able to get away to -the White Mountains to-morrow." - - -The very next morning Martha, escorted by Ralph, set out on a journey -of pleasure through the White Mountains; and a day or two later, -Amelia Jordan, tantalized out of patience by her husband's continued -procrastination as to their summer holiday, went off to Long Branch -alone, and it was not many days later that Jordan himself did not -appear at his office, though where he had gone nobody knew. Some said -he had followed his wife to the fashionable seaside resort, others, -that he had joined Herkimer in his travels. The latter view became the -popular one; it kept the two names conjoined, which seemed best, they -came up together so often now in the talk on 'Change; for the great -house in the Rue des Borgnes--Ralph Herkimer & Son--had come down, and -great was the fall of it, the Banque Sangsue Preteuse was involved in -the ruin, so was the Mining Association of St. Euphrase, and so were -other important concerns. They had all tumbled together in one -confusion of ruin which set the ears of the public ringing, and filled -their eyes with so much dust that they could see nothing clearly; but -Jordan having been heard to anathematize "that fellow Webb," it was -universally held during the worst days of the excitement that he had -originated or precipitated the calamity for his own base ends. In -truth, Webb was one of the severest sufferers, his fellow-directors -having taken the hint to save themselves in time, and even to make -money out of it; while he, good man, found all his savings and all his -ready money evaporated in smoke or converted into scrip fit for -nothing but pipe-lights, with impending possibilities of litigation, -should any victimized shareholder be tempted to throw good money after -bad and relieve his indignation with a lawsuit. But then he had the -high moral satisfaction of having vindicated his superior probity in -his own eyes--the world's, I fear, were so busy with its own affairs -that they took no heed. He lay down at night with an easy conscience -and a light pocket, if sometimes a heavy heart, for it must be -confessed that his neighbours' non-appreciation of his virtuous -conduct was afflicting. But he was young still, and strong, and -sanguine, and his farm and stock were fairly good. He would make money -yet, he vowed, if only Providence would spare him in the land of the -living; and that--money-making, I mean--is, as all the world knows, -the whole duty of man. - -Webb realized, however, that he must now have a woman in his -household, to help him to make it quickly; not a hireling, as -heretofore, in his days of bachelorhood and prosperity, to be courted -and considered at every turn, lest she should go off and leave him, -but a lawful wife; tied to his homestead by the institutions of God -and man, to churn his butter, fatten his poultry, and look after his -comfort; and do it, too, for life, without other wage than her keep, -and the dignity of being a married woman. - -He had had dreams, like other young men, of a being with golden hair -and wonderful eyes, a human bird of paradise, for whom he was to build -a delightful bower, and live happy with her in it for ever after; but -the day for fantastic dreaming was gone by; birds of paradise are -expensive, and he had no money. He must content himself with less, -with a serviceable work-a-day barn-door fowl, content to roost -anywhere, and for whom a nest of wholesome straw would be as meet as a -gilded aviary for the other--and such a one rose before his mind's eye -in the person of Betsey Bunce. "A homely girl," as he told himself, -"but active and handy, able to bake and mend, and willing to do -it"--for _him_ at least, he flattered himself. She was "awful homely," -he confessed as he mused; "and a fool about her clothes, but if he -looked after the spendings, as he 'allowed' to do, he would have her -dressed sensibly enough, he flattered himself, so soon as her wedding -finery wore out." - -He did not feel as if he could ever come to be foolishly fond of her, -but he thought he had descried tokens that she was not indisposed to -attach herself to _him_. So there would be a certain _modicum_ of love -to furnish out their board, and if it was not he who provided it, at -least he would be its object, which was the next best thing, and as -much, perhaps, as a man could look for, after losing his money. -Wherefore he made up his mind, and the very next Sunday after church -he put his resolve in practice. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - JOE PROPOSES. - - -Betsey was one of the last to come out of church on a Sunday morning -now. She hung behind while her aunt lingered to exchange the news with -her neighbours. Since the day when she had hastened to give the Misses -Stanley "a bit of her mind," relative to Muriel's parentage and -rearing, a something more than coldness had sprung up. Miss Matilda's -words on that occasion had been few, but scorching, and the look of -withering disgust, which accompanied them, had been more than even her -obtuse conceit and forwardness could bear up against. She had not -dared to face the ladies since, and, they being in the heart of the -group of lingerers, Betsey felt constrained to remain outside the -circle, a sort of martyr to the truth, ruminatmg in silence on the -consequences of proclaiming it, at least when the proclamation is -ill-timed or ill-natured. - -The circle melted away in time, beginning with Muriel and Gerald -Herkimer--who, in his bankruptcy and the absence of his family, -partook of many dinners and a great deal of delightful sympathy at the -ladies' residence--and ending with Penelope and Matilda, the latter of -whom, though she exhibited fitful outbursts of vivacity, appeared -depressed, and far from in good form. It was observed by those who saw -them drive from the church door that, instead of taking the reins -herself, she let the servant drive, quite contrary to her usual -custom; but then Mr. Considine had been in the habit of returning with -the ladies from church, and his presence at Matilda's elbow may have -been necessary to give her confidence. - -Betsey reached the open air at last, feeling unusually meek and -chastened under the lack of notice she had been experiencing; and in -the revulsion of feeling which ensued when Mr. Joe Webb stepped -forward, and, after ceremoniously inquiring for her health, asked if -she would not favour him with her company for a buggy-ride down the -road, while her dinner was "_dishing up_" at home, it is not -remarkable if she "enthused a little," to cull a flower of speech from -the English column of the _Journal de St. Euphrase_. - -"Oh! Thank you, Squire! that will be nice"--I fear _bully_ was the -word she used, this sweet Western flower, but it means much the same -thing, only a little more so. - -"Then come along! In with you! And we'll be stepping," which was -perhaps a more free-and-easy mode of address than Mr. Joe's wont, for -he prided himself on his fine manners with the ladies; but he was -trying to get up his courage by a little premature audacity for what -was to follow. - -Proposing matrimony in cold blood--did you ever try it, my reader?--is -a serious matter, or so Joe Webb thought. His mind had been made up -on the point, the night before; in the morning he saw no reason to -change it, but he observed that the sky looked heavy. If it had drawn -to rain he would not have been sorry, for he could, without loss of -self-respect, have remained at home, and postponed his undertaking. -The weather kept up however, and he went to church; but very few, I -fear, were the prayers he joined in. - -What he was intending to do would keep continually rising before his -mind; not as it had done overnight in the comfortable after-phases, -when My Lord Benedict should have entered on his domestic felicity, -with slippers toasting inside the fender against his return from the -field, pipes filled, and tobacco fetched, without his needing to -leave the lounge where he reposed, but in the onerous stage of how to -do it. What should he say? and how would she take it? Should he take -her hand before beginning? It would be establishing a sort of hold -upon her attention. But if she objected to that by an unauthorized -individual?--yet the very objection would give the opening to explain, -which he desired. Only--how about getting hold of the hand? It might -be holding up her parasol. To snatch at it would bring down the -article with a flap, which would frighten the horse! Weil, he did not -mind that. He could quiet _him_ well enough with a cut of the whip. -But how about the lady? How to quiet _her?_ The whip would not do -there, yet a while; though later, he had been credibly informed that -Blackstone authorizes such doings on the part of husbands, provided -the stick be no thicker than their thumbs. But the lady might refuse -to be reassured; she might insist on being let down, or worse, she -might actually say. No. No! The word whistled through his mind like a -gust of icy wind, it was so new and so unexpected an idea. He must -feel tremulous, no doubt, till he should be answered "yes," but he -could not bring himself to contemplate the opposite. It would be so -utter a quencher to--well, if not to love for _her_, which was an -eventuality he could contemplate with some tranquillity, at least to -his self-love, which was too near his heart to be thought of without -dismay. He would be, like a railway guard standing on the roof of a -carriage, and sweeping through space at forty miles an hour, when -unexpectedly there comes a bridge which he has not looked for, or -bowed his head to in time, it catches him between the eyes with a blow -irresistible and swift, which snuffs him out of existence, and casts -him away, and leaves him a lifeless wreck upon the track. - -Altogether Joe had not a happy or an edifying service of it that day -in church. A man's own fancies can fret and worry him worse than the -words of others, they hit all the raw places so much more surely. He -hastened from the sacred fane with the very earliest to go, and stood -and watched and waited till Betsey should appear among the other -dispersing worshippers, she was long of appearing, and by-and-by he -began to think, with a very distinct sense of relief, that she was not -there and he must defer the task he had set himself to another day, -when, behold! the very last to come out, she appeared; and, seizing -himself by the collar, as it were, he marched himself into her -presence, and solicited the honour of a drive. Betsey was gracious and -compliant, and did not take long to mount into the buggy; he sprang in -after, and away they went. - -The pace was good; Joe kept fast cattle, and knew how to drive them; -but the conversation flagged. How can a man with a purpose--so deadly -to himself, at least--be at his ease, and alive to the trifles which -lead up to untrammelled talk? How can he be otherwise than distraught? -There is a purpose at his breast hanging heavy as lead, and he feels, -poor creature, as though cold water were running down his neck. "Had -it been a dance," he thought, "to which he was leading the girl out, -it would have been different." The music and the rhythm and the motion -of a waltz bring on a gentle enthusiasm, and the sense of support and -protection conduce to the tenderness which a man should feel at such a -moment; but this was only a buggy-ride; the two were perched up -together behind a horse in heat and dust, and for the life of him he -could not make up his mind what he ought to say. He had heard of -fellows proposing in a buggy, but now when he tried it, it was not the -place it was cracked up to be; and he sat in perturbed silence. - -Betsey was at her ease, however; she suspected nothing, and she was -elated at being borne off in a cloud of dust before the eyes of the -women who had slighted and ignored her five minutes before. Some -people it seemed--men people, too--thought her worthy of notice. She -felt exultant, and she prattled. She wriggled, too, just a very -little, which is scarcely dignified, perhaps, but comes natural to -some people in moments of exuberance. She talked of the weather till -some other subject should arise, like the rest of us who are born to -speak English, but he answered nothing; and then she asked him if a -shower would not do good to his turnips. - -He answered "yes," to that, which is not an easy rejoinder to build -the next observation upon; but then he was busy with his horse at the -moment, for he hit him a cross cut with the whip, and twitched his -nose and eyebrows impatiently. And then there was a lull, and silence -disturbed only by the steady pounding of the horse's feet, and the -rasping of a wheel against an occasional stone. - -"We were so sorry to hear," Betsey said at last, after the silence had -lasted some time, and was beginning to grow oppressive; "so very sorry -to hear that you have lost money by those Herkimers. Do you remember, -I told you the very last time we met what I thought of them, and that -it was not much? But that warning came too late to benefit you, I -suppose. Is it not absurd the way that young Gerald goes fooling -around Muriel up the way? It is just what might be expected from a -girl like her, who don't belong to anybody, for all her airs; but I -confess I am sorry to see his infatuation, though perhaps it only -serves the Herkimers right--the stuck-up lot. I always saw through -them--insincere, and all show; though of course I would not have said -it, on account of their relationship to Aunt Judy; but now, really, it -seems downright wrong to hold one's tongue, and looks like -countenancing their on-goins," and Betsey stopped to take breath. - -Joe availed himself of the stoppage to take up his parable. "Yes, Miss -Betsey," he said, "it is quite true. I have lost the savings of ten -years, and all the ready money my father left. Quite true." - -"Ah!" sighed Betsey very softly. - -"But I'm to the fore still; and you just wait and see if I don't make -some more--and more than I have been _euchred_ out of." - -"I like to hear a man speak like that! It sounds so strong and -capable." - -"Do you think you could like the man himself. Miss Betsey? Mind you, -it ain't all talking with me! It's going to be real, hard, downright -doing--livin' off what my own farm raises, and wearin' homespun off -the backs of my own sheep, like a _habitant_; freezing on to every -copper cent I can scrape, and laying it all by. It will be a hard and -a dull life for the first year or two; but it's a good farm, and -well-stocked, and in three or four years' time, when I have bought a -new reaper, and a few such tricks, and brought in another hundred -acres of useless bush, with my own hard work and the hired boys, I -believe things will be on the road to grow better than ever; for, -though maybe you would not think it, I have thrown away a deal of -money on nonsense in my time. But that's over now. What do you think -of it yourself. Miss Betsey?" - -Betsey turned and looked at him with opening eyes, and met a steadfast -gaze more bewildering still, which made her drop them again, and look -away. "Think? I think it sounds brave in you to speak like that. A man -should never lose heart!" - -"But it's yourself, I mean. Would you like it yourself?" - -"If I were a man, that's how I'd like to be. I'd love to play the man -so." - -"But it ain't the _man_ you'd be expected to play. Miss Betsey. It -would be the _wife_." - -Betsey coloured and looked a little hurt. "It's too serious a subject -to play with, Mr. Webb." - -"But it ain't play. It's good, downright, honest earnest I mean." - -"I don't understand you." - -"Could you bring yourself to marry a fellow who has lost his money, -and is hard up?" - -"I don't know, Mr. Webb," she laughed uncomfortably, and a little -inclined to take offence at such a catechism being pressed on her, -while she sat helpless in the hurrying "trap." "It would depend -altogether on who the 'fellow' was." - -"It's me! Miss Betsey. Will you take me? I'm no great match for any -girl now, I know that; but _will_ you take me?" - -"I don't like foolin' on such subjects, Mr. Webb; and it wasn't -gentleman-like of you to bring me away in your buggy to talk like -this." Her face was scarlet, as she said it, and looked in his; but -there was no bantering smile there,--and a catch came in her throat, -which sent the blood throbbing down to her finger-tips, as the idea -crossed her mind that the man was in earnest. In that case, however, -he would speak again, so she said no more. - -"But this ain't foolin'. Miss Betsey, and I don't know what right you -have to accuse me of sich. Did any one ever know me, man or boy, to -tell a lie? I ask you plainly, Betsey Bunce, will you marry me?" - -"Oh, laws! Joe Webb--I never--let me out here! I never--oh! you've -took me all of a heap. Stop the buggy." - -Joe drew rein, and stopped the equipage in the middle of the road, -just where the shadow of a tall poplar by the wayside would shelter -them from the sun; and there he sat, looking hot about the temples, -and trying to settle his eyes on the tips of his horse's ears, because -these could not return the look, while he dared not turn elsewhere for -fear a mocking glance should meet him and complete his discomfiture, -as he sat there awaiting his answer, feeling like a fool who has -surrendered his shoulders to the smiters--a trapped animal awaiting -the arrival of the hunters--the man who has put it in a girl's power -to say she refused him. It was a moment of dread and suspense for Joe. - -Betsey fanned herself vehemently--what a privilege a fan must be, -sometimes. Since their stoppage she had become less eager to alight. -She made no move, sat perfectly still, and let the perturbation of her -spirits expend itself in fanning. She was coming to herself again. -And, oh! so pleasantly. "What a _puss_ she had been! And that--most -wonderful of all--without suspecting it herself. And there he was on -his knees before her! or what was just the same thing, perched at her -elbow in infinite discomfort, looking all the colours of the rainbow -in his misery." "And should she have him? that was the point. If -she had snared him without knowing it, might there not be others -sighing in secret?" She glanced at him over her fan--that precious -fan!--glanced over it as the timid fawn does over a park paling, and -then is off to hide its head in a bush when the keeper comes in sight. -"And how handsome he was! and how foolish he looked, poor fellow, -getting himself into a state about poor she! It was delightful. And he -so broad-shouldered and manly! She could not find it in her heart to -cause him pain--especially when he had made herself so--happy. And -those old maids she had parted from at church, how she pitied them! -How she should continue to pity them all the rest of her life--her -married life!" She peeped over the fan again, and there was poor Joe -fidgeting worse than ever--for all the world, like a bull at a -bull-baiting--tied to the stake, unable to get away, amid fears and -fancies at his own absurd position, like the yelping curs, which -plague the noble brute. Then she glanced along the road. A cloud of -dust was approaching, a waggon within it, for already she could hear -the rattle of wheels and the clank of harness. Already Joe was rousing -himself and gathering up his reins for a start. Time was up. If she -let this opportunity pass, and allowed matters to fall back into -everyday life, how would she ever bring them up again to this point? -It was provoking, the dalliance was so pleasant, but she could not -risk a slip; so, shutting her eyes, and shutting up her fan, she took -the leap--and just in time, for the buggy was already in motion. - -She said it very softly. What she said Joe could not hear for the -noise of the wheels, very likely she did not know precisely herself -what it was; but they both took it to mean consent, and Joe, so soon -as that lumbering waggon was fairly past, stooped down and sealed it -on her lips, as in duty bound. - -Then there was a silence of some duration, though both were too busy -with their own thoughts to notice it; till at length Joe remembered -that the purpose of their expedition was fulfilled, and asked his -companion if she did not think they had better return. Betsey was -ready to think whatever her Joe thought, leaning up with an -undesirable closeness that warm day, and softly fanning their joint -countenances with a fond and lingering motion of her fan. In time she -heaved a sigh, deep and full of overflowing enjoyment, and then she -spoke. - -"Do you know, Joe dear, you have given me a great surprise to-day?" - -Joe's tight-strained feelings had run themselves down now. He -felt--"tired in his inside," I fear, would have been his inelegant -expression, and longed for a glass of beer. He felt incapable of -conversation, and even a little grumpy, perhaps. Such strange and -inconsistent creatures are the men. - -Betsey's over-wroughtness was quite of another kind. Her nervous -excitement, once fairly past the turn of the tide, was inclined, as -Hamlet would have had his solid flesh incline, to "melt and dissolve -itself into a dew"--of verbiage and watery talk. It was of a -soliloquizing tendency, too, which, though prone to questionings, -passed on from one to the next, indifferent to non-reply. - -"This has been all a great surprise; I never thought that you really -cared for me. Was it not strange?" and she looked up in his face grown -stolid, and beginning to show unmistakable signs of crossness, and -fanned him fondly, smiling into dimples, like the rapturous maidens in -"Patience," when they enthral their poet with garlands. - -"I thought it would have been the pretty Miss Savergne, you were so -attentive to----" - -"She would not marry a poor man, and a poor man, could not afford to -marry _her_," and then Joe stopped. He would have liked to kick -himself for an unmannerly brute; for alas! the soft impeachment was -all too true. He coughed and spluttered. Fortunately, Betsey was too -full of her own pleasant reflections to heed anything, but he felt he -must get away and calm down, or something worse might escape him which -would not pass unnoticed, so he pulled up by the road-side just on the -outskirts of the village. - -"Would you mind if I set you down here, Betsey? It is getting late. -The calves should have been watered an hour ago, and Baptiste and -Laurent are both away." - -"To be sure, Joe! A farmer's wife must take an interest in the calves, -and I mean to do my duty," and she sprang gaily out, and stood looking -after the man and outfit as they trotted off, with a sense of -proprietorship which was new and very pleasant. - - -The rector and his wife delayed their dinner half-an-hour, and then -sat down, wondering what had become of Betsey. They had nearly -finished when she whirled in, a tumultuous arrangement of white muslin -and enthusiasm. - -"Oh, auntie! Oh, Uncle Dionysius!" She involved first one and then the -other in her manifold frills and puffings by way of embrace. -"Congratulate me!--do!--Just think!" - -"Sit down, Betsey, and calm yourself," remonstrated the rector, "and -then, perhaps, it may be possible to think. Meanwhile you take our -breath away. Have you had your dinner?" - -"Well, no. But I don't care--or rather, I dare say I _will_ take just -a morsel. What have you been having? Chickens? Well, I will take just -a bone, and a good plateful of salad, and the rest of that melon. -That's all I want. Such news! Only guess! But you would never think. -Fact is, the squire--Squire Webb--has--what do you think?" - -"Why!" cried Aunt Judy, "I saw you go for a drive with -him?--Oh!--Indeed." - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - AT GORHAM. - - -Mrs. Martha Herkimer, with her husband, travelling at their leisure in -"Noo Hampshire," the country of her girlhood, was a happy woman. He -was constantly with her, had few letters to write, and no men to talk -business with. He seemed to have laid business aside, would read his -newspaper beside her of a morning, and drive with her in the -afternoon, to admire the scenery--"objects of interest," the American -says, meaning everything the residents plume themselves upon, from the -Falls of Niagara, should they possess them, to the new school-house at -the Five-mile Cross Roads. - -It felt like a renewal of the honeymoon, or those delightful "latter -rains," spoken of in scripture, when the thirsty earth, long parched -and chapped with drought, drinks in once more the life-restoring -moisture, and clothes itself anew with grass and verdure. He told her -one day that his house had suspended payment and he was bankrupt, but -as they were travelling with every comfort, and there seemed no lack -of money, she accepted it as one of the inscrutable phenomena of the -commercial world, which she had long given up attempting to -understand. Her Ralph, she told herself, could have done nothing -wrong. He was fonder of money, and harder and keener about acquiring -it, she feared, than was perhaps, perfectly right. Her father had been -a preacher of the old Puritan school, ministering to villagers in a -sequestered valley, and warning them against worldliness and the race -for wealth, the world of wealth being an unknown country there about. -If Ralph had lost some of his gatherings now, it might be for his -greater good perhaps in other ways. She saw many around her who had -failed, and yet lived comfortably and respected afterwards, and she -would not be sorry if such were to be the fate of her own good man. It -would wean him from the hurry and worry of business, and let him stay -more at home than theretofore, to his own good, very probably, and -assuredly to her greater happiness. - -They travelled about, by road and rail, from one summer hotel to -another--there are many of them in the White Mountains--climbing -mountains, sailing on ponds, and honeymooning it delightfully all day -long, and now they were arriving at Gorham by the evening train, -meaning to ascend Mount Washington, already distinguished by his -snow-tipped summit, on the morrow. It was a purple evening, with the -eastward slopes of the valley reddening in the afterglow, while cool -blue shadows stole out of hollows to the westward, forerunners of the -twilight. The people on the platform stood in bright relief as the -train drew up at the station, and Martha's eye took them all in as she -alighted. - -"What?" she cried, "General Considine! _you_ here?" She felt a bump -between her shoulders from the wallet of Ralph close behind her, as -though he stumbled. "Ralph!" and she turned round, but Ralph was -gone--gone back for something left behind no doubt. "General," and she -ran up to him and took his hand, while Considine looked disturbed, and -said nothing. - -"What have you been about, general? Nobody has seen you, nobody knew -you were away; and one of your friends--you know who--is far from -pleased, I can tell you. But say!--your arm in a sling? Oh, general, -you have not been fighting, at _your_ time of day, I do hope. When I -was a girl we always said a Southern man must have been fighting if he -was tied up any way. What have you been doing? A hunting accident?" - -"Madam," Considine began, clearing his throat, and looking tall and -sternly in the good woman's face, who was regarding him with such -friendly eyes. He coughed again, his face softened, and showed signs -of discomposure. How could he speak as he felt to this good soul about -her own husband, and tell her he was a murderer? He would have liked -to get away from her without saying anything; but she had mentioned "a -friend," the friend to whom he was at that moment hastening back to -apologize for, or at least to explain, his absence. He would like to -know beforehand what the friend was saying, and for that, self-control -and reticence, combined if necessary with invention, were needed. He -coughed again. Martha's last words, "hunting accident," still hanging -on his ear, came to his tongue-tip of itself. - -"Yes. Hunting accident--gun accident, that is. Thought I was killed. -Insensible. A gang of tramps found me, and robbed me--they wore my own -clothes before my eyes, the rascals--and saved my life. And now that -they have cashed the cheque they made me give them in payment of the -treatment, they have discharged me cured. But what do the Miss -Stanleys say?" - -"Matildy was mighty huffy at first. 'You should have called to -explain, or sent a note to apologize,' she said. But when you went on -doing neither, she grew down hearted like,--took it to heart serious, -I do believe, though she has never owned up as much to anybody. But, -if once she makes sure you are in the land of the livin', see if you -don't catch it, that's all. I guess I shouldn't like to be you, when -you call to explain, unless you can make the narrative real thrillin'. -But how was it, general? You must come up to the hotel with us and see -Ralph--I don't see where that man's run to--and tell us all about them -tramps. Do, now, general, like a dear." - -"Impossible, Mrs. Herkimer. I go to Montreal by this very train. -Good-bye." - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - PLANTING HYACINTHS. - - -Desdemona listening to the Moor is a parallel not now used for the -first time. The "cultured" reader has met it before. But where to find -a better? Matilda sat and listened with open-eyed attention while -Considine told his story. - -She had received him with some slight display of coolness, when he -first appeared, but without question and comment. If the men cared no -more than to forget their little plan of a lunch in the woods, of what -consequence could it possibly be to them? They would know better than -trouble him with their little female festivities again, that was all; -and if he had been indifferent or rude, at least they knew better than -make themselves absurd by showing offence. It was "good morning, Mr. -Considine," when he appeared. "So sorry Penelope has gone out. -However, she is only down at the farm, talking to Bruneau. She will be -back presently." Considine had to say everything for himself, without -the assistance which even pretending to call him to account would have -given; while all the time he recognized how deeply he must have -offended by the severity with which he was chilled and sat upon, as -Miss Matilda went on most industriously with her embroidery. - -"I failed to turn up at your pic-nic, Miss Matilda." - -"Oh! It was no consequence. I dare say you would have found it dull if -you had come. As it was, the day was so sultry we felt sure it would -thunder, and did not go." - -"But I really wished to go, Miss Matilda. I was most desirous---" - -Matilda lifted her face to smile a sweet incredulous smile on the -visitor, and then went on with her work. - -"But it is so, Miss Matilda. I beg you will believe me. And do you -suppose I would not have sent you word if it had been possible?" - -"We were surprised at that, now I remember. But it was not a party. It -was nothing. Pray do not mention it!" - -"But I must, Miss Matilda. It was most important to me!" - -Miss Matilda laid her work in her lap and looked up. - -"I went to bed, Miss Matilda, intending to join your expedition. I got -up next morning, still intending it, at six o'clock. You were not to -start till eleven. I bathe every morning in the river. I went out in a -boat, as usual--one of Podevin's boats. I plunged in and swam--just as -I always do--when a rascal--I will not name him--took aim at me from -the shore, and shot me in the shoulder. You see my arm is in a sling." - -"Oh!" cried Matilda, half rising and dropping the work; "I did not -notice your poor arm, Mr. Considine. Indeed I did not. Shot you in the -arm? Did it hurt much? Shot--You? Pray tell me about it. Who was the -person?" - -"A person we both know. But you must not mention his name. Not that he -deserves any consideration from honest folks, but for his wife's sake, -who is a good woman, and would be horrified if she knew. It was Ralph -Herkimer." - -"Ralph Herkimer! But why?" - -"He called on me with Jordan the night before, asking me to give up -his uncle's money, which I hold in trust. You may have heard of the -uncle's curious will, which tied up the money out of Ralph's reach. -Ah! he knew the rascal. I could not give up the money. It would have -been a breach of trust. And so, the very next morning, he fires at me -while I am swimming in the river. Fired and struck me. I tried to -regain the boat, but I could not. I was crippled of an arm, and I -sank, and know no more." - -"Mr. Considine!" and Matilda rose and came to the sofa where he sat, -her cheek blanched, and betraying an interest which made him feel glad -that he had suffered, to call it forth. - -"And--well, Mr. Considine, what then?" - -"The next thing I knew, I was barely conscious; but I was on dry land, -feeling sick and stupid, and more dead than alive. A whole crowd of -people were about me, shaking me, punching me, pulling me, bumping me, -while I only wished they would let me alone, and let me die; for -already I had gone through all the horrors of drowning, and this -seemed like an after-death. And then I found myself among blankets, -and some one--a witch she looked like--was forcing whisky down my -throat, and fingering my wounded shoulder. I was drowsy and miserable, -and, thinking I was already dead, I wondered if all this was for my -sins. And then I slept, I suppose, for when I woke next it was dark or -nearly so; and there was a jolting and rumbling which set my poor -shoulder aching miserably; and I tried to sit up, but some one pushed -me down again and bade me keep still. When I looked, the witch was -perched upon my pillow, with the moonlight slanting through her grisly -hair, and a long skinny arm pressing me down. She forced more whisky -into my mouth, and then I slept." - -"Oh! Mr. Considine. What an experience!" - -"I woke again, and it was daylight, and the old hag seated on my -pillow had fallen asleep. I sat up slowly and with difficulty, for I -was stiff and sore. I was in a waggon under a tree. I tried to rise, -but could find nothing save my blanket to dress in. The hag opened her -eyes and looked at me, and grinned, and asked me what I wanted to do. -I said,' to go home,' and then she laughed out, pointing to me, and -reminding me I had no clothing; and at the sound of her voice there -gathered round a whole crowd of swarthy vagabonds, grinning at me, and -jeering, and when I looked at them, one rascal was wearing my coat, -and another kicked up his heels and showed me my boots. A pimpled baby -was rolled up in my nice clean shirt, and the captain of the gang -pulling my watch out of his pocket, told me it was only five o'clock, -and a heap too early for 'a swell cove' to think of rising. I was -their prisoner, in short, though I must confess the old woman attended -to my wounded shoulder very kindly; bathing it with cool water several -times a day, and bandaging it as well as one of our surgeons could -have done during the war. They kept me several days with them, in -their journeyings and campings, travelling by all kinds of bye-ways -and unfrequented places, and keeping me concealed whenever strangers -came about the camp. They crossed the Lines, by-and-bye, and travelled -into the States. I knew that by the nasal Yankee twang of the -strangers' voices, though great care was taken that I should not get -speech of them--and then, one day, the captain, the fellow, at least, -who wore my watch, told me he thought I was strong enough to travel -now, and if I would give them some money to buy me clothes, and pay -for the care they had taken of me, I might go my ways. I was so -helplessly in their power, that we did not haggle long about the -price, though it was a pretty steep one. I wrote them a cheque, which -they carried to a neighbouring bank, and so soon as my bankers had -honoured it I was set at liberty. I put in a bad time, Miss Matilda, I -promise you; but, if you will believe me, what vexed me most of all -was to think how I had kept you waiting, and never been able to send a -word of excuse. When I was drowning in the river, it was my very last -thought, I remember, and when I came to myself it was my first." - -"Oh! Mr. Considine. How very nice of you to say so. But don't! It is -really too dreadful. It is horrible. I never did hear anything so -frightful. And you say that Ralph Herkimer did this abominable deed? -Are you sure you are not mistaken? Or it may have been an accident." - -"Not a bit of it. I saw him as plain as I see you, and it was no -accident. I saw him shoulder his gun to fire again, while I was -struggling in the water, in case I had succeeded in gaining my boat." - -"You will have him taken up, Mr. Considine? It seems wrong--and -dangerous to leave such a person at large." - -"I would if it were not for his wife. But you know how she would -suffer. She never would be able to show face again. No! For her sake I -mean to let the thing pass; and you must promise me, Miss Matilda, you -will never mention it." - -"How noble of you! Mr. Considine. I shall never be able to look at the -ruffian again. And his son is here constantly. But we must put a stop -to that. It will vex poor Muriel, I fear, but she will see the reason -of the thing. You will allow me to explain to Muriel? There they go; -passed the window this very minute. The assassin!" - -"Nay! Miss Matilda. Let me intercede for the lad. There is no harm in -my young friend Gerald. A fine manly youngster--his mother's son, -every inch of him. No, no, my little Muriel--forgive the freedom--must -know least of all. Young love! Miss Matilda. It is a charming sight to -see. So full, and so trusting--so all-in-all, and yet so delicate and -dainty. So fleeting, sometimes. Always so fragile and so irreparable -if it gets a bruise. So hopeless to try and bring back its early -lustre if once it grows dim. So--but--I'm a maundering old fogey, I -suppose. Forgive an old bachelor's drivel, Miss Matilda." - -"There's nothing to forgive, Mr. Considine. I sympa--I agree -with--it's all so true! There's nothing like youth in all the world, -and--love--but, there now! These are things which middle-aged people -have no business with----" - -"But surely, Miss Matilda. We--they--the middle-aged--have business -with that? If our hearts have remained unwithered by the world--if -there should still be a germ of life at the core, though hidden by the -rind which time brings for a protection, like the scales on a hyacinth -root in a gardener's drawer, do you not think it allowable and even -fitting, that when warmth gets at them, and moisture, they may sprout -forth worthily, even if out of season, each after its kind? Do you -suppose a sound heart can ever grow incapable of love. Miss Matilda? -Will love ever die?" - -"Ah!" and Matilda looked upward. "My own feeling. So true! So -comforting! Love never dies. The poets say so. Beyond the grave are we -not assured that still and for ever we shall love? But yet--but yet--I -fear sometimes that it shows a grovellingness in myself, that I do not -cherish the thought more eagerly--as we grow older should our -affections not take a higher flight? I long so for more warmth, and -regret my coldness and frivolity; but I feel going to church so little -helpful." - -"You are lonely. Miss Matilda. Aspiring after unseen goodness is a -high and abstract flight. It needs companionship. I, too, know what -it means. But a man in the world is little able to withdraw his -thoughts from worldliness, and I am alone. With help--a good woman's -help--Matilda! May I say it? as I have long felt it?--with yours----" - -He took her hand and held it, looking in her face. - -She did not seem to hear him at first, her eyes were far away. And -then she grew to feel the intentness of his gaze, and drew away her -hands to hold before her face, where a blush was rising; for the look -spoke more of a human than immortal love, and it confused her. - -"We will be friends," she said. - -"But friendship will not be enough for me, Matilda. You must be my -wife." - -Matilda was white now. She leaned back in the sofa, and her head fell -forward. It seemed to Considine that she would faint, and he had risen -to ring, when she recovered self-control, and looked up in his face. - -Being a lady of an earlier generation, when fainting was occasionally -practised as a climax to emotion, and brides sometimes wept at the -altar on bidding _adieu_ to the associations of their youth, allowance -must be made for Matilda by young women of the modern and robuster -school, who can ratify an engagement for life with the same outward -composure as one for the next valse. The modes of emotional expression -and disguise are as much a question of date as the fashions in -hair-dressing. Matilda was no more a lackadaisical fool than you are, -my good madam; nor are you, I do believe, one whit more hard or -heartless than she, whom I take to have been a good and affectionate -woman. - -Penelope came in from the farm not long after, and there was much to -tell her. Considine was persuaded to remain for dinner, and went away -in the evening a happy man. - -The hyacinths were getting their chance at last, and he promised -himself that with care and shelter they would sprout yet, and bloom in -the autumn, as fragrantly and gay as with other fortune they might -have done in spring. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - RANDOLPH'S BUCKLING. - - -There was a lacrosse match at Montreal that September, the Indians -of Brautford against the Indians of Caughnawaga, at which that section -of the community interested in sport, and now returned from the -regattas of the coast, mustered strong. The Lacrosse Club, the -getters-up of the exhibition, were there in a body, the school boys -were all there, and the betting men, as well as those who are willing -to go anywhere on a fine day on any pretext, and the ladies, who like -to see what is the excitement which draws the latter class--the -butterfly class--together. - -"See how the Caughnawagas have got the ball, and are carrying it on, -and on. There--there! They will win. Almost at the goal. But, ah! That -little fellow! He seems only a boy. How he breaks through them--See! -He has got it away--caught it on his lacrosse--throws it back over his -shoulder--away back past them all. Not a Caughnawaga near it. And now -Brautford has got it. They strike it again and again. Won! By Jove! -Brautford has won. Who would have thought it?" - -It was Randolph Jordan who spoke, springing on his chair and waving -his hat in the general tumult of applause, and the cheering for -"Little Brautford," who now rejoined his comrades amidst the loud -plaudits in which they all shared, but which were especially for him -who had earned the victory. They had won the first game. - -Randolph occupied a chair in front of the grand stand, and beside him -sat Adeline Rouget, dressed in cardinal red and white, tolerably -conspicuous, and not objecting to be looked at; but still better -pleased with the evident admiration in Randolph's eyes, and the -devoted attention he was paying her, than with anything else. They -were old friends, those two, now. Their friendship dated from the -night of their first tobogganing together, when Randolph had -discovered to his surprise that mademoiselle was "really a jolly girl, -and with no nonsense in her." They had many another tobogganing after -that first, and many a jolly waltz, and found that they suited each -other to a nicety. Both were fairly good looking, and always well got -up, and each felt the presence of the other was a credit and setoff to -one's self in the eyes of the world to which both belonged. It is a -strong point in a friendship when one is sure that it looks well. A -friend of the other sex, with whom one groups badly, may be a -delightful companion at home or in the country; but what pleasure can -there be in being seen in society dancing with a guy? A certain share -of the ridicule will fall on one's self. It must always show one at a -disadvantage, and if it is a dance, how can even the finest figure and -get-up look well, if awkwardly held or turned round, or rumpled as to -flounces, and so forth?--or hung upon, or stood away from, as if -people were marionettes? - -These two young people realized that they looked well together. Their -friends had told them so frequently; therefore it was indubitable, -even if they had not known it themselves. Their relations had also -told them that they should marry, and as each found the other -extremely "jolly" and companionable, and saw in a joint establishment -an indefinite prolongation of the gaieties of the past six months, -they were nothing loth. People said they were engaged, and they -supposed so themselves; in fact, they must have been, for in their -conversations that was taken for granted. They were not of a "spoony" -disposition, as they said themselves, however, and found many other -things to talk about more interesting than an analysis of their -affections; and nothing but opposition applied to their head-strong -tempers could have fanned their easy-going preference into an -appearance of genuine strength. That stimulus was now afforded by the -lady's papa, in a way both sudden and unexpected. - -Randolph had resumed his seat beside his companion, and plied the fan -for her, while she managed the parasol, so as to make a small tent, -from under which they could scan their neighbours while greatly -sheltered themselves. There was a tap on Randolph's shoulder, -accompanied by "Pairmit me, sair." - -Randolph looked round. "Mr. Rouget! Good morning, sir. I did not think -we should have had the happiness to see you here--believed you were in -New York. When did you arrive in Montreal?" His hand was held out -while he spoke, expectant of being shaken, but it remained untouched. -This might have been an oversight, though Mr. Rouget was scrupulously -particular in such matters, as a rule; but on the present occasion he -seemed resolved there should be no mistake. The extended hand not -having been withdrawn when the speaker ceased, he drew himself up to -the top notch of his stature--it was French stature, and not -excessive--placing his hands behind his back with a look of lowering -majesty and indignation, which made him as overhanging and colossal, -if also as stagy, as was possible. - -"Sair! Pairmit me to pass you." - -Randolph drew half a step aside, and backward; it was all he could do, -owing to his companion's close proximity. - -"I vish to speak to mademoiselle, my daughtaire." - -"Adeline is here, sir;" showing with his left hand how the parent -might place himself on her other side. - -"Mademoiselle Rouget vill dispense vit your presence, sair," with -severe dignity; and he stepped, not as ushered by Randolph's left -hand, but in the direction of his right, the consequence being that -his foot caught between the legs of Randolph's chair, and he found -himself prostrated on the turf. - -"_Mon Dieu!_" cried Adeline, rising and taking refuge with one of her -friends, a few chairs off, under the impression that a brawl in public -was imminent, and screening herself from all share in it with her -parasol, while she continued to watch the scene through the fringes. - -"_Sac-r-r-re_," growled the father, passing from dignity into fury. -Dignity cannot possibly survive a trip up with a chair leg, and there -is no refuge from the ridicule of the thing but in anger. - -"You vould dare knock me down? _Coquin!_" as he regained his feet, -grasping his cane, and gnawing his white moustache between his teeth. - -"Pardon me, Mr. Rouget," said Professor Hammerstone, coming forward -and dusting a blade of grass with his handkerchief from the angry -gentleman's sleeve. "I hope you have not hurt yourself. I was standing -by, and you must forgive my saying that our young friend here is -really not to blame for this little accident. It is all the fault of -those foolish chairs. I have bruised my own shins with them. The club -would have done better to provide benches. Jordan is as innocent of -the _contretemps_ as I am." - -Rouget bowed--what else could he do?--and thanked Professor -Hammerstone, who at least had done him the kindness of giving him a -cue to modulate back naturally into the ordinary manner of civilized -men; but he scowled at Randolph, who, in the bewilderment caused by -Rouget's unexpected address--they had parted last as any expectant -father and son-in-law might, three weeks before--had nearly laughed at -his sudden downfall. - -"I vill rekvest you to valk aside vit me one instant, sair. Dis vay." - -Randolph followed, and presently they were out of the crowd, pacing -the grass in silence. Rouget cleared his throat, pushed out his chest, -and strove to be grand once more. - -"It surprises me, Mistaire Jordan, to observe you in ze society of -Mademoiselle Rouget. I demand zat you do not intrude yourself again." - -"Not speak to my promised wife, Mr. Rouget? I do not understand." - -"Understand zen, sair, zat mademoiselle is no more promessed to you. -You mus be fol to expect it. Ze son of your fazer mus know so much. He -has vat you call 'chiselled' and 'gouged' me of my money, and my -shares, and land. He has----" - -"Mr. Rouget! Is it the part of a gentleman to speak of my father in -such terms to me? I did not think you would have done it. I know -nothing of business transactions between you and my father. I presume -both are men of the world. It would be impertinent in me to inquire -into your affairs. But you yourself have sanctioned my pretensions to -Adeline's hand, and our engagement." - -"Have ze bounty to speake of Mademoiselle Rouget by her proper -title--Mademoiselle Rouget de La Hache-young sair! Ze promesse or -contract is now forfeit, as you should know, by ze _chicane_ of--of -_monsieur voire pere_," with a shrug and a low bow. "I mus rekvest you -vill not again intrude yourself on ze presence of mademoiselle my -daughtaire, who is on ze point to make a retraite at ze Convent of ze -Sacred Heart, and von day may have ze blessedness to become -_religieuse_. Mademoiselle Rouget vill not be at home to you in -future." And thereupon the little gentleman executed his very finest -bow, exhibiting both rows of his perfectly-fitting false teeth from -ear to ear, and turned away. He was surprised, a minute later, on -turning his head, to observe that Randolph, at a yard or two of -distance, was pursuing the same course as himself towards where his -daughter was sitting. - -"Mistaire Jordan! I protest! Have I not defended you from coming in -presence of my daughtaire? Vould you draw _esclandre_ on mademoiselle -before _tout le monde?_" - -"I must return Mademoiselle Rouget's fan, sir." - -Rouget held forth his hand ready to become the bearer; but, -disregarding the motion, Randolph only quickened his pace, Rouget -following as quickly as he dared without appearing to run a race. - -Randolph arrived first, and presented the fan, saying, "I shall pass -your garden gate ten minutes before seven," and withdrew in time to -make way for Rouget, who presented his arm with a ceremonious bow, and -led his daughter from the ground. - -Their walk homeward could not have been a happy one. When Randolph met -Adeline, at ten minutes before seven, her face was flushed and her -eyes swollen. - -"Adeline! have you consented to be made a nun, then?" - -"Not if I know it! Not if my Randolphe ees true." - -"Are you game to run away, Adeline? It would be a sin to cut off all -that splendid hair. My mother is at Long Branch. Shall we go to her? I -have money enough to take us down." - -"Long Branch! It vould be divine! my Randolphe. Ze saison ees not yet -there passed. I vill go. But--for ze toilettes? And so many are -demanded zere. But yes! I do see ze vay. I vill send ze robes to -_cette chere_ Mlle. Petitot, and she vill forvard by express." - -"The very thing! I hate the bother of women's trunks. Besides, we -could not get them out of the house. You can stroll in to Mlle. -Petitot after dinner and explain. She will do anything to oblige a -friend. And then your maid can bundle the things over the wall, from -the one garden to the other, and Mlle. Petitot will do the rest. Our -train leaves at half-past eleven to-night. I shall be at the corner -with a cab at eleven sharp. Be sure and bring as little baggage as you -can; nothing but what I can carry on the run from here to the corner, -for you know we might be chased, and then it would be convent, sure--a -hand-bag is the best thing." - -"There is the dinner bell. _Au revoir_. I shall be ready at eleven." - - -Amelia Jordan was surprised rather than pleased, three days after, -when the cards of her "children" were brought up to her with her -morning tea. They had arrived late overnight, she was told, too late -to disturb her, and they hoped to see her at breakfast about ten. - -"Oh, you imprudent children!" she cried an hour later, meeting them in -a broad verandah overlooking the sea. "You impetuous, inconsiderate, -absurd pair of children. And to come to Long Branch, of all places. Do -you know how much a day it costs to live here? And what about gowns, -Adeline? You can scarcely come down to breakfast, even once, in that -travelling suit, and assuredly you must not be seen in it again after -half-past eleven." - -"We came to you, mother, because we had no one else," said Randolph. -"Adeline has run away, without a single thing, unless Mlle. Petitot -should send her some clothes, and that depends on the maid's being -able to throw them over the garden wall." - -"You pair of babies! Adeline, the very wisest thing that you can do is -to go right back home again." - -"They'd stick her into a convent, mother. Her father told me himself -he meant to. Besides, she's _your_ daughter now as much as his. We -stopped over in New York yesterday and got married." - -"Good gracious! I never heard anything so preposterous. And how do you -propose to live?" - -"We mean to live with _you_, mother, to comfort your failing years -like dutiful children?" - -"Well, now, that really is kind of you, I must say. The sooner I get -back to my quiet little house at St. Euphrase, then, the better. I -cannot afford to support a family of three at Long Branch. It costs a -great deal too much for the mere living, not to speak of the dressing. -Again, at St. Euphrase, I can make you young people work for your -board, as, of course, being honest, you would like. Randolph shall dig -the garden and Adeline shall milk the cows. That will save me two -servants' wages." - -"_Mais, madame_," whimpered Adeline, "Randolphe has me promessed to -come to Long Branch for to see ze gaieties." - -"My child, you have no clothes to appear in. You will have to look at -the gaieties from your bedroom window, and even your meals will have -to be brought you. Are you aware that three new gowns every day is the -smallest number in which any self-respecting woman can appear at Long -Branch? You need not smile, it is no laughing matter. You will -compromise me hopelessly if you come downstairs, and, I may add, -that any things Mlle. Petitot may send you will not help you here. -Tailor-made gowns are _de rigueur_, and above all, they must be -indubitably new, and worn for the very first time. I would recommend a -bilious attack, my dear; keep your room. And, after all, a fictitious -attack of bile is better than the real thing. I will arrange for our -going back to Canada, and with that view, perhaps, I had better begin -by writing your mother. She will be anxious to know what has become of -you, and I dare say I shall be able to make your peace now, more -easily than later." - -"Ah! _Chere madame_, do not write. Zey vill send me to ze _couvent_. I -know so vell. And never to come out again. And zere I shall be made -make ze _grande retraite_ for always for marrying me vidout consent. -And it will be so _triste_, have _pitie, ma mere_." - -"My dear child, you may trust me. I have no intention of giving you -up, all the archbishops in Lower Canada shall not deprive my boy of -his wife. Now, be sensible, for once! Go back to your room, and I will -do my best for you." - -And poor Adeline, like a naughty child, went upstairs to her room. - -That day Amelia had a long letter to write. She liked letter-writing, -for she imagined she had a talent for affairs, and this is what she -wrote: - - - "Long Branch. - -"My Dear Madame Rouget, - -"I have been so startled this morning by the totally undreamt of -appearance of your daughter in company with my boy Randolph. They -informed me that they stopped over at New York and were married, and -have now come on here to favour me with a visit during their -honeymoon. I am powerless, therefore, to separate them, as otherwise I -would. I hasten to inform you of this, judging from my own feelings -that you will be thankful to learn that your daughter, on her -disappearance, has fallen into good hands. At the same time, permit me -to assure you, dear Madame Rouget, that this--I scarcely know how to -express my feelings on the subject--this elopement is none of my -devising. I neither instigated, assisted, nor approve it. The children -are of different faiths, and I fear poor Adeline has no fortune, and -no prospect of ever having any. She has come here claiming my maternal -care, and, actually, she has not a gown fit to appear at breakfast in. -I have recommended her to keep her room, and, if you are the -reasonable person I have believed you, I shall see that she stays -there till she has received her mother's forgiveness for this very -foolish step. Indeed, it is superabundantly foolish, and you may -assure M. Rouget, from me, that I deplore it far more than he possibly -can. To think that my cherished son should have married a French -woman, and without _dot_. It is mortifying. When there are differences -of religion there ought to be compensation. M. Rouget will reply that -it is owing to Randolph's father that his daughter is not suitably -dowered. Perhaps so; I shall not express an opinion; but, for myself, -I feel untrammelled by such a consideration. When I was married -myself, my dearest father saw that I did not go to my husband -penniless. He availed himself of our admirable Lower Canada law, and I -was _separee des biens_. I have my own income, which no one can touch, -and my own house at St. Euphrase, bought with my own money. If La -Hache--what is left of it--were settled on your daughter in the same -way, it might prove a blessing some day. - -"And this brings me to my purpose in writing you. Dear Madame Rouget, -had we not better make a virtue of necessity and accept an -accomplished fact? It would be better, surely, to have our children -properly married in a church than merely for them to have been buckled -together by a Yankee magistrate. My boy insists that M. Rouget shall -assure him on this point before he returns to Canada. His wife, as he -calls her, being under legal age, if any difficulty is made, he -threatens to continue living in this country, which I am sure you -would regret as much as I shall. As to their plans, the young people -can live with me till some employment is found for Randolph. The -Minister of Drainage and Irrigation should be able to find him -something. - -"As to their religion, they have already settled that question for -themselves, having adopted civil marriage. Had Randolph's suit -progressed, as was at one time contemplated, it is probable that, as -he is no bigot, he might have acquiesced in any wishes of his -_fiancee_ or her family; but now they have forbidden the match, and -yet it has taken place. I will not consent to any disrespect being now -shown to our venerable Church of England, and, indeed, I have never -been able to understand how one section of the Catholic Church can -claim superiority over another. No doubt when the present difficulty -shall have been arranged, the young couple, who appear devotedly -attached to each other, will grow into each other's views, and both be -of the same communion. Meanwhile, I am aware that in your church there -are difficulties connected with mixed marriages; but his grace the -archbishop, as I have been informed, holds discretionary power to -grant a dispensation for sufficient reason. I am confident his grace -will see such reasons in the present case, as otherwise our hapless -children will be condemned to remain in this most undevout republic, -and may become the prey of no one knows what pernicious sect. - -"Assuring you of my entire sympathy, and begging that you will not -defer your reply, for in truth the hotel bills at Lone Branch for a -party of three are enough to make one shudder, believe me, - - "Dear Madame Rouget, - - "Yours in parallel tribulation, - - "Amelia Jordan." - - -"Now!" cried the lady, throwing down her pen; "I defy them to pretend -that _we_ wanted their alliance!" Then she read the letter over, -frowning at it critically the while. - -"It is an impertinent letter--or insolent, rather; but what is one to -do? If one shows a tittle of respect they take it as their due, and -become so hoity-toity one can do nothing with them." - -The letter duly reached its destination, and was fumed and growled -over by magnates both of Church and State. Nothing could be done, -however, and, therefore, like prudent people, they yielded--yielded, -too, with a very tolerable grace; and Amelia returned to St. Euphrase -triumphant, leading her children in her suite, and with a vastly -heightened opinion of her own cleverness. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - AT CAUGHNAWAGA. - - -The lacrosse match proceeded all the same, though M. Rouget had -withdrawn the patronage of his presence. The interest felt in the -second game was greater than that in the first. Every one with money -to stake was on the _qui vive_; the chances were considered even now, -whereas in the first innings, every one believed in Caughnawaga, and -odds had to be given to tempt the few down-hearted Upper Canadians to -back Brautford. The second game ended like the first, to the general -surprise, and again Brautford's success was largely due to the clever -stripling, who, bounding about the field as nimbly as the ball itself, -was always where he was most wanted, and calmly did the best thing to -do at the time. "Who is the little one?" was asked on every hand; but -no one was ready with an answer other than the obvious one, "Injun, -like the rest," till a squaw--one of the many who circulated among the -crowd, brown as horse chestnuts, with little beads of eyes and broad -flat faces, arrayed in moccasins and blankets, yellow, red, and blue, -selling bark and bead work--vouchsafed the laconic information, "name -Paul." - -The third game was longer and more obstinately contested than either -of its predecessors. Caughnawaga braced itself for a supreme effort, -under the reproaches of its backers and the taunts of the very squaws. -The best of five were to take the stakes. If Brautford won this third, -the match was over, and Caughnawaga "knocked into a cocked hat." The -players fought their most strenuous on either side, with tight set -teeth and wicked-looking eyes, which boded ill for joint or limb which -should happen within the swing of a lacrosse. Caughnawaga was -desperate, following up its capture of the ball with a compact rush, -and interposing their wiry bodies recklessly between it and the -uplifted sticks of the other side. Rushing and scuffling, they had -carried it nearly to their goal, another lick, and the game were won; -when, in front, there leaped the redoubtable Paul, scooped it up on -his netting, and threw it back over their heads. - -It was done in a moment, while yet the rush and impetus were -unstemmed; an instant later and he was stumbled upon and run down by -his eager opponents, trampled on and stunned, before they could stay -themselves in their rush. They tripped over him and fell in a heap, -while the Brautford men caught the ball in the undefended middle and -had little opposition in carrying it to the other goal. - -"Brautford! Hurrah for Brautford!" The Caughnawaga's heard the shout -while they were still disentangling and picking themselves up, a -defeated band. They picked themselves up and slunk away like cats, -that, raiding a dairy, are suddenly drenched and discomfited by an -ambushed milker. Only Paul was left on the ground, stunned and unable -to rise. - -His comrades were the first to miss him; and they, perhaps, were -reminded of him by their backers in the crowd, for triumph is a -self-engrossing passion, and glory so sweet a sugar-stick, that, while -sucking it, we are not too likely to go in search of the comrade to -whom the most of it is due. - -"Where is the young 'un?" was questioned in the crowd. "Where is -Paul?" and the crowd turned to the now deserted portion of the field -where he had last been seen. He was there still. A squaw in a red -blanket was beside him; she had raised his head and was chafing his -temples. Another squaw--a young one, this--was seen fetching water to -pour on him. But now the crowd was interested, they had gathered round -him, and soon carried him into the refreshment tent, where whisky, the -sporting man's nostrum, was used to restore him. - -The notable Indians on the ground, the elders who did not join in -youthful sports, had gathered to look at the youth who had done so -well, and who might yet, for anything they could know, come forth one -day, a champion of their race. For who can tell what fancies may be -cherished by the red man? The white does not sympathize with them, and -therefore he puts them away, behind his impenetrable stolidity of -bearing, which might conceal so much, but more frequently and with -equal success hides nothing at all. They were once possessors of the -land, in so far, at least, as being there, for they shared it with the -beasts. Traditions of the physical prowess of their fathers are handed -down among them, and who can tell but, in their dreams, they may look -forward to a hero like those of old to arise and vindicate their place -among the whites. - -Our old friend, Paul, of long ago, was a leading figure among these -elders, and one of evident consideration. A tall man, grown fleshy -from ease and lack of exercise, the violent exercises of his youth, -with his straight black hair threaded plentifully with white--a -"respectable" Indian, one seemingly well to do. The token of his -respectability was likewise that which deprived him of every vestige -of dignity or grace, to wit, a suit of rusty black clothes. It is the -queer tribute of respect which men of other races pay to our European -civilization. They cast away their native braveries and -picturesqueness of apparel, and accept the clothing of the white man -taken at its baldest and worst. An Indian, a Japanese, or a negro, -goes into full dress by putting on a chimney-pot hat and black -raiment, resembling that worn by undertakers' mutes, never -well-fitting, never well cared for, and harmonizing vilely with his -dusky skin, while his own natural instincts can arrange combinations -so suitable and becoming. - -Paul stepped forward to where the lad lay, and surveyed the shapely -limbs. He was conscious now, but still dull and stupid, and not averse -to being a centre of interest. Paul laid his hand on his brow, and -felt his chest, and thought he was as fine a man of his years as he -ever beheld. The squaw in the red blanket looked up at him, while she -continued to chafe the boy's hands, and seemed greatly moved; but it -would have been unworthy of a "respectable" Indian of Paul's standing, -to take notice of a squaw on a public occasion like the present. He -moved away, and out of the throng in time, preparing to smoke a pipe -in quiet. The squaw in the red blanket followed him, and when she had -got him well out of notice, that his lordly superiority might not be -ruffled by the familiarity in public, she laid her hand on his arm, -and said, "Paul." - -Paul turned his sleepy eyes that way, but it was only a squaw, a -strange squaw. He had nothing to say. - -"Your son!" said the squaw, touching his arm again. He stopped at -that, and she pointed over her shoulder with her thumb to the crowd -they had come from. - -"Mine?" - -"Yours, Paul." - -"Who are you?" - -"His mother--Fidele--Your squaw." - -"My son? Where born?" - -"Brautford. You bade me go to Brautford." - -"Ouff." It would have been undignified for a man like Paul to say -more. It meant all he had to say, too, very likely. For, doubtless, -language which is never uttered ceases to be given birth to in the -mind. He turned, however, with Fidele, and both walked back to the -tent. - -The lad was better now. Refreshment was going on, the people seeing -him able to dispense with their care, had turned their attention to -sustaining themselves. He got up and joined his mother coming in, and -they went out again to a quiet place, followed by Paul, that his -parental feelings might be gratified with an interview, without -compromising his dignity by an exhibition before the world. - -It seemed an unnecessary precaution. Paul's feelings, if he had any, -were under far too good control to lead him into impropriety. He sat -down with them on a deserted bench, however, questioned them both, and -finally accepted his son and his long absent spouse to his heart; that -is to say, he bade them follow him to Lachine, and then conducted them -across the river, and to his home in Caughnawaga. - -Therese had ruled there as mistress from the day Fidele had gone away. -That was so long ago now, that it had never occurred to her that her -sister would return, and the Pere Theophile, a wise ruler, who, while -his flock did their duty according to what he considered their lights, -and were duly submissive, did not unnecessarily fret them with -abstract questions of affinity, ignored any irregularity, collected -the church dues from them, and christened the children. There were but -two of these, and girls both, to the intense disappointment and -mortification of Paul. Imagine his satisfaction, then, to find himself -in possession of a well-grown son of fifteen years--well-grown, and -such a player at lacrosse. Was it not he alone, and not the Brautford -band in general, who had beaten the Caughnawagas? And now he would be -of the Caughnawagas himself, and Paul would make much money, in bets -and otherwise, out of his son's fine play. - -He received, then, his new-found family into his home and established -them there with honour. Young Paul, with the privileges of a "buck," -lolled about the place, eating, sleeping, smoking all day long, like -his father. Fidele sat by the hearth in her blanket and smoked her -pipe, while the household drudgery, now doubled by the addition to the -household, trebled by the presence of a squaw claiming to be first -wife, criticizing, ordering, and doing no work, fell on Therese and -her girls--to cut and carry wood, draw water, dig potatoes, cook, and -share the leavings, after the more considered members had eaten their -fill. It was hard lines. - -The village was speedily aware of the accession to its inhabitants. -That same evening the crest-fallen lacrosse players were told that old -Paul had recognized young Paul as his son, and brought him away from -the Brautford band to themselves; and all the bucks in the Reservation -came to welcome the certain winner of games, and congratulate his -father. The middle-aged squaws recollected Fidele, and came to praise -her son, squatting round the hearth in their blankets with lighted -pipes, while poor Therese, deposed from her motherhood of the house, -stole out to the garden-patch to dig and bewail her fate. - -It cannot be supposed that the relations of the two squaws could be -cordial when they found themselves alone together. Their being sisters -made it none the less intolerable to be, or to have been, supplanted. -Therese felt injured now, and Fidele remembered the wrongs and the -jealousy of fifteen years. It was not many days before they came to -blows, scolding, screaming, scratching, and pulling handfuls of each -other's hair, till a crowd of squaws had gathered from the surrounding -cabins; when Paul, the lord and master, appeared upon the scene, and, -in the grand heroic manner of the wilderness and its uncontaminated -sons, took down his cudgel from the wall, and belabouring them both -with soundness and impartiality, commanded them to desist. Was it not -shocking, dear lady? Yet, it was only one of those shocking things -which have been going on from the foundation of the world--which are -going on still, in Egypt, Russia, and elsewhere. The strong use a -stick to the weak, and order, of a sort, is maintained. We know -better, and have changed all that, and we go on improving, though it -may still be a question how it is going to answer in the end. It is -the weakest and the shrillest voiced, with us, who rule. The burly and -the peaceable stop their ears, and yield to escape the din. By-and-bye -we shall have all the ignorant to make our laws and instruct us. Shall -we be better off, I wonder? When every one is master, who will serve? -When all become commissioned officers, who will be left to fill the -ranks? - -There was worse yet in store for Therese, however. Fidele must needs -go to mass in that well-watched community. In Brant she could please -herself, but in Caughnawaga there were ladies of the convent to be -pleased, who were so bountiful. Fidele's re-appearance came thus -officially before the Pere Theophile. Scandal must be prevented, Paul -could not be permitted the luxury of two wives at once, however -capable he might be of keeping them both in order. More, it was the -newcomer, in this case, who was the lawful wife. Therese must go, and -he laid his injunction on Paul accordingly. Paul was submissive; one -squaw was enough to mind his comfort, and it mattered not which, -though, if anything, the boy's mother would suit the best. He obeyed -with promptitude, and after administering a parting beating, he turned -the three forlorn ones out of doors. - -When a turkey comes to grief, through sickness or accident, the rest -of the flock are apt to set upon it and peck it to death. It is a -Spartan regimen, and encourages the others to keep well. The spirit -prevailing in Caughnawaga was in so much Spartan or turkey-ish--it is -a spirit not unknown at times in more cultured circles. Nobody dreamed -of coming forward out of natural kindness; and, as a matter of duty, -there was too much of the improper in the whole story, for any one -brazenly to claim praise from the ladies of the convent for sheltering -homeless ones such as these. It seemed irreverent, even, to suppose it -could be a Christian duty to succour them. - -The outcasts walked down the village street, hiding their faces in -their blankets, bruised and ashamed. No one spoke to them or pitied -them. The squaws, their daily companions, sitting at their doors, -sewing, smoking, idling, looked steadily at them as they went by; some -with a wooden stolidity which showed no sign of recognition, some with -a spiteful and vindictive leer. Therese had been better off than many -of them, but who would change places with her now? - -The dusk was falling, and the nights were growing chilly now; there -might be frost before morning. The gleam of firelight, the twinkle of -lamps, shone through cabin windows and from open doors, but no one -bade them enter. There was heavy dew in the air, the herbage was -soaked with moisture, and therefore they would not turn aside into the -bush, to drench themselves among the dripping leaves, and be chilled -to the bone with hoar frost, perchance, ere morning. They went forward -to the river-side, and out upon the pier, where the water swept -smoothly by, murmuring monotonously in a sombre passionless sough, -black as their own desolate misery, still and undemonstrative as -themselves. - -They huddled themselves together under the lee of some bales and -boxes, their chins upon their knees within their blankets, and there -they crouched and shivered, all through the livelong night, sleeping -at times or drowsing, but always motionless, with the sound of the -mighty river in their ears, promising nothing, regretting nothing, yet -consoling in its changeless continuance--a life, and one in harmony -with their own, a seeming sympathy, when all the world beside had cast -them off. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - THERESE'S REVENGE. - - -The daylight had returned, but the sun was not yet up, and the air was -cold, when a heavy hand was laid upon the sleeping squaws, and shook -them roughly. - -"What are yez doin' here? Stailin' is it ye're afther, eh?" - -"Sleep here all night," was Therese's answer, as she slowly regained -her feet. She was stiff with cold. "No home to go to--come here." - -"A shindy at home was it? Turned out of doors is it ye are? Sarves ye -right, maybe. But it's a could sleepin' place, _al_ the same, and wan -niver knows. The gates won't be opened these two hours, but ye can -come in this way. Here's an empty luggige room, where yez cuddn't do -no harm ef ye wanted." - -He ushered them in, closed the door behind them, and turned the key -with a knowing wink. - -"Oi'm clair of yez now, me beauties. The pollisman can do as he thinks -best when he comes on at sivin o'clock. Oi've catched them if they're -wanted, an' that's as much as they kin expect from a night watchman." - -The police sergeant arrived at his appointed time. The squaws had -accepted their confinement with a contented mind, and were asleep. -Under the shelter of a roof and on a wooden floor, they could stretch -themselves at length, which was grateful after the cramped position of -the night. - -Their apathetic indifference convinced the man of authority that their -tale was true; they had come on the pier while the gates were open the -evening before, and fallen asleep. It was wrong, as he assured them, -and he could take them up for it; but to what good end? he asked -himself. He was a _virtuoso_ in malefactors, and did not care to -encumber himself with a capture out of which so little credit with his -superiors could be got, as three squawks sleeping on a pier. - -"Look out, now!" he said, shaking his finger at them. "I let -you off this time, but if"--another shake of his finger--"but if -ever--I--catch-you here again--you may look out for squalls." - -Therese had lifted her head in dull indifference; but at the sound of -his voice her face changed. She looked at him. It was now long ago -since she had heard that voice before--when she was quite a girl, the -speaker quite a young man--but the occasion was a momentous one. It -was when she had been arrested by mistake instead of Fidele. If only -it had been Fidele indeed; and if Fidele had been punished then as she -deserved, she would not have come back again, like the hungry ghosts -of the long forgotten dead, to push the living from their stools and -bring them to ruin. - -There kindled a red coal down deep at the bottom of Therese's eyes -and made them glow and burn, and the surging blood rose to her -weather-beaten cheek and reddened it behind the scarce transparent; -skin the lips parted, and the white teeth glistened, and for the -moment Therese in her fury looked handsomer, if in an evil way, than -she had ever done in her youth. It was no apathetic face now, carven -in walnut wood, but rather the features of a snake-haired fury, as one -may see them at times in the caverns of a red-coal fire. - -She laid her hand upon the sergeant as he was turning to go, after -having discharged his prisoners. - -"I know you," she said, as he turned in surprise. "Remember me?" - -"You? Where have I seen you? When was it?" - -"Long ago--_enfante perdue_--Remember now?" - -"What? You the woman that stole the child, and the nuns got off? Yes, -I remember you. You should be at the _Isle aux Noix_ now, I do -believe. Look out, as I said a little ago, or you'll go there yet, -some day. Don't you be expecting the ladies will do as much for you -next time." - -"_Enfante encore perdue?_" - -"To be sure. Do you know where it is?" - -"_Morte_," grunted Therese, with a wicked flash of her eye--"ze -bones." - -"Murder? Do you say it was murdered? Did you see it done? Did you do -it yourself?" - -"No. Fidele and Paul." - -"Will you swear out an information. There is a reward still out. It -has not been withdrawn that ever I heard. If I get you that reward, is -it a bargain that I am to draw it for you and keep half? Is it a -bargain?" - -"Bargain." - -"And you will swear an information?" - -"Vill swear." - -"Where shall I find you?--to-morrow morning, say?" - -Therese shook her head despondingly, and looked at her children. -"Hungry." - -"Who's your buck?" - -"Paul was." - -"I know Paul. Has he turned you off?" - -"Got Fidele." - -"Aha! That's it, is it? And you know where those bones are? Sure?" - -"Svear." - -"Then you'll get even with them yet, my beauty. And, stay, here's a -dollar for you. You say you're hungry, and Paul has turned you out of -doors. Be on the Lachine side of the ferry this evening. I may have to -lock you up, but you'll be well used." - -That evening, at sunset, the police landed Paul and Fidele, both -handcuffed, on the Lachine wharf, where Therese joined the party of -her own accord, and they all proceeded by train to Montreal. Therese -could not refrain from uttering one cluck of triumph as she passed her -late master and looked at his bonds, while he shot her a look of fury -and strained at his handcuffs in a way which showed it was well that -they were strong; and then all the party subsided into the stony -stillness of their ordinary demeanour. - -There was nothing very striking in the first examination which -followed. Therese recollected having seen a small grave dug in the -back kitchen, and an empty box laid beside it. Then Fidele had come in -and exchanged clothes with her, and then she (Therese) went away. -Neither Fidele nor the baby had been seen afterwards. She herself had -been taken up and accused of stealing the child, but it had been shown -that she had not left Caughnawaga on the day of the kidnapping, and -she had been acquitted. After that Paul had taken her as his squaw, -and they had lived together ever since. A fortnight ago Fidele had -returned, and since then she had suffered much ill-usage, and finally -been turned out of doors. - -The evidence seemed sufficient, but in court it would need as -corroboration the finding of the bones; therefore, there was a remand, -and two days later the prisoners were brought before the magistrate -again. The persons sent to dig under the floor had found a box, which -was produced, and a thrill of hushed excitement ran through the court -room; the male prisoner, even, threw aside his sullen stolidity, -turned to the constable in charge, and spoke a few words. The -constable conveyed the message to the Crown attorney, who addressed -the magistrate, and he forthwith appointed counsel for the defence, -leaning back in his chair, and allowing the young _avocat_ a few -minutes to converse with his client. The lawyer listened to Paul, -shook his head, raised his hand in remonstrance, and spoke soothingly; -but the red man's anger, having once found voice, grew fiercer and -more determined every moment. He shook out his long straight hair as a -furious animal will toss his mane, and gnashed his teeth, while his -usually dull eyes blazed like living coals. He put aside the arguments -and remonstrances of his adviser with a gesture of impatience, and, -looking to the magistrate, rose to his feet. The advocate, seeing that -his client was impracticable, preferred to take the work upon himself, -and addressed the bench. - -He told "that, in spite of all which he could say, the prisoner--the -male one--while disclaiming art and part in the crime of murder, was -resolved to claim from the court that he should not stand his trial -alone, or in company only with the ignorant squaw who sat at his side. -Whatever had taken place--and here, in tribute to his own professional -credit, he must be permitted to say that it was sorely against his -wish and advice that he was now driven to admit that anything _had_ -taken place, and he would have defied the learned counsel opposite to -prove that there had, and more, to bring it home to these much-injured -Indians--it was but right that the instigator should be brought to -stand his trial by the side of his instruments, and he claimed of the -court to permit the prisoner Paul to swear an information against -Ralph Herkimer, financier, broker, banker,"--"and bankrupt," some one -muttered--"for conspiring with and suborning, and inciting by promise -of gain, the prisoner Paul to steal, kidnap, abduct, and make away -with the infant daughter of George Selby, professor of music, in the -city of Montreal." He told "how the said Herkimer had continued to pay -an annual stipend or pension to the said Paul during many years, till, -on pressing the said Paul to make away with the said child, Paul had -declared that he could not, and the said stipend or pension had ceased -to be paid from that day forward." - -It was with enhanced interest that, when this had been settled, and a -warrant ordered to issue for Herkimer's apprehension, the box was -placed on the table, and the lid ordered to be removed. - -His worship, the magistrate, arranged his spectacles on his nose, the -county attorney compressed his lips to steady his nerves, lest the -sight of horror to be disclosed should disturb his delicate -sensibilities; and, then, as the lid came away, there appeared--what -might once have been a lock of hay! Time and mildew had done much to -destroy it, the shaking it had undergone since it was disturbed had -contributed yet more towards returning it to its primal condition of -dust; but hay it was, most surely, though even as they looked it -seemed crumbling away under the light and the freer air. The finders -had identified the box. It was manifestly the one referred to by the -chief witness. But where were the bones? Where any evidence of murder? -Not a morsel was there of bone, or even a lock of hair. - -The magistrate shrugged his shoulders. He was a disinterested party, -and could appreciate without alloy of personal feeling the humour of -his court holding inquest upon an empty box. The Crown prosecutor bit -his lip, infinitely disconcerted, and the sergeant of police looked -foolish. There was still the charge of kidnapping, however, that was -sworn to by the chief witness, whose evidence, after all, was -confirmed by the box. It was a grave, a box, and a live baby which she -had seen, and she had not said that she saw the murder. The male -prisoner's own statement and confession, after being warned, was also -in evidence against him. His counsel turned and looked at him, as much -as to say, "I told you so; but you _would_ speak out, notwithstanding -my advice. Now, take the consequence." - -Paul was more surprised than anybody at the discovery of emptiness -within the box. His jaw actually dropped in amazement, notwithstanding -the natural rigidity of his facial muscles. He might have got off, it -almost seemed; but then there would have been no information laid -against Herkimer, and ever since the day he had been dismissed with -contumely from his office before all those sniggering clerks, his -fingers had been itching to be at the man's throat, and only prudence -had restrained them. Fidele's face remained unchanged, for, naturally, -she was not surprised; but there came a twinkle of childish humour -into her face to see how all those arrogant whites had been fooled by -a poor squaw. - -Therese was disappointed, but not more than her experiences as a squaw -had long taught her to bear. The down-trodden are not much crushed -when an expectation gives way. Her foes, it was true, were not to be -tried for their lives, but they were still to be locked up, and -punished in some sort later on, while she herself, an indispensable -witness, would be well cared for till all was settled. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - THE SELBYS. - - -George Selby was notified at once, of course, that the inquiry into -his child's disappearance had suddenly and unexpectedly revived -itself, after so many years, with the prospect of solving the mystery, -if not of restoring the lost one. - -It was an old wound now, that sudden evanishment of the sweetest -blossom which had shone upon their lives. His wife and he, each in -pity to the other, seldom spoke of it, and therefore there appeared a -skinning over or partial healing to have come; but it still bled -inwardly, saddening, and oppressing with unspoken grief. In the -fifteen years of their bereavement his wife had been brought down from -youth and strength and beauty to premature old age. Within the last -twelvemonths a change had come. As she had told him, peace and -resignation had come to her, the sad peace of the mourners who resign -their loved ones, believing it is well with them, though knowing they -shall no more meet on earth; and her health had greatly improved. -"Why, then," thought George, "should he disturb her?--revive the -deadened misery and cause relapse? There would be doubt and anxiety -while the inquiry was in progress, and, alas! there was little that -could be called hope to look for at the conclusion." Therefore he said -nothing to Mary, but he did not fail to present himself at the -examination before the magistrate. It was a horrid idea that their -innocent darling should have been murdered by Indians, though it was -relieved by the consolatory thought that in all those years of -mourning to the parents the child's troubles had long been of the -past; and he said nothing when he went home after the first day's -inquiry. - -The next day of examination was one of the most painful George Selby -had ever known. He shrank into an unnoticed corner when the box was -brought into the court-room--shrank from it, but could not tear away -his eyes. And then he listened to Paul's accusation of his Mary's -nephew, and for the first time he divined the motive of the seemingly -wanton and inexplicable crime. Oh! how deeply in his heart he cursed -the detestable money of that domineering old man, who, not satisfied -with having his way in life, must needs strive to impose it after -death, working misery and soul destruction upon his nearest kin. He -shivered and clasped his hands before his eyes when the lid was to be -lifted from the box. He heard the drawing of the nails, the creak and -giving way of each one in its turn, and then there was a stillness; -but after that there came no sigh of horror, the air thrilled with a -movement of disappointment, felt rather than to be heard, and he came -forward and peered into the faces of the crowd. The one additional -horror was to be spared him of being called on to recognize his -child's remains in the presence of curious strangers. - -He peered intently at the prisoners, one of whom had virtually -confessed but a moment before. He noted Paul's amazement and -confusion. He noted that the squaw by his side remained calm, save -that there stole a look of mockery into her face, as she surveyed the -court, and he felt sure that that woman was not a murderess. It was -his heart which was on the strain, and enabled him to see and read the -reality untrammelled by judgment's frequent errors, wrong deductions, -and misinterpretations. He could discern that of which the -professional experience of officials took no note, for the heart is -clearer sighted than the head. - -With them there was a juridical problem to be solved by pure reason, -an indictment to be made, presentable before a judge and jury--a -proposition that the prisoners at the bar were guilty of a specific -offence, with evidence in proof. "Where is my child?" was the ruling -thought which filled George Selby's mind. The squaw at the bar was the -stealer. So much was proved by the witness under oath, and by the -implied admission of her fellow prisoner. But she had not murdered the -child, though perhaps it had been intended that she should; so much -could be drawn from her tranquillity and the confusion of her -companion. He felt that he must question that squaw forthwith, and -after the prisoners had been formally committed to stand their trial, -he obtained speech of her through the assistance of the police -sergeant, who took care to elicit an assurance that the reward, -advertised fifteen years before in a placard of which he produced a -copy, would still be paid when the baby's fate was discovered. - - -"Mary," George said to his wife that evening when they met. "I have -news." - -"News, George? News of what?" - -"The news we have been waiting for all these years. The squaw is found -at last--the right one. She is sister of the one who was taken up at -the time. The two changed clothes. That accounts for the confusion at -the trial. Those who identified her recognized the clothes. Those who -swore to her being in Caughnawaga that day spoke truth, too." - -"Oh, George!" with a weary sigh; "Is it all to be gone through again? -The misery and the pain? Yet now I feel so sure my precious one is at -peace, in the arms of God, that I think I can bear it. It is well the -discovery, whatever it may be, did not come earlier to embitter our -grief." - -"And yet, my dearest, already something which will shock you has come -to light--the instigator of the wrong is named. His accomplice accuses -him. That wretched fortune of your most misguided brother has been at -the root of all our trouble. That men who find themselves so little -wise in directing their own courses, should strive to perpetuate their -folly, by imposing their will on others after they are dead!" - -"You mean that it was Ralph? I have often suspected that; but it -seemed so merciless and inhuman a thing to do, that I have blushed for -shame at my suspicions, even when alone, and cast the thought behind -me. Poor wretch! Look at him now!--shamed and dishonoured--run away to -the States--afraid to show his face in Canada! Martha and the boy are -to be pitied in belonging to him, for they are good; but they do not -know him, and no one will be ruffian enough to enlighten them. Martha -is back at St. Euphrase again. Susan had a letter from her to-day. The -house there is settled on her, it seems, and she wants to give it up -to the creditors, but Ralph says she must not, and that before long he -will be on his feet again, and pay everybody." - -"I fear Ralph meant worse than merely to set the child aside, and it -is no thanks to his intentions if he has not innocent blood on his -hands." - -"Hush! George. It is right you should tell me the facts, but do not -draw inferences. Judge not." - -"My dear, I judge no one; but I have seen the squaw. She tells me she -was ordered to make away--to bury. The very box, which was to have -been used, was produced in court--produced as it had been dug out from -under the kitchen floor, and you may fancy how my heart died within me -at the sight; but when the box was opened, it was found to be empty, -and the squaw has told me that when she came to look at our angel, she -found it was impossible to obey the inhuman command. She buried the -empty box and carried the child away. She speaks of a road with trees, -and a valley with a broad river, and says that she laid the baby upon -the stoop of a house before going down the hill. She says she -recollects the house perfectly. A police sergeant, who seems to have -charge of the case, says he believes it must be near St. Euphrase, and -the sheriff has allowed me to take him and his prisoner there -to-morrow. I have ordered a carriage, and we will endeavour to take -her over the old ground." - -"Something will come of it, George, I feel sure. Take me with you, -dearest; it will be maddening to live through the interminable hours -between now and your return. Let me come with you." - -"There will not be room, dear. A squaw out of jail would not be -pleasant company in a carriage. They are not over tidy, remember. For -myself, I shall sit with the driver." - -"Then I shall take the early train to St. Euphrase, and go to -Judith's. Be sure you come to me as early as ever you can, I shall be -faint with impatience." - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - BETSEY AS GOOD FAIRY. - - -When Mary Selby and her sister Susan arrived at the Rectory of St. -Euphrase, next morning, the family mind was already excited by other -news; so much so, that, notwithstanding this was the first visit -Judith's sisters had ever paid, and it was unexpected, they were -received precisely as if they had dropped in from the next street, and -their coming were an every-day occurrence. The family capacity for -surprise had been forestalled. - -"Only think!" cried Betsey, the irrepressible; "young Jordan has been -here--Randolph, you know. _I_ know him quite well; was at a party at -their house, when I stayed with you last winter--knew him a little, -before then, but not much. Well, he tells Uncle Dionysius here--that's -not here, exactly, but in the study--that he ran away with Miss -Rouget, the seignior's daughter. Stuck-up looking thing she is. No -complexion to speak of; a snub nose. Yes, indeed, Aunt Judy, it is a -snub. _Nez retrousse_, is it? That's because she's Miss Rouget de La -Hache, and a kind of a somebody; though folks do say they've lost -their money all the same--like better folks who make less moan. But, -anyhow, Randolph ran away with her--fixed a fire-escape on to her -bedroom window, and down she came, bag and baggage, in the dead of the -night; and everybody in the house fast asleep. They went to New York, -and were married before a squire, and now they have come home, and are -staying with Mrs. Jordan, at The Willows. And they are going to be -married all over again, from the beginning--twice over again, I should -say, for he has just been speaking to Uncle Dionysius, and now he has -gone to the Roman Catholic priest, with a letter from an archbishop, -and no less, bidding him raise no difficulties, but just do it. Think -of that! Is it not impressive? The same two people to be three times -married, and always to one another! I suppose there will be no getting -out of that, anyhow, as long as they live. If even they were to go to -Chicago, I suppose it would take three divorce suits to separate them. -They can only dissolve one marriage at a time, so I have heard. What -do _you_ think. Miss Susan?" - -"I never was married, my dear. I have suffered too much from neuralgia -for some years back to be able to think of marrying, or anything -else." - -"Well! That's not me, now. If I was to have neuralgy, I'd want a man -to take care of me, all the more, 'pears to me. I'm 'takin' steps,' -as uncle there says, to get the man right off; and then the neuralgy -may come if it wants to, I can't help it." - -Both visitors' eyes were fixed on the speaker. The recollections of -their own youth furnished no such amazing expression of maidenly -opinion. Betsey coloured a little, coughed, and began once more, while -her uncle and aunt, taught by experience, sat silent, waiting till she -should talk herself out of breath. - -"The fact is, Mrs. Selby, I'm to be married immediately; as soon, that -is, as I can get ready, and that depends mostly on Mademoiselle -Ciseau. She'll have to make my gown, and she says she's over head and -ears in orders, between so many deaths and all the marriages; for you -know Matildy Stanley's going to marry--more proper if she'd be making -her soul, at her time of life, than thinking of sich--and that chit -Muriel--set her up--she's to be married the same day as her aunt, -though they ain't no kin at all, nohow, to one another, and Matildy -knows it. I call it going before their Maker with a lie in their right -hand--goin' to church to be married, and tellin' such a story." - -"But who are the bridegrooms, Betsey?" - -"Me? I'm going to marry Mr. Joe Webb--Squire Webb, I should say, it -sounds more respectful--justice of the peace, and the handsomest -fellow round here about. But never mind the men, just for one minute. -Everybody knows there must be a man to make a wedding, and any kind -does quite well; but think of a poor girl married without a gown, or -the wrong kind of one. How people would talk! You bein' from the city, -will be able to give me an idea. Here are a lot of _swatches_ the -storekeeper got me from Montreal, and every one has the price marked -on to it. White satin? Oh, yes, it's pretty and stylish; but I see by -'Godey's Magazine' the upper crust ain't as partial to marryin' in -white as they used to be; and white satin would not be much use -afterwards for apple-paring bees, and sich; that's the form our gaiety -takes mostly in the country round here. Yellow? Well, I did read not -long ago about a _recherche_ nuptials, somewhere, and the bride was -dressed to represent a sunflower--poetical fancy, wasn't it? Yes, -yellow's a good colour--easily seen--but it soils just as bad as -white, or worse, for one can say _ecru_ for dirty white, but what can -be said for soiled yellow? Just nothing, for everybody sees it's gone -dirty. - -"Brown? and navy blue? I guess one of these would be the best. You -like the blue, eh? Well, now, that's strange, for to me the brown -looks a deal the best. I could be married in my travelling dress, with -a bonnet trimmed with white roses and peacock's feathers--I seem to -see it in my mind's eye. Sweet and rather distinguished--but it would -be better with the brown, would it not, than with the blue? Now, do -really give me your candid opinion, Mrs. Selby; you have everything -about you at home in such good taste." - -Betsey got out of breath at last, and rose to take away her -_swatches_, and there was an opening for the visitors to explain the -cause of their unlooked for advent. Both Judith and her husband were -kind and sympathizing, and both were shocked beyond measure at the -part which Ralph had played in the transaction. For Martha's sake, -however, and for the credit of the family, the subject was dropped -when Betsey returned to the room, she being a known blab of the most -flagrant kind. - -Mary succeeded in restraining her impatience for tidings of her -husband's success within bounds, for several hours; but after the one -o'clock dinner it grew stronger than her will, and would not be -controlled. - -"By which way are they most likely to reach the village, Judith? I -feel myself fretting into a fever as I sit. I must be up and doing, or -I shall lose my senses. Betsey, my dear, will you not come out with -me? We will walk in the direction we are most likely to meet them. It -will bring me the news a minute or two sooner, and it soothes me to -feel I am doing. You will tell me about your own plans, too, dear. It -is good for me to listen to other people's concerns, if only to -distract me from my own." - -Betsey was nothing loth. She was good-natured, at least, if not -endowed with all the other virtues. They walked through the village, -and up the turnpike road coming from the east. Mary, notwithstanding -her weakness, was so urged forward by impatience that Betsey, scarce -able to keep up with her, was soon out of breath, and quite unable to -make the interesting confidences she had intended. - -"Is not that a carriage coming this way? I see two men on the -driving-box, and one of them is George. Oh! the time is come. Lend me -your arm, Betsey, dear, to steady me. I am getting faint. If this is -another disappointment, how shall I bear it?" - -The carriage drew near. One look in George's face told all. -Hopelessness had settled on it; he looked utterly cast down. He -alighted as his wife drew near, and the afflicted ones embraced in -silent wretchedness, as they had done many a time before. The story of -the expedition did not take long to tell. - -The squaw was able to point out the way she had taken all across the -Reservation, with circumstantial details, which made it impossible to -doubt the accuracy of her recollection, and argued a hopeful -termination to their search. On gaining the public road they entered -the carriage, and still the squaw went on recognizing salient objects -on either hand, and finally, at a forking of the road, where there -stood a house, she cried out, that there was the place. It -corresponded perfectly to her previous descriptions. They alighted, -and the sergeant knocked at the door. A woman opened it, and when -asked by the officer how long she had lived there, answered, after -many repetitions of the question and much explanation, and disavowing -that she understood English, twenty years. "Then you will remember," -the policeman said, "if one summer night, many years ago, you found an -infant lying at your door?" She answered that babies were never left -there. She was a respectable woman, who had brought up a family of her -own, and that the proper place to leave outcast children was a -convent, or the priest's house. - -Her hearing appeared so bad, her knowledge of English so slight, she -seemed so cross, so deaf, and so stupid, that they could draw nothing -from her but the disavowal of any knowledge of a child having been -left there, which, however, was what they chiefly wanted to know, and -they came away disappointed. The priest of the village might be able -to make some inquiries, and they were now on their way to find him; -but there was little to be expected after so many years. - -"Where was this house with the woman?" asked Betsey, with awakened -interest. "Not the first house we shall come to going up the hill?" - -"Yes," said Selby, "that is the place." - -"Well, then--but surely it cannot be!--that is the house Bruneau lives -in--the Stanleys' man. His wife confessed to me and Aunt Judy, only -last winter, that she found a baby at her door one summer night, many -years ago, and carried it up to the door of the big house, where my -cousins took it in and adopted it. But, from the way she spoke of -Muriel's parentage, it can be no relation of yours, dear Mrs. Selby. -She said it was--but I can't say what she said." - -"If you please, miss," cried the sergeant, who had been listening, -"will you be so kind as to walk back with us. As you know the woman, -she will speak different to you from what she did to us. I feel noways -sure that she was not lying when I questioned her, now you put the -notion in my head." - -Again there came knocking to Annette's door. Again she opened it, and -looked as if she fain would have run away at sight of the policeman -before her. - -"Annette," said Betsey, "did you not tell me that you carried that -baby you found on your stoop up to Miss Stanley's door and left it?" - -"I know it," answered Annette, and covering her face with her apron, -fled back into the interior of her house. They could hear her mount -the little stair, and bang to a door, but they saw her no more. In -truth, from the time she had unburdened her feelings to the rector's -lady, a new misgiving oppressed her mind. Could English women be -trusted to keep a promise, and they heretics? What would the Miss -Stanleys say, first of her conduct towards themselves in foisting that -particular child on them, and next in divulging the story, to the -discredit of their adopted niece? And now the story was out, and there -was a minister of the law come to take her. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - AT LAST. - - -Miss Stanley sat in the dining-room making up her accounts. She sat at -a table by the window, with her bills and account books spread in -order before her, and her pen in her hand, waiting to begin--waiting -till the wandering thoughts would come back from their wool-gathering, -and settle down to work. Once and again she advanced so far as to dip -her pen in the ink, but the figures did not come, the page before her -continued white, the ink dried up in her pen. With her elbow on the -table, her cheek upon her hand, she went on thinking--thinking about -her household, though not about her accounts. She had been head of the -family so long, had steered and directed it so many years, and they -had been so happy together; and now, it made her head whirl to think -of the changes that were coming to pass. In the drawing-room, at that -moment, was Muriel with her Gerald--a pair of children, and as -unthinkingly happy. Their clear laughter penetrated through closed -doors, and she heard it where she sat. Matilda was in the morning-room -with Considine, as utterly content, if less obstreperously merry than -her niece. And Penelope sat alone. - -The moisture gathered in her eyes as she thought, but promptly was -brushed away as a disloyalty, for if "dear Tilly" had come to love -another more, she was very sure she continued to love her aging sister -none the less. And yet it did seem hard to see that other come in -between. Since her sister had been a very little girl, she had been to -her a mother, watching over and caring for her till they grew to be -companions and friends. They had been all the world to one another, -and while, with a mother's inconsistency, she had wondered at the -blindness of the men, who did not come and marry her sister, she knew -that if they had, she would have hated them for their success. And -now, after all danger seemed over, when they had settled down to grow -old together, when even their adopted daughter was old enough to marry -the man, the devastating man, had come--broken in, to disturb the -repose of their virginal paradise in the hour of coming twilight, and -end the pensive sweetness of their lives. - -Yet, and the thought constrained her to admit that it was far from -being the worst thing possible which had befallen, she had extorted -from her intending brother that he should not take her sister quite -away. He was to live with her, and she with them. The house at St. -Euphrase was to be hers--Penelope's--and they were to be her inmates. -Considine would take a house in town, where she should live with them; -and all three parties to the arrangement had professed they saw no -reason why they should not always live together. "Yet, why would those -two marry at all?" she thought; "surely the season when birds select -their mates was past for them. From the things which Considine spoke -of as remembering he must be positively old; and Tilly, her precious -Tilly"--a new-born candour forced her to admit it now, though she had -not thought of it before--"was no longer young. Why could they not -live on as friends, as they had been doing? when Considine's company -had really added flavour to their spinster lives. What would people -say?" Penelope imagined, like the rest of us, that "people" care. It -is a fancy which sticks most pertinaciously, despite its lack of -reason. Why will we not judge "people" by ourselves? And is it not -true that long before our neighbours have grown accustomed to their -affairs themselves they have become a twice-told tale to us? We shrug -our shoulders and pass on, seeking a new diversion somewhere else. -Whatever we may do which pleases ourselves, "people" will cease to -trouble their heads about it long before the nine days are over. - -The fear of this notoriety, however, was a tonic thought to Penelope. -Instinctively she bridled to think that any should presume to -criticise a transaction in _her_ family, and at once she ranged -herself in spirit on her sister's side, and began to defend her. "'A -man,'" she thought, "'is no older than he feels.' What eminent person -is it who has written that? It is certainly true of Considine. See how -erect he carries himself! How cheerful he is! and strong. His hair is -white, but as thick as ever. He rides, and swims, and walks, like an -active man of forty. And 'a woman is as young as she looks.' That is -true of our Tilly. How well she wears! Who would fancy she was one age -with Louisa Martindale? And yet I believe she is. What impertinence it -will be if any one presumes to say a word!" - -After that turn to her reflections, Penelope felt positively -refreshed, and able to pull herself together. The pen was dipped in -the ink once more, the bills taken up one by one, and the column of -figures extended itself steadily down the page. But her industry was -interrupted ere long. The parlour-maid appeared in some confusion. -What was she to do? She had standing orders not do disturb her -mistress when closeted in the dining-room, and she had been told an -hour ago to show no one into the drawing-room or the parlour, and -there were a lady and a gentleman and a policeman, and some more, -asking to see Miss Stanley. - -"Show them in here," Penelope said, wondering what was the matter. The -mention of a policeman troubled her. Had it anything to do with the -Herkimer bankruptcy?--Gerald being then in the house. The newspapers -had been full of his father's doings of late, and they had had much -trouble to keep them from Muriel's eyes. "Poor child," she ejaculated, -"I hope it is nothing to distress her," and then the visitors walked -in. Mrs. Selby and her husband--she had called on Mrs. Selby, and was -glad to find in one of the visitors a person whom she knew--a -policeman leading in a squaw, and Betsey Bunce--the "atrocity," as she -called her in her mind. "How dared she enter there, after the passage -which had taken place between them at the rectory as to Muriel's -parentage?" Yet it was Betsey who came to the front now, seeing Selby -look confused, and in doubt how to begin. "I can see by your face," -said Betsey, "you ain't half well pleased, Cousin Penelope, to see me -here, after me speaking my mind about what Aunt Judy and me fished out -of your woman Annette. But it's that very same story has brought us -all here to-day, and a good thing it was that I got hold of it, or -goodness knows what would have come to these poor Selbys. You know -from the papers all about their losing their little girl long ago. You -know, too, that the squaw was taken up last week who ran away with -her. Look at her! There she stands, beside the policeman, and not a -bit ashamed of herself, as far as I can see. Could you believe that so -much artfulness-you've read about it in the papers (the changing -clothes and burying boxes, and running away, is what I allude to)--and -so much wickedness--wringing two loving hearts (I'm sure that's the -kind Mr. and Mrs. Selby have got, for I stayed with them last winter -and found them real kind). Look at her, Miss Penelope, and say if you -could have believed that so much artfulness, and wickedness, and -brazen effrontery--she don't blink an eye even--could be tied up in -one blanket." - -"Yes, Betsey," said Penelope, opening her eyes, and looking partly -offended and partly confused; "and what after that? Mr. and Mrs. Selby -and the rest scarcely allowed you to bring them up here, merely to -afford you the pleasure of playing showman!" - -"You interrupted me, Miss Penelope, or rather I got carried away with -having so much to tell all at once; and then I stuck fast. However, as -I was saying, that's the squaw! The Selbys are the parents, and you've -got the baby in this house! You needn't look at me, cousin, as if I -was crazy, for I ain't. It's Muriel--your Muriel--that I mean. Ask -Annette Bruneau--by rights she should have been here, too, to make the -thing complete, and to speak for herself; but, as I have spoken for -all the rest, I may say for her that she would not let herself be -brought. She ran upstairs and locked herself into her room, so we had -to come along without her. Why don't you send for Muriel to see her -mother. Miss Penelope? and Matildy should be here, too. She spoke very -harsh to me the last time we met; but she was mad, then, so I bear no -grudge. She'll be better friends now. And she _should_ be here, too, -to see the meeting of the long-lost child and her parents. It'll be -real touching, and she deserves to see it, for she has been like a -mother to Muriel--I'll allow that, for all that she said to me some -weeks back." - -Penelope fetched Muriel and Matilda, and the explanations were long -and confused, mingled with embraces and many tears. Even Considine -blew his nose, and the policeman passed his sleeve across his eyes; -only the squaw looked on unmoved. "If all these whites were happy, as -they said they were, why did they shed tears?" - -The rush of words grew slower and more fitful after a while. Emotion -is exhausting, whether it be grief or joy. Mary Selby sat with her -arms round her daughter's waist, and her face buried in her bosom, -while Matilda, half-jealous, and feeling half-bereaved, held the -girl's hand. - -Betsey stood up and surveyed the scene. It seemed her own handiwork, -for had she not brought these people together? The emotional silence, -when every one was filled with the same idea, made her think of the -closing tableau in a pantomime, and to feel herself the beneficent -spirit who had brought about the happy _denouement_. She could not -refrain from holding out her parasol over so many bowed heads. It -seemed to her to have become a magic wand, tipped with a sparkling -star. She could fancy, too, that her gown had transformed itself into -tinsel and transparent draperies, and that she was being slowly -carried up through the ceiling to the sound of plaintive music. - -Much could have been done with Betsey, I verily believe, if she had -been caught early and submitted to culture. But "Tollover's Circus" -had been her only introduction to the world of plastic imagination, -scenic, or pictorial art; saving always "Godey's Magazine of the -Fashions," which instructed her in a variety of knowledge she would -have been better without, the knowledge, not very accurately stated, -of how women with ten times her fortune, if she should ever come to -have any, wear their clothes. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - THE BROKER BROKE. - - -Ralph Herkimer sat in his New York hotel looking glum. The turn he had -been expecting in Pikes Peak and Montana had come; the stock had been -brought into notice at last, but it would have been better for him if -it had remained unquoted on the share list, as it had been for weeks -back. The turn was one for the worse. The shares had gone begging on -Wall Street. Nobody would buy. He sat with his hands in his pockets, -his chair tilted back, and his hat drawn over his eyes, pulling -furiously at a huge cigar, and involving himself in smoke. It was a -serious position of his affairs, and there was nothing he could do in -the circumstances but wait--wait till he was ruined outright, which at -the moment seemed likely enough, or be patient through months, if not -years, till improvement came. Of the two alternatives, the former -seemed at that moment the preferable, in so far as that it would be -soonest over. - -The Canada mail was in; his letters were brought him--an unpleasant -bundle always now. "They can wait. There is no hurry." He pushes them -aside. But, stay! There is one from his wife. "Martha," he says, and -breaks the seal. - -He was intensely sorry for himself that afternoon. The world was so -hard. Nobody seemed a bit interested to know that he was on the verge -of being ruined; in fact, it inclined them rather to get out of his -way. "Ill-luck," one would have said, to see them, "must be -infectious." His friends on Wall Street seemed busy that day whenever -he wanted to discuss with them, and some had even been rather short, -as to a manifest bore. If he would, he might have recollected that -such are the manners and customs among money-makers, when a -money-loser comes along. He had practised them himself; but that was -when other people were the losers; now it was he, and that made all -the difference. - -But Martha was fond of him, and he turned to her letter for comfort -and sympathy in his deep self-pity. He was fond of Martha, as fond, at -least, as a busy man with his head full of other things can afford to -be of anybody; but that Martha was fond of _him_ in he never doubted, -and that was the aspect of their connection, which was comfortable to -dwell on at that moment. He lit a fresh cigar, and opened his letter. - -It was a long letter, and began by answering all the questions which -he had asked, and then it went on: - -"Gerald and Muriel talk about their marriage continually, as is to be -expected, poor children. I have been trying to stave it off till you -shall have arranged your affairs, and are able to play the part you -would wish on the occasion; but I am only Gerald's mother, and it is -Muriel who has the right to say when. Besides, Gerald will not allow -me to put in a word which would sound like wishing delay, and Muriel -seems to think that if Gerald is there, it does not matter much about -his father. I cannot altogether blame the girl; it would have been my -own thought twenty-five years ago, and, to be sure, I like to see my -boy valued as he deserves. - -"But it is Matilda who is hurrying things forward in this railway -fashion. No doubt she has the best right to arrange Muriel's affairs, -she has been a mother to her; but the fact is, it is going to be a -double wedding. Matilda herself and Muriel are to be married the same -day; Considine has plucked up heart at last, proposed, and been -accepted. He should have done it long ago, as I tell him. And now that -the game is in Matilda's hands, she is more eager than the little girl -of sixteen. She has had longer to wait, you will say, and that there -are no fools like old fools. I know the way you men like to talk, -pretending to be hard, and you as soft as the women--you, Ralph, at -least, only your head is so full of business you do not give yourself -leisure to think. - -"And, oh! Ralph, dear, I do wish you would come back to Canada and -silence the scurrilous reports that are in circulation. Only show -face, and the cowards and liars who invent stories about an absent man -will be silenced; for well I know there is not a syllable of truth in -the whole _farrago_. The city papers are detestable just now; and -really, Ralph, you ought, for your son's and your wife's sake, as much -as your own, to write your solicitors at once, and get them heavily -fined for their abominable calumnies. Indifferent as you are to such -things, you really cannot let that story pass which appeared in the -papers the other day. It is getting copied into every paper in the -Dominion, Gerald says, and he feels so sore about it; he won't show -face in Montreal, he says, till it is set right. I mean, of course, -the vile libel of that low Indian, Paul, which his counsel repeated to -the magistrate, accusing you of having conspired to carry off and make -away with your own first cousin--Mary Selby's child. I wish, dear -Ralph, you would come back and face them out, the foul-tongued -ruffians. That would shame them out of countenance and stop their -mouths. The papers say there is a writ out against you. Come back, -Ralph, give yourself up, and hurry on the trial. The sooner the truth -is known the better. For all my confidence in you, I feel it painful -to have the people's eyes fixed on me when I walk up the village to go -to church, as if I were an evildoer. Think of it, Ralph, and come. - -"But I am forgetting to tell you the great news. Your daughter-in-law -to be, who do you think she is? A niece of the Stanleys, you will say. -Never more mistaken in your life. She is no kin to them at all--not a -drop of blood. She is your Aunt Selby's long-lost daughter. Think of -that! The Indian, Paul, believed his squaw had killed her, but it -seems she carried her into the country and left her at Bruneau's door, -and Bruneau's wife, thinking she had enough of his children already on -her hands, carried it up, and left it on the Stanleys' doorstep. -Everybody supposed Muriel was their niece, though latterly the Bunces -have been rather free with their innuendos. And now the girl turns out -to be a great heiress. Strangest of all, it is what we have been -calling Gerald's fortune, which she is heir to, and Gerald, the lucky -boy, will get back by marriage the very fortune he loses by law. -Nobody can say either that he marries Muriel for her money; but to -tell the truth, they seem a pair of children in everything that -relates to that." - -Ralph smoked his cigar through to the end, smoked it till the butt -dropped of itself upon his letter, charring the paper before it went -out. He continued to sit, rigid in every limb, with his features -drawn, and grey, and set; breathing heavily, but never moving. His -life seemed living itself over again before his eyes, the prizes he -had striven for, the means by which he had tried to win them, the -vicissitudes of his career, and the end which he had reached. "Fool," -was the only word he uttered, and it escaped him in a tone of mingled -misery and wonder; misery, that it was himself; wonder, that he should -have done it; for now his consciousness seemed divided in two, one -half judging and wondering and scorning, the other, crushed into -little save memory, and a sense of being undone, and having become a -burden longing to be shaken off. - -It was no awakening of conscience, such as moralists describe. He had -never troubled himself with questions of right and wrong, true and -false, honour and baseness. Success was the honour to which he had -aspired, failure the one inexpiable baseness. A faculty unused in -well-nigh half a century will scarcely leap into action and -controlling predominance over powers and habits strengthened by -constant use, all of a sudden. It was by his own poor standard that he -stood condemned at last. He had so utterly and unnecessarily failed. -What opportunities he had had! and how utterly they had been wasted in -his hands. - -He had been over-smart all through. In striving to make doubly sure, -and assisting the forces that were making for his prosperity, he had -defeated them. In attempting to shoulder up his fortunes he had pushed -them over. And all was over now. What could he do henceforth? Even -Martha, poor woman, would turn from him when she came to know. It was -infinitely sad; it was beyond remedy, too altogether out of joint, -ever to be set right. And then, he was so weary of it all, he had no -heart even to try. Sleep, long and unbroken, sleep without dreams, -sleep without a waking, that was all he yearned for, the one last good -the universe held for him. - -It was dusk now; the gas was alight all over the hotel, and in the -streets. He staggered to his feet, and slowly went downstairs. A -druggist's shop was near, and there he asked for essence of bitter -almonds. The druggist observed to him that it was "dangerous in -quantity," and must be used with care. "I'll take good care," Ralph -answered, as he went out. They were the last words he was ever heard -to utter. - - -They telegraphed to Gerald from New York next day. His father was -dead. It is heart disease, to which sudden deaths are attributed -now-a-days. It saves many a pang to the loving hearts of survivors. It -saved poor Martha an accession to her grief, and even the world began -to talk pityingly of one who had seemed so rich so short a time -before. For really the world is not a very bad one. With time and -leisure it likes to do a good-natured thing, and does it, if it -remembers in time. And then it has a most valuable code of -proprieties. It holds it wanton and brutal to speak evil of the dead. -And so it came to be in bad taste to mention the Herkimer story at -all. The poor man was dead--gone to his own place. What more was there -to say? - -Even the Indians profited. Their trial came on, but no one took much -interest in it. The young lady had come to no harm; she was even to -marry the son of the man whose name had been dragged into the -transaction. They pleaded guilty, and profited largely by the leniency -of the court. - -The weddings were unavoidably postponed. It was Matilda herself who -proposed that they should wait six months, out of respect for Martha. -Her extravagant haste and eagerness had been for Muriel's behoof. She -feared that the past might get more fully canvassed, and arrange -itself into some kind of barrier, which, though Muriel might ignore, -Gerald might feel ashamed to overpass. - -Jordan's career did not close itself so abruptly as his friend's had -done, and there were times when he envied Ralph the speedy conclusion -of his troubles. His affairs proved to be like an old woman's -knitting; when once a stitch of it is dropped, nobody can tell how -great may be the devastation. Jordan's fortune had crumbled to pieces; -he was a discredited man, and worse, a pensioner on his wife's bounty; -and that last, all who knew the charming Amelia--and all who knew her, -voted her charming--agreed was no enviable position. About a year -after Randolph was married, and settled in a government office at -Ottawa, the Minister of Drainage and Irrigation exerted his influence, -and got the old man--he is really old now, seventy is the next decade -he will touch, and that before long--made stipendiary magistrate at -Anticosti, where among the sleet storms of the gulf of St. Lawrence he -dispenses justice to litigious fishermen. Amelia did not accompany -him. Why should she? To be an ornament of society in Montreal or -Ottawa is the role nature intended her to fill, and she works the part -industriously. An old _habitante_ woman makes Jordan an infinitely -more efficient housekeeper in the far East, where comforts are few, -and there is no society, and she writes him every week the most -delightful letter, with all the chit-chat and scandal about his old -friends carefully chronicled. This affords him nearly as much -amusement to read as it gave her to write, and is far more -persistently pleasant than he finds the writer, when he spends his -annual holiday with her at St. Euphrase. - - -Gerald and Muriel are an old married couple now. Their boy is just the -age of his mother when she was stolen away. He would spend all his -time, if he had his way, with his grandmother Selby, who adores him, -and often calls him Edith in forgetfulness. There is a drawer upstairs -in her room, where there are little shoes, red, white and blue, and -sashes of gay colours, and little lace frocks. They are all nicely -washed and ironed now--the frocks, that is--and the little fellow puts -them on for a lark, at times, though he is getting too big for most of -them now. But there was a time when no one was permitted to touch or -see those things, and when the tears of ten years and more dropping on -the muslin and the lace had rumpled them and blotted them into a faded -yellow. They are precious still--his mother wore them when she was his -age--but the urchin himself is more precious yet by far. It amuses him -to try them on, and, therefore, they have been newly done up for his -lordship's greater gratification. - -Muriel's fortune turned out less than it might have been. The portion -in Jordan's hands having disappeared, Considine offered to make good -the deficiency to the last cent he possessed as far as it would have -gone. But the moiety he had manipulated himself had prospered, and -made a very pretty fortune as it was; and for the rest--no one doubts -that some day Muriel will fall heir to all that he, his wife, and her -sister possess. - -The man with the two wives, is how his acquaintance speak of -Considine, for the three go everywhere together. He is as attentive to -Penelope as to his wife, and she is far more adoring than her sister, -who, being married, has her rights, to criticise, to have little -tempers--though, indeed, Matilda's are of the smallest--and so forth. - -And now there seems no more to say. Betsey Bunce is in her right place -as mistress of a farm. Her poultry lay larger eggs, and her cows give -more butter than those of any one else. She is busy and cheery all day -long, and neither man nor maid dare ever be idle on the premises. She -has proved a fortune to her husband, if she brought him none, and he -owns now that the bad luck which first made him think of Betsey was -the luckiest circumstance of his life. She is bound to make a rich man -of him, and a legislator at Ottawa, some day soon. - - - - FOOTNOTE - -[Footnote 1: Sugar-bush. A grove of maple trees. The farmers tap the -juice in spring, and boil it into sugar. In Lower Canada and New -Hampshire, scarcely any other sugar is consumed in the country -places.] - -[Footnote 2: Jennie Jeffers, queen of the gypsies in the United -States, died in Greenfield, Tennessee, March 10, 1884, and was buried -at Dayton, Ohio, April 16. Fifteen hundred gipsies from all parts of -the country were present.--_American Paper_.] - - - - THE END. - - - - - - - PRINTED BY - KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, W.C.; - AND MIDDLE MILL KINGSTON-ON-THAMES. - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Rich Man's Relatives (Vol. 3 of 3), by -Robert Cleland - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A RICH MAN'S RELATIVES *** - -***** This file should be named 40333.txt or 40333.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/3/3/40333/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the -Web Archive (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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