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diff --git a/41020-8.txt b/41020-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8906c8c..0000000 --- a/41020-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6659 +0,0 @@ - CLARA VAUGHAN, VOLUME I (OF III) - - - - -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 http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Title: Clara Vaughan, Volume I (of III) - -Author: R. D. Blackmore - -Release Date: October 10, 2012 [EBook #41020] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLARA VAUGHAN, VOLUME I (OF -III) *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover] - - - - - CLARA VAUGHAN - - _A NOVEL_ - - - IN THREE VOLUMES - VOL I. - - R. D. Blackmore - - - - London and Cambridge: - MACMILLAN AND CO. - 1864. - - _The Right of Translation and Reproduction is reserved._ - - - - - LONDON: - R. CLAY, SON, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, - BREAD STREET HILL. - - - - - CLARA VAUGHAN - - BOOK I. - - - - CHAPTER I. - - -I do not mean to describe myself. Already I feel that the personal -pronoun will appear too often in these pages. Knowing the faults of my -character almost as well as my best friends know them, I shall attempt -to hide them no more than would those beloved ones. Enough of this: the -story I have to tell is strange, and short as my own its preamble. - -The day when I was ten years old began my serious life. It was the 30th -of December, 1842; and proud was the kiss my loving father gave me for -spelling, writing, and pronouncing the date in English, French, and -Italian. No very wonderful feat, it is true, for a clever child -well-taught; but I was by no means a clever child; and no one except my -father could teach me a single letter. When, after several years of -wedlock, my parents found new joy in me, their bliss was soon overhung -with care. They feared, but durst not own the fear, lest the wilful, -passionate, loving creature, on whom their hearts were wholly set, -should be torn from their love to a distance greater than the void of -death; in a word, should prove insane. At length they could no longer -hide this terror from each other. One look told it all; and I vaguely -remember my hazy wonder at the scene that followed. Like a thief, I -came from the corner behind the curtain-loops, and trembled at my -father's knee, for him to say something to me. Then frightened at his -silence--a thing unknown to me--I pulled his hands from before his eyes, -and found hot tears upon them. I coaxed him then, and petted him, and -felt his sorrows through me; then made believe to scold him for being so -naughty as to cry. But I could not get his trouble from him, and he -seemed to watch me through his kisses. - -Before I had ceased to ponder dreamily over this great wonder, a vast -event (for a child of seven) diverted me. Father, mother, and -Tooty--for so I then was called--were drawn a long way by horses with -yellow men upon them: from enlarged experience I infer that we must have -posted to London. Here, among many marvels, I remember especially a -long and mysterious interview with a kind, white-haired old gentleman, -who wore most remarkable shoes. He took me upon his lap, which seemed -to me rather a liberty; then he smoothed down my hair, and felt my head -so much that I asked if he wanted to comb it, having made up my mind to -kick if he dared to try such a thing. Then he put all sorts of baby -questions to me which I was disposed to resent, having long discarded -Cock Robin and Little Red-riding-hood. Unconsciously too, I was moved -by Nature's strong hate of examination. But my father came up, and with -tears in his eyes begged me to answer everything. Meanwhile my mother -sat in a dark corner, as if her best doll was dying. With its innate -pugnacity, my hazy intellect rose to the situation, and I narrowly -heeded every thing. - -"Now go, my dear," the old gentleman said at last; "you are a very good -little girl indeed." - -"That's a great lie," I cried; for I had learned bad words from a -flighty girl, taken rashly as under-nurse. - -The old gentleman seemed surprised, and my mother was dreadfully -shocked. My father laughed first, then looked at me sadly; and I did -what he expected, I jumped into his arms. At one word from him, I ran -to the great physician, and humbly begged his pardon, and offered him my -very dearest toy. He came up warmly, and shook my father's hand, and -smiled from his heart at my mother. - -"Allow me, Mrs. Vaughan--allow me, my dear sir--to congratulate you -cordially. The head is a noble and honest one. It is the growth of the -brain that causes these little commotions; but the congestion will not -be permanent. The fits, that have so alarmed you, are at this age a -good symptom; in fact, they are Nature's remedy. They may last for -seven years, or even for ten; of course they will not depart at once. -But the attacks will be milder, and the intervals longer, when she has -turned fourteen. For the intellect you need have no fear whatever. -Only keep her quiet, and never force her to learn. She must only learn -when it comes as it were with the wind. She will never forget what she -_does_ learn." - -Hereupon, unless I am much mistaken, my father and mother fell to and -kissed and hugged one another, and I heard a sound like sobbing; then -they caught me up, and devoured me, as if I were born anew; and staring -round with great childish eyes, I could not catch the old gentleman's -glance at all. - -Henceforth I learned very little, the wind, perhaps, being unfavourable; -and all the little I did learn came from my father's lips. His patience -with me was wonderful; we spent most of the day together, and when he -was forced to leave me, I took no food until he returned. Whenever his -horse was ordered, Miss Clara's little grey pony began to neigh and to -fidget, and Miss Clara was off in a moment to get her blue riding-skirt. -Even when father went shooting or fishing, Tooty was sure to go too, -except in the depth of winter; and then she was up at the top of the -house, watching all round for the gun-smoke. - -Ah, why do I linger so over these happy times--is it the pleasure of -thinking how fondly we loved one another, or is it the pain of knowing -that we can do so no more? - -Now, the 30th of December was my parents' wedding-day, for I had been -born six years exact after their affectionate union. And now that I was -ten years old--a notable hinge on the door of life--how much they made, -to be sure, of each other and of me! At dinner I sat in glory between -them, upsetting all ceremony, pleasing my father, and teasing my mother, -by many a childish sally. So genial a man my father was that he would -talk to the servants, even on state occasions, quite as if they were -human beings. Yet none of them ever took the smallest liberty with him, -unless it were one to love him. Before dessert, I interred my queen -doll, with much respect and some heartache, under a marble flag by the -door, which had been prepared for the purpose. My father was -chief-mourner, but did not cry to my liking, until I had pinched him -well. After this typical good-bye to childhood, I rode him back to the -dining-table, and helped him and my mother to the last of the West's St. -Peter grapes, giving him all the fattest ones. Then we all drank health -and love to one another, and I fell to in earnest at a child's delight. -Dearest father kept supplying me with things much nicer than are now to -be got, while my mother in vain pretended to guard the frontier. It was -the first time I tasted Guava jelly; and now, even at the name, that -scene is bright before me. The long high room oak-panelled, the lights -and shadows flickering as on a dark bay horse, the crimson velvet -curtains where the windows were gone to bed, the great black chairs with -damask cushions, but hard and sharp at the edge, the mantel-piece all -carved in stone which I was forbidden to kick, the massive lamp that -never would let me eat without loose clouds of hair dancing all over my -plate, and then the great fire, its rival, shuddering in blue flames at -the thought of the frost outside; all these things, and even the ticking -of the timepiece, are more palpable to me now than the desk on which I -write. My father sat in his easy chair, laughing and joking, full of -life and comfort, with his glass of old port beside him, his wife in -front, and me, his "Claricrops," at his knee. More happy than a hundred -kings, he wished for nothing better. At one time, perhaps, he had -longed for a son to keep the ancient name, but now he was quite ashamed -of the wish, as mutiny against me. After many an interchange, a drink -for father, a sip for Tooty, he began to tell wondrous stories of the -shots he had made that day; especially how he had killed a woodcock -through a magpie's nest. My mother listened with playful admiration; I -with breathless interest, and most profound belief. - -Then we played at draughts, and fox and goose, and pretended even to -play at chess, until it was nine o'clock, and my hour of grace expired. -Three times Ann Maples came to fetch me, but I would not go. At last I -went submissively at one kind word from my father. My mother obtained -but a pouting kiss, for I wanted to wreak some vengeance; but my father -I never kissed with less than all my heart and soul. I flung both arms -around his neck, laid my little cheek to his, and whispered in his ear -that I loved him more than all the world. Tenderly he clasped and -kissed me, and now I am sure that through his smile he looked at me with -sadness. Turning round at the doorway, I stretched my hands towards -him, and met once more his loving, laughing eyes. Once more and only -once. Next I saw him in his coffin, white and stark with death. -By-and-by I will tell what I know; at present I can only feel. The -emotions--away with long words--the passions which swept my little -heart, with equal power rend it now. Long I lay dumb and stunned at the -horror I could not grasp. Then with a scream, as in my fits, I flung -upon his body. What to me were shroud and shell, the rigid look and the -world of awe? Such things let step-children fear. Not I, when it was -my father. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - -How that deed was done, I learned at once, and will tell. By whom and -why it was done, I have given my life to learn. The evidence laid -before the coroner was a cloud and fog of mystery. For days and days my -mother lay insensible. Then, for weeks and weeks, she would leap from -her bed in fits of terror, stare, and shriek and faint. As for the -servants, they knew very little, but imagined a great deal. The only -other witnesses were a medical man, a shoemaker, and two London -policemen. The servants said that, between one and two in the morning, -a clear, wild shriek rang through the house. Large as the building was, -this shriek unrepeated awoke nearly all but me. Rushing anyhow forth, -they hurried and huddled together at the head of the great staircase, -doubting what to do. Some said the cry came one way, some another. -Meanwhile Ann Maples, who slept with me in an inner room at the end of a -little passage, in the courage of terror went straight to her master and -mistress. There, by the light of a dim night-lamp, used to visit me, -she saw my mother upright in the bed, and pointing towards my father's -breast. My father lay quite still; the bed-clothes were smooth upon -him. My mother did not speak. Ann Maples took the lamp, and looked in -her master's face. His eyes were open, wide open as in amazement, but -the surprise was death. One arm was stiff around his wife, the other -lax upon the pillow. As she described it in West-country phrase, "he -looked all frore." The woman rushed from the room, and screamed along -the passage. The servants ran to her, flurried and haggard, each afraid -to be left behind. None except the butler dared to enter. Whispering -and trembling they peered in after him, all ready to run away. Thomas -Kenwood loved his master dearly, being his foster-brother. He at once -removed the bedclothes, and found the fatal wound. So strongly and -truly was it dealt, that it pierced the centre of my dear father's -heart. One spot of blood and a small three-cornered hole was all that -could be seen. The surgeon, who came soon after, said that the weapon -must have been a very keen and finely-tempered dagger, probably of -foreign make. The murderer must have been quite cool, and well -acquainted with the human frame. Death followed the blow on the instant, -without a motion or a groan. In my mother's left hand strongly clutched -was a lock of long, black, shining hair. A curl very like it, but -rather finer, lay on my father's bosom. In the room were no signs of -disorder, no marks of forcible entrance. - -One of the maids, a timid young thing, declared that soon after the -stable-clock struck twelve, she had heard the front balusters creak; but -as she was known to hear this every night, little importance was -attached to it. The coroner paid more attention to the page (a sharp -youth from London), who, being first in the main corridor, after the -cry, saw, or thought he saw, a moving figure, where the faint starlight -came in at the oriel window. He was the more believed, because he owned -that he durst not follow it. But no way of escape could be discovered -there, and the eastern window was strongly barred betwixt the mullions. -No door, no window was anywhere found open. - -Outside the house, the only trace was at one remarkable spot. The time -had been chosen well. It was a hard black frost, without, as yet, any -snow. The ground was like iron, and an Indian could have spied no -trail. But at this one spot, twenty-five yards from the east end of the -house, and on the verge of a dense shrubbery, a small spring, scarcely -visible, oozed among the moss. Around its very head, it cleared, and -kept, a narrow space quite free from green, and here its margin was a -thin coat of black mineral mud, which never froze. This space, at the -broadest, was but two feet and ten inches across from gravel to turf, -yet now it held two distinct footprints, not of some one crossing and -re-crossing, but of two successive steps leading from the house into the -shrubbery. These footprints were remarkable; the one nearest the house -was of the left foot, the other of the right. Each was the impression -of a long, light, and pointed boot, very hollow at the instep. But they -differed in this--the left footprint was plain and smooth, without mark -of nail, or cue, or any other roughness; while the right one was clearly -stamped in the centre of the sole with a small rectangular cross. This -mark seemed to have been made by a cruciform piece of metal, or some -other hard substance, inlaid into the sole. At least, so said a -shoemaker, who was employed to examine it; and he added that the boots -were not those of the present fashion, what he called "duck's bills" -being then in vogue. This man being asked to account for the fact of -the footprints being so close together, did so very easily, and with -much simplicity. It was evident, he said, that a man of average -stature, walking rapidly, would take nearly twice that distance in every -stride; but here the verge of the shrubbery, and the branches striking -him in the face, had suddenly curtailed the step. And to this, most -likely, and not to any hurry or triumph, was to be ascribed the fact -that one so wily and steadfast did not turn back and erase the dangerous -tokens. Most likely, he did not feel what was beneath his feet, while -he was battling with the tangle above. - -Be that as it may, there the marks remained, like the blotting-paper of -his crime. Casts of them were taken at once, and carefully have they -been stored by me. - -The shoemaker, a shrewd but talkative man, said unasked that he had -never seen such boots as had left those marks, since the "Young Squire" -(he meant Mr. Edgar Vaughan) went upon his travels. For this gratuitous -statement, he was strongly rebuked by the coroner. - -For the rest, all that could be found out, after close inquiry, was, -that a stranger darkly clad had been seen by the gamekeepers, in a copse -some half-mile from the house, while the men were beating for woodcocks -on the previous day. He did not seem to be following my father, and -they thought he had wandered out of the forest road. He glided quickly -away, before they could see his features, but they knew that he was tall -and swarthy. No footprints were found in that ride like those by the -shrubbery spring. - -I need not say what verdict the coroner's jury found. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - -Thus far, I have written in sore haste, to tell, as plainly and as -briefly as possible, that which has darkened all my life. Though it -never leaves my waking thoughts, to dwell upon it before others is agony -to me. Henceforth my tale will flow perhaps more easily, until I fall -again into a grief almost as dark, and am struck by storms of passion -which childhood's stature does not reach. - -When the shock of the household, and the wonder of the county, and the -hopes of constables (raised by a thousand pounds' reward) had subsided -gradually, my mother continued to live in the old mansion, perhaps -because none of her friends came forward to remove her. Under my -father's will she was the sole executrix; but all the estates (including -house and park) were left to my father's nearest relative, as trustee -for myself, with a large annuity to my mother charged upon them. There -were many other provisions and powers in the will, which are of no -consequence to my story. The chief estate was large and rich, extending -three or four miles from the house, which stood in a beautiful part of -Gloucestershire. The entire rental was about 12,000*l.* a year. My -father (whose name was Henry Valentine Vaughan), being a very active man -in the prime of life, had employed no steward, but managed everything -himself. The park, and two or three hundred acres round it, had always -been kept in hand; the rest was let to thriving tenants, who loved (as -they expressed it) "every hair on the head of a Vaughan." There was -also a small farm near the sea, in a lonely part of Devonshire; but this -was my mother's, having been left to her by her father, a clergyman in -that neighbourhood. - -My father's nearest relative was his half-brother, Edgar Vaughan, who -had been educated for the Bar, and at one time seemed likely to become -eminent; then suddenly he gave up his practice, and resided (or rather -roved) abroad, during several years. Sinister rumours about him reached -our neighbourhood, not long before my father's death. To these, -however, the latter paid no attention, but always treated his brother -Edgar with much cordiality and affection. But all admitted that Edgar -Vaughan had far outrun his income as a younger son, which amounted to -about 600*l.* a year. Of course, therefore, my father had often helped -him. - -On the third day after that night, my guardian came to Vaughan Park. He -was said to have hurried from London, upon learning there what had -happened. - -The servants and others had vainly and foolishly tried to keep from me -the nature of my loss. Soon I found out all they knew, and when the -first tit and horror left me, I passed my whole time, light or dark, in -roving from passage to passage, from room to room, from closet to -closet, searching every chink and cranny for the murderer of my father. -Though heretofore a timid child, while so engaged I knew not such a -thing as fear; but peered, and groped, and listened, feeling every inch -of wall and wainscot, crawling lest I should alarm my prey, spying -through the slit of every door, and shaking every empty garment. -Certain boards there were near the east window which sounded hollow; at -these I scooped until I broke my nails. In vain nurse Maples locked me -in her room, held me at her side, or even bound me to the bed. My -ravings forced her soon to yield, and I would not allow her, or any one -else, to follow me. The Gloucester physician said that since the -disease of my mind had taken that shape, it would be more dangerous to -thwart than to indulge it. - -It was the evening of the third day, and weary with but never _of_ my -search, I was groping down the great oak-staircase in the dusk, hand -after hand, and foot by foot, when suddenly the main door-bell rang. -The snow was falling heavily, and had deadened the sound of wheels. At -once I slid (as my father had taught me to do) down the broad -balustrade, ran across the entrance-hall, and with my whole strength -drew back the bolt of the lock. There I stood in the porch, -unfrightened, but with a new kind of excitement on me. A tall dark man -came up the steps, and shook the snow from his boots. The carriage-lamp -shone in my face. I would not let him cross the threshold, but stood -there and confronted him. He pretended to take me for some servant's -child, and handed me a parcel covered with snow. I flung it down, and -said, looking him full in the face, "I am Clara Vaughan, and you are the -man who killed my father." "Carry her in, John," he said to the -servant--"carry her in, or the poor little thing will die. What eyes!" -and he used some foreign oath--"what wonderful eyes she has!" - -That burst of passion was the last conscious act of the young and -over-laboured brain. For three months I wandered outside the gates of -sorrow. My guardian, as they told me, was most attentive throughout the -whole course of the fever, and even in the press of business visited me -three times every day. Meanwhile, my mother was slowly shaking off the -stupor which lay upon her, and the new fear of losing me came through -that thick heaviness, like the wind through a fog. Doubtless it helped -to restore her senses, and awoke her to the work of life. Then, as time -went on, her former beauty and gentleness came back, and her reason too, -as regarded other subjects. But as to that which all so longed to know, -not a spark of evidence could be had from her. The faintest allusion to -that crime, the name of her loved husband, the mere word "murder" -uttered in her presence--and the consciousness would leave her eyes, -like a loan withdrawn. Upright she sat and rigid as when she was found -that night, with the lines of her face as calm and cold as moonlight. -Only two means there were by which her senses could be restored: one was -low sweet music, the other profound sleep. She was never thrown into -this cataleptic state by her own thoughts or words, nor even by those of -others when in strict sequence upon her own. But any attempt to lead -her to that one subject, no matter how craftily veiled, was sure to end -in this. The skilful physician, who had known her many years, judged, -after special study of this disease, in which he felt deep interest, -that it was always present in her brain, but waited for external aid to -master her. I need not say that she was now unfit for any stranger's -converse, and even her most careful friends must touch sometimes the -motive string. - -As I recovered slowly from long illness, the loss of my best friend and -the search for my worst enemy revived and reigned within me. Sometimes -my guardian would deign to reason with me upon what he called "my -monomania." When he did so, I would fix my eyes upon him, but never -tried to answer. Now and then, those eyes seemed to cause him some -uneasiness; at other times he would laugh and compare them pleasantly to -the blue fire-damp in a coal-mine. His dislike of their scrutiny was -well known to me, and incited me the more to urge it. But in spite of -all, he was ever kind and gentle to me, and even tried some grimly -playful overtures to my love, which fled from him with loathing, albeit -a slow conviction formed that I had wronged him by suspicion. - -Edgar Malins Vaughan, then about thirty-seven years old, was (I suppose) -a very handsome man, and perhaps of a more striking presence than my -dearest father. His face, when he was pleased, reminded me strongly of -the glance and smile I had lost, but never could it convey that soft -sweet look, which still came through the clouds to me, now and then in -dreams. The outlines of my guardian's face were keener too and -stronger, and his complexion far more swarthy. His eyes were of a hard -steel-blue, and never seemed to change. A slight lameness, perceptible -only at times, did not impair his activity, but served him as a pretext -for declining all field-sports, for which (unlike my father) he had no -real taste. - -His enjoyments, if he had any--and I suppose all men have some--seemed -to consist in the management of the estate (which he took entirely upon -himself), in satiric literature and the news of the day, or in lonely -rides and sails upon the lake. It was hinted too, by Thomas Kenwood, -who disliked and feared him strangely, that he drank spirits or foreign -cordials in his own room, late at night. There was nothing to confirm -this charge; he was always up betimes, his hand was never tremulous, nor -did his colour change. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - -My life--childhood I can scarcely call it--went quietly for several -years. The eastern wing of the house was left unused, and rarely -traversed by any but myself. Foolish tales, of course, were told about -it; but my frequent visits found nothing to confirm them. At night, -whenever I could slip from the care of good but matter-of-fact Ann -Maples, I used to wander down the long corridor, and squeeze through the -iron gate now set there, half in hope and half in fear of meeting my -father's spirit. For such an occasion all my questions were prepared, -and all the answers canvassed. My infant mind was struggling ever to -pierce the mystery which so vaguely led its life. Years only quickened -my resolve to be the due avenger, and hardened the set resolve into a -fatalist's conviction. My mother, always full of religious feeling, -taught me daily in the Scriptures, and tried to make me pray. But I -could not take the mild teachings of the Gospel as a little child. To -me the Psalms of David, and those books of the Old Testament which -recount and seem to applaud revenge, were sweeter than all the balm of -Gilead; they supplied a terse and vigorous form to my perpetual -yearnings. With a child's impiety, I claimed for myself the mission of -the Jews against the enemies of the Lord. The forms of prayer, which my -mother taught me, I mumbled through, while looking in her gentle face, -with anything but a prayerful gaze. For my own bedside I kept a widely -different form, which even now I shudder to repeat. And yet I loved -dear mother truly, and pitied her sometimes with tears; but the -shadow-love was far the deeper. - -My father's grave was in the churchyard of the little village which -clustered and nestled beyond our lodge. It was a real grave. The -thought of lying in a vault had always been loathsome to him, and he -said that it struck him cold. So fond was he of air and light and -freedom, the change of seasons and weather, and the shifting of the sun -and stars, that he used to pray that they still might pass over his -buried head; that he might lie, not in the dark lockers of death, but in -the open hand of time. His friends used to think it strange that a man -of so light and festive nature should ever talk of death; yet so he -often did, not morbidly, but with good cheer. In pursuance, therefore, -of his well-known wish, the vaults wherein there lay five centuries of -Vaughan dust were not opened for him; neither was his grave built over -with a hideous ash-bin; but lay narrow, fair, and humble, with a plain, -low headstone of the whitest marble, bearing his initials deeply carved -in grey. Through our warm love and pity, and that of all the village, -and not in mere compliance with an old usage of the western counties, -his simple bed was ever green and white with the fairest of low flowers. -Though otherwise too moody and reckless to be a gardener, I loved to -rear from seed his favourite plants, and keep them in my room until they -blossomed; then I would set them carefully along his grave, and lie down -beside it, and wonder whether his spirit took pleasure in them. - -But more often, it must be owned, I laid a darker tribute there. The -gloomy channel into which my young mind had been forced was overhung, as -might be expected, by a sombre growth. The legends of midnight spirits, -and the tales of blackest crime, shed their poison on me. From the dust -of the library I exhumed all records of the most famous atrocities, and -devoured them at my father's grave. As yet I was too young to know what -grief it would cause to him who slept there, could he but learn what his -only child was doing. That knowledge would at once have checked me, for -his presence was ever with me, and his memory cast my thoughts, as -moonlight shapes the shadows. - -The view from the churchyard was a lovely English scene. What higher -praise can I give than this? Long time a wanderer in foreign parts, -nothing have I seen that comes from nature to the heart like a true -English landscape. - -The little church stood back on a quiet hill, which bent its wings in a -gentle curve to shelter it from the north and east. These bending wings -were feathered, soft as down, with, larches, hawthorn, and the -lightly-pencilled birch, between which, here and there, the bluff rocks -stood their ground. Southward, and beyond the glen, how fair a spread -of waving country we could see! To the left, our pretty lake, all clear -and calm, gave back the survey of the trees, until a bold gnoll, fringed -with alders, led it out of sight. Far away upon the right, the Severn -stole along its silver road, leaving many a reach and bend, which caught -towards eventide the notice of the travelled sun. Upon the horizon -might be seen at times, the blue distance of the Brecon hills. - -Often when I sat here all alone, and the evening dusk came on, although -I held those volumes on my lap, I could not but forget the murders and -the revenge of men, the motives, form, and evidence of crime, and nurse -a vague desire to dream my life away. - -Sometimes also my mother would come here, to read her favourite Gospel -of St. John. Then I would lay the dark records on the turf, and sit -with my injury hot upon me, wondering at her peaceful face. While, for -her sake, I rejoiced to see the tears of comfort and contentment dawning -in her eyes, I never grieved that the soft chastenment was not shed on -me. For her I loved and admired it; for myself I scorned it utterly. - -The same clear sunshine was upon us both: we both were looking on the -same fair scene--the gold of ripening corn, the emerald of woods and -pastures, the crystal of the lake and stream; above us both the peaceful -heaven was shed, and the late distress was but a night gone -by--wherefore had it left to one the dew of life, to the other a -thunderbolt? I knew not the reason then, but now I know it well. - -Although my favourite style of literature was not likely to improve the -mind, or yield that honeyed melancholy which some young ladies woo, to -me it did but little harm. My will was so bent upon one object, and the -whole substance and shape of my thoughts so stanch in their sole -ductility thereto, that other things went idly by me, if they showed no -power to promote my end. But upon palpable life, and the doings of -nature I became observant beyond my age. Things in growth or motion -round me impressed themselves on my senses, as if a nerve were touched. -The uncoiling of a fern-frond, the shrinking of a bind-weed blossom, the -escape of a cap-pinched bud, the projection of a seed, or the sparks -from a fading tuberose, in short, the lighter prints of Nature's -sandalled foot, were traced and counted by me. Not that I derived a -maiden pleasure from them, as happy persons do, but that it seemed my -business narrowly to heed them. - -As for the proud phenomena of imperial man, so far as they yet survive -the crucible of convention--the lines where cunning crouches, the smile -that is but a brain-flash, the veil let down across the wide mouth of -greed, the guilt they try to make volatile in charity,--all these I was -not old and poor enough to learn. Yet I marked unconsciously the traits -of individuals, the mannerism, the gesture, and the mode of speech, the -complex motive, and the underflow of thought. So all I did, and all I -dreamed, had one colour and one aim. - -My education, it is just to say, was neglected by no one but myself. My -father's love of air and heaven had descended to me, and nothing but my -mother's prayers or my own dark quest could keep me in the house. -Abstract principles and skeleton dogmas I could never grasp; but -whatever was vivid and shrewd and native, whatever had point and -purpose, was seized by me and made my own. My faculties were not large, -but steadfast now, and concentrated. - -Though several masters tried their best, and my governess did all she -could, I chose to learn but little. Drawing and music (to soothe my -mother) were my principal studies. Of poetry I took no heed, except in -the fierce old drama. - -Enough of this. I have said so much, not for my sake, but for my story. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - -On the fifth anniversary of my father's death, when I was fifteen years -of age, I went to visit (as I always did upon that day) the fatal room. -Although this chamber had been so long unused, the furniture was allowed -to remain; and I insisted passionately that it should be my charge. -What had seemed the petulance of a child was now the strong will of a -thoughtful girl. - -I took the key from my bosom, where I always kept it, and turned it in -the lock. No mortal had entered that door since I passed it in my last -paroxysm, three weeks and a day before. I saw a cobweb reaching from -the black finger-plate to the third mould of the beading. The weather -had been damp, and the door stuck fast to the jamb, then yielded with a -crack. Though I was bold that day, and in a mood of triumph, some awe -fell on me as I entered. There hung the heavy curtain, last drawn by -the murderer's hand; there lay the bed-clothes, raised for the blow, and -replaced on death; and there was the pillow where sleep had been so -prolonged. All these I saw with a forced and fearful glance, and my -breath stood still as the wind in a grave. - -Presently a light cloud floated off the sun, and a white glare from the -snow of the morning burst across the room. My sight was not so dimmed -with tears as it generally was when I stood there, for I had just read -the history of a long-hidden crime detected, and my eyes were full of -fierce hope. But stricken soon to the wonted depth of sadness, with the -throbs of my heart falling like the avenger's step, I went minutely -through my death-inspection. I felt all round the dusty wainscot, -opened the wardrobes and cupboards, raised the lids of the deep-bayed -window-seats, peered shuddering down the dark closet, where I believed -the assassin had lurked, started and stared at myself in the mirror, to -see how lone and wan I looked, and then approached the bed, to finish my -search in the usual place, by lying and sobbing where my father died. I -had glanced beneath it and round the pillars, and clutched the curtain -as if to squeeze out the truth, and was just about to throw myself on -the coverlet and indulge the fit so bitterly held at bay, when something -on the hangings above the head-board stopped me suddenly. There I saw a -narrow line of deep and glowing red. It grew so vivid on the faded -damask, and in the white glare of the level sun, that I thought it was -on fire. Hastily setting a chair by the pillar, for I would not tread -on that bed, I leaped up, and closely examined the crimson vein. - -Without thinking, I knew what it was--the heart-blood of my father. -There were three distinct and several marks, traced by the reeking -dagger. The first on the left, which had caught my glance, was the -broadest and clearest to read. Two lines, meeting at a right angle, -rudely formed a Roman L. Rudely I say, for the poniard had been too -rich in red ink, which had clotted where the two strokes met. The -second letter was a Roman D, formed also by two bold strokes, the -upright very distinct, the curve less easily traced at the top, but the -lower part deep and clear. The third letter was not so plain. It -looked like C at first, but upon further examination I felt convinced -that it was meant for an O, left incomplete through the want of more -writing fluid; or was it then that my mother had seized the dark author -by the hair, as he stooped to incline his pen that the last drop might -trickle down? - -Deciphering thus with fingers and eyes, I traced these letters of blood, -one by one, over and over again, till they danced in my gaze like the -northern lights. I stood upon tiptoe and kissed them; I cared not what -I was doing: it was my own father's blood, and I thought of the heart it -came from, not of the hand which shed it. When I turned away, the -surprise, for which till then I had found no time, broke full upon me. -How could these letters, in spite of all my vigilance, so long have -remained unseen? Why did the murderer peril his life yet more by -staying to write the record, and seal perhaps the conviction of his -deed? And what did these characters mean? Of these three questions, -the first was readily solved. The other two remained to me as new -shadows of wonder. Several causes had conspired to defer so long this -discovery. In the first place, the damask had been of rich lilac, shot -with a pile of carmine, which, in the waving play of light, glossed at -once and obscured the crimson stain, until the fading hues of art left -in strong contrast nature's abiding paint. Secondly, my rapid growth and -the clearness of my eyes that day lessened the distance and favoured -perception. Again--and this was perhaps the paramount cause--the winter -sun, with rays unabsorbed by the snow, threw his sheer dint upon that -very spot, keen, level, and uncoloured--a thing which could happen on -few days in the year, and for few minutes each day, and which never had -happened during my previous search. Perhaps there was also some -chemical action of the rays of light which evoked as well as showed the -colour; but of this I do not know enough to speak. Suffice it that the -letters were there, at first a great shock and terror, but soon a strong -encouragement to me. - -My course was at once to perpetuate the marks and speculate upon them at -leisure, for I knew not how fleeting they might be. I hurried -downstairs, and speaking to no one procured some clear tissue paper. -Applying this to the damask, and holding a card behind, I carefully -traced with a pencil so much of the letters as could be perceived -through the medium, and completed the sketch by copying most carefully -the rest; It was, however, beyond my power to keep my hand from -trembling. A shade flitted over my drawing--oh, how my heart leaped! - -When I had finished the pencil-sketch, and before it was inked over (for -I could not bring myself to paint it red), I knelt where my father died -and thanked God for this guidance to me. By the time I had dried my -eyes the sun was passed and the lines of blood were gone, even though I -knew where to seek them, having left a pin in the damask. By measuring -I found that the letters were just three feet and a quarter above the -spot where my father's head had been. The largest of them, the L, was -three inches long and an eighth of an inch in width; the others were -nearly as long, but nothing like so wide. - -Trembling now, for the rush of passion which stills the body was past, -and stepping silently on the long silent floor, I went to the deep -dark-mullioned window and tried to look forth. After all my lone -tumult, perhaps I wanted to see the world. But my jaded eyes and brain -showed only the same three letters burning on the snow and sky. -Evening, a winter evening, was fluttering down. The sun was spent and -stopped by a grey mist, and the landscape full of dreariness and cold. -For miles, the earth lay white and wan, with nothing to part life from -death. No step was on the snow, no wind among the trees; fences, -shrubs, and hillocks were as wrinkles in a winding-sheet, and every -stark branch had like me its own cold load to carry. - -But on the left, just in sight from the gable-window, was a spot, black -as midnight, in the billowy snow. It was the spring which had stored -for me the footprints. Perhaps I was superstitious then; the omen was -accepted. Suddenly a last gleam from the dauntless sun came through the -ancient glass, and flung a crimson spot upon my breast. It was the red -heart, centre of our shield, won with Coeur de Lion. - -Oh scutcheons, blazonments, and other gewgaws, by which men think to -ennoble daylight murders, how long shall fools account it honour to be -tattooed with you? Mercy, fellow-feeling, truth, humility, virtues that -never flap their wings, but shrink lest they should know they stoop, -what have these won? Gaze sinister, and their crest a pillory. - -With that red pride upon my breast, and that black heart within, and my -young form stately with revenge, I was a true descendant of Crusaders. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - -To no one, not even to Thomas Kenwood (in whom I confided most), did I -impart the discovery just described. Again and again I went to examine -those letters, jealous at once of my secret, and fearful lest they -should vanish. But though they remained perhaps unaltered, they never -appeared so vivid as on that day. - -With keener interest I began once more to track, from page to page, from -volume to volume, the chronicled steps of limping but sure-footed -justice. - -Not long after this I was provided with a companion. "Clara," said my -guardian one day at breakfast, "you live too much alone. Have you any -friends in the neighbourhood?" - -"None in the world, except my mother." - -"Well, I must try to survive the exclusion. I have done my best. But -your mother has succeeded in finding a colleague. There's a cousin of -yours coming here very soon." - -"Mother dear," I cried in some surprise, "you never told me that you had -any nieces." - -"Neither have I, my darling," she replied, "nor any nephews either; but -your uncle has; and I hope you will like your visitor." - -"Now remember, Clara," resumed my guardian, "it is no wish of mine that -you should do so. To me it is a matter of perfect indifference; but -your mother and myself agreed that a little society would do you good." - -"When is she to come?" I asked, in high displeasure that no one had -consulted me. - -"He is likely to be here to-morrow." - -"Oh," I exclaimed, "the plot is to humanize me through a young -gentleman, is it? And how long is he to stay in my house?" - -"In your house! I suppose that will depend upon your mother's wishes." - -"More likely upon yours," I cried; "but it matters little to me." - -He said nothing, but looked displeased; my mother doing the same, I was -silent, and the subject dropped. But of course I saw that he wished me -to like his new importation, while he dissembled the wish from knowledge -of my character. - -Two years after my father's birth, his father had married again. Of the -second wedlock the only offspring was my guardian, Edgar Vaughan. He -was a posthumous son, and his mother in turn contracted a second -marriage. Her new husband was one Stephen Daldy, a merchant of some -wealth. By him she left one son, named Lawrence, and several daughters. -This Lawrence Daldy, my guardian's half-brother, proved a spendthrift, -and, while scattering the old merchant's treasure married a fashionable -adventuress. As might be expected, no retrenchment ensued, and he died -in poverty, leaving an only child. - -This boy, Clement Daldy, was of my own age, or thereabout, and, in -pursuance of my guardian's plan, was to live henceforth with us. - -He arrived under the wing of his mother, and his character consisted in -the absence of any. If he had any quality at all by which one could -know him from a doll, it was perhaps vanity; and if his vanity was -singular enough to have any foundation, it could be only in his good -looks. He was, I believe, as pretty a youth as ever talked without -mind, or smiled without meaning. Need it be said that I despised him at -once unfathomably? - -His mother was of a very different order. Long-enduring, astute, and -plausible, with truth no more than the pith of a straw, she added -thereto an imperious spirit, embodied just now in an odious meekness. -Whatever she said or did, in her large contempt of the world, her -lady-abbess walk, and the chastened droop of her brilliant eyes, she -conveyed through it all the impression of her humble superiority. -Though profoundly convinced that all is vanity, she was reluctant to -force this conviction on minds of a narrower scope, and dissembled with -conscious grace her knowledge of human nature. - -To a blunt, outspoken child, what could be more disgusting? But when -upon this was assumed an air of deep pity for my ignorance, and interest -in my littleness, it became no longer bearable. - -This Christian Jezebel nearly succeeded in estranging my mother from me. -The latter felt all that kindness towards her which people of true -religion, when over-charitable, conceive towards all who hoist and -salute the holy flag. Our sweet pirate knew well how to make the most -of this. - -For myself, though I felt that a hypocrite is below the level of hate, I -could not keep my composure when with affectionate blandness our visitor -dared to "discharge her sacred duty of impressing on me the guilt of -harbouring thoughts of revenge." Of course, she did not attempt it in -the presence of my mother; but my guardian was there, and doubtless knew -her intention. - -It was on a Sunday after the service, and she had stayed for the -sacrament. - -"My sweet child," she began, "you will excuse what I am about to say, as -I only speak for your good, and from a humble sense that it is the path -of duty. It has pleased God, in His infinite wisdom, to afflict your -dear mother with a melancholy so sensitive, that she cannot bear any -allusion to your deeply-lamented father. You have therefore no female -guidance upon a subject which justly occupies so much of your thoughts. -Your uncle Edgar, in his true affection for you, has thought it right -that you should associate more with persons calculated to develop your -mind." - -Now I hate that word "develop;" and I felt my passion rising, but let -her go on:-- - -"Under these circumstances, it grieves me deeply, my poor dear child, to -find you still display a perversity, and a wilful neglect of the blessed -means of grace, which must (humanly speaking) draw down a judgment upon -you. Now, open your heart to me, the whole of your little unregenerate -heart, you mysterious but (I firmly believe) not ill-disposed lambkin. -Tell me all your thoughts, your broodings, your dreams--in fact, your -entire experiences. Uncle Edgar will leave the room, if you wish it." - -"Certainly not," I said. - -"Quite right, my dear; have no secrets from one who has been your second -father. Now tell me all your little troubles. Make me your -mother-confessor. I take the deepest interest in you. True, I am only -a weak and sinful woman, but my chastisements have worked together for -my edification, and God has been graciously pleased to grant me peace of -mind." - -"You don't look as if you had much," I cried. - -Her large eyes flashed a quick start from their depths, like the stir of -a newly-fathomed sea. My guardian's face gleamed with a smile of sly -amusement. Recovering at once her calm objective superiority, she -proceeded: - -"I have been troubled and chastened severely, but now I perceive that it -was all for the best. But perhaps it is not very graceful to remind me -of that. Yet, since all my trials have worked together for my good, on -that account I am, under Providence, better qualified to advise you, in -your dark and perilous state. I have seen much of what thoughtless -people call 'life.' But in helping you, I wish to proceed on higher -principles than those of the world. You possess, beyond question, a -strong and resolute will, but in your present benighted course it can -lead only to misery. Now, what is the principal aim of your life, my -love?" - -"The death of my father's murderer." - -"Exactly so. My unhappy child, I knew it too well. Though a dark sin is -your leading star, I feel too painfully my own shortcomings, and old -unregenerate tendencies, to refuse you my carnal sympathy. You know my -feelings, Edgar." - -"Indeed, Eleanor," replied my guardian, with an impenetrable smile, "how -should I? You have always been such a model of every virtue." - -She gave him a glance, and again addressed me. "Now suppose, Clara -Vaughan, that, after years of brooding and lonely anguish, you obtain -your revenge at last, who will be any the better for it?" - -"My father and I." - -"Your father indeed! How you wrong his sweet and most forgiving -nature!" - -This was the first thing she had said that touched me; and that because -I had often thought of it before. But I would not let her see it. - -"Though his nature were an angel's," I cried, "as I believe it was, -never could he forgive that being who tore him from me and my mother. I -know that he watches me now, and must be cold and a wanderer, until I -have done my duty to him and myself." - -"You awful child. Why, you'll frighten us all. But you make it the -more my duty. Come with me now, and let me inculcate the doctrines of a -higher and holier style." - -"Thank you, Mrs. Daldy, I want no teaching, except my mother's." - -"You are too wilful and headstrong for her. Come to me, my poor stray -lamb." - -"I would sooner go to a butcher, Mrs. Daldy." - -"Is it possible? Are you so lost to all sense of right?" - -"Yes, if you are right," I replied; and left the room. - -Thenceforth she pursued tactics of another kind. She tried me with -flattery and fictitious confidence, likely from a woman of her maturity -to win a young girl, by inflating self-esteem: she even feigned a warm -interest in my search, and wished to partake in my readings and secret -musings. Indeed, I could seldom escape her. I am ready to own that, by -her suggestions and quick apprehension, she gained some ascendancy over -me, but not a tenth part of what she thought she had won; and I still -continued to long for her departure. Of this, however, no symptom -appeared: she made herself quite at home, and did her best to become -indispensable to my mother. - -Clement Daldy had full opportunity to commend himself to my favour. We -were constantly thrown together, in the presence of his mother, and the -absence of mine. For a long time, I was too young, and too much -engrossed by the object for which I lived, to have any inkling of their -scheme; but suddenly a suspicion broke upon me. My guardian and his -sister-in-law had formed, as I thought, a deliberate plot for marrying -me, when old enough, to that tailor's block. The one had been so long -accustomed to the lordship of the property, to some county influence, -and great command of money, that it was not likely he would forego the -whole without a struggle. But he knew quite well that the moment I -should be of age I would dispense with his wardship, and even with his -residence there, and devote all I had to the pursuit of my "monomania." -All his endeavours to make me his thrall had failed, partly from my -suspicions, partly from a repugnance which could not be conquered. Of -course, I intended to give him an ample return for his stewardship, -which had been wise and unwearying. But this was not what he wanted. -The motives of his accomplice require no explanation. If once this neat -little scheme should succeed, I must remain in their hands, Clement -being nobody, until they should happen to quarrel for me. - -To show what Clement Daldy was, a brief anecdote is enough. When we -were about sixteen years old, we sat in the park one morning, at the -corner of the lake; Clement's little curled spaniel, which he loved as -much as he could love anything, was gambolling round us. As the boy -lounged along, half asleep, on the rustic chair, with his silky face -shaded by a broad hat, and his bright curls glistening like daffodils -playing, I thought what a pretty peep-show he made, and wondered whether -he could anyhow be the owner of a soul. - -"Oh, Clara," he lisped, as he chanced to look up--"Couthin Clara, I wish -you wouldn't look at me tho." - -"And did it look fierce at its dolly?" I said; for I was always -good-natured to him. "Dolly knows I wouldn't hurt it, for it's house -full of sugar-plums." - -"Then do let me go to thleep; you are such a howwid girl." - -So I hushed him off with a cradle song. But before the long lashes sunk -flat on his cheeks, like the ermine tips on my muff, and while his red -lips yet trembled like cherries in the wind, my attention was suddenly -drawn to the lake. There was a plashing, and barking, and hissing, and -napping of snow-white wings--poor Juan engaged in unequal combat with -two fierce swans who had a nest on the island. The poor little dog, -though he fought most gallantly, was soon driven into deep water, and -the swans kept knocking him under with rapid and powerful strokes. -Seeing him almost drowned, I called Clement to save him at once. - -"I can't," said the brave youth; "you go if you like. They'll kill me, -and I can't bear it; and the water ith tho cold." - -In a moment I pushed off the boat which was near, jumped into it, and, -seizing an oar, contrived to beat back the swans, and lifted the poor -little dog on board, gasping, half-drowned, and woefully beaten. -Meanwhile my lord elect had leaped on the seat for safety, and was -wringing his white little hands, and dancing and crying, "Oh, Clara'll -be throwned, and they'll say it was me. Oh, what thall I do! what thall -I do!" - -Even when I brought him his little pet safe, he would not touch him, -because he was wet; so I laid him full on his lap. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - -The spring of the year 1849 was remarkable, throughout the western -counties, for long drought. I know not how it may be in the east of -England, but I have observed that in the west long droughts occur only -in the spring and early summer. In the autumn we have sometimes as much -as six weeks without rain, and in the summer a month at most, but all -the real droughts (so far as my experience goes) commence in February or -March; these are, however, so rare, and April has won such poetic fame -for showers, and July for heat and dryness, that what I state is at -variance with the popular impression. - -Be that as it may, about Valentine's-day, 1849, and after a length of -very changeable weather, the wind fixed its home in the east, and the -sky for a week was grey and monotonous. Brilliant weather ensued; white -frost at night, and strong sun by day. The frost became less biting as -the year went on, and the sun more powerful; there were two or three -overcast days, and people hoped for rain. But no rain fell, except one -poor drizzle, more like dew than rain. - -With habits now so ingrained as to become true pleasures, I marked the -effects of the drought on all the scene around me. The meadows took the -colour of Russian leather, the cornlands that of a knife-board. The -young leaves of the wood hung pinched and crisp, unable to shake off -their tunics, and more like catkins than leaves. The pools went low and -dark and thick with a coppery scum (in autumn it would have been green), -and little bubbles came up and popped where the earth cracked round the -sides. The tap-rooted plants looked comely and brave in the morning, -after their drink of dew, but flagged and flopped in the afternoon, as a -clubbed cabbage does. As for those which had only the surface to suck, -they dried by the acre, and powdered away like the base of a bonfire. - -The ground was hard as horn, and fissured in stars, and angles, and -jagged gaping cracks, like a dissecting map or a badly-plastered wall. -It amused me sometimes to see a beetle suddenly cut off from his home by -that which to him was an earthquake. How he would run to and fro, look -doubtfully into the dark abyss, then, rising to the occasion, bridge his -road with a straw. The snails shrunk close in their shells, and -resigned themselves to a spongy distance of slime. The birds might be -seen in the morning, hopping over the hollows of the shrunken ponds, -prying for worms, which had shut themselves up like caddises deep in the -thirsty ground. Our lake, which was very deep at the lower end, became -a refuge for all the widgeons and coots and moorhens of the -neighbourhood, and the quick-diving grebe, and even the summer snipe, -with his wild and lonely "cheep." The brink of the water was feathered, -and dabbled with countless impressions of feet of all sorts--dibbers, -and waders, and wagtails, and weasels, and otters, and foxes, and the -bores of a thousand bills, and muscles laid high and dry. - -For my own pet robins I used to fill pans with water along the edge of -the grass, for I knew their dislike of the mineral spring (which never -went dry), and to these they would fly down and drink, and perk up their -impudent heads, and sluice their poor little dusty wings; and then, as -they could not sing now, they would give me a chirp of gratitude. - -When the drought had lasted about three months, the east wind, which -till then had been cold and creeping, became suddenly parching hot. -Arid and heavy, and choking, it panted along the glades, like a dog on a -dusty road. It came down the water-meadows, where the crowsfoot grew, -and wild celery, and it licked up the dregs of the stream, and powdered -the flood-gates, all skeletons now, with grey dust. It came through the -copse, and the young leaves shrunk before it, like a child from the hiss -of a snake. The blast pushed the doors of our house, and its dry -wrinkled hand was laid on the walls and the staircase and woodwork; a -hot grime tracked its steps, and a taint fell on all that was fresh. As -it folded its baleful wings, and lay down like a desert dragon, -vegetation, so long a time sick, gave way at last to despair, and -flagged off flabbed and dead. The clammy grey dust, like hot sand -thrown from ramparts, ate to the core of everything, choking the -shrivelled pores and stifling the languid breath. Old gaffers were -talking of murrain in cattle, and famine and plague among men, and -farmers were too badly off to grumble. - -But the change even now was at hand. The sky which had long presented a -hard and cloudless blue, but trailing a light haze round its rim in the -morning, was bedimmed more every day with a white scudding vapour across -it. The sun grew larger and paler, and leaned more on the heavens, -which soon became ribbed with white skeleton-clouds; and these in their -turn grew softer and deeper, then furry and ravelled and wisped. One -night the hot east wind dropped, and, next morning (though the vane had -not changed), the clouds drove heavily from the south-west. But these -signs of rain grew for several days before a single drop fell; as is -always the case after discontinuance, it was hard to begin again. -Indeed, the sky was amassed with black clouds, and the dust went -swirling like a mat beaten over the trees, and the air became cold, and -the wind moaned three days and three nights, and yet no rain fell. As -old Whitehead, the man at the lodge, well observed, it had "forgotten -the way to rain." Then it suddenly cleared one morning (the 28th of -May), and the west was streaked with red clouds, that came up to crow at -the sun, and the wind for the time was lulled, and the hills looked -close to my hand. So I went to my father's grave without the little -green watering-pot or a trowel to fill the chinks, for I knew it would -rain that very day. - -In the eastern shrubbery there was a pond, which my father had taken -much trouble to make and adorn; it was not fed by the mineral spring, -for that was thought likely to injure the fish, but by a larger and -purer stream, called the "Witches' brook," which, however, was now quite -dry. This pond had been planted around and through with silver-weed, -thrumwort and sun-clew, water-lilies, arrow-head, and the rare double -frog-bit, and other aquatic plants, some of them brought from a long -distance. At one end there was a grotto, cased with fantastic porous -stone, and inside it a small fountain played. But now the fountain was -silent, and the pond shrunk almost to its centre. The silver eels which -once had abounded here, finding their element likely to fail, made a -migration, one dewy night, overland to the lake below. The fish, in -vain envy of that great enterprise, huddled together in the small wet -space which remained, with their back-fins here and there above water. -When any one came near, they dashed away, as I have seen grey mullet do -in the shallow sea-side pools. Several times I had water poured in for -their benefit, but it was gone again directly. The mud round the edge -of the remnant puddle was baked and cracked, and foul with an oozy green -sludge, the relic of water-weeds. - -This little lake, once so clear and pretty, and full of bright dimples -and crystal shadows, now looked so forlorn and wasted and old, like a -bright eye worn dim with years, and the trees stood round it so faded -and wan, the poplar unkempt of its silver and green, the willow without -wherewithal to weep, and the sprays of the birch laid dead at its feet; -altogether it looked so empty and sad and piteous, that I had been -deeply grieved for the sake of him who had loved it. - -So, when the sky clouded up again, in the afternoon of that day, I -hastened thither to mark the first effects of the rain. - -As I reached the white shell-walk, which loosely girt the pond, the -lead-coloured sky took a greyer and woollier cast, and overhead became -blurred and pulpy; while round the horizon it lifted in frayed festoons. -As I took my seat in the grotto, the big drops began to patter among the -dry leaves, and the globules rolled in the dust, like parched peas. A -long hissing sound ensued, and a cloud of powder went up, and the trees -moved their boughs with a heavy dull sway. Then broke from the laurels -the song of the long-silent thrush, and reptiles, and insects, and all -that could move, darted forth to rejoice in the freshness. The earth -sent forth that smell of sweet newness, the breath of young nature -awaking, which reminds us of milk, and of clover, of balm, and the smile -of a child. - -But, most of all, it was in and around the pool that the signs of new -life were stirring. As the circles began to jostle, and the bubbles -sailed closer together, the water, the slime, and the banks, danced, -flickered, and darkened, with a whirl of living creatures. The surface -was brushed, as green corn is flawed by the wind, with the quivering dip -of swallows' wings; and the ripples that raced to the land splashed over -the feet of the wagtails. - -Here, as I marked all narrowly, and seemed to rejoice in their gladness, -a sudden new wonder befell me. I was watching a monster frog emerge -from his penthouse of ooze, and lift with some pride his brown spots and -his bright golden throat from the matted green cake of dry weed, when a -quick gleam shot through the fibres. With a listless curiosity, -wondering whether the frog, like his cousin the toad, were a jeweller, I -advanced to the brim of the pool. The poor frog looked timidly at me -with his large starting eyes; then, shouldering off the green coil, made -one rapid spring, and was safe in the water. But his movement had -further disclosed some glittering object below. Determined to know what -it was, despite the rain, I placed some large pebbles for steps, ran -lightly, and lifted the weed. Before me lay, as bright as if polished -that day, with the jewelled hilt towards me, a long narrow dagger. With -a haste too rapid for thought to keep up, I snatched it, and rushed to -the grotto. - -There, in the drought of my long revenge, with eyes on fire, and teeth -set hard and dry, and every root of my heart cleaving and crying to -heaven for blood, I pored on that weapon, whose last sheath had -been--how well I knew what. I did not lift it towards God, nor fall on -my knees and make a theatrical vow; for that there was no necessity. -But for the moment my life and my soul seemed to pass along that cold -blade, just as my father's had done. A treacherous, blue, -three-cornered blade, with a point as keen as a viper's fang, -sublustrous like ice in the moonlight, sleuth as hate, and tenacious as -death. To my curdled and fury-struck vision it seemed to writhe in the -gleam of the storm which played along it like a corpse-candle. I fancied -how it had quivered and rung to find itself deep in that heart. - -My passions at length overpowered me, and I lay, how long I know not, -utterly insensible. When I came to myself again, the storm had passed -over, the calm pool covered my stepping stones, the shrubs and trees -wept joy in the moonlight, the nightingales sang in the elms, healing -and beauty were in the air, peace and content walked abroad on the -earth. The May moon slept on the water before me, and streamed through -the grotto arch; but there it fell cold and ghost-like upon the tool of -murder. Over this I hastily flung my scarf; coward, perhaps I was, for -I could not handle it then, but fled to the house and dreamed in my -lonely bed. - -When I examined the dagger next day, I found it to be of foreign fabric. -"Ferrati, Bologna," the name and abode of the maker, as I supposed, was -damascened on the hilt. A cross, like that on the footprint, but -smaller, and made of gold, was inlaid on the blade, just above the -handle. The hilt itself was wreathed with a snake of green enamel, -having garnet eyes. From the fine temper of the metal, or some annealing -process, it showed not a stain of rust, and the blood which remained -after writing the letters before described had probably been washed off -by the water. I laid it most carefully by, along with my other relics, -in a box which I always kept locked. - -So God, as I thought, by His sun, and His seasons, and weather, and the -mind He had so prepared, was holding the clue for me, and shaking it -clear from time to time, along my dark and many-winding path. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - -Soon after this, a ridiculous thing occurred, the consequences of which -were grave enough. The summer and autumn after that weary drought were -rather wet and stormy. One night towards the end of October, it blew a -heavy gale after torrents of rain. Going to the churchyard next day, I -found, as I had expected, that the flowers so carefully kept through the -summer were shattered and strewn by the tempest; and so I returned to -the garden for others to plant in their stead. My cousin Clement (as he -was told to call himself) came sauntering towards me among the beds. -His usual look of shallow brightness and empty self-esteem had failed -him for the moment, and he looked like a fan-tailed pigeon who has -tumbled down the horse-rack. He followed me to and fro, with a sort of -stuttering walk, as I chose the plants I liked best; but I took little -notice of him, for such had been my course since I first discovered -their scheme. - -At last, as I stooped to dig up a white verbena, he came behind me, and -began his errand with more than his usual lisp. This I shall not copy, -as it is not worth the trouble. - -"Oh, Clara," he said, "I want to tell you something, if you'll only be -good-natured!" - -"Don't you see I am busy now?" I replied, without turning to look. -"Won't it do when you have taken your curl-papers off?" - -"Now, Clara, you know that I never use curl-papers. My hair doesn't want -it. You know it's much prettier than your long waving black stuff, and -it curls of its own accord, if mamma only brushes it. But I want to -tell you something particular." - -"Well, then, be quick, for I am going away." And with that I stood up -and confronted him. He was scarcely so tall as myself, and his light -showy dress and pink rose of a face, which seemed made to be worn in the -hair, were thrown into brighter relief by my sombre apparel and earnest -twilight look. Some lurking sense of this contrast seemed to add to his -hesitation. At last he began again: - -"You know, Cousin Clara, you must not be angry with me, because it isn't -my fault." - -"What is not your fault?" - -"Why, that I should fall--what do they call it?--fall in love, I -suppose." - -"You fall in love, you dissolute doll! How dare you fall in love, sir, -without my leave?" - -"Well, I was afraid to ask you, Clara. I couldn't tell what you would -say." - -"Oh, that must depend, of course, on who Mrs. Doll is to be! If it's a -good little thing with blue satin arms, and a sash and a slip, and -pretty blue eyes that go with a string, perhaps I'll forgive you, poor -child, and set you up with a house, and a tea-set, and a mother-of-pearl -perambulator." - -"Now, don't talk nonsense," he answered. "Before long I shall be a man, -and then you'll be afraid of me, and put up your hands, and shriek, and -want me to kiss you." - -I had indulged him too much, and his tongue was taking liberties. I -soon stopped him. - -"How dare you bark at me, you wretched little white-woolled nursery -dog?" - -I left him, and went with my basket of flowers along the path to the -churchyard. For a while he stood there frightened, till his mother -looked forth from the drawing-room window. Between the two fears he -chose the less, and followed me to my father's grave. I stood there and -angrily waved him back, but he still persisted, though trembling. - -"Cousin Clara," he said--and his lisp was quite gone, and he tried to be -in a passion--"Cousin Clara, you shall hear what I have got to say. You -have lived with me now a long time, and I'm sure we have agreed very -well, and I--I--no, I don't see why we should not be married." - -"Don't you indeed, sir?" - -"Perhaps," he continued, "you are afraid that I don't care about you. -Really now, I often think that you would be very good-looking, if you -would only laugh now and then, and leave off those nasty black gowns; -and then if you would only leave off being so grand, and mysterious, and -stately, and getting up so early, I would let you do as you liked, and -you might paint me and have a lock of my hair." - -"Clement Daldy," I asked, "do you see that lake?" - -"Yes," he replied, turning pale, and inclined to fly. - -"There's water enough there now. If you ever dare again to say one word -like this to me, or even to show by your looks that you think it, I'll -take you and drown you there, as sure as my father lies here." - -He slunk away quickly without a word, and could eat no lunch that day. -In the afternoon, as I sat in my favourite bow-window seat, Mrs. Daldy -glided in. She had put on with care her clinging smile, as she would an -Indian shawl. I thought how much better her face would have looked with -its natural, bold, haughty gaze. - -"My dear Clara," began this pious tidewaiter, "what have you done to vex -so your poor cousin Clement?" - -"Only this, Mrs. Daldy: he was foolish or mad, and I gave him advice in -a truly Christian spirit, entirely for his own good." - -"I hope, my dear, that some day it may be his duty as well as his -privilege to advise you. But, of course, you need not take his advice. -My Clara loves her own way as much as any girl I ever knew; and with -poor Clement she will be safe to have it." - -"No doubt of that," I replied. - -"And then, my pet, you will be in a far better position than you could -attain as an unmarried girl to pursue the great aim of your life; so -far, I mean, as is not inconsistent with the spirit of Christian -forgiveness. Your guardian has thought of that, in effecting this -arrangement; and I trust that I was not wrong in allowing so fair a -prospect, under Providence, of your ultimate peace of mind to influence -me considerably when he sought my consent." - -"I am sure I am much obliged to you." - -"I cannot conceal from you, so clear-sighted as you are--and if I could, -I object to concealment of any kind, on principle--that there are also -certain worldly advantages, which are not without weight, however the -heart be weaned by trials and chastened from transient things. And your -guardian has this arrangement so very much at heart. My own dear child, -I have felt for you so long that I love you as a daughter. How thankful -I ought to be to the Giver of all good things to have you really my own -dear child." - -"Be thankful, madam, when you have got it. This is a good thing which -under Providence you must learn to do without." - -It was coarse of me to hint at my riches. But what could I do with her? - -"Why, Clara," she asked, in great amazement, "you cannot be so foolish -and wilful as to throw away this chance of revenge? If only for your -dear mother's sake, as well as your father's, it is the path of duty. -Let me tell you, both she and yourself are very much more in your -guardian's power than you have any idea. And what would be your poor -father's wish, who has left you so entirely to his brother's care and -discretion? Will you put off for ever the discovery of his murderer?" - -"My father," I said, proudly, "would scorn me for doing a thing below -him and myself. The last of the Vaughans to be plotted away to a -grocer's doll!" - -It had been a trial of temper; and contempt was too much for hypocrisy. -Through the rouge of the world, and the pearl-powder of religion, nature -flushed forth on her cheek; for she really loved her son. She knew -where to wound me the deepest. - -"Is it no condescension in us that my beautiful boy should stoop to the -maniac-child of a man who was stabbed--stabbed in his midnight bed--to -atone, no doubt, for some low act of his own?" - -I sprang up, and rang the bell. Thomas Kenwood, who made a point of -attending me, came at once. I said to him, calmly and slowly: - -"Allow this person one hour to pack her things. Get a fly from the -Walnut Tree Inn, and see her beyond the Lodge." - -If I had told him to drag her away by the hair, I believe that man would -have done it. She shrunk away from me; for the moment her spirit was -quelled, and she trembled into a chair. - -"I assure you, Clara, I did not mean what I said. You provoked me so." - -"Not one word more. Leave the room and the house." - -"Miss Vaughan, I will not leave this house until your guardian returns." - -"Thomas," I said, without looking towards her, "if Mrs. Daldy is not -gone in an hour, you quit my service." - -How Thomas Kenwood managed it, I never asked. He was a resolute man, and -all the servants obeyed him. She turned round once, as she crossed the -threshold, and gave me a look which I shall never forget. Was such the -look that had glared on my father before the blow? She lifted the white -arm of which she was proud, and threw back her head, like the Fecial -hurling his dart. - -"Clara Vaughan, you shall bitterly grieve for this. It shall throw you -and your mother at the feet of your father's murderer, and you shall -crave meat worse than your enemy's blood." - -Until she had quitted the house, I could not sit down; but went to my -father's bedroom, where I often took refuge when strongly excited and -unable to fly to his grave. The thoughts and the memories hovering and -sighing around that fatal chamber were enough to calm and allay the -sensations of trivial wrong. - -But now this was not the case. The outrage offered had been, not to me, -but to him who seemed present there. The suggestion, too, of an injury -done by my father, though scorned at first, was working and ruffling -within me, as children put bearded corn-ears in another's sleeve, which -by-and-by work their own way to the breast. Till now, I had always -believed that some worldly advantage or gain had impelled my foe to the -deed which left me an orphan. But that woman's dark words had started a -new train of reasoning, whose very first motion was doubt of the man I -worshipped. Among all I had ever met, there existed but one opinion as -to what he had been--a true gentleman, who had injured not one of God's -creatures, whose life had been guided mainly by the wishes and welfare -of others. Moreover, I had my own clear recollections--his voice, his -eyes, and his smile, his manner and whole expression; these, it is true, -were but outward things, yet a child's intuition is strong and hard to -refute. - -Again, during my remembrance, he had never been absent from us, except -for a day or two, now and then, among his county neighbours; and any ill -will which he might have incurred from them must, from his position, -have become notorious. - -And yet, in the teeth of this reasoning, and in spite of my own warm -feeling, that horrible suspicion clave to my heart and chilled it like -the black spot of mildew. And what if the charge were true? In that -case, how was I better than he who had always been to my mind a fiend in -special commission? His was vengeance, and mine revenge; he had -suffered perhaps a wanton wrong, as deep to his honour as mine to my -love. - -While I was brooding thus miserably, my eyes fell upon the bed. There -were the red streaks, grained and fibred like the cross-cut of a -fern-stalk; framed and looking down on me, the sampler of my life. -Drawing near, I trembled with an unknown awe, to find myself in that -lonely presence, not indeed thinking, but inkling such things of my -father, my own darling father, whose blood was looking at me. In a -storm of self-loathing and sorrow, I knelt there and sobbed my -atonement; but never thenceforth could I wholly bar out the idea. Foul -ideas when once admitted will ever return on their track, as the cholera -walks in the trail of its former pall. - -But instead of abating my dogged pursuit, I now had a new incentive--to -dispel the aspersions cast on my father's shadow. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - -At this particular time of my life, many things began to puzzle me, but -nothing was a greater puzzle than the character of my guardian. Morose -or moody he was not, though a stranger might have thought him so; nor -could I end with the conviction that his heart was cold. It rather -seemed to me as if he felt that it ought to be so, and tried his best to -settle down as the inmate of an icehouse. But any casual flush of love, -any glow of native warmth from the hearts around him, and taken by -surprise he wavered for one traitor moment, and in his eyes gleamed some -remembrance, like firelight upon frozen windows. But let any one -attempt to approach him then with softness, to stir kind interest and -feeling into benevolent expression, and Mr. Vaughan would promptly shut -himself in again, with a bar of irony, or a bolt of sarcasm. Only to my -mother was his behaviour different; towards her his manner was so -gentle, and his tone so kind, that but for my conviction that remorse -lay under it, I must have come to like him. True, they did not often -meet, for dear mother confined herself (in spite of Mrs. Daldy) more and -more closely to her own part of the house, and rarely had the spirits -now to share in the meals of the family. Therefore, I began at once to -take her place, and would not listen to Mrs. Daldy's kind offer to -relieve me. This had led quite recently to a little outbreak. One day -I had been rather late for dinner, and, entering the room with a proud -apology, found to my amazement Mrs. Daldy at the head of the table. For -me a seat was placed, as for a good little girl, by the side of Master -Clement. At first I had not the presence of mind to speak, but stood by -my rival's chair, waiting for her to rise. She affected not to -understand me, and began, with her hand on the ladle, and looking me -full in the face: "I fear, darling Clara, the soup is cold; but your -uncle can give you a very nice slice of salmon. Have you offered thanks -for these mercies?" - -"Thank you, I will take soup. Allow me to help myself. I am sorry to -have troubled you." - -And I placed my hand on the back of her chair, presuming that she would -get up; but she never stirred one inch, and actually called for a plate -to help me. My guardian was looking at both of us, with a dry smile of -amusement, and Clement began to simper and play with his fork.--Now for -it, or never, thought I. "Mrs. Daldy, you quite mistake me, or pretend -to do so. Have the goodness to quit _my_ chair." - -She had presumed on my dread of an altercation before the servants, but -only Thomas Henwood happened to be in the room. Had there been a dozen -present, I would still have asserted my right. At last she rose in her -stateliest manner, but with an awkward smile, and a still more awkward -sneer. - -"Your use, my poor child, of the possessive pronoun is far more emphatic -than your good breeding is." - -"Who cares for your opinion?" Not a hospitable inquiry; but then she -was not _my_ visitor. - -In grand style she marched to the door, but soon thought better of it, -and came to her proper place with the sigh of a contrite spirit. - -"Poor creature! It is a rebuke to me, for my want of true faith in the -efficacy of prayer." - -And after all this, she made a most excellent dinner. - -About that woman there was something of a slimy pride, no more like to -upright prickly self-respect than macerated bird-lime is to the stiff -bright holly. Yet no one I ever knew possessed such wiry powers of -irritation. Whenever my mother and my guardian met, she took care to be -in the way, and watched them both, and appealed to me with all her -odious pantomime of sorrow, sympathy, wonder, loving superiority, and -spiritual yearnings. And all the time her noisome smile, like the smell -of a snake, came over us. She knew, and rejoiced in the knowledge, how -hard set I was to endure it, and every quick flash of my eyes only lit -up her unctuous glory. - -For all I know, it was natural that my antipathy to that woman should, -by reaction, thaw sometimes my coldness towards my uncle. Though -self-respect had at length compelled him to abandon his overtures to my -friendship, now and then I detected him looking at me with a pitying -regard. In self-defence, I began to pity him, and ceased to make faces -or sneer when the maids--those romantic beings--declared that he must -have been crossed in love. At this conclusion, long ago, all the -servants' hall had arrived; and even little Tilly Jenkins, not admitted -as yet to that high conclave, remarkable only for living in dust-bins, -and too dirty to cause uneasiness to the under-shoeboy's mother--even -that Tilly, I say, ran up to me one morning (when I went to see my dear -pony) and beat out her dust, and then whispered: - -"Oh, please, Miss Clara, to give my very best wishes to Master. What a -terrible blight to the heart be unrequited love!" And Tilly sighed a -great cloud of brick-dust. - -"Terrible, Tilly: I hope you have not fallen in love with the weeding -boy!"--a smart young lad, ten stairs at least above her. - -"Me, miss? Do you think I would so demean myself?" And Tilly caught up -her dust-pan arrogantly. - -This little anecdote proves a fact which I never could explain, viz. -that none of the servants were ever afraid of me. - -To return to the straight line of history. My guardian came home rather -late that evening, and some hours after the hasty exit of Mrs. and -Master Daldy. While I was waiting in some uneasiness, it struck me that -he had kept out of the way on purpose, lest he should seem too anxious -about the plot. Mrs. Daldy, as I found afterwards, had written to him -from the inn, describing my "frenzied violence, and foaming Satanic -fury"--perhaps I turned pale, no more--and announcing her intention to -remain at Malvern, until she should be apprised whether uncle or niece -were the master. In the latter case she demanded--not that she cared -for mammon, but as a humble means for the advancement of the -Kingdom--the sum of 300*l.*; that being the lowest salary conscience -allowed her to specify for treading the furnace of affliction, to save -the lost sheep of the house of Israel. I forgot to say that, before she -left the house, she had tried to obtain an interview with my mother, -hoping, no doubt, to leave her in the cataleptic state. But this had -been sternly prevented by Thomas Kenwood, who performed quite a labour -of love in ministering the expulsion. All the servants hated her as a -canting sneak and a spy. - -That night when I received Mr. Edgar Vaughan's short missive--"Clara, I -wish to see you immediately in my study," my heart began to flutter -provokingly, and the long speech I had prepared flew away in shreds of -rhetoric. Not that I meant for an instant to bate one tittle of what I -had done and would do: but I had never asserted my rights as yet in -direct opposition to him, nor taken upon my own shoulders the -guardianship of myself. But the dreary years of dark preparation and -silent welding of character had braced a sensitive, nervous nature with -some little self-reliance. - -With all the indifference I could muster, I entered the gloomy room, and -found him leaning upon the high desk where he kept the accounts of his -stewardship. The position was chosen well. It served at once to remind -me of his official relation, and to appeal to the feelings as betokening -an onerous wardship. Of late his health had been failing him, and after -every long absence from home, he returned more jaded and melancholy. -Now a few silver hairs--no more than a wife would have quickly pulled -out--were glistening among his black locks; but though he was weary and -lonesome, he seemed to want none to love him, and his face wore the -wonted sarcastic and travelled look. - -As our glances met, we both saw that the issue was joined which should -settle for life the mastery. He began in a light and jocund manner, as -if I were quite a small thing. - -"Well done, Miss Clara, you _are_ asserting yourself. Why, you have -dismissed our visitors with very scant ceremony." - -"To be sure I have; and will again, if they dare to come back." - -"And don't you think that you might have consulted your mother or me?' - -"Most likely I should have done so, in an ordinary case." - -"Then your guardian was meant for small matters! But what was the wonder -to-day?" - -"No wonder at all. Mrs. Daldy insulted my father, and I sent her out of -his house." - -"What made her insult my brother?" - -"My refusal to marry her puppet and puppy." - -"Clement Daldy! Did she propose such a thing? She must think very -highly of you!' - -"Then I think very lowly." - -"And you declined, did you, Clara?" - -"No. I refused." - -"Very good. No one shall force you; there is plenty of time to consider -the subject." - -"One moment is too much." - -"Clara, I have long noticed in you a rude, disrespectful, and I will say -(in spite of your birth) a low and vulgar manner towards me, your uncle -and guardian. Once for all, I will not permit it, child." - -"_Child_ you call me, do you? Me, who am just seventeen, and have lived -seven such years as I have, and no one else!" - -He answered quite calmly, and looking coldly at me: - -"I never argue with women. Much less with girls. Mrs. Daldy comes back -to-morrow. You will beg her pardon, as becomes a young lady who has -forgotten herself. The other question may wait." - -"I thought, sir, that you had travelled far, and in many countries." - -The abrupt inquiry startled him, and his thoughts seemed to follow the -memory. - -"What if I have?" he asked, at length, and with a painful effort. - -"Have you always found women do just what you chose?" - -He seemed not to listen to me; as if he were out of hearing: then -laughed because I was looking at him. - -"Clara," he said, "you are an odd girl, and a Vaughan all over. I would -rather be your friend than your enemy. If you cannot like me, at least -forget your dislike of me, and remember that I am your uncle, and have -tried to make you love me." - -"And what if I do not?" - -"Then I must keep you awhile from the management of this property. My -dear brother would have wished it, until you recover your senses; and -not an acre of it is legally yours." - -This he said so slowly, and distinctly, and entirely without menace, -that, knowing his manner, I saw it was the truth, at least in his -opinion. Strange as it may seem, I began at once to revolve, not the -results of dispossession and poverty on myself, or even on my mother, -but the influence which the knowledge of this new fact must have on my -old suspicions, surmises, and belief. - -"Will the property pass to you?" I asked. - -"Yes, if I choose: or at any rate the bulk of it." - -"What part will be yours? Do you mean to say the house?--" - -"Never mind now. I would rather leave things as they are, if you will -only be more sensible." - -"I will not disguise my opinions for a hundred Vaughan Parks, or a -thousand Vaughan Palaces; no, nor even to be near my father's bones." - -"Very well," he said, "just as you like. But for your mother's sake, I -give you till Christmas to consider." - -"If you bring back Mrs. Daldy, I shall leave the door as she enters it." - -"I have no wish to hurry you," he replied, "and therefore she shall not -return at present. Now take these papers with you. You may lay them -before any lawyer you please. They are only copies, but may be compared -with the originals, which I have. They will quickly prove how totally -you are at my discretion." - -"The money and the land may be so, but not I. Before I go, answer me one -question. Did you know of these things, whatever they may be, before my -father's death?" - -He looked at me clearly and calmly, with no withdrawal, or conscious -depth in his eyes, and answered: - -"No. As a gentleman, I did not." - -I felt myself more at a loss than ever, and for the moment could not -think. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - -Thus was I, and, what mattered much more, my mother, reduced quite -suddenly from a position of rank and luxury, and a prospective income of -£15,000 a-year (so much had the land increased in value) to a revenue of -nothing, and no home. Even to me it was a heavy blow, but what could my -poor mother do? - -We were assured by counsel that a legal struggle could end in expense -alone, and advised by the family lawyers to throw ourselves on the good -feeling and appeal to the honour of Mr. Edgar Vaughan. Mr. Vaughan he -must henceforth be called. I cannot well understand, still less can I -explain, small and threadbare technicalities (motes, which too often are -the beam of Justice), but the circumstances which robbed me of my -father's home were somewhat as follows:-- - -By the will of my father's grandfather, Hubert Vaughan, who died in the -year 1782, the whole of the family property was devised to his son, -Vaughan Powis Vaughan, for life, and after his decease, to his sons -successively _in tail male_, failing these to his right heirs in -general. This will was said to have been prepared in haste: it was, in -fact, drawn by a country attorney, when the testator was rapidly -sinking. It was very brief, and by no means accurately worded; neither -did it contain those powers to meet family exigencies, which I am told a -proper practitioner would have inserted. - -There was no reason to suppose that the testator had contemplated -anything more than a strict settlement of the usual kind, _i.e._ a -common estate entail, expectant upon a life-interest; and under which I -should have succeeded my father, as his heiress, in the ordinary course. -But it is the chief fault of smatterers in the law (and country -attorneys at that time were no better) that they will attempt to be too -definite. The country lawyer in this case, grossly ignorant of his -profession, and caught by the jangle of the words _tail male_, had -inserted them at hazard, possibly not without some idea that they would -insure a stricter succession than a common entail would do. - -When my father became of age, measures were taken for barring the entail -created by the will of Hubert Vaughan; and at the time it was believed -that these were quite effectual, and therefore that my father was now -entitled in fee-simple, and could dispose of the property. - -Upon his marriage with my mother, she, with worthy pride, refused most -firmly to accept a jointure charged on his estates, alleging that as she -brought no fortune into the family, she would not incumber the family -property, which had but recently been relieved of incumbrances. More -than this--she had even insisted upon expressly abandoning, by her -marriage settlement, all claim to dower. This unusual course she had -adopted, because of some discontent expressed by relatives of my father -at his marriage with a portionless bride, whereby her self-respect had -been deeply wounded. So nothing was settled upon her, except her own -little estate in Devonshire, which was secured to her separate use. - -My father had never permitted this excess of generosity on her part, but -that he was by nature careless upon such subjects, and hoped to provide -amply for her interests by his will: moreover he was hot to remove all -obstacles to their marriage. But it was now discovered that he had no -power to charge the real estate for her benefit, in the manner his will -imported; that he had never been more than a tenant in tail, and that -entail such that I could not inherit. Neither, of course, could I take -under his will, as he possessed no power of disposition. One quarter of -all that has been written upon the subject I never could understand; and -even as to the simplest points, sometimes I seem to apprehend them -clearly, and then I feel that I do not. My account of the matter is -compressed from what I remember of the legal opinions. - -The leading fact, at any rate, and the key to all the mischief, was, -that the entail had never been barred at all: the legal process (called -a "recovery") which was to have had that effect, being null and void -through some absurd informality. They told me something about a tenant -to a precipice, but they must have made a mistake, for there was no -precipice on the estate, unless some cliffs near the church could be -called so, and they were never let. - -Be that as it may, my father's will was declared to be waste paper, -except as regarded what they called the personalty, or, in good English, -the money he had to bequeath. And of this there was very little, for, -shortly before his death, he had spent large sums in drainage, -farm-buildings, and other improvements. Furthermore, he had always -maintained a profuse hospitality, and his charity was most lavish. The -lawyers told us that, under the circumstances (a favourite expression of -theirs when they mean some big robbery), a court of equity would perhaps -consider our application to be "recupped," as they called it, out of the -estate, for the money laid out in improvements under a false impression. -But we had been cupped enough already. Grossly plundered by legal -jargon, robbed by statute, and scourged by scriveners' traditions, we -flung away in disgust the lint the bandits offered, and left them "all -estate, right, title, interest, and claim, whether at law or in equity, -in to or out of" the licking of our blood. - -But now my long suspicions, and never-discarded conviction of my -guardian's guilt, were, by summary process, not only revived, but -redoubled. This arose partly from the discovery of the stake he had on -my father's life, and partly, perhaps, from a feeling of hatred towards -our supplanter. That he knew not till now the flaw in our title, and -his own superior claim, was more than I could believe. I felt sure that -he had gained this knowledge while in needy circumstances and sharp -legal practice, brought, as he then most probably was, into frequent -contact with the London agents who had the custody of the documents. - -To be in the same room with him, was now more than I could bear, and it -became impossible that we should live any longer in the same house. He, -indeed, wished, or feigned to wish, that we should remain there, and -even showed some reluctance to urge his unrighteous rights. But neither -my mother (who bore the shock with strange resignation) nor myself would -hear of any compromise, or take a farthing at his hands, and he was too -proud and stern to press upon us his compunctions. - -Statements of our case had been prepared and submitted to three most -eminent conveyancers, and the three opinions had been found to agree, -except upon some trivial points. More than two months had been thus -consumed, and it was now once more the anniversary of my father's death. -I had spent the time in narrowly watching my ex-guardian's conduct, -though keeping aloof, as much as possible, from any intercourse with -him. - -One night, I stole into the room which he called his study, and where -(with a child's simplicity) I believed him to keep his private -documents. Through Thomas Kenwood, to whom I now confided almost -everything, and whose suspicions were even stronger than mine, I -obtained clandestine possession of the keys of the large bureau. As I -stood before that massive repository in the dead of night, the struggle -within me was intense and long. What letters, what journals, documents, -or momentous relics of a thousand kinds, might be lurking here, waiting -only for a daughter's hand to turn the lock, and cast the light she bore -on the death-warrant of her father! How easy then to snatch away the -proof, clutching it, though it should burn the hand or bosom, to wave -it, with a triumph wilfully prolonged, before the eyes of justice's -dull-visioned ministers; and then to see, without a shudder or a thrill -of joy, but with the whole soul gazing, the slow, struggling, ghastly -expiation. As this thought came crawling through my heart, lighting up -its depth as would a snake of fire, the buhl before me grew streaks of -blood, and the heavy crossbars a gallows. I lifted my hand to open the -outer lock. Already the old cruciform key was trembling in the silver -scutcheon. I raised the lamp in my left hand to show the lunette guard -which curved above the hole, when a heavy mass all cold and dark fell -across my eyes. I started, and thought for the moment, in my strong -excitement, that it was my father's hand. One instant more, and, -through the trembling of my senses, I saw that it was only a thick fold -of my long black hair, shaken down on the face by my bending and -quivering posture. But the check was enough. A Vaughan, and that the -last one of so proud and frank a race, to be prowling meanly, with a -stolen tool, to violate confidence, and pry through letters! No -suspicion, however strong, nothing short of certainty (if even that) -could warrant it. Driven away by shame combined with superstition, I -glided from the cold silent room, and restored the keys to my faithful -friend, whom I had left in the passage, ordering him at once to replace -them, and never touch them again. - -"Well, miss," he whispered, with a smile, "I knew you couldn't do it, -because I seemed, somehow, it wasn't like a Vaughan." - -We were already preparing to quit the house, no longer ours, when our -dismissal became abrupt, through another act of mine. What drove me to -such a wild deed I can scarcely tell. Shame, perhaps, for the furtive -nature of my last attempt hurried me into the other extreme; and now I -was so shaken by conflicting impulse, that nothing was too mad for me. - -On the seventh anniversary of my father's death, and the last which I -was likely ever to spend beneath that roof, I passed the whole day in -alternate sadness and passion, in the bedroom where he died. All the -relics I possessed, both of his love and of his death, I brought -thither; and spread them out, and wept upon the one, and prayed upon the -other. I also brought my choicest histories of murder and revenge, and -pored over them by the waning daylight and the dull lamp, and so on -through the night, until my mind became the soul's jetsam. - -Then I procured four very large wax candles, and lit them at the head of -the bed, two on each side, and spread a long white cloth between, as if -my father were lying in state; and hung a row of shorter lights above, -to illuminate the letters of blood. Then I took a small alarum clock, -given me by dear father, that I might rise for early walks with him, and -set it upon a chest by the door, and fixed it so as to ring five minutes -before the hour at which the murder befell. A cold presentiment crawled -through me that, at the fatal time, I should see the assassin. After -all these arrangements I took my volume again, and sat in the shade of -the curtain, with a strong light on the page. I was deep in some -horrible record, and creeping with terror and hope, when the clear bell -rang a long and startling peal. I leaped up, like one shot through the -heart, and what I did was without design or purpose. My glance fell on -the dagger; I caught it up, and snatched the lamp, and hurried down -corridor and staircase, straight to my guardian's private room. - -He was sitting at the table, for he never passed that night in bed. At -the sound of the lock he leaped up, and pointed a pistol, then hid it. -Straight up to him I went, as swiftly and quietly as a spirit, and -spoke: - -"Seven years ago, at this very moment, my father was killed. Do you -know this dagger?" He started back, as if I had stabbed him with it, -then covered his eyes with both hands. - -"You know it, then?" I said, with a triumph chill all over me. "It was -your hand that used it." - -Another moment, and I should have struck him with it. I lifted it in my -frenzy; when he looked at me by some wonderful effort, calmly, steadily, -even coldly. "Yes," he said, "I have seen that weapon before. Alas my -poor dear brother!" - -Whether it was true feeling that made his voice so low and deep, or only -fierce self-control, I knew not then, nor tried to think. - -"You know who owned it?" I asked, with my life upon his answer. - -"Yes. I know who owned it once; but many years ago. And I know not in -the least what is become of him now." - -The baffled fury and prostrate hope--for at the moment I fully believed -him--were too much for my reeling brain and fasting body. For one -minute's command of my faculties, I would have sold them for ever; but I -felt them ebbing from me, as the life does from a wound. The -hemispheres of my brain were parting one from the other, and a grey void -spreading between them. I tried to think, but could not. I strove to -say _anything_, but failed. Fainter and fainter grew the room, the -lamp, the ceiling, the face at which I tried to look. Things went to -and fro with a quicker quiver, like flame in the wind, then, round and -round like whirling water; my mouth grew stiff, and the tongue between -my teeth felt like a glove; and with a rush of sound in my brain and -throat, and a scream pent up, yet bursting, I fell, as I thought, -through the earth. I was only on the floor, in a fit. - -When I came to myself, I was in my own bed, and my own dear mother -bending over me, pale, and haggard, and full of tears. The broad -daylight was around us, and the faint sunshine on her face. She had -been with me ever since. In my weakness, I looked up at her with a pang -of self-reproach, to think how little I had valued her love; and I vowed -to myself to make up for it by future care and devotion. - -That violent convulsion, and the illness after it, changed me not a -little both in mind and body. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - -It was indeed high time for me to cherish my mother. Her pain at leaving -the place where she had known her little all of happiness--for her -childhood had been overcast with trouble--her pain was so acute and -overpowering that all my deep impassioned feelings sunk reproved before -it. - -My guardian now seemed much embittered against me, and anxious for our -departure. He came once or twice, in my illness, to ask for and to see -me; and he brought back, unperceived by any one, the weapon for which I -raved. But ere I was quite recovered, he wrote, requesting to see me on -business in his study. I could not speak yet without pain, having bitten -my tongue severely. - -"Your mother shall have a home here," he said, "as long as ever she -wants one; but as for you, malignant or mad, I will try no more to -soften you. When first I saw you in your early childhood, you flew at -me as a murderer. Soon after you ransacked my cupboards and stole my -boots, to compare them with some impressions or casts you kept. Yes, -you look astonished. I never told you of it, but I knew it for all -that. Of those absurdities I thought little, for I regarded them as the -follies of a mad child, and I pitied you deeply, and even liked you for -your filial devotion. But now I find that you have grown up in the same -belief, and you dare even now to avow it. You know that I have no fear -of you." - -"Then why had you got that pistol?" - -I saw that he was vexed and surprised at my having perceived it. - -"In a house like this, where such deeds have been done, I think it right -to be armed. Do you think if I had feared you, or your evidence, I -would have restored that dagger?" - -"Whose was it?" - -"I told you the other night that I once saw a weapon like it, for which -at first I mistook it, but closer examination convinced me of the -difference." - -"How does it differ?" - -"In this. There was no snake on the handle of the other, though there -was the cross on the blade." - -"And where did you see the other?" - -"Some day I will tell you. It is not right to do so now." - -"Not convenient to you, I suppose you mean." - -"I have also shown you that the lock of hair found in your poor mother's -hand is much finer and more silky than mine; and you know that I cannot -draw on my foot a boot so small as the one whose impression you have. -But I am ashamed of myself for having stooped to such proofs as these. -Dare you to look at me and suppose that I with my own hand could have -stabbed my brother, a brother so kind and good to me, and for whose sake -alone I have borne so long with you?" - -He tried to look me down. I have met but one whose gaze could master -mine; and he was not that one. - -"So, you doubt me still? Are your things packed?' - -"Yes, and my mother's." - -"Then if your mother is well enough, and will not let you leave her, you -had better go next week." - -"No," I replied, "we will go to-morrow." - -"Wilful to the last. So be it. Take this; you cannot refuse it in duty -to your mother." - -He put in my hand an order for a large sum of money. I threw it into the -fire. - -"There have been criminals," I exclaimed, "who have suffered from a -life-long fear, lest the widow and orphans, starved through their crime, -should compass their dying bed. Though we starve in a garret, we touch -no bread of yours." - -"Bravo, Miss Melodrame. You need never starve in the present state of -the stage." - -"That I don't understand; but this I do. It is perhaps the last time I -shall ever see you living. Whether you did that deed or not is known to -God, and you, and possibly one other. But whether you did it or not, I -know it is on your soul. Your days are wretched, your nights are -troubled. You shall die as your brother died, but not so prepared for -death." - -"Good bye, Clara. My lunch is coming up." - -God has much to forgive me, but nothing worse than the dark thought of -that speech. In my fury at weakness in such a cause, I had dared -sometimes to imagine that my mother knew him to be the murderer, but -concealed it for the sake of the family honour! - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - -No need to recount my bitter farewell to all the scenes and objects I -had loved so long, to all which possessed a dark yet tender interest, -and most of all to my father's grave. That some attention might still -be paid to this, I entrusted it to the care of an old housekeeper of -ours, who was living in the village. My last visit was in the -moonlight, and dear mother was there. I carried rather than led her -away. Slight as my knowledge has been of lightsome and happy love, I am -sure that a sombre affection is far the stronger and sweeter. - -As we began our journey, a crowd of the villagers met us beyond the -lodge, and lined the Gloucester road as far as the old oak-tree. While -our hired conveyance passed between them, the men stood mute with their -hats in their hands, the women sobbed and curtseyed, and blessed us, and -held up their children to look at us. - -Our refuge was the small estate or farm in Devonshire, which I have -mentioned as my mother's property. This, which produced £45 a-year, was -all that now remained to us, except a sum of £1,000 left to me by a -godfather, and of which I could not touch the principal. The residue of -the personalty, and the balance at the banker's, we had refused to take, -being assured that legally we were responsible to Mr. Vaughan, even for -the back rents of the Gloucestershire estate. Of course we had plenty -of jewellery, some of it rather valuable, but the part most precious was -heirloom, and that we had left behind. Most of our own had been my -father's gift, and therefore we could not bear to sell it. - -As regarded myself, this comparative poverty was not of very great -moment, except as impairing my means of search; but for my mother's sake -I was cut to the heart, and lost in perplexity. She had so long been -accustomed to much attention and many luxuries, which her weak health -had made indispensable to her. Thomas Henwood and poor Ann Maples -insisted on following our fortunes, at one third of their previous -wages. My mother thought it beyond our means to keep them even so; but -for her sake I resolved to try. I need not say that I carried all my -relics, difficult as it was to hide them from my mother. - -When we reached our new home, late in the evening of the second day, a -full sense of our privation for the first time broke upon us. It was -mid-winter, and in the gloom of a foggy night, and after the weariness -of a long journey, our impressions were truly dismal. Jolted endlessly -up and down by ruts a foot deep and slaty stones the size of -coal-scuttles, entombed alive betwixt grisly hedges which met above us -like the wings of night, then obliged to walk up treadmill hills while -the rickety fly crawled up behind; then again plunging and lurching down -some corkscrew steep to the perpetual wood and rushing stream at the -bottom; at length and at last along a lane so narrow that it scraped us -on both sides as we passed, a lane which zig-zagged every thirty yards -with a tree-bole jutting at every corner, at length and at last we came -to the farmyard gate. It was not far from the lonely village of -Trentisoe, which lies some six miles to the west of Lynmouth. This part -is little known to London tourists, though it possesses scenery of a -rarer kind than Lynmouth itself can show. - -Passing through an outer court, with a saw-pit on one side and what they -call a "linhay" on the other, and where a slop of straw and "muck" -quelched under the wheels, we came next to the farmyard proper, and so -(as the flyman expressed it) "home to ouze." The "ouze" was a low -straggling cottage, jag-thatched, and heavy-eaved, and reminded me -strongly of ragged wet horse-cloths on a rack. The farmer was not come -home from Ilfracombe market, but his wife, Mrs. Honor Huxtable, soon -appeared in the porch, with a bucket in one hand and a candle stuck in a -turnip in the other. In the cross-lights, we saw a stout short woman, -brisk and comely, with an amazing cap, and cheeks like the apples which -they call in Devonshire "hoary mornings." - -"A massy on us, Zuke," she called into the house, "if here bain't the -genelvolks coom, and us be arl of a muck! Hum, cheel, hum for thee -laife to the calves' ouze, and toorn out both the pegs, and take the -pick to the strah, and gie un a veed o' wets." - -Having thus provided for our horse, she advanced to us. - -"So, ye be coom at last! I be crule glad to zee e, zure enough. Baint -e starved amost! An unkid place it be for the laikes of you." - -So saying, she hurried us into the house, and set us before a wood-fire -all glowing upon the ground, beneath an enormous chimney podded with -great pots and crocks hung on things like saws. These pots, like -Devonshire hospitality, were always boiling and chirping. The kitchen -was low, and floored with lime and sand, which was worn into pits such -as boys use for marbles; but the great feature was the ceiling. This -was divided by deep rafters into four compartments lengthwise. Across -some of these, battens of wood were nailed, forming a series of racks, -wherein reposed at least a stye-ful of bacon. Herbs and stores of many -kinds, and ropes of onions dangled between. - -Mrs. Huxtable went to the dresser, and got a large dish, and then turned -round to have a good look at us. - -"Poor leddy," she said gently, "I sim her's turble weist and low. But -look e zee, there be a plenty of bakken yanner, and us'll cut a peg's -drort to-morrow, and Varmer Badcock 'll zend we a ship, by rason ourn be -all a'lambing." Then she turned to me. - -"Whai, Miss, you looks crule unkid tu. Do e love zider?" - -"No, Mrs. Huxtable. Not very much. I would rather have water." - -"Oh drat that wash, e shan't have none of thiccy. Us has got a brown -gearge of beer, and more nor a dizzen pans of mulk and crame." - -Her chattering warmth soon put us at our ease; and as soon as the -parlour fire burnt up, she showed us with many apologies, and "hopping -no offence" the room which was thenceforth to be ours. - -After tea, I put my dear mother to bed as soon as possible, and sat by -the dying fire to muse upon our prospects. Not the strangeness of the -place, the new ideas around me, not even my weariness after railroad, -coach, and chaise, could keep my mind from its one subject. In fact, -its colour had now become its form. - -To others indeed, all hope of ever detecting and bringing to justice the -man, for whose death I lived, might seem to grow fainter and fainter. -Expelled from that place, and banished from those recollections, where, -and by which alone, I could well expect ever to wind up my clue, robbed -of all means of moving indifferent persons and retaining strong ones; -and, more than this, engrossed (as I must henceforth be) in keeping debt -at bay, and shielding my mother from care--what prospect was there, nay -what possibility, that I a weak unaided girl, led only by set will and -fatalism, should ever overtake and grasp a man of craft, and power, and -desperation? - -It mattered not: let other things be doubtful, unlikely, or impossible; -let the hands of men be clenched against me, and the ears of heaven be -stopped; let the earth be spread with thick darkness, as the waters are -spread with earth, and the murderer set Sahara between us, or turn -hermit on the Andes; happen what would, so God were still above us, and -the world beneath our feet--I was as sure that I should send that man -from the one to the throne of the other, as he was sure to be dragged -away thence, to fire, and chains, and gnashing of teeth. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - -So impulsive, kind-hearted, and honest was Mrs. Huxtable, that we could -always tell what was the next thing she was going to say or do. Even at -her meals she contrived to be in a bustle, except on Sundays; but she -got through a great deal of work. On Sundays she put on, with her best -gown, an air of calm dignity which made her unhappy until it was off, -which it was directly after the evening service. She seemed a very -sensible woman, and whatever the merits of the case she sided always -with the weakest. The next morning we asked how it was she appeared not -to expect us, as I had written and posted the letter myself on the -previous Saturday. - -"For sure now," she replied, "and the papper scrawl coom'd on Monday; -but us bain't girt scholards, and Varmer said most like 'twas the -Queen's taxes, for there was her head upon it; so us put un in the big -mortar till Beany Dawe should come over, or us should go to church next -Zunday, and passon would discoorse it for us. But"--and off she -ran--"But her belongs to you now, Miss Clerer, seeing as how you've coom -after un." - -So they had only a general idea that we were coming, and knew not when -it would be. The following day, Thomas Henwood arrived, bringing our -boxes in a vehicle called a "butt," which is a short and rudely made -cart, used chiefly for carrying lime. - -After unpacking our few embellishments, we set up a clumsy but -comfortable sofa for my mother, and tried to divert her sadness a little -by many a shift and device to garnish our narrow realm. We removed the -horrible print of "Death and the Lady," which was hung above the -chimneypiece, and sundry daubs of our Lord and the Apostles, and a woman -of Samaria with a French parasol, and Eli falling from a turnpike gate -over the Great Western steamer. But these alterations were not made -without some wistful glances from poor Mrs. Huxtable. At last, when I -began to nail up a simple sketch of the church at Vaughan St. Mary -instead of a noble representation of the Prodigal Son, wearing a white -hat with a pipe stuck under the riband, and weeping into a handkerchief -with some horse upon it, the good dame could no longer repress her -feelings. - -"Whai, Miss Clerer, Miss, dear art alaive, cheel, what be 'bout? Them's -the smartest picters anywhere this saide of Coorn. Varmer gied a pan of -hogs' puddens for they, and a Chainey taypot and a Zunday pair of -corderahoys. Why them'll shaine with the zun on 'um, laike a vield of -poppies and charlock. But thic smarl pokey papper of yourn ha'ant no -more colour nor the track of a marly scrarly. A massy on us if I -couldn't walk a better picter than thic, with my pattens on in the zider -squash." - -To argue with such a connoisseur would have been worse than useless; so -I pacified her by hanging the rejected gems in her own little summer -room by the dairy. Our parlour began before long to look neat and even -comfortable. Of course the furniture was rough, but I care not much for -upholstery, and am quite rude of French polish. My only fear was lest -the damp from the lime-ash floor should strike to my dear mother's feet, -through the scanty drugget which covered it. The fire-place was bright -and quaint, lined with old Dutch tiles, and the grey-washed walls were -less offensive to the eye than would have been a paper chosen by good -Mrs. Huxtable. The pretty lattice window, budding even now with -woodbine, and impudent to the winds with myrtle, would have made amends -for the meanest room in England. Before it lay a simple garden with -sparry walks and bright-thatched hives, and down a dingle rich with -trees and a crystal stream, it caught a glimpse of the Bristol Channel. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - -When our things were nearly settled, and I was sitting by myself, with -dirty hands and covered with dust, there came a little timid tap at the -door, followed by a shuffling outside, as if some one contemplated -flight, yet feared to fly. Opening the door, I was surprised to find -the child whom I expected a massive figure, some six feet and a quarter -high, and I know not how many feet in width, but wide enough to fill the -entire passage. He made a doubtful step in advance, till his great -open-hearted face hung sheepishly above my head. - -"Have I the pleasure of seeing Mr. Huxtable?" I asked. - -"Ees 'um," he stammered, blushing like a beet-root, "leastways Miss, I -ort to zay, no plasure 'um to the laikes of thee, but a honour to ai. -Varmer Uxtable they karls me round about these 'ere parts, and some on -'em Varmer Jan, and Beany Dawe, he karl me 'Varmer Brak-plew-harnish, as -tosses arl they Garnish,' and a dale he think of his potry as it please -God to give 'un: but Maister, may be, is the riglar thing, leastways you -knows best, Miss." "Danged if I can coom to discourse with girt folks -nohow, no more nor a sto-un." This was an "aside," but audible a long -way off, as they always are on the stage. - -"But I am a very small folk, Mr. Huxtable, compared at least with you." - -"I humbly ax your parding, Miss, but ai didn't goo for to be zuch a beg, -nockety, sprarling zort of a chap. I didn't goo for to do it nohow. -Reckon 'twar my moother's valt, her were always draining of hayricks." -This also was an "aside." - -"Come in," I said, "I am very glad to see you, and so will my mother -be." - -"Noo! Be e now? Be e though undade, my dear?" he asked with the truest -and finest smile I ever saw: and I felt ashamed in front of the strong -simplicity which took my conventional words for heart's truth. - -"Them's the best words," he continued "as ai 've 'eered this many a dai; -for ai'll be danged if ever a loi could coom from unner such eyes as -yourn." - -And thereupon he took my puny weak hand in his rough iron palm, like an -almond in the nut-crackers, and examined it with pitying wonder. - -"Wull, wull! some hands be made for mulking coos, and some be made of -the crame itself. Now there couldn't be such a purty thing as this ere, -unless it wor to snow war'rm. But her bain't no kaind of gude for -rarstling? and ai be aveared thee'll have to rarstle a rare bout wi the -world, my dearie: one down, tother coom on, that be the wai of 'un." - -"Oh, I am not afraid, Mr. Huxtable." - -He took some time to meditate upon this, and shook his head when he had -finished. - -"Noo, thee bain't aveard yet I'll warr'ne. Gude art alaive, if e bain't -a spurrity maid. But if ere a chap zays the black word on e--and -thiccy's the taime when a maid can't help herzell, then ony you karl Jan -Uxtable that's arl my dear, and if so be it's in the dead hoor of the -naight, and thee beest to tother zaide of Hexymoor, ai'll be by the -zaide of thee zooner nor ai could thraw a vorehip." - -Before I could thank him for his honest championship my mother entered -the room, and all his bashfulness (lost for the moment in the pride of -strength) came over him again like an extinguisher. Although he did not -tremble--his nerves were too firm for that--he stood fumbling with his -hat, and reddening, and looking vaguely about, at a loss where to put -his eyes or anything else. - -My mother, quite worn out with her morning's walk, surprised at her -uncouth visitor, and frightened perhaps at his bulk, sank on our -new-fangled sofa, in a stupor of weakness. Then it was strange and fine -to see the strong man's sense of her feeble state. All his -embarrassment vanished at once; he saw there was something to do; and a -look of deep interest quickened his great blue eyes. Poising his heavy -frame with the lightness of a bird, he stepped to her side as if the -floor had been holy, and, scarcely touching her, contrived to arrange -the rude cushions, and to lay her delicate head in an easy position, as -a nurse composes a child. All the while, his looks and manner expressed -so much feeling and gentleness, that he must have known what it was to -lose a daughter or mother. - -"Poor dear leddy," he whispered to me, "her be used to zummut more plum -nor thiccy, I reckon. Her zimth crule weist and low laike. Hath her -been long in that there wai?" - -"Yes, she has long been weak and poorly; but I fear that her health has -been growing worse for the last few months." I couldn't help crying a -little; and I couldn't help his seeing it. - -"Dang thee, Jan Uxtable, for a doilish girt zinny. Now doon e tak on so, -Miss; doon e, that's a dear. Avore her's been here a wake, her'll be as -peart as a gladdy. There bain't in arl they furren parts no place the -laike of this ere to make a body ston upraight. The braze cooms off o -Hexymoor as frash as a young coolt, and up from the zay as swate as the -breath of a coo on the clover, and he'll zit on your chake the zame as a -dove on her nestie; and ye'll be so hearty the both on ye, that ye'll -karl for taties and heggs and crame and inyons avore e be hout of bed. -Ee's fai ye wull." With this homely comfort he departed, after a -cheering glance at my mother. - -Before I proceed, the Homeric epithet "Break-plough-harness," applied by -the poet to Mr. Huxtable, needs some explanation. It appears that the -farmer, in some convivial hour (for at other times he detested -vaunting), had laid a wager that he and Timothy Badcock, his -farm-labourer, would plough half an acre of land, "wiout no beastessy in -the falde." Now, it happened that the Parracombe blacksmith had lately -been at Barnstaple, and there had seen a man who had heard of ploughing -by steam. So when the farmer's undertaking got noised abroad and -magnified, all Exmoor assembled to witness the exploit, wondering, -trembling, and wrathful. Benches and tables were set in the "higher -Barton," a nice piece of mealy land, just at the back of the house, -while Suke and Mrs. Huxtable plied the cider-barrel for the yeomen of -the neighbourhood. The farmer himself was not visible--no plough or -ploughing tackle of any description appeared, and a rumour began to -spread that the whole affair was a hoax, and the contriver afraid to -show himself. But as people began to talk of "sending for the -constable" (who, of course was there all the time), and as cart-whips -and knob-sticks began to vibrate ominously, Mrs. Huxtable made a signal -to Mr. Dawe, who led off the grumbling throng to the further end of the -field, where an old rick-cloth lay along against the hedge. While the -tilting was moved aside, the bold sons of Exmoor shrunk back, expecting -some horrible monster, whose smoke was already puffing. All they saw -was a one-horse plough with the farmer, in full harness, sitting upon it -and smoking his pipe, and Timothy Badcock patiently standing at the -plough-tail. Amid a loud hurrah from his friends, Mr. Huxtable leaped -to the fore, and cast his pipe over the hedge; then settled the -breast-band across the wrestling-pads on his chest, and drew tight both -the chain-traces. "Gee wugg now, if e wull," cried stout Tim Badcock -cheerily, and off sailed the good ship of husbandly, cleaving a deep -bright furrow. But when they reached the corner, the farmer turned too -sharply, and snapped the off-side trace. That accident impressed the -multitude with a deeper sense of his prowess than even the striking -success which attended his primitive method of speeding the plough. - -To return to my mother. As spring came on, and the beautiful country -around us freshened and took green life from the balmy air, I even -ventured to hope that the good yeoman's words would be true. He had -become, by this time, a great friend of ours, doing his utmost that we -might not feel the loss of our faithful Thomas Henwood. - -Poor Thomas had been very loth to depart; but I found, as we got -settled, that my mother ceased to want him, and it would have been wrong -as well as foolish to keep him any longer. He invested his savings in a -public-house at Gloucester, which he called the "Vaughan Arms," and soon -afterwards married Jane Hiatt, a daughter of our head game-keeper; or I -ought to say, Mr. Vaughan's. - -Ann Maples remained with us still. We lived, as may be supposed, in the -most retired manner. My time was chiefly occupied in attendance upon -dear mother, and in attempts to create for her some of those countless -comforts, whose value we know not until they are lost. After breakfast, -my mother would read for an hour her favourite parts of Scripture, and -vainly endeavour to lead me into the paths of peace. Her soul discarded -more and more the travel garb and wayfaring troubles of this lower -existence, as, day by day, it won a nearer view of the golden gate, and -the glories beyond; with which I have seen her eyes suffused, like the -lucid heaven with sunrise. It has been said, and I believe, that there -is nothing, in all our material world, so lovely as a fair woman looking -on high for the angels she knows to be waiting for her. - -Even I, though looking in an opposite direction, and for an opposite -being, could not but admire that gentle meekness, whose absence formed -the main fault of my character. Not that I was hard-hearted, or cross, -(unless self-love deceives me), but restless yearning and hatred were -ever at work within me; and these repel things of a milder nature, as a -bullet cries tush to the zephyr. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - -One cold day in March, when winter had come to say "good-bye" with a -roar, after wheeling the sofa with my mother upon it towards the parlour -fire, I went out to refresh my spirit in the kitchen with Mrs. Huxtable, -and to "yat myself" (for the sofa took all the parlour fire) by the -fragrant hearth of wood and furze. The farmer's wife was "larning" me -some strange words of her native dialect, which I was now desirous to -"discoorse," and which she declared to be "the only vitty talk. Arl the -lave of thiccy stoof, zame as the Carnishers and the Zummersets and the -Lunnoners tulls up, arl thiccy's no more nor a passel of gibbersh, Miss -Clerer, and not vitty atarl; noo, nor English nother. Instead of zaying -'ai' laike a Kirsten, zome on em zays 'oi,' and zome on em 'I.'" In the -middle of her lecture, and just as I had learned that to "quilty" is the -proper English for to "swallow," and that the passage down which we -quilty is, correctly speaking, not the throat, but the "ezelpipe," a -strange-looking individual darkened the "draxtool" (corruptly called the -threshold) and crossed the "planch," or floor, to the fireplace where we -sat. - -Turning round, I beheld a man about fifty years old, of moderate -stature, gauntly bodied, and loosely built, and utterly reckless of his -attire. His face was long and thin, the profile keenly aquiline; and -the angles made yet sharper, by a continual twitching and tension of the -muscles. The skin of his cheeks was drawn, from his solemn brows to his -lipless and down-curved mouth, tight and hollow, like the bladder on a -jam-pot. His eyes, of a very pale blue, seemed always to stand on -tip-toe, and never to know what he was going to say. A long, straight, -melancholy chin, grisly with patches of hair, was meant by nature to -keep his mouth shut, and came back sullenly when it failed. Over his -shoulders was flung a patched potato-sack, fastened in front with a -wooden skewer, and his nether clothes were as ragged as poetry. In his -air and manner, self-satisfaction strove hard with solemn reserve. Upon -the whole he reminded me of an owl who has lost his heart to a bantam -hen. I cannot express him justly; but those who have seen may recognise -Beany Dawe, the sawyer, acknowledged the bard of the north of Devon. - -Mr. Ebenezer Dawe, without any hesitation or salute, took a three-legged -stool, and set it between our chairs, then looked from Mrs. Huxtable to -me, and introduced himself. - - "Wull, here be us three, - And I hopps us shall agree." - - -"Agray indeed," cried Mrs. Huxtable, "doon 'e zee the quarlity be here, -ye aul vule?" Then turning to me. "Doon'e be skeared, Miss Clerer, it -be oney that there aul mazed ramscallion, Beany Dawe. Her makth what -girt scholards, laike you, karls potry, or zum such stoof. Her casn' -oppen the drort of him nohow, but what her must spake potry. Pote[#] -indeed! No tino, I'd pote un out of ouze if I was the waife of un. 'Zee -zaw, Beany Dawe!' that be arl the name he hath airned vor his rhaiming -and rubbish, and too good for 'un too! Rhaime, rhaime, drash, drash, -like two girt gawks in a barn! Oh fai, oh fai; and a maight have aimed -two zhillings a dai and his zider!" - - -[#] "Pote." Danmonic for to "kick." - - -The subject of these elegant strictures regarded her all the time, with -that pleased pity which none but a great Poet so placed can feel. Then -swinging slowly on his tripod, and addressing the back of the chimney, -he responded: - - "Poor vule! Her dunno what a saight 'tis haigher - To be a Pout, nor a hunderzawyer!" - - -Perhaps his lofty couplet charmed her savage ear; at any rate she made a -peaceful overture. - -"Coom now, Mr. Dawe, wull e have a few broth?" - -He assented with an alacrity much below his dignity; - - "Taties, and zider, maat, and broth a few, - "Wull, zin you ax ai, ai'll not answer noo." - - -"E shan't have no cider," replied his hostess, "without e'll spake, for -wance, laike a Kirsten, maind that, without no moor of thiccy jingle -jangle, the very zame for arl the world as e be used to droon in the -zawpit, 'Zee, zaw, Margery Daw,' with the arms of e a gwayn up and doon, -up and doon, and your oyes and maouth most chokked with pilm[#] and the -vace of e a hurning laike a taypot, and never a drop of out to aise the -crickles of your barck. That's the steet you potes be in, and zawyers." - - -[#] Pilm, Londinicè, "dust." - - -As she delivered this comment, she swung to and fro on her chair, in -weak imitation of the impressive roll, with which he enforced his rhyme. -This plagiarism annoyed him much more than her words: but he vindicated -his cause, like a true son of song. - - "And if zo hap, I be a pout grand, - Thee needn't jah, 'cos thee doon't understand. - A pout, laike a 'ooman, or a bell, - Must have his clack out, and can't help hiszell." - - -A mighty "ha ha" from the door, like a jocund earthquake, proved that -this last hit had found an echo in some ample bosom. - -"Thee shall have as much vittels as ever thee can let down," said the -farmer, as he entered, "danged if thee bain't a wunnerful foine chap, -zure enough. Ai'd as lieve a'most to be a pote, plase God, as I wud to -be a ooman: zimth to ai, there bain't much differ atwixt 'em. But they -vainds out a saight of things us taks no heed on. I reckon now, Beany, -thee cas'n drink beer?" - -This was a home thrust, for Mr. Dawe was a notorious drinker. He -replied with a heavy sigh and profoundly solemn look: - - "Ah noo! a noo! Unless when I be vorced, - By rason, Dactor zaith, my stommirk ba'in exhaust." - - -"And what was it the doctor said to you, Mr. Dawe?" I asked, perceiving -that he courted inquiry. He fixed his eyes upon me, with a searching -look; eager, as it seemed, yet fearing to believe that he had found at -last a generous sympathy. - - "'Twas more nor dree months zince ai titched a drap, - When ai was compelled to consult the Dactor chap; - He zaith, zaith he, ''tain't no good now this here, - Oh, Ebenezer Dawe, you must tak beer.'" - - -These words he repeated with impressive earnestness, shaking his head -and sighing, as if in deprecation of so sad a remedy. Yet the subject -possessed perhaps a melancholy charm, and his voice relented to a -pensive unctuousness, as he concluded. - - "'Tak beer!' I zays, 'Lor, I dunnow the way!' - 'Then you must larn,' zays he, 'this blessed day: - You'm got,' he zays, 'a daungerous zinking here, - Your constitooshun do requaire beer.'" - - -"Thee wasn' long avore thee tried it, I'll warr'n," said the farmer, -"tache the calf the wai to the coo!" - -Scorning this vile insinuation, Mr. Dawe continued thus: - - "Wull, after that, mayhap a month or zo, - I was gooin home, the zame as maight be noo: - I had zawed a hellum up for Varmer Yeo, - And a velt my stommick gooin turble low, - Her cried and skooned, like a chield left in the dark, - And a maze laike in my head, and a maundering in my barck. - Zo whun ai coom to the voot of Breakneck hill, - I zeed the public kept by Pewter Will: - The virelight showed the glasses in the bar, - And 'um danced and twinkled like the avening star." - - -Here he paused, overcome by his own description. - -"Wull," said the farmer, brightening with fellow-feeling, for he liked -his glass, "Wull, thee toorned in and had a drap, laike a man, and not -be shamed of it nother. And how did her tast? A must have been nation -good, after so long a drouth!" - - "Coom'd down my drort, like the Quane and Princess Royal, - The very sa-am as a drap of oi-al!" - - -"The very sa-am, the very sa-am," he repeated with an extrametrical -smack of his lips, which he wiped with the back of his hand, and cast a -meaning glance towards the cellar. The farmer rose, and took from the -dresser a heavy quart cup made of pewter. With this he went to the -cellar, whence issued presently a trickling and frothing sound, which -thrilled to the sensitive heart of Mr. Dawe. The tankard of ale, with a -crown of white foam, was presented to the thirsty bard by his host, who -did not, however, relinquish his grasp upon the vessel; but imposed -(like Pluto to Orpheus) a stern condition. "Now, Beany Dawe, thee shan't -have none, unless thee can zay zummut without no poetry in it." - -At this barbarous restriction, poor Ebenezer rolled his eyes in a most -tragic manner; he thrust his tongue into his cheek, and swung himself, -not to and fro as usual, but sideways, and clutched one hand on the -tatters of his sack, while he clung with the other to the handle of the -cup. Then with a great effort, and very slowly, he spoke-- - - "If my poor vasses only maks you frown, - I'll try, ees fai I wull, to keep 'em-- - - -A rhyme came over him, the twitching of his face showed the violence of -the struggle; he attempted to say "in," but nature triumphed, and he -uttered the fatal "down." In a moment the farmer compressed his mighty -fingers, and crushed the thick metal like silver paper. The forfeit -liquor flew over the poet's knees, and hissed at his feet in the ashes. -Foreseeing a storm of verse from him, and of prose from Mrs. Huxtable at -the fate of the pride of her dresser, I made a hasty retreat. - -Thenceforth I took a kind interest in our conceited but harmless bard. -His neighbours seemed not to know, how long it was since he had first -yielded to his unfortunate ailment; which probably owed its birth to the -sound of the saw. During our first interview, his rhythm and rhyme had -been unusually fluent and finished, from pride perhaps at having found a -new audience, or from some casual inspiration. Candour compels me to -admit that his subsequent works were little, if at all, better than -those of his more famous contemporaries; and I am not so proud, as he -expects me to be, of his connexion with my sad history. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - -About half a mile from Tossil's Barton (the farmhouse where we lived) -there is a valley, or rather a vast ravine, of a very uncommon -formation. A narrow winding rocky combe, where slabs, and tors, and -boulder stones, seem pasturing on the velvet grass, or looking into the -bright trout-stream, which leaps down a flight of steps without a tree -to shade its flash and foam; this narrow, but glad dingle, as it nears -the sea, bursts suddenly back into a desert gorge, cleaving the heights -that front the Bristol Channel. The mountain sides from right and left, -straight as if struck by rule, steeply converge, like a high-pitched -roof turned upside down; so steep indeed that none can climb them. -Along the deep bottom gleams a silver chord, where the cramped stream -chafes its way, bedded and banked in stone, without a blade of green. -From top to bottom of this huge ravine there is no growth, no rocks, no -cliffs, no place to stay the foot, but all a barren, hard, grey stretch -of shingle, slates, and gliddery stones: as if the ballast of ten -million fleets had been shot in two enormous piles, and were always on -the slip. Looking at it we forget that there is such a thing as life: -the desolation is not painful, because it is so grand. The brief noon -glare of the sun on these Titanic dry walls, where even a lichen dies; -the gaunt desert shade stealing back to its lair in the early afternoon; -the solemn step of evening stooping to her cloak below--I know not which -of these is the most impressive and mournful. No stir of any sort, no -voice of man or beast, no flow of tide, ever comes to visit here; the -little river, after a course of battles, wins no peaceful union with the -sea, but ponds against a shingle bar, and gurgles away in slow -whirlpools. Only a fitful moaning wind draws up and down the melancholy -chasm. The famous "Valley of Rocks," some four miles to the east, seems -to me common-place and tame compared to this grand defile. Yet how many -men I know who would smoke their pipes throughout it! - -Thinking so much of this place, I long wished my mother to see it; and -finding her rather stronger one lovely April morning, I persuaded her -forth, embarked on Mrs. Huxtable's donkey. We went, down a small -tributary glen, towards the head of the great defile. The little glen -was bright, and green, and laughing into bud, and bantering a swift -brook, which could hardly stop to answer, but left the ousels as it -passed to talk at leisure about their nests, and the trout to make those -musical leaps that sound so crisp through the alders. Another stream -meets it among the bushes below, and now they are entitled to the -dignity of a bridge whereon grows the maidenhair fern, and which, with -its rude and pointed arch, looks like an old pack-saddle upon the -stream. - -From this point we followed a lane, leading obliquely up the ascent, -before the impassable steep begins. Having tethered our quiet donkey to -a broken gate, I took my mother along a narrow path through the thicket -to the view of the great ravine. Standing at the end of this path, she -was astonished at the scene before her. We had gained a height of about -two hundred feet, the hill-top stretched a thousand feet above us. We -stood on the very limit of vegetation, a straight line passing clown the -hill where the quarry-like steep begins. - -My dear mother was tired, and I had called her to come home, lest the -view should make her giddy; when suddenly she stepped forward to gather -a harebell straggling among the stones. The shingle beneath her foot -gave way, then below her, and around, and above her head, began in a -great mass to glide. Buried to the knees and falling sideways, she was -sinking slowly at first, then quickly and quicker yet, with a hoarse -roar of moving tons of stone, gathering and whelming upon her, down the -rugged abyss. Screaming, I leaped into the avalanche after her, never -thinking that I could only do harm. Stronger, and swifter, and louder, -and surging, and berged with shouldering stone the solid cascade rushed -on. I saw dearest mother below me trying to clasp her hands in prayer, -and to give me her last word. With a desperate effort dragging my shawl -from the gulfing crash, I threw it towards her, but she did not try to -grasp it. A heavy stone leaped over me, and struck her on the head; her -head dropped back, she lay senseless, and nearly buried. We were -dashing more headlong and headlong, in the rush of the mountain side, to -the precipice over the river, and my senses had all but failed, and -revenge was prone before judgment, when I heard through the din a shout. -On the brink of firm ground stood a man, and signed me to throw my -shawl. With all my remaining strength I did so, but not as he meant, -for I cast it entirely to him, and pointed to my mother below. One -instant the avalanche paused, he leaped about twenty feet down, through -the heather and gorse, and stayed his descent by clutching a stout ash -sapling. To this in a moment he fastened my shawl, (a long and strong -plaid), and just as my mother was being swept by, he plunged with the -other end into the shingle tide. I saw him leap and struggle towards -her, and lift her out of the gliding tomb, gliding himself the while, -and sway himself and his burden, by means of the shawl, not back (for -that was impossible), but obliquely downwards; I saw the strong sapling -bow to the strain like a fishing-rod, while hope and terror fought hard -within me; I saw him, by a desperate effort, which bent the ash-tree to -the ground, leap from the whirling havoc, and lay my mother on the dead -fern and heath. Of the rest, I know nothing, having become quite -unconscious, before he saved me, in the same manner. - -We must have been taken home in Farmer Huxtable's butt, for I remember -well that, amidst the stir and fright of our return, and while my mother -was still insensible, Mrs. Huxtable fell savagely upon poor Suke, for -having despatched that elegant vehicle without cleaning it from the lime -dust; whereby, as she declared, our dresses (so rent and tattered by the -jagged stones) were "muxed up to shords." Poor Suke would have been -likely to fare much worse, if, at such a time, she had stopped to dust -the cart. - -When the farmer came home, his countenance, rich in capacity for -expressing astonishment, far outdid his words. "Wull, wull, for sure! -wuther ye did or no?" was all the vent he could find for his ideas -during the rest of the day; though it was plain to all who knew him that -he was thinking profoundly upon the subject, and wholly occupied with -it. In the course of the following week he advised me very impressively -never to do it again; and nothing could ever persuade him but that I -jumped in, and my mother came to rescue me. - -But his wife very soon had all her wits about her. She sent to "Coom" -for the doctor (I begged that it might not be Mr. Dawe's physician), she -put dear mother to bed, and dressed her wounds with simples worth ten -druggists' shops, and bathed her temples with rosemary, and ran down the -glen for "fathery ham" (Valerian), which she declared "would kill nine -sorts of infermation;" then she hushed the entire household, permitting -no tongue to move except her own, and beat her eldest boy (a fine young -Huxtable) for crying, whereupon he roared; she even conquered her strong -desire to know much more than all could tell; and showed my mother such -true kindness and pity that I loved her for it at once, and ever since. - -Breathing slowly and heavily, my poor mother lay in the bed which had -long been the pride of Tossil's Barton. The bedstead was made of carved -oak, as many of them are in North Devon, and would have been handsome -and striking, if some ancestral Huxtable had not adorned it with -whitewash. But the quilt was what they were proud of. It was formed of -patches of diamond shape and most incongruous colours, with a death's -head in the centre and crossbones underneath. - -When first I beheld it, I tossed it down the stairs, but my mother would -have it brought back and used, because she knew how the family gloried -in it, and she could not bear to hurt their feelings. - -One taper white hand lay on it now, with the tender skin bruised and -discoloured by blows. She had closed the finger which bore her wedding -ring, and it still remained curved and rigid. In an agony of tears, I -knelt by the side of the bed, watching her placid and deathlike face. -Till then I had never known how strongly and deeply I loved her. - -I firmly believe that she was revived in some degree by the glare of the -patched quilt upon her eyes. The antagonism of nature was roused, and -brought home her wandering powers. Feebly glancing away, she came -suddenly to herself, and exclaimed: - -"Is she safe? is she safe?' - -"Yes, mother; here I am, with my own dear mother." - -She opened her arms, and held me in a nervous cold embrace, and thanked -God, and wept. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - -When the surgeon came, he pronounced that none of her limbs were broken, -but that the shock to the brain, and the whole system, had been so -severe, that the only chance of recovery consisted in perfect quiet. -She herself said that the question was, whether Providence wanted her -still to watch over her child. - -After some days she came down stairs, not without my support, and was -propped once more upon her poor sofa. Calm she appeared, and contented, -and happy in such sort as of old; but whenever she turned her glance -from me, she observed with starting eyes every little thing that moved. -Especially she would lie and gaze through the open window, at a certain -large spider, who worked very hard among the woodbine blossoms. One day, -in making too bold a cast, he fell; some chord of remembrance was -touched, and she swooned away on the couch. - -In spite of these symptoms I fondly hoped that she was recovering -strength. She even walked out with me twice, in the sunny afternoon. -But this only lasted a very short time; it soon became manifest, even to -me, that ere long she would be with my father. - -Unable to fight any more with this dark perception, I embraced it with a -sort of savage despair, an utter sinking of the heart, which defied God -as it sank. This she soon discovered, and I fear that it saddened her -end. - -She was much disappointed, too, that we could not find or thank him who -had perilled his life for us. None could tell who he was, or what had -become of him; though the farmer, at our entreaty, searched all the -villages round. We were told, indeed, by the landlady of the "Red-deer -Inn" (a lonely public-house near the scene of the accident) that a -stranger had come to her in very great haste, and, having learned who we -were, for she had seen us pass half an hour before, had sent her boy to -the farm for some kind of conveyance, while he returned at full speed to -attend those whom he had rescued. It further appeared that this -stranger had helped to place us in the cart, and showed the kindest -anxiety to lessen the roughness of its motion, himself even leading old -"Smiler," to thwart his propensity to the deepest and hardest ruts. By -the time our slow vehicle reached the farm, Mrs. Huxtable was returned -from the Lower Cleve orchard, where she had been smoking the fernwebs, -in ignorance of our mishap; and our conductor, seeing us safe in her -hands, departed without a word, while she was too flurried and -frightened to take much notice of him. - -Neither could the woman of the inn describe him; she was so "mazed," -when she heard of the "vail arl down the girt goyal," as she called our -slide of about fifty feet; and for this she quoted the stranger as her -authority, "them's the very words as he used;" though, just before this, -she had stated that he was a foreigner and could not speak English. -Knowing that in Devonshire any stranger is called a foreigner, and -English means the brogue of the countryside, I did not attach much -weight to this declaration. The only remaining witness, the lad who had -come with the butt, was too stupid to describe anything, except three -round O's, with his mouth and eyes. - -But it mattered little about description; I had seen that stranger under -such circumstances, that I could not fail to know him again. - -On the morrow, and once in the following week, some kind inquiries were -made as to our condition, by means of slips of paper conveyed by country -lads. No name was attached to these, and no information given about the -inquirer. The bearer of the first missive came from Lynmouth, and of -the second from Ilfracombe. Neither lad knew anything (though submitted -by Mrs. Huxtable to keen cross-examination), except that he was paid for -his errand, but would like some cider, and that the answer was to be -written upon the paper he brought. - -Whether any motive for concealment existed, beside an excess of -delicacy, or whether there even was any intentional secresy, or merely -indifference to our gratitude, was more than we could pretend to say. I -am not at all inquisitive--not more so, I mean, than other women--but I -need not confess that my curiosity (to say nothing of better feelings) -was piqued a little by this uncommon reserve. - -So now, beside the engrossing search for my deadly enemy, I had to seek -out another, my brave and noble friend. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - -But for the present, curiosity, gratitude, hate, all feelings indeed and -passions, except from the bled vein of love, and the heart-rooted fibres -of sorrow, were to be crushed within me. Evening after evening, my dear -mother's presence seemed more and more dreamy and shadowy; and night -after night she went feebler and feebler to bed. In the morning indeed -she had gathered some fragile strength, such strength as so wasted a -form could exert, and the breeze and the fresh May sun made believe of -health on her cheeks. But no more was I tempted to lay my arm round her -waist, and rally her on its delicate girlish span, nor could I now look -gaily into her eyes, and tell her how much she excelled her child. Those -little liberties, which with less than a matron's dignity, and more than -a mother's fondness she had so long allowed me, became as she still -expected, and I could not bear to take them, so many great distresses. -Even at night, when I twined in its simple mode her soft brown hair, as -I thought how few the times my old task would be needed again, it cost -me many a shift to prevent her descrying my tears in the glass, or -suspecting them in my voice. For herself, she knew well what was -coming; she had learned how soon she must be my sweet angel instead of -my mother, and her last trouble was that she could not bring me to think -the difference small. So calmly she spoke of her end, not looking at me -the while for fear we both should weep, so gently and sweetly she talked -of the time when I should hearken no more, as if she were going to visit -a garden and hand me the flowers outside. Then, if I broke forth in an -anguish of sobs, she would beg my forgiveness, as if she could have done -wrong, and mourn for my loneliness after her, as though she could help -forsaking me. - -Looking back, even now, on that time, how I condemn and yet pardon -myself, reflecting how little I tried to dissemble my child-like woe. - -When all things rejoiced in their young summer strength, and scarcely -the breeze turned the leaves for the songs of the birds, and the pure -white hawthorn was calm as the death of the good, and the soul of -gladness was sad, we talked for the last time together, mother and -child, looking forth on the farewell of sunset. The room under the -thatch smelled musty in summer, and I had made up a bed on the sofa -downstairs. The wasting low fever was past, and the wearisome cough -exhausted, and the flush had ebbed from her cheeks (as the world from -her heart), and of all human passions, and wishes, and cares, not one -left a trace in her bosom, except a mother's love. This and only this -retarded her flight to heaven, as the sight of his nest delays the -rising of the lark. - -"My child," she began, and her voice was low, but very distinct, "my -only and darling child, who has minded me so long, and laid her youth, -and beauty, and high courageous spirit, at the feet of her weak mother; -my child, who fostered in wealth and love, will be to-morrow an orphan, -cast upon the wide world"--here she fairly broke down, in spite of -religion, and heaven, and turned her head to the pillow, a true daughter -and mother of earth. I would fain have given that fortune, whose loss -to me she lamented, for leave to cry freely with her, without adding to -her distress. - -In a minute or two, she was able to proceed; with her thin hand she -parted the hair shaken purposely over my eyes. - -"I am sure that my pet will listen, with kindness and patience, while I -try to say what has lain so long at my heart. You know how painfully I -have always been moved by any allusion to the death of your dear father. -It has been a weakness no doubt on my part, but one which I vainly -strove against; and for which I trust to be pardoned where all is pardon -and peace." - -Her voice began to tremble, and her eyes became fixed, and I feared a -return of the old disorder; but she shook it off, and spoke again -distinctly, though with great labour: - -"This is a bitter subject, and I never could bring myself to it, till -now, when it seems too late. But, my poor love, I am so anxious about -it. For the rest--that Providence which has never forsaken us, repine -as I would, I can trust that Providence still to protect my darling -child. There is one thing, and only one, by promising which you will -make my departure quite happy. Then I shall go to rejoin your father, -and carry such tidings of you, as will enable us both to wait, in the -fulness of time, your coming." - -"Oh, that the fulness of time were come!" I cried in my selfish -loneliness; "for me it is empty enough." - -"My precious, my own darling Clara, you sob so, you make me most -wretched." - -"Mother, I will not cry any more;" neither did I, while she could see -me. - -"I need not tell you," she said, "what is that promise which I crave for -your own dear sake." - -"No, ma'am," I replied, "I know quite well what it is." - -I saw that I had grieved her. How could I call her then anything else -than "mother"? - -"My mother dear, you wish me to promise this--that I will forego my -revenge upon him who slew my father." - -She bowed her head, with a look I cannot describe. In the harsh way I -had put it, it seemed as if she were injuring both my father and me. - -"Had you asked me anything else, although it were sin against God and -man (if you could ask such a thing)--I would have pledged myself to it, -as gladly as I would die--die, at least, if my task were done. But -this, this one thing only--to abandon what I live for, what I was born -to do, to be a traitor to my own father and you--I implore you, mother, -by Him whose glory is on you now, do not ask me this." - -Her face in its sadness and purity made me bury my eyes and forget -things. - -"Then I must die, and leave my only child possessed with a murderer's -spirit!" - -The depth of her last agony, and which I believed would cling to her -even in heaven, was more than I could bear. I knelt on the floor and -put my hand to her side. Her worn out heart was throbbing again, with -the pang of her disappointment. - -"Mother," I cried, "I will promise you this. When I have discovered, as -I must do, that man who has made you a widow and me an orphan, if I find -any plea whatever to lessen his crime, or penitence to atone for it, as -I hope to see my father and mother in heaven, I will try to spare and -forgive him. Can you wish me to rest in ignorance, and forget that -deed?" - -"Clara," she answered weakly, and she spoke more slowly and feebly every -time, "you have promised me all I can hope for. How you loved your -father! Me too you have loved I cannot say how much. For my sake, you -have borne poverty, trouble, and illness, without a complaining word. -By day, and by night, through my countless wants, and long fretfulness." - -I put my finger upon her pale lips. How could she tell such a story -then? Her tears came now and then, and would not be stopped, as she -laid her weak hand on my head. - -"May the God of the fatherless and the poor, who knows and comforts the -widow's grief, the God who is taking me now to His bosom, bless with all -blessings of earth and heaven, and restore to me this my child." - -A sudden happiness fell upon her, as if she had seen her prayer's -acceptance. She let her arms fall round me, and laid my cheek by the -side of her bright flowing smile. It was the last conscious stir of the -mind; all the rest seemed the flush of the soul. In the window the -night-scented heath was blooming; outside it, the jessamine crossed in a -milky way of white stars, and the lush honeysuckle had flung down her -lap in clusters. The fragrance of flowers lay heavy upon us, and we were -sore weary with the burden of sorrow and joy. So tranquil and kind was -the face of death, that sleep, his half-brother, still held his hand. - -The voice of the thrush, from the corner laurel, broke the holy -stillness. Like dreams of home that break our slumbers, his melody was -its own excuse. My mother awoke, and said faintly, with no gleam in her -eyes: - -"Raise me upon the pillow, my love, that I may hear him once more. He -sings like one your father and I used to listen to every evening, in the -days when we watched your cradle." - -I lifted her gently. The voice of nature made way for her passing -spirit. - -"Now kiss me, my child; once more, my own loved child, my heart is with -you for ever. Light of my eyes, you are growing dim." - -She clasped her hands in prayer, with one of mine between them. My -other was round her neck. - -Then she spoke slowly, and with a waning voice; but firmly, as if it had -been her marriage-response. - -"Thou art my guide, and my staff. I have no fear, neither shadow of -trembling. Make no long tarrying, oh my God!" - -The bird went home to his nest, and she to that refuge where all is -home. Though the hands that held mine grew cold as ice, and her lips -replied to no kiss, and the smile on her face slept off into stillness, -and a grey shade crept on her features;--I could not believe that all -this was death. - - - - - CLARA VAUGHAN - - BOOK II. - - - - CHAPTER I. - - -"Long-shadowed death," some poet says. How well I know and feel it! the -gloom before him deepening as he comes, and the world of darkness -stretching many years behind. - -I once dared to believe that no earthly blow could ever subdue, or even -bend my resolute will. I now found my mistake, and cared not even to -think about it. - -On the morning after my mother's death I wandered about, and could not -tell where to go. The passionate clinging which would not allow me, -during that blank and sleepless night, to quit what remained of her -presence, and the jealous despair which felt it a wrong that any one -else should approach, had now settled down to a languid heaviness, and -all that I cared for was to be let alone. All the places where we had -been together I visited now, without knowing why, perhaps it was to see -if she were there. Then vaguely disappointed, I thought there must be -some mistake, and wearily went the dreary round again. - -I cannot clearly call to mind, but think it must have been that day, -when I was in the corner of the room, looking at the place whence they -had taken dear mother. Ann Maples and Mrs. Huxtable came in, followed by -the farmer, who had left his shoes at the door. They did not see me, so -I suppose it must have been in the evening. They were come to remove -the sofa. I have not the heart to follow their brogue. - -"Yes to be sure," said Mrs. Huxtable, looking at it with a short sigh. -It was odd that it should strike me then, but all she did was short. - -"Get it out of her sight, poor dear," said Ann Maples. - -"To see her sit and look at it!" exclaimed the farmer's wife. - -"With her eyes so dry and stupid like!" returned the other. "Poor -child, she must have cried herself out. I have known her sit by the -hour, and stare at the bed where her father was killed, but it was a -different sort of look to this." - -"Ah well, she has lost a good mother," said Dame Huxtable. "God grant -my poor little chicks may never be left like her." - -"What's your children to talk of along with Miss Clara?" asked my nurse. - -Mrs. Huxtable was about to answer sharply, but checked herself, and only -said: - -"All children is much of a muchness to their mothers." - -"Don't tell me," cried Ann Maples, who had never had any. - -The farmer came between them, walking on tip-toe. - -"For good, now, don't ye fall out at such a time as this here. What's -our affairs to speak of now?" - -"What's any folks," asked Mrs. Huxtable, "that has the breath of life?" - -"And goes forth in the morning, and is cast into the oven, ma'am," -continued her antagonist. - -"Ah, bless thee, yes!" the farmer replied, "I'll take my gospel oath of -it. It's not much good I am at parsoning, and maybe I likes a drop of -drink when the weather is fitty; but that young chestnut filly that's -just come home from breaking, I'd sell her to a gipsey, and trust him -for the money, if so be 'twould make the young lady turn her face to the -Lord. Can't ye speak to her now about it, either of you women? Doo'e -now, doo'e." - -"How could I possible?" his wife exclaimed; "why, farmer, you must be -mazed. A high young lady like that, and the tears still hot in her -eyes!" - -"The very reason, wife, the very time and reason. But likely Mrs. Maples -would be the proper person." - -"Thank you, sir," my nurse replied, "Mrs. Maples knows good manners a -little. Thank you, sir; Mrs. Maples wasn't born in Devonshire." - -"I ask your pardon, ma'am," said the farmer, much abashed, "I humbly ask -your pardon; I wasn't taught no better. I can only go by what I have -seen, and what seems to come inside of me. And I know, in our way of -business, when a calf is weaned from the mother, the poor beastess hath -a call for some one else to feed it. Maybe it's no harm to let her have -the refusal." Therewith he opened my mother's Bible, and placed it -reverently on the window-seat. "Waife, do'e mind the time as poor Aunt -Betsy died, over there to Rowley Mires?" - -"For sure I do, but what have her got to do with it? Us mustn't talk of -her, I reckon, any more than of the chillers, though us be so unlucky as -to be born in Devonshire. Fie, fie, thee ought to know better than to -talk of poor Aunt Betsy along of a lady, and before our betters." Here -she curtsied to Ann Maples, with a flash of light in her eyes, and -rubbing them hard with her apron. - -"Well, well," replied the farmer, sadly, "mayhap so I did. And who be I -to gainsay? Mayhap so I did;" he dropped his voice, but added, after -some reflection, "It be hard to tell the rights of it; but sure her were -a woman." - -"Who said her were a man, thee zany?" Mrs. Huxtable was disappointed -that the case would not be argued. The farmer discreetly changed the -subject. - -"Now, if it was me," he continued, "I wouldn't think of taking this here -settle-bed away from the poor thing." - -"Why not, farmer?" asked Mrs. Huxtable, sharply. "Give me a reason for -leaving it, and I'll give you ten for taking it." - -"I can't give no reasons. But maybe it comforts her a little." - -"Comfort indeed!" said his wife; "breaks her heart with, crying, more -likely. Come, lend a hand, old heavy-strap; what can a great dromedary -like thee know about young wenches?" - -At any rate he knew more than she did. The moment they touched it I -burst forth from my corner, and flung myself upon it, rolling as if I -would bury myself in the ecstasy of anguish. What they did I cannot -tell; they might say what they liked, I had not cried till then. - -The next day I was sitting stupified and heavy, trying once more to meet -the necessity of thinking about my mother's funeral; but again and -again, the weakness of sorrow fell away from the subject. The people of -the house kept from me. Mrs. Huxtable had done her best, but they knew -I would rather be alone. - -The door was opened quietly, and some one entered in a stealthy manner. -Regarding it as an intrusion, I would not look that way. - -"Miss Clara dear," began the farmer, standing behind me, and whispering, -"I humbly ask your pardon, Miss, for calling you that same. But we have -had a wonderful fine season, sure enough." - -I made him no answer, being angry at his ill-timed common-place. - -"If you please, Miss, such a many lambs was never known afore, and -turnips fine last winter, and corn, and hay, and every kind of stock, a -fetching of such prices. The farmers about here has made their fortune -mainly." - -"I am glad to hear that you are so prosperous, Mr. Huxtable," I -answered, very coldly. - -"Yes fie, good times, Miss, wonderful good times, we don't know what to -do with our money a'rnost." - -"Buy education and good taste," I said, "instead of thrusting your -happiness upon such as I." - -How little I knew him! Shall I ever forgive myself that speech? - -"Ah, I wish I could," he answered, sadly, "I wish with all my heart I -could. But we must be born to the like of that, I am afeared, Miss -Vaughan." - -Poor fellow! he knew nothing of irony, as we do, who are born to good -taste, otherwise I might have suspected him of it then. - -He suddenly wished me "good evening," although it was middle-day, and -then he made off for the door, but came back again with a desperate -resolve, and spoke, for him, very quickly, looking all the time at his -feet. - -"There, I can't make head or tail of it, Miss Clara, but wife said I was -to do it so. Take the danged money, that's a dear, and for good now -don't be offended, for I cas'n help it." - -He opened his great hand, which was actually shaking, and hurriedly -placed on the sofa a small packet tied in the leaf of a copy book; then -suddenly put in mind of something, he made a dive, and snatching it up, -flung it upon a Windsor chair. It fell with a chink, the string slipped -off, and out rolled at least forty sovereigns and guineas, and a number -of crown-pieces. - -Peremptorily I called him back, for he was running out of the door. - -"Mr. Huxtable, what is the meaning of this?" - -"Meaning, Miss! Lord bless you, Miss Clara, there bain't no meaning of -it; only it corned into my head last night, as I was laying awake, -humbly asking your pardon, Miss, for that same, that if so be you should -desire, that the dear good lady herself might like, if I may make so -bold, meaning that it isn't fitly like, that she should lay nowhere -else, but alongside of her own husband, till death do them part, Mr. -Henry Valentine Vaughan, Esquire, Vaughan Park, in the county of -Gloucestershire. There I be as bad as Beany Dawe." - -He repeated his rhyme, with some relief, hoping to change the subject. -I caught him by both hands, and burst into tears. - -"Don't ye now," he said, with a thickness in his voice, "don't ye now, -my dearie, leastways unless it does you good." - -"It does me good, indeed," I sobbed, "to find still in the world so kind -a heart as yours." - -Though I longed to look him in the face, I knew that I must not do so. -Oh why are men so ashamed of manly tears? Perceiving that I could not -speak, he began to talk for both of us, making a hundred blundering -apologies, trying to hide his knowledge of my poverty, and to prove that -he was only paying a debt which extended over many years of tenancy. He -was not at all an imaginative man, but delicacy supplied him with -invention. So deep a sense pervades all classes in this English -country, that want of money is an indictment, which none but the culprit -may sign. Poor or rich, I should not be worth despising, if I had shown -the paltry pride of declining such a loan. - -The tears came anew to my eyes when I found that what had been brought -so freely was the savings of years of honest toil, a truth which the -owners had tried to conceal by polishing the old coin. But not being -skilled, dear souls, in plate-cleaning, they had left some rotten-stone -adhering to the George and Dragons. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - -Although I find a sad pleasure in lingering over these times, with such -a history still impending, I cannot afford the indulgence. - -Dear mother's simple funeral took me once more to my native place. Even -without Mr. Huxtable's generous and noble assistance, I should have laid -her to rest by the side of the husband she loved so well. But -difficulties, sore to encounter at such a time, would have met me on -every side. Moreover the kind act cheered and led me through -despondency, like the hand and face of God. - -Caring little what people might say or think, I could not stay at a -distance. Nature told me that it was my duty to go, and duty or not, I -could not stay away. - -And now for the last time I look on the face and form of my mother. -That which I have played, and talked, and laughed with, though lately -not much of laughter, that which has fed and cared for me, till it -needed my care in turn; that which I have toddled beside, or proudly run -in front of; whose arms have been round me whenever I wept, and whose -bosom the haven of childhood's storms; first to greet me with smiles in -the morning, and last to bless me with tears at night; ever loving, and -never complaining--in one word for a thousand, my mother. So far away -now, so hopelessly far away! There it lies indeed, I can touch it, kiss -it, and embrace it; but oh how small a part of mother! and even that -part is not mine. So holy and calm it lies, such loving kindness still -upon its features, so near me, but in mystery so hopelessly far away! I -can see it, but it never will know me again; I may die beside it, and it -cannot weep. The last last look of all on earth--they must have carried -me away. - -I remember tottering down the hill, supported by a stalwart arm. The -approach to the house prevented--or something. Two children ran before -me, stopping now and then to wonder, and straggling to pick -hedge-flowers. One of them brought me a bunch, then stared, and was -afraid to offer them. "Nancy, I'll be the death of thee," whispered a -woman's voice. The little girl shrunk to me for shelter, with timid -tears in her great blue eyes. So I took her hand, and led her on, and -somehow it did me good. - -At intervals, the funeral hymn, which they sing on the road to the -grave, fell solemnly on our ears. Some one from time to time gave out -the words of a verse and then it was sung to a simple impressive tune. -That ancient hymn, which has drowned so many sobs, I did not hear, but -felt it. - -We arrived at Vaughan St. Mary late in the afternoon of the second day. -The whole of the journey was to me a long and tearful dream. Mr. -Huxtable came with us. He had never before been further from home than -Exeter; and his single visit to that city had formed the landmark of his -life. He never tried to comfort me as the others did. The ignorant man -knew better. - -Alone I sat by my father's grave, with my mother's ready before my feet. -They had cast the mould on the other side, so as not to move my father's -coverlet. The poor old pensioner had been true to her promise, and man's -last garden was blooming like his first flower-bed. - -My mind (if any I had) seemed to have undergone some change. Defiance, -and pride, and savage delight in misery, were entirely gone; and -depression had taken the place of dejection. Death now seemed to me the -usual and proper condition of things, and I felt it an impertinence that -I should still be alive. So I waited, with heavy composure, till she -should be brought, who so often had walked there with me. At length she -was coming for good and all, and a space was left for me. But I must -not repose there yet; I had still my task before me. - -The bell was tolling faster, and the shadows growing longer, and the -children who had been playing at hide-and-seek, where soon themselves -shall be sought in vain, had flitted away from sight, perhaps scared at -my presence, perhaps gone home to tea, to enjoy the funeral afterwards. -The evening wind had ceased from troubling the yews, and the short-lived -songs of the birds were done. The place was as sad as I could wish. -The smell of new earth inspired, as it always does, some unsearchable -everlasting sympathy between the material and the creature. - -The sun was setting behind me: suddenly a shadow eclipsed my own upon -the red loam across the open grave. Without a start, and dreamily (as I -did all things now), I turned to see whence it came. Within a yard of -me stood Mr. Edgar Vaughan. In a moment the old feeling was at my -heart, and my wits were all awake. - -I observed that he was paler than when I had seen him last, and the -rigid look was wavering on his face, like steel reflected by water. He -lifted his hat to me. I neither rose nor spoke, but turned and watched -him. - -"Clara," he said in a low, earnest voice, "I see you are still the same. -Will no depth of grief, no length of time, no visitation from Him who is -over us all, ever bend your adamant and implacable will?" - -I heard, with some surprise, his allusion to the Great Being, whom he -was not wont to recognise; but I made him no reply. - -"Very well," he resumed, with the ancient chill hardening over his -features; "so then let it be. I am not come to offer you condolence, -which you would despise; nor do I mean to be present when you would -account the sight of me an insult. And yet I loved your mother, Clara; -I loved her very truly." - -This he said with such emotion, that a new thought broke upon me. - -Quick as the thought, he asked, "Would you know who killed your father?" - -"And my mother, too," I answered, "whose coffin I see coming." - -The funeral turned the corner of the lane, and the dust rose from the -bearers' feet. He took his hat off, and the perspiration stood upon his -forehead. Betwixt suspense and terror, and the wildness of grief, I was -obliged to lean on the headstone for support, and a giddiness came over -me. When I raised my eyes again, there was no one near me. In vain I -wiped them hurriedly and looked again. Mr. Vaughan was gone; but on the -grass at my feet lay a folded letter. I seized it quickly, and broke the -seal. That moment a white figure appeared between the yew-trees by the -porch. It was the aged minister leading my mother the last path of all. -The book was in his hand, and his form was tall and stately, and his -step so slow, that the white hair fell unruffled, while the grand words -on his lips called majesty into his gaze. Thrusting aside the letter, I -followed into the Church, and stood behind the old font where I had been -baptized; a dark and gloomy nook, fit for such an entrance. She who had -carried me there was carried past it now, and the pall waved in the damp -cold air, and all the world seemed stone and mould. - -But afterwards, on the fair hill-side, while the faint moon gathered -power from the deepening sky, and glancing on that hoary brow sealed the -immortal promises and smoothed the edges of the grave, around which bent -the uncovered heads of many who had mourned before, and after a few -bounds of mirth should bend again in mourning, until in earth's fair -turn and turn, others should bend and they lie down--beholding this, and -feeling something higher than "dust to dust," I grew content to bide my -time with the other children of men, and remembered that no wave can -break until it reach the shore. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - -When a long and heavy sleep (my first sleep since dear mother's death) -had brought me down to the dull plain of life, I read for the first time -the letter so strangely delivered. Even then it seemed unkind to my -mother that I should think about it. Mr. Vaughan had placed it in a new -envelope, which he had sealed with his own ring, the original cover (if -any there were) having been removed. The few words, of which it -consisted, were written in a clear round hand, upon a sheet of thin -tough paper, such as we use for foreign postage, and folded in a -peculiar manner. There was nothing remarkable in the writing, except -this, that the words as well as the letters were joined. It was as -follows: - -"The one who slain your brother is at 19 Grove Street London. You will -come in danger of it why you know." - -No date, no signature, no stops, except as shown above. In short, it -was so dark and vague, that I returned to Devonshire, with a resolution -to disregard it wholly. When we reached the foot of the hill, at the -corner of the narrow lane which leads to Tossil's Barton, and where the -white gate stands of which the neighbourhood is so proud, a sudden -scream was heard, and a rush made upon us from behind the furze-bush. -The farmer received the full brunt of a most vigorous onset, and the -number and courage of the enemy making up for their want of size, his -strong bastions were almost carried by storm. To the cry of "Daddy! -Daddy's come home!" half a dozen urchins and more, without distinction -of sex, jumped and tugged and flung and clung around him, with no -respect whatever for his Sunday coat, or brass-buttoned gaiters. Taking -advantage of his laughing, they pulled his legs this way and that, as if -he were skating for the first time, and little Sally (his favourite) -swarming up, made a base foot-rope of the great ancestral silver -watch-chain whose mysterious awe sometimes sufficed to keep her eyes -half open in church. Betwixt delight and shame, the poor father was so -dreadfully taken aback, that he could not tell what to do, till fatherly -love suggested the only escape. He lifted them one by one to his lips, -and after some hearty smacks sent all (except the baby) sliding down his -back. - -While all this was going forward, the good dame, with a clean apron on, -kept herself in the background, curtseying and trying to look sad at me, -but too much carried away to succeed. Her plump cheeks left but little -room for tears, yet I thought one tried to find a road from either eye. -When the burst was nearly done, she felt (like a true woman) for me so -lonely in all this love, though I could not help enjoying it; and so she -tried to laugh at it. - -For a long time after this, the farmer was admired and consulted by all -the neighbouring parishes, as a man who had seen the world. His -labourers, also, one man and a boy, for a fortnight called him "Sir," a -great discomfort to him; more than this, some letters were brought for -him to interpret, and Beany Dawe became unduly jealous. But in this, as -in most other matters, things came to their level, and when it was -slowly discovered that the farmer was just the same, his neighbours -showed much disappointment, and even some contempt. - -It was not long before the thought of that letter, which had been laid -by so scornfully, began to work within me. Again and again, as time -wore on, and the deep barb of sorrow darkly rusted away, it came home to -me as a sin, that I was neglecting a special guidance. Moreover, my -reason for staying in Devonshire was gone, and as my spirit recovered -its tone, it could not put up with inaction. - -Three months after our return, one breezy afternoon in August, when the -heath had long succeeded the gorse and broom upon the cleve, and the -children were searching for "wuts" and half-kerneled nuts, I sat on a -fallen tree, where a break in the copse made a frame for one of our -favourite views. Of late I had been trying to take some sketches in -water-colours of what my mother and I had so often admired together, and -this had been kept for the last. Wild as the scheme may appear to all -who know the world and its high contempt for woman's skill, I had some -hope of earning money in London by the pencil, and was doing my utmost -to advance in art. Also, I wished to take away with me some memorials -of a time comparatively happy. - -Little Sally Huxtable, a dear little child, now my chief companion, had -strayed into the wood to string more strawberry beads on her spike of -grass, for the wood strawberries here last almost to the equinox; and I -had just roughed in my outline, and was correcting the bold strokes, by -nature's soft gradations; when suddenly through a cobnut bush, and down -the steep bank at my side, came, in a sliding canter, a magnificent red -deer. He passed so close before me, with antlers, like a varnished -crabstick, russet in the sun, that I could have touched his brown flank -with my pencil. Being in no hurry or fright whatever, he regarded me -from his large deep eyes with a look of courteous interest, a dignified -curiosity too well bred for words; and then, as if with an evening of -pleasant business before him, trotted away through the podded wild broom -on the left. - -Before I had time to call him back, which, with a childish impulse, I -was about to do, the nutbush where he had entered moved again, and, -laughing at his own predicament on the steep descent, a young man leaped -and landed in the bramble at my feet. Before me stood the one whom we -had so often longed to thank. But at sight of me, his countenance -changed entirely. The face, so playful just before, suddenly grew dark -and sad, and, with a distant salutation, he was hurrying away, when I -sprang forward and caught him by the hand. Every nerve in my body -thrilled, as I felt the grasp that had saved my mother and me. - -"Excuse me," he said coldly, "I will lose my prey." - -But I would not let him go so curtly. What I said I cannot tell, only -that it was very foolish, and clumsy, and cold by the side of what I -felt. Whom but God and him had I to thank for my mother's peaceful end, -and all her treasured words, each worth a dozen lives of mine? He -answered not at all, nor looked at me; but listened with a cold -constraint, and, as I thought, contemptuous pity, at which my pride -began to take alarm. - -"Sir," I exclaimed, when still he answered not, "Sir, I will detain you -no longer from murdering that poor stag." - -He answered very haughtily, "I am not of the Devonshire hunters, who -toil to exterminate this noble race." - -As he spoke he pointed down the valley, where the red deer, my late -friend, was crossing, for his evening browse, to a gnoll of juicy grass. -Then why was he pursuing him, and why did he call him his prey? The -latter, probably a pretext to escape me, but the former question I could -not answer, and did not choose to ask. He went his way, and I felt -discharged of half my obligation. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - -The farmer, his wife, and little Sally were now all I had to love. Poor -Ann Maples, though thoroughly honest and faithful, was of a nature so -dry and precise that I respected rather than loved her. I am born to -love and hate with all my heart and soul, although a certain pride -prevents me from exhibiting the better passion, except when strongly -moved. That other feeling, sown by Satan, he never allows me to -disguise. - -To leave the only three I loved was a bitter grief, to tell them of my -intention, a sore puzzle. But, after searching long for a good way to -manage it, the only way I found was to tell them bluntly, and not to cry -if it could be helped. So when Mrs. Huxtable came in full glory to try -upon me a pair of stockings of the brightest blue ever seen, which she -had long been knitting on the sly, for winter wear, I thanked her -warmly, and said: - -"Dear me, Mrs. Huxtable, how they will admire these in London." - -"In Lonnon, cheel!" she always called me her child, since I had lost my -mother--"they'll never see the likes of they in Lonnon, without they -gits one of them there long glaskies, same as preventive chaps has, and -then I reckon there'll be Hexymoor between, and Dartmoor too, for out I -know, and ever so many church-towers and milestones." - -"Oh yes, they will. I shall be there in a week." - -"In Lonnon in a wake! Dear heart alaive, cheel, dont'e tell on so!" - -She thought my wits were wandering, as she had often fancied of late, -and set off for the larder, which was the usual course of her -prescriptions. But I stopped her so calmly that she could not doubt my -sanity. - -"Yes, dear Mrs. Huxtable, I must leave my quiet home, where all of you -have been so good and kind to me; and I have already written to take -lodgings in London." - -"Oh, Miss Clerer, dear, I can't belave it nohow! Come and discoorse with -farmer about it. He knows a power more than I do, though I says it as -shouldn't. But if so be he hearkens to the like of that, I'll comb him -with the toasting iron." - -Giving me no time to answer, she led me to the kitchen. The farmer, who -had finished his morning's work, was stamping about outside the -threshold, wiping his boots most carefully with a pitchfork and a rope -of twisted straw. This process, to his great discomfort, Mrs. Huxtable -had at length enforced by many scoldings; but now she snatched the -pitchfork from him, and sent it flying into the court. - -"Wun't thee never larn, thee girt drummedary, not to ston there an hour, -mucking arl the place?" - -"Wull, wull," said the farmer, looking at the pitchfork first, and then -at me, "Reckon the old mare's dead at last." - -"Cas'n thee drame of nothing but bosses and asses, thee girt mule? -Here's Miss Clerer, as was like a cheel of my own, and now she'm gooin -awai, and us'll niver zee her no more." - -"What dost thee mane, 'ooman?" asked the farmer, sternly, "hast thee -darr'd to goo a jahing of her, zame as thee did Zuke?" - -"Oh, no, farmer!" I answered, quickly, "Mrs. Huxtable never gave me an -unkind word in her life. But I must leave you all, and go to live in -London." - -The farmer looked as if he had lost something, and began feeling for it -in all his pockets. Then, without a word, he went to the fire, and -unhung the crock which was boiling for the family dinner. This done, he -raked out the embers on the hearthstone, and sat down heavily on the -settle with his back towards us. Presently we heard him say to himself, -"If any cheel of mine ates ever a bit of bakkon to-day, I'll bile him in -that there pot. And to zee the copy our Sally wrote this very morning!" - -"Wonnerful! wonnerful!" cried Mrs. Huxtable, "and now her'll not know a -p from a pothook. And little Jack can spell zider, zame as 'em does in -Lonnon town!" - -"Dang Lonnon town," said the farmer, savagely, "and arl as lives there, -lave out the Duke of Wellington. It's where the devil lives, and 'em -catches his braath in lanterns. My faather tould me that, and her niver -spak a loi. But it hain't for the larning I be vexed to lose my -dearie." - -That last word he dwelt upon so tenderly and sadly, that I could stop no -longer, but ran up to him bravely with the tears upon my face. As I sat -low before him, on little Sally's stool, he laid his great hand on my -head, with his face turned toward the settle, and asked if I had any one -to see me righted in the world but him. - -I told him, "None whatever;" and the answer seemed at once to please and -frighten him. - -"Then don't e be a-gooin', my dear heart, don't e think no more of -gooin. If it be for the bit and drap thee ates and drinks, doesn't thee -know by this time, our own flash and blood bain't no more welcome to it! -And us has a plenty here, and more nor a plenty. And if us hadn't, Jan -Huxtable hisself, and Honor Huxtable his waife, wud live on pegmale -(better nor they desarves) and gie it arl to thee, and bless thee for -ating of it." - -"Ay, that us wud, ees fai," answered Mrs. Huxtable, coming forward. - -"And if it be for channge, and plaisure, and zeeing of the warld, I've -zeen a dale in my time, axing your pardon, Miss, for convarsing so to -you. And what hath it been even at Coom market, with the varmers I've -a-knowed from little chillers up? No better nor a harrow dill for a -little coolt to zuck. I'd liefer know thee was a-gooin' to Trentisoe -churchyard, where little Jane and Winny be, than let thee goo to Lonnon -town, zame as this here be. And what wud thy poor moother zay, if so be -her could hear tell of it?" - -At this moment, when I could say nothing, being thoroughly convicted of -ingratitude, and ashamed before natures far better than my own, dear -little Sally, who had been rolling on the dairy floor, recovered from -the burst of childish grief enough to ask whether it had any cause. Up -to me she ran, with great pearl tears on the veining of her cheeks, and -peeping through the lashes of her violet-blue eyes, she gave me one long -reproachful look, as if she began to understand the world, and to find -it disappointment; then she buried her flaxen head in the homespun apron -I had lately taken to wear, and sobbed as if she had spoiled a dozen -copies. What happened afterwards I cannot tell. Crying I hate, but -there are times when nothing else is any good. I only know that, as the -farmer left the house to get, as he said, "a little braze," these -ominous words came back from the court: - -"'Twud be a bad job for Tom Grundy, if her coom'd acrass me now." - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - -That same evening, as I was sitting in my lonely room, yet not quite -alone,--for little Sally, who always did as I bade her, was scratching -and blotting her best copy-book, under my auspices,--in burst Mrs. -Huxtable, without stopping to knock as usual. - -"Oh Miss Clerer, what _have_ e been and doed? Varmer's in crule trouble. -Us'll arl have to goo to gaol to-morrow, chillers and arl." - -She was greatly flurried and out of breath, and yet seemed proud of what -she had to tell. She did not require much asking, nor beat about the -bush, as many women do; but told me the story shortly, and then asked me -to come and hear all particulars from Tim Badcock the farm-labourer, who -had seen the whole. - -Tim sat by the kitchen fire with a pint of cider by him on the little -round table; strong evidence that his tidings, after all, were not so -very unwelcome. - -"Wull, you zee, Miss," said Tim, after getting up, and pulling his rough -forelock, "you zee, Miss, the Maister coom out this arternoon, in a -weist zort of a wai, as if her hadn't had no dinner." Here he gave a -sly look at "the Missus," who had the credit of stopping the supplies, -when the farmer had been too much on the cruise. - -"What odds to thee, Tim," she replied, "what odds to thee, what thee -betters has for dinner?" - -"Noo fai," said Tim, "zo long as ai gits maine, and my missus arlways -has un raddy. Zo I zed to Bill, zays I, 'Best maind what thee's at boy, -there's a starm a coomin, zure as my name's Timothy Badcock.' -Howsomever her didn't tak on atarl wi we, but kitched up a shivel, and -worked awai without niver a ward. 'Twur the tap of the clave, 'langside -of the beg fuzz, where the braidle road coomth along 'twixt that and the -double hadge; and us was arl a stubbing up the bushes as plaisant as -could be, to plough thiccy plat for clover, coom some rain, plase God." - -"Git on, Tim, wull e," cried his impatient mistress, "us knows arl about -that. Cas'n thee tull it no quicker?" - -"Wull, Miss," continued Tim, in no hurry whatever, "prasently us zees a -girt beg chap on a zort of a brown cob, a coomin in our diraction"--Tim -was proud of this word, and afraid that we should fail to appreciate -it--"they was a coomin, as you might zay, in our diraction this beg -chap, and anither chap langside on him. Wull, when 'um coom'd within -spaking room of us, beg chap a' horsebarck hollers out, 'Can 'e tell, my -men, where Jan Uxtable live?' Avore I had taime to spake, Maister lifts -hissell up, and zaith, 'What doo 'e want to know for, my faine feller?' -every bit the zame as ai be a tullin of it to you. 'What's the odds to -thee,' zays tother chap, 'thee d'st better kape a zivil tongue in thee -head. I be Tom Gundry from Carnwall.' And with that he stood up in his -starrups, as beg a feller as iver you zee, Miss. Wull, Maister knowed -all about Tom Gundry and what a was a coom for, and zo did I, and the -boy, and arl the country round; for Maister have gotten a turble name -for rarstling; maybe, Miss, you've a heer'd on him in Lunnon town?" - -"I have never been in London, Tim, since I was a child; and I know -nothing at all about wrestling." - -"Wull, Miss, that be nayther here nor there. But there had been a dale -of brag after Maister had thrown arl they Carnishers to Barnstable vair, -last year, about vetching this here Tom Gundry, who wor the best man in -Cornwall, to throw our Maister. Howsomever, it be time for ai to crack -on a bit. 'Ah,' zays the man avoot, who zimth had coom to back un, 'ah, -'twor arl mighty faine for Uxtable to play skittles with our zecond rate -men. Chappell or Ellicombe cud have doed as much as that. Rackon Jan -Uxtable wud vind a different game with Tom Gundry here.' 'Rackon he -wud,' zaith Gundry, 'a had better jine a burial club, if her've got ere -a waife and vamily.'" - -"Noo. Did a zay that though?" inquired Mrs. Huxtable, much excited. - -"'Coom now,' my maister zaith, trying to look smarl behaind the fuzz, -'thee must throw me, my lad, avore thee can throw Jan Uxtable. He be a -better man mainly nor ai be this dai. But ai baint in no oomer for -playin' much jist now, and rackon ai should hoort any man ai kitched -on.' 'Her that be a good un, Zam, baint it now?' zaith Gundry to little -chap, the very zame as ai be a tullin it now, 'doth the fule s'pose ai -be ratten? Ai've half a maind to kick un over this hadge; jist thee hold -the nag!' 'Sober now,' zaith varmer, and ai zeed a was gettin' rad in -the chakes, 'God knows ai don't feel no carl to hoort 'e. Ai'll gie -thee wan chance more, Tom Gundry, as thee'st a coom arl this wai fram -Carnwall. Can 'e trod a path in thiccy country, zame as this here be?' -And wi' that, a walked into the beg fuzz, twaice so haigh as this here -room, and the stocks begger round nor my body, and harder nor wrought -hiern. A jist stratched his two hons, raight and left, and twitched un -up, wan by wan, vor ten gude lanyard, as asily as ai wud pull spring -inyons. 'Now, wull e let me lone?' zaith he, zo zoon as a coom barck, -wi his brath a little quicker by rason of the exarcise, 'wull 'e let me -lone?' 'Ee's fai, wull I,' zaith the man avoot. 'Hor,' zaith Tom -Gundry, who had been a[#] shopping zumwhere, 'thee cans't do a gude -dai's work, my man, tak that vor thee's wages.' And wi' that a lets fly -at Maister's vace wi' a light hash stick a carr'd, maning to raide off -avore Maister cud coom to's brath again. In a crack Jan Uxtable zet -both his hons under the stommick of the nag, one avore the starrup and -one behaind, zame as I maight to this here little tabble, and haved un, -harse and man, clane over hadge into Muster Yeo's turmot falde. Then -with wan heft, a kitched up tother chap, and zent un sprarling after un, -zame as if 'twor this here stule after the tabble." - - -[#] _i.e._ dealing commercially where the staples are liquid. - - -I thought poor Tim, in the excitement of his story, would have thrown -table and stool over the settle to illustrate it; and if he had, Mrs. -Huxtable would have forgiven him. - -"'Thar,' zaith our Maister, as plaisant as cud be, and ai thought us -shud have died of laffing, 'thar now, if zo be the owner of thiccy falde -zummons e for traspash, you zay Jan Uxtable zent e on a little arrand, -to vaind a Carnisher as can do the laike to he.' And wi' that, a waiped -his hons with a slip of vern, and tuk a little drap of zider, and full -to's wark again." - -"Wull, but Tim," asked the farmer's wife, to lose no part of the effect, -"what zort of a hadge wor it now? Twor a little hadge maybe, no haigher -nor the zettle barck." - -"Wor it though?" said Tim, "thee knows better nor that, Missus. It be -the beggest hadge on arl the varm, wi' a double row of saplin hash atap. -Her maks the boundary betwixt the two parishes, and ain't been trimmed -these vaive year, ai can swear." - -"And how be the both on 'em now, Tim? A must have gone haigh enough to -channge the mune. - -"Wull, Miss," said Tim, addressing me, for he had told his Mistress all -the story twice, "Tom Gundry brak his collar boun, and zarve 'un raight, -for a brak Phil Dascombe's a puppose whun a got 'un in a trap, that -taime down to Bodmin thar; and harse gat a rick of his taial; but the -little chap, he vell upon his hat, and that zaved him kindly. But I -heer'd down to Pewter Will's, whur I gooed for a drap of zumthin for my -waife's stommick, ai heer'd zay there, as how Constable was a coomin to -Maister this very naight, if Carnishers cud have perswadded un. But -Constable zaith, zaith he, 'Twor all along o you Garnish chaps, fust -battery was mad, and fust blow gien, and wi'out you can zhow me Squaire -Drake's warrant, I wunt have nout to do wi' it, not ai; and that be law -and gospel in Davonsheer and in Cornwall.'" - -"Tim," said Mrs. Huxtable, "I'se warrant thee's niver tould so long a -spin up in thee's laife avore. And thee's tould it wonnerful well too; -hathn't un Miss Clerer? Zuke, here be the kay of zellar, gie Tim a half -a paint more zider; and thee mai'st have a drap theesell, gall. Waipe -thee mouth fust." - -"Ah," said Tim, favouring me with a wink, in the excess of his glory, -"rackon they Carnishers 'll know the wai off Tossil's Barton varm next -taime, wi'out no saign postesses."[#] - - -[#] Every word of Tim's story is true, except as regards the names. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - -Two or three days after this, I was keeping school in the dairy, the -parlour being too small for that purpose, and the kitchen and "wash-up" -(as they called the back-kitchen) too open to inroads from Suke and Tim. -My class consisted of ten, or rather was eight strong, the two weames -(big baby and little baby), only attending for the sake of example, and -because they would have roared, if parted from the other children. So -those two were allowed to spraddle on the floor, where sometimes they -made little rollers of themselves, with much indecorum, and between -whiles sat gravely sucking their fat red fingers, and then pointed them -in a glistening state at me or my audience, and giggled with a large -contempt. The eight, who made believe to learn something, were the six -elder Huxtables, and two of Tim Badcock's "young uns." I marshalled -them, four on each side, against the low lime-whitened walls, which bore -the pans of cream and milk. Little Sally, my head scholar, was very -proud of measuring her height, by the horizontal line on the milk-pan -where the glazing ended; which Tabitha Badcock, even on tiptoe, could -not reach. They were all well "claned," and had white pinnies on, and -their ruddy cheeks rubbed up to the highest possible polish, with yellow -soap and the jack-towel behind the wash-up door. Hence, I never could -relieve them from the idea that Sunday now came every day in the week. - -I maintained strict discipline, and allowed no nonsense; but two sad -drawbacks constantly perplexed me. In the first place, their ways were -so ridiculous, and they laboured so much harder to make me laugh, than -they did to learn, that I could not always keep my countenance, and when -the spelling-book went up before my face, they knew, as well as -possible, what was going on behind it, and peeped round or below, and -burst out all together. The second drawback was, that Mrs. Huxtable, in -spite of all my protests, would be always rushing in, upon errands -purely fictitious; and the farmer himself always found some special -business in the yard, close to the wired and unglazed window, whence -every now and then his loud haw-haws, and too audible soliloquies, "Dang -me! wull done, Zally, that wor a good un; zay un again, cheel! zay un -again, wull 'e?" utterly overthrew my most solemn institutions. - -"Coom now, smarl chillers"--I addressed them in my unclassical -Devonshire dialect, for it kept their attention alive to criticise me -when I "spak unvitty"--"coom now, e've a been spulling lang enough: ston -round me now, and tull me what I axes you." - -Already, I had made one great mistake, by saying "round" instead of -"raound," and Billy, the genius of the family, was upon the giggle. - -"Now thun, wutt be a quadripade?" - -"Ai knoo!" says Sally, with her hand held out. - -"Zo do ai," says Jack, thrusting forth his stomach. - -"Who wur axing of you?" I inquire in a stately manner. "You bain't the -smarl chillers, be 'e? Bill knows," I continue, but wax doubtful from -the expression of Bill's face. - -"Ees fai," cries Bill, suddenly clearing up, "her be wutt moother zits -on vor to mulk the coos. Bain't her now?" - -"Thee bee'st ony wan leg out, Bill. Now Tabby Badcock?" - -While Tabby is splashing in her memory (for I told them all last week), -the farmer much excited, and having no idea what the answer should be, -but hoping that one of his own children may discover it first, boldly -shows his face at the wired window, but is quite resolved to allow fair -play. Not so Mrs. Huxtable, who, in full possession of the case, -suddenly appears behind me, and shakes her fist at poor puzzled Tabby. -"Thee'dst best pretend to know more than thy betters." She tries to -make Tabby hear, without my catching her words. But the farmer hotly -shouts, "Lat un alo-un, waife. Tak thee hon from thee mouth, I tull 'e. -Spak up now, little wanch." - -Thus encouraged, Tabby makes reply, looking cross-wise at Mrs. Huxtable. - -"Plase, Miss, it be a beastie wi vour taials." - -"Raight," cries the farmer, with admiration conquering his -disappointment; "raight this taime, ai'll tak my oath on it. I zeed wan -to Barnstaple vair last year, and her wor karled, 'Phanominy -Quadripade,' her Kirsten name and her zurname, now ai coom to -racollack." - -Tabby looks elated, and Mrs. Huxtable chagrined. Before I can redress -the situation, a sound of heavy blows, delivered on some leathery -substance, causes a new stir. All recognise the arrival of Her -Majesty's mail, a boy from Martinhoe, who comes upon a donkey twice a -week, if there happen to be any letters for the village below. - -Out rush Mrs. Huxtable and Suke (who once received an epistle), and the -children long to go, but know better. The boy, however, has only a -letter for me, which is from Mrs. Shelfer (a cousin of Ann Maples), to -whom I wrote a few days since, asking whether she had any rooms to let. -Mrs. Shelfer replies that "she has apartments, and they are splendid, -and the rent quite trifling;" so the mail is bribed with a pint of -cider, while I write to secure a new home. - -My departure being now fixed and inevitable, the women naturally began -to remonstrate more than over. It had been settled that Ann Maples -should go with me, not to continue as my servant, but to find a place -for herself in London. - -My few arrangements, which cost me far more pain than trouble, were not -long in making; and after saying good-bye to all the dear little -children and weanies, and kissing their pretty faces in their little -beds, amid an agony of tears from Sally, I was surprised, on entering -the kitchen, to find there Mr. Beany Dawe. There was little time for -talking, and much less for poetry. We were to start at three in the -morning, the farmer having promised to drive us to meet the coach in -Barnstaple, whence there would be more than thirty miles of hilly road -to Tiverton, the nearest railway station. The journey to London could -thus be made in a day, though no one in the parish could be brought to -believe it. - -The poet had been suborned, no doubt, by Mrs. Huxtable, and now detained -me to listen to an elegy upon the metropolis of England. I cannot stop -to repeat it, neither does it deserve the trouble; but it began thus:-- - - "Fayther was wance to Lonnon town, - And a zed, zed he, whan a coom down, - 'Don't e niver goo there, Ebenezer my son, - For they mulks a coo, when her ain't gat none. - They kapes up sich a hollerin, naight and day, - And a Devonsheer man dunno the impudence they zay. - Their heads and their hats wags regular, like the - scratchers of a harrow, - And they biles their taties peeled, and ates them - in a barrow. - They raides on a waggon top with their wives squazed - up inside her, - And they drinks black dose and yesty pops in the - place of wholesome zider. - They want take back anything they've zelled, - And the beds can bite, and the cats can speak: - And a well-dress'd man be a most compelled - To channge his shirt in the middle of the week!'" - - -"Lor," cried Mrs. Huxtable, "however could they do their washing? Thee -vayther must a been as big a liar as thee, Beany. Them gifts always -runs in the family." - -When, with remarkable patience, I had heard out his elegant effusion, -the author, who had conceived much good will towards me, because I -listened to his lays and called him Mr. Dawe, the author dived with a -deep-drawn sigh into a hole in his sack, and produced in a mysterious -manner something wrapped in greasy silver paper, and well tied up. He -begged me to accept, and carry it about me most carefully and secretly, -as long as I should live. To no other person in the world would he have -given this, but I had earned it, as a true lover of poetry, and required -it as a castaway among the perils of London. In vain I declined the -present; refusal only confirmed his resolution. As the matter was of so -little importance, I soon yielded upon condition that I should first -examine the gift. He gave me leave with much reluctance, and I was -surprised at the beauty and novelty of the thing. It was about the size -of a Geneva watch, but rather thicker, jet black and shining, and of the -exact shape of a human heart. Around the edge ran a moulding line or -cord of brilliant red, of the same material as the rest. In the centre -was a white spot like a siphuncle. What it was I could not guess, but -it looked like some mineral substance. Where the two lobes met, a small -hole had been drilled to receive a narrow riband. After putting me -through many guesses, Mr. Dawe informed me that it was a pixie's heart, -a charm of unequalled power against witchcraft and assassination, and to -enthral the affection of a loved one. He only smiled, and rubbed his -nose, on hearing that I should never want it in the last capacity. -Being greatly pleased with it, I asked him many questions, which he was -very loth to answer. Nevertheless I extorted from him nearly all he -knew. - -As he was sawing into boards a very large oak-tree, something fell from -the very heart of it almost into his mouth, for poor Ebenezer was only -an undersawyer. As he could not stop the saw without his partners -concurrence, and did not wish to share his prize, he kicked some sawdust -over it until he could stoop to pick it up unobserved. In all his long -experience of the woods, he had seen but two of these rare and beautiful -things, and now assured me that any sawyer was considered lucky who -found only one in the course of his career. The legend on the subject -was rather quaint and graceful, and deserves a better garb than he or I -can furnish. - - "All in the olden time, there lived - A little Pixie king, - So lovely and so light of foot - That when he danced the ring, - The moonlight always shifted, to gaze upon his face, - And the cowslip-bells uplifted, rang time with every pace. - - There came a dozen maidens, - Almost as tall as bluebells; - The cowslips hushed their cadence, - And bowed before the true belles: - The maidens shyly glancing, betwixt the cummer darts, - Espied the monarch dancing, and lost a dozen hearts. - - He was fitted up so neatly, - With dewdrops for his crown, - And he footed it so featly - He never shook them down. - The maids began advancing, along a lily stem, - Not to stop the monarch's dancing, but to make him look at them. - - The king could not afford them - The proper time to gaze, - But sweetly bowed toward them, - At the turn of every maze: - Till full of pretty faces, and his sandals getting worn, - He was puzzled in his paces, and fell upon a thorn. - - The maidens broke the magic ring, - And leaped the cummer dart; - 'Alas, our little Pixie king, - The thorn is in his heart!' - They laid him in a molehill, and piteously they cried: - Yet this was not the whole ill, for all the maidens died. - - Each took a spindled acorn, found - Below a squirrel's nest, - And set the butt against the ground, - The barb beneath her breast: - So truly she addressed the stroke unto her loving part, - That when the acorn grew an oak, it held her little heart.' - - -By no means a "little heart," it seemed to me, for a fairy to have -owned, but as large as it was loving. I assured Mr. Dawe that he was -quite untaught in fairy lore, or he never would have confounded fairies -with pixies, a different class of society. But he treated my learning -with utter contempt, and reasonably enough declared that he who spent -all his time in the woods must know more than any books could tell. - -He also informed me, that the proper name for the lignified fairy heart, -was a "gordit:" but he did not choose to tell me what had become of the -other, which was not so large or handsome as this, yet it had saved him -a month's sawing, and earned him "a rare time," which meant, I fear, -that the proceeds had been spent in a very long cruise. - -After refusing all compensation, Mr. Dawe made his farewell in several -couplets of uncouth but hearty blessing, begging me only to shake hands -with him once, and venturing as a poet to prophesy that we should meet -again. The "gordit" was probably nothing more than a rare accretion, or -ganglion, in the centre of an aged oak. However, it was very pretty; -and of course I observed the condition upon which I had received it, -valuing it moreover as a token of true friends. - -But how can I think of such trifles, while sitting for the last time in -the room where my mother died? To-morrow all the form and colour of my -life shall change; even now I feel once more my step on the dark track -of justice, which is to me revenge. How long have I been sauntering on -the dreary moor of listlessness and hollow weariness, which spreads, for -so many dead leagues, below the precipice of grief? How long have I -been sauntering, not caring to ask where, and conscious of existence -only through the nerves and fibres of the memory. The things I have been -doing, the duties I have discharged, the vague unlinked ideas, startling -me by their buffoonery to grief--might not these have all passed through -me, every whit as well, if I had been set against a wall, and wound up -for three months, and fitted with the mind expressed in the chuckle of a -clock? Nay, worse than all--have I not allowed soft thoughts to steal -throughout my heart, the love of children, the warmth of kindness, the -pleasure of doing good in however small a way? Much more of this, and I -shall learn forgiveness of my wrong! - -But now I see a clearer road before me. Returning health renews my -gall. Death recedes, and lifts his train from the swords that fell -before him. Once more my pulse beats high with hatred, with scorn of -meanness, treachery, and lies, with admiration of truth and manhood, not -after the fashion of fools. - -But dare I mount the Judge's throne? Shall the stir of one frail heart, -however fresh from its Maker's hand, be taken for His voice pronouncing -right and wrong? - -These thoughts give me pause, and I dwell again with my mother. But in -all the strength of youth and stern will, I tread them down; and am once -more that Clara Vaughan whose life shall right her father's death. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - -At last we got through our parting with the best of people (far worthier -than myself to interest any reader), and after it the dark ride over the -moors, and the farmer's vain attempt at talking to relieve both himself -and us. The honest eyes were bright with tears, tears of pity for my -weakness, which now he scarcely cared to hide, but would not show by -wiping away; and how many times he begged for frequent tidings of us, -which Sally could now interpret, if written in large round hand. How -many times he consulted, commanded, and threatened the coachman, and -promised him a goose at Michaelmas, if he took good care of us and our -luggage! These great kindnesses, and all the trifling cares which strew -the gap of long farewells, were more to think of than to tell. But I -ought to mention, that much against the farmer's will, I insisted on -paying him half the sum, which he had lent me in a manner never to be -forgotten. Moreover, with the same presentiment which he had always -felt, he made me promise once more to send for him, if I fell into any -dreadful strait. - -It was late at night when our cabman, the most polite, and (if his word -may be trusted) the most honourable of mankind, rang the bell of Mrs. -Shelfer's house. The house was in a by-street near a large unfinished -square, in the northern part of London. Mrs. Shelfer came out at once, -sharp and quick and short, and wonderfully queer. At first she took no -notice at all of either of as, but began pulling with all her strength -at the straps of the heaviest boxes, which, by means known to herself -alone, she contrived to drag through the narrow passage, and down three -low steps into the little kitchen. Then she hurried back, talking all -the time to herself, re-opened the door of the fly, jumped in, and felt -under both the seats, and round the lining. Finding nothing there, she -climbed upon the driver's box, and thoroughly examined both that and the -roof. Being satisfied now that none of our chattels were left in the -vehicle, she shook her little fist at two or three boys, who stood at -the corner near the mews, and setting both hands to the farmer's great -hamper or "maun" (as he called it), she dragged it inside the front -door, and turned point blanc upon me. - -"Pray, my good friend, how many is there?" - -"I'm sure I don't know, Mrs. Shelfer, your cousin knows best." - -"Ah, they're terrible fellows them cabbies, terrible!" The cabman stood -by all the time, beating his hands together. "'Twas only last time I -went to Barbican, one of 'em come up to me, 'Mrs. Shelfer,' says he, -'Mrs. Shelfer!' says I, 'pray my good friend, how do you know my name?' -'Ho, I knows Charley well enough,' says he, 'and there ain't a better -fellow living.' 'A deal too good for you,' says I, 'and now pray what's -your business with me?' 'Why, old lady,' he says, as impudent as the -man with the wooden leg, 'you've been and left your second best umbrella -under the seat of the Botany Bay Bus.' 'Catch me!' says I. 'It's Bible -truth,' says he, 'and my old woman's got it now.' 'If you never get -drunk,' says I, 'till that umbrella runs in your shoes, your old woman -needn't steal her lights,' and with that I ran between the legs of a -sheep, hanging up with my Tuscan bonnet on trimmed with white--nothing -like it, my good friend, the same as I've had these two and twenty -years." - -"What for, Mrs. Shelfer?" I asked in great surprise. - -"Why, for the butcher to see me, to be sure, Miss. You see he wanted to -get me down the mews, and murder me with my little wash-leather bag, as -I was going to pay the interest on Shelfer's double-barrel gun. Ah yes," -with a short sigh, "and there'll be four and ninepence again, next -Tuesday." - -Talking at this rate, and stopping for no reply, she led us into her -kitchen, saying that she would not light a fire upstairs, it was so -bootiful, the trimmings of the grate, because she wasn't certain that we -would come, but she had got supper for us, excuse me, my good friend, in -her own snug little room, and bootiful they was sure enough, the wind -last week had made them so fat. - -She pointed in triumph to a large dish on the table piled up with blue -shells. - -"Why, Mrs. Shelfer, they are muscles," I exclaimed with some disgust. - -"Ah I see you knows 'em, that they are, Miss, and as bootiful as ever -you ate. Charley and me sits down to a peck of them. But the man as -comes round with the catsmeat's brother the man with the truck and his -eyes crossed, he told me there was such a demand for them in Grosvenor -Square, and they was so cunning this weather when they gets fat, he -hadn't more than half a peck left, but they was the best of the lot. -Now I'll have them all bootiful hot, bootiful, boiling my good friend, -if you'll just run upstairs, and a teaspoon and a half of salt, and -Cousin Ann knows the way, and the apartments is splendid, splendid, Miss -Vaughan!" - -She drew herself up, at the end of the sentence, with an air of the -greatest dignity; then suddenly dropped it again, and began bustling in -and out. Now for the first time, I had leisure to examine her, for -while she spoke, the short jumps of her ideas unsettled my observation. - -She was a little body, rather thin, with a face not strongly peculiar, -but odd enough to second the oddities of her mind. No doubt she had -once been pretty, and her expression was pleasant now, especially when a -glimpse was afforded of her quick grey eyes, which generally avoided the -gaze, and dropped beneath a fringe of close-set lashes. But the loss of -the front teeth, and the sharpening and wrinkling of the face, with the -straggling neglect of the thick black hair fraying out from the black -cap, and the habit she had of shutting her mouth with a snap, all these -interfered with her credit for pristine good looks. Like Mrs. Huxtable, -she was generally in a bustle, but a bustle of words more often than of -deeds. She had no deception about her, yet she never knew the -difference between the truth and a lie, and could not understand that -any one else should do so. Therefore she suspected everything and -everybody, till one of her veins of opinion was touched, and then she -would swallow anything. - -Tired out with the long day's travel, the dazing of railway speed, and -the many scenes and faces which had flashed across me, I could not -appreciate the beauty of Mrs. Shelfer's furniture; but leaving Ann -Maples to eat the muscles, if she could, and to gossip with her cousin, -I was not slow to revisit the old farmhouse, and even the home of my -childhood, in the winged cradle of sleep. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - -Ann Maples had done her best to persuade me to call on my godmother, -Lady Cranberry, but I was quite resolved to do nothing of the sort. In -the first place, Lady Cranberry was a person of great wealth, living in -a very large house, and keeping up such state as gay widows love, who -have forgotten old affections and are looking out for new. In me, -therefore, to whose fixed estimate fidelity seemed the very pith of -honour, there could be no love towards such a changeling. And even if I -had liked her, my circumstances would not admit of our visiting upon -equal terms, and it was not likely that I would endure to be patronized -by any one. In the second place, the same most amiable lady had written -letters of beautiful condolence, and taken a tender interest in our -change of fortune, so long as there was any novelty in it; but soon -flagged off, and had not even replied to my announcement of dearest -mother's death. Finally, I hated her without any compromise, from what -I had seen of her, and what she had done to me at Vaughan Park. - -So my good Ann set off all alone, for she hoped to obtain some -recommendation there, and I was left to receive Mrs. Shelfer's morning -visit. - -Her queer episodical conversation, and strange biographies of every -table, chair, and cushion--her "sticks," as she delighted to call -them--I shall not try to repeat, for my history is not a comic one; -neither will she appear, unless the connexion requires it. One vein of -sympathy between us was opened at once, by her coming into the room with -a lame blackbird on her finger; and I was quite surprised at the number -of her pets. As for the "splendid apartments," they were two little -rooms on the first floor, adjoining one another, and forming, together -with the landing outside and a coal-closet, the entirety of that storey. -The rooms above were occupied by a young dress-maker. Mr. and Mrs. -Shelfer, who had no children kept the ground-floor (consisting of a -parlour and kitchen) and the two attics, one of which was always full of -onions and carrot seed. Upon the whole, though the "sticks" were very -old, and not over clean, until I scoured them, and the drawing-room (as -my landlady loved to call it) was low and small, and looked through the -rails of a narrow balcony upon a cheese-monger's shop across the road -(instead of a wooded dingle), I was very well satisfied with them; and -above all the rent was within my means. - -In the afternoon, when things were growing tidy, a carriage drove up -rapidly, and a violent ringing of the bell ensued. It was Lady -Cranberry, who, under the pretext of bringing Ann Maples home, was come -to gratify her own sweet curiosity. She ran upstairs in her most -charming manner, caught me by both hands, and would have kissed me -desperately, if I had shown any tendency that way. Then she stopped to -admire me. - -"Oh, you lovely creature! How you are grown to be sure! I should never -have known you. How delicious all this is!" - -Of course I was pleased with her admiration; but only for a moment, -because I disliked her. - -"I am glad you find it delicious," I replied quite coldly; "perhaps I -shall by-and-by." - -"What would I give to be entering life under such sweetly romantic -circumstances? Dear me! I must introduce you. What a sensation you -will cause! With such a face and figure and such a delightful story, we -shall all rave about you. And how well you are dressed from that -outlandish place! What a piece of luck! It's the greatest marvel on -earth that you found me in London now." - -"Excuse me," I said, "I neither found, nor meant to find you." - -"Oh, of course you are cross with me. I forgot about that. But who -made your dress, in the name of all woodland graces?" - -"I always make my own dresses." - -"Then you shall make mine. Say no more about it. You shall live with -me, and make my dresses by day; and by night you shall go with me -everywhere, and I won't be jealous. I will introduce you everywhere. -'This is my ward, Miss Vaughan, whose father--ah, I see, you know that -romantic occurrence in Gloucestershire.' Do you think it will be a -your--and the Great Exhibition season--before you are mistress of a -property ten times the size of Vaughan Park? If you doubt it, look in -the glass. Ah me! You know nothing of the world, I forget, I am so -warm-hearted. But you may take my word for it. Will you cry a bargain?" - -She held out her hand, as she had seen the fast men do, whose society -she affected. I noticed it not, but led her on; my fury had long been -gathering. I almost choked when she spoke in that way of my father, -utterly as I despised her. But I made it a trial of self-control, which -might be demanded against more worthy objects. - -"Are you sure that I shall be useful? Sure that I shall earn my board?" - -"Oh, you Vaughans are always so conscientious. I want an eider-down -petticoat quilted at once for the winter, and I dare not trust it to -Biggs, I know she will pucker it so. That shall be the first little job -for my Clara." - -Her cup was full. She had used dearest mother's fond appellative, and, -as I thought, in mockery. I did not lower myself by any sarcastic -language. She would not have understood it. I merely opened the door, -and said calmly to my landlady, who was there, of course -"promiscuously;" "Mrs. Shelfer, show out the Countess of Cranberry." - -Poor godmother, she was so frightened that I was sorry for her. They -helped her into the carriage, and she had just strength to draw down the -blinds. - -Mrs. Shelfer had been in raptures at having so grand a vehicle and two -great footmen at her door. Lest the street should lose the effect, she -had run in and out a dozen times, and banged the door, and got into talk -with the coachman, and sent for beer to the Inn, though she had it in -the house. She now came again to my door, in what she called a -"terrible quandary." I could not attend to her, but locked myself in, -and wrestled with my passionate nature, at one time indulging, then -spurning and freezing it. Yet I could not master it, as I fancied I had -done. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - -Soon afterwards, Ann Maples went to the place which she had obtained in -Lady Cranberry's household; and I determined to begin my search. - -"Mrs. Shelfer, do you know London well?" - -My landlady was feeding her birds, and I had made up for her -disappointment about Lady Cranberry, by fitting the lame blackbird with -a wooden leg, cut from a skewer, and tipped with a button: it was pretty -to see how kindly and cleverly he took to it, and how proudly he -contemplated it, when he thought there was no one watching. His -mistress now stopped her work, and made ready for a long speech, with -the usual snap of her lips. - -"Know London, Miss Vaughan! I was born in Red Cross Street, and I've -never been further out of town than Chalk Farm fair, or Hampstead -Waterworks, and, please God, I never will. Bless me, what an awful -place the country is, awful! What with the trees, and the ditches, and -the sting-nettles, and the black wainscot with skewers on the top--" - -"Too bad of you, Mrs. Shelfer, to be frightened at palings--and your -husband a gardener, too! But tell me whereabouts is Grove Street?" - -"What Grove Street, my good friend?" - -"Grove Street, London, to be sure." - -"Why, dear me, Miss, I thought you knew everything; you can doctor Jack, -and the Bully, and tell me all about Sandy the squirrel's tail and the -hair coming off and when it's going to rain! Don't you know there's a -dozen Grove Streets in London, for all I know. Leastways I knows four." - -"And where are those four, Mrs. Shelfer?" - -"Now please, my good friend, give me just a minute to think. It is -dreadful work to be hurried, ever since I fell downstairs, when I were -six year old. Let me see now. Charley knows. Can't you wait, Miss, -till Charley comes home, and he's coming quite early this evening, and -two friends of his to supper." - -"No, Mrs. Shelfer, I cannot wait. If you can't tell me, I must go and -get a book." - -"Oh them books is no good. Why they ain't got Charley in, and he with -the lease one time of the garden in Hollyhock Square, and a dahlia named -after him at the Royal Heretical Society! And they did say the Queen -would have handed him the spade she liked his looks so much, only his -nails wasn't clean. Very likely you heard, Miss--And how he was cheated -out of it." - -"Do you expect me to wait all day?" - -"No no, my good friend, to be sure not. You never will wait a minute, -partikler when I spill the coals, and when I wants to baste the meat. -And how can the gravy run, and a pinch of salt in the dripping-pan--" - -"Yesterday, Mrs. Shelfer, you basted my pound and a half of mutton with -three pounds of coals. Now don't go off into a treatise. Answer me, -where is Grove Street?" - -"Bless my heart, Miss Vaughan. You never gives one a chance. And we -thought a young lady from the country as had been brought up with tags, -and lace, and bobbin, and pigs, and hay--" - -"Could be cheated anyhow. No, I don't mean that: I beg your pardon, -dear Patty. I often speak very hastily. What I mean is that you -thought I should know nothing at all. And I don't know much, but one -thing I do know, that you would never cheat me much." - -To my surprise she was not at all sensitive on this subject. In fact -she had dealt with so many lodgers, that she expected to be suspected. -But I believe she never cheated me more than she could help. She -answered me quite calmly, after some meditation: - -"To be sure, Miss, to be sure, I only does my dooty. A little dripping -may be, or a drop of milk for old Tom, and a piece of soap you left in -the water, Miss, I kept it for Charley to shave with." - -"Now, Mrs. Shelfer, no more of that. Come back to Grove Street; surely, -I have given you time enough now." - -"Well, Miss, there is one I know close by here. You keep down the Willa -Road, and by the fishmonger's shop, and then you turn on the right over -against the licensed pursuant to Act of George the Fourth. I knows -George the Fourth acted badly, but I never thought it was that way. Sam -the Sweep lives with him, and the young man with a hook for his hand -that lets out the 'Times' for a penny, and keeps all his brothers and -sisters." - -"And where are the other three that you know?" - -"There's one in Hackney, and one in Bethnal Green, and there's one in -Mile-end Road. Bless me, to be sure! I've been there with dear Miss -Minto after a cat she lost, a tabby with a silver collar on, and a notch -in his left ear. It would make you cry, Miss--" - -"Thank you, Mrs. Shelfer; that will do for the present. I'll go up to -the 'drawing-room' now." - -In a few minutes I went forth with my dark plaid shawl around me, which -had saved my mother's life, and was thenceforth sacred. It was the -first time I walked all alone in London, and though we lived quite in -the suburbs it seemed very odd to me. For a while I felt rather -nervous, but no one molested me then or at any other time; although I -have heard some plain young ladies declare that they could not walk in -London without attracting unpleasant attention. Perhaps because they -knew not the way either to walk or to dress. - -Without any trouble, I found No. 19, Grove Street, then rang the bell -and looked round me. It was a clean unpretentious street, not to be -known by its architecture from a thousand others in London. The bell -was answered by a neat little girl, and I asked for the Master of the -house. Clever tactics truly for commencing a task like mine. - -Being told that the Master was from home, I begged to see the Mistress. -The little maid hesitated awhile, with the chain of the door in her -hand, and then invited me into the parlour, a small room, but neat and -pretty. - -"Please, Miss, what name shall I say?" - -"Miss Vaughan, if you please." Then I said to myself, "What good am I? -Is this my detective adroitness?" - -Presently a nice old lady, with snow-white hair, came in. - -"Miss Vaughan," she asked with a pleasant smile, "do you wish to see -me?" - -"Yes, if you please. Just to ask a few questions as to the inmates of -this house." - -Despite her kindness and good breeding, the lady stared a little. - -"May I inquire your motives? Do you know me at all? I have not the -pleasure of knowing you." - -"My motives I must not tell you. But, as a lady, I assure you, that -curiosity is not one. Neither are they improper." - -She looked at me in great surprise, examined me closely, and then -replied: - -"Young lady, I believe what you say. It is impossible not to do so. -But my answering you must depend on the nature of your inquiries. You -have done, excuse my saying it, you have done a very odd thing." - -"I will not ask many questions. How many people live here?" - -"I will answer you curtly as you ask, unless you ask what I do not -choose to answer. Four people live here, namely, my husband, myself, -our only daughter--but for whom I might have been ruder to you--and the -child who let you in. Also a woman comes every day to work." - -"Are there no more? Forgive my impertinence. No strangers to the -family?" - -"No lodgers whatever. My son is employed in the City, and sleeps there. -My only daughter is in very weak health, and though we do not want all -the house, we are not obliged to take lodgers. A thing I never would -do, because they always expect to be cheated." - -"And is your husband an Englishman?" - -"Yes, and an English writer, not altogether unknown." - -She mentioned a name of good repute in the world of letters, as even I -was aware. - -"You have quite satisfied me. I thank you most heartily. Very few -would have been so polite and kind. I fear you must think me a very -singular being. But I have powerful motive, and am quite a stranger in -London." - -"My dear, I knew that at once. No Londoner would have learned from me -the family history I have told you. I should have shown them out at the -very first question. Thank you, oh thank you, my child. But I am sure -you have hurt yourself. Oh, the shell has run into your forehead." - -As she looked so intently at me, on her way to the door of the room, her -foot had been caught by the claw of the what-not, and I barely saved her -from falling. - -"No, Mrs. Elton, I am not hurt at all. How stupid of me, to be sure. -And all my fault that you fell. I hope the shell is not broken. Ah, I -bring very bad luck to all who treat me kindly." - -"The shell is not worth sixpence. The fault was all my own. If you had -not been wonderfully quick, I must have fallen heavily. Pray sit down, -and recover yourself, Miss Vaughan. Look, you have dropped a letter. -Dear me, I know that writing! Excuse me; it is I that am now -impertinent." - -"If you know that writing, pray tell me how and where." - -The letter she had seen was the anonymous one which brought me from -Devonshire to London. I had put it into my pocket, thinking that it -might be wanted. It fell out as I leaped forward, and it lay on the -floor wide open. - -"May I look at the writing more closely? Perhaps I am deceived." - -For a while I hesitated. But it seemed so great a point to know who the -writer was, that I hushed my hesitation. However, I showed the letter -so that she could not gather its import. - -"Yes," said Mrs. Elton, "I am quite certain now. That is the writing of -a Polish lady, whom at one time I knew well. My husband has written a -work upon Poland, which brought him into contact with some of the -refugees. Among them was a gentleman of some scientific attainments, -who had a pretty lively warm-hearted wife, very fond of dancing, and -very fond of dogs. She and I have had many a laugh at one another and -ourselves; for, though my hair is grey, I am fond of lively people." - -"And where is that lady now?" - -"My child, I cannot tell you. Her name I will tell you, if you like, -when I have consulted my husband. But it will help you very little -towards finding her; for they change their names almost every time they -move. Even in London they forget that they are not heard every time they -sneeze. The furtive habits born of oppression cling about them still." - -"And where did they live at the time you knew them?" - -Wrung by suspense and anxiety, I had forgotten good manners. But Mrs. -Elton had good feeling which knows when to dispense with them. -Nevertheless I blushed with shame at my own effrontery. - -"Not very far from here, in a part that is called 'Agar Town.' But they -have now left London, and England too, I believe. I must tell you no -more, because they had reasons for wishing to be unknown." - -"Only tell me one thing. Were they cruel or violent people?" - -"The very opposite. Most humane and warm-hearted They would injure no -one, and hated all kinds of cruelty. How pale you are, my child! You -must have a glass of wine. It is useless to say no." - -As this clue, which seemed so promising, led to nothing at all, I may as -well wind it up at once, and not tangle my story with it. Mr. Elton -permitted his wife to tell me all she knew about the Polish exiles, for -they were gone to America, and nothing done here could harm them. But -at the same time he made me promise not to mention to the police, if my -case should ever come before them, the particulars which he gave me; and -I am sure he would not wish me to make free with the gentleman's name. -A gentleman he was, as both my kind friends assured me, and not likely -to conceal any atrocious secret, unless he had learned it in a way which -laid it upon his honour. Mr. Elton had never been intimate with him, -and knew not who his friends were, but Mrs. Elton had liked the lady who -was very kind and passionate. Also she was very apt to make mistakes in -English names, and to become confused at moments of excitement. -Therefore Mrs. Elton thought that she had confounded the Eltons' address -with that of some other person; for it seemed a most unlikely thing that -she should know the residents at two Nos. 19 Grove Street. However so -it proved--but of that in its place. It was now six months since they -had quitted London, perhaps on account of the climate, for the gentleman -had been ill some time, and quite confined to the house. It would be -altogether vain to think of tracing them in America. While living in -London they owned a most magnificent dog, a truly noble fellow but -afflicted with a tumour. This dog suddenly disappeared, and they would -not tell what had become of him, but the lady cried most violently one -day when he was spoken of. Directly after this they left the country, -with a very brief farewell. - -All this I learned from Mr. and Mrs. Elton during my second visit, for -Mrs. Elton was too good a wife to dispense with her husband's judgment. -Also I saw their daughter, a pleasing delicate girl; they learned of -course some parts of my story, and were most kind and affectionate to -me; and I am proud to have preserved their friendship to the present -time. But as they take no prominent share in the drama of my life, -henceforth they will not be presented upon its stage. - -As I returned up the Villa Road, thinking of all I had heard, and -feeling down at heart, something cold was gently placed in my ungloved -hand. Turning in surprise and fright I saw an enormous dog, wagging his -tail, and looking at me with magnificent brown eyes. Those great brown -eyes were begging clearly for the honour of my acquaintance, and that -huge muzzle was deposited as a gage of love. As I stooped to ascertain -his sentiments, he gravely raised one mighty paw and offered it to me -delicately, with a little sigh of self-approval. Upon my accepting it -frankly and begging to congratulate him upon his noble appearance and -evident moral excellence, he put out his tongue, a brilliant red one, -and gave me a serious kiss. Then he shrugged his shoulders and looked -with patient contempt at a nicely-dressed young lady, who was exerting -her lungs at a silver whistle some fifty yards down the road. "Go, good -dog," I said with a smile, "run, that's a good dog, your Mistress wants -you immediately." "Let her wait," he said with his eyes, "I am not in a -hurry this morning, and she doesn't know what to do with her time. -However, if you think it would be rude of me--" And with that he -resumed a long bone, laid aside while he chatted to me, tucked it -lengthwise in his mouth, like a tobacco-pipe, and after shaking hands -again, and saying "Now don't forget me," the great dog trotted away -sedately, flourishing his tail on high, like a plume of Pampas grass. -At the corner of the railings he overtook his young Mistress, whose -features I could not descry; though from her air and walk I knew that -she must be a pretty girl. A good-tempered one too she seemed to be, -for she only shook her little whip lightly at the dog, who made an -excursion across the road and sniffed at a heap of dust. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - -Although Ann Maples was not so very talkative, it would be romantic to -suppose that Mrs. Shelfer had failed to learn my entire history, so far -at least as her cousin knew it. - -Having now disposed of one Grove Street, I was about to try the same -rude tactics with another, viz. that in Hackney; when my landlady gave a -little nervous knock, and hurried into the room. "Oh, Miss Vaughan, is -it about them willains you are wandering about and taking on so, and -frightening all of us nearly to death?" - -"Mrs. Shelfer, I shall feel obliged by your leaving me to manage my own -affairs." - -"Bless you, Miss, so I will. I wouldn't have them on my mind for the -Bank of England, and Guildhall, paved with Lombard Street, and so I told -Charley last night. Right, my good friend, quite right, you may depend -upon it." Here she tapped her forehead, and looked mysterious. - -"That being so, Mrs. Shelfer, I need say nothing more;" and with that I -was going away. - -"No, no, to be sure not. Only listen to me, Miss, one minute; and I -knows more about willains, a deal more than you do of course, Miss. -Why, ever since that rogue who come to Miss Minto's with brandyballs and -rabbitskins on a stick." - -"Once more, Mrs. Shelfer, I have no time to spare for gossip--" - -"Gossip! No, no, Miss Vaughan; if you ever heard any one say Patty -Shelfer was a 'gossip,' I'll thank you for their name. Gossip! A mercy -on me with all I has to do, and the days drawing in so, and how they -does charge for the gas, and the directors holds a meeting first Tuesday -in every month, and fills up the pipes with spittle, that's the reason -it sputters so, Charley told me." - -"Good bye, Mrs. Shelfer." - -"No, no. One minute, Miss Vaughan; you are always in such a hurry. -What Charley and me was talking about last night was this. My Uncle -John, a very high class man, first-rate, first-rate, Miss Vaughan, has -been for ever so long in the detective police. There's nothing he don't -know of what goes on in London, from the rats as comes up the drain -pipes to the Queen getting up on her throne. A wonderful man he is. I -said t'other day--" - -"Is he like you, Mrs. Shelfer?" - -"Like me, my good friend! No, no. And I wouldn't be like him for -something. With all them state secrets upon him. Why he daren't sneeze -out of his hat. But if you'll only put off going again till to-morrow, -he'll be here this very night about the plate they stole in the Square. -And I'm sure you can't do better than hear what he thinks about you. -He'll be sure to know all that was done at the time. Bless you, he has -got to make all the returns; what that is, I don't know. It's a kind of -tobacco Charley says, that they smokes in the Queen's pipe. But I think -it's the convicts as returns from Botany Bay." - -"Well, Mrs. Shelfer, I'll think of what you say, and I am much obliged -to you for the suggestion; but I can't bear the idea of coming before -the Police again, with a matter in which they failed so signally." - -"But you know, my good friend, it need not be put on the books at all. -He'll tell us what he thinks of it, private like, and for the love of -the thing." - -"If I see him at all, I must beg to see him alone." - -"To be sure, my good friend. Quite right, Miss Vaughan, quite right. -I'm sure I would rather have the plumber's ladle put to my ear, than one -of them horrible secrets." - -"Mrs. Shelfer, have I told you any? Now remember, if you ever again -allude to this subject before me, I leave your house that day. You -ought to know better, Mrs. Shelfer." - -"You are quite right, Miss Vaughan; I ask your pardon, you are quite -right. The very words as Charley said to me the other night. 'You -ought to have knowed better, Patty, that you did.'" - -Away she went, smoothing her apron, patting the fray of her hair--for -she never wore side-combs--and mumbling down the stairs. "Quite right, -my good friend, quite right, I ought to have knowed better, poor thing." - -She brought up my dinner and tea, without a single word, but with many -sly glances at me from her quick grey eyes. Once or twice she was at -the point of speaking, and the dry smile she always spoke with fluttered -upon her face; but she closed her lips firmly and even bit them to keep -herself in. I could scarcely help laughing, for I liked the odd little -thing; but she was so free with her tongue, that the lesson was sadly -wanted. - -Late in the evening, she came to say that Inspector Cutting was there, -and would come up if I wished it. Upon my request he came, and one look -was enough to show that his niece had not misdescribed him. An elderly -man, but active looking and wiry, with nothing remarkable in his -features, except the clear cast of his forehead and the firm set of his -mouth. But the quick intelligence that shot from his eyes made it seem -waste of time to finish telling him anything. For this reason, polite -though he was, it became unpleasant to talk to him. It was something -like shooting at divers--as my father used to describe it--for whom the -flash of the gun is enough. - -Yet he never once stopped or hurried me, until my tale was done, and all -my thoughts laid bare. Then he asked to see all my relics and vestiges -of the deed; even my gordit did not escape him. - -"L.D.O." he said shortly, "do you speak Italian?' - -"I can read it, but not speak it." - -"Is it commoner for Italian surnames to begin with an O, or with a C?" - -"There are plenty beginning with both; but more I should think with a -C." - -When all my particulars had been told, and all my evidence shown, I -asked with breathless interest--for my confidence in him grew fast--what -his opinion was. - -"Allow me, young lady, to put a few questions to you, on matters you -have not mentioned. Forgive me, if they pain you. I believe you feel -that they will not be impertinent." - -I promised to answer without reserve. - -"What was your mother's personal appearance?" - -"Most winning and delicate." - -"How old was she at the time of her marriage?" - -"Twenty-one, I believe." - -"How old was your father then?" - -"Twenty-five." - -"How many years were they married?" - -"Sixteen, exactly." - -"When did your guardian first leave England?" - -"In the course of a year or two after the marriage." - -"Had there been any misunderstanding between him and your father?" - -"None, that I ever heard of." - -"Did your father, at any time, travel on the continent?" - -"Only in Switzerland, and part of Italy, during his wedding tour." - -"Your guardian returned, I believe, at intervals to England?" I had -never told him this. - -"Yes. At least I suppose so, or he would not have been in London." - -"Did he visit then at Vaughan Park?" - -"Not once within my memory." - -"Thank you. I will ask no more. It is a strange story; but I have -known several much more strange. Of one thing be assured. I shall catch -the criminal. I need not tell you that I heard much of this case at the -time." - -"Were you sent down to Gloucestershire?" - -"No. If I had been--well, I will not say. But I was not then in my -present position. Had I been so, it would have become my special -department." - -"Pray keep me no more in suspense. Tell me what you think." - -"That I must not do, or you should know it at once, for my opinion is -formed. It would be a breach of duty for me to tell you now." - -"Oh," I cried in my disappointment, "I wish I had never seen you." - -"Young lady, you have done your duty in placing the matter before me, -and some day you will rejoice that you did so. One piece of advice I -will give you: change your name immediately, before even the tradesmen -about here know it." - -"Change my name, Inspector Cutting! Do you think I am ashamed of my -name?" - -"Certainly not. You have shown great intelligence when a mere child; -exert but a little now, and you will see the good sense, or rather the -necessity, of my recommendation. When you have gained your object, you -may resume your name with pride. You have given your information, Miss -Vaughan, as clearly as ever I knew a female give it." - -If I detest anything, in the way of small things, it is to be called a -"female." So I said coldly; "Inspector Cutting, I thank you for the -compliment. It would be strange indeed if I could not tell with -precision, what I have thought of all my life." - -"Excuse me, Miss, it would not be strange at all, in a female. And now -I will wish you 'good night.' You shall hear from me when needful. -Meanwhile, I will take charge of these articles." - -He began, in the coolest manner, to pack up my sacred relics, dagger, -casts, and all. - -"Indeed you won't," I cried, "you shall not have one of them. What are -you thinking of?" - -He went on with his packing. I saw he was resolute; so was I. I sprang -to the door, locked it, and put the key in my pocket. He said nothing, -but smiled. - -"Now," I exclaimed in triumph, "you cannot take those away, unless you -dare to outrage a young lady." - -I was wholly mistaken. He passed by, without touching me, drew some -instrument from his waistcoat pocket, and the door stood open before -him. All my treasures were in his left hand. I flew at, and snatched -them, and then let go with a scream. A gush of blood poured from my -hand. He had taken the dagger folded in paper only, and I was cut to -the bone. I sank on a chair and fainted. - -When I came to myself, Mrs. Shelfer was kneeling before me, with her -feet in a basin of water, while two other basins, and numberless towels, -were round. Mrs. Shelfer was rubbing my other hand, and crying and -talking desperately about her bad luck that day, and a man with eyes -crossed whom she had met in the morning. In the background stood Mr. -Shelfer himself, whom I had hitherto failed to see, though I believe he -had seen me often. He had a pipe in his mouth about a yard long, and -seemed wholly undisturbed. "All right, old 'ooman," he said -deliberately through his nose, as he saw that I perceived him, "she'll -do now, if you don't make too much rumpus." And with that he -disappeared, and I had time to pity myself. The hand the poor farmer -used so to admire, and which I was proud of no doubt, in my way, lay in -a dishcloth covered and oozing with blood. But my relics were on the -table, all safe. A quick step was heard on the stairs, and Inspector -Cutting came in, carrying a small phial. - -"Out of the way, Patty," he cried, "you are doing more harm than good." - -He took up a basin of cold water, and poured half the contents of the -little phial into it. - -"Now hold her arm up, Patty, as high as you can. I never knew arnica -fail." - -My hand was put into the water, and the bleeding was stanched in a -minute or two. However he kept it there for a quarter of an hour, till -it was quite benumbed. - -"Now you may look at your hand, Miss Vaughan; it will not be disfigured -at all. There will be no inflammation. Patty, fetch me some cambric -and the best lard; put the young lady to bed at once, and prop her arm -up a little." - -I looked at my hand, and found three parallel gashes across it, for -every edge of the weapon was keen. But only one wound was deep, viz. -that across the palm, which was very deep under the thumb. I have the -mark of it still. All the wounds were edged with a narrow yellow line. - -"Inspector Cutting," I cried, "no power will move me from here, until -you promise not to steal my property. Stealing it is, and nothing else. -You have no warrant, and my information to you was wholly unofficial." - -The last word seemed to move him. They all like big words, however -clear-headed they are. - -"Miss Vaughan, under these special circumstances, I will promise what -you require; upon condition that you give me accurate drawings, for I -see that you can make them." - -"Certainly, when my hand is well enough." - -"Believe me, I am deeply concerned at what has occurred. But the fault -was all your own. How dare you obstruct the Police? But I wish some of -my fellows had only half your spirit. A little more experience, and -nothing will escape you. Come, Miss Vaughan, though you are a lady, or -rather because you are one, give me your left hand, in token that you -forgive me." - -I did so with all my heart. I liked him much better since I had -defeated him; and I saw that it was well worth the pain, for he would do -his utmost to make amends. He wished me good night with a most -respectful bow. "I will come and inquire how you are to-morrow, Miss -Vaughan. Patty, quiet, and coolness, and change the lard frequently. -No doctor, if you please; and above all hold your queer little tongue." - -"Never fear me, Uncle John; you are right, my good friend, it is a -little tongue, but no queerer than my neighbours." - -Inspector Cutting would have formed a far lower opinion of my spirit, if -he had seen how I cried that night; not from the pain of the wounds, I -am sure, but to think of the fuss dear mother would have made about -them. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - -In spite of the arnica, my cuts were not healed for a month; not enough, -I mean, for me to handle a pencil. Mr. Cutting, when he came, according -to promise, told me something to quiet me, because I was so feverish. -Whether he believed it, or only acted medically, was more than I could -decide. The opinion he gave me, or the substance of it, was this. - -That the deed was done, not for money, or worldly advantage in any way, -but for revenge. Here I thought of Mrs. Daldy. What wrong the revenge -was wreaked for, he could not even guess, or at any rate would not hint -to me. - -That the straightest clue to the mystery was to be sought in Italy, -where my guardian's track should be followed carefully. The idea of -forcing, or worming, the truth from him was rejected at once through my -description of his character; although the Inspector quite agreed with -me, that, even if guiltless of the crime, Mr. Edgar Vaughan knew all -about it now. - -That no importance should be attached to the anonymous letter from -London; in accordance with my promise to Mrs. Elton, I did not mention -the Polish lady's name; and Mr. Cutting did not press me to do so, for -he firmly believed from what I said that she had made a mistake in the -address she gave, and would not help us now, even if we could find her. -That nevertheless a strict watch should be kept in London, whither flock -nine-tenths of the foreigners who ever set foot in this country. London -moreover was likely, ere long, to draw nearly all the migratory -strangers to the business or pleasure of next year's "Great Exhibition," -provided only that it should prove successful, as the Inspector thought -it would. - -As for my enemy being attracted by works of industry, it seemed to me -quite against nature that a base assassin should care for art or -science, or any national progress. But the remembrance of several cases, -among the dark annals I used to delight in, soon proved to me my error; -while the long experience of a man, versed from his youth in criminal -ways, convicted me of presumption. - -To put myself more on a level with fraud, and stealth, and mystery, I -did a thing for which I felt guilty to myself and my mother. I changed -my name. But, in spite of Inspector Cutting, I did not travel out of -the family. My father's second name was "Valentine," taken from his -mother. This name I assumed in a shorter form, becoming "Clara -Valence;" it saved change of initials and a world of trouble, and I felt -warmer in it, because it seemed to have been my father's. In the -neighbourhood I knew no one except Mrs. Elton, to whom (as I grew -intimate with her) I partly explained my reasons. As for Mrs. Shelfer, -she was delighted at the change. She said that her Uncle John had -christened me, that it sounded much prettier, and would always remind -her of Valentines. Nevertheless I longed for the day when I might call -myself "Clara Vaughan" once more. - -By the time I was able to go about freely again and use my hand as of -old, it was the middle of November. The first use I made of my pencil -was to copy most carefully all that Inspector Cutting required. He -promised to keep these drawings, and indeed the whole matter, most -jealously to himself; by which term he meant, as I afterwards found, -Inspector Cutting and those to whom he was bound to report. - -What I now wanted was money, to send an adroit inquirer throughout the -North of Italy, and other parts where my guardian's shifting abode had -been. I knew that he dwelt awhile at Pisa, Genoa, and Milan, also at an -obscure little village named "Calva," which I could not find in the -maps. All I had learned of his rovings was from the lessons my father -would give me sometimes, when he used to say, "Now, Tooty, put your -finger on Uncle Edgar." To every one, but myself, it seemed a strange -thing that after so many wanderings, Mr. Edgar Vaughan had brought no -valet, major domo, or courier, no dependant or retainer of any kind, and -not even a foreign friend to England, or at any rate to Vaughan Park. - -But now for the needful resources--the only chance of procuring them lay -in my young and partly self-tutored art. I braced myself with the -remembrance, that while none of my family ever laid claim to genius, the -limner's faculty had never been wanting among them. Inferior gifts are -often as heirlooms in the blood, though high original power follows no -vein except its own. The latter none of us ever possessed; but taste -and the knack of adaptation had seldom been alienated. Observation too, -in a small way, and the love of nature seemed inborn in us all. My -father's drawings were perfect, but for the one thing wanted; and in -sketches from outdoor nature that want was less perceived. My -grandfather had been known among the few amateurs of the day as a -skilful colourist. As to habits of observation, a little tale handed -down in our family will show that they had existed in one of its members -seven generations ago. - -In the autumn of 1651, when King Charles was stealing along from Colonel -Wyndham's house to the coast of Hampshire and Sussex, the little band -was overtaken by nightfall, somewhere near the New Forest. It was -shortly after the narrow escape of the King from that observant -blacksmith, who saw that his horse was shod with North-country iron. -Though he was taking it easily, his three trusty friends knew well that -a Roundhead Squadron was near, and that his last chance depended on -speed and night travel. What could they do now in the tempestuous -darkness? They were in a tract thinly inhabited, half woodland, half -heather, and the road was hopelessly lost. No rain fell as yet it was -true, and the wind was waiting for rain, but the lightning came fitfully -from the horizon all round. The King alone was on horseback, his three -companions afoot. They stood still in doubt and terror, for they could -not tell north from south. Suddenly Major Cecil Vaughan espied a faint -gleam familiar to him of old in the waste land round Vaughan Park. To -an accurate eye there could be little doubt as to the source of the -lambent light--flame it could not be called. It played in a pale yet -constant stream on a certain kind of moss, known to botanists, not to -me, for the waste lands have been reclaimed. This light is to be seen -at no time, except when the air is surcharged with electricity. - -"Follow me all; I know the way!" cried Major Vaughan, right cheerily. - -"And if you do, man," said the King, "your eyes are made of dashers." - -[What this meant, I used as a child to wonder; but now I know.] - -For six dark miles the Major led them without default, until they came -to a lonely heathman's house, where they slept in safety. He never told -them how he did it; being apt, I suppose, as men of the second order -are, to hug superior knowledge. But it was a most simple thing. That -strangely sensitive moss follows the course of the sun, and therefore -the lambent light can only be seen from the west. So all the time he -could see it--the others never saw it at all--he knew that they were -wending from west to east, which was their proper course. - -To return to myself. I put the finishing touch to a view of rock and -woodland scenery, north-west of Tossil's Barton, and set off to try my -fortune with it. Some young ladies, born to my position, would have -thought this errand one of much degradation, but it did not appear so to -me. So I walked briskly--for I hate an omnibus, and could ill afford a -cab--to the shop of a well-known dealer in pictures, not far from the -Haymarket. It was my first venture into the heart of London, but I -found the way very easily, having jotted it down from a map. The day -was dark and drizzly; the pavement grimy and slimy, and hillocked with -mud at the joints of the flags. It was like walking on a peeled -kneading-trough with dollops of paste left in it. Along the far reach of -the streets, and the gardens in the squares, wisps of fog were crawling, -and almost every one was coughing. - -The dealer received me politely. Too politely in fact: for it seemed to -savour of kindness, which I did not want from him. What I wanted was -business, and nothing else. He took my poor drawing, done only in -water-colours, and set it up in a square place made perhaps for the -purpose, where the brown flaw fell upon it from a skylight formed like a -Devonshire chimney. Then he drew back and clasped his hands, then -shaded his eyes with them, as if the light were too strong, whereas the -whole place was like a well turned upside down. He seemed uneasy -because I did not care to follow him throughout all this little -performance. - -"And now," I said, for my foolish pride was up, and I spoke as I would -have done to the porter at our lodge, not with the least contempt--I was -never so low as that--but with a long perspective, "Now, Mr. Oxgall, it -will soon be dark. What will you give me for it?" - -"Allow me, Miss; allow me one moment. The light is a leetle too strong. -Ah, the mark of the brush comes out. Strong touch, but indiscreet. A -year of study required. Shade too broad and massive. A want of tone in -the background. Great feeling of nature, but inexperienced rendering. -More mellowness desiderated. Full however of promise. All the faults -on the right side. Most energetic handling; no weak stippling here. -But water-colours are down just now; a deal depends on the weather and -time of year." - -"How so, Mr. Oxgall?" - -"Hot sun, and off they go. Fog and murk and frost, and the cry is all -for oil. Excuse me, Miss--a thousand pardons, your name escaped me, you -did not pronounce it strongly." - -"Miss Valence!" I said, with an emphasis that startled him out of his -mincing. - -"Miss Valence, you think me very long. All young ladies do. But my -object is to do them justice, and if they show any power, to encourage -them." - -"Thank you, I want no encouragement. I know I can draw a little; and -there it is. The fog is thickening. I have far to go. Your price, if -you please?" - -I went up many steps in his opinion, by reason of my curtness and -independence. - -"Miss Valence, I will give you three guineas, although no doubt I shall -be a loser." - -"Then don't give it," said I in pure simplicity. - -I went up several steps more. How utterly men of the world are puzzled -by plain truth! - -"Miss Valence, if you will forgive the observation, I would beg to -remark that your conversation as well as your painting is crisp. I will -take this little piece at all hazards, because it is full of character. -Will you forgive me for one word of advice?" - -"There is nothing to forgive. I shall thank you heartily for it." - -"It is simply this:--The worst part of your work is the perspective. -And figure-drawing will be of service to you. Study at a school of -design, if you have one near you; and be not above drawing stiff and -unsightly objects. Houses are the true guides to perspective. I cannot -paint or even draw; but I am so much with great artists, that I know -well how to advise." - -"Thank you. Can you kindly suggest anything more?" - -"Yes. Your touch is here and there too harsh. Keep your hand light -though bold, and your brush just a leetle wetter. But you have the -grand things quite unattainable, when not in the grain. I mean, of -course, freedom of handling and an artist's eye." - -"Do you think I could do any good in oils?" - -"I have no doubt you could, but not for a long time. If fame is your -object, take to oils. If speedy returns, stick to water-colours. Leave -me your address, if you have no objection; and bring me your next work. -If I do well with this, I will try to give you more." - -He took from a desk three new sovereigns and three new shillings, -wrapped them neatly in silver paper, and handed them to me. I never -imagined I could be so proud of money. - -Light of heart I left the shop, not that I had made my fortune yet, but -what was greater happiness, I thought myself likely to make it. - -Soon I perceived, with some alarm, how thick and murky the air had -grown. The fog was stooping heavily down, and was now become like a -wash of gamboge and lamp-black. All the street-lamps were lit, though -they could not see one another, and every shop-keeper had his little -jet. The pavement was no longer slippery, but sticky and dry; and a -cold, that pierced to the bones, was stealing along. Already it had -begun to freeze; and I, so familiar both with white and black frost, -observed with no small interest the grey or fog-frost, which was new to -me. How different from the pure whiteness when the stars are sparkling, -and the earth is gleaming, and the spirit of man so buoyant! This grey -fog-frost is rather depressing to most natures, and a chilly damp creeps -to the core of all things. Thick encrusting rime comes with it, and -sometimes a freezing rain. - -Before I reached the New Road, the fog had grown so dense and dark, that -I was much inclined to take a cab, for fear of losing my way. But I -could not see one, and finding myself at last in a main thoroughfare -called the Hampstead Road, I walked on briskly and bravely till I -reached Camden Town, when I knew what course to pursue. - -Slowly wending up College Street, for I was getting tired and the fog -thicker than ever, indeed every step seemed a thrust into an ochred -wall, I heard a plaintive, and rather musical, voice chanting, much as -follows:-- - -"Christian friends, and sisters in the Lord, all who own a heart that -feels for undeserved distress, aid, I implore you, a bereaved wife and -mother, who has this very moment seven small lovely children, starving -in a garret, three of them upon a bed of sickness, and the inhuman -landlord, for the sake of a few shillings about to turn them this bitter -night into the flinty streets. Christian friends, may you never know -what it is to be famished as I and my seven darlings are this very -night, in the midst of plenty. From Plymouth in Devonshire, I walked -two hundred and fifty miles afoot all the way to join my beloved husband -in London. When I came to this Christian city--Georgiana, pick up that -halfpenny--he had been ordered off in the transport ship Hippopotamus, -to shed his blood for his Queen and country; and I who have known the -smiles of plenty in my happy rustic home, I am compelled for the sake of -my children to the degradation of publicly soliciting alms. The -smallest trifle, even an old pair of shoes or a left off garment will be -received with the heartfelt gratitude of the widow and orphan. My -eldest child, ma'am, the oldest of seven, bad in the whooping cough. -Georgiana, curtsey to the pretty lady, and show her your broken -chilblains." - -"No thank you," I said: I could just see her through the fog. She -looked like one who had seen better days, and the thought of my own -vicissitudes opened my heart towards her. How could I show my gratitude -better for the money I had just earned, than by bestowing a share in -charity upon worthy objects? So I took out my purse, an elegant little -French one given me by dear mother, and placed my three new shillings in -the poor creature's hand, as she stood in the gutter. She was -overpowered with gratitude, and could not speak for a moment. Then she -came nearer, to bless me. - -"Sweet lady, in the name of seven famishing innocents, whom you have -saved from death this night, may He who guards the fatherless and the -widow from His mercy-seat above, may He shower his richest blessings--" - -Snap--she had got my purse and was out of sight in the fog. Georgiana's -red heels were the last thing I saw. For an instant I could not believe -it; but thought that the fog had affected my sight. Then I darted -across the road, almost under the feet of a horse, and down a place -called "Pratt Street." It was hopeless, utterly hopeless; and not only -my three pounds were gone, but half besides of all I had in the world. -I had taken that money with me, because I meant, if fortunate with my -landscape, to buy a large box of colours in Rathbone-place; but the fog -had deterred me. She had snatched my purse while I tried to clasp it, -for my glove had first got in the way. All was gone, dear mother's -gift, my first earnings, and all. More than all I felt sore at heart -from the baseness of the robbery. Nothing is so bitterly grievous to -youth as a blow to faith in one's species. - -I am not ashamed to confess that feeling all alone in the fog, I leaned -against some iron railings and cried away like a child. Child I was -still at heart, despite all my trials and spirit; and more so perhaps -than girls who have played out their childhood. In the full flow of my -passion, for I was actually sobbing aloud, ashamed of myself all the -while, I felt an arm steal round my waist, and starting in fear of -another thief, confronted the loveliest face that human eyes ever looked -on. With soft caresses, and sweetest smiles, it drew close to my own -stormy and bitter countenance. - -"Are you better now, dear? Oh don't cry so. You'll break your poor -little heart. Do tell me what it is, that's a dear. I'll do anything -to help you." - -"You can't help me:" I exclaimed through my sobs: "Nobody can help me! -I was born to ill luck, and shall have nothing else till I die." - -"Don't say so dear. You mustn't think of it. My father, who never is -wrong, says there's no such thing as luck." - -"I know that well enough. People always say that who have it on their -side." - -"Ah, I never thought of that. But I hope you are wrong. But tell me, -dear, what is the matter with you. I'm sure you have done no harm, and -dear papa says no one can be unhappy who has not injured any one." - -"Can't they though? Your papa is a moralist. Now I'll just tell you -facts." And to prove my point, I told her of this new trouble, hinted -at previous ones and my many great losses, of which money was the least. -Even without the controversial spirit, I must have told her all. There -was no denying anything to such a winning loving face. - -"Dear me!" she cried very thoughtfully, with her mites of hands out of -her muff--she had the prettiest set of fur I ever beheld, and how it -became her!--"Dear me! she couldn't have meant it, I feel quite sure she -couldn't. You'll come to my opinion when you have time to consider, -dear"--this was said so sagely that I could have kissed her all over -like a duck of a baby. "To steal from you who had just given her more -than you could afford! Now come with me, dear, you shall have all the -money I have got; though I don't think it's anything like the nine -pounds you have lost, and I'm sure it is not new money. Only I haven't -got it with me. I never carry money. Do you know why, dear?" - -"No. How should I?" - -"Well, I don't mind telling you. Because then I can't spend it, or give -it away. I don't care a bit about money. What good is it to me? Why, -I can never keep it, somehow or other. But papa says if I can show five -pounds on Christmas-day, he will put five more on the top of it, and -then do you know what I'll do? I'll give away five, and spend the rest -for Pappy and Conrad." And the lively little thing clapped her hands at -the prospect, quite forgetting that she had just offered me all her -store. Presently this occurred to her. - -"No. Now I come to think of it, I won't have the five pounds on -Christmas-day. As the girls at the College say, I'll just sell the old -Pappy. That will be better fun still. He will find a good reason for -it. He always does for everything. You shall have every bit of it. -Come home with me now, that's a dear. You are better now, you know. -Come, that's a love. I am sure I shall love you with all my heart, and -you are so terribly unlucky." - -I yielded at once. She was so loving and natural, I could not resist -her. She broke upon me like soft sunshine through the fog, laughing, -smiling, dancing, her face all light and warmth, yet not a shallow -light, but one that played up from the fount of tears. Her deep rich -violet eyes seldom used their dark lashes, except when she was asleep. -She was life itself, quick, playful, loving life, feeling for and with -all life around; pitying, trusting, admiring all things; yet true as the -hearth to household ties. I never found another such nature: it was the -perfection of maiden womanhood, even in its unreason. And therefore -nobody could resist her. With me, of ten times her strength of will, -and power of mind--small though it be--she could do in a moment exactly -as she liked; I mean of course in trivial matters. It was impossible to -be offended with her. - -When she had led me a few steps towards her home--for I went with her -(not, of course, to take her money, but to see her safe), she turned -round suddenly:-- - -"Oh I forgot, dear; I must not take you to our house. We have had new -orders. But where do you live? I will bring you my little bag -to-morrow. They won't let me out again to-night. Now I know you will -oblige me. I am so sorry that I mustn't see you safe home, dear." This -she said with the finest air of protection imaginable. - -I gave her my name and address, and asked for hers. - -"My name is Isola Ross, I am seventeen and a half, and my papa is -Professor at the College. I ran away from old Cora. It seemed such fun -to be all alone in the fog. What trouble I shall get into! But they -can't be angry with me long. Kiss me, darling. Mind, to-morrow!" - -Off she danced through the fog; and I went sadly home, yet thinking more -of her, than of my serious and vexatious loss. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - -Inspector Cutting, upon the first tidings of the robbery, came at once, -and assured me that he knew the "party" well, and wanted her for several -other plants, and crafty as she was ("leary" was the elegant word he -used) he was sure to be down upon her in the course of a very short -time. - -Isola Ross, to my great surprise, did not come the next day, nor even -the day after; so I set out to look for her, at the same time wondering -at myself for doing so. Knowing that College Street must take its name -from some academic building in or near it, I concluded of course that -there I should find Professor Ross and my lovely new friend. So without -consulting Mrs. Shelfer, who would have chattered for an hour, away I -went one tine frosty morning to ask about the College. - -I found that a low unsightly building, which I had often passed, near -the bottom of the street, was the only College there; so I entered a -small quadrangle, to make further inquiries. - -The first person I saw was a young man dressed like one of my father's -grooms, and cracking a long whip and whistling. He had a brilliant -scarlet neckcloth, green sporting coat, and black boots up to his knees. -I studied him for a moment because it struck me that he would look well -in a foreground, when toned down a little, as water colours would render -him. He appreciated my attention, and seemed proud of it. - -"Now, Polly, what can I do for you, dear?" - -He must have been three parts drunk, or he would never have dared to -address me so. Of course I made no answer, but walked on. He cracked -his whip like a pistol, to startle me. - -"Splendid filly," I heard him mutter, "but cussed high action." What he -meant I do not know or care. - -The next I met was a fussy little man, dressed all in brown, who smelt -of musty hay. - -"Will you kindly tell me," I asked, "where to find Professor Ross?' - -"Ross, Ross! Don't know the name. No Ross about here. What's he -Professor of?" - -"That I was not told. But it is something the young ladies study." - -"No young ladies about here. But I see you have brought your dear -mamma's lapdog. Take it out of the bag. Let me look at it." - -"Is not this the College?" - -"Yes to be sure. The best College in London. Quick, let me see the -dog." - -"I have no dog, sir. I have made some mistake." - -"Then you have got a pony. Pet over-fed. Shetland breed." - -"No indeed. Nothing except myself; and I am looking for Miss Ross." - -"Young lady, you have made a very great mistake. You have kept me five -minutes from a lecture on the navicular disease. And my practice is -controverted by an upstart youth from the country. I am in search of -authorities." And off he darted, I suppose to the library. - -It was clear that I had made some mistake, so I found my way back to the -street, and asked in the nearest shop what building it was that I had -just left. - -"Oh, them's the weterans," said the woman, "and a precious set they be!" - -"Why, they did not look like soldiers." - -"No, no, Miss. Weterans, where they takes in all the sick horses and -dogs. And very clever they are, I have heard say." - -"And where is the College where the young ladies are?" - -"I don't know of no other College nearer than High Street, where the -boys wear flat caps. But there's a girls' school down the road." - -"I don't want a school. I want a College where young ladies go." - -"Then I cant help you, Miss." And back I went to consult Mrs. Shelfer. - -"Bless my soul, Miss Valence," cried the little woman, out of breath -with amazement, "have you been among them niggers? It's a mercy they -didn't skin and stuff you. What do you think now they did to my old -Tom?" - -"How can I guess, Mrs. Shelfer?" - -"No, no, to be sure not. I forgot, my good friend. Why, they knowed him -well it seems, because he had been there in dear Miss Minto's time, for -a salmon bone that had got crossways in his oesop, so they said at -least, but they are the biggest liars--so only a year ago come next -Boxing-day, here comes to the door half a dozen of them, bus-cad and -coachman all in one, all looking as grave as judges. When I went to the -door they all pulled their hats off, as if I had been the Queen at the -very least. 'What can I do for you, my good friends?' says I; for -Shelfer was out of the way, and catch me letting them in for all their -politeness. No, no, thank you. 'Mrs. Shelfer,' says the biggest of -them, a lantern-jawed young fellow with covers over his pockets, 'Mrs. -Shelfer, you are possessed of a most remarkable cat. An animal, ma'am, -of unparalleled cemetery and organic dewelopment. Our Professor, ma'am, -is delivering a course of lectures on the Canonical Heapatightness of -the Hirumbillycuss." - -"Well done, Mrs. Shelfer! What a memory you must have!" - -"Pretty well, Miss, pretty well. Particular for long words, when I -likes the sound of them. 'Well sir,' I says, feeling rather taken -aback, 'thank God I haven't got it.' 'No, ma'am,' says he, 'your -blooming countenance entirely negatives any such dyingnoses. But the -Professor, in passing the other morning, observed some symptoms of it in -your magnificent cat, for whom he entertains the most sincere -attachment, and whom he will cure for our advancement and edification -upon the lecture table. And now, ma'am, Professor Sallenders desires -his most respectful compliments, and will you allow us to take that dear -good cat to be cured. The Professor was instrumental once in preserving -his honoured existence, therefore he feels assured that you will not now -refuse him.' Well you see, Miss, I didn't half like to let him go, but -I was afraid to offend the Professor, because of all my animals, for I -knew that he could put a blight upon them, birds and all, if he chose. -Old Tom was lying roasting his back again the fender, the same as you -see him now, poor soul; so I catched him up and put him in a double -covered basket, with a bit of flannel over him, because the weather was -cold; and he was so clever, would you believe it, he put up his old paws -to fight me, he knew he was going to mischief, and that turned me -rather. 'Now will you promise to bring him back safe?' I says. -'Ma'am,' says the lantern-jawed young man, bowing over his heart, and as -serious as a pulpit, 'Ma'am, in less than an hour. Rely upon the honour -of Weteran Arian Gent." - -"Well, Mrs. Shelfer, I am astonished. Even I should never have been so -silly. Poor old Tom among the Philistines!" - -"Well, Miss, I began to feel very uneasy directly they was gone. I -thought they looked back so queerly, and old Tom was mewing so dreadful -in the basket. Presently I began to hear a mewing out of the cupboard, -and a mewing out of the clock, and even out of the dripping-pan. So I -put on my bonnet as quick as I could, and ran right away to the College, -and somehow or other by the time I got there, I was in a fright all -over. As good luck would have it, the man was at the gate; a nice -respectable married man, and a friend of Charley's. 'Curbs,' I says, -'where is Professor Sallenders?' 'Down in the country,' says he, 'since -last Friday. He never stops here at Christmas, Mrs. Shelfer, he's a -deal too knowing for that.' My heart went pop, Miss, like an oyster -shell in the fire. I held on by the door, and I thought it was all up -with me. 'Don't take on so, Missus,' says Curbs, 'if any of your museum -is ill, there's half a dozen clever young coves in the operating room -over there, only they're busy just now, cutting up a big black cat. My -eyes, how he did squeal!' I screamed out and ran--Curbs thought I was -mad, and he was not far out--bang went the door before me, and there on -the table, with the lantern-jawed young man flourishing a big knife over -him, there lay my precious old Tom strapped down on his back, with his -mouth tied up in white tape, and leather gloves over his feet, and -sticks trussed across him the same as a roasting rabbit, and a streak of -white all along his blessed stomach--you know, Miss, he hadn't got one -white hair by rights--where the niggers had shaved and floured him, to -see what they were about. He turned up his dear old eyes when he saw -me; it would have made you cry, and he tried to speak. Oh you precious -old soul, didn't I scatter them right and left? I scratched that -lantern-jawed hypocrite's face till I gave him the hirumbillycuss and -hirumtommycuss too, I expect. I called a policeman in, and there wasn't -one of them finished his Christmas in London. But the poor old soul has -never been the same cat since. The anxiety he was in, turned his hair -white on both sides of his heart and all round the backs of his ears. -He wouldn't come to the door, he shook so, at the call of the cat's-meat -man for better than a month, and he won't look at it now, while there's -a skewer in it." - -The poor little woman was crying with pity and rage. Old Tom looked up -all the time as if he knew all she said, and then jumped on her lap, and -showed his paws, and purred. - -Meanwhile, a change had come over my intentions. Perhaps all the -rudeness I had met with that day had called my pride into arms. At any -rate, much as I liked pretty Isola, and much as I longed for her fresh -warm kindness, I now resolved to wait until she should choose to seek -me. So I did not even ask Mrs. Shelfer whether she knew the College -where the Professor lectured. What were love and warm young hearts to -me? I deserved such a rebuff for swerving so from my duty. Now I would -give all my thoughts to the art, whence only could spring any hope of -attaining my end, and the very next day I would follow the -picture-dealer's advice. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - -There was a school of design not very far from my lodgings, and thither -I went the next morning. My landlady offered to come with me and see me -safe in the room; and of course her Charley, who seemed to know -everybody, knew some one even there, to whom she kindly promised to -recommend me. So I gladly accepted her offer. - -In some respects, Mr. Shelfer was more remarkable than even his wife. -He was so shy, that on the rare occasions when we met, I never could get -him to look at me, except once when he was drunk; yet by some mysterious -process he seemed to know everything about me--the colour of my eyes, -the arrangement of my hair, the dresses I put on, the spirits I was -in--a great deal more, in fact, than I ever cared to know. So that -sometimes my self-knowledge was largely increased, through his -observations repeated by his wife. But I was not allowed to flatter -myself that this resulted from any especial interest; for he seemed to -possess an equal acquaintance with the affairs of all his neighbours. -Mention any one anywhere around, and he, without seeming to mean it, -would describe him or her unmistakably in half a dozen words. He never -praised or blamed, he simply identified. He must have seen more with a -blink of his eye, than most people see in five minutes of gazing. He -seldom brought any one home with him, though he often promised to do so; -he never seemed to indulge in gossip, at any rate not with his wife. -"Cut it short, old 'ooman," was all the encouragement he ever gave her -in that way. When he was at home--a thing of rare occurrence--he sat -with his head down and a long pipe in his mouth; he walked in the street -with his head down, and never accosted any one. Where did he get all -his knowledge? I doubt if there were a public-house in London, but what -Shelfer knew at the furthest a cousin of the landlord, and a brother of -one of the potboys. "Charley Shelfer" everybody called him, and -everybody spoke of him, not with distinguished respect, but with a -kindly feeling. His luck was proverbial; he had a room full of things -which he had won at raffles, and he was in constant requisition to throw -for less fortunate people. As for his occupation--he called himself a -nurseryman, but he had no nursery that I could discover. He received a -pound a week for looking after the garden in the great square; but when -any one came for him, he was never to be found there. I think he spent -most of his time in jobbing about, and "swopping" (as Mrs. Shelfer -called it) among his brother gardeners. Sometimes, he brought home -beautiful plants, perfectly lovely flowers, unknown to me even by name, -and many of these he presented to me by Mrs. Shelfer's hands. Every -Sunday morning he was up before the daylight, and away for an excursion, -or rather an incursion, through the Hampstead, Highgate, and Holloway -district. From these raids he used to return as I came home from the -morning service. By the way, if I had wanted to puzzle him and find a -blank in his universal acquaintance, the best chance would have been to -ask him about the clergyman. He never gave the pew-openers any trouble, -neither indeed did Mrs. Shelfer, who called herself a Catholic; but the -lively little woman's chiefest terror was death, and a parson to her was -always an undertaker. If Mr. Shelfer had not spent the Sunday morning -quite so well as I had, at any rate he had not wasted his time. I think -he must have robbed hen-roosts and allotment grounds; and yet he was too -respectable for that. But whence and how could he ever have come by the -gipsey collection he always produced from his hat, from his countless -pockets, from his red cotton handkerchief, every Sunday at 1 P.M.? -Eggs, chickens, mushrooms, sticks of horseradish and celery, -misletoe-thrushes, cucumbers, cabbages red and white, rabbits, -watercress, Aylesbury ducks--I cannot remember one quarter of his -manifold forage. All I can say is, that if these things are to be found -by the side of the road near London, Middlesex is a far better field for -the student of natural history than Gloucestershire, or even beloved -Devon. Mrs. Shelfer said it was all his luck; but I hardly think it -could have rained Aylesbury ducks, even for Mr. Shelfer. - -All the time he was extracting from his recesses this multifarious -store, he never once smiled, or showed any symptoms of triumph, but -gravely went through the whole, as if a simple duty. - -How was it such a man had not made his fortune? Because he had an -incurable habit of "backing bills" for any one who asked him; and hence -he was always in trouble. - -Mrs. Shelfer and I were admitted readily into the school of design. It -was a long low room, very badly lighted, and fitted up for the time -until a better could be provided. It looked very cold and comfortless; -forms instead of chairs, and desks like a parish school. The whitewashed -walls were hung with diagrams, sections, tracings, reductions, most of -them stiff and ugly, but no doubt instructive. At one end was a raised -platform, reserved for lecturers and the higher powers. Shelves round -the wall were filled with casts and models, and books of instruction -were to be had out of cupboards. Of course we were expected to bring -our own materials, and a code of rules was exhibited. The more advanced -students were permitted to tender any work of their own which might be -of service to the neophytes. From no one there did I ever receive any -insolence. At first, the young artists used to look at me rather hard, -but my reserved and distant air was quite enough to discourage them. - -After the introduction, which Mrs. Shelfer accomplished in very great -style, I dismissed her, and set to in earnest to pore once more over the -rudiments of perspective. One simple truth as to the vanishing point -struck me at once. I was amazed that I had never perceived it before. -It was not set forth in the book I was studying; but it was the sole key -to all my errors of distance. At once I closed the book; upon that one -subject I wanted no more instruction, I had caught the focus of truth. -Books, like bad glass, would only refract my perception. All I wanted -now was practice and adaptation of the eye. - -Strange as it seemed to me then, I could draw no more that day. I was -so overcome at first sight by the simple beauty of truth, mathematical -yet poetical truth, that error and obscurity (for there is a balance in -all things) had their revenge for a while on my brain. But the truth, -once seen, could never be lost again. Thenceforth there were few higher -penances for me, in a small way, than to look at one of my early -drawings. - -When my brain was clear, I returned to do a real day's work. For the -cups, and vases, and plates, and things of "æsthetic art" (as they chose -to call it), I did not care at all; but the copies and models and -figures were most useful to me. Unless I am much mistaken, I made more -advance in a fortnight there, than I had in any year of my life before. - -With my usual perseverance--if I have no other virtue, I have that--I -worked away to correct my many shortcomings; not even indulging (much as -I wanted the money) in any attempts at a finished drawing, until I felt -sure that all my foundations were thoroughly laid and set. "And now," I -cried towards Christmas, "now for Mr. Oxgall; if I don't astonish him -this time, my name is not Clara Vaughan!" It did me good when I was -alone, to call myself by my own name, and my right to be my father's -daughter. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - -Meanwhile old Christmas was come, and all I was worth in the world was -change for half a sovereign. True, my lodgings were paid for, a -fortnight in advance, because good Mrs. Shelfer wanted to treat all her -pets to a Christmas dinner; but as for my own Christmas dinner--though I -can't say I cared much for it--if I got one at all, it must be upon -credit, since my drawing would not be finished for another week. -Credit, of course, I would not think of. Any day in the week or year, I -would rather starve than owe money. However, I was not going to cry -about plum-pudding, though once or twice it made me hungry to think of -the dinner in the great hall at Vaughan Park on the Christmas eve; a -much more elaborate matter in the old time, than the meal served in the -dining-room next day. - -Now I sat in my little room this dreary Christmas eve; and do what I -would, I could not help thinking a little. It was a gusty evening, cold -and damp, with scuds of sleet and snow, as yet it had not made up its -mind whether to freeze or thaw. Nevertheless, the streets were full of -merry laughing parties, proud of their bargains for the Christmas cheer; -and as they went by, the misletoe and the holly glistened in the -flickering gaslight. - -For old recollection's sake, I had made believe to dress my little room -with some few sprigs of laurel and unberried holly; the sceptre branch, -all cobbed with coral beads, was too expensive for me. Misletoe I -wanted not. Who was there now to kiss me? - -From the sheer craving of human nature for a word of kindness, I had -called, that afternoon, upon Mrs. Elton. But good as she was and sweet -to me, she had near relatives coming; and I saw or fancied, that I -should be in the way. Yet I thought that her mother heart yearned -toward me as she said "Good bye," and showed me out by the Christmas -tree, all trembling to be lighted. - -Now I sat alone and lonely by the flickering of three pennyworth of wood -which I had bought recklessly for the sake of the big ash-tree that used -to glow with the lichen peeling round it on the old Christmas hearth, -where I was believed the heiress. The little spark and sputter of my -sallow billet (chopped by the poor old people at St. Pancras workhouse) -led me back through eight sad years to the last merry time when my -father was keeping his latest Christmas, and I his pride and hope was -prouder than all, at being just ten years old. - -How he carved and ladled the gravy; how he flourished his knife and fork -with a joke all hot for every one; how he smiled when the thrice-helped -farmers sent for another slice, and laughed when the crow-boy was nearly -choked with plum-pudding; how he patted me on the head and caught me for -a kiss, when I, dressed up as head-waitress, with my long hair all tied -back, pulled his right arm and pointed to widow Hiatt's plate--the -speech he made after dinner, when I was amazed at his eloquence and -clapped my little hands, and the way he made me stand up on a chair and -drink the Queen's health first--then the hurrahs of the tenants and -servants, and how they kissed me outside--all this goes through my -memory as the smoke of the billet goes up the chimney, and the tears -steal under my eyelids. - -Then I see the long hall afterwards, with the tables cleared away and -the lights hung round the tapestry, and the yule log roaring afresh; my -father (a type of the true English gentleman, not of the past but the -present century), holding the hand of his wife (a lady of no -condescending airs, but true womanly warmth and love)--both dressed for -the tenants' ball as if for the lord-lieutenant's; both eager to lead -off the country dance, and beating their feet to the music. Next them, -a laughing child in a little white frock and pink slip (scarce to be -known for myself), hand-in-hand with my brave chevalier, Master Roderick -Blount, accounted by Cooky and both lady's-maids, and most of all by -himself, my duly affianced lord. - -Then the housekeeper, starched beyond measure, yet not too stiff to -smile, and open for the nonce even to jokes about courtship, yielding -her gracious hand for the dance to the senior tenant, a man with great -calves, red face, and snow-white hair. After them come-- - -Hark! a loud knock and a ring. It is just in time before I begin the -palinode. Who can want me to-night? I want no one but those I cannot -have, whom the fire has now restored me, though the earth has hidden -them. - -Mrs. Shelfer is hard at work in the kitchen, preparing a wonderful -supper for Charley, who has promised to come home. She has canvassed -the chance of his keeping this promise fifty times in the day. Hope -cries "yes;" experience whispers "no." At any rate the knock is not -his, for he always carries a latch-key. - -She calls up the stairs "Miss Valence!" before she goes to the door, for -who knows but she might be murdered in the midst of her Christmas -pudding? I come out to prove my existence and stand in the dark on the -landing. She draws back the bolt; I hear a gruff voice as if it came -through a hat. - -"Young 'ooman by the name of Clara Waun live here?" - -"Yes to be sure; Miss Valence you mean, my good friend." - -"The name on this here ticket ain't Walence, but Waun." - -"All right, my good friend. All right. It's just the same." - -"Hor, I don't know that though. Jim, the name of the party here ain't -Waun after all. It be Walence. And three blessed days us has been all -over London!" - -Jim, from the top of the van, suggests that, after all, Walence and Waun -be much of a muchness. For his part, he'll be blessed if he'll go any -further with it. Let him and Ben look at the young lady, and see if she -be like the card. Meanwhile, of course, I come forward and claim the -parcel, whatever it is. Mrs. Shelfer redoubles her assurances, and -calls the man a great oaf, which has more effect than anything. - -"Why, Jim, this must be Charley's missus; Charley Shelfer's missus! Him -as beat you so at skittles last week, you know." - -"Ah, he did so. And I'd like to back him again you, Ben, for a quart -all round." - -This fact is decisive. Who can doubt any more? But for all that, the -book must be signed in the name of "Waun," with which of course I -comply. When the two strong men have, with much difficulty (of which -they made much more), lowered the enormous package from the van, Ben -stands wiping his forehead. "Lor, how hot it be to-night to be sure! -And the job us has had with this big lump sure*ly*! Both the handles -come off long ago. I wish my missus had got a featherbed half the -weight of that. Five-and-twenty year I've been along of this company, -man and boy, but I never see such a direction as that there in all my -born days. Did ever you, Jim?" - -"Well," replies Jim, "I've seed a many queer ones, but none as could -come up to that. And who'd a thought after all their trouble--for I'm -blessed if they wrote that there under a week--who'd a' thought they'd a -put 'Waun' on it when they meant 'Walence.' But the young lady is -awaiting for us to drink her health, Ben, and a merry Christmas to her." - -"How much is the carriage?" I ask, trembling for my change of the -half-sovereign. - -"Nothing, miss. Only eightpence for delivery. It be paid to -Paddington, and if ever our Company airned eightpence, I'm blessed if -they haven't airned it now. Thank you, Miss, and werry handsome on you, -and us hopes the contents will prove to your liking, Miss, and make you -a merry Christmas." - -Away they go with the smoking horses, after carrying into the little -kitchen the mighty maun, which Mrs. Shelfer, with my assistance, could -not stir. - -"Bless me, Miss Valence, what a direction!" cries Mrs. Shelfer, when the -full light falls upon it. - -The direction was written in round hand upon a strip of parchment, about -four inches wide and at least eight feet in length. It came from the -bottom all up over the cover and down upon the other side, so that no -one could open the basket without breaking it asunder. It was as -follows:-- - -"Miss Clara Vaughan lodges at number seven in Prince Albert Street in -London town near Windsor Castle in Gloucestershire the daughter of Mr. -Henry Valentine Vaughan Esquire a nice tall young lady her always wears -black things and walks very peart pale with a little red on her cheeks -when they lets her alone can't be no mistake without it be done a -purpose If so be this here little maun hain't brought to her safe and -sweet and wholesome will be prosecuted with the _utmost rigour of the -law_ signed John Huxtable his mark x witness Timothy Badcock his'n X." - -I wondered much whether Mr. Beany Dawe had been called in to achieve -this masterpiece of manuscript, which was all in large round hand, but -without any stops. It seemed beyond poor Sally's art, yet were some -loops and downstrokes that must be dear little Sally's. I took it off -with much trouble--the parchment was joined in four places--and I have -it now. - -Meanwhile Mrs. Shelfer was dancing around it, neglecting her supper in -the wonder of this gigantic hamper. "Let me get a chopper, Miss, you'll -never get it open. Why it's sewed as tight as an oyster." - -However, I did get it open at last, and never shall I forget the -contents. There was a month's food for a family of twelve. First came -hay, such as I never smelt out of Devonshire; then eighteen rolls of -butter, each with a snowy cloth around it; the butter so golden even at -that time of year, that Mrs. Shelfer compared it to the yolk of an egg -looking out of the white. Then a storey of clotted cream and beautiful -lard and laver, which they knew I loved. Then a floor of hay. Below it -a pair of guinea fowls, two large turkeys, and most carefully wrapped -from the rest a fine hare filled with dried sweet herbs. Below these a -flitch of bacon, two wood-smoked hams, a pair of tongues, a leg of -Exmoor mutton, and three bottles of best elder wine. Then a brown paper -parcel containing Sally's last copy-book (I had set her copies for half -a year to come) and a long letter, the first I had ever received from -Tossil's Barton. - -When all was out at last, after the greatest delight and laughter as -each thing appeared, I fell back in utter dismay at the spectacle before -me. Mrs. Shelfer sat on the floor unable to find her way out, she was -so flounced and tippeted with good things. When I came to her relief, -she did nothing but go round and round what was left of the little room, -humming a Catholic hymn, and pressing both hands to her side. - -But something must be done at once. Waste is wickedness; how could we -stave it off? Everything would depend upon the weather. At present all -was beautifully fresh, thanks to the skilful packing and the frost, -albeit the mighty package had made the round of all the Albert Streets -in London. Mrs. Shelfer would have looked at it for a month, and at -intervals exclaimed, "Bless me, my good friend, that beats Charley's -pockets. How they must eat in Devonshire!" - -"Come, Mrs. Shelfer, what good are you at housekeeping? You don't help -me at all. Let us put most of it out of doors at once. You have no -cellar, and I suppose they have none in London. At least we can give it -the chance of the open air, and it is not snowing now." - -"Oh, but the cats, Miss!" - -"Well, I must find some plan for them before we go to bed. Now come and -help, that's a good little creature, and I'll give you some elder wine -when we have done." - -So we got all that was taintable into the little yard, while Tom, who -never stole, except when quite sure of impunity, looked on very sagely. -There we fixed it all up to the wall secure, except from cats, of whom a -roving band serenaded me every night. I presented Mrs. Shelfer at once -with a turkey--a specimen of natural history not found by the roadside, -even on Mr. Shelfer's Sabbath journey--also a ham, and three rolls of -butter. As to the rest, I would think what to do with it afterwards. - -Mrs. Shelfer kept off the cats until midnight, after which I held them -at bay by the following means. With one of my mineral paints mingled -with some phosphorus, I drew upon a black board a ferocious terrier, the -size of life, with fangs unsheathed, bristles erect, and eyes starting -out of his head. We tried the effect in the dark on poor Tom, who -arched his back, and sputtered with the strongest execration, then -turned and fled ignobly, amid roars of laughter from Mr. Shelfer, who by -this time was come home. This one-headed Cerberus being hung so as to -oscillate in the wind, right across the cat-leap, I felt quite safe, so -long as my chemical mixture should continue luminous. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - -Dear little Sally's letter gave me the greatest delight. It was all in -round hand, and had taken at least a week to write, and she must have -washed her hands almost every time. There were no stops in it, but I -have put some. The spelling was wonderfully good for her, but here and -there I have shaped it to the present fashion. - -"Please Miss Clara dear, father and mother and I begs their most -respectable duty and love and they hopes no offence and will you be so -kind as to have this here little hamper and wishes it was ten times as -much but hopes you will excuse it and please to eat it all yourself -Miss. All the pegmate be our own doctrine, and very wholesome, and we -have took all the hair off, please Miss, because you said one time you -didn't like it. Likely you'll remember, Miss, the young black sow as -twisted her tail to the left, her as Tim was ringing the day as I wrote -first copy, and the other chillers ran out, well most of it be she, -Miss. Father say as he don't think they ever see butter in London town, -but Beany Dawe says yes for they makes a plenty out of red herrings and -train oil. - -Please Miss, Tabby Badcock would go on the ice in the old saw-pit last -Sunday, by the upper linhay when I told her it would not bear, and so -her fell through and would have been drownded at last, only our little -Jack crawled over the postesses and give her his heel to hold on by, and -please Miss it would have done your heart good, mother says, to see how -Tim Badcock dressed her when he come home from church for getting her -best frock all of a muck. - -Please Miss, Beany Dawe come when you was gone, and made a poem about -you, and father like it so much he give him free of the cider and as he -was going home he fell into a bit of a ditch down Breakneck hill, and -when he come to himself the road had taken to run the wrong way Beany -don't know how for the life of him, so he come back here 'nolus wolus' -he saith and that be the way to spell it and no mistake, and here he -have been ever since a-making of poems and sawing up hellums out of the -lower cleeve, and he sleepth in the onion loft and Suke can't have no -rest of nights for the noise he makes making verses. Mother tell Suke -to pote him down stairs and too good for him, but father say no, he be a -fine chap for sure and airneth his meat and drink, let alone all the -poetry. - -Please Miss he wanted to larn me to write, but father say no I had got -better learning than hisn, and I say he may learn Tabby Badcock if he -will, but he shan't learn me. No tino." - -How she tossed her pretty curls when she wrote this I'll be bound. I -wished that I could see her. - -"Please Miss I be forced to write this when he be away, or he'd a made -it all in poetry; and Tim Badcock tell me to be sure to tell you as how -at the wrastling to Barnstaple fair, week after you was gone, father was -so crule unkid that in playing off the ties he heaved a Cornisher up -through the chandelier, and a come down with a candle stuck so fast down -his throat doctor was forced to set it a-fire and blow with a pair of -bellises afore he could put him to rights. Cornisher be all right again -now, Tim saith, but he have a made up his mind not to wrastle no more in -Devonshire. - -Please Miss, father saith before this here goes he'll shoot the old hare -as sits in the top of the cleeve if Queen Victoria transports him for it -with hard labour. Tim have made four pops at her, but he say the powder -were crooked. - -Please Miss Clara, all the eggs as my little black hen have laid, since -the last of the barley was housed, is to be sewed up inside the Turkey -with the black comb; he be strutting about in the court and looking at -me now as peart as a gladdy; but her have not laid more than a dozen to -now, though I have been up and whistled to her in the tall at every -morning and evening same as we used to do when you was in good spirits. -But the other hens has not laid none at all. - -Please Miss, father say as how he have sold such a many beasties, he be -afeared to keep all the money in the house, and he have told mother to -sew up the rent for next Ladyday in the turkey with the white comb when -he be killed and he humbly hope no offence. - -Please Miss Clara, us has had three letters from you, and I reads them -all to father and mother every Sunday evening, and Joe the Queen's boy -don't know but what he lost another one in leathering the jackass across -the brook after the rain. Joe tells as he can't say for certain, -because why he baint no scholar the same as us be, and Joe only knows -the letters by the pins they sticks in his sleeve afore he leaves -Martinhoe. Whoever 'twas for he thinks there was crockery in it by -reason it sunk so quick. Anyhow mother give him a little tap with a mop -on the side of his head, to make him mind the Queen's business, and -didn't he holler a bit, and he flung down the parson's letters all in -the muck, but us washed them in a bucket and let parson have them on -Sunday. Joe Queen's boy haven't been nigh us since, and they did say to -Martinhoe us shouldn't have no more letters, but father say if he don't -he will show the man there what a forehip mean pretty smart. - -Please Miss Clara, us would have written afore, but mother say no, not -till I finish twelve copybooks one every week, that the folks to London -town might see the way as they ought to write and spell. Father say -London be in Gloucestershire, but I am most sure it baint, and Beany -Dawe shake his head and won't tell, and mother believe he don't know. - -Please Miss, there be a new babby come a month agone and better, and -mother find out as how it be a girl, and please if you have no objection -Miss, and if you don't think as it would be a liberty, us has all made -up our minds upon having it christened Clara, and please to say Miss if -it be too high, or any way unfitty. Father be 'most afeared that it -sound too grand for the like of us, but mother says as the Huxtables was -thought brave things on, to Coom and Parracombe a hundred years agone. - -Please Miss, father heard to Coom market last week, as there's going to -be a French invasion, and they be sure to go to London first, and he beg -you to let him know as soon as ever there be one, and he come up at once -with the big ash-stick and the ivy on it as growed in Challacombe wood, -and see as they doesn't hurt you, Miss. - -Please Miss, the young chap as saved you from the great goyal come here -to ask for you, day after you was gone, and mother believes he baint -after no good, by token he would not come in nor drink a drop of cider. - -Please Miss, father say it make his heart ache every night, to think of -you all to yourself in the wicked London town, and he go down the lane -to the white gate every evening in the hope to see you acoming, and -mother say if you be a selling red and blue picturs her hope you will -send for they as father gave the hog's puddens for, and us wont miss -them at all. - -And Miss Clara dear, I expect you'll be mazed to see how I writes and -spells, father say it must be in the family, and I won't write no more -till I have finished another dozen of copy books; and oh dear how I do -wish that you were come back again, but father say to me to say no more -about it for fear to make you cry, Miss. All the little childers except -the new babby who have not seen you yet, sends their hearts' loves and -duty and a hundred kisses, and father and mother the same, and Timothy -Badcock, and Tabby, and Suke, and Beany Dawe, now he knows it. - -I remain, Miss Clara dear, your thankful and loving scholar to command, - -SARAH HUXTABLE. - -Signed all this here papper scrawl in the settle by the fire. - -JOHN HUXTABLE his mark X -HONOR HUXTABLE hern X." - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - -I was much grieved at the loss of my last letter to Tossil's Barton, -because it contained my little Christmas presents for all the family. -It was registered for security, but I suppose they "took no count" of -that where the delivery of letters depended so much upon luck. Of their -Christmas present to me I resolved to give the surplus to those who -would be the better for it, and not (according to the usual law of such -things) to those who did not want it, and would make return with -interest. So on the Christmas morning Mrs. Shelfer and myself, each -carrying a large basket, went to the mews round the corner, and -distributed among the poor lodgers there, more Christmas dinners than -had ever entered those doors before; and how grateful the poor things -were, only they all wanted the best. - -Now the school of design was closed for a while, and I worked hard for -several days at the landscape for Mr. Oxgall, though the store of -provisions sent me and the rent enclosed in the turkey had saved me from -present necessity. - -On the day of all days in the year the saddest and darkest to me, I -could not keep to my task, but went for a change of thoughts to the -school, now open again. - -It was the 30th of December, 1850, and, though I crouch not to the -mumming of prigs scolloped out at the throat, who block out with a -patchwork screen the simple hearth of religion, and kneel at an ashbin -to warm themselves; though I don't care a herring for small -anniversaries dotted all over the calendar, and made by some Murphy of -old; yet I reverence deeply the true feasts of Church and Chapel, the -refreshings of faith and charity, whereupon we forgive and are sorry for -those who work hard to mar them. Neither does it seem to me--so far as -my timid and wavering judgment extends--to be superstition or vanity, if -we dare to set mark by those dates in our own little span which God has -scarred on our memory. - -In the long dark room so bare and comfortless, and, to-day, so lonely -and cold, I got my usual books and studies, and tried, all in vain, to -fix my attention on them. Finding the effort so fruitless, I packed up -my things in the little black bag and rose to depart. Turning round, I -saw on the table, where students' works were exhibited, a small object -newly placed there. It was a statuette in white marble of a magnificent -red deer, such as I had seen once or twice in the north of Devon. The -listening attitude, the turn of the neck, the light poise of the massive -head, even the mild, yet spirited eye, and the quivering sensitive lip, -I could answer for them all, they were done to the very life. Truth, -power, and elegance triumphed in every vein of it. For a minute I stood -overcome with wonder. If this were the work of a youthful sculptor, -England might hope at last for something beyond the grotesque. - -Before me rose at once all the woodland scenery, the hill-side garbed -with every shade of green, the brambled quarry standing forth, the -trees, the winding vales embosoming the light, the haze that hovers -above the watersmeet, bold crests of amaranth heath behind, and far away -the russet wold of Exmoor. The stag in the foreground of my landscape, -I feel so grateful to him for this expanse of vision that I stoop down -and kiss him, while no one can see me. As I bend, the gordit drops from -its warm home in my breast. By some impulse undefined I lift the ribbon -from my neck, and hang the little fairy's heart on the antlers of the -Devonshire deer. Out springs from behind a chest full of casts and -models--what model can compare with her?--the loveliest of all lovely -beings, my little Isola Ross. - -I hide the tears in my eyes, and try to look cold and reserved. What -use is it? One smile of hers would have disarmed Belial. - -"It isn't my fault, dear. It isn't indeed. Oh, please give me that -cordetto. No don't. That is why I loved you so at first sight. And -here is all my money dear. I have carried it about ever since, though I -sewed up the purse not to spend it, and only once cut it open. They -made me promise, and I would not eat for three days, and I tried to be -sulky with Pappy because he did not care; they made me promise with all -my honour not to go and see you, and Cora came about with me so that I -had no chance of breaking it. And I would not tell them where you -lived, dear; but I led old Cora a dance through your street on the side -you live, till she began to suspect. But I could never see you, though I -looked in at all the windows till I was quite ashamed, and the people -kissed their hands to me." - -Poor little dear! I lived upstairs, and could not have seen her without -standing out on the balcony, which was about the size of a chess-board. -If she had not been so simple as to walk on my side of the street, she -must have seen me ere long, for I sat all day near the window to draw, -when I was not away at my school. - -I forgave her most graciously for having done me no wrong, and kissed -her with all my heart. Her breath was as sweet as violets in Spring -clover, and her lips warm and soft as a wren's nest. On receiving my -forgiveness, away she went dancing down the long room, with her cloak -thrown off, and her hair tossing all out of braid, and her exquisite -buoyant figure floating as if on a cloud. Of course there was no one -there, or even impulsive Isola would hardly have taken her frolic; and -yet I am not sure. She never thought harm of any one, and never -imagined that any one could think harm of her. - -After a dozen flits of some rapid elegant dance quite unknown to me (who -have never had much of dancing), but which I supposed to be Scotch, back -she came out of breath, and kissed me ever so many times, and kissed my -gordit too, and told me never to part with it. One thing she was sure -of, that her Papa could not resist me now, and when he was told of it I -should come to their house the next day. And she knew I was dreadfully -proud, but would I, for her sake, forgive her Pappy? Of course, he knew -nothing about me, and she had never told him my name, though she could -not help telling my story, at least all she knew of it; but he was so -dreadfully jealous of her, he did not want any one to have a touch of -her glove but himself. - -Looking at her pure sweet face, I could well believe it; but how could -he bear to see that dear little thing go three days without food? Most -likely she had exaggerated. Although she was truthful as light, -sometimes her quick fancy and warmth, like the sunshine itself, would -bring out some points too strongly. However, I was prepared, without -that, to dislike the Professor, for, as a general rule, I don't like men -who moralise; at least if their philosophy is frigid. Nevertheless, I -promised very readily to forgive her Papa, for I did so love that Isola. -Her nature was so different to mine, so light and airy, elastic and -soft; in short (if I must forsake my language), the complement of my -own. We chatted, or rather she did, for at least half an hour; and then -she told me old Cora was coming to fetch her at three o'clock. Once -more I rose to depart, for I feared she might get into trouble, if the -old nurse should find her so intimate with a stranger. - -But Isola told me that she did not care for her a bit, and she had quite -set her heart on my meeting her brother Conrad, the sculptor of that -magnificent stag. Perhaps he would come with Cora, but he was so -altered now, she could never tell what he would do. Since the time she -first saw me, Conrad had come of age, and she could not guess what it -was all about, but there had been a dreadful disturbance between him and -his father, and he had actually gone to live away from the family. She -thought it must be about money, or some such nasty thing; but even Cora -did not know, or if she did, the old thing would not tell. It had made -poor Isola cry till her eyes were sore, but now she supposed she must -make up her mind to it all. But she would tell the truth, she did hate -being treated like a baby when she was a full-grown woman; how much -taller did they expect her to be? And what was much worse, she did want -so to comfort them both, and how could she do it without knowing what -was the matter? It was too bad, and she wished she was a boy, with all -her heart she did. - -She went on talking like this till her gentle breast fluttered, and her -coral lips quivered, and the tears stole down her long lashes, and she -crept to me closer for comfort. - -I was clasping her round little waist, and kissing the bright drops -away, when in burst a dark, scraggy woman, who must, of course, be old -Cora. She tore the poor child from my arms, and scowled at me fiercely -enough to frighten a girl unacquainted with real terrors. - -I met her dark gaze with a calm contempt, beneath which it quailed and -fell. She mumbled some words in a language or patois, which I supposed -to be Gaelic, and led off her charge towards the door. - -She had mistaken her adversary. Was I to be pushed aside, like a -gingerbread woman tempting a weak-stomached child? I passed them; then -turned and confronted the hag. - -"Have the goodness, old woman, to walk behind this young lady and me. -When we want your society, we will ask for it. Isola Ross, come with -me, unless you prefer a rude menial's tyranny to a lady's affection." - -Isola was too frightened to speak. I know not what would have been the -result, if the old hag, who was glaring about, rather taken aback, but -still clutching that delicate arm, had not suddenly spied my fairy's -heart, as yet unrestored to its sanctuary. - -She stared, for a moment, in wide amazement; then her whole demeanour -was altered. She cringed, and fawned, and curtseyed, as if I had worn a -tiara. She dropped my dear Isola's arm, and fell behind like a negress. -My poor little pet was trembling and cold with fright, for (as she told -me afterwards) she had never seen old Cora in such a passion before, and -the superstitious darling dreaded the evil eye. - -As we went towards Isola's home, I could not help thinking how fine the -interview would be between Mrs. Shelfer and Cora, if I only chose to -carry that vanquished beldame thither; but sage discretion (was I not -now eighteen?), and the thought of that solemn day prevented me. So I -took them straight home, leading Isola while she guided me, and turning -sometimes, with complacency, to encourage old Cora behind us. - -The house they lived in was a high but narrow one, dull-looking and -dark, with area rails in front. Some little maiden came to the door, -and I took my leave on the steps. Dear Isola, now in high spirits -again, kissed me, like a peach quite warm in the sun, and promised to -come the next day, about which there could now be no difficulty. - -Old Cora bent low as she wished me good evening and begged leave to kiss -my cordetto. This I granted, but took good care not to let it pass out -of my hands; she admired it so much, especially when allowed to examine -it, and there was such a greedy light in her eyes, that I was quite sure -she would steal it upon the first chance; and therefore I went -straightway and bought a guard of thick silk cord, as a substitute for -the black riband, which was getting worn. - -And so I came home before dark, full of wonder, but feeling rather -triumphant, and greatly delighted at having recovered dear Isola. - - - - END OF VOL. I. - - - - LONDON: - R. CLAY, SON, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, - BREAD STREET HILL. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLARA VAUGHAN, VOLUME I (OF III) -*** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41020 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the -General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and -distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic works to protect the -Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a -registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, -unless you receive specific permission. 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