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diff --git a/41031-8.txt b/41031-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 084d53b..0000000 --- a/41031-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8767 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of When a Man's Single, by J. M. Barrie - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: When a Man's Single - A Tale of Literary Life - -Author: J. M. Barrie - -Release Date: October 12, 2012 [EBook #41031] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN A MAN'S SINGLE *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - THE KIRRIEMUIR EDITION - OF THE WORKS OF - J. M. BARRIE - - - WHEN A MAN'S SINGLE - - A Tale of Literary Life - - BY J. M. BARRIE - - HODDER AND STOUGHTON - LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO - 1913 - - - - -CONTENTS - - - - CHAPTER I ROB ANGUS IS NOT A FREE MAN 1 - - CHAPTER II ROB BECOMES FREE 17 - - CHAPTER III ROB GOES OUT INTO THE WORLD 27 - - CHAPTER IV 'THE SCORN OF SCORNS' 43 - - CHAPTER V ROB MARCHES TO HIS FATE 62 - - CHAPTER VI THE ONE WOMAN 80 - - CHAPTER VII THE GRAND PASSION? 99 - - CHAPTER VIII IN FLEET STREET 113 - - CHAPTER IX MR. NOBLE SIMMS 129 - - CHAPTER X THE WIGWAM 139 - - CHAPTER XI ROB IS STRUCK DOWN 156 - - CHAPTER XII THE STUPID SEX 169 - - CHAPTER XIII THE HOUSE-BOAT 'TAWNY OWL' 183 - - CHAPTER XIV MARY OF THE STONY HEART 195 - - CHAPTER XV COLONEL ABINGER TAKES COMMAND 210 - - CHAPTER XVI THE BARBER OF ROTTEN ROW 222 - - CHAPTER XVII ROB PULLS HIMSELF TOGETHER 234 - - CHAPTER XVIII THE AUDACITY OF ROB ANGUS 245 - - CHAPTER XIX THE VERDICT OF THRUMS 254 - - - - -CHAPTER I - -ROB ANGUS IS NOT A FREE MAN - - -One still Saturday afternoon some years ago a child pulled herself -through a small window into a kitchen in the kirk-wynd of Thrums. She -came from the old graveyard, whose only outlet, when the parish church -gate is locked, is the windows of the wynd houses that hoop it round. -Squatting on a three-legged stool she gazed wistfully at a letter on the -chimney-piece, and then, tripping to the door, looked up and down the -wynd. - -Snecky Hobart, the bellman, hobbled past, and, though Davy was only four -years old, she knew that as he had put on his blue top-coat he expected -the evening to be fine. Tammas McQuhatty, the farmer of T'nowhead, met -him at the corner, and they came to a standstill to say, 'She's hard, -Sneck,' and 'She is so, T'nowhead,' referring to the weather. Observing -that they had stopped they moved on again. - -Women and children and a few men squeezed through their windows into the -kirkyard, the women to knit stockings on fallen tombstones, and the men -to dander pleasantly from grave to grave reading the inscriptions. All -the men were well up in years, for though, with the Auld Lichts, the -Sabbath began to come on at six o'clock on Saturday evening, the young -men were now washing themselves cautiously in tin basins before going -into the square to talk about women. - -The clatter of more than one loom could still have been heard by Davy -had not her ears been too accustomed to the sound to notice it. In the -adjoining house Bell Mealmaker was peppering her newly-washed floor with -sand, while her lodger, Hender Robb, with a rusty razor in his hand, -looked for his chin in a tiny glass that was peeling on the wall. Jinny -Tosh had got her husband, Aundra Lunan, who always spoke of her as She, -ready, so to speak, for church eighteen hours too soon, and Aundra sat -stiffly at the fire, putting his feet on the ribs every minute, to draw -them back with a scared look at Her as he remembered that he had on his -blacks. In a bandbox beneath the bed was his silk hat, which had been -knocked down to him at Jamie Ramsay's roup, and Jinny had already put -his red handkerchief, which was also a pictorial history of Scotland, -into a pocket of his coat-tails, with a corner hanging gracefully out. -Her puckered lips signified that, however much her man might desire to -do so, he was not to carry his handkerchief to church in his hat, where -no one could see it. On working days Aundra held his own, but at six -o'clock on Saturday nights he passed into Her hands. - -Across the wynd, in which a few hens wandered, Pete Todd was supping in -his shirt-sleeves. His blacks lay ready for him in the coffin-bed, and -Pete, glancing at them at intervals, supped as slowly as he could. In -one hand he held a saucer, and in the other a chunk of bread, and they -were as far apart as Pete's outstretched arms could put them. His chair -was a yard from the table, on which, by careful balancing, he rested a -shoeless foot, and his face was twisted to the side. Every time Easie -Whamond, his wife, passed him she took the saucer from his hand, -remarking that when a genteel man sat down to tea he did not turn his -back on the table. Pete took this stolidly, like one who had long given -up trying to understand the tantrums of women, and who felt that, as a -lord of creation, he could afford to let it pass. - -Davy sat on her three-legged stool keeping guard over her uncle Rob the -saw-miller's letter, and longing for him to come. She screwed up her -eyebrows as she had seen him do when he read a letter, and she felt that -it would be nice if every one would come and look at her taking care of -it. After a time she climbed up on her stool and stretched her dimpled -arms toward the mantelpiece. From a string suspended across this, socks -and stockings hung drying at the fire, and clutching one of them Davy -drew herself nearer. With a chuckle, quickly suppressed, lest it should -bring in Kitty Wilkie, who ought to have been watching her instead of -wandering down the wynd to see who was to have salt-fish for supper, the -child clutched the letter triumphantly, and, toddling to the door, -slipped out of the house. - -For a moment Davy faltered at the mouth of the wynd. There was no one -there to whom she could show the letter. A bright thought entered her -head, and immediately a dimple opened on her face and swallowed all the -puckers. Rob had gone to the Whunny muir for wood, and she would take -the letter to him. Then when Rob saw her he would look all around him, -and if there was no one there to take note he would lift her to his -shoulder, when they could read the letter together. - -Davy ran out of the wynd into the square, thinking she heard Kitty's -Sabbath voice, which reminded the child of the little squeaking saw that -Rob used for soft wood. On week-days Kitty's voice was the big saw that -puled and rasped, and Mag Wilkie shivered at it. Except to her husband -Mag spoke with her teeth closed, so politely that no one knew what she -said. - -Davy stumbled up the steep brae down which men are blown in winter to -their work, until she reached the rim of the hollow in which Thrums -lies. Here the road stops short, as if frightened to cross the common of -whin that bars the way to the north. On this common there are many -cart-tracks over bumpy sward and slippery roots, that might be the ribs -of the earth showing, and Davy, with a dazed look in her eyes, ran down -one of them, the whins catching her frock to stop her, and then letting -go, as if, after all, one child more or less in the world was nothing to -them. - -By and by she found herself on another road, along which Rob had trudged -earlier in the day with a saw on his shoulder, but he had gone east, and -the child's face was turned westward. It is a muddy road even in summer, -and those who use it frequently get into the habit of lifting their legs -high as they walk, like men picking their way through beds of rotting -leaves. The light had faded from her baby face now, but her mouth was -firm-set, and her bewildered eyes were fixed straight ahead. - -The last person to see Davy was Tammas Haggart, who, with his waistcoat -buttoned over his jacket, and garters of yarn round his trousers, was -slowly breaking stones, though the road swallowed them quicker than he -could feed it. Tammas heard the child approaching, for his hearing had -become very acute, owing to his practice when at home of listening -through the floor to what the folks below were saying, and of sometimes -joining in. He leant on his hammer and watched her trot past. - -The strength went gradually from Tammas's old arms, and again resting on -his hammer he removed his spectacles and wiped them on his waistcoat. He -took a comprehensive glance around at the fields, as if he now had an -opportunity of seeing them for the first time during his sixty years' -pilgrimage in these parts, and his eyes wandered aimlessly from the -sombre firs and laughing beeches to the white farms that dot the strath. -In the foreground two lazy colts surveyed him critically across a dyke. -To the north the frowning Whunny hill had a white scarf round its neck. - -Something troubled Tammas. It was the vision of a child in a draggled -pinafore, and stepping into the middle of the road he looked down it in -the direction in which Davy had passed. - -'Chirsty Angus's lassieky,' he murmured. - -Tammas sat down cautiously on the dyke and untied the red handkerchief -that contained the remnants of his dinner. When he had smacked his lips -over his flagon of cold kail, and seen the last of his crumbling oatmeal -and cheese, his uneasiness returned, and he again looked down the road. - -'I maun turn the bairn,' was his reflection. - -It was now, however, half an hour since Davy had passed Tammas Haggart's -cairn. - -To Haggart, pondering between the strokes of his hammer, came a -mole-catcher who climbed the dyke and sat down beside him. - -'Ay, ay,' said the new-comer; to which Tammas replied abstractedly-- - -'Jamie.' - -'Hae ye seen Davy Dundas?' the stone-breaker asked, after the pause that -followed this conversation. - -The mole-catcher stared heavily at his corduroys. - -'I dinna ken him,' he said at last, 'but I hae seen naebody this twa -'oors.' - -'It's no a him, it's a her. Ye canna hae been a' winter here withoot -kennin' Rob Angus.' - -'Ay, the saw-miller. He was i' the wud the day. I saw his cart gae hame. -Ou, in coorse I ken Rob. He's an amazin' crittur.' - -Tammas broke another stone as carefully as if it were a nut. - -'I dinna deny,' he said, 'but what Rob's a curiosity. So was his faither -afore 'im.' - -'I've heard auld Rob was a queer body,' said Jamie, adding -incredulously, 'they say he shaved twice i' the week an' wore a clean -dickey ilka day.' - -'No what ye wad say ilka day, but oftener than was called for. Rob wasna -naturally ostentatious; na, it was the wife 'at insistit on't. Nanny was -a terrible tid for cleanness. Ay, an' it's a guid thing in moderation, -but she juist overdid it; yes, she overdid it. Man, it had sic a hand on -her 'at even on her deathbed they had to bring a basin to her to wash -her hands in.' - -'Ay, ay? When there was sic a pride in her I wonder she didna lat young -Rob to the college, an' him sae keen on't.' - -'Ou, he was gaen, but ye see auld Rob got gey dottle after Nanny's -death, an' so young Rob stuck to the saw-mill. It's curious hoo a body -misses his wife when she's gone. Ay, it's like the clock stoppin'.' - -'Weel, Rob's no gettin' to the college hasna made 'im humble.' - -'Ye dinna like Rob?' - -'Hoo did ye find that oot?' asked Jamie, a little taken aback. 'Man, -Tammas,' he added admiringly, 'ye're michty quick i' the uptak.' - -Tammas handed his snuff-mull to the mole-catcher, and then helped -himself. - -'I daursay, I daursay,' he said thoughtfully. - -'I've naething to say agin the saw-miller,' continued Jamie, after -thinking it out, 'but there's something in's face at's no sociable. He -looks as if he was takkin ye aff in's inside.' - -'Ay, auld Rob was a sarcestic stock too. It rins i' the blood.' - -'I prefer a mair common kind o' man, bein' o' the common kind mysel.' - -'Ay, there's naething sarcestic about you, Jamie,' admitted the -stone-breaker. - -'I'm an ord'nar man, Tammas.' - -'Ye are, Jamie, ye are.' - -'Maybe no sae oncommon ord'nar either.' - -'Middlin' ord'nar, middlin' ord'nar.' - -'I'm thinkin' ye're braw an' sarcestic yersel, Tammas?' - -'I'd aye that repootation, Jeames. 'Am no an everyday sarcesticist, but -juist noos an' nans. There was ae time I was speakin' tae Easie Webster, -an' I said a terrible sarcestic thing. Ay, I dinna mind what it was, but -it was michty sarcestic.' - -'It's a gift,' said the mole-catcher. - -'A gift it is,' said Tammas. - -The stone-breaker took his flagon to a spring near at hand and rinsed it -out. Several times while pulling it up and down the little pool an -uneasy expression crossed his face as he remembered something about a -child, but in washing his hands, using sand for soap, Davy slipped his -memory, and he returned cheerfully to the cairn. Here Jamie was wagging -his head from side to side like a man who had caught himself thinking. - -'I'll warrant, Tammas,' he said, 'ye cudna tell's what set's on to speak -aboot Rob Angus?' - -'Na, it's a thing as has often puzzled me hoo we select wan topic mair -than anither. I suppose it's like shootin'; ye juist blaze awa at the -first bird 'at rises.' - -'Ye was sayin', had I seen a lass wi' a lad's name. That began it, I'm -thinkin'.' - -'A lass wi' a lad's name? Ay, noo, that's oncommon. But mebbe ye mean -Davy Dundas?' - -'That's the name.' - -Tammas paused in the act of buttoning his trouser pocket. - -'Did ye say ye'd seen Davy?' he asked. - -'Na, it was you as said 'at ye had seen her.' - -'Ay, ay, Jamie, ye're richt. Man, I fully meant to turn the bairn, but -she ran by at sic a steek 'at there was nae stoppin' her. Rob'll mak an -awfu' ring-ding if onything comes ower Davy.' - -'Is't the litlin 'at's aye wi' Rob?' - -'Ay, it's Chirsty Angus's bairn, her 'at was Rob's sister. A' her fowk's -deid but Rob.' - -'I've seen them i' the saw-mill thegither. It didna strick me 'at Rob -cared muckle for the crittury.' - -'Ou, Rob's a reserved stock, but he's michty fond o' her when naebody's -lookin'. It doesna do, ye ken, to lat on afore company at ye've a kind -o' regaird for yere ain fowk. Na, it's lowerin'. But if it wasna afore -your time, ye'd seen the cradle i' the saw-mill.' - -'I never saw ony cradle, Tammas.' - -'Weel, it was unco ingenious o' Rob. The bairn's father an' mither was -baith gone when Davy was nae age, an' auld Rob passed awa sune efter. -Rob had it all arranged to ging to the college--ay, he'd been workin' -far on into the nicht the hale year to save up siller to keep 'imsel at -Edinbory, but ye see he promised Chirsty to look after Davy an' no send -her to the parish. He took her to the saw-mill an' brocht her up 'imsel. -It was a terrible disappointment to Rob, his mind bein' bent on becomin' -a great leeterary genius, but he's been michty guid to the bairn. Ay, -she's an extr'or'nar takkin dawty, Davy, an' though I wudna like it -kent, I've a fell notion o' her mysel. I mind ance gaen in to Rob's, -an', wud ye believe, there was the bit lassieky sitting in the -airm-chair wi' ane o' Rob's books open on her knees, an' her pertendin' -to be readin' oot in't to Rob. The tiddy had watched him readin', ye -un'erstan', an', man, she was mimickin' 'im to the life. There's nae -accountin' for thae things, but ondootedly it was attractive.' - -'But what aboot a cradle?' - -'Ou, as I was sayin', Rob didna like to lat the bairn oot o' his sicht, -so he made a queer cradle 'imsel, an' put it ower the burn. Ye'll mind -the burn rins through the saw-mill? Ay, weel, Davie's cradle was put -across't wi' the paddles sae arranged 'at the watter rocked the cradle. -Man, the burn was juist like a mither to Davy, for no only did it rock -her to sleep, but it sang to the bairn the hale time.' - -'That was an ingenious contrivance, Tammas; but it was juist like Rob -Angus's ind'pendence. The crittur aye perseests in doin' a'thing for -'imsel. I mind ae day seein' Cree Deuchars puttin' in a window into the -saw-mill hoose, an' Rob's fingers was fair itchin' to do't quick 'imsel; -ye ken Cree's fell slow? "See haud o' the potty," cries Rob, an' losh, -he had the window in afore Cree cud hae cut the glass. Ay, ye canna deny -but what Rob's fearfu' independent.' - -'So was his faither. I call to mind auld Rob an' the minister ha'en a -termendous debate aboot justification by faith, an' says Rob i' the tail -o' the day, gettin' passionate-like, "I tell ye flat, Mester Byars," he -says, "if I dinna ging to heaven in my ain wy, I dinna ging ava!"' - -'Losh, losh! he wudna hae said that, though, to oor minister; na, he -wudna hae daured.' - -'Ye're a U.P., Jamie?' asked the stone-breaker. - -'I was born U.P.,' replied the mole-catcher firmly, 'an' U.P. I'll die.' - -'I say naething agin yer releegion,' replied Tammas, a little -contemptuously, 'but to compare yer minister to oors is a haver. Man, -when Mester Byars was oor minister, Sanders Dobie, the wricht, had a -standin' engagement to mend the poopit ilka month.' - -'We'll no speak o' releegion, Tammas, or we'll be quarrellin'. Ye micht -tell's, though, hoo they cam to gie a lassieky sic a man's name as -Davy.' - -'It was an accident at the christenin'. Ye see, Hendry Dundas an' -Chirsty was both vary young, an' when the bairn was born, they were -shy-like aboot makkin the affair public; ay, Hendry cud hardly tak -courage to tell the minister. When he was haddin' up the bit tid in the -kirk to be baptized he was remarkable egitated. Weel, the minister--it -was Mester Dishart--somehoo had a notion 'at the litlin was a laddie, -an' when he reads the name on the paper, "Margaret Dundas," he looks at -Hendry wi' the bairny in 's airms, an' says he, stern-like, "The child's -a boy, is he not?"' - -'Sal, that was a predeecament for Hendry.' - -'Ay, an' Hendry was confused, as a man often is wi' his first; so says -he, all trem'lin', "Yes, Mr. Dishart." "Then," says the minister, "I -cannot christen him Margaret, so I will call him David." An' Davit the -litlin was baptized, sure eneuch.' - -'The mither wud be in a michty wy at that?' - -'She was so, but as Hendry said, when she challenged him on the subject, -says Hendry, "I dauredna conterdick the minister."' - -Haggart's work being now over for the day, he sat down beside Jamie to -await some other stone-breakers who generally caught him up on their way -home. Strange figures began to emerge from the woods, a dumb man with a -barrowful of roots for firewood, several women in men's coats, one -smoking a cutty-pipe. A farm-labourer pulled his heavy legs in their -rustling corduroys alongside a field of swedes, a ragged potato-bogle -brandished its arms in a sudden puff of wind. Several men and women -reached Haggart's cairn about the same time, and said, 'It is so,' or -'Ay, ay,' to him, according as they were loquacious or merely polite. - -'We was speakin' aboot matermony,' the mole-catcher remarked, as the -back-bent little party straggled toward Thrums. - -'It's a caution,' murmured the farm-labourer, who had heard the -observation from the other side of the dyke. 'Ay, ye may say so,' he -added thoughtfully, addressing himself. - -With the mole-catcher's companions, however, the talk passed into -another rut. Nevertheless Haggart was thinking matrimony over, and by -and by he saw his way to a joke, for one of the other stone-breakers had -recently married a very small woman, and in Thrums, where women have to -work, the far-seeing men prefer their wives big. - -'Ye drew a sma' prize yersel, Sam'l,' said Tammas, with the gleam in his -eye which showed that he was now in sarcastic fettle. - -'Ay,' said the mole-catcher, 'Sam'l's Kitty is sma'. I suppose Sam'l -thocht it wud be prudent-like to begin in a modest wy.' - -'If Kitty hadna haen sae sma' hands,' said another stone-breaker, 'I wud -hae haen a bid for her mysel.' - -The women smiled; they had very large hands. - -'They say,' said the youngest of them, who had a load of firewood on her -back, ''at there's places whaur little hands is thocht muckle o'.' - -There was an incredulous laugh at this. - -'I wudna wonder, though,' said the mole-catcher, who had travelled; -'there's some michty queer ideas i' the big toons.' - -'Ye'd better ging to the big toons, then, Sam'l,' suggested the -merciless Tammas. - -Sam'l woke up. - -'Kitty's sma',' he said, with a chuckle, 'but she's an auld tid.' - -'What made ye think o' speirin' her, Sam'l?' - -'I cudna say for sartin,' answered Sam'l reflectively. 'I had nae -intention o't till I saw Pete Proctor after her, an' syne, thinks I, -I'll hae her. Ay, ye micht say as Pete was the instrument o' Providence -in that case.' - -'Man, man,' murmured Jamie, who knew Pete, 'Providence sometimes maks -use o' strange instruments.' - -'Ye was lang in gettin' a man yersel, Jinny,' said Tammas to an elderly -woman. - -'Fower-an'-forty year,' replied Jinny. 'It was like a stockin', lang i' -the futin', but turned at last.' - -'Lasses nooadays,' said the old woman who smoked, 'is partikler by what -they used to be. I mind when Jeames Gowrie speired me: "Ye wud raither -hae Davit Curly, I ken," he says. "I dinna deny 't," I says, for the -thing was well kent, "but ye'll do vara weel, Jeames," says I, an' mairy -him I did.' - -'He was a harmless crittur, Jeames,' said Haggart, 'but queer. Ay, he -was full o' maggots.' - -'Ay,' said Jeames's widow, 'but though it's no for me to say 't, he deid -a deacon.' - -'There's some rale queer wys o' speirin' a wuman,' began the -mole-catcher. - -'Vary true, Jamie,' said a stone-breaker. 'I mind hoo----' - -'There was a chappy ower by Blair,' continued Jamie, raising his voice, -''at micht hae been a single man to this day if it hadna been for the -toothache.' - -'Ay, man?' - -'Joey Fargus was the stock's name. He was oncommon troubled wi' the -toothache till he found a cure.' - -'I didna ken o' ony cure for sair teeth?' - -'Joey's cure was to pour cauld watter strecht on into his mooth for the -maiter o' twa 'oors, an' ae day he cam into Blair an' found Jess -McTaggart (a speerity bit thingy she was--ou, she was so) fair greetin' -wi' sair teeth. Joey advised the crittur to try his cure, an' when he -left she was pourin' the watter into her mooth ower the sink. Weel, it -so happened 'at Joey was in Blair again aboot twa month after, an' he -gies a cry in at Willie's--that's Jess's father's, as ye'll un'erstan'. -Ay, then, Jess had haen anither fit o' the toothache, an' she was -hingin' ower the sink wi' a tanker o' watter in her han', just as she'd -been when he saw her last. "What!" says Joey, wi' rale consairn, "nae -better yet?" The stock thocht she had been haddin' gaen at the watter a' -thae twa month.' - -'I call to mind,' the stone-breaker broke in again, 'hoo a body----' - -'So,' continued Jamie, 'Joey cudna help but admire the patience o' the -lassie, an' says he, "Jess," he says, "come oot by to Mortar Pits, an' -try oor well." That's hoo Joey Fargus speired's wife, an' if ye dinna -believe's, ye've nae mair to do but ging to Mortar Pits an' see the well -yersels.' - -'I recall,' said the stone-breaker, 'a vary neat case o' speirin'. It -was Jocky Wilkie, him 'at's brither was grieve to Broken Busses, an' -the lass was Leeby Lunan. She was aye puttin' Jocky aff when he was on -the point o' speirin' her, keepin' 'im hingin' on the hook like a trout, -as ye may say, an' takkin her fling wi' ither lads at the same time.' - -'Ay, I've kent them do that.' - -'Weel, it fair maddened Jocky, so ae nicht he gings to her father's -hoose wi' a present o' a grand thimble to her in his pooch, an' afore -the hale hoosehold he perdooces't an' flings't wi' a bang on the -dresser: - -"Tak it," he says to Leeby, "or leave't." In coorse the thing's bein' -done sae public-like, Leeby kent she had to mak up her mind there an' -then. Ay, she took it.' - -'But hoo did ye speir Chirsty yersel, Dan'l?' asked Jinny of the -speaker. - -There was a laugh at this, for, as was well known, Dan'l had jilted -Chirsty. - -'I never kent I had speired,' replied the stone-breaker, 'till Chirsty -told me.' - -'Ye'll no say ye wasna fond o' her?' - -'Sometimes I was, an' syne at other times I was indifferent-like. The -mair I thocht o't the mair risky I saw it was, so i' the tail o' the day -I says to Chirsty, says I, "Na, na, Chirsty, lat's be as I am."' - -'They say she took on terrible, Dan'l.' - -'Ay, nae doot, but a man has 'imsel to conseeder.' - -By this time they had crossed the moor of whins. It was a cold, still -evening, and as they paused before climbing down into the town they -heard the tinkle of a bell. - -'That's Snecky's bell,' said the mole-catcher; 'what can he be cryin' at -this time o' nicht?' - -'There's something far wrang,' said one of the women. 'Look, a'body's -rinnin' to the square.' - -The troubled look returned to Tammas Haggart's face, and he stopped to -look back across the fast-darkening moor. - -'Did ony o' ye see little Davy Dundas, the saw-miller's bairny?' he -began. - -At that moment a young man swept by. His teeth were clenched, his eyes -glaring. - -'Speak o' the deil,' said the mole-catcher; 'that was Rob Angus.' - - - - -CHAPTER II - -ROB BECOMES FREE - - -As Haggart hobbled down into the square, in the mole-catcher's rear, -Hobart's cracked bell tinkled up the back-wynd, and immediately -afterwards the bellman took his stand by the side of Tam Peter's -fish-cart. Snecky gave his audience time to gather, for not every day -was it given to him to cry a lost bairn. The words fell slowly from his -reluctant lips. Before he flung back his head and ejected his -proclamation in a series of puffs he was the possessor of exclusive -news, but his tongue had hardly ceased to roll round the concluding -sentence when the crowd took up the cry themselves. Wives flinging open -their windows shouted their fears across the wynds. Davy Dundas had -wandered from the kirkyard, where Rob had left her in Kitty Wilkie's -charge till he returned from the woods. What had Kitty been about? It -was believed that the litlin had taken with her a letter that had come -for Rob. Was Rob back from the woods yet? Ay, he had scoured the whole -countryside already for her. - -Men gathered on the saw-mill brig, looking perplexedly at the burn that -swivelled at this point, a sawdust colour, between wooden boards; but -the women pressed their bairns closely to their wrappers and gazed in -each other's face. - -A log of wood, with which some one had sought to improvise a fire -between the bricks that narrowed Rob Angus's grate, turned peevishly to -charcoal without casting much light on the men and women in the saw-mill -kitchen. Already the burn had been searched near the mill, with Rob's -white face staring at the searchers from his door. - -The room was small and close. A closet-bed with the door off afforded -seats for several persons; and Davit Lunan, the tinsmith, who could read -Homer with Rob in the original, sat clumsily on the dresser. The -pendulum of a wag-at-the-wa' clock swung silently against the wall, -casting a mouse-like shadow on the hearth. Over the mantelpiece was a -sampler in many colours, the work of Rob's mother when she was still a -maid. The bookcase, fitted into a recess that had once held a press, was -Rob's own handiwork, and contained more books than any other house in -Thrums. Overhead the thick wooden rafters were crossed with saws and -staves. - -There was a painful silence in the gloomy room. Snecky Hobart tried to -break the log in the fireplace, using his leg as a poker, but desisted -when he saw every eye turned on him. A glitter of sparks shot up the -chimney, and the starling in the window began to whistle. Pete Todd -looked undecidedly at the minister, and, lifting a sack, flung it over -the bird's cage, as if anticipating the worst. In Thrums they veil their -cages if there is a death in the house. - -'What do ye mean, Pete Todd?' cried Rob Angus fiercely. - -His voice broke, but he seized the sack and cast it on the floor. The -starling, however, whistled no more. - -Looking as if he could strike Pete Todd, Rob stood in the centre of his -kitchen, a saw-miller for the last time. Though they did not know it, -his neighbours there were photographing him in their minds, and their -children were destined to gape in the days to come over descriptions of -Rob Angus in corduroys. - -These pictures showed a broad-shouldered man of twenty-six, whose face -was already rugged. A short brown beard hid the heavy chin, and the lips -were locked as if Rob feared to show that he was anxious about the -child. His clear grey eyes were younger-looking than his forehead, and -the swollen balls beneath them suggested a student rather than a working -man. His hands were too tanned and hard ever to be white, and he delved -a little in his walk, as if he felt uncomfortable without a weight on -his back. He was the best saw-miller in his county, but his ambition -would have scared his customers had he not kept it to himself. Many a -time strangers had stared at him as he strode along the Whunny road, and -wondered what made this stalwart man whirl the axe that he had been -using as a staff. Then Rob was thinking of the man he was going to be -when he could safely leave little Davy behind him, and it was not the -firs of the Whunny wood that were in his eye, but a roaring city and a -saw-miller taking it by the throat. There had been a time when he bore -no love for the bairn who came between him and his career. - -Rob was so tall that he could stand erect in but few rooms in Thrums, -and long afterwards, when very different doors opened to him, he still -involuntarily ducked, as he crossed a threshold, to save his head. Up to -the day on which Davy wandered from home he had never lifted his hat to -a lady; when he did that the influence of Thrums would be broken for -ever. - -'It's oncommon foolish o' Rob,' said Pete Todd, retreating to the side -of the mole-catcher, 'no to be mair resigned-like.' - -'It's his ind'pendence,' answered Jamie; 'ay, the wricht was sayin' the -noo, says he, "If Davy's deid, Rob'll mak the coffin 'imsel, he's sae -michty ind'pendent."' - -Tammas Haggart stumbled into the saw-miller's kitchen. It would have -been a womanish kind of thing to fling-to the door behind him. - -'Fine growin' day, Rob,' he said deliberately. - -'It is so, Tammas,' answered the saw-miller hospitably, for Haggart had -been his father's bosom friend. - -'No much drowth, I'm thinkin',' said Hobart, relieved by the turn the -conversation had taken. - -Tammas pulled from beneath the table an unsteady three-legged -stool--Davy's stool--and sat down on it slowly. Rob took a step nearer -as if to ask him to sit somewhere else, and then turned away his head. - -'Ay, ay,' said Haggart. - -Then, as he saw the others gathering round the minister at the door, he -moved uneasily on his stool. - -'Whaur's Davy?' he said. - -'Did ye no ken she was lost?' the saw-miller asked, in a voice that was -hardly his own. - -'Ay, I kent,' said Tammas; 'she's on the Whunny road.' - -Rob had been talking to the minister in what both thought English, which -in Thrums is considered an ostentatious language, but he turned on -Tammas in broad Scotch. In the years to come, when he could wear gloves -without concealing his hands in his pockets, excitement brought on -Scotch as a poultice raises blisters. - -'Tammas Haggart,' he cried, pulling the stone-breaker off his stool. - -The minister interposed. - -'Tell us what you know at once, Tammas,' said Mr. Dishart, who, out of -the pulpit, had still a heart. - -It was a sad tale that Haggart had to tell, if a short one, and several -of the listeners shook their heads as they heard it. - -'I meant to turn the lassieky,' the stone-breaker explained, 'but, ou, -she was past in a twinklin'.' - -On the saw-mill brig the minister quickly organised a search party, the -brig that Rob had floored anew but the week before, rising daily with -the sun to do it, because the child's little boot had caught in a worn -board. From it she had often crooned to watch the dank mill-wheel -climbing the bouncing burn. Ah, Rob, the rotten old planks would have -served your turn. - -'The Whunny road' were the words passed from mouth to mouth, and the -driblet of men fell into line. - -Impetuous is youth, and the minister was not perhaps greatly to blame -for starting at once. But Lang Tammas, his chief elder, paused on the -threshold. - -'The Lord giveth,' he said solemnly, taking off his hat and letting the -night air cut through his white hair, 'and the Lord taketh away: blessed -be the name of the Lord.' - -The saw-miller opened his mouth, but no words came. - -The little search party took the cold Whunny road. The day had been -bright and fine, and still there was a smell of flowers in the air. The -fickle flowers! They had clustered round Davy and nestled on her neck -when she drew the half-ashamed saw-miller through the bleating meadows, -and now they could smile on him when he came alone--all except the -daisies. The daisies, that cannot play a child false, had craned their -necks to call Davy back as she tripped over them, and bowed their heavy -little heads as she toddled on. It was from them that the bairn's track -was learned after she wandered from the Whunny road. - -By and by the hills ceased to echo their wailing response to Hobart's -bell. - -Far in the rear of the more eager searchers, the bellman and the joiner -had found a seat on a mossy bank, and others, footsore and weary, had -fallen elsewhere from the ranks. The minister and half a dozen others -scattered over the fields and on the hillsides, despondent, but not -daring to lag. Tinkers cowered round their kettles under threatening -banks, and the squirrels were shadows gliding from tree to tree. - -At a distant smithy a fitful light still winked to the wind, but the -farm lamps were out and all the land was hushed. It was now long past -midnight in country parts. - -Rob Angus was young and strong, but the heaven-sent gift of tears was -not for him. Blessed the moaning mother by the cradle of her -eldest-born, and the maid in tears for the lover who went out so brave -in the morning and was not at evenfall, and the weeping sister who can -pray for her soldier brother, and the wife on her husband's bosom. - -Some of his neighbours had thought it unmanly when Rob, at the rumble of -a cart, hurried from the saw-mill to snatch the child in his arms, and -bear her to a bed of shavings. At such a time Davy would lift a saw to -within an inch of her baby face, and then, letting it fall with a wicked -chuckle, run to the saw-miller's arms, as sure of her lover as ever -maiden was of man. - -A bashful lover he had been, shy, not of Davy but of what men would say, -and now the time had come when he looked wistfully back to a fevered -child tossing in a dark bed, the time when a light burned all night in -Rob's kitchen, and a trembling, heavy-eyed man sat motionless on a -high-backed chair. How noiselessly he approached the bonny mite and -replaced the arm that had wandered from beneath the coverlet! Ah, for -the old time when a sick imperious child told her uncle to lie down -beside her, and Rob sat on the bed, looking shamefacedly at the -minister. Mr. Dishart had turned away his head. Such things are not to -be told. They are between a man and his God. - -Far up the Whunny hill they found Davy's little shoe. Rob took it in his -hand, a muddy, draggled shoe that had been a pretty thing when he put it -on her foot that morning. The others gathered austerely around him, and -strong Rob stood still among the brackens. - -'I'm dootin' she's deid,' said Tammas Haggart. - -Haggart looked into the face of old Rob's son, and then a strange and -beautiful thing happened. To the wizened stone-breaker it was no longer -the sombre Whunny hill that lay before him. Two barefooted herd-laddies -were on the green fields of adjoining farms. The moon looking over the -hills found them on their ragged backs, with the cows munching by their -side. They had grown different boys, nor known why, among the wild roses -of red and white, and trampling neck-high among the ferns. Haggart saw -once again the raspberry bushes they had stripped together into flagons -gleaming in the grass. Rob had provided the bent pin with which Tammas -lured his first trout to land, and Tammas in return had invited him to -thraw the neck of a doomed hen. They had wandered hand-in-hand through -thirsty grass, when scythes whistled in the corn-fields, and larks -trilled overhead, and braes were golden with broom. - -They are two broad-shouldered men now, and Haggart's back is rounding at -the loom. From his broken window he can see Rob at the saw-mill, -whistling as the wheel goes round. It is Saturday night, and they are in -the square, clean and dapper, talking with other gallants about lasses. -They are courting the same maid, and she sits on a stool by the door, -knitting a stocking, with a lover on each side. They drop in on her -mother straining the blaeberry juice through a bag suspended between two -chairs. They sheepishly admire while Easie singes a hen; for love of her -they help her father to pit his potatoes; and then, for love of the -other, each gives her up. It is a Friday night, and from a but and ben -around which the rabble heave and toss, a dozen couples emerge in -strangely gay and bright apparel. Rob leads the way with one lass, and -Tammas follows with another. It must be Rob's wedding-day. - -Dim grow Tammas's eyes on the Whunny hill. The years whirl by, and -already he sees a grumpy gravedigger go out to dig Rob's grave. Alas! -for the flash into the past that sorrow gives. As he clutches young -Rob's hand the light dies from Tammas's eyes, his back grows round and -bent, and the hair is silvered that lay in tousled locks on a lad's -head. - -A nipping wind cut the search party and fled down the hill that was -changing in colour from black to grey. The searchers might have been -smugglers laden with whisky bladders, such as haunted the mountain in -bygone days. Far away at Thrums mothers still wrung their hands for -Davy, but the men slept. - -Heads were bared, and the minister raised his voice in prayer. One of -the psalms of David trembled in the grey of the morning straight to -heaven; and then two young men, glancing at Mr. Dishart, raised aloft a -fallen rowan-tree, to let it fall as it listed. It fell pointing -straight down the hill, and the search party took that direction; all -but Rob, who stood motionless, with the shoe in his hand. He did not -seem to comprehend the minister's beckoning. - -Haggart took him by the arm. - -'Rob, man, Rob Angus,' he said, 'she was but fower year auld.' - -The stone-breaker unbuttoned his trouser pocket, and with an unsteady -hand drew out his snuff-mull. Rob tried to take it, but his arm -trembled, and the mull fell among the heather. - -'Keep yourselves from idols,' said Lang Tammas sternly. - -But the minister was young, and children lisped his name at the white -manse among the trees at home. He took the shoe from the saw-miller who -had once been independent, and they went down the hill together. - -Davy lay dead at the edge of the burn that gurgles on to the saw-mill, -one little foot washed by the stream. The Whunny had rocked her to sleep -for the last time. Half covered with grass, her baby-fist still clutched -the letter. When Rob saw her, he took his darling dead bairn in his arms -and faced the others with cracking jaws. - -'I dinna ken,' said Tammas Haggart, after a pause, 'but what it's kind -o' nat'ral.' - - - - -CHAPTER III - -ROB GOES OUT INTO THE WORLD - - -One evening, nearly a month after Rob Angus became 'single,' Mr. George -Frederick Licquorish, editor and proprietor of the _Silchester Mirror_, -was sitting in his office cutting advertisements out of the _Silchester -Argus_, and pasting each on a separate sheet of paper. These -advertisements had not been sent to the _Mirror_, and, as he thought -this a pity, he meant, through his canvasser, to call the attention of -the advertisers to the omission. - -Mr. Licquorish was a stout little man with a benevolent countenance, who -wrote most of his leaders on the backs of old envelopes. Every few -minutes he darted into the composing-room, with an alertness that was a -libel on his genial face; and when he returned it was pleasant to -observe the kindly, good-natured manner in which he chaffed the -printer's devil who was trying to light the fire. It was, however, also -noticeable that what the devil said subsequently to another devil -was--'But, you know, he wouldn't give me any sticks.' - -The _Mirror_ and the _Argus_ are two daily newspapers published in -Silchester, each of which has the largest circulation in the district, -and is therefore much the better advertising medium. Silchester is the -chief town of an English midland county, and the _Mirror's_ business -notepaper refers to it as the centre of a population of half a million -souls. - -The _Mirror's_ offices are nearly crushed out of sight in a block of -buildings, left in the middle of a street for town councils to pull down -gradually. This island of houses, against which a sea of humanity beats -daily, is cut in two by a narrow passage, off which several doors open. -One of these leads up a dirty stair to the editorial and composing-rooms -of the _Daily Mirror_, and down a dirty stair to its printing-rooms. It -is the door at which you may hammer for an hour without any one's paying -the least attention. - -During the time the boy took to light Mr. Licquorish's fire, a young man -in a heavy overcoat knocked more than once at the door in the alley, and -then moved off as if somewhat relieved that there was no response. He -walked round and round the block of buildings, gazing upwards at the -windows of the composing-room; and several times he ran against other -pedestrians on whom he turned fiercely, and would then have begged their -pardons had he known what to say. Frequently he felt in his pocket to -see if his money was still there, and once he went behind a door and -counted it. There was three pounds seventeen shillings altogether, and -he kept it in a linen bag that had been originally made for carrying -worms in when he went fishing. When he re-entered the close he always -drew a deep breath, and if any persons emerged from the _Mirror_ office -he looked after them. They were mostly telegraph boys, who fluttered out -and in. - -When Mr. Licquorish dictated an article, as he did frequently, the -apprentice-reporter went into the editor's room to take it down, and -the reporters always asked him, as a favour, to shut George Frederick's -door behind him. This apprentice-reporter did the police reports and the -magazine notices, and he wondered a good deal whether the older -reporters really did like brandy and soda. The reason why John Milton, -which was the unfortunate name of this boy, was told to close the -editorial door behind him was that it was close to the door of the -reporters' room, and generally stood open. The impression the reporters' -room made on a chance visitor varied according as Mr. Licquorish's door -was ajar or shut. When they heard it locked on the inside, the reporters -and the sub-editor breathed a sigh of relief; when it opened they took -their legs off the desk. - -The editor's room had a carpet, and was chiefly furnished with books -sent in for review. It was more comfortable, but more gloomy-looking -than the reporters' room, which had a long desk running along one side -of it, and a bunk for holding coals and old newspapers on the other -side. The floor was so littered with papers, many of them still in their -wrappers, that, on his way between his seat and the door, the reporter -generally kicked one or more into the bunk. It was in this way, unless -an apprentice happened to be otherwise disengaged, that the floor was -swept. - -In this room were a reference library and an old coat. The library was -within reach of the sub-editor's hand, and contained some fifty books, -which the literary staff could consult, with the conviction that they -would find the page they wanted missing. The coat had hung unbrushed on -a nail for many years, and was so thick with dust that John Milton -could draw pictures on it with his finger. According to legend, it was -the coat of a distinguished novelist, who had once been a reporter on -the _Mirror_, and had left Silchester unostentatiously by his window. - -It was Penny, the foreman in the composing-room, who set the literary -staff talking about the new reporter. Penny was a lank, loosely-jointed -man of forty, who shuffled about the office in slippers, ruled the -compositors with a loud voice and a blustering manner, and was believed -to be in Mr. Licquorish's confidence. His politics were respect for the -House of Lords, because it rose early, enabling him to have it set -before supper-time. - -The foreman slithered so quickly from one room to another that he was at -the sub-editor's elbow before his own door had time to shut. There was -some copy in his hand, and he flung it contemptuously upon the desk. - -'Look here, Mister,' he said, flinging the copy upon the sub-editor's -desk, 'I don't want that.' - -The sub-editor was twisted into as little space as possible, tearing -telegrams open and flinging the envelopes aside, much as a housewife -shells peas. His name was Protheroe, and the busier he was the more he -twisted himself. On Budget nights he was a knot. He did voluntarily so -much extra work that Mr. Licquorish often thought he gave him too high -wages; and on slack nights he smiled to himself, which showed that -something pleased him. It was rather curious that this something should -have been himself. - -'But--but,' cried Protheroe, all in a flutter, 'it's town council -meeting; it--it must be set, Mr. Penny.' - -'Very well, Mister; then that special from Birmingham must be -slaughtered.' - -'No, no, Mr. Penny; why, that's a speech by Bright.' - -Penny sneered at the sub-editor, and flung up his arms to imply that he -washed his hands of the whole thing, as he had done every night for the -last ten years, when there was pressure on his space. Protheroe had been -there for half of that time, yet he still trembled before the autocrat -of the office. - -'There's enough copy on the board,' said Penny, 'to fill the paper. Any -more specials coming in?' - -He asked this fiercely, as if of opinion that the sub-editor arranged -with leading statesmen nightly to flood the composing-room of the -_Mirror_ with speeches, and Protheroe replied abjectly, as if he had -been caught doing it--'Lord John Manners is speaking to-night at -Nottingham.' - -The foreman dashed his hand upon the desk. - -'Go it, Mister, go it,' he cried; 'anything else? Tell me Gladstone's -dead next.' - -Sometimes about two o'clock in the morning Penny would get sociable, and -the sub-editor was always glad to respond. On those occasions they -talked with bated breath of the amount of copy that would come in should -anything happen to Mr. Gladstone; and the sub-editor, if he was in a -despondent mood, predicted that it would occur at midnight. Thinking of -this had made him a Conservative. - -'Nothing so bad as that,' he said, dwelling on the subject, to show the -foreman that they might be worse off; 'but there's a column of local -coming in, and a concert in the People's Hall, and----' - -'And you expect me to set all that?' the foreman broke in. 'Why, the -half of that local should have been set by seven o'clock, and here I've -only got the beginning of the town council yet. It's ridiculous.' - -Protheroe looked timidly towards the only reporter present, and then -apologetically towards Penny for having looked at the reporter. - -'The stuff must be behind,' growled Tomlinson, nicknamed Umbrage, 'as -long as we're a man short.' - -Umbrage was very short and stout, with a big moon face, and always wore -his coat unbuttoned. In the streets, if he was walking fast and there -was a breeze, his coat-tails seemed to be running after him. He squinted -a little, from a habit he had of looking sideways at public meetings to -see if the audience was gazing at him. He was 'Juvenal' in the _Mirror_ -on Friday mornings, and headed his column of local gossip which had that -signature, 'Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.' - -'I wonder,' said the sub-editor, with an insinuating glance at the -foreman, 'if the new man is expected to-night.' - -Mr. Licquorish had told him that this was so an hour before, but the -cunning bred of fear advised him to give Penny the opportunity of -divulging the news. - -That worthy smiled to himself, as any man has a right to do who has been -told something in confidence by his employer. - -'He's a Yorkshireman, I believe,' continued the crafty Protheroe. - -'That's all you know,' said the foreman, first glancing back to see if -Mr. Licquorish's door was shut. 'Mr. George Frederick has told me all -about him; he's a Scotsman called Angus, that's never been out of his -native county.' - -'He's one of those compositors taken to literature, is he?' asked -Umbrage, who by literature meant reporting, pausing in the middle of a -sentence he was transcribing from his note-book. 'Just as I expected,' -he added contemptuously. - -'No,' said the foreman, thawing in the rays of such ignorance; 'Mr. -George Frederick says he's never been on a newspaper before.' - -'An outsider!' cried Umbrage, in the voice with which outsiders -themselves would speak of reptiles. 'They are the ruin of the -profession, they are.' - -'He'll make you all sit up, Mister,' said Penny, with a chuckle. 'Mr. -George Frederick has had his eye on him for a twelvemonth.' - -'I don't suppose you know how Mr. George Frederick fell in with him?' -said the sub-editor, basking in Penny's geniality. - -'Mr. George Frederick told me everythink about him--everythink,' said -the foreman proudly. 'It was a parson that recommended him.' - -'A parson!' ejaculated Umbrage, in such a tone that if you had not -caught the word you might have thought he was saying 'An outsider!' -again. - -'Yes, a parson whose sermon this Angus took down in shorthand, I fancy.' - -'What was he doing taking down a sermon?' - -'I suppose he was there to hear it.' - -'And this is the kind of man who is taking to literature nowadays!' -Umbrage cried. - -'Oh, Mr. George Frederick has heard a great deal about him,' continued -Penny maliciously, 'and expects him to do wonders. He's a self-made -man.' - -'Oh,' said Umbrage, who could find nothing to object to in that, having -risen from comparative obscurity himself. - -'Mr. George Frederick,' Penny went on, 'offered him a berth here before -Billy Tagg was engaged, but he couldn't come.' - -'I suppose,' said Juvenal, with the sarcasm that made him terrible on -Fridays, 'the _Times_ offered him something better, or was it the -_Spectator_ that wanted an editor?' - -'No, it was family matters. His mother or his sister, or--let me see, it -was his sister's child--was dependent on him, and could not be left. -Something happened to her, though. She's dead, I think, so he's a free -man now.' - -'Yes, it was his sister's child, and she was found dead,' said the -sub-editor, 'on a mountain-side, curiously enough, with George -Frederick's letter in her hand offering Angus the appointment.' - -Protheroe was foolish to admit that he knew this, for it was news to the -foreman, but it tries a man severely to have to listen to news that he -could tell better himself. One immediate result of the sub-editor's -rashness was that Rob Angus sank several stages in Penny's estimation. - -'I dare say he'll turn out a muff,' he said, and flung out of the room, -with another intimation that the copy must be cut down. - -The evening wore on. Protheroe had half a dozen things to do at once, -and did them. - -Telegraph boys were dropping the beginning of Lord John Manners's speech -through a grating on to the sub-editorial desk long before he had -reached the end of it at Nottingham. - -The sub-editor had to revise this as it arrived in flimsy, and write a -summary of it at the same time. His summary was set before all the -speech had reached the office, which may seem strange. But when Penny -cried aloud for summary, so that he might get that column off his hands, -Protheroe made guesses at many things, and, risking, 'the right hon. -gentleman concluded his speech, which was attentively listened to, with -some further references to current topics,' flung Lord John to the boy, -who rushed with him to Penny, from whose hand he was snatched by a -compositor. Fifteen minutes afterwards Lord John concluded his speech at -Nottingham. - -About half-past nine Protheroe seized his hat and rushed home for -supper. In the passage he nearly knocked himself over by running against -the young man in the heavy top-coat. Umbrage went out to see if he could -gather any information about a prize-fight. John Milton came in with a -notice of a concert, which he stuck conspicuously on the chief -reporter's file. When the chief reporter came in, he glanced through it -and made a few alterations, changing 'Mr. Joseph Grimes sang out of -tune,' for instance, to 'Mr. Grimes, the favourite vocalist, was in -excellent voice.' The concert was not quite over yet, either; they -seldom waited for the end of anything on the _Mirror_. - -When Umbrage returned, Billy Kirker, the chief reporter, was denouncing -John Milton for not being able to tell him how to spell 'deceive.' - -'What is the use of you?' he asked indignantly, 'if you can't do a -simple thing like that?' - -'Say "cheat,"' suggested Umbrage. - -So Kirker wrote 'cheat.' Though he was the chief of the _Mirror's_ -reporting department, he had only Umbrage and John Milton at present -under him. - -As Kirker sat in the reporters' room looking over his diary, with a -cigarette in his mouth, he was an advertisement for the _Mirror_, and if -he paid for his velvet coat out of his salary, the paper was in a -healthy financial condition. He was tall, twenty-two years of age, and -extremely slight. His manner was languid, though his language was -sometimes forcible, but those who knew him did not think him mild. This -evening his fingers looked bare without the diamond ring that sometimes -adorned them. This ring, it was noticed, generally disappeared about the -middle of the month, and his scarf-pin followed it by the twenty-first. -With the beginning of the month they reappeared together. The literary -staff was paid monthly. - -Mr. Licquorish looked in at the door of the reporters' room to ask -pleasantly if they would not like a fire. Had Protheroe been there he -would have said 'No'; but Billy Kirker said 'Yes.' Mr. Licquorish had -thought that Protheroe was there. - -This was the first fire in the reporters' room that season, and it -smoked. Kirker, left alone, flung up the window, and gradually became -aware that some one with a heavy tread was walking up and down the -alley. He whistled gently in case it should be a friend of his own, but, -getting no response, resumed his work. Mr. Licquorish also heard the -footsteps, but though he was waiting for the new reporter, he did not -connect him with the man outside. - -Rob had stopped at the door a score of times, and then turned away. He -had arrived at Silchester in the afternoon, and come straight to the -_Mirror_ office to look at it. Then he had set out in quest of -lodgings, and, having got them, had returned to the passage. He was not -naturally a man crushed by a sense of his own unworthiness, but, looking -up at these windows and at the shadows that passed them every moment, he -felt far away from his saw-mill. What a romance to him, too, was in the -glare of the gas and in the _Mirror_ bill that was being reduced to pulp -on the wall at the mouth of the close! It had begun to rain heavily, but -he did not feel the want of an umbrella, never having possessed one in -Thrums. - -Fighting down the emotions that had mastered him so often, he turned -once more to the door, and as he knocked more loudly than formerly, a -compositor came out, who told him what to do if he was there on -business. - -'Go upstairs,' he said, 'till you come to a door, and then kick.' - -Rob did not have to kick, however, for he met Mr. Licquorish coming -downstairs, and both half stopped. - -'Not Mr. Angus, is it?' asked Mr. Licquorish. - -'Yes,' said the new reporter, the monosyllable also telling that he was -a Scotsman, and that he did not feel comfortable. - -Mr. Licquorish shook him warmly by the hand, and took him into the -editor's room. Rob sat in a chair there with his hat in his hand, while -his new employer spoke kindly to him about the work that would begin on -the morrow. - -'You will find it a little strange at first,' he said; 'but Mr. Kirker, -the head of our reporting staff, has been instructed to explain the -routine of the office to you, and I have no doubt we shall work well -together.' - -Rob said he meant to do his best. - -'It is our desire, Mr. Angus,' continued Mr. Licquorish, 'to place every -facility before our staff, and if you have suggestions to make at any -time on any matter connected with your work, we shall be most happy to -consider them and to meet you in a cordial spirit.' - -While Rob was thanking Mr. Licquorish for his consideration, Kirker in -the next room was wondering whether the new reporter was to have -half-a-crown a week less than his predecessor, who had begun with six -pounds a month. - -'It is pleasant to us,' Mr. Licquorish concluded, referring to the -novelist, 'to know that we have sent out from this office a number of -men who subsequently took a high place in literature. Perhaps our system -of encouraging talent by fostering it has had something to do with this, -for we like to give every one his opportunity to rise. I hope the day -will come, Mr. Angus, when we shall be able to recall with pride the -fact that you began your literary career on the _Mirror_.' - -Rob said he hoped so too. He had, indeed, very little doubt of it. At -this period of his career it made him turn white to think that he might -not yet be famous. - -'But I must not keep you here any longer,' said the editor, rising, 'for -you have had a weary journey, and must be feeling tired. We shall see -you at ten o'clock to-morrow?' - -Once more Rob and his employer shook hands heartily. - -'But I might introduce you,' said Mr. Licquorish, 'to the -reporting-room. Mr. Kirker, our chief, is, I think, here.' - -Rob had begun to descend the stairs, but he turned back. He was not -certain what you did when you were introduced to any one, such -formalities being unknown in Thrums; but he held himself in reserve to -do as the other did. - -'Ah, Mr. Kirker,' said the editor, pushing open the door of the -reporting-room with his foot, 'this is Mr. Angus, who has just joined -our literary staff.' - -Nodding genially to both, Mr. Licquorish darted out of the room; but -before the door had finished its swing, Mr. Kirker was aware that the -new reporter's nails had a rim of black. - -'What do you think of George Frederick?' asked the chief, after he had -pointed out to Rob the only chair that such a stalwart reporter might -safely sit on. - -'He was very pleasant,' said Rob. - -'Yes,' said Billy Kirker thoughtfully, 'there's nothing George Frederick -wouldn't do for any one if it could be done gratis.' - -'And he struck me as an enterprising sort of man.' - -'"Enterprise without outlay" is the motto of this office,' said the -chief. - -'But the paper seems to be well conducted,' said Rob, a little -crestfallen. - -'The worst conducted in England,' said Kirker cheerfully. - -Rob asked how the _Mirror_ compared with the _Argus_. - -'They have six reporters to our three,' said Kirker, 'but we do double -work and beat them.' - -'I suppose there is a great deal of rivalry between the staffs of the -two papers?' Rob asked, for he had read of such things. - -'Oh no,' said Kirker, 'we help each other. For instance, if Daddy Walsh, -the _Argus_ chief, is drunk, I help him; and if I'm drunk, he helps me. -I'm going down to the Frying Pan to see him now.' - -'The Frying Pan?' echoed Rob. - -'It's a literary club,' Kirker explained, 'and very exclusive. If you -come with me I'll introduce you.' - -Rob was somewhat taken aback at what he had heard, but he wanted to be -on good terms with his fellow-workers. - -'Not to-night,' he said. 'I think I'd better be getting home now.' - -Kirker lit another cigarette, and saying he would expect Rob at the -office next morning, strolled off. The new reporter was undecided -whether to follow him at once, or to wait for Mr. Licquorish's -reappearance. He was looking round the office curiously, when the door -opened and Kirker put his head in. - -'By the bye, old chap,' he said, 'could you lend me five bob?' - -'Yes, yes,' said the new reporter. - -He had to undo the string of his money-bag, but the chief was too fine a -gentleman to smile. - -'Thanks, old man,' Kirker said carelessly, and again withdrew. - -The door of the editor's room was open as Rob passed. - -'Ah, Mr. Angus,' said Mr. Licquorish, 'here are a number of books for -review; you might do a short notice of some of them.' - -He handed Rob the two works that happened to lie uppermost, and the new -reporter slipped them into his pockets with a certain elation. The night -was dark and wet, but he lit his pipe and hurried up the muddy streets -to the single room that was now his home. Probably his were the only -lodgings in his street that had not the portrait of a young lady on the -mantelpiece. On his way he passed three noisy young men. They were -Kirker and two reporters on the _Argus_ trying which could fling his hat -highest in the rain. - -Sitting in his lonely room Rob examined his books with interest. One of -them was Tennyson's new volume of poems, and a month afterwards the poet -laureate's publishers made Rob march up the streets of Silchester with -his chest well forward by advertising 'The _Silchester Mirror_ says, -"This admirable volume."' After all, the great delight of being on the -Press is that you can patronise the Tennysons. Doubtless the poet -laureate got a marked copy of Rob's first review forwarded him, and had -an anxious moment till he saw that it was favourable. There had been a -time when even John Milton felt a thrill pass through him as he saw -Messrs. Besant and Rice boasting that he thought their _Chaplain of the -Fleet_ a novel of sustained interest, 'which we have read without -fatigue.' - -Rob sat over his empty grate far on into the night, his mind in a -jumble. As he grew more composed the _Mirror_ and its staff sank out of -sight, and he was carrying a dead child in his arms along the leafy -Whunny road. His mouth twitched, and his head drooped. He was preparing -to go to bed when he sat down again to look at the other book. It was a -novel by 'M.' in one thin volume, and Rob thought the title, _The Scorn -of Scorns_, foolish. He meant to write an honest criticism of it, but -never having reviewed a book before, he rather hoped that this would be -a poor one, which he could condemn brilliantly. Poor Rob! he came to -think more of that book by and by. - -At last Rob wound up the big watch that neighbours had come to gaze at -when his father bought it of a pedlar forty years before, and took off -the old silver chain that he wore round his neck. He went down on his -knees to say his prayers, and then, remembering that he had said them -already, rose up and went to bed. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -'THE SCORN OF SCORNS' - - -St. Leonard's Lodge is the residence of Mr. William Meredith, an -ex-mayor of Silchester, and stands in the fashionable suburb of the -town. There was at one time considerable intercourse between this house -and Dome Castle, the seat of Colonel Abinger, though they are five miles -apart and in different counties; and one day, after Rob had been on the -Press for a few months, two boys set out from the castle to show -themselves to Nell Meredith. They could have reached the high road by a -private walk between a beech and an ivy hedge, but they preferred to -climb down a steep path to the wild-running Dome. The advantage of this -route was that they risked their necks by taking it. - -Nell, who did not expect visitors, was sitting by the fire in her -boudoir dreaming. It was the room in which she and Mary Abinger had -often discussed such great questions as Woman, her Aims, her Influence; -Man, his Instability, his Weakness, his Degeneration; the Poor, how are -we to Help them; why Lady Lucy Gilding wears Pink when Blue is obviously -her Colour. - -Nell was tucked away in a soft arm-chair, in which her father never saw -her without wondering that such a little thing should require eighteen -yards for a dress. - -'I'm not so little,' she would say on these occasions, and then Mr. -Meredith chuckled, for he knew that there were young men who considered -his Nell tall and terrible. He liked to watch her sweeping through a -room. To him the boudoir was a sea of reefs. Nell's dignity when she was -introduced to a young gentleman was another thing her father could never -look upon without awe, but he also noticed that it soon wore off. - -On the mantelpiece lay a comb and several hairpins. There are few more -mysterious things than hairpins. So far back as we can go into the past -we see woman putting up her hair. It is said that married men lose their -awe of hairpins and clean their pipes with them. - -A pair of curling-tongs had a chair to themselves near Nell, and she -wore a short blue dressing-jacket. Probably when she woke from her -reverie she meant to do something to her brown hair. When old gentlemen -called at the Lodge they frequently told their host that he had a very -pretty daughter; when younger gentlemen called they generally called -again, and if Nell thought they admired her the first time she spared no -pains to make them admire her still more the next time. This was to make -them respect their own judgment. - -It was little Will Abinger who had set Nell a-dreaming, for from -wondering if he was home yet for the Christmas holidays her thoughts -wandered to his sister Mary, and then to his brother Dick. She thought -longer of Dick in his lonely London chambers than of the others, and by -and by she was saying to herself petulantly, 'I wish people wouldn't go -dying and leaving me money.' Mr. Meredith, and still more Mrs. -Meredith, thought that their only daughter, an heiress, would be thrown -away on Richard Abinger, barrister-at-law, whose blood was much bluer -than theirs, but who was, nevertheless, understood to be as hard-up as -his father. - -The door-bell rang, and two callers were ushered into the drawing-room -without Nell's knowing it. One of them left his companion to talk to -Mrs. Meredith, and clattered upstairs in search of the daughter of the -house. He was a bright-faced boy of thirteen, with a passion for -flinging stones, and, of late, he had worn his head in the air, not -because he was conceited, but that he might look with admiration upon -the face of the young gentleman downstairs. - -Bouncing into the parlour, he caught sight of the object of his search -before she could turn her head. - -'I say, Nell, I'm back.' - -Miss Meredith jumped from her chair. - -'Will!' she cried. - -When the visitor saw this young lady coming toward him quickly, he knew -what she was after and tried to get out of her way. But Nell kissed him. - -'Now, then,' he said indignantly, pushing her from him. - -Will looked round him fearfully, and then closed the door. - -'You might have waited till the door was shut, at any rate,' he -grumbled. 'It would have been a nice thing if any one had seen you!' - -'Why, what would it have mattered, you horrid little boy!' said Nell. - -'Little boy! I'm bigger than you, at any rate. As for its not -mattering--but you don't know who is downstairs. The captain----' - -'Captain!' cried Nell. - -She seized her curling-tongs. - -'Yes,' said Will, watching the effect of his words, 'Greybrooke, the -captain of the school. He is giving me a week just now.' - -Will said this as proudly as if his guest was Napoleon Bonaparte, but -Nell laid down her curling-irons. The intruder interpreted her action -and resented it. - -'You're not his style,' he said; 'he likes bigger women.' - -'Oh, does he?' said Nell, screwing up her little Greek nose -contemptuously. - -'He's eighteen,' said Will. - -'A mere schoolboy.' - -'Why, he shaves.' - -'Doesn't the master whip him for that?' - -'What? Whip Greybrooke!' - -Will laughed hysterically. - -'You should just see him at breakfast with old Jerry. Why, I've seen him -myself, when half a dozen of us were asked to tea by Mrs. Jerry, and -though we were frightened to open our mouths, what do you think -Greybrooke did?' - -'Something silly, I should say.' - -'He asked old Jerry, as cool as you like, to pass the butter! That's the -sort of fellow Greybrooke is.' - -'How is Mary?' - -'Oh, she's all right. No, she has a headache. I say, Greybrooke says -Mary's rather slow.' - -'He must be a horror,' said Nell, 'and I don't see why you brought him -here.' - -'I thought you would like to see him,' explained Will. 'He made a -hundred and three against Rugby, and was only bowled off his pads.' - -'Well,' said Nell, yawning, 'I suppose I must go down and meet your -prodigy.' - -Will, misunderstanding, got between her and the door. - -'You're not going down like that,' he said anxiously, with a wave of his -hand that included the dressing-jacket and the untidy hair. -'Greybrooke's so particular, and I told him you were a jolly girl.' - -'What else did you tell him?' asked Nell suspiciously. - -'Not much,' said Will, with a guilty look. - -'I know you told him something else?' - -'I told him you--you were fond of kissing people.' - -'Oh, you nasty boy, Will--as if kissing a child like you counted!' - -'Never mind,' said Will soothingly, 'Greybrooke's not the fellow to tell -tales. Besides, I know you girls can't help it. Mary's just the same.' - -'You are a goose, Will, and the day will come when you'll give anything -for a kiss.' - -'You've no right to bring such charges against a fellow,' said Will -indignantly, strutting to the door. - -Half-way downstairs he turned and came back. - -'I say, Nell,' he said, 'you--you, when you come down, you won't kiss -Greybrooke?' - -Nell drew herself up in a way that would have scared any young man but -Will. - -'He's so awfully particular,' Will continued apologetically. - -'Was it to tell me this you came upstairs?' - -'No, honour bright, it wasn't. I only came up in case you should want to -kiss me, and to--to have it over.' - -Nell was standing near Will, and before he could jump back she slapped -his face. - -The snow was dancing outside in a light wind when Nell sailed into the -drawing-room. She could probably still inform you how she was dressed, -but that evening Will and the captain could not tell Mary. The captain -thought it was a reddish dress or else blue; but it was all in squares -like a draught-board, according to Will. Forty minutes had elapsed since -Will visited her upstairs, and now he smiled at the conceit which made -her think that the captain would succumb to a pretty frock. Of course -Nell had no such thought. She always dressed carefully because--well, -because there is never any saying. - -Though Miss Meredith froze Greybrooke with a glance, he was relieved to -see her. Her mother had discovered that she knew the lady who married -his brother, and had asked questions about the baby. He did not like it. -These, he thought, were things you should pretend not to know about. He -had contrived to keep his nieces and nephews dark from the fellows at -school, though most of them would have been too just to attach any blame -to him. Of this baby he was specially ashamed, because they had called -it after him. - -Mrs. Meredith was a small, stout lady, of whose cleverness her husband -spoke proudly to Nell, but never to herself. When Nell told her how he -had talked, she exclaimed, 'Nonsense!' and then waited to hear what else -he had said. She loved him, but probably no woman can live with a man -for many years without having an indulgent contempt for him, and -wondering how he is considered a good man of business. Mrs. Meredith, -who was a terribly active woman, was glad to leave the entertainment of -her visitors to Nell, and that young lady began severely by asking 'how -you boys mean to amuse yourselves?' - -'Do you keep rabbits?' she said to the captain sweetly. - -'I say, Nell!' cried Will warningly. - -'I have not kept rabbits,' Greybrooke replied, with simple dignity, -'since I was a boy.' - -'I told you,' said Will, 'that Greybrooke was old--why, he's nearly as -old as yourself. She's older than she looks, you know, Greybrooke.' - -The captain was gazing at Nell with intense admiration. As she raised -her head indignantly he thought she was looking to him for protection. -That was a way Nell had. - -'Abinger,' said the captain sternly, 'shut up.' - -'Don't mind him, Miss Meredith,' he continued; 'he doesn't understand -girls.' - -To think he understands girls is the last affront a youth pays them. -When he ceases trying to reduce them to fixed principles he has come of -age. Nell, knowing this, felt sorry for Greybrooke, for she foresaw what -he would have to go through. Her manner to him underwent such a change -that he began to have a high opinion of himself. This is often called -falling in love. Will was satisfied that his friend impressed Nell, and -he admired Greybrooke's politeness to a chit of a girl, but he became -restless. His eyes wandered to the piano, and he had a lurking fear -that Nell would play something. He signed to the captain to get up. - -'We'll have to be going now,' he said at last; 'good-bye.' - -Greybrooke glared at Will, forgetting that they had arranged beforehand -to stay as short a time as possible. - -'Perhaps you have other calls to make?' said Nell, who had no desire to -keep them there longer than they cared to stay. - -'Oh yes,' said Will. - -'No,' said the captain, 'we only came into Silchester with Miss -Abinger's message for you.' - -'Why, Will,' exclaimed Nell, 'you never gave me any message?' - -'I forgot what it was,' Will explained cheerily; 'something about a -ribbon, I think.' - -'I did not hear the message given,' the captain said, in answer to -Nell's look, 'but Miss Abinger had a headache, and I think Will said it -had to do with that.' - -'Oh, wait a bit,' said Will, 'I remember something about it now. Mary -saw something in a Silchester paper, the _Mirror_, I think, that made -her cry, and she thinks that if you saw it you would cry too. So she -wants you to look at it.' - -'The idea of Mary's crying!' said Nell indignantly. 'But did she not -give you a note?' - -'She was too much upset,' said Will, signing to the captain not to let -on that they had refused to wait for the note. - -'I wonder what it can be?' murmured Nell. - -She hurried from the room to her father's den, and found him there -surrounded by newspapers. - -'Is there anything in the _Mirror_, father?' she asked. - -'Nothing,' said Mr. Meredith, who had made the same answer to this -question many hundreds of times; 'nothing except depression in the boot -trade.' - -'It can't be that,' said Nell. - -'Can't be what?' - -'Oh, give me the paper,' cried the ex-mayor's daughter impatiently. - -She looked hastily up and down it, with an involuntary glance at the -births, deaths, and marriages, turned it inside out and outside in, and -then exclaimed 'Oh!' Mr. Meredith, who was too much accustomed to his -daughter's impulses to think that there was much wrong, listened -patiently while she ejaculated, 'Horrid!' 'What a shame!' 'Oh, I wish I -was a man!' and, 'Well, I can't understand it.' When she tossed the -paper to the floor, her face was red and her body trembled with -excitement. - -'What is it, Nelly?' asked her father. - -Whether Miss Abinger cried over the _Mirror_ that day is not to be -known, but there were indignant tears in Nell's eyes as she ran upstairs -to her bedroom. Mr. Meredith took up the paper and examined it carefully -at the place where his daughter had torn it in her anger. What troubled -her seemed to be something in the book notices, and he concluded that it -must be a cruel 'slating' of a novel in one volume called _The Scorn of -Scorns_. Mr. Meredith remembered that Nell had compelled him to read -that book and to say that he liked it. - -'That's all,' he said to himself, much relieved. - -He fancied that Nell, being a girl, was distressed to see a book she -liked called 'the sentimental out-pourings of some silly girl who ought -to confine her writing to copy-books.' In a woman so much excitement -over nothing seemed quite a natural thing to Mr. Meredith. The sex had -ceased to surprise him. Having retired from business, Mr. Meredith now -did things slowly as a good way of passing the time. He had risen to -wealth from penury, and counted time by his dining-room chairs, having -passed through a cane, a horsehair, and a leather period before arriving -at morocco. Mrs. Meredith counted time by the death of her only son. - -It may be presumed that Nell would not have locked herself into her -bedroom and cried and stamped her feet on an imaginary critic had _The -Scorn of Scorns_ not interested her more than her father thought. She -sat down to write a note to Mary. Then she tore it up, and wrote a -letter to Mary's elder brother, beginning with the envelope. She tore -this up also, as another idea came into her head. She nodded several -times to herself over this idea, as a sign that the more she thought of -it the more she liked it. Then, after very nearly forgetting to touch -her eyes with something that made them look less red, she returned to -the drawing-room. - -'Will,' she said, 'have you seen the new ponies papa gave me on my -birthday?' - -Will leapt to his feet. - -'Come on, Greybrooke,' he cried, making for the door. - -The captain hesitated. - -'Perhaps,' said Nell, with a glance at him, 'Mr. Greybrooke does not -have much interest in horses?' - -'Doesn't he just!' said Will; 'why----' - -'No,' said Greybrooke; 'but I'll wait here for you, Abinger.' - -Will was staggered. For a moment the horrible thought passed through his -mind that these girls had got hold of the captain. Then he remembered. - -'Come on,' he said, 'Nell won't mind.' - -But Greybrooke had a delicious notion that the young lady wanted to see -him by himself, and Will had to go to the stables alone. - -'I won't be long,' he said to Greybrooke, apologising for leaving him -alone with a girl. 'Don't bother him too much,' he whispered to Nell at -the door. - -As soon as Will had disappeared Nell turned to Greybrooke. - -'Mr. Greybrooke,' she said, speaking rapidly in a voice so low that it -was a compliment to him in itself, 'there is something I should like you -to do for me.' - -The captain flushed with pleasure. - -'There is nothing I wouldn't do for you,' he stammered. - -'I want you,' continued Miss Meredith, with a most vindictive look on -her face, 'to find out for me who wrote a book review in to-day's -_Mirror_, and to--to--oh, to thrash him.' - -'All right,' said the captain, rising and looking for his hat. - -'Wait a minute,' said Nell, glancing at him admiringly. 'The book is -called _The Scorn of Scorns_, and it is written by--by a friend of mine. -In to-day's _Mirror_ it is called the most horrid names, sickly -sentimental, not even grammatical, and all that.' - -'The cads!' cried Greybrooke. - -'But the horribly mean, wicked thing about it,' continued Nell, becoming -more and more indignant as she told her story, 'is that not two months -ago there was a review of the book in the same paper, which said it was -the most pathetic and thoughtful and clever tale that had ever been -published by an anonymous author!' - -'It's the lowest thing I ever heard of,' said Greybrooke, 'but these -newspaper men are all the same.' - -'No, they're not,' said Nell sharply (Richard Abinger, Esq.'s, only -visible means of sustenance was the press), 'but they are dreadfully -mean, contemptible creatures on the _Mirror_--just reporters, you know.' - -Greybrooke nodded, though he knew nothing about it. - -'The first review,' Nell continued, 'appeared on the 3rd of October, and -I want you to show them both to the editor, and insist upon knowing the -name of the writer. After that find the wretch out, and----' - -'And lick him,' said the captain. - -His face frightened Nell. - -'You won't hit him very hard?' she asked apprehensively, adding as an -afterthought, 'perhaps he is stronger than you.' - -Greybrooke felt himself in an unfortunate position. He could not boast -before Nell, but he wished very keenly that Will was there to boast for -him. Most of us have experienced the sensation. - -Nell having undertaken to keep Will employed until the captain's return, -Greybrooke set off for the _Mirror_ office with a look of determination -on his face. He went into two shops, the one a news-shop, where he -bought a copy of the paper. In the other he asked for a thick stick, -having remembered that the elegant cane he carried was better fitted for -swinging in the air than for breaking a newspaper man's head. He tried -the stick on a paling. Greybrooke felt certain that Miss Meredith was -the novelist. That was why he selected so thick a weapon. - -He marched into the advertising office, and demanded to see the editor -of the _Mirror_. - -''Stairs,' said a clerk, with his head in a ledger. He meant upstairs, -and the squire of dames took his advice. After wandering for some time -in a labyrinth of dark passages, he opened the door of the day -composing-room, in which half a dozen silent figures were bending over -their cases. - -'I want the editor,' said Greybrooke, somewhat startled by the sound his -voice made in the great room. - -''Stairs,' said one of the figures, meaning downstairs. - -Greybrooke, remembering who had sent him here, did not lose heart. He -knocked at several doors, and then pushed them open. All the rooms were -empty. Then he heard a voice saying-- - -'Who are you? What do you want?' - -Mr. Licquorish was the speaker, and he had been peering at the intruder -for some time through a grating in his door. He would not have spoken at -all, but he wanted to go into the composing-room, and Greybrooke was in -the passage that led to it. - -'I don't see you,' said the captain; 'I want the editor.' - -'I am the editor,' said the voice, 'but I can see no one at present -except on business.' - -'I am here on business,' said Greybrooke. 'I want to thrash one of your -staff.' - -'All the members of my literary staff are engaged at present,' said Mr. -Licquorish, in a pleasant voice; 'which one do you want?' - -'I want the low cad who wrote a review of a book called _The Scorn of -Scorns_, in to-day's paper.' - -'Oh!' said Mr. Licquorish. - -'I demand his name,' cried Greybrooke. - -The editor made no answer. He had other things to do than to quarrel -with schoolboys. As he could not get out he began a leaderette. The -visitor, however, had discovered the editorial door now, and was shaking -it violently. - -'Why don't you answer me?' he cried. - -Mr. Licquorish thought for a moment of calling down the speaking-tube -which communicated with the advertisement office for a clerk to come and -take this youth away, but after all he was good-natured. He finished a -sentence, and then opened the door. The captain strode in, but refused a -chair. - -'Are you the author of the book?' the editor asked. - -'No,' said Greybrooke, 'but I am her friend, and I am here to -thrash----' - -Mr. Licquorish held up his hand to stop the flow of the captain's -indignation. He could never understand why the public got so excited -over these little matters. - -'She is a Silchester lady?' he asked. - -Greybrooke did not know how to reply to this. He was not sure whether -Nell wanted the authorship revealed. - -'That has nothing to do with the matter,' he said. 'I want the name of -the writer who has libelled her.' - -'On the press,' said Mr. Licquorish, repeating some phrases which he -kept for such an occasion as the present, 'we have a duty to the public -to perform. When books are sent us for review we never allow prejudice -or private considerations to warp our judgment. The _Mirror_ has in -consequence a reputation for honesty that some papers do not possess. -Now I distinctly remember that this book, _The Vale of Tears_----' - -'_The Scorn of Scorns._' - -'I mean _The Scorn of Scorns_, was carefully considered by the expert to -whom it was given for review. Being honestly of opinion that the -treatise----' - -'It is a novel.' - -'That the novel is worthless, we had to say so. Had it been clever, we -should----' - -Mr. Licquorish paused, reading in the other's face that there was -something wrong. Greybrooke had concluded that the editor had forgotten -about the first review. - -'Can you show me a copy of the _Mirror_,' the captain asked, 'for -October 3rd?' - -Mr. Licquorish turned to the file, and Greybrooke looked over his -shoulder. - -'There it is!' cried the captain indignantly. - -They read the original notice together. It said that, if _The Scorn of -Scorns_ was written by a new writer, his next story would be looked for -with great interest. It 'could not refrain from quoting the following -exquisitely tender passage.' It found the earlier pages 'as refreshing -as a spring morning,' and the closing chapters were a triumph of 'the -art that conceals art.' - -'Well, what have you to say to that?' asked Greybrooke fiercely. - -'A mistake,' said the editor blandly. 'Such things do happen -occasionally.' - -'You shall make reparation for it!' - -'Hum,' said Mr Licquorish. - -'The insult,' cried Greybrooke, 'must have been intentional.' - -'No. I fancy the authoress must be to blame for this. Did she send a -copy of the work to us?' - -'I should think it very unlikely,' said Greybrooke, fuming. - -'Not at all,' said the editor, 'especially if she is a Silchester lady.' - -'What would make her do that?' - -'It generally comes about in this way. The publishers send a copy of the -book to a newspaper, and owing to pressure on the paper's space, no -notice appears for some time. The author, who looks for it daily, thinks -that the publishers have neglected their duty, and sends a copy to the -office himself. The editor, forgetful that he has had a notice of the -book lying ready for printing for months, gives the second copy to -another reviewer. By and by the first review appears, but owing to an -oversight the editor does not take note of it, and after a time, unless -his attention is called to the matter, the second review appears also. -Probably that is the explanation in this case.' - -'But such carelessness on a respectable paper is incomprehensible,' said -the captain. - -The editor was looking up his books to see if they shed any light on the -affair, but he answered-- - -'On the contrary, it is an experience known to most newspapers. Ah, I -have it!' - -Mr. Licquorish read out, '_The Scorn of Scorns_, received September 1st, -reviewed October 3rd.' Several pages farther on he discovered, '_The -Scorn of Scorns_, received September 24th, reviewed December 19th.' - -'You will find,' he said, 'that this explains it.' - -'I don't consider the explanation satisfactory,' replied the captain, -'and I insist, first, upon an apology in the paper, and second, on -getting the name of the writer of the second review.' - -'I am busy this morning,' said Mr. Licquorish, opening his door, 'and -what you ask is absurd. If the authoress can give me her word that she -did not send the book and so bring this upon herself, we shall insert a -word on the subject but not otherwise. Good-morning.' - -'Give me the writer's name,' cried the captain. - -'We make a point of never giving names in that way,' said Mr. -Licquorish. - -'You have not heard the last of this,' Greybrooke said from the doorway. -'I shall make it my duty to ferret out the coward's name, and----' - -'Good-morning,' Mr. Licquorish repeated. - -The captain went thumping down the stairs, and meeting a printer's devil -at the bottom, cuffed him soundly because he was part of the _Mirror_. - -To his surprise, Miss Meredith's first remark when he returned was-- - -'Oh, I hope you didn't see him.' - -She looked at Greybrooke's face, fearing it might be stained with blood, -and when he told her the result of his inquiries she seemed pleased -rather than otherwise. Nell was soft-hearted after all, and she knew how -that second copy of the novel had reached the _Mirror_ office. - -'I shall find the fellow out, though,' said Greybrooke, grasping his -cudgel firmly. - -'Why, you are as vindictive as if you had written the book yourself,' -said Nell. - -Greybrooke murmured, blushing the while, that an insult to her hurt him -more than one offered to himself. Nell opened the eyes of astonishment. - -'You don't think I wrote the book?' she asked; then seeing that it was -so from his face, added, 'oh no, I'm not clever enough. It was written -by--by a friend of mine.' - -Nell deserves credit for not telling Greybrooke who the friend was, for -that was a secret. But there was reason to believe that she had already -divulged it to twelve persons (all in the strictest confidence). When -the captain returned she was explaining all about it by letter to -Richard Abinger, Esq. Possibly that was why Greybrooke thought she was -not nearly so nice to him now as she had been an hour before. - -Will was unusually quiet when he and Greybrooke said adieu to the whole -family of Merediths. He was burning to know where the captain had been, -and also what Nell called him back to say in such a low tone. What she -said was-- - -'Don't say anything about going to the _Mirror_ office, Mr. Greybrooke, -to Miss Abinger.' - -The captain turned round to lift his hat, and at the same time -expressed involuntarily a wish that Nell could see him punishing loose -bowling. - -Mrs. Meredith beamed to him. - -'There is something very nice,' she said to Nell, 'about a polite young -man.' - -'Yes,' murmured her daughter, 'and even if he isn't polite.' - - - - -CHAPTER V - -ROB MARCHES TO HIS FATE - - -On the morning before Christmas a murder was committed in Silchester, -and in murders there is 'lineage.' As a consequence, the head reporter -attends to them himself. In the _Mirror_ office the diary for the day -was quickly altered. Kirker set off cheerfully for the scene of the -crime, leaving the banquet in the Henry Institute to Tomlinson, who -passed on his dinner at Dome Castle to Rob, whose church decorations -were taken up by John Milton. - -Christmas Eve was coming on in snow when Rob and Walsh, of the _Argus_, -set out for Dome Castle. Rob disliked doing dinners at any time, partly -because he had not a dress suit. The dinner was an annual one given by -Will's father to his tenants, and reporters were asked because the -colonel made a speech. His neighbours, when they did likewise, sent -reports of their own speeches (which they seemed to like) to the papers; -and some of them, having called themselves eloquent and justly popular, -scored the compliments out, yet in such a way that the editor would -still be able to read them, and print them if he thought fit. Rob did -not look forward to Colonel Abinger's reception of him, for they had met -some months before, and called each other names. - -It was one day soon after Rob reached Silchester. He had gone a-fishing -in the Dome and climbed unconsciously into preserved waters. As his -creel grew heavier his back straightened; not until he returned home did -the scenery impress him. He had just struck a fine fish, when a -soldierly-looking man at the top of the steep bank caught sight of him. - -'Hi, you sir!' shouted the onlooker. Whir went the line--there is no -music like it. Rob was knee-deep in water. 'You fellow!' cried the -other, brandishing his cane, 'are you aware that this water is -preserved?' Rob had no time for talk. The colonel sought to attract his -attention by flinging a pebble. 'Don't do that,' cried Rob fiercely. - -Away went the fish. Away went Rob after it. Colonel Abinger's face was -red as he clambered down the bank. 'I shall prosecute you,' he shouted. -'He's gone to the bottom; fling in a stone!' cried Rob. Just then the -fish showed its yellow belly and darted off again. Rob let out more -line. 'No, no,' shouted the colonel, who fished himself, 'you lose him -if he gets to the other side; strike, man, strike!' The line tightened, -the rod bent--a glorious sight. 'Force him up stream,' cried the -colonel, rolling over boulders to assist. 'Now, you have him. Bring him -in. Where is your landing-net?' 'I haven't one,' cried Rob; 'take him in -your hands.' The colonel stooped to grasp the fish and missed it. -'Bungler!' screamed Rob. This was too much. 'Give me your name and -address,' said Colonel Abinger, rising to his feet; 'you are a poacher.' -Rob paid no attention. There was a struggle. Rob did not realise that he -had pushed his assailant over a rock until the fish was landed. Then he -apologised, offered all his fish in lieu of his name and address, -retired coolly so long as the furious soldier was in sight, and as soon -as he turned a corner disappeared rapidly. He could not feel that this -was the best introduction to the man with whom he was now on his way to -dine. - -The reporter whose long strides made Walsh trot as they hurried to Dome -Castle, was not quite the Rob of three months before. Now he knew how a -third-rate newspaper is conducted, and the capacity for wonder had gone -from him. He was in danger of thinking that the journalist's art is to -write readably, authoritatively, and always in three paragraphs on a -subject he knows nothing about. Rob had written many leaders, and -followed readers through the streets wondering if they liked them. Once -he had gone with three others to report a bishop's sermon. A curate -appeared instead, and when the reporters saw him they shut their -notebooks and marched blandly out of the cathedral. A public speaker had -tried to bribe Rob with two half-crowns, and it is still told in -Silchester how the wrathful Scotsman tore his benefactor out of the -carriage he had just stepped into, and, lifting him on high, looked -round to consider against which stone wall he should hurl him. He had -discovered that on the first of the month Mr. Licquorish could not help -respecting his staff, because on that day he paid them. Socially Rob had -acquired little. Protheroe had introduced him to a pleasant family, but -he had sat silent in a corner, and they told the sub-editor not to bring -him back. Most of the literary staff were youths trying to be Bohemians, -who liked to feel themselves sinking, and they never scaled the reserve -which walled Rob round. He had taken a sitting, however, in the Scotch -church, to the bewilderment of the minister, who said, 'But I thought -you were a reporter?' as if there must be a mistake somewhere. - -Walsh could tell Rob little of Colonel Abinger. He was a brave soldier, -and for many years had been a widower. His elder son was a barrister in -London, whom Silchester had almost forgotten, and Walsh fancied there -was some story about the daughter's being engaged to a baronet. There -was also a boy, who had the other day brought the captain of his school -to a Silchester football ground to show the club how to take a -drop-kick. - -'Does the colonel fish?' asked Rob, who would, however, have preferred -to know if the colonel had a good memory for faces. - -'He is a famous angler,' said Walsh; 'indeed, I have been told that his -bursts of passion are over in five minutes, except when he catches a -poacher.' - -Rob winced, for Walsh did not know of the fishing episode. - -'His temper,' continued Walsh, 'is such that his male servants are said -never to know whether he will give them a shilling or a whirl of his -cane--until they get it. The gardener takes a look at him from behind a -tree before venturing to address him. I suppose his poverty is at the -bottom of it, for the estate is mortgaged heavily, and he has had to cut -down trees, and even to sell his horses. The tenants seem to like him, -though, and if they dared they would tell him not to think himself bound -to give them this annual dinner. There are numberless stories of his -fierce temper, and as many of his extravagant kindness. According to his -servants, he once emptied his pocket to a beggar at a railway station, -and then discovered that he had no money for his own ticket. As for the -ne'er-do-weels, their importuning makes him rage, but they know he will -fling them something in the end if they expose their rags sufficiently.' - -'So,' said Rob, who did not want to like the colonel, 'he would not -trouble about them if they kept their misery to themselves. That kind of -man is more likely to be a philanthropist in your country than in mine.' - -'Keep that for a Burns dinner,' suggested Walsh. - -Rob heard now how Tomlinson came to be nicknamed Umbrage. - -'He was sub-editing one night,' Walsh explained, 'during the time of an -African war, and things were going so smoothly that he and Penny were -chatting amicably together about the advantages of having a few Latin -phrases in a leader, such as _dolce far niente_, or _cela va sans -dire_----' - -'I can believe that,' said Rob, 'of Penny certainly.' - -'Well, in the middle of the discussion an important war telegram -arrived, to the not unnatural disgust of both. As is often the case, the -message was misspelt, and barely decipherable, and one part of it -puzzled Tomlinson a good deal. It read: "Zulus have taken Umbrage; -English forces had to retreat." Tomlinson searched the map in vain for -Umbrage, which the Zulus had taken; and Penny, being in a hurry, was -sure it was a fortress. So they risked it, and next morning the chief -lines in the _Mirror_ contents bill were: "LATEST NEWS OF THE WAR; -CAPTURE OF UMBRAGE BY THE ZULUS."' - -By this time the reporters had passed into the grounds of the castle, -and, being late, were hurrying up the grand avenue. It was the hour and -the season when night comes on so sharply, that its shadow may be seen -trailing the earth as a breeze runs along a field of corn. Heard from a -height, the roar of the Dome among rocks might have been the rustle of -the surrounding trees in June; so men and women who grow old together -sometimes lend each other a voice. Walsh, seeing his opportunity in -Rob's silence, began to speak of himself. He told how his first -press-work had been a series of letters he had written when at school, -and contributed to a local paper under the signatures of 'Paterfamilias' -and 'An Indignant Ratepayer.' Rob scarcely heard. The bare romantic -scenery impressed him, and the snow in his face was like a whiff of -Thrums. He was dreaming, but not of the reception he might get at the -castle, when the clatter of horses awoke him. - -'There is a machine behind us,' he said, though he would have written -trap. - -A brougham lumbered into sight. As its lamps flashed on the pedestrians, -the coachman jerked his horses to the side, and Rob had a glimpse of the -carriage's occupant. The brougham stopped. - -'I beg your pardon,' said the traveller, opening his window, and -addressing Rob, 'but in the darkness I mistook you for Colonel Abinger.' - -'We are on our way to the castle,' said Walsh, stepping forward. - -'Ah, then,' said the stranger, 'perhaps you will give me your company -for the short distance we have still to go?' - -There was a fine courtesy in his manner that made the reporters feel -their own deficiencies, yet Rob thought the stranger repented his offer -as soon as it was made. Walsh had his hand on the door, but Rob said-- - -'We are going to Dome Castle as reporters.' - -'Oh!' said the stranger. Then he bowed graciously, and pulled up the -window. The carriage rumbled on, leaving the reporters looking at each -other. Rob laughed. For the first time in his life the advantage a -handsome man has over a plain one had struck him. He had only once seen -such a face before, and that was in marble in the Silchester Art Museum. -This man looked thirty years of age, but there was not a line on his -broad white brow. The face was magnificently classic, from the strong -Roman nose to the firm chin. The eyes, too beautiful almost for his sex, -were brown and wistful, of the kind that droop in disappointment oftener -than they blaze with anger. All the hair on his face was a heavy -drooping moustache that almost hid his mouth. - -Walsh shook his fist at this insult to the Press. - -'It is the baronet I spoke of to you,' he said. 'I forget who he is; -indeed, I rather think he travelled _incognito_ when he was here last. I -don't understand what he is doing here.' - -'Why, I should say this is just the place where he would be if he is to -marry Miss Abinger.' - -'That was an old story,' said Walsh. 'If there ever was an engagement it -was broken off. Besides, if he had been expected we should have known of -it at the _Argus_.' - -Walsh was right. Sir Clement Dowton was not expected at Dome Castle, -and, like Rob, he was not even certain that he would be welcome. As he -drew near his destination his hands fidgeted with the window strap, yet -there was an unaccountable twinkle in his eye. Had there been any -onlookers they would have been surprised to see that all at once the -baronet's sense of humour seemed to overcome his fears, and instead of -quaking, he laughed heartily. Sir Clement was evidently one of the men -who carry their joke about with them. - -This unexpected guest did Rob one good turn. When the colonel saw Sir -Clement he hesitated for a moment as if not certain how to greet him. -Then the baronet, who was effusive, murmured that he had something to -say to him, and Colonel Abinger's face cleared. He did Sir Clement the -unusual honour of accompanying him upstairs himself, and so Rob got the -seat assigned to him at the dinner-table without having to meet his host -in the face. The butler marched him down a long table with a twist in -it, and placed him under arrest, as it were, in a chair from which he -saw only a few of the company. The dinner had already begun, but the -first thing he realised as he took his seat was that there was a lady on -each side of him, and a table-napkin in front. He was not sure if he was -expected to address the ladies, and he was still less certain about the -table-napkin. Of such things he had read, and he had even tried to be -prepared for them. Rob looked nervously at the napkin, and then took a -covert glance along the table. There was not a napkin in sight except -one which a farmer had tied round his neck. Rob's fingers wanted to -leave the napkin alone, but by an effort he forced them toward it. All -this time his face was a blank, but the internal struggle was sharp. He -took hold of the napkin, however, and spread it on his knees. It fell to -the floor immediately afterwards, but he disregarded that. It was no -longer staring at him from the table, and with a heavy sigh of relief he -began to feel more at ease. There is nothing like burying our bogies. - -His position prevented Rob's seeing either the colonel at the head of -the table or Miss Abinger at the foot of it, and even Walsh was hidden -from view. But his right-hand neighbour was a local doctor's wife, whom -the colonel had wanted to honour without honouring too much, and she -gave him some information. Rob was relieved to hear her address him, and -she was interested in a tame Scotsman. - -'I was once in the far north myself,' she said, 'as far as Orkney. We -were nearly drowned in crossing that dreadful sea between it and the -mainland. The Solway Firth, is it?' - -Rob thought for a moment of explaining what sea it is, and then he -thought, why should he? - -'Yes, the Solway Firth,' he said. - -'It was rather an undertaking,' she pursued, 'but though we were among -the mountains for days, we never encountered any of those robber -chieftains one reads about--caterans I think you call them?' - -'You were very lucky,' said Rob. - -'Were we not? But, you know, we took such precautions. There was quite a -party of us, including my father, who has travelled a great deal, and -all the gentlemen wore kilts. My father said it was always prudent to do -in Rome as the Romans do.' - -'I have no doubt,' said Rob, 'that in that way you escaped the caterans. -They are very open to flattery.' - -'So my father said. We also found that we could make ourselves -understood by saying "whatever," and remembering to call the men "she" -and the women "he." What a funny custom that is!' - -'We can't get out of it,' said Rob. - -'There is one thing,' the lady continued, 'that you can tell me. I have -been told that in winter the wild boars take refuge in the streets of -Inverness, and that there are sometimes very exciting hunts after them?' - -'That is only when they run away with children,' Rob explained. 'Then -the natives go out in large bodies and shoot them with claymores. It is -a most exciting scene.' - -When the doctor's wife learned that this was Rob's first visit to the -castle, she told him at once that she was there frequently. It escaped -his notice that she paused here and awaited the effect. She was not -given to pausing. - -'My husband,' she said, 'attended on Lady Louisa during her last -illness--quite ten years ago. I was married very young,' she added -hurriedly. - -Rob was very nearly saying he saw that. The words were in his mouth, -when he hesitated, reflecting that it was not worth while. This is only -noticeable as showing that he missed his first compliment. - -'Lady Louisa?' he repeated instead. - -'Oh yes, the colonel married one of Lord Tarlington's daughters. There -were seven of them, you know, and no sons, and when the youngest was -born it was said that a friend of his lordship sent him a copy of -Wordsworth, with the page turned down at the poem "We are Seven "--a -lady friend, I believe.' - -'Is Miss Abinger like the colonel?' asked Rob, who had heard it said -that she was beautiful, and could not help taking an interest in her in -consequence. - -'You have not seen Miss Abinger?' asked the doctor's wife. 'Ah, you came -late, and that vulgar-looking farmer hides her altogether. She is a -lovely girl, but----' - -Rob's companion pursed her lips. - -'She is so cold and proud,' she added. - -'As proud as her father?' Rob asked, aghast. - -'Oh, the colonel is humility itself beside her. He freezes at times, but -she never thaws.' - -Rob sighed involuntarily. He was not aware that his acquaintances spoke -in a similar way of him. His eyes wandered up the table till they rested -of their own accord on a pretty girl in blue. At that moment she was -telling Greybrooke that he could call her Nell, because 'Miss' Meredith -sounded like a reproach. - -The reporter looked at Nell with satisfaction, and the doctor's wife -followed his thoughts so accurately that, before she could check -herself, she said, 'Do you think so?' - -Then Rob started, which confused both of them, and for the remainder of -the dinner the loquacious lady seemed to take less interest in him, he -could not understand why. Flung upon his own resources, he remembered -that he had not spoken to the lady on his other side. Had Rob only known -it, she felt much more uncomfortable in that great dining-room than he -did. No one was speaking to her, and she passed the time between the -courses breaking her bread to pieces and eating it slowly, crumb by -crumb. Rob thought of something to say to her, but when he tried the -words over in his own mind they seemed so little worth saying that he -had to think again. He found himself counting the crumbs, and then it -struck him that he might ask her if she would like any salt. He did so, -but she thought he asked for salt, and passed the salt-cellar to him, -whereupon Rob, as the simplest way to get out of it, helped himself to -more salt, though he did not need it. The intercourse thus auspiciously -begun, went no further, and they never met again. It might have been a -romance. - -The colonel had not quite finished his speech, which was to the effect -that so long as his tenants looked up to him as some one superior to -themselves they would find him an indulgent landlord, when the tread of -feet was heard outside, and then the music of the waits. The colonel -frowned and raised his voice, but his guests caught themselves -tittering, and read their host's rage in his darkening face. Forgetting -that the waits were there by his own invitation, he signed to James, the -butler, to rush out and mow them down. James did not interpret the -message so, but for the moment it was what his master meant. - -While the colonel was hesitating whether to go on, Rob saw Nell nod -encouragingly to Greybrooke. He left his seat, and before any one knew -what he was about, had flung open one of the windows. The room filled at -once with music, and, as if by common consent, the table was deserted. -Will opened the remaining windows, and the waits, who had been singing -to shadows on the white blinds, all at once found a crowded audience. -Rob hardly realised what it meant, for he had never heard the waits -before. - -It was a scene that would have silenced a schoolgirl. The night was so -clear, that beyond the lawn where the singers were grouped the brittle -trees showed in every twig. No snow was falling, and so monotonous was -the break of the river, that the ear would only have noticed it had it -stopped. The moon stood overhead like a frozen round of snow. - -Looking over the heads of those who had gathered at one of the windows, -Rob saw first Will Abinger and then the form of a girl cross to the -singers. Some one followed her with a cloak. From the French windows -steps dropped to the lawn. A lady beside Rob shivered and retired to the -fireside, but Nell whispered to Greybrooke that she must run after Mary. -Several others followed her down the steps. - -Rob, looking round for Walsh, saw him in conversation with the colonel. -Probably he was taking down the remainder of the speech. Then a lady's -voice said, 'Who is that magnificent young man?' - -The sentence ended 'with the hob-nailed boots,' and the reference was to -Rob, but he only caught the first words. He thought the baronet was -spoken of, and suddenly remembered that he had not appeared at the -dinner-table. As Sir Clement entered the room at that moment in evening -dress, making most of those who surrounded him look mean by comparison, -Rob never learned who the magnificent young man was. - -Sir Clement's entrance was something of a sensation, and Rob saw several -ladies raise their eyebrows. All seemed to know him by name, and some -personally. The baronet's nervousness had evidently passed away, for he -bowed and smiled to every one, claiming some burly farmers as old -acquaintances though he had never seen them before. His host and he -seemed already on the most cordial terms, but the colonel was one of the -few persons in the room who was not looking for Miss Abinger. At last -Sir Clement asked for her. - -'I believe,' said some one in answer to the colonel's inquiring glance -round the room, 'that Miss Abinger is speaking with the waits.' - -'Perhaps I shall see her,' said Dowton, stepping out at one of the -windows. - -Colonel Abinger followed him to the window, but no farther, and at that -moment a tall figure on the snowy lawn crossed his line of vision. It -was Rob, who, not knowing what to do with himself, had wandered into the -open. His back was toward the colonel, and something in his walk -recalled to that choleric officer the angler whom he had encountered on -the Dome. - -'That is the man--I was sure I knew the face,' said Colonel Abinger. He -spoke in a whisper to himself, but his hands closed with a snap. - -Unconscious of all this, Rob strolled on till he found a path that took -him round the castle. Suddenly he caught sight of a blue dress, and at -the same moment a girl's voice exclaimed, 'Oh, I am afraid it is lost!' - -The speaker bent, as if to look for something in the snow, and Rob -blundered up to her. 'If you have lost anything,' he said, 'perhaps I -can find it.' - -Rob had matches in his pocket, and he struck one of them. Then, to his -surprise, he noticed that Nell was not alone. Greybrooke was with her, -and he was looking foolish. - -'Thank you very much,' said Nell sweetly; 'it is a--a bracelet.' - -Rob went down on his knees to look for the bracelet, but it surprised -him a little that Greybrooke did not follow his example. If he had -looked up, he would have seen that the captain was gazing at Nell in -amazement. - -'I am afraid it is lost,' Nell repeated, 'or perhaps I dropped it in the -dining-room.' - -Greybrooke's wonder was now lost in a grin, for Nell had lost nothing, -unless perhaps for the moment her sense of what was fit and proper. The -captain had followed her on to the lawn, and persuaded her to come and -look down upon the river from the top of the cliff. She had done so, she -told herself, because he was a boy; but he had wanted her to do it -because she was a woman. On the very spot where Richard Abinger, -barrister-at-law, had said something to her that Nell would never -forget, the captain had presumptuously kissed her hand, and Nell had -allowed him, because after all it was soon over. It was at that very -moment that Rob came in sight, and Nell thought she was justified in -deceiving him. Rob would have remained a long time on the snow if she -had not had a heart. - -'Yes, I believe I did drop it in the dining-room,' said Nell, in such a -tone of conviction that Rob rose to his feet. His knees were white in -her service, and Nell felt that she liked this young man. - -'I am so sorry to have troubled you, Mr.----Mr.----' began the young -lady. - -'My name is Angus,' said Rob; 'I am a reporter on the _Silchester -Mirror_.' - -Greybrooke started, and Nell drew back in horror, but the next second -she was smiling. Rob thought it was kindliness that made her do it, but -it was really a smile of triumph. She felt that she was on the point of -making a discovery at last. Greybrooke would have blurted out a -question, but Nell stopped him. - -'Get me a wrap of some kind, Mr. Greybrooke,' she said, with such sweet -imperiousness that the captain went without a word. Half-way he stopped -to call himself a fool, for he had remembered all at once about Raleigh -and his cloak, and seen how he might have adapted that incident to his -advantage by offering to put his own coat round Nell's shoulders. - -It was well that Greybrooke did not look back, for he would have seen -Miss Meredith take Rob's arm--which made Rob start--and lead him in the -direction in which Miss Abinger was supposed to have gone. - -'The literary life must be delightful,' said artful Nell, looking up -into her companion's face. - -Rob appreciated the flattery, but his pride made him say that the -literary life was not the reporter's. - -'I always read the _Mirror_,' continued Nell, on whom the moon was -having a bad effect to-night, 'and often I wonder who writes the -articles. There was a book-review in it a few days ago that I--I liked -very much.' - -'Do you remember what the book was?' asked Rob, jumping into the pit. - -'Let me see,' said Nell, putting her head to the side, 'it was--yes, it -was a novel called--called _The Scorn of Scorns_.' - -Rob's good angel was very near him at that moment, but not near enough -to put her palm over his mouth. - -'That review was mine,' said Rob, with uncalled-for satisfaction. - -'Was it?' cried his companion, pulling away her arm viciously. - -The path had taken them to the top of the pile of rocks, from which it -is a sheer descent of a hundred feet to the Dome. At this point the -river is joined by a smaller but not less noisy stream, which rushes at -it at right angles. Two of the castle walls rise up here as if part of -the cliff, and though the walk goes round them, they seem to the angler -looking up from the opposite side of the Dome to be part of the rock. -From the windows that look to the west and north one can see down into -the black waters, and hear the Ferret, as the smaller stream is called, -fling itself over jagged boulders into the Dome. - -The ravine coming upon him suddenly, took away Rob's breath, and he -hardly felt Nell snatch away her arm. She stood back, undecided what to -do for a moment, and they were separated by a few yards. Then Rob heard -a man's voice, soft and low, but passionate. He knew it to be Sir -Clement Dowton's, though he lost the words. A girl's voice answered, -however, a voice so exquisitely modulated, so clear and pure, that Rob -trembled with delight in it. This is what it said-- - -'No, Sir Clement Dowton, I bear you no ill-will, but I do not love you. -Years ago I made an idol and worshipped it, because I knew no better, -but I am a foolish girl no longer, and I know now that it was a thing -of clay.' - -To Rob's amazement he found himself murmuring these words even before -they were spoken. He seemed to know them so well, that had the speaker -missed anything, he could have put her right. It was not sympathy that -worked this marvel. He had read all this before, or something very like -it, in _The Scorn of Scorns_. - -Nell, too, heard the voice, but did not catch the words. She ran -forward, and as she reached Rob, a tall girl in white, with a dark hood -over her head, pushed aside a bush and came into view. - -'Mary,' cried Miss Meredith, 'this gentleman here is the person who -wrote _that_ in the _Mirror_. Let me introduce you to him, Mr. Angus, -Miss----' and then Nell shrank back in amazement, as she saw who was -with her friend. - -'Sir Clement Dowton!' she exclaimed. - -Rob, however, did not hear her, nor see the baronet, for looking up with -a guilty feeling at his heart, his eyes met Mary Abinger. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE ONE WOMAN - - -Daybreak on the following morning found the gas blazing in Rob's -lodgings. Rob was seated in an arm-chair, his feet on the cold hearth. -_The Scorn of Scorns_ lay on the mantelpiece carefully done up in brown -paper, lest a speck of dust should fall on it, and he had been staring -at the ribs of the fireplace for the last three hours without seeing -them. He had not thought of the gas. His bed was unslept on. His damp -boots had dried on his feet. He did not feel cold. All night he had sat -there, a man mesmerised. For the only time in his life he had forgotten -to wind up his watch. - -At times his lips moved as if he were speaking to himself, and a smile -lit up his face. Then a change of mood came, and he beat the fender with -his feet till the fire-irons rattled. Thinking over these remarks -brought the rapture to his face: - -'How do you do, Mr. Angus?' - -'You must not take to heart what Miss Meredith said.' - -'Please don't say any more about it. I am quite sure you gave your -honest opinion about my book.' - -'I am so glad you think this like Scotland, because, of course, that is -the highest compliment a Scotsman can pay.' - -'Good-night, Mr. Angus.' - -That was all she had said to him, but the more Rob thought over her -remarks the more he liked them. It was not so much the words themselves -that thrilled him as the way they were said. Other people had asked, -'How do you do, Mr. Angus?' without making an impression, but her -greeting was a revelation of character, for it showed that though she -knew who he was she wanted to put him at his ease. This is a delightful -attribute in a woman, and worth thinking about. - -Just before Miss Abinger said, 'How do you do, Mr. Angus?' Rob had -realised what people meant by calling her proud. She was holding her -head very high as she appeared in the path, and when Nell told her who -Rob was she flushed. He looked hopelessly at her, bereft of speech, as -he saw a tear glisten on her eyelid; and as their eyes met she read into -the agony that he was suffering because he had hurt her. It was then -that Mary made that memorable observation, 'How do you do, Mr. Angus?' - -They turned toward the castle doors, Nell and the baronet in front, and -Rob blurted out some self-reproaches in sentences that had neither -beginning nor end. Mary had told him not to take it so terribly to -heart, but her voice trembled a little, for this had been a night of -incident to her. Rob knew that it was for his sake she had checked that -tear, and as he sat in his lodgings through the night he saw that she -had put aside her own troubles to lessen his. When he thought of that he -drew a great breath. The next moment his whole body shuddered to think -what a brute he had been, and then she seemed to touch his elbow again, -and he half rose from his chair in a transport. - -As soon as he reached his lodgings Rob had taken up _The Scorn of -Scorns_, which he had not yet returned to Mr. Licquorish, and re-read it -in a daze. There were things in it so beautiful now that they caught in -his throat and stopped his reading; they took him so far into the -thoughts of a girl that to go farther seemed like eavesdropping. When he -read it first _The Scorn of Scorns_ had been written in a tongue Rob did -not know, but now he had the key in his hands. There is a universal -language that comes upon young people suddenly, and enables an English -girl, for instance, to understand what a Chinaman means when he looks -twice at her. Rob had mastered it so suddenly that he was only its slave -at present. His horse had run away with him. - -Had the critic of _The Scorn of Scorns_ been a bald-headed man with two -chins, who did not know the authoress, he would have smiled at the -severity with which she took perfidious man to task, and written an -indulgent criticism without reading beyond the second chapter. If he had -been her father he would have laughed a good deal at her heroics, but -now and again they would have touched him, and he would have locked the -book away in his desk, seeing no particular cleverness in it, but -feeling proud of his daughter. It would have brought such thoughts to -him about his wife as suddenly fill a man with tenderness--thoughts he -seldom gives expression to, though she would like to hear them. - -Rob, however, drank in the book, his brain filled with the writer of it. -It was about a young girl who had given her heart to a stranger, and -one day when she was full of the joy of his love he had disappeared. She -waited, wondering, fearing, and then her heart broke, and her only -desire was to die. No one could account for the change that came over -her, for she was proud, and her relatives were not sympathetic. She had -no mother to go to, and her father could not have understood. She became -listless, and though she smiled and talked to all, when she went to her -solitary bed-chamber she turned her face in silence to the wall. Then a -fever came to her, and after that she had to be taken to the Continent. -What shook her listlessness was an accident to her father. It was feared -that he was on his deathbed, and as she nursed him she saw that her life -had been a selfish one. From that moment she resolved if he got better -(is it not terrible this, that the best of us try to make terms with -God?) to devote her life to him, and to lead a nobler existence among -the poor and suffering ones at home. The sudden death of a relative who -was not a good man frightened her so much that she became ill again, and -now she was so fearful of being untruthful that she could not make a -statement of fact without adding 'I think so,' under her breath. She let -people take advantage of her lest she should be taking advantage of -them, and when she passed a cripple on the road she walked very slowly -so that he should not feel his infirmity. - -Years afterwards she saw the man who had pretended to love her and then -ridden away. He said that he could explain everything to her, and that -he loved her still; but she drew herself up, and with a look of -ineffable scorn, told him that she no longer loved him. When they first -met, she said, she had been little more than a child, and so she had -made an idol of him. But long since the idol had crumbled to pieces, and -now she knew that she had worshipped a thing of clay. She wished him -well, but she no longer loved him. As Lord Caltonbridge listened he knew -that she spoke the truth, and his eyes drooped before her dignified but -contemptuous gaze. Then, concludes the author, dwelling upon this little -triumph with a satisfaction that hardly suggests a heart broken beyond -mending, he turned upon his heel, at last realising what he was; and, -feeling smaller and meaner than had been his wont, left the Grange for -the second and last time. - -How much of this might be fiction, Rob was not in a mind to puzzle over. -It seemed to him that the soul of a pure-minded girl had been laid bare -to him. To look was almost a desecration, and yet it was there whichever -way he turned. A great longing rose in his heart to see Mary Abinger -again and tell her what he thought of himself now. He rose and paced the -floor, and the words he could not speak last night came to his lips in a -torrent. Like many men who live much alone, Rob often held imaginary -conversations with persons far distant, and he denounced himself to this -girl a score of times as he paced back and forwards. Always she looked -at him in reply with that wonderful smile which had pleaded with him not -to be unhappy on her account. Horrible fears laid hold of him that after -the guests had departed she had gone to her room and wept. That villain -Sir Clement had doubtless left the castle for the second and last time, -'feeling smaller and meaner than had been his wont' (Rob clenched his -fists at the thought of him), but how could he dare to rage at the -baronet when he had been as great a scoundrel himself? Rob looked about -him for his hat; a power not to be resisted was drawing him back to Dome -Castle. - -He heard the clatter of crockery in the kitchen as he opened his door, -and it recalled him to himself. At that moment it flashed upon him that -he had forgotten to write any notice of Colonel Abinger's speech. He had -neglected the office and come straight home. At any other time this -would have startled him, but now it seemed the merest trifle. It passed -for the moment from his mind, and its place was taken by the remembrance -that his boots were muddy and his coat soaking. For the first time in -his life the seriousness of going out with his hair unbrushed came home -to him. He had hitherto been content to do little more than fling a comb -at it once a day. Rob returned to his room, and, crossing to the mirror, -looked anxiously into it to see what he was like. He took off his coat -and brushed it vigorously. - -Having laved his face, he opened his box, and produced from it two -neckties, which he looked at for a long time before he could make up his -mind which to wear. Then he changed his boots. When he had brushed his -hat he remembered with anxiety some one on the _Mirror's_ having asked -him why he wore it so far back on his head. He tilted it forward, and -carefully examined the effect in the looking-glass. Then forgetful that -the sounds from the kitchen betokened the approach of breakfast, he -hurried out of the house. It was a frosty morning, and already the -streets were alive, but Rob looked at no one. For women in the abstract -he now felt an unconscious pity, because they were all so very unlike -Mary Abinger. He had grown so much in the night that the Rob Angus of -the day before seemed but an acquaintance of his youth. - -He was inside the grounds of Dome Castle again before he realised that -he had no longer a right to be there. By fits and starts he remembered -not to soil his boots. He might have been stopped at the lodge, but at -present it had no tenant. A year before, Colonel Abinger had realised -that he could not keep both a horse and a lodge-keeper, and that he -could keep neither if his daughter did not part with her maid. He -yielded to Miss Abinger's entreaties, and kept the horse. - -Rob went on at a swinging pace till he turned an abrupt corner of the -walk and saw Dome Castle standing up before him. Then he started, and -turned back hastily. This was not owing to his remembering that he was -trespassing, but because he had seen a young lady coming down the steps. -Rob had walked five miles without his breakfast to talk to Miss Abinger, -but as soon as he saw her he fled. When he came to himself he was so -fearful of her seeing him, that he hurried behind a tree, where he had -the appearance of a burglar. - -Mary Abinger came quickly up the avenue, unconscious that she was -watched, and Rob discovered in a moment that after all the prettiest -thing about her was the way she walked. She carried a little basket in -her hand, and her dress was a blending of brown and yellow, with a great -deal of fur about the throat. Rob, however, did not take the dress into -account until she had passed him, when, no longer able to see her face, -he gazed with delight after her. - -Had Rob been a lady he would probably have come to the conclusion that -the reason why Miss Abinger wore all that fur instead of a jacket was -because she knew it became her better. Perhaps it was. Even though a -young lady has the satisfaction of feeling that her heart is now -adamant, that is no excuse for her dressing badly. Rob's opinion was -that it would matter very little what she wore, because some pictures -look lovely in any frame, but that was a point on which he and Miss -Abinger always differed. Only after long consideration had she come to -the conclusion that the hat she was now wearing was undoubtedly the -shape that suited her best, and even yet she was ready to spend time in -thinking about other shapes. What would have seemed even more surprising -to Rob was that she had made up her mind that one side of her face was -better than the other side. - -No mere man, however, could ever have told which was the better side of -Miss Abinger's face. It was a face to stir the conscience of a good man, -and make unworthy men keep their distance, for it spoke first of purity, -which can never be present anywhere without being felt. All men are born -with a craving to find it, and they never look for it but among women. -The strength of the craving is the measure of any man's capacity to -love, and without it love on his side would be impossible. - -Mary Abinger was fragile because she was so sensitive. She carried -everywhere a fear to hurt the feelings of others, that was a bodkin at -her heart. Men and women in general prefer to give and take. The -keenness with which she felt necessitated the garment of reserve, which -those who did not need it for themselves considered pride. Her weakness -called for something to wrap it up. There were times when it pleased her -to know that the disguise was effective, but not when it deceived -persons she admired. The cynicism of _The Scorn of Scorns_ was as much a -cloak as her coldness, for she had an exquisite love of what is good and -fine in life that idealised into heroes persons she knew or heard of as -having a virtue. It would have been cruel to her to say that there are -no heroes. When she found how little of the heroic there was in Sir -Clement Dowton she told herself that there are none, and sometimes other -persons had made her repeat this since. She seldom reasoned about -things, however, unless her feelings had been wounded, and soon again -she was dreaming of the heroic. Heroes are people to love, and Mary's -idea of what love must be would have frightened some persons from loving -her. With most men affection for a woman is fed on her regard for them. -Greatness in love is no more common than greatness in leading armies. -Only the hundredth man does not prefer to dally where woman is easiest -to win; most finding the maids of honour a satisfactory substitute for -the princess. So the boy in the street prefers two poor apples to a -sound one. It may be the secret of England's greatness. - -On this Christmas Day Mary Abinger came up the walk rapidly, scorning -herself for ever having admired Sir Clement Dowton. She did everything -in the superlative degree, and so rather wondered that a thunderbolt -was not sent direct from above to kill him--as if there were -thunderbolts for every one. If we got our deserts most of us would be -knocked on the head with a broomstick. - -When she was out of sight, Rob's courage returned, and he remembered -that he was there in the hope of speaking to her. He hurried up the walk -after her, but when he neared her he fell back in alarm. His heart was -beating violently. He asked himself in a quaver what it was that he had -arranged to say first. - -In her little basket Mary had Christmas presents for a few people, -inhabitants of a knot of houses not far distant from the castle gates. -They were her father's tenants, and he rather enjoyed their being unable -to pay much rent, it made them so dependent. Had Rob seen how she was -received in some of these cottages, how she sat talking merrily with one -bed-ridden old woman whom cheerfulness kept alive, and not only gave a -disabled veteran a packet of tobacco, but filled his pipe for him, so -that he gallantly said he was reluctant to smoke it (trust an old man -for gallantry), and even ate pieces of strange cakes to please her -hostesses, he would often have thought of it afterwards. However, it -would have been unnecessary prodigality to show him that, for his mind -was filled with the incomparable manner in which she knocked at doors -and smiled when she came out. Once she dropped her basket, and he could -remember nothing so exquisite as her way of picking it up. - -Rob lurked behind trees and peered round hedges, watching Miss Abinger -go from one house to another, but he could not shake himself free of the -fear that all the world had its eye on him. Hitherto not his honesty -but its bluntness had told against him (the honesty of a good many -persons is only stupidity asserting itself), and now he had not the -courage to be honest. When any wayfarers approached he whistled to the -fields as if he had lost a dog in them, or walked smartly eastward -(until he got round a corner) like one who was in a hurry to reach -Silchester. He looked covertly at the few persons who passed him, to see -if they were looking at him. A solitary crow fluttered into the air from -behind a wall, and Rob started. In a night he had become self-conscious. - -At last Mary turned homewards, with the sun in her face. Rob was moving -toward the hamlet when he saw her, and in spite of himself he came to a -dead stop. He knew that if she passed inside the gates of the castle his -last chance of speaking to her was gone; but it was not that which made -him keep his ground. He was shaking as the thin boards used to do when -they shot past his circular saw. His mind, in short, had run away and -left him. - -On other occasions Mary would not have thought of doing more than bow to -Rob, but he had Christmas Day in his favour, and she smiled. - -'A happy Christmas to you, Mr. Angus,' she said, holding out her hand. - -It was then that Rob lifted his hat, and overcame his upbringing. His -unaccustomed fingers insisted on lifting it in such a cautious way that, -in a court of law, it could have been argued that he was only planting -it more firmly on his head. He did not do it well, but he did it. Some -men would have succumbed altogether on realising so sharply that it is -not women who are terrible, but a woman. Here is a clear case in which -the part is greater than the whole. - -Rob would have liked to wish Miss Abinger a happy Christmas too, but the -words would not form, and had she chosen she could have left him looking -very foolish. But Mary had blushed slightly when she caught sight of Rob -standing helplessly in the middle of the road, and this meant that she -understood what he was doing there. A girl can overlook a great deal in -a man who admires her. She feels happier. It increases her self-respect. -So Miss Abinger told him that, if the frost held, the snow would soon -harden, but if a thaw came it would melt; and then Rob tore out of -himself the words that tended to slip back as they reached his tongue. - -'I don't know how I could have done it,' he said feebly, beginning at -the end of what he had meant to say. There he stuck again. - -Mary knew what he spoke of, and her pale face coloured. She shrank from -talking of _The Scorn of Scorns_. - -'Please don't let that trouble you,' she said, with an effort. 'I was -really only a schoolgirl when I wrote it, and Miss Meredith got it -printed recently as a birthday surprise for me. I assure you I would -never have thought of publishing it myself for--for people to read. -Schoolgirls, you know, Mr. Angus, are full of such silly sentiment.' - -A breeze of indignation shook 'No, no!' out of Rob, but Mary did not -heed. - -'I know better now,' she said; 'indeed, not even you, the hardest of my -critics, sees more clearly than I the--the childishness of the book.' - -Miss Abinger's voice faltered a very little, and Rob's sufferings -allowed him to break out. - -'No,' he said, with a look of appeal in his eyes that were as grey as -hers, 'it was a madness that let me write like that. _The Scorn of -Scorns_ is the most beautiful, the tenderest----' He stuck once more. -Miss Abinger could have helped him again, but she did not. Perhaps she -wanted him to go on. He could not do so, but he repeated what he had -said already, which may have been the next best thing to do. - -'You do surprise me now, Mr. Angus,' said Mary, light-hearted all at -once, 'for you know you scarcely wrote like that.' - -'Ah, but I have read the book since I saw you,' Rob blurted out, 'and -that has made such a difference.' - -A wiser man might have said a more foolish thing. Mary looked up -smiling. Her curiosity was aroused, and at once she became merciless. -Hitherto she had only tried to be kind to Rob, but now she wanted to be -kind to herself. - -'You can hardly have re-read my story since last night,' she said, -shaking her fair head demurely. - -'I read it all through the night,' exclaimed Rob, in such a tone that -Mary started. She had no desire to change the conversation, however; she -did not start so much as that. - -'But you had to write papa's speech?' she said. - -'I forgot to do it,' Rob answered awkwardly. His heart sank, for he saw -that here was another cause he had given Miss Abinger to dislike him. -Possibly he was wrong. There may be extenuating circumstances that will -enable the best of daughters to overlook an affront to her father's -speeches. - -'But it was in the _Mirror_. I read it,' said Mary. - -'Was it?' said Rob, considerably relieved. How it could have got there -was less of a mystery to him than to her, for Protheroe had sub-edited -so many speeches to tenants that in an emergency he could always guess -at what the landlords said. - -'It was rather short,' Mary admitted, 'compared with the report in the -_Argus_. Papa thought----' She stopped hastily. - -'He thought it should have been longer?' asked Rob. Then before he had -time to think of it, he had told her of his first meeting with the -colonel. - -'I remember papa was angry at the time,' Mary said, 'but you need not -have been afraid of his recognising you last night. He did recognise -you.' - -'Did he?' - -'Yes; but you were his guest.' - -Rob could not think of anything more to say, and he saw that Mary was -about to bid him good-morning. He found himself walking with her in the -direction of the castle gates. - -'This scenery reminds me of Scotland,' he said. - -'I love it,' said Mary (man's only excellence over woman is that his awe -of this word prevents his using it so lightly), 'and I am glad that I -shall be here until the season begins.' - -Rob had no idea what the season was, but he saw that some time Mary -would be going away, and his face said, what would he do then? - -'Then I go to London with the Merediths,' she continued, adding -thoughtfully, 'I suppose you mean to go to London, Mr. Angus? My brother -says that all literary men drift there.' - -'Yes, oh yes,' said Rob. - -'Soon?' - -'Immediately,' he replied recklessly. - -They reached the gates, and, as Mary held out her hand, the small basket -was tilted upon her arm, and a card fluttered out. - -'It is a Christmas card a little boy in one of those houses gave me,' -she said, as Rob returned it to her. 'Have you got many Christmas cards -to-day, Mr. Angus?' - -'None,' said Rob. - -'Not even from your relatives?' asked Mary, beginning to pity him more -than was necessary. - -'I have no relatives,' he replied; 'they are all dead.' - -'I was in Scotland two summers ago,' Mary said, very softly, 'at a place -called Glen Quharity; papa was there shooting. But I don't suppose you -know it?' - -'Our Glen Quharity!' exclaimed Rob; 'why, you must have passed through -Thrums?' - -'We were several times in Thrums. Have you been there?' - -'I was born in it; I was never thirty miles away from it until I came -here.' - -'Oh,' cried Mary, 'then you must be the literary----' She stopped and -reddened. - -'The literary saw-miller,' said Rob, finishing her sentence; 'that was -what they called me, I know, at Glen Quharity Lodge.' - -Mary looked up at him with a new interest, for when she was there Glen -Quharity had been full of the saw-miller, who could not only talk in -Greek, but had a reputation for tossing the caber. - -'Papa told me some months ago,' she said, in surprise, 'that the -liter----, that you had joined the Press in England, but he evidently -did not know of your being in Silchester.' - -'But how could he have known anything about me?' asked Rob, surprised in -turn. - -'This is so strange,' Mary answered. 'Why, papa takes credit for having -got you your appointment on the press.' - -'It was a minister, a Mr. Rorrison, who did that for me,' said Rob; -'indeed, he was so good that I could have joined the Press a year ago by -his help, had not circumstances compelled me to remain at home.' - -'I did not know the clergyman's name,' Mary said, 'but it was papa who -spoke of you to him first. Don't you remember writing out this -clergyman's sermon in shorthand, and a messenger's coming to you for -your report on horseback next day?' - -'Certainly I do,' said Rob, 'and he asked me to write it out in longhand -as quickly as possible. That was how I got to know Mr. Rorrison; and, as -I understood, he had sent for the report of the sermon, on hearing -accidentally that I had taken it down, because he had some reason for -wanting a copy of it.' - -'Perhaps that was how it was told to you afterwards,' Mary said, 'but it -was really papa who wanted the sermon.' - -'I should like to know all about it,' Rob said, seeing that she -hesitated. Colonel Abinger had not seemed to him the kind of man who -would send a messenger on horseback about the country in quest of -sermons. - -'I am afraid,' Mary explained, 'that it arose out of a wager. This -clergyman was staying at the Lodge, but papa was the only other person -there who would go as far as Thrums to hear him preach. I was not there -that year, so I don't know why papa went, but when he returned he told -the others that the sermon had been excellent. There is surely an -English church in Thrums, for I am sure papa would not think a sermon -excellent that was preached in a chapel?' - -'There is,' said Rob; 'but in Thrums it is called the chapel.' - -'Well, some badinage arose out of papa's eulogy, and it ended in a bet -that he could not tell the others what this fine sermon was about. He -was to get a night to think it over. Papa took the bet a little rashly, -for when he put it to himself he found that he could not even remember -the text. As he told me afterwards (here Mary smiled a little), he had a -general idea of the sermon, but could not quite put it into words, and -he was fearing that he would lose the wager (and be laughed at, which -always vexes papa), when he heard of your report. So a messenger was -sent to Thrums for it--and papa won his bet.' - -'But how did Mr. Rorrison hear of my report, then?' - -'Oh, I forgot; papa told him afterwards, and was so pleased with his -victory, that when he heard Mr. Rorrison had influence with some press -people, he suggested to him that something might be done for you.' - -'This is strange,' said Rob, 'and perhaps the strangest thing about it -is that if Colonel Abinger could identify me with the saw-miller, he -would be sorry that he had interfered.' - -Mary saw the force of this so clearly that she could not contradict him. - -'Surely,' she said, 'I heard when I was at the Lodge of your having a -niece, and that you and the little child lived alone in the saw-mill?' - -'Yes,' Rob answered hoarsely, 'but she is dead. She wandered from home, -and was found dead on a mountain-side.' - -'Was it long ago?' asked Mary, very softly. - -'Only a few months ago,' Rob said, making his answer as short as -possible, for the death of Davy moved him still. 'She was only four -years old.' - -Mary's hand went half-way toward his involuntarily. His mouth was -twitching. He knew how good she was. - -'That card,' he began, and hesitated. - -'Oh, would you care to have it?' said Mary. - -But just then Colonel Abinger walked into them, somewhat amazed to see -his daughter talking to one of the lower orders. Neither Rob nor Mary -had any inclination to tell him that this was the Scotsman he had -befriended. - -'This is Mr. Angus, papa,' said Mary, 'who--who was with us last night.' - -'Mr. Angus and I have met before, I think,' replied her father, -recalling the fishing episode. His brow darkened, and Rob was ready for -anything, but Colonel Abinger was a gentleman. - -'I always wanted to see you again, Mr. Angus,' he said, with an effort, -'to ask you--what flies you were using that day?' - -Rob muttered something in answer, which the colonel did not try to -catch. Mary smiled and bowed, and the next moment she had disappeared -with her father down the avenue. - -What followed cannot be explained. When Rob roused himself from his -amazement at Mary Abinger's having been in Thrums without his feeling -her presence, something made him go a few yards inside the castle -grounds, and, lying lightly on the snow, he saw the Christmas card. He -lifted it up as if it were a rare piece of china, and held it in his two -hands as though it were a bird which might escape. He did not know -whether it had dropped there of its own accord, and doubt and transport -fought for victory on his face. At last he put the card exultingly into -his pocket, his chest heaved, and he went toward Silchester whistling. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE GRAND PASSION? - - -One of the disappointments of life is that the persons we think we have -reason to dislike are seldom altogether villains; they are not made -sufficiently big for it. When we can go to sleep in an arm-chair this -ceases to be a trouble, but it vexed Mary Abinger. Her villain of -fiction, on being haughtily rejected, had at least left the heroine's -home looking a little cowed. Sir Clement in the same circumstances had -stayed on. - -The colonel had looked forward resentfully for years to meeting this -gentleman again, and giving him a piece of his stormy mind. When the -opportunity came, however, Mary's father instead asked his unexpected -visitor to remain for a week. Colonel Abinger thought he was thus -magnanimous because his guest had been confidential with him, but it was -perhaps rather because Sir Clement had explained how much he thought of -him. To dislike our admirers is to be severe on ourselves, and is -therefore not common. - -The Dome had introduced the colonel to Sir Clement as well as to Rob. -One day Colonel Abinger had received by letter from a little hostelry in -the neighbourhood the compliments of Sir Clement Dowton, and a request -that he might be allowed to fish in the preserved water. All that -Mary's father knew of Dowton at that time was that he had been lost to -English society for half a dozen years. Once in many months the papers -spoke of him as serving under Gordon in China, as being taken captive by -an African king, as having settled down in a cattle-ranch in the -vicinity of Manitoba. His lawyers were probably aware of his whereabouts -oftener than other persons. All that society knew was that he hated -England because one of its daughters had married a curate. The colonel -called at the inn, and found Sir Clement such an attentive listener that -he thought the baronet's talk quite brilliant. A few days afterwards the -stranger's traps were removed to the castle, and then he met Miss -Abinger, who was recently home from school. He never spoke to her of his -grudge against England. - -It is only the unselfish men who think much, otherwise Colonel Abinger -might have pondered a little over his guest. Dowton had spoken of -himself as an enthusiastic angler, yet he let his flies drift down the -stream like fallen leaves. He never remembered to go a-fishing until it -was suggested to him. He had given his host several reasons for his long -absence from his property, and told him he did not want the world to -know that he was back in England, as he was not certain whether he would -remain. The colonel at his request introduced him to the few visitors at -the castle as Mr. Dowton, and was surprised to discover afterwards that -they all knew his real name. - -'I assure you,' Mary's father said to him, 'that they have not learned -it from me. It is incomprehensible how a thing like that leaks out.' - -'I don't understand it,' said Dowton, who, however, should have -understood it, as he had taken the visitors aside and told them his real -name himself. He seemed to do this not of his free will, but because he -could not help it. - -It never struck the colonel that his own society was not what tied Sir -Clement to Dome Castle; for widowers with grown-up daughters are in a -foreign land without interpreters. On that morning when the baronet -vanished, nevertheless, the master of Dome Castle was the only person in -it who did not think that it would soon lose its mistress, mere girl -though she was. - -Sir Clement's strange disappearance was accounted for at the castle, -where alone it was properly known, in various ways. Miss Abinger, in the -opinion of the servants' hall, held her head so high that there he was -believed to have run away because she had said him no. Miss Abinger -excused and blamed him alternately to herself, until she found a dull -satisfaction in looking upon him as the villain he might have been had -his high forehead spoken true. As for the colonel, he ordered Mary (he -had no need) never to mention the fellow's name to him, but mentioned it -frequently himself. - -Nothing had happened, so far as was known, to disturb the baronet's -serenity; neither friends nor lawyers had been aware that he was in -England, and he had received no letters. Mary remembered his occasional -fits of despondency, but on the whole he seemed to revel in his visit, -and had never looked happier than the night before he went. His traps -were sent by the colonel in a fury to the little inn where he had at -first taken up his abode, but it was not known at the castle whether he -ever got them. Some months afterwards a letter from him appeared in the -_Times_, dated from Suez, and from then until he reappeared at Dome -Castle, the colonel, except when he spoke to himself, never heard the -baronet's name mentioned. - -Sir Clement must have been very impulsive, for on returning to the -castle he had intended to treat Miss Abinger with courteous coldness, as -if she had been responsible for his flight, and he had not seen her -again for ten minutes before he asked her to marry him. He meant to -explain his conduct in one way to the colonel, and he explained it in -quite another way. - -When Colonel Abinger took him into the smoking-room on Christmas Eve to -hear what he had to say for himself, the baronet sank into a chair, with -a look of contentment on his beautiful face that said he was glad to be -there again. Then the colonel happened to mention Mary's name in such a -way that he seemed to know of Sir Clement's proposal to her three years -earlier. At once the baronet began another story from the one he had -meant to tell, and though he soon discovered that he had credited his -host with a knowledge the colonel did not possess, it was too late to -draw back. So Mary's father heard to his amazement that the baronet had -run away because he was in love with Miss Abinger. Colonel Abinger had -read _The Scorn of Scorns_, but it had taught him nothing. - -'She was only a schoolgirl when you saw her last,' he said, in -bewilderment; 'but I hardly see how that should have made you fly the -house like--yes, like a thief.' - -Dowton looked sadly at him. - -'I don't know,' he said, speaking as if with reluctance, 'that in any -circumstances I should be justified in telling you the whole miserable -story. Can you not guess it? When I came here I was not a free man.' - -'You were already married?' - -'No, but I was engaged to be married.' - -'Did Mary know anything of this?' - -'Nothing of that engagement, and but little, I think, of the attachment -that grew up in my heart for her. I kept that to myself.' - -'She was too young,' said the wise colonel, 'to think of such things -then; and even now I do not see why you should have left us as you did.' - -Sir Clement rose to his feet and paced the room in great agitation. - -'It is hard,' he said at last, 'to speak of such a thing to another man. -But let me tell you, Abinger, that when I was with you three years ago -there were times when I thought I would lose my reason. Do you know what -it is to have such a passion as that raging in your heart and yet have -to stifle it? There were whole nights when I walked up and down my room -till dawn. I trembled every time I saw Miss Abinger alone lest I should -say that to her which I had no right to say. Her voice alone was -sufficient to unman me. I felt that my only safety was in flight.' - -'I have run away from a woman myself in my time,' the colonel said, with -a grim chuckle. 'There are occasions when it is the one thing to do, -but this was surely not one of them, if Mary knew nothing.' - -'Sometimes I feared she did know that I cared for her. That is a hard -thing to conceal, and, besides, I suppose I felt so wretched that I was -not in a condition to act rationally. When I left the castle that day I -had not the least intention of not returning.' - -'And since then you have been half round the world again? Are you -married?' - -'No.' - -'Then I am to understand----' - -'That she is dead,' said Sir Clement, in a low voice. - -There was a silence between them, which was at last broken by the -colonel. - -'What you have told me,' he said, 'is a great surprise, more especially -with regard to my daughter. Being but a child at the time, however, she -could not, I am confident, have thought of you in any other light than -as her father's friend. It is, of course, on that footing that you -return now?' - -'As her father's friend, certainly, I hope,' said the baronet firmly, -'but I wish to tell you now that my regard for her has never changed. I -confess I would have been afraid to come back to you had not my longing -to see her again given me courage.' - -'She has not the least idea of this,' murmured the colonel, 'not the -least. The fact is that Mary has lived so quietly with me here that she -is still a child. Miss Meredith, whom I dare say you have met here, has -been almost her only friend, and I am quite certain that the thought of -marriage has never crossed their minds. If you, or even if I, were to -speak of such a thing to Mary, it would only frighten her.' - -'I should not think of speaking to her on the subject at present,' the -baronet interposed, rather hurriedly, 'but I thought it best to explain -my position to you. You know what I am, that I have been almost a -vagrant on the face of the earth since I reached manhood, but no one can -see more clearly than I do myself how unworthy I am of her.' - -'I do not need to tell you,' said the colonel, taking the baronet's -hand, 'that I used to like you, Dowton, and indeed I know no one whom I -would prefer for a son-in-law. But you must be cautious with Mary.' - -'I shall be very cautious,' said the baronet; 'indeed there is no hurry, -none whatever.' - -Colonel Abinger would have brought the conversation to a close here, but -there was something more for Dowton to say. - -'I agree with you,' he said, forgetting, perhaps, that the colonel had -not spoken on this point, 'that Miss Abinger should be kept ignorant for -the present of the cause that drove me on that former occasion from the -castle.' - -'It is the wisest course to adopt,' said the colonel, looking as if he -had thought the matter out step by step. - -'The only thing I am doubtful about,' continued Dowton, 'is whether Miss -Abinger will not think that she is entitled to some explanation. She -cannot, I fear, have forgotten the circumstances of my departure.' - -'Make your mind easy on that score,' said the colonel; 'the best proof -that Mary gave the matter little thought, even at the time, is that she -did not speak of it to me. Sweet seventeen has always a short memory.' - -'But I have sometimes thought since that Miss Abinger did care for me a -little, in which case she would have unfortunate cause to resent my -flight.' - -While he spoke the baronet was looking anxiously into the colonel's -face. - -'I can give you my word for it,' said the colonel cheerily, 'that she -did not give your disappearance two thoughts; and now I much question -whether she will recognise you.' - -Dowton's face clouded, but the other misinterpreted the shadow. - -'So put your mind at rest,' said the colonel kindly, 'and trust an old -stager like myself for being able to read into a woman's heart.' - -Shortly afterwards Colonel Abinger left his guest, and for nearly five -minutes the baronet looked dejected. It is sometimes advantageous to -hear that a lady with whom you have watched the moon rise has forgotten -your very name, but it is never complimentary. By and by, however, Sir -Clement's sense of humour drove the gloom from his chiselled face, and a -glass bracket over the mantelpiece told him that he was laughing -heartily. - -It was a small breakfast party at the castle next morning, Sir Clement -and Greybrooke being the only guests, but the baronet was so gay and -morose by turns that he might have been two persons. In the middle of a -laugh at some remark of the captain's, he would break off with a sigh, -and immediately after sadly declining another cup of coffee from Mary, -he said something humorous to her father. The one mood was natural to -him and the other forced, but it would have been difficult to decide -which was which. It is, however, one of the hardest things in life to -remain miserable for any length of time on a stretch. When Dowton found -himself alone with Mary his fingers were playing an exhilarating tune on -the window-sill, but as he looked at her his hands fell to his side, and -there was pathos in his fine eyes. Drawn toward her, he took a step -forward, but Miss Abinger said 'No' so decisively that he stopped -irresolute. - -'I shall be leaving the castle in an hour,' Sir Clement said slowly. - -'Papa told me,' said Mary, 'that he had prevailed upon you to remain for -a week.' - -'He pressed me to do so, and I consented, but you have changed -everything since then. Ah, Mary----' - -'Miss Abinger,' said Mary. - -'Miss Abinger, if you would only listen to what I have to say. I can -explain everything. I----' - -'There is nothing to explain,' said Mary, 'nothing that I have either a -right or a desire to hear. Please not to return to this subject again. I -said everything there was to say last night.' - -The baronet's face paled, and he bowed his head in deep dejection. His -voice was trembling a little, and he observed it with gratification as -he answered-- - -'Then, I suppose, I must bid you good-bye?' - -'Good-bye,' said Mary. 'Does papa know you are going?' - -'I promised to him to stay on,' said Sir Clement, 'and I can hardly -expect him to forgive me if I change my mind.' - -This was put almost in the form of a question, and Mary thought she -understood it. - -'Then you mean to remain?' she asked. - -'You compel me to go,' he replied dolefully. - -'Oh no,' said Mary, 'I have nothing to do with your going or staying.' - -'But it--it would hardly do for me to remain after what took place last -night,' said the baronet, in the tone of one who was open to -contradiction. - -For the first time in the conversation Mary smiled. It was not, however, -the smile every man would care to see at his own expense. - -'If you were to go now,' she said, 'you would not be fulfilling your -promise to papa, and I know that men do not like to break their word -to--to other men.' - -'Then you think I ought to stay?' asked Sir Clement eagerly. - -'It is for you to think,' said Mary. - -'Perhaps, then, I ought to remain--for Colonel Abinger's sake,' said the -baronet. - -Mary did not answer. - -'Only for a few days,' he continued almost appealingly. - -'Very well,' said Mary. - -'And you won't think the worse of me for it?' asked Dowton anxiously. -'Of course, if I were to consult my own wishes I would go now, but as I -promised Colonel Abinger----' - -'You will remain out of consideration for papa. How could I think worse -of you for that?' - -Mary rose to leave the room, and as Sir Clement opened the door for her -he said-- - -'We shall say nothing of all this to Colonel Abinger?' - -'Oh no, certainly not,' said Mary. - -She glanced up in his face, her mouth twisted slightly to one side, as -it had a habit of doing when she felt disdainful, and the glory of her -beauty filled him of a sudden. The baronet pushed the door close and -turned to her passionately, a film over his eyes and his hands -outstretched. - -'Mary,' he cried, 'is there no hope for me?' - -'No,' said Mary, opening the door for herself, and passing out. - -Sir Clement stood there motionless for a minute. Then he crossed to the -fireplace, and sank into a luxuriously cushioned chair. The sunlight -came back to his noble face. - -'This is grand, glorious,' he murmured, in an ecstasy of enjoyment. - -In the days that followed, the baronet's behaviour was a little -peculiar. Occasionally at meals he seemed to remember that a rejected -lover ought not to have a good appetite. If, when he was smoking in the -grounds, he saw Mary approaching, he covertly dropped his cigar. When he -knew that she was sitting at a window he would pace up and down the walk -with his head bent as if life had lost its interest to him. By and by -his mind wandered, on these occasions, to more cheerful matters, and he -would start to find that he had been smiling to himself and swishing his -cane playfully, like a man who walked on air. It might have been said of -him that he tried to be miserable and found it hard work. - -Will, who discovered that the baronet did not know what l.b.w. meant, -could not, nevertheless, despise a man who had shot lions, but he never -had quite the same respect for the king of beasts again. As for -Greybrooke, he rather liked Sir Clement, because he knew that Nell (in -her own words) 'loathed, hated, and despised' him. - -Greybrooke had two severe disappointments that holiday, both of which -were to be traced to the capricious Nell. It had dawned on him that she -could not help liking him a little if she saw him take a famous jump -over the Dome, known to legend as the 'Robber's Leap.' The robber had -lost his life in trying to leap the stream, but the captain practised in -the castle grounds until he felt that he could clear it. Then he -formally invited Miss Meredith to come and see him do it, and she told -him instead that he was wicked. The captain and Will went back silently -to the castle, wondering what on earth she would like. - -Greybrooke's other disappointment was still more grievous. One evening -he and Will returned to the castle late for dinner, an offence the -colonel found it hard to overlook, although they were going back to -school on the following day. Will reached the dining-room first, and his -father frowned on him. - -'You are a quarter of an hour late, William,' said the colonel sternly. -'Where have you been?' - -Will hesitated. - -'Do you remember,' he said at last, 'a man called Angus, who was here -reporting on Christmas Eve?' - -Mary laid down her knife and fork. - -'A painfully powerful-looking man,' said Dowton, 'in hob-nailed boots. I -remember him.' - -'Well, we have been calling on him,' said Will. - -'Calling on him, calling on that impudent newspaper man!' exclaimed the -colonel; 'what do you mean?' - -'Greybrooke had a row with him some time ago,' said Will; 'I don't know -what about, because it was private; but the captain has been looking for -the fellow for a fortnight to lick him--I mean punish him. We came upon -him two days ago, near the castle gates.' - -Here Will paused, as if he would prefer to jump what followed. - -'And did your friend "lick" him then?' asked the colonel, at which Will -shook his head. - -'Why not?' asked Sir Clement. - -'Well,' said Will reluctantly, 'the fellow wouldn't let him. He--he -lifted Greybrooke up in his arms, and--and dropped him over the hedge.' - -Mary could not help laughing. - -'The beggar--I mean the fellow--must have muscles like ivy roots,' Will -blurted out admiringly. - -'I fancy,' said Dowton, 'that I have seen him near the gates several -times during the last week.' - -'Very likely,' said the colonel shortly. 'I caught him poaching in the -Dome some months ago. There is something bad about that man.' - -'Papa!' said Mary. - -At this moment Greybrooke entered. - -'So, Mr. Greybrooke,' said the colonel, 'I hear you have been in -Silchester avenging an insult.' - -The captain looked at Will, who nodded. - -'I went there,' admitted Greybrooke, blushing, 'to horsewhip a reporter -fellow, but he had run away.' - -'Run away?' - -'Yes. Did not Will tell you? We called at the _Mirror_ office, and were -told that Angus had bolted to London two days ago.' - -'And the worst of it,' interposed Will, 'is that he ran off without -paying his landlady's bill.' - -'I knew that man was a rascal,' exclaimed the colonel. - -Mary flushed. - -'I don't believe it,' she said. - -'You don't believe it,' repeated her father angrily; 'and why not, -pray?' - -'Because--because I don't,' said Mary. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -IN FLEET STREET - - -Mary was wrong. It was quite true that Rob had run away to London -without paying his landlady's bill. - -The immediate result of his meeting with Miss Abinger had been to make -him undertake double work, and not do it. Looking in at shop-windows, -where he saw hats that he thought would just suit Mary (he had a good -deal to learn yet), it came upon him that he was wasting his time. Then -he hurried home, contemptuous of all the rest of Silchester, to write an -article for a London paper, and when he next came to himself, half an -hour afterwards, he was sitting before a blank sheet of copy paper. He -began to review a book, and found himself gazing at a Christmas card. He -tried to think out the action of a government, and thought out a ring on -Miss Abinger's finger instead. Three nights running he dreamt that he -was married, and woke up quaking. - -Without much misgiving Rob heard it said in Silchester that there was -some one staying at Dome Castle who was to be its mistress's husband. On -discovering that they referred to Dowton, and not being versed in the -wonderful ways of woman, he told himself that this was impossible. A -cynic would have pointed out that Mary had now had several days in -which to change her mind. Cynics are persons who make themselves the -measure of other people. - -The philosopher who remarked that the obvious truths are those which are -most often missed, was probably referring to the time it takes a man to -discover that he is in love. Women are quicker because they are on the -outlook. It took Rob two days, and when it came upon him checked his -breathing. After that he bore it like a man. Another discovery he had to -make was that, after all, he was nobody in particular. This took him -longer. - -Although the manner of his going to London was unexpected, Rob had -thought out solidly the inducements to go. Ten minutes or so after he -knew that he wanted to marry Mary Abinger, he made up his mind to try to -do it. The only obstacles he saw in his way were, that she was not in -love with him, and lack of income. Feeling that he was an uncommon type -of man (if people would only see it), he resolved to remove this second -difficulty first. The saw-mill and the castle side by side did not rise -up and frighten him, and for the time he succeeded in not thinking about -Colonel Abinger. Nothing is hopeless if we want it very much. - -Rob calculated that if he remained on the _Mirror_ for another dozen -years or so, and Mr. Licquorish continued to think that it would not be -cheaper to do without him, he might reach a salary of £200 per annum. As -that was not sufficient, he made up his mind to leave Silchester. - -There was only one place to go to. Rob thought of London until he felt -that it was the guardian from whom he would have to ask Mary Abinger; -he pictured her there during the season, until London, which he had -never seen, began to assume a homely aspect. It was the place in which -he was to win or lose his battle. To whom is London much more? It is the -clergyman's name for his church, the lawyer's for his office, the -politician's for St. Stephen's, the cabman's for his stand. - -There was not a man on the Press in Silchester who did not hunger for -Fleet Street, but they were all afraid to beard it. They knew it as a -rabbit-warren; as the closest street in a city where the bootblack has -his sycophants, and you have to battle for exclusive right to sweep a -crossing. The fight forward had been grimmer to Rob, however, than to -his fellows, and he had never been quite beaten. He was alone in the -world, and poverty was like an old friend. There was only one journalist -in London whom he knew even by name, and he wrote to him for advice. -This was Mr. John Rorrison, a son of the minister whose assistance had -brought Rob to Silchester. Rorrison was understood to be practically -editing a great London newspaper, which is what is understood of a great -many journalists until you make inquiries, but he wrote back to Rob -asking him why he wanted to die before his time. You collectors who want -an editor's autograph may rely upon having it by return of post if you -write threatening to come to London with the hope that he will do -something for you. Rorrison's answer discomfited Rob for five minutes, -and then, going out, he caught a glimpse of Mary Abinger in the -Merediths' carriage. He tore up the letter, and saw that London was -worth risking. - -One forenoon Rob set out for the office to tell Mr. Licquorish of his -determination. He knew that the entire staff would think him demented, -but he could not see that he was acting rashly. He had worked it all out -in his mind, and even tranquilly faced possible starvation. Rob was -congratulating himself on not having given way to impulse when he -reached the railway station. - -His way from his lodgings to the office led past the station, and as he -had done scores of times before, he went inside. To Rob all the romance -of Silchester was concentrated there; nothing stirred him so much as a -panting engine; the shunting of carriages, the bustle of passengers, the -porters rattling to and fro with luggage, the trains twisting -serpent-like into the station and stealing out in a glory to be gone, -sent the blood to his head. On Saturday nights, when he was free, any -one calling at the station would have been sure to find him on the -platform from which the train starts for London. His heart had sunk -every time it went off without him. - -Rob woke up from a dream of Fleet Street to see the porters slamming the -doors of the London train. He saw the guard's hand upraised, and heard -the carriages rattle as the restive engine took them unawares. Then came -the warning whistle, and the train moved off. For a second of time Rob -felt that he had lost London, and he started forward. Some one near him -shouted, and then he came upon the train all at once, a door opened, and -he shot in. When he came to himself, Silchester was a cloud climbing to -the sky behind him, and he was on his way to London. - -Rob's first feeling was that the other people in the carriage must know -what he had done. He was relieved to find that his companions were only -an old gentleman who spoke fiercely to his newspaper because it was -reluctant to turn inside out, a little girl who had got in at Silchester -and consumed thirteen halfpenny buns before she was five miles distant -from it, and a young woman, evidently a nurse, with a baby in her arms. -The baby was noisy for a time, but Rob gave it a look that kept it -silent for the rest of the journey. He told himself that he would get -out at the first station, but when the train stopped at it he sat on. He -twisted himself into a corner to count his money covertly, and found -that it came to four pounds odd. He also took the Christmas card from -his pocket, but replaced it hastily, feeling that the old gentleman and -the little girl were looking at him. A feeling of elation grew upon him -as he saw that whatever might happen afterwards he must be in London -shortly, and his mind ran on the letters he would write to Mr. -Licquorish and his landlady. In lieu of his ticket he handed over twelve -shillings to the guard, under whose eyes he did not feel comfortable, -and he calculated that he owed his landlady over two pounds. He would -send it to her and ask her to forward his things to London. Mr. -Licquorish, however, might threaten him with the law if he did not -return. But then the _Mirror_ owed Rob several pounds at that moment, -and if he did not claim it in person it would remain in Mr. Licquorish's -pockets. There was no saying how far that consideration would affect the -editor. Rob saw a charge of dishonesty rise up and confront him, and he -drew back from it. A moment afterwards he looked it in the face, and it -receded. He took his pipe from his pocket. - -'This is not a smoking carriage,' gasped the little girl, so promptly -that it almost seemed as if she had been waiting her opportunity ever -since the train started. Rob looked at her. She seemed about eight, but -her eye was merciless. He thrust his pipe back into its case, feeling -cowed at last. - -The nurse, who had been looking at Rob and blushing when she caught his -eye, got out with her charge at a side station, and he helped her rather -awkwardly to alight. 'Don't mention it,' he said, in answer to her -thanks. - -'Not a word; I'm not that kind,' she replied, so eagerly that he started -back in alarm, to find the little girl looking suspiciously at him. - -As Rob stepped out of the train at King's Cross he realised sharply that -he was alone in the world. He did not know where to go now, and his -heart sank for a time as he paced the platform irresolutely, feeling -that it was his last link to Silchester. He turned into the -booking-office to consult a time-table, and noticed against the wall a -railway map of London. For a long time he stood looking at it, and as he -traced the river, the streets familiar to him by name, the districts and -buildings which were household words to him, he felt that he must live -in London somehow. He discovered Fleet Street in the map, and studied -the best way of getting to it from King's Cross. Then grasping his stick -firmly, he took possession of London as calmly as he could. - -Rob never found any difficulty afterwards in picking out the shabby -eating-house in which he had his first meal in London. Gray's Inn Road -remained to him always its most romantic street because he went down it -first. He walked into the roar of London in Holborn, and never forgot -the alley into which he retreated to discover if he had suddenly become -deaf. He wondered when the crowd would pass. Years afterwards he turned -into Fetter Lane, and suddenly there came back to his mind the thoughts -that had held him as he went down it the day he arrived in London. - -A certain awe came upon Rob as he went down Fleet Street on the one side -and up it on the other. He could not resist looking into the faces of -the persons who passed him, and wondering if they edited the _Times_. -The lean man who was in such a hurry that wherever he had to go he would -soon be there, might be a man of letters whom Rob knew by heart, but -perhaps he was only a broken journalist with his eye on half a crown. -The mild-looking man whom Rob smiled at because, when he was half way -across the street, he lost his head and was chased out of sight by half -a dozen hansom cabs, was a war correspondent who had been so long in -Africa that the perils of a London crossing unmanned him. The youth who -was on his way home with a pork chop in his pocket edited a society -journal. Rob did not recognise a distinguished poet in a little stout -man who was looking pensively at a barrowful of walnuts, and he was -mistaken in thinking that the bearded gentleman who held his head so -high must be somebody in particular. Rob observed a pale young man -gazing wistfully at him, and wondered if he was a thief or a sub-editor. -He was merely an aspirant who had come to London that morning to make -his fortune, and he took Rob for a leader-writer at the least. The -offices, however, and even the public buildings, the shops, the -narrowness of the streets, all disappointed Rob. The houses seemed -squeezed together for economy of space, like a closed concertina. -Nothing quite fulfilled his expectations but the big letter holes in the -district postal offices. He had not been sufficiently long in London to -feel its greatest charm, which has been expressed in many ways by poet, -wit, business man, and philosopher, but comes to this, that it is the -only city in the world in whose streets you can eat penny buns without -people's turning round to look at you. - -In a few days Rob was part of London. His Silchester landlady had -forwarded him his things, and Mr. Licquorish had washed his hands of -him. The editor of the _Mirror's_ letter amounted to a lament that a man -whom he had allowed to do two men's work for half a man's wages should -have treated him thus. Mr. Licquorish, however, had conceived the idea -of 'forcing' John Milton, and so saving a reporter, and he did not -insist on Rob's returning. He expressed a hope that his ex-reporter -would do well in London, and a fear, amounting to a conviction, that he -would not. But he sent the three pounds due to him in wages, pointing -out, justifiably enough, that, strictly speaking, Rob owed him a month's -salary. Rob had not expected such liberality, and from that time always -admitted that there must have been a heroic vein in Mr. Licquorish after -all. - -Rob established himself in a little back room in Islington, so small -that a fairly truthful journalist might have said of it, in an article, -that you had to climb the table to reach the fireplace, and to lift out -the easy-chair before you could get out at the door. The room was over a -grocer's shop, whose window bore the announcement: 'Eggs, new laid, 1s. -3d.; eggs, fresh, 1s. 2d.; eggs, warranted, 1s.; eggs, 10d.' A shop -across the way hinted at the reputation of the neighbourhood in the -polite placard, 'Trust in the Lord: every other person cash.' - -The only ornament Rob added to the room was the Christmas card in a -frame. He placed this on his mantelpiece and looked at it frequently, -but when he heard his landlady coming he slipped it back into his -pocket. Yet he would have liked at times to have the courage to leave it -there. Though he wanted to be a literary man he began his career in -London with a little sense, for he wrote articles to editors instead of -calling at the offices, and he had the good fortune to have no -introductions. The only pressman who ever made anything by insisting on -seeing the editor, was one--a Scotsman, no doubt--who got him alone and -threatened to break his head if he did not find an opening for him. The -editor saw that this was the sort of man who had made up his mind to get -on, and yielded. - -During his first month in London Rob wrote thirty articles, and took -them to the different offices in order to save the postage. There were -many other men in the streets at night doing the same thing. He got -fifteen articles back by return of post, and never saw the others again. -But here was the stuff Rob was made of. The thirty having been rejected, -he dined on bread-and-cheese and began the thirty-first. It was accepted -by the _Minotaur_, a weekly paper. Rob drew a sigh of exultation as he -got his first proof in London, and remembered that he had written the -article in two hours. The payment, he understood, would be two pounds at -least, and at the rate of two articles a day, working six days a week, -this would mean over six hundred a year. Rob had another look at the -Christmas card, and thought it smiled. Every man is a fool now and then. - -Except to his landlady, who thought that he dined out, Rob had not -spoken to a soul since he arrived in London. To celebrate his first -proof he resolved to call on Rorrison. He had not done so earlier -because he thought that Rorrison would not be glad to see him. Though he -had kept his disappointments to himself, however, he felt that he must -remark casually to some one that he was writing for the _Minotaur_. - -Rorrison had chambers at the top of one of the Inns of Court, and as he -had sported his oak, Rob ought not to have knocked. He knew no better, -however, and Rorrison came grumbling to the door. He was a full-bodied -man of middle age, with a noticeably heavy chin, and wore a long -dressing-gown. - -'I'm Angus from Silchester,' Rob explained. - -Rorrison's countenance fell. His occupation largely consisted in -avoiding literary young men, who, he knew, were thirsting to take him -aside and ask him to get them sub-editorships. - -'I'm glad to see you,' he said gloomily; 'come in.' - -What Rob first noticed in the sitting-room was that it was all in -shadow, except one corner, whose many colours dazzled the eye. Suspended -over this part of the room on a gas bracket was a great Japanese -umbrella without a handle. This formed an awning for a large cane chair -and a tobacco-table, which also held a lamp, and Rorrison had been -lolling on the chair looking at a Gladstone bag on the hearthrug until -he felt that he was busy packing. - -'Mind the umbrella,' he said to his visitor. - -The next moment a little black hole that had been widening in the -Japanese paper just above the lamp cracked and broke, and a tongue of -flame swept up the umbrella. Rob sprang forward in horror, but Rorrison -only sighed. - -'That makes the third this week,' he said, 'but let it blaze. I used to -think they would set the place on fire, but somehow they don't do it. -Don't give the thing the satisfaction of seeming to notice it.' - -The umbrella had been frizzled in a second, and its particles were -already trembling through the room like flakes of snow. - -'You have just been in time to find me,' Rorrison said; 'I start -to-morrow afternoon for Egypt in the special correspondent business.' - -'I envy you,' said Rob, and then told the manner of his coming to -London. - -'It was a mad thing to do,' said Rorrison, looking at him not without -approval, 'but the best journalists frequently begin in that way. I -suppose you have been besieging the newspaper offices since you arrived; -any result?' - -'I had a proof from the _Minotaur_ this evening,' said Rob. - -Rorrison blew some rings of smoke into the air and ran his finger -through them. Then he turned proudly to Rob, and saw that Rob was -looking proudly at him. - -'Ah, what did you say?' asked Rorrison. - -'The _Minotaur_ has accepted one of my things,' said Rob. - -Rorrison said 'Hum,' and then hesitated. - -'It is best that you should know the truth,' he said at last. 'No doubt -you expect to be paid by the _Minotaur_, but I am afraid there is little -hope of that--unless you dun them. A friend of mine sent them something -lately, and Roper (the editor, you know) wrote asking him for more. He -sent two or three other things, and then called at the office, expecting -to be paid.' - -'Was he not?' - -'On the contrary,' said Rorrison, 'Roper asked him for the loan of five -pounds.' - -Rob's face grew so long that even the hardened Rorrison tried to feel -for him. - -'You need not let an experience that every one has to pass through -dishearten you,' he said. 'There are only about a dozen papers in London -that are worth writing for, but I can give you a good account of them. -Not only do they pay handsomely, but the majority are open to -contributions from any one. Don't you believe what one reads about -newspaper rings. Every thing sent in is looked at, and if it is suitable -any editor is glad to have it. Men fail to get a footing on the Press -because--well, as a rule, because they are stupid.' - -'I am glad to hear you say that,' said Rob, 'and yet I had thirty -articles rejected before the _Minotaur_ accepted that one.' - -'Yes, and you will have another thirty rejected if they are of the same -kind. You beginners seem able to write nothing but your views on -politics, and your reflections on art, and your theories of life, which -you sometimes even think original. Editors won't have that because their -readers don't want it. Every paper has its regular staff of -leader-writers, and what is wanted from the outside is freshness. An -editor tosses aside your column and a half about evolution, but is glad -to have a paragraph saying that you saw Herbert Spencer the day before -yesterday gazing solemnly for ten minutes in at a milliner's window. -Fleet Street at this moment is simply running with men who want to air -their views about things in general.' - -'I suppose so,' said Rob dolefully. - -'Yes, and each thinks himself as original as he is profound, though they -have only to meet to discover that they repeat each other. The pity of -it is, that all of them could get on to some extent if they would send -in what is wanted. There is copy in every man you meet, and, as a -journalist on this stair says, when you do meet him you feel inclined to -tear it out of him and use it yourself.' - -'What sort of copy?' asked Rob. - -'They should write of the things they have seen. Newspaper readers have -an insatiable appetite for knowing how that part of the world lives with -which they are not familiar. They want to know how the Norwegians cook -their dinners and build their houses, and ask each other in marriage.' - -'But I have never been out of Britain.' - -'Neither was Shakspeare. There are thousands of articles in Scotland -yet. You must know a good deal about the Scottish weavers--well, there -are articles in them. Describe the daily life of a gillie: "The Gillie -at Home" is a promising title. Were you ever snowed up in your saw-mill? -Whether you were or not, there is a seasonable subject for January. -"Yule in a Scottish Village" also sounds well, and there is a safe -article in a Highland gathering.' - -'These must have been done before, though,' said Rob. - -'Of course they have,' answered Rorrison; 'but do them in your own way: -the public has no memory, and besides, new publics are always springing -up.' - -'I am glad I came to see you,' said Rob, brightening considerably; 'I -never thought of these things.' - -'Of course you need not confine yourself to them. Write on politics if -you will, but don't merely say what you yourself think; rather tell, for -instance, what is the political situation in the country parts known to -you. That should be more interesting and valuable than your individual -views. But I may tell you that, if you have the journalistic faculty, -you will always be on the look-out for possible articles. The man on the -stair I have mentioned to you would have had an article out of you -before he had talked with you as long as I have done. You must have -heard of Noble Simms?' - -'Yes, I know his novel,' said Rob; 'I should like immensely to meet -him.' - -'I must leave you an introduction to him,' said Rorrison; 'he wakens -most people up, though you would scarcely think it to look at him. You -see this pipe here? Simms saw me mending it with sealing-wax one day, -and two days afterwards there was an article about it in the _Scalping -Knife_. When I went off for my holidays last summer I asked him to look -in here occasionally and turn a new cheese which had been sent me from -the country. Of course he forgot to do it, but I denounced him on my -return for not keeping his solemn promise, so he revenged himself by -publishing an article entitled "Rorrison's Oil-Painting." In this it was -explained that just before Rorrison went off for a holiday he got a -present of an oil-painting. Remembering when he had got to Paris that -the painting, which was come to him wet from the easel, had been left -lying on his table, he telegraphed to the writer to have it put away out -of reach of dust and the cat. The writer promised to do so, but when -Rorrison returned he found the picture lying just where he left it. He -rushed off to his friend's room to upbraid him, and did it so -effectually that the friend says in his article, "I will never do a good -turn for Rorrison again!"' - -'But why,' asked Rob, 'did he turn the cheese into an oil-painting?' - -'Ah, there you have the journalistic instinct again. You see a cheese is -too plebeian a thing to form the subject of an article in the _Scalping -Knife_, so Simms made a painting of it. He has had my Chinese umbrella -from several points of view in three different papers. When I play on -his piano I put scraps of paper on the notes to guide me, and he made -his three guineas out of that. Once I challenged him to write an article -on a straw that was sticking to the sill of my window, and it was one of -the most interesting things he ever did. Then there was the box of old -clothes and other odds and ends that he promised to store for me when I -changed my rooms. He sold the lot to a hawker for a pair of flower-pots, -and wrote an article on the transaction. Subsequently he had another -article on the flower-pots; and when I appeared to claim my belongings -he got a third article out of that.' - -'I suppose he reads a great deal?' said Rob. - -'He seldom opens a book,' answered Rorrison; 'indeed, when he requires -to consult a work of reference he goes to the Strand and does his -reading at a bookstall. I don't think he was ever in the British -Museum.' - -Rob laughed. - -'At the same time,' he said, 'I don't think Mr. Noble Simms could get -any copy out of me.' - -Just then some one shuffled into the passage, and the door opened. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -MR. NOBLE SIMMS - - -The new-comer was a young man with an impassive face and weary eyes, -who, as he slouched in, described a parabola in the air with one of his -feet, which was his way of keeping a burned slipper on. Rorrison -introduced him to Rob as Mr. Noble Simms, after which Simms took himself -into a corner of the room, like a man who has paid for his seat in a -railway compartment and refuses to be drawn into conversation. He would -have been a handsome man had he had a little more interest in himself. - -'I thought you told me you were going out to-night,' said Rorrison. - -'I meant to go,' Simms answered, 'but when I rang for my boots the -housekeeper thought I asked for water, and brought it, so, rather than -explain matters to her, I drank the water and remained indoors.' - -'I read your book lately, Mr. Simms,' Rob said, after he had helped -himself to tobacco from Simms's pouch, 'Try my tobacco,' being the Press -form of salutation. - -'You did not buy the second volume, did you?' asked Simms, with a show -of interest, and Rob had to admit that he got the novel from a library. - -'Excuse my asking you,' Simms continued, in his painfully low voice; 'I -had a special reason. You see I happen to know that, besides what went -to the libraries, there were in all six copies of my book sold. My -admirer bought two, and I myself bought three and two-thirds, so that -only one volume remains to be accounted for. I like to think that the -purchaser was a lady.' - -'But how did it come about,' inquired Rob, while Rorrison smoked on -imperturbably, 'that the volumes were on sale singly?' - -'That was to tempt a public,' said Simms gravely, 'who would not take -kindly to the three volumes together. It is a long story, though.' - -Here he paused, as if anxious to escape out of the conversation. - -'No blarney, Simms,' expostulated Rorrison. 'I forgot to tell you, -Angus, that this man always means (when he happens to have a meaning) -the reverse of what he says.' - -'Don't mind Rorrison,' said Simms to Rob. 'It was in this way. My great -work of fiction did fairly well at the libraries, owing to a mistake -Mudie made about the name. He ordered a number of copies under the -impression that the book was by the popular novelist, Simmons, and when -the mistake was found out he was too honourable to draw back. The -surplus copies, however, would not sell at all. My publisher offered -them as Saturday evening presents to his young men, but they always left -them on their desks; so next he tried the second-hand book-shops, in the -hope that people from the country would buy the three volumes because -they looked so cheap at two shillings. However, even the label -"Published at 31s. 6d.: offered for 2s.," was barren of results. I used -to stand in an alley near one of these book-shops, and watch the people -handling my novel.' - -'But no one made an offer for it?' - -'Not at two shillings, but when it came down to one-and-sixpence an -elderly man with spectacles very nearly bought it. He was undecided -between it and a Trigonometry, but in the end he went off with the -Trigonometry. Then a young lady in grey and pink seemed interested in -it. I watched her reading the bit about Lord John entering the -drawing-room suddenly and finding Henry on his knees, and once I -distinctly saw her smile.' - -'She might have bought the novel if only to see how it ended.' - -'Ah, I have always been of opinion that she would have done so, had she -not most unfortunately, in her eagerness to learn what Henry said when -he and Eleanor went into the conservatory, knocked a row of books over -with her elbow. That frightened her, and she took to flight.' - -'Most unfortunate,' said Rob solemnly, though he was already beginning -to understand Simms--as Simms was on the surface. - -'I had a still greater disappointment,' continued the author, 'a few -days afterwards. By this time the book was marked "Very Amusing, 1s., -worth 1s. 6d."; and when I saw a pale-looking young man, who had been -examining it, enter the shop, I thought the novel was as good as sold. -My excitement was intense when a shopman came out for the three volumes -and carried them inside, but I was puzzled on seeing the young gentleman -depart, apparently without having made a purchase. Consider my feelings -when the shopman replaced the three volumes on his shelf with the new -label, "924 pp., 8d.; worth 1s."' - -'Surely it found a purchaser now?' - -'Alas, no. The only man who seemed to be attracted by it at eightpence -turned out to be the author of _John Mordaunt's Christmas Box_ -("Thrilling! Published at 6s.: offered at 1s. 3d."), who was hanging -about in the interests of his own work.' - -'Did it come down to "Sixpence, worth ninepence"?' - -'No; when I returned to the spot next day I found volumes One and Three -in the "2d. any vol." box, and I carried them away myself. What became -of volume Two I have never been able to discover. I rummaged the box for -it in vain.' - -'As a matter of fact, Angus,' remarked Rorrison, 'the novel is now in -its third edition.' - -'I always understood that it had done well,' said Rob. - -'The fourth time I asked for it at Mudie's,' said Simms, the latter half -of whose sentences were sometimes scarcely audible, 'I inquired how it -was doing, and was told that it had been already asked for three times. -Curiously enough there is a general impression that it has been a great -success, and for that I have to thank one man.' - -'The admirer of whom you spoke?' - -'Yes, my admirer, as I love to call him. I first heard of him as a -business gentleman living at Shepherd's Bush, who spoke with rapture of -my novel to any chance acquaintances he made on the tops of buses. Then -my aunt told me that a young lady knew a stout man living at Shepherd's -Bush who could talk of nothing but my book; and on inquiry at my -publisher's I learnt that a gentleman answering to this description had -bought two copies. I heard of my admirer from different quarters for the -next month, until a great longing rose in me to see him, to clasp his -hand, to ask what part of the book he liked best, at the least to walk -up and down past his windows, feeling that two men who appreciated each -other were only separated by a pane of glass.' - -'Did you ever discover who he was?' - -'I did. He lives at 42 Lavender Crescent, Shepherd's Bush, and his name -is Henry Gilding.' - -'Well?' said Rob, seeing Simms pause as if this was all. - -'I am afraid, Mr. Angus,' the author murmured in reply, 'that you did -not read the powerful and harrowing tale very carefully, or you would -remember that my hero's name was also Henry Gilding.' - -'Well, but what of that?' - -'There is everything in that. It is what made the Shepherd's Bush -gentleman my admirer for life. He considers it the strangest and most -diverting thing in his experience, and every night, I believe, after -dinner, his eldest daughter has to read out to him the passages in which -the Henry Gildings are thickest. He chuckles over the extraordinary -coincidence still. He could take that joke with him to the seaside for a -month, and it would keep him in humour all the time.' - -'Have done, Simms, have done,' said Rorrison; 'Angus is one of us, or -wants to be, at all events. The _Minotaur_ is printing one of his -things, and I have been giving him some sage advice.' - -'Any man,' said Simms, 'will do well on the Press if he is stupid -enough; even Rorrison has done well.' - -'I have just been telling him,' responded Rorrison, 'that the stupid men -fail.' - -'I don't consider you a failure, Rorrison,' said Simms, in mild -surprise. 'What stock-in-trade a literary hand requires, Mr. Angus, is a -fire to dry his writing at, jam or honey with which to gum old stamps on -to envelopes, and an antimacassar.' - -'An antimacassar?' Rob repeated. - -'Yes; you pluck the thread with which to sew your copy together out of -the antimacassar. When my antimacassars are at the wash I have to take a -holiday.' - -'Well, well, Simms,' said Rorrison, 'I like you best when you are -taciturn.' - -'So do I,' said Simms. - -'You might give Angus some advice about the likeliest papers for which -to write. London is new to him.' - -'The fact is, Mr. Angus,' said Simms, more seriously, 'that advice in -such a matter is merely talk thrown away. If you have the journalistic -instinct, which includes a determination not to be beaten, as well as an -aptitude for selecting the proper subjects, you will by and by find an -editor who believes in you. Many men of genuine literary ability have -failed on the Press because they did not have that instinct, and they -have attacked journalism in their books in consequence.' - -'I am not sure that I know what the journalistic instinct precisely is,' -Rob said, 'and still less whether I possess it.' - -'Ah, just let me put you through your paces,' replied Simms. 'Suppose -yourself up for an exam. in journalism, and that I am your examiner. -Question One: "The house was soon on fire; much sympathy is expressed -with the sufferers." Can you translate that into newspaper English?' - -'Let me see,' answered Rob, entering into the spirit of the examination. -'How would this do: "In a moment the edifice was enveloped in shooting -tongues of flame: the appalling catastrophe has plunged the whole street -into the gloom of night"?' - -'Good. Question Two: A man hangs himself; what is the technical heading -for this?' - -'Either "Shocking Occurrence" or "Rash Act."' - -'Question Three: "_Pabulum_," "_Cela va sans dire_," "_Par excellence_," -"_Ne plus ultra_." What are these? Are there any more of them?' - -'They are scholarship,' replied Rob, 'and there are two more, namely, -"_tour de force_" and "_terra firma_."' - -'Question Four: A. (a soldier) dies at 6 P.M. with his back to the foe. -B. (a philanthropist) dies at 1 A.M.: which of these, speaking -technically, would you call a creditable death?' - -'The soldier's, because time was given to set it.' - -'Quite right. Question Five: Have you ever known a newspaper which did -not have the largest circulation in its district, and was not the most -influential advertising medium?' - -'Never.' - -'Question Six: Mr. Gladstone rises to speak in the House of Commons at 2 -A.M. What would be the sub-editor's probable remark on receiving the -opening words of the speech, and how would he break the news to the -editor? How would the editor be likely to take it?' - -'I prefer,' said Rob, 'not to answer that question.' - -'Well, Mr. Angus,' said Simms, tiring of the examination, 'you have -passed with honours.' - -The conversation turned to Rorrison's coming work in Egypt, and by and -by Simms rose to go. - -'Your stick, I suppose, Mr. Angus?' he said, taking Rob's thick staff -from a corner. - -'Yes,' answered Rob, 'it has only a heavy knob, you see, for a handle, -and a doctor once told me that if I continued to press so heavily on it -I might suffer from some disease in the palm of the hand.' - -'I never heard of that,' said Simms, looking up for the first time since -he entered the room. Then he added, 'You should get a stick like -Rorrison's. It has a screw handle which he keeps loose, so that the -slightest touch knocks it off. It is called the compliment-stick, -because if Rorrison is in the company of ladies, he contrives to get -them to hold it. This is in the hope that they will knock the handle -off, when Rorrison bows and remarks exultingly that the stick is like -its owner--when it came near them it lost its head. He has said that to -fifteen ladies now, and has a great reputation for gallantry in -consequence. Good-night.' - -'Well, he did not get any copy out of me,' said Rob. - -'Simms is a curious fellow,' Rorrison answered. 'Though you might not -expect it, he has written some of the most pathetic things I ever read, -but he wears his heart out of sight. Despite what he says, too, he is -very jealous for the Press's good name. He seemed to take to you, so I -should not wonder though he were to look you up here some night.' - -'Here? How do you mean?' - -'Why, this. I shall probably be away from London for some months, and as -I must keep on my rooms, I don't see why you should not occupy them. The -furniture is mine, and you would be rent free, except that the -housekeeper expects a few shillings a week for looking after things. -What do you think?' - -Rob could have only one thought as he compared these comfortable -chambers to his own bare room, and as Rorrison, who seemed to have taken -a warm liking to him, pressed the point, arguing that as the rent must -be paid at any rate the chambers were better occupied, he at last -consented, on the understanding that they could come to some arrangement -on Rorrison's return. - -'It will please my father, too,' Rorrison added, 'to know that you are -here. I always remember that had it not been for him you might never -have gone on to the Press.' - -They sat so late talking this matter over that Rob eventually stayed all -night, Rorrison having in his bedroom a couch which many journalists had -slept on. - -Next morning the paper whose nickname is the _Scalping Knife_ was served -up with breakfast, and the first thing Rob saw in it was a leaderette -about a disease generated in the palm of the hand by walking-sticks with -heavy knobs for handles. - -'I told you,' said Rorrison, 'that Simms would make his half-guinea out -of you.' - -When Rorrison went down to Simms's chambers later in the day, however, -to say that he was leaving Rob tenant of his rooms, he was laughing at -something else. - -'All during breakfast,' he said to Simms, 'I noticed that Angus was -preoccupied, and anxious to say something that he did not like to say. -At last he blurted it out with a white face, and what do you think it -was?' - -Simms shook his head. - -'Well,' said Rorrison, 'it was this. He has been accustomed to go down -on his knees every night to say his prayers--as we used to do at school, -but when he saw that I did not do it he did not like to do it either. I -believe it troubled him all night, for he looked haggard when he rose.' - -'He told you this?' - -'Yes; he said he felt ashamed of himself,' said Rorrison, smiling. 'You -must remember he is country-bred.' - -'You were a good fellow, Rorrison,' said Simms gravely, 'to put him into -your rooms, but I don't see what you are laughing at.' - -'Why,' said Rorrison, taken aback, I thought you would see it in the -same light.' - -'Not I,' said Simms; 'but let me tell you this, I shall do what I can -for him. I like your Angus.' - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE WIGWAM - - -Rob had a tussle for it, but he managed to live down his first winter in -London, and May-day saw him sufficiently prosperous and brazen to be -able to go into restaurants and shout out 'Waiter.' After that nothing -frightened him but barmaids. - -For a time his chief struggle had been with his appetite, which tortured -him when he went out in the afternoons. He wanted to dine out of a paper -bag, but his legs were reluctant to carry him past a grill-room. At last -a compromise was agreed upon. If he got a proof over night, he dined in -state next day; if it was only his manuscript that was returned to him, -he thought of dining later in the week. For a long time his appetite had -the worse of it. It was then that he became so great an authority on -penny buns. His striking appearance always brought the saleswomen to him -promptly, and sometimes he blushed, and often he glared, as he gave his -order. When they smiled he changed his shop. - -There was one terrible month when he wrote from morning to night and did -not make sixpence. He lived by selling his books, half a dozen at a -time. Even on the last day of that black month he did not despair. When -he wound up his watch at nights before going hungry to bed, he never -remembered that it could be pawned. The very idea of entering a -pawnshop never struck him. Many a time when his rejected articles came -back he shook his fist in imagination at all the editors in London, and -saw himself twisting their necks one by one. To think of a different -death for each of them exercised his imagination and calmed his passion, -and he wondered whether the murder of an editor was an indictable -offence. When he did not have ten shillings, 'I will get on' cried Rob -to himself. 'I'm not going to be starved out of a big town like this. -I'll make my mark yet. Yes,' he roared, while the housekeeper at the -other side of the door quaked to hear him, 'I will get on; I'm not going -to be beaten.' He was waving his arms fiercely, when the housekeeper -knocked. 'Come in,' said Rob, subsiding meekly into his chair. Before -company he seemed to be without passion, but they should have seen him -when he was alone. One night he dreamt that he saw all the editors in -London being conveyed (in a row) to the hospital on stretchers. A -gratified smile lit up his face as he slept, and his arm, going out -suddenly to tip one of the stretchers over, hit against a chair. Rob -jumped out of bed and kicked the chair round the room. By and by, when -his articles were occasionally used, he told his proofs that the editors -were capital fellows. - -The only acquaintances he made were with journalists who came to his -chambers to see Rorrison, who was now in India. They seemed just as -pleased to see Rob, and a few of them, who spoke largely of their -connection with literature, borrowed five shillings from him. To his -disappointment Noble Simms did not call, though he sometimes sent up -notes to Rob suggesting likely articles, and the proper papers to which -to send them. 'I would gladly say "Use my name,"' Simms wrote, 'but it -is the glory of anonymous journalism that names are nothing and good -stuff everything. I assure you that on the Press it is the men who have -it in them that succeed, and the best of them become the editors.' He -advised Rob to go to the annual supper given by a philanthropic body to -discharged criminals and write an account of the proceedings; and told -him that when anything remarkable happened in London he should at once -do an article (in the British Museum) on the times the same thing had -happened before. 'Don't neglect eclipses,' he said, 'nor heavy scoring -at cricket matches any more than what look like signs of the times, and -always try to be first in the field.' He recommended Rob to gather -statistics of all kinds, from the number of grandchildren the crowned -heads of Europe had to the jockeys who had ridden the Derby winner more -than once, and suggested the collecting of anecdotes about celebrities, -which everybody would want to read if his celebrities chanced to die, as -they must do some day; and he assured him that there was a public who -liked to be told every year what the poets had said about May. Rob was -advised never to let a historic house disappear from London without -compiling an article about its associations, and to be ready to run -after the fire brigade. He was told that an article on flagstone artists -could be made interesting. 'But always be sure of your facts,' Simms -said. 'Write your articles over again and again, avoid fine writing as -much as dishonest writing, and never spoil a leaderette by drawing it -out into a leader. By and by you may be able to choose the kind of -subject that interests yourself, but at present put your best work into -what experienced editors believe interests the general public.' - -Rob found these suggestions valuable, and often thought, as he passed -Simms's door, of going in to thank him, but he had an uncomfortable -feeling that Simms did not want him. Of course Rob was wrong. Simms had -feared at first to saddle himself with a man who might prove incapable, -and besides, he generally liked those persons best whom he saw least -frequently. - -For the great part of the spring Simms was out of town; but one day -after his return he met Rob on the stair, and took him into his -chambers. The sitting-room had been originally furnished with newspaper -articles; Simms, in his younger days, when he wanted a new chair or an -etching having written an article to pay for it, and then pasted the -article on the back. He had paid a series on wild birds for his piano, -and at one time leaderettes had even been found in the inside of his -hats. Odd books and magazines lay about his table, but they would not in -all have filled a library shelf; and there were no newspapers visible. -The blank wall opposite the fireplace showed in dust that a large -picture had recently hung there. It was an oil-painting which a month -earlier had given way in the cord and fallen behind the piano, where -Simms was letting it lie. - -'I wonder,' said Rob, who had heard from many quarters of Simms's -reputation, 'that you are content to put your best work into -newspapers.' - -'Ah,' answered Simms, 'I was ambitious once, but, as I told you, the -grand book was a failure. Nowadays I gratify myself with the reflection -that I am not stupid enough ever to be a great man.' - -'I wish you would begin something really big,' said Rob earnestly. - -'I feel safer,' replied Simms, 'finishing something really little.' - -He turned the talk to Rob's affairs as if his own wearied him, and, -after hesitating, offered to 'place' a political article by Rob with the -editor of the _Morning Wire_. - -'I don't say he'll use it, though,' he added. - -This was so much the work Rob hungered for that he could have run -upstairs and begun it at once. - -'Why, you surely don't work on Saturday nights?' said his host, who was -putting on an overcoat. - -'Yes,' said Rob, 'there is nothing else to do. I know no one well enough -to go to him. Of course I do nothing on the Sab--I mean on Sundays.' - -'No? Then how do you pass your Sundays?' - -'I go to church, and take a long walk, or read.' - -'And you never break this principle--when a capital idea for an article -strikes you on Sunday evening, for instance?' - -'Well,' said Rob, 'when that happens I wait until twelve o'clock -strikes, and then begin.' - -Perceiving nothing curious in this, Rob did not look up to see Simms's -mouth twitching. - -'On those occasions,' asked Simms, 'when you are waiting for twelve -o'clock, does the evening not seem to pass very slowly?' - -Then Rob blushed. - -'At all events, come with me to-night,' said Simms, 'to my club. I am -going now to the Wigwam, and we may meet men there worth your knowing.' - -The Wigwam is one of the best known literary clubs in London, and as -they rattled to it in a hansom, the driver of which was the broken son -of a peer, Rob remarked that its fame had even travelled to his -saw-mill. - -'It has such a name,' said Simms in reply, 'that I feel sorry for any -one who is taken to it for the first time. The best way to admire the -Wigwam is not to go to it.' - -'I always thought it was considered the pleasantest club in London,' Rob -said. - -'So it is,' said Simms, who was a member of half a dozen; 'most of the -others are only meant for sitting in on padded chairs and calling out -"sh-sh" when any other body speaks.' - -At the Wigwam there is a special dinner every Saturday evening, but it -was over before Simms and Rob arrived, and the members were crowding -into the room where great poets have sat beating time with -churchwardens, while great artists or coming Cabinet ministers sang -songs that were not of the drawing-room. A popular novelist, on whom Rob -gazed with a veneration that did not spread to his companion's face, was -in the chair when they entered, and the room was full of literary men, -actors, and artists, of whom, though many were noted, many were also -needy. Here was an actor who had separated from his wife because her -notices were better than his; and another gentleman of the same -profession took Rob aside to say that he was the greatest tragedian on -earth if he could only get a chance. Rob did not know what to reply -when the eminent cartoonist sitting next him, whom he had looked up to -for half a dozen years, told him, by way of opening a conversation, that -he had just pawned his watch. They seemed so pleased with poverty that -they made as much of a little of it as they could, and the wisest -conclusion Rob came to that night was not to take them too seriously. It -was, however, a novel world to find oneself in all of a sudden, one in -which everybody was a wit at his own expense. Even Simms, who always -upheld the Press when any outsider ran it down, sang with applause some -verses whose point lay in their being directed against himself. They -began-- - - When clever pressmen write this way, - 'As Mr. J. A. Froude would say,' - Is it because they think he would, - And have they read a line of Froude? - Or is it only that they fear - The comment they have made is queer, - And that they either must erase it, - Or say it's Mr. Froude who says it? - -Every one abandoned himself to the humour of the evening, and as song -followed song, or was wedged between entertainments of other kinds, the -room filled with smoke until it resembled London in a fog. - -By and by a sallow-faced man mounted a table to show the company how to -perform a remarkable trick with three hats. He got his hats from the -company, and having looked at them thoughtfully for some minutes, said -that he had forgotten the way. - -'That,' said Simms, mentioning a well-known journalist, 'is K----. He -can never work unless his pockets are empty, and he would not be -looking so doleful at present if he was not pretty well off. He goes -from room to room in the house he lodges in, according to the state of -his finances, and when you call on him you have to ask at the door which -floor he is on to-day. One week you find him in the drawing-room, the -next in the garret.' - -A stouter and brighter man followed the hat entertainment with a song, -which he said was considered by some of his friends a recitation. - -'There was a time,' said Simms, who was held a terrible person by those -who took him literally, 'when that was the saddest man I knew. He was so -sad that the doctors feared he would die of it. It all came of his -writing for _Punch_.' - -'How did they treat him?' Rob asked. - -'Oh, they quite gave him up, and he was wasting away visibly, when a -second-rate provincial journal appointed him its London correspondent, -and saved his life.' - -'Then he was sad,' asked Rob, 'because he was out of work?' - -'On the contrary,' said Simms gravely, 'he was always one of the -successful men, but he could not laugh.' - -'And he laughed when he became a London correspondent?' - -'Yes; that restored his sense of humour. But listen to this song; he is -a countryman of yours who sings it.' - -A man, who looked as if he had been cut out of a granite block, and who -at the end of each verse thrust his pipe back into his mouth, sang in a -broad accent, that made Rob want to go nearer him, some verses about an -old university-- - - 'Take off the stranger's hat!'--The shout - We raised in fifty-nine - Assails my ears, with careless flout, - And now the hat is mine. - It seems a day since I was here, - A student slim and hearty, - And see, the boys around me cheer, - 'The ancient-looking party!' - - Rough horseplay did not pass for wit - When Rae and Mill were there; - I see a lad from Oxford sit - In Blackie's famous chair. - And Rae, of all our men the one - We most admired in quad - (I had this years ago), has gone - Completely to the bad. - - In our debates the moral Mill - Had infinite address, - Alas! since then he's robbed a till, - And now he's on the press. - And Tommy Robb, the ploughman's son, - Whom all his fellows slighted, - From Rae and Mill the prize has won, - For Tommy's to be knighted. - - A lanky loon is in the seat - Filled once by manse-bred Sheen, - Who did not care to mix with Peate, - A bleacher who had been. - But watch the whirligig of time, - Brave Peate became a preacher, - His name is known in every clime, - And Sheen is now the bleacher. - - McMillan, who the medals carried, - Is now a judge, 'tis said, - And curly-headed Smith is married, - And Williamson is dead. - Old Phil and I who shared our books - Now very seldom meet, - And when we do, with frowning looks - We pass by in the street. - - The college rings with student slang - As in the days of yore, - The self-same notice boards still hang - Upon the class-room door: - An essay (I expected that) - On Burns this week, or Locke, - 'A theory of creation' at - Precisely seven o'clock. - - There's none here now who knows my name, - My place is far away, - And yet the college is the same, - Not older by a day. - But curious looks are cast at me, - Ah! herein lies the change, - All else is as it used to be, - And I alone am strange! - -'Now, you could never guess,' Simms said to Rob, 'what profession our -singer belongs to.' - -'He looks more like a writer than an artist,' said Rob, who had felt the -song more than the singer did. - -'Well, he is more an artist than a writer, though, strictly speaking, he -is neither. To that man is the honour of having created a profession. He -furnishes rooms for interviews.' - -'I don't quite understand,' said Rob. - -'It is in this way,' Simms explained. 'Interviews in this country are -of recent growth, but it has been already discovered that what the -public want to read is not so much a celebrity's views on any topic as a -description of his library, his dressing-gown, or his gifts from the -king of Kashabahoo. Many of the eminent ones, however, are very -uninteresting in private life, and have no curiosities to show their -interviewer worth writing about, so your countryman has started a -profession of providing curiosities suitable for celebrities at from -five pounds upwards, each article, of course, having a guaranteed story -attached to it. The editor, you observe, intimates his wish to include -the distinguished person in his galaxy of "Men of the Moment," and then -the notability drops a line to our friend saying that he wants a few of -his rooms arranged for an interview. Your countryman sends the goods, -arranges them effectively, and puts the celebrity up to the -reminiscences he is to tell about each.' - -'I suppose,' said Rob, with a light in his eye, 'that the interviewer is -as much taken in by this as--well, say, as I have been by you?' - -'To the same extent,' admitted Simms solemnly. 'Of course he is not -aware that before the interview appears the interesting relics have all -been packed up and taken back to our Scottish friend's show-rooms.' - -The distinguished novelist in the chair told Rob (without having been -introduced to him) that his books were beggaring his publishers. - -'What I make my living off,' he said, 'is the penny dreadful, complete -in one number. I manufacture two a week without hindrance to other -employment, and could make it three if I did not have a weak wrist.' - -It was thus that every one talked to Rob, who, because he took a joke -without changing countenance, was considered obtuse. He congratulated -one man on his article on chaffinches in the _Evening Firebrand_, and -the writer said he had discovered, since the paper appeared, that the -birds he described were really linnets. Another man was introduced to -Rob as the writer of _In Memoriam_. - -'No,' said the gentleman himself, on seeing Rob start, 'my name is not -Tennyson. It is, indeed, Murphy. Tennyson and the other fellows, who are -ambitious of literary fame, pay me so much a page for poems to which -they put their names.' - -At this point the applause became so deafening that Simms and Rob, who -had been on their way to another room, turned back. An aged man, with a -magnificent head, was on his feet to describe his first meeting with -Carlyle. - -'Who is it?' asked Rob, and Simms mentioned the name of a celebrity only -a little less renowned than Carlyle himself. To Rob it had been one of -the glories of London that in the streets he sometimes came suddenly -upon world-renowned men, but he now looked upon this eminent scientist -for the first time. The celebrity was there as a visitor, for the Wigwam -cannot boast quite such famous members as he. - -The septuagenarian began his story well. He described the approach to -Craigenputtock on a warm summer afternoon, and the emotions that laid -hold of him as, from a distance, he observed the sage seated astride a -low dyke, flinging stones into the duck-pond. The pedestrian announced -his name and the pleasure with which he at last stood face to face with -the greatest writer of the day; and then the genial author of _Sartor -Resartus_, annoyed at being disturbed, jumped off the dyke and chased -his visitor round and round the duck-pond. The celebrity had got thus -far in his reminiscence when he suddenly stammered, bit his lip as if -enraged at something, and then trembled so much that he had to be led -back to his seat. - -'He must be ill,' whispered Rob to Simms. - -'It isn't that,' answered Simms; 'I fancy he must have caught sight of -Wingfield.' - -Rob's companion pointed to a melancholy-looking man in a seedy coat, who -was sitting alone glaring at the celebrity. - -'Who is he?' asked Rob. - -'He is the great man's literary executor,' Simms replied: 'come along -with me and hearken to his sad tale; he is never loth to tell it.' - -They crossed over to Wingfield, who received them dejectedly. - -'This is not a matter I care to speak of, Mr. Angus,' said the sorrowful -man, who spoke of it, however, as frequently as he could find a -listener. 'It is now seven years since that gentleman'--pointing angrily -at the celebrity, who glared in reply--'appointed me his literary -executor. At the time I thought it a splendid appointment, and by the -end of two years I had all his remains carefully edited and his -biography ready for the Press. He was an invalid at that time, supposed -to be breaking up fast; yet look at him now.' - -'He is quite vigorous in appearance now,' said Rob. - -'Oh, I've given up hope,' continued the sad man dolefully. - -'Still,' remarked Simms, 'I don't know that you could expect him to die -just for your sake. I only venture that as an opinion, of course.' - -'I don't ask that of him,' responded Wingfield. 'I'm not blaming him in -any way; all I say is that he has spoilt my life. Here have I been -waiting, waiting for five years, and I seem farther from publication -than ever.' - -'It is hard on you,' said Simms. - -'But why did he break down in his story,' asked Rob, 'when he saw you?' - -'Oh, the man has some sense of decency left, I suppose, and knows that -he has ruined my career.' - -'Is the Carlylean reminiscence taken from the biography?' inquired -Simms. - -'That is the sore point,' answered Wingfield sullenly. 'He used to shun -society, but now he goes to clubs, banquets, and "At Homes," and tells -the choice things in the memoir at every one of them. The book will -scarcely be worth printing now.' - -'I dare say he feels sorry for you,' said Simms, 'and sees that he has -placed you in a false position.' - -'He does in a way,' replied the literary executor, 'and yet I irritate -him. When he was ill last December I called to ask for him every day, -but he mistook my motives; and now he is frightened to be left alone -with me.' - -'It is a sad business,' said Simms, 'but we all have our trials.' - -'I would try to bear up better,' said the sad man, 'if I got more -sympathy.' - -It was very late when Simms and Rob left the Wigwam, yet they were -amongst the first to go. - -'When does the club close?' Rob asked, as they got into the fresh air. - -'No one knows,' answered Simms wearily, 'but I believe the last man to -go takes in the morning's milk.' - -In the weeks that followed Rob worked hard at political articles for the -_Wire_, and at last began to feel that he was making some headway. He -had not the fatal facility for scribbling that distinguishes some -journalists, but he had felt life before he took to writing. His style -was forcible if not superfine, and he had the faculty that makes a -journalist, of only seeing things from one point of view. The successful -political writer is blind in one eye. - -Though one in three of Rob's articles was now used, the editor of the -_Wire_ did not write to say that he liked them, and Rob never heard any -one mention them. Even Simms would not read them, but then Simms never -read any paper. He got his news from the placards, and bought the -_Scalping Knife_, not to read his own articles, but to measure them and -calculate how much he would get for them. Then he dropped them into the -gutter. - -Some weeks had passed without Rob's seeing Simms, when one day he got a -letter that made him walk round and round his table like a circus horse. -It was from the editor of the _Wire_, asking him to be in readiness to -come to the office any evening he might be wanted to write. This looked -like a step toward an appointment on the staff if he gave satisfaction -(a proviso which he took complacently), and Rob's chest expanded, till -the room seemed quite small. He pictured Thrums again. He jumped to Mary -Abinger, and then he distinctly saw himself in the editorial chair of -the _Times_. He was lying back in it, smoking a cigar, and giving a -Cabinet minister five minutes. - -Nearly six months had passed since Rob saw Miss Abinger--a long time for -a young man to remain in love with the same person. Of late Rob had been -less given to dreaming than may be expected of a man who classifies the -other sex into one particular lady and others, but Mary was coming to -London in the early summer, and when he thought of summer he meant Mary. -Rob was oftener in Piccadilly in May than he had been during the -previous four months, and he was always looking for somebody. It was the -third of June, a day to be remembered in his life, that he heard from -the editor of the _Wire_. At five o'clock he looked upon that as what -made it a day of days, but he had changed his mind by a quarter past. - -Rob had a silk hat now, and he thrust it on his head, meaning to run -downstairs to tell Simms of his good fortune. He was in the happy frame -of mind that makes a man walk round improbabilities, and for the first -time since he came to London he felt confident of the future, without -becoming despondent immediately afterwards. The future, like the summer, -was an allegory for Miss Abinger. For the moment Rob's heart filled with -compassion for Simms. The one thing our minds will not do is leave our -neighbours alone, and Rob had some time before reached the conclusion -that Simms's nature had been twisted by a disappointment in love. There -was nothing else that could account for his fits of silence, his -indifference to the future. He was known to have given the coat off his -back to some miserable creature in the street, and to have been annoyed -when he discovered that a friend saw him do it. Though Simms's walls -were covered with engravings, Rob remembered all at once that there was -not a female figure in one of them. - -To sympathise with others in a love affair is delightful to every one -who feels that he is all right himself. Rob went down to Simms's rooms -with a joyous step and a light heart. The outer door stood ajar, and as -he pushed it open he heard a voice that turned his face white. From -where he stood paralysed he saw through the dark passage into the -sitting-room. Mary Abinger was standing before the fireplace, and as -Rob's arm fell from the door, Simms bent forward and kissed her. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -ROB IS STRUCK DOWN - - -Rob turned from Simms's door and went quietly downstairs, looking to the -beadle, who gave him a good-evening at the mouth of the inn, like a man -going quietly to his work. He could not keep his thoughts. They fell -about him in sparks, raised by a wheel whirling so fast that it seemed -motionless. - -Sleep-walkers seldom come to damage until they awake; and Rob sped on, -taking crossings without a halt; deaf to the shouts of cabmen, blind to -their gesticulations. When you have done Oxford Circus you can do -anything; but he was not even brought to himself there, though it is all -savage lands in twenty square yards. For a time he saw nothing but that -scene in Simms's chambers, which had been photographed on his brain. The -light of his life had suddenly been turned out, leaving him only the -last thing he saw to think about. - -By and by he was walking more slowly, laughing at himself. Since he met -Mary Abinger she had lived so much in his mind that he had not dared to -think of losing her. He had only given himself fits of despondency for -the pleasure of dispelling them. Now all at once he saw without -prejudice the Rob Angus who had made up his mind to carry off this -prize, and he cut such a poor figure that he smiled grimly at it. He -realised as a humorous conception that this uncouth young man who was -himself must have fancied that he was, on the whole, less unworthy of -Miss Abinger than were most of the young men she was likely to meet. -With the exaggerated humility that comes occasionally to men in his -condition, without, however, feeling sufficiently at home to remain -long, he felt that there was everything in Simms a girl could find -lovable, and nothing in himself. He was so terribly open that any one -could understand him, while Simms was such an enigma as a girl would -love to read. His own clumsiness contrasted as disastrously with Simms's -grace of manner as his blunt talk compared with Simms's wit. Not being -able to see himself with the eyes of others, Rob noted only one thing in -his favour, his fight forward; which they, knowing, for instance, that -he was better to look at than most men, would have considered his chief -drawback. Rob in his calmer moments had perhaps as high an opinion of -his capacity as the circumstances warranted, but he never knew that a -good many ladies felt his presence when he passed them. - -Most men are hero and villain several times in a day, but Rob went -through the whole gamut of sensations in half an hour, hating himself -the one moment for what seemed another's fault the next, fancying now -that he was blessing the union of Mary with the man she cared for, and, -again, that he had Simms by the throat. He fled from the fleeting form -of woman, and ran after it. - -Simms had deceived him, had never even mentioned Silchester, had laughed -at the awakening that was coming to him. All these months they had been -waiting for Mary Abinger together, and Simms had not said that when she -came it would be to him. Then Rob saw what a foolish race these thoughts -ran in his brain, remembering that he had only seen Simms twice for more -than a moment, and that he himself had never talked of Silchester. He -scorned his own want of generosity, and recalled his solicitude for -Simms's welfare an hour before. - -Rob saw his whole future life lying before him. The broken-looking man -with the sad face aged before his time, who walked alone up Fleet -Street, was Rob Angus, who had come to London to be happy. Simms would -ask him sometimes to his house to see her, but it was better that he -should not go. She would understand why, if her husband did not. Her -husband! Rob could not gulp down the lump in his throat. He rushed on -again, with nothing before him but that picture of Simms kissing her. - -Simms was not worthy of her. Why had he always seemed an unhappy, -disappointed man if the one thing in the world worth striving for was -his? Rob stopped abruptly in the street with the sudden thought, Was it -possible that she did not care for Simms? Could that scene have had any -other meaning? He had once heard Simms himself say that you never knew -what a woman meant by anything until she told you, and probably not even -then. But he saw again the love in her eyes as she looked up into -Simms's face. All through his life he would carry that look with him. - -They took no distinct shape, but wild ways of ending his misery coursed -through his brain, and he looked on calmly at his own funeral. A -terrible stolidity seized him, and he conceived himself a monster from -whom the capacity to sympathise had gone. Children saw his face and fled -from him. - -He had left England far behind, and dwelt now among wild tribes who had -not before looked upon a white face. Their sick came to him for -miracles, and he either cured them or told them to begone. He was not -sure whether he was a fiend or a missionary. - -Then something remarkable happened, which showed that Rob had not -mistaken his profession. He saw himself in the editorial chair that he -had so often coveted, and Mary Abinger, too, was in the room. Always -previously when she had come between him and the paper he had been -forced to lay down his pen, but now he wrote on and on, and she seemed -to help him. He was describing the scene that he had witnessed in -Simms's chambers, describing it so vividly that he heard the great -public discussing his article as if it were an Academy picture. His -passion had subsided, and the best words formed slowly in his brain. He -was hesitating about the most fitting title, when some one struck -against him, and as he drew his arm over his eyes he knew with horror -that he had been turning Mary Abinger into copy. - -For the last time that night Rob dreamt again, and now it was such a -fine picture he drew that he looked upon it with sad complacency. Many -years had passed. He was now rich and famous. He passed through the -wynds of Thrums, and the Auld Lichts turned out to gaze at him. He saw -himself signing cheques for all kinds of charitable objects, and -appearing in the subscription lists, with a grand disregard for glory -that is not common to philanthropists, as X. Y. Z. or 'A Wellwisher.' -His walls were lined with books written by himself, and Mary Abinger -(who had not changed in the least with the years) read them proudly, -knowing that they were all written for her. (Simms somehow had not -fulfilled his promise.) The papers were full of his speech in the House -of Commons the night before, and he had declined a seat in the Cabinet -from conscientious motives. His imagination might soon have landed him -master in the Mansion House, had it not deserted him when he had most -need of it. He fell from his balloon like a stone. Before him he saw the -blank years that had to be traversed without any Mary Abinger, and -despair filled his soul. All the horrible meaning of the scene he had -fled from came to him like a rush of blood to the head, and he stood -with it, glaring at it, in the middle of a roaring street. Three hansoms -shaved him by an inch, and the fourth knocked him senseless. - -An hour later Simms was lolling in his chambers smoking, his chair -tilted back until another inch would have sent him over it. His gas had -been blazing all day because he had no blotting-paper, and the blinds -were nicely pulled down because Mary Abinger and Nell were there to do -it. They were sitting on each side of him, and Nell had on a round cap, -about which Simms subsequently wrote an article. Mary's hat was larger -and turned up at one side; the fashion which arose through a carriage -wheel's happening to pass over the hat of a leader of fashion and make -it perfectly lovely. Beyond the hats one does not care to venture, but -out of fairness to Mary and Nell it should be said that there were no -shiny little beads on their dresses. - -They had put on their hats to go, and then they had sat down again to -tell their host a great many things that they had told him already. Even -Mary, who was perfect in a general sort of way, took a considerable time -to tell a story, and expected it to have more point when it ended than -was sometimes the case. Simms, with his eyes half closed, let the -laughter ripple over his head, and drowsily heard the details of their -journey from Silchester afresh. Mary had come up with the Merediths on -the previous day, and they were now staying at the Langham Hotel. They -would only be in town for a few weeks; 'just to oblige the season,' Nell -said, for she had inveigled her father into taking a house-boat on the -Thames, and was certain it would prove delightful. Mary was to accompany -them there too, having first done her duty to society, and Colonel -Abinger was setting off shortly for the Continent. In the middle of her -prattle, Nell distinctly saw Simms's head nod, as if it was loose in its -socket. She made a mournful grimace. - -Simms sat up. - -'Your voices did it,' he explained, unabashed. 'They are as soothing to -the jaded journalist as the streams that murmur through the fields in -June.' - -'Cigars are making you stupid, Dick,' said Mary; 'I do wonder why men -smoke.' - -'I have often asked myself that question,' thoughtfully answered Simms, -whom it is time to call by his real name of Dick Abinger. 'I know some -men who smoke because they might get sick otherwise when in the company -of smokers. Others smoke because they began to do so at school, and are -now afraid to leave off. A great many men smoke for philanthropic -motives, smoking enabling them to work harder, and so being for their -family's good. At picnics men smoke because it is the only way to keep -the midges off the ladies. Smoking keeps you cool in summer and warm in -winter, and is an excellent disinfectant. There are even said to be men -who admit that they smoke because they like it, but for my own part I -fancy I smoke because I forget not to do so.' - -'Silly reasons,' said Nell. If there was one possible improvement she -could conceive in Dick it was that he might make his jests a little -easier. - -'It is revealing no secret,' murmured Abinger in reply, 'to say that -drowning men clutch at straws.' - -Mary rose to go once more, and sat down again, for she had remembered -something else. - -'Do you know, Dick,' she said, 'that your two names are a great -nuisance. On our way to London yesterday there was an acquaintance of -Mr. Meredith's in the carriage, and he told us he knew Noble Simms -well.' - -'Yes,' said Nell, 'and that this Noble Simms was an old gentleman who -had been married for thirty years. We said we knew Mr. Noble Simms and -that he was a barrister, and he laughed at us. So you see some one is -trading on your name.' - -'Much good may it do him,' said Abinger generously. - -'But it is horrid,' said Nell, 'that we should have to listen to people -praising Noble Simms's writings, and not be allowed to say that he is -Dick Abinger in disguise.' - -'It must be very hard on you, Nell, to have to keep a secret,' admitted -Dick, 'but you see I must lead two lives or be undone. In the Temple you -will see the name of Richard Abinger, barrister-at-law, but in -Frobisher's Inn he is J. Noble Simms.' - -'I don't see the good of it,' said Nell. - -'My ambition, you must remember,' explained Dick, 'is to be Lord -Chancellor or Lord Chief Justice, I forget which, but while I wait for -that post I must live, and I live by writings (which are all dead the -morning after they appear). Now such is the suspicion with which -literature is regarded by the legal mind, that were it known I wrote for -the Press my chance of the Lord Chancellorship would cease to be a moral -certainty. The editor of the _Scalping Knife_ has not the least notion -that Noble Simms is the rising barrister who has been known to make as -much by the law as a guinea in a single month. Indeed, only my most -intimate friends, some of whom practise the same deception themselves, -are aware that the singular gifts of Simms and Abinger are united in the -same person.' - -'The housekeeper here must know?' asked Mary. - -'No, it would hopelessly puzzle her,' said Dick; 'she would think there -was something uncanny about it, and so she is happy in the belief that -the letters which occasionally come addressed to Abinger are forwarded -by me to that gentleman's abode in the Temple.' - -'It is such an ugly name, Noble Simms,' said Nell; 'I wonder why you -selected it.' - -'It is ugly, is it not?' said Dick. 'It struck me at the time as the -most ridiculous name I was likely to think of, and so I chose it. Such -a remarkable name sticks to the public mind, and that is fame.' - -As he spoke he rose to get the two girls the cab that would take them -back to the hotel. - -'There is some one knocking at the door,' said Mary. - -'Come in,' murmured Abinger. - -The housekeeper opened the door, but half shut it again when she saw -that Dick was not alone. Then she thought of a compromise between -telling her business and retiring. - -'If you please, Mr. Simms,' she said apologetically, 'would you speak to -me a moment in the passage?' - -Abinger disappeared with her, and when he returned the indifferent look -had gone from his face. - -'Wait for me a few minutes,' he said; 'a man upstairs, one of the best -fellows breathing, has met with an accident, and I question if he has a -friend in London. I am going up to see him.' - -'Poor fellow!' said Mary to Nell, after Dick had gone; 'fancy his lying -here for weeks without any one going near him but Dick.' - -'But how much worse it would be without Dick!' said Nell. - -'I wonder if he is a barrister,' said Mary. - -'I think he will be a journalist rather,' Nell said thoughtfully, 'a -tall, dark, melancholy-looking man, and I should not wonder though he -had a broken heart.' - -'I'm afraid it is more serious than that,' said Mary. - -Nell set off on a trip round the room, remarking with a profound sigh -that it must be awful to live alone and have no one to speak to for -whole hours at a time. 'I should go mad,' she said, in such a tone of -conviction that Mary did not think of questioning it. - -Then Nell, who had opened a drawer rather guiltily, exclaimed, 'Oh, -Mary!' - -A woman can put more meaning into a note of exclamation than a man can -pack in a sentence. It costs Mr. Jones, for instance, a long message -simply to telegraph to his wife that he is bringing a friend home to -dinner, but in a sixpenny reply Mrs. Jones can warn him that he had -better do no such thing, that he ought to be ashamed of himself for -thinking of it, that he must make some excuse to his friend, and that he -will hear more of this when he gets home. Nell's 'Oh, Mary!' signified -that chaos was come. - -Mary hastened round the table, and found her friend with a letter in her -hand. - -'Well,' said Mary, 'that is one of your letters to Dick, is it not?' - -'Yes,' answered Nell tragically; 'but fancy his keeping my letters lying -about carelessly in a drawer--and--and, yes, using them as scribbling -paper!' - -Scrawled across the envelopes in a barely decipherable handwriting were -such notes as these: 'Schoolboys smoking master's cane-chair, work up'; -'Return of the swallows (poetic or humorous?)'; 'My First Murder -(magazine?)'; 'Better do something pathetic for a change.' - -There were tears in Nell's eyes. - -'This comes of prying,' said Mary. - -'Oh, I wasn't prying,' said Nell; 'I only opened it by accident. That is -the worst of it. I can't say anything about them to him, because he -might think I had opened his drawer to--to see what was in it--which is -the last thing in the world I would think of doing. Oh, Mary,' she added -woefully, 'what do you think?' - -'I think you are a goose,' said Mary promptly. - -'Ah, you are so indifferent,' Nell said, surrendering her position all -at once. 'Now when I see a drawer I am quite unhappy until I know what -is in it, especially if it is locked. When we lived opposite the Burtons -I was miserable because they always kept the blind of one of their -windows down. If I had been a boy I would have climbed up to see why -they did it. Ah! that is Dick; I know his step.' - -She was hastening to the door, when she remembered the letters, and -subsided primly into a chair. - -'Well?' asked Mary, as her brother re-entered with something in his -hand. - -'The poor fellow has had a nasty accident,' said Dick; 'run over in the -street, it seems. He ought to have been taken to the infirmary, but they -got a letter with his address on it in his pocket, and brought him -here.' - -'Has a doctor seen him?' - -'Yes, but I hardly make out from the housekeeper what he said. He was -gone before I went up. There are some signs, however, of what he did. -The poor fellow seems to have been struck on the head.' - -Mary shuddered, understanding that some operation had been found -necessary. - -'Did he speak to you?' asked Nell. - -'He was asleep,' said Dick, 'but talking more than he does when he is -awake.' - -'He must have been delirious,' said Mary. - -'One thing I can't make out,' Dick said, more to himself than to his -companions. 'He mumbled my name to himself half a dozen times while I -was upstairs.' - -'But is there anything remarkable in that,' asked Mary, 'if he has so -few friends in London?' - -'What I don't understand,' explained Dick, 'is that the word I caught -was Abinger. Now, I am quite certain that he only knew me as Noble -Simms.' - -'Some one must have told him your real name,' said Mary. 'Is he asleep -now?' - -'That reminds me of another thing,' said Dick, looking at the torn card -in his hand. 'Just as I was coming away he staggered off the couch where -he is lying to his desk, opened it, and took out this card. He glared at -it, and tore it in two before I got him back to the couch.' - -There were tears in Nell's eyes now, for she felt that she understood it -all. - -'It is horrible to think of him alone up there,' she cried. 'Let us go -up to him, Mary.' - -Mary hesitated. - -'I don't think it would be the thing,' she said, taking the card from -Nell's hand. She started slightly as she looked at it, and then became -white. - -'What is his name, Dick?' she faltered, in a voice that made Nell look -at her. - -'Angus,' said Dick. 'He has been on the Press here for some months.' - -The name suggested nothing at the moment to Nell, but Mary let the card -fall. It was a shabby little Christmas card. - -'I think we should go up and see if we can do anything,' Dick's sister -said. - -'But would it be the thing?' Nell asked. - -'Of course it would,' said Mary, a little surprised at Nell. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -THE STUPID SEX - - -Give a man his chance, and he has sufficient hardihood for anything. -Within a week of the accident Rob was in Dick Abinger's most luxurious -chair, coolly taking a cup and saucer from Nell, while Mary arranged a -cushion for his poor head. He even made several light-hearted jests, at -which his nurses laughed heartily--because he was an invalid. - -Rob's improvement dated from the moment he opened his eyes and heard the -soft rustle of a lady's skirts in the next room. He lay quietly -listening, and realised by and by that he had known she was Mary Abinger -all along. - -'Who is that?' he said abruptly to Dick, who was swinging his legs on -the dressing-table. Dick came to him as awkwardly as if he had been -asked to hold a baby, and saw no way of getting out of it. Sick-rooms -chilled him. - -'Are you feeling better now, old fellow?' he asked. - -'Who is it?' Rob repeated, sitting up in bed. - -'That is my sister,' Dick said. - -Rob's head fell back. He could not take it in all at once. Dick thought -he had fallen asleep, and tried to slip gently from the room, -discovering for the first time as he did so that his shoes creaked. - -'Don't go,' said Rob, sitting up again. 'What is your sister's name?' - -'Abinger, of course, Mary Abinger,' answered Dick, under the conviction -that the invalid was still off his head. He made for the door again, but -Rob's arm went out suddenly and seized him. - -'You are a liar, you know,' Rob said feebly; 'she's not your sister.' - -'No, of course not,' said Dick, humouring him. - -'I want to see her,' Rob said authoritatively. - -'Certainly,' answered Dick, escaping into the other room to tell Mary -that the patient was raving again. - -'I heard him,' said Mary. - -'Well, what's to be done?' asked her brother. 'He's madder than ever.' - -'Oh no, I think he's getting on nicely now,' Mary said, moving toward -the bedroom. - -'Don't,' exclaimed Dick, getting in front of her; 'why, I tell you his -mind is wandering. He says you're not my sister.' - -'Of course he can't understand so long as he thinks your name is Simms.' - -'But he knows my name is Abinger. Didn't I tell you I heard him groaning -it over to himself?' - -'Oh, Dick,' said Mary, 'I wish you would go away and write a stupid -article.' - -Dick, however, stood at the door, ready to come to his sister's -assistance if Rob got violent. - -'He says you are his sister,' said the patient to Mary. - -'So I am,' said Mary softly. 'My brother writes under the name of Noble -Simms, but his real name is Abinger. Now you must lie still and think -about that; you are not to talk any more.' - -'I won't talk any more,' said Rob slowly. 'You are not going away, -though?' - -'Just for a little while,' Mary answered. 'The doctor will be here -presently.' - -'Well, you have quieted him,' Dick admitted. - -They were leaving the room, when they heard Rob calling. - -'There he goes again,' said Dick, groaning. - -'What is it?' Mary asked, returning to the bedroom. - -'Why did he say you were not his sister?' Rob said, very suspiciously. - -'Oh, his mind was wandering,' Mary answered cruelly. - -She was retiring again, but stopped undecidedly. Then she looked from -the door to see if her brother was within hearing. Dick was at the other -end of the sitting-room, and she came back noiselessly to Rob's bedside. - -'Do you remember,' she asked, in a low voice, 'how the accident -happened? You know you were struck by a cab.' - -'Yes,' answered Rob at once, 'I saw him kissing you. I don't remember -anything after that.' - -Mary, looking like a culprit, glanced hurriedly at the door. Then she -softly pushed the invalid's unruly hair off his brow, and glided from -the room smiling. - -'Well?' asked Dick. - -'He was telling me how the accident happened,' Mary said. - -'And how was it?' - -'Oh, just as you said. He got bewildered at a crossing and was knocked -over.' - -'But he wasn't the man to lose his reason at a crossing,' said Dick. -'There must have been something to agitate him.' - -'He said nothing about that,' replied Mary, without blushing. - -'Did he tell you how he knew my name was Abinger?' Dick asked, as they -went downstairs. - -'No,' his sister said, 'I forgot to ask him.' - -'There was that Christmas card, too,' Dick said suddenly. 'Nell says -Angus must be in love, poor fellow.' - -'Nell is always thinking people are in love,' Mary answered severely. - -'By the way,' said Dick, 'what became of the card? He might want to -treasure it, you know.' - -'I--I rather think I put it somewhere,' Mary said. - -'I wonder,' Dick remarked curiously, 'what sort of girl Angus would take -to?' - -'I wonder,' said Mary. - -They were back in Dick's chambers by this time, and he continued with -some complacency--for all men think they are on safe ground when -discussing an affair of the heart:-- - -'We could build the young lady up from the card, which, presumably, was -her Christmas offering to him. It was not expensive, so she is a careful -young person; and the somewhat florid design represents a blue bird -sitting on a pink twig, so that we may hazard the assertion that her -artistic taste is not as yet fully developed. She is a fresh country -maid, or the somewhat rich colouring would not have taken her fancy, -and she is short, a trifle stout, or a big man like Angus would not have -fallen in love with her. Reserved men like gushing girls, so she gushes -and says "Oh my!" and her nicest dress (here Dick shivered) is of a -shiny satin with a dash of rich velvet here and there. Do you follow -me?' - -'Yes,' said Mary; 'it is wonderful. I suppose, now, you are never wrong -when you "build up" so much on so little?' - -'Sometimes we go a little astray,' admitted Dick. 'I remember going into -a hotel with Rorrison once, and on a table we saw a sailor-hat lying, -something like the one Nell wears--or is it you?' - -'The idea of your not knowing!' said his sister indignantly. - -'Well, we discussed the probable owner. I concluded, after narrowly -examining the hat, that she was tall, dark, and handsome, rather than -pretty. Rorrison, on the other hand, maintained that she was a pretty, -baby-faced girl, with winning ways.' - -'And did you discover if either of you was right?' - -'Yes,' said Dick slowly. 'In the middle of the discussion a little boy -in a velvet suit toddled into the room, and said to us, "Gim'me my -hat."' - -In the weeks that followed, Rob had many delicious experiences. He was -present at several tea-parties in Abinger's chambers, the guests being -strictly limited to three; and when he could not pretend to be ill any -longer, he gave a tea-party himself in honour of his two nurses--his one -and a half nurses, Dick called them. At this Mary poured out the tea, -and Rob's eyes showed so plainly (though not to Dick) that he had never -seen anything like it, that Nell became thoughtful, and made a number of -remarks on the subject to her mother as soon as she returned home. - -'It would never do,' Nell said, looking wise. - -'Whatever would the colonel say!' exclaimed Mrs. Meredith. 'After all, -though,' she added--for she had been to see Rob twice, and liked him -because of something he had said to her about his mother--'he is just -the same as Richard.' - -'Oh no, no,' said Nell, 'Dick is an Oxford man, you must remember, and -Mr. Angus, as the colonel would say, rose from obscurity.' - -'Well, if he did,' persisted Mrs. Meredith, 'he does not seem to be -going back to it, and universities seem to me to be places for making -young men stupid.' - -'It would never, never do,' said Nell, with doleful decision. - -'What does Mary say about him?' asked her mother. - -'She never says anything,' said Nell. - -'Does she talk much to him?' - -'No; very little.' - -'That is a good sign,' said Mrs. Meredith. - -'I don't know,' said Nell. - -'Have you noticed anything else?' - -'Nothing except--well, Mary is longer in dressing now than I am, and she -used not to be.' - -'I wonder,' Mrs. Meredith remarked, 'if Mary saw him at Silchester after -that time at the castle?' - -'She never told me she did,' Nell answered, 'but sometimes I -think--however, there is no good in thinking.' - -'It isn't a thing you often do, Nell. By the way, he saw the first Sir -Clement at Dome Castle, did he not?' - -'Yes,' Nell said, 'he saw the impostor, and I don't suppose he knows -there is another Sir Clement. The Abingers don't like to speak of that. -However, they may meet on Friday, for Dick has got Mr. Angus a card for -the Symphonia, and Sir Clement is to be there.' - -'What does Richard say about it?' asked Mrs. Meredith, going back -apparently upon their conversation. - -'We never speak about it, Dick and I,' said Nell. - -'What do you speak about, then?' - -'Oh, nothing,' said Nell. - -Mrs. Meredith sighed. - -'And you such an heiress, Nell,' she said; 'you could do so much better. -He will never have anything but what he makes by writing; and if all -stories be true, half of that goes to the colonel. I'm sure your father -never will consent.' - -'Oh yes, he will,' Nell said. - -'If he had really tried to get on at the Bar,' Mrs. Meredith pursued, -'it would not have been so bad, but he is evidently to be a newspaper -man all his life.' - -'I wish you would say journalist, mamma,' Nell said, pouting, 'or -literary man. The profession of letters is a noble one.' - -'Perhaps it is,' Mrs. Meredith assented, with another sigh, 'and I dare -say he told you so, but I can't think it is very respectable.' - -Rob did not altogether enjoy the Symphonia, which is a polite club -attended by the literary fry of both sexes; the ladies who write because -they cannot help it, the poets who excuse their verses because they were -young when they did them, the clergymen who publish their sermons by -request of their congregations, the tourists who have been to Spain and -cannot keep it to themselves. The club meets once a fortnight, for the -purpose of not listening to music and recitations; and the members, of -whom the ladies outnumber the men, sit in groups round little lions who -roar mildly. The Symphonia is very fashionable and select, and having -heard the little lions a-roaring, you get a cup of coffee and go home -again. - -Dick explained that he was a member of the Symphonia because he rather -liked to put on the lion's skin himself now and again, and he took Mrs. -Meredith and the two girls to it to show them of what literature in its -higher branches is capable. The elegant dresses of the literary ladies, -and the suave manner of the literary gentlemen, impressed Nell's mother -favourably, and the Symphonia, which she had taken for an out-at-elbows -club, raised letters in her estimation. - -Rob, however, who never felt quite comfortable in evening dress, had a -bad time of it, for Dick carried him off at once, and got him into a -group round the authoress of _My Baby Boy_, to whom Rob was introduced -as a passionate admirer of her delightful works. The lion made room for -him, and he sat sadly beside her, wishing he was not so big. - -Both of the rooms of the Symphonia club were crowded, but a number of -gentlemen managed to wander from group to group over the skirts of -ladies' gowns. Rob watched them wistfully from his cage, and observed -one come to rest at the back of Mary Abinger's chair. He was a -medium-sized man, and for five minutes Rob thought he was Sir Clement -Dowton. Then he realised that he had been deceived by a remarkable -resemblance. - -The stranger said a great deal to Mary, and she seemed to like him. -After a long time the authoress's voice broke in on Rob's cogitations, -and when he saw that she was still talking without looking tired, a -certain awe filled him. Then Mary rose from her chair, taking the arm of -the gentleman who was Sir Clement's double, and they went into the other -room, where the coffee was served. - -Rob was tempted to sit there stupidly miserable, for the easiest thing -to do comes to us first. Then he thought it was better to be a man, and, -drawing up his chest, boldly asked the lion to have a cup of coffee. In -another moment he was steering her through the crowd, her hand resting -on his arm, and, to his amazement, he found he rather liked it. - -In the coffee-room Rob could not distinguish the young lady who moved -like a swan, but he was elated with his social triumph, and cast about -for any journalist of his acquaintance who, he thought, might like to -meet the authoress of _My Baby Boy_. It struck Rob that he had no right -to keep her all to himself. Quite close to him his eye lighted on -Marriott, the author of _Mary Hooney: a Romance of the Irish Question_, -but Marriott saw what he was after, and dived into the crowd. A very -young gentleman, with large empty eyes, begged Rob's pardon for treading -on his toes, and Rob, who had not felt it, saw that this was his man. -He introduced him to the authoress as another admirer, and the -round-faced youth seemed such a likely subject for her next work that -Rob moved off comfortably. - -A shock awaited him when he met Dick, who had been passing the time by -taking male guests aside and asking them in an impressive voice what -they thought of his great book, _Lives of Eminent Washer-women_, which -they had no doubt read. - -'Who is the man so like Dowton?' he repeated, in answer to Rob's -question. 'Why, it is Dowton.' - -Then Dick looked vexed. He remembered that Rob had been at Dome Castle -on the previous Christmas Eve. - -'Look here, Angus,' he said bluntly, 'this is a matter I hate to talk -about. The fact is, however, that this is the real Sir Clement. The -fellow you met was an impostor, who came from no one knows where. -Unfortunately, he has returned to the same place.' - -Dick bit his lip while Rob digested this. - -'But if you know the real Dowton,' Rob asked, 'how were you deceived?' - -'Well, it was my father who was deceived rather than myself, but we did -not know the real baronet then. The other fellow, if you must know, -traded on his likeness to Dowton, who is in the country now for the -first time for many years. Whoever the impostor is, he is a humorist in -his way, for when he left the castle in January he asked my father to -call on him when he came to town. The fellow must have known that Dowton -was coming home about that time; at all events, my father, who was in -London shortly afterwards, looked up his friend the baronet, as he -thought, at his club, and found that he had never set eyes on him -before. It would make a delicious article if it had not happened in -one's own family.' - -'The real Sir Clement seems great friends with Miss Abinger,' Rob could -not help saying. - -'Yes,' said Dick, 'we struck up an intimacy with him over the affair, -and stranger things have happened than that he and Mary----' - -He stopped. - -'My father, I believe, would like it,' he added carelessly, but Rob had -turned away. Dick went after him. - -'I have told you this,' he said, 'because, as you knew the other man, it -had to be done, but we don't like it spoken of.' - -'I shall not speak of it,' said miserable Rob. - -He would have liked to be tearing through London again, but as that was -not possible he sought a solitary seat by the door. Before he reached it -his mood changed. What was Sir Clement Dowton, after all, that he should -be frightened at him? He was merely a baronet. An impostor who could -never have passed for a journalist had succeeded in passing for Dowton. -Journalism was the noblest of all professions, and Rob was there -representing it. The seat of honour at the Symphonia was next to Mary -Abinger, and the baronet had held it too long already. Instead of -sulking, Rob approached the throne like one who had a right to be there. -Sir Clement had risen for a moment to put down Mary's cup, and when he -returned Rob was in his chair, with no immediate intention of getting -out of it. The baronet frowned, which made Rob say quite a number of -bright things to Miss Abinger. When two men are in love with the same -young lady one of them must be worsted. Rob saw that it was better to be -the other one. - -The frightfully Bohemian people at the Symphonia remained there even -later than eleven o'clock, but the rooms thinned before then, and Dick's -party were ready to go by half-past ten. Rob was now very sharp. It did -not escape his notice that the gentlemen were bringing the ladies' -cloaks, and he calmly made up his mind to help Mary Abinger on with -hers. To his annoyance, Sir Clement was too quick for him. The baronet -was in the midst of them, with the three ladies' cloaks, just as Rob -wondered where he would have to go to find them. Nell's cloak Sir -Clement handed to Dick, but he kept Mary's on his arm while he assisted -Mrs. Meredith into hers. It was a critical moment. All would be over in -five seconds. - -'Allow me,' said Rob. - -With apparent coolness he took Mary's cloak from the baronet's arm. He -had not been used to saying 'allow me,' and his face was white, but he -was determined to go on with this thing. - -'Take my arm,' he said to Mary, as they joined the crowd that swayed -toward the door. After he said it he saw that he had spoken with an air -of proprietorship, but he was not sorry. Mary did it. - -It took them some time to reach their cab, and on the way Mary asked Rob -a question. - -'I gave you something once,' she said, 'but I suppose you lost it long -ago.' - -Rob reddened, for he had been sadly puzzled to know what had become of -his Christmas card. - -'I have it still,' he answered at last. - -'Oh,' said Mary coldly; and at once Rob felt a chill pass through him. -It was true, after all, that Miss Abinger could be an icicle on -occasion. - -Rob, having told a lie, deserved no mercy, and got none. The pity of it -is that Mary might have thawed a little had she known that it was only a -lie. She thought that Rob was not aware of his loss. A man taking -fickleness as the comparative degree of an untruth is perhaps only what -may be looked for, but one does not expect it from a woman. Probably the -lights had blinded Mary. - -Rob had still an opportunity of righting himself, but he did not take -it. - -'Then you did mean the card for me,' he said, in foolish exultation; -'when I found it on the walk I was not certain that you had not merely -dropped it by accident.' - -Alas! for the fatuity of man. Mary looked up in icy surprise. - -'What card?' she said. 'I don't know what you are talking about.' - -'Don't you remember?' asked Rob, very much requiring to be sharpened -again. - -He looked so woebegone, that Mary nearly had pity on him. She knew, -however, that if it was not for her sex, men would never learn anything. - -'No,' she replied, and turned to talk to Sir Clement. - -Rob walked home from the Langham that night with Dick, and, when he was -not thinking of the two Sir Clements, he was telling himself that he had -climbed his hill valiantly, only to topple over when he neared the top. -Before he went to bed he had an article to finish for the _Wire_, and, -while he wrote, he pondered over the ways of women; which, when you come -to think of it, is a droll thing to do. - -Mr. Meredith had noticed Rob's dejection at the hotel, and remarked to -Nell's mother that he thought Mary was very stiff to Angus. Mrs. -Meredith looked sadly at her husband in reply. - -'You think so,' she said, mournfully shaking her head at him, 'and so -does Richard Abinger. Mr. Angus is as blind as the rest of you.' - -'I don't understand,' said Mr. Meredith, with much curiosity. - -'Nor do they,' replied his wife contemptuously; 'there are no men so -stupid, I think, as the clever ones.' - -She could have preached a sermon that night, with the stupid sex for her -text. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE HOUSE-BOAT 'TAWNY OWL' - - -'Mr. Angus, what is an egotist?' - -'Don't you know, Miss Meredith?' - -'Well, I know in a general sort of way, but not precisely.' - -'An egotist is a person who--but why do you want to know?' - -'Because just now Mr. Abinger asked me what I was thinking of, and when -I said of nothing he called me an egotist.' - -'Ah! that kind of egotist is one whose thoughts are too deep for -utterance.' - -It was twilight. Rob stood on the deck of the house-boat _Tawny Owl_, -looking down at Nell, who sat in the stern, her mother beside her, amid -a blaze of Chinese lanterns. Dick lay near them, prone, as he had fallen -from a hammock whose one flaw was that it gave way when any one got into -it. Mr. Meredith, looking out from one of the saloon windows across the -black water that was now streaked with glistening silver, wondered -whether he was enjoying himself, and Mary, in a little blue nautical -jacket with a cap to match, lay back in a camp-chair on deck with a -silent banjo in her hands. Rob was brazening it out in flannels, and had -been at such pains to select colours to suit him that the effect was -atrocious. He had spent several afternoons at Molesey during the three -weeks the _Tawny Owl_ had lain there, but this time he was to remain -overnight at the Island Hotel. - -The _Tawny Owl_ was part of the hoop of house-boats that almost girded -Tagg's Island, and lights sailed through the trees, telling of launches -moving to their moorings near the ferry. Now and again there was the -echo of music from a distant house-boat. For a moment the water was -loquacious as dingeys or punts shot past. Canadian canoes, the ghosts -that haunt the Thames by night, lifted their heads out of the river, -gaped, and were gone. An osier-wand dipped into the water under a weight -of swallows, all going to bed together. The boy on the next house-boat -kissed his hand to a broom on board the _Tawny Owl_, taking it for Mrs. -Meredith's servant, and then retired to his kitchen smiling. From the -boat-house across the river came the monotonous tap of a hammer. A -reed-warbler rushed through his song. There was a soft splashing along -the bank. - -'There was once a literary character,' Dick murmured, 'who said that to -think of nothing was an impossibility, but he lived before the days of -house-boats. I came here a week ago to do some high thinking, and I -believe I have only managed four thoughts--first, that the cow on the -island is an irate cow; second, that in summer the sun shines brightly; -third, that the trouble of lighting a cigar is almost as great as the -pleasure of smoking it; and fourth, that swans--the fourth thought -referred to swans, but it has slipped my memory.' - -He yawned like a man glad to get to the end of his sentence, or sorry -that he had begun it. - -'But I thought,' said Mrs. Meredith, 'that the reason you walk round and -round the island by yourself so frequently is because you can think out -articles on it?' - -'Yes,' Dick answered, 'the island looks like a capital place to think -on, and I always start off on my round meaning to think hard. After that -all is a blank till I am back at the _Tawny Owl_, when I remember that I -have forgotten to think.' - -'Will ought to enjoy this,' remarked Nell. - -'That is my brother, Mr. Angus,' Mary said to Rob; 'he is to spend part -of his holidays here.' - -'I remember him,' Rob answered, smiling. Mary blushed, however, -remembering that the last time Will and Greybrooke met Rob there had -been a little scene. - -'He will enjoy the fishing,' said Dick. 'I have only fished myself three -or four times, and I am confident I hooked a minnow yesterday.' - -'I saw a little boy,' Nell said, 'fishing from the island to-day, and -his mother had strapped him to a tree in case he might fall in.' - -'When I saw your young brother at Silchester,' Rob said to Mary, 'he had -a schoolmate with him.' - -'Ah, yes,' Dick said; 'that was the man who wanted to horsewhip you, you -know.' - -'I thought he and Miss Meredith were great friends,' Rob retorted. He -sometimes wondered how much Dick cared for Nell. - -'It was only the young gentleman's good-nature,' Abinger explained, -while Nell drew herself up indignantly; 'he found that he had to give up -either Nell or a cricket match, and so Nell was reluctantly dropped.' - -'That was not how you spoke,' Nell said to Dick in a low voice, 'when I -told you all about him, poor boy, in your chambers.' - -'You promised to be a sister to him, I think,' remarked Abinger. 'Ah, -Nell, it is not a safe plan that. How many brothers have you now?' - -Dick held up his hand for Mary's banjo, and, settling himself -comfortably in a corner, twanged and sang, while the lanterns caught -myriads of flies, and the bats came and went. - - When Coelebs was a bolder blade, - And ladies fair were coy, - His search was for a wife, he said, - The time I was a boy. - But Coelebs now has slothful grown - (I learn this from her mother), - Instead of making her his own, - He asks to be her brother. - - Last night I saw her smooth his brow, - He bent his head and kissed her; - They understand each other now, - She's going to be his sister. - Some say he really does propose, - And means to gain or lose all, - And that the new arrangement goes, - To soften her refusal. - - He talks so wild of broken hearts, - Of futures that she'll mar, - He says on Tuesday he departs - For Cork or Zanzibar. - His death he places at her door, - Yet says he won't resent it; - Ah, well, he talked that way before, - And very seldom meant it. - - Engagements now are curious things, - 'A kind of understandin',' - Although they do not run to rings, - They're good to keep your hand in. - No rivals now, Tom, Dick, and Hal, - They all love one another, - For she's a sister to them all, - And every one's her brother. - - In former days when men proposed, - And ladies said them No, - The laws that courtesy imposed - Made lovers pack and go. - But now that they may brothers be, - So changed the way of men is, - That, having kissed, the swain and she - Resume their game at tennis. - - Ah, Nelly Meredith, you may - Be wiser than your mother, - But she knew what to do when they - Proposed to be her brother. - Of these relations best have none, - They'll only you encumber; - Of wives a man may have but one, - Of sisters any number. - -Dick disappeared into the kitchen with Mrs. Meredith to show her how -they make a salad at the Wigwam, and Nell and her father went a-fishing -from a bedroom window. The night was so silent now that Rob and Mary -seemed to have it to themselves. A canoe in a blaze of coloured light -drifted past without a sound. The grass on the bank parted, and -water-rats peeped out. All at once Mary had nothing to say, and Rob -shook on his stool. The moon was out looking at them. - -'Oh,' Mary cried, as something dipped suddenly in the water near them. - -'It was only a dabchick,' Rob guessed, looking over the rail. - -'What is a dabchick?' asked Mary. - -Rob did not tell her. She had not the least desire to know. - -In the river, on the opposite side from where the _Tawny Owl_ lay, a -stream drowns itself. They had not known of its existence before, but it -was roaring like a lasher to them now. Mary shuddered slightly, turning -her face to the island, and Rob took a great breath as he looked at her. -His hand held her brown sunshade that was ribbed with velvet, the -sunshade with the preposterous handle that Mary held upside down. Other -ladies carried their sunshades so, and Rob resented it. Her back was -toward him, and he sat still, gazing at the loose blue jacket that only -reached her waist. It was such a slender waist that Rob trembled for it. - -The trees that hung over the house-boat were black, but the moon made a -fairyland of the sward beyond. Mary could only see the island between -heavy branches, but she looked straight before her until tears dimmed -her eyes. Who would dare to seek the thoughts of a girl at such a -moment? Rob moved nearer her. Her blue cap was tilted back, her chin -rested on the rail. All that was good in him was astir when she turned -and read his face. - -'I think I shall go down now,' Mary said, becoming less pale as she -spoke. Rob's eyes followed her as she moved toward the ladder. - -'Not yet,' he called after her, and could say no more. It was always so -when they were alone; and he made himself suffer for it afterwards. - -Mary stood irresolutely at the top of the ladder. She would not turn -back, but she did not descend. Mr. Meredith was fishing lazily from the -lower deck, and there was a murmur of voices in the saloon. On the road -running parallel to the river traps and men were shadows creeping along -to Hampton. Lights were going out there. Mary looked up the stretch of -water and sighed. - -'Was there ever so beautiful a night?' she said. - -'Yes,' said Rob, at her elbow, 'once at Dome Castle, the night I saw you -first.' - -'I don't remember,' said Mary hastily, but without going down the -ladder. - -'I might never have met you,' Rob continued grimly, 'if some man in -Silchester had not murdered his wife.' - -Mary started and looked up at him. Until she ceased to look he could not -go on. - -'The murder,' he explained, 'was of more importance than Colonel -Abinger's dinner, and so I was sent to the castle. It is rather curious -to trace these things back a step. The woman enraged her husband into -striking her, because she had not prepared his supper. Instead of doing -that she had been gossiping with a neighbour, who would not have had -time for gossip had she not been laid up with a sprained ankle. It came -out in the evidence that this woman had hurt herself by slipping on a -marble, so that I might never have seen you had not two boys, whom -neither of us ever heard of, challenged each other to a game at -marbles.' - -'It was stranger that we should meet again in London,' Mary said. - -'No,' Rob answered, 'the way we met was strange, but I was expecting -you.' - -Mary pondered how she should take this, and then pretended not to hear -it. - -'Was it not rather _The Scorn of Scorns_ that made us know each other?' -she asked. - -'I knew you after I read it a second time,' he said; 'I have got that -copy of it still.' - -'You said you had the card.' - -'I have never been able to understand,' Rob answered, 'how I lost that -card. But,' he added sharply, 'how do you know that I lost it?' - -Mary glanced up again. - -'I hate being asked questions, Mr. Angus,' she said sweetly. - -'Do you remember,' Rob went on, 'saying in that book that men were not -to be trusted until they reached their second childhood?' - -'I don't know,' Mary replied, laughing, 'that they are to be trusted -even then.' - -'I should think,' said Rob, rather anxiously, 'that a woman might as -well marry a man in his first childhood as in his second. Surely the -golden mean----' Rob paused. He was just twenty-seven. - -'We should strike the golden mean, you think?' asked Mary demurely. 'But -you see it is of such short duration.' - -After that there was such a long pause that Mary could easily have gone -down the ladder had she wanted to do so. - -'I am glad that you and Dick are such friends,' she said at last. - -'Why?' asked Rob quickly. - -'Oh, well,' said Mary. - -'He has been the best friend I have ever made,' Rob continued warmly, -'though he says our only point in common is a hatred of rice pudding.' - -'He told me,' said Mary, 'that you write on politics in the _Wire_.' - -'I do a little now, but I have never met any one yet who admitted that -he had read my articles. Even your brother won't go so far as that.' - -'I have read several of them,' said Mary. - -'Have you?' Rob exclaimed, like a big boy. - -'Yes,' Mary answered severely; 'but I don't agree with them. I am a -Conservative, you know.' - -She pursed up her mouth complacently as she spoke, and Rob fell back a -step to prevent his going a step closer. He could hear Mr. Meredith's -line tearing the water. The boy on the next house-boat was baling the -dingey, and whistling a doleful ditty between each canful. - -'There will never be such a night again,' Rob said, in a melancholy -voice. Then he waited for Mary to ask why, when he would have told her, -but she did not ask. - -'At least, not to me,' he continued, after a pause, 'for I am not likely -to be here again. But there may be many such nights to you.' - -Mary was unbuttoning her gloves and then buttoning them again. There is -something uncanny about a woman who has a chance to speak and does not -take it. - -'I am glad to hear,' said Rob, 'that my being away will make no -difference to you.' - -A light was running along the road to Hampton Court, and Mary watched -it. - -'Are you glad?' asked Rob desperately. - -'You said I was,' answered Mary, without turning her head. Dick was -thrumming the banjo below. Her hand touched a camp-chair, and Rob put -his over it. He would have liked to stand like that and talk about -things in general now. - -'Mary,' said Rob. - -The boy ceased to whistle. All nature in that quarter was paralysed, -except the tumble of water across the river. Mary withdrew her hand, but -said nothing. Rob held his breath. He had not even the excuse of having -spoken impulsively, for he had been meditating saying it for weeks. - -By and by the world began to move again. The boy whistled. A swallow -tried another twig. A moor-hen splashed in the river. They had thought -it over, and meant to let it pass. - -'Are you angry with me?' Rob asked. - -Mary nodded her head, but did not speak. Suddenly Rob started. - -'You are crying,' he said. - -'No, I'm not,' said Mary, looking up now. - -There was a strange light in her face that made Rob shake. He was so -near her that his hands touched her jacket. At that moment there was a -sound of feet on the plank that communicated between the _Tawny Owl_ and -the island, and Dick called out-- - -'You people up there, are you coming once round the island before you -have something to eat?' - -Rob muttered a reply that Dick fortunately did not catch, but Mary -answered 'Yes,' and they descended the ladder. - -'You had better put a shawl over your shoulders,' said Rob, in rather a -lordly tone. - -'No,' Mary answered, thrusting away the shawl he produced from the -saloon; 'a wrap on a night like this would be absurd.' - -Something caught in her throat at that moment, and she coughed. Rob -looked at her anxiously. - -'You had better,' he said, putting the shawl over her shoulders. - -'No,' said Mary, flinging it off. - -'Yes,' said Rob, putting it on again. - -Mary stamped her foot. - -'How dare you, Mr. Angus?' she exclaimed. - -Rob's chest heaved. - -'You must do as you are told,' he said. - -Mary looked at him while he looked at her, but she did not take off the -shawl again, and that was the great moment of Rob's life. - -The others had gone on before. Although it was a white night the plank -was dark in shadow, and as she stepped off it she slipped back. Rob's -arm went round her for a moment. They walked round the island together -behind the others, but neither uttered a word. Rob was afraid even to -look at her, so he did not see that Mary looked once or twice at him. - -Long after he was supposed to be in the hotel Rob was still walking -round the island, with no one to see him but the cow. All the Chinese -lanterns were out now, but red window-blinds shone warm in several -house-boats, and a terrier barked at his footsteps. The grass was -silver-tipped, as in an enchanted island, and the impatient fairies -might only have been waiting till he was gone. He was wondering if she -was offended. While he paced the island she might be vowing never to -look at him again, but perhaps she was only thinking that he was very -much improved. - -At last Rob wandered to the hotel, and reaching his bedroom sat down on -a chair to think it out again by candle-light. He rose and opened the -window. There was a notice over the mantelpiece announcing that smoking -was not allowed in the bedrooms, and having read it thoughtfully he -filled his pipe. A piece of crumpled paper lay beneath the -dressing-table, and he lifted it up to make a spill of it. It was part -of an envelope, and it floated out of Rob's hand as he read the address -in Mary Abinger's handwriting, 'Sir Clement Dowton, Island Hotel.' - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -MARY OF THE STONY HEART - - -A punt and a rowing-boat were racing lazily toward Sunbury on a day so -bright that you might have passed women with their hair in long curls -and forgiven them. - -'I say, Dick,' said one of the scullers, 'are they engaged?' - -Will was the speaker, and in asking the question he caught a crab. Mary, -with her yellow sleeves turned up at the wrist, a great straw hat on her -head, ran gaily after her pole, and the punt jerked past. If there are -any plain girls let them take to punting and be beautiful. - -Dick, who was paddling rather than pulling stroke, turned round on his -young brother sharply. - -'Whom do you mean?' he asked, speaking low, so that the other occupants -of the boat should not hear him, 'Mary and Dowton?' - -'No,' said Will, 'Mary and Angus. I wonder what they see in her.' - -They were bound for a picnicking resort up the river; Mrs. Meredith, -Mary, and Sir Clement in the punt, and the others in the boat. If Rob -was engaged he took it gloomily. He sat in the stern with Mr. Meredith, -while Nell hid herself away beneath a many-coloured umbrella in the -prow; and when he steered the boat into a gondola, he only said -vacantly to its occupants, 'It is nothing at all,' as if they had run -into him. Nell's father said something about not liking the appearance -of the sky, and Rob looked at him earnestly for such a length of time -before replying that Mr. Meredith was taken aback. At times the punt -came alongside, and Mary addressed every one in the boat except Rob. The -only person in the punt whom Rob never looked at was Mary. Dick watched -them uneasily, and noticed that once, when Mary nearly followed her pole -into the water, Rob, who seemed to be looking in the opposite direction, -was the first to see what had happened. Then Dick pulled so savagely -that he turned the boat round. - -That morning at breakfast in his chambers Rob had no thought of spending -the day on the river. He had to be at the _Wire_ office at ten o'clock -in the evening, and during the day he meant to finish one of the many -articles which he still wrote for other journals that would seldom take -them. The knowledge that Sir Clement Dowton had been to Molesey -disquieted him, chiefly because Mary Abinger had said nothing about it. -Having given himself fifty reasons for her reticence, he pushed them -from him, and vowed wearily that he would go to the house-boat no more. -Then Dick walked in to suggest that they might run down for an hour or -two to Molesey, and Rob agreed at once. He shaped out in the train a -subtle question about Sir Clement that he intended asking Mary, but on -reaching the plank he saw her feeding the swans, with the baronet by her -side. Rob felt like a conjurer whose trick has not worked properly. -Giving himself just half a minute to reflect that it was all over, he -affected the coldly courteous, and smiled in a way that was meant to be -heart-rending. Mary did not mind that, but it annoyed her to see the -band of his necktie slipping over his collar. - -It was the day of the Sunbury Regatta, but the party from the _Tawny -Owl_ twisted past the racers, leaving Dick, who wanted a newspaper, -behind. When he rejoined them beyond the village, the boat was towing -the punt. - -'Why,' said Dick, in some astonishment to Rob, who was rowing now, 'I -did not know you could scull like that.' - -'I have been practising a little,' answered Rob. - -'When he came down here the first time,' Mrs. Meredith explained to Sir -Clement, 'he did not know how to hold an oar. I am afraid he is one of -those men who like to be best at everything.' - -'He certainly knows how to scull now,' admitted the baronet, beginning -to think that Rob was perhaps a dangerous man. Sir Clement was a manly -gentleman, but his politics were that people should not climb out of the -station they were born into. - -'No,' Dick said, in answer to a question from Mr. Meredith, 'I could -only get a local paper. The woman seemed surprised at my thinking she -would take in the _Scalping Knife_ or the _Wire_, and said, "We've got a -paper of our own."' - -'Read out the news to us, Richard,' suggested Mrs. Meredith. Dick -hesitated. - -'Here, Will,' he said to his brother, 'you got that squeaky voice of -yours specially to proclaim the news from a boat to a punt ten yards -distant. Angus is longing to pull us up the river unaided.' - -Will turned the paper round and round. - -'Here is a funny thing,' he bawled out, 'about a stick. "A curious -story, says a London correspondent, is going the round of the clubs -to-day about the walking-stick of a well-known member of Parliament, -whose name I am not at liberty to mention. The story has not, so far as -I am aware, yet appeared in print, and it conveys a lesson to all -persons who carry walking-sticks with knobs for handles, which generate -a peculiar disease in the palm of the hand. The member of Parliament -referred to, with whom I am on intimate terms----"' - -Rob looked at Dick, and they both groaned. - -'My stick again,' murmured Rob. - -'Read something else,' cried Dick, shivering. - -'Eh, what is wrong?' asked Mr. Meredith. - -'You must know,' said Dick, 'that the first time I met Angus he told me -imprudently some foolish story about a stick that bred a disease in the -owner's hand, owing to his pressing so heavily on the ball it had by way -of a handle. I touched the story up a little, and made half a guinea out -of it. Since then that note has been turning up in a new dress in the -most unlikely places. First the London correspondents swooped down on -it, and telegraphed it all over the country as something that had -happened to well-known Cabinet Ministers. It appeared in the Paris -_Figaro_ as a true story about Sir Gladstone, and soon afterwards it was -across the Channel as a reminiscence of Thiers. Having done another tour -of the provinces, it was taken to America by a lecturer, who exhibited -the stick. Next it travelled the Continent, until it was sent home again -by Paterfamilias Abroad, writing to the _Times_, who said that the man -who owned the stick was a well-known Alpine guide. Since then we have -heard of it fitfully as doing well in Melbourne and Arkansas. It figured -in the last volume, or rather two volumes, of autobiography published, -and now, you see, it is going the round of the clubs again, preparatory -to starting on another tour. I wish you had kept your stick to yourself, -Angus.' - -'That story will never die,' Rob said, in a tone of conviction. 'It will -go round and round the world till the crack of doom. Our children's -children will tell it to each other.' - -'Yes,' said Dick, 'and say it happened to a friend of theirs.' - -A field falls into the river above Sunbury, in which there is a clump of -trees of which many boating parties know. Under the shadow of these Mrs. -Meredith cast a table-cloth and pegged it down with salt-cellars. - -'As we are rather in a hurry,' she said to the gentlemen, 'I should -prefer you not to help us.' - -Rob wandered to the river-side with Will, who would have liked to know -whether he could jump a gate without putting his hands on it; and the -other men leant against the trees, wondering a little, perhaps, why -ladies enjoy in the summer-time making chairs and tables of the ground. - -Rob was recovering from his scare, and made friends with Mary's young -brother. By particular request he not only leapt the gate, but lifted it -off its hinges, and this feat of strength so impressed Will that he -would have brought the whole party down to see it done. Will was as fond -of Mary as a proper respect for himself would allow, but he thought she -would be a lucky girl if she got a fellow who could play with a heavy -gate like that. - -Being a sharp boy, Will noticed a cloud settle on Rob's face, and -looking toward the clump of trees, he observed that Mary and the baronet -were no longer there. In the next field two figures were disappearing, -the taller, a man in a tennis jacket, carrying a pail. Sir Clement had -been sent for water, and Mary had gone with him to show him the spring. -Rob stared after them; and if Will could have got hold of Mary he would -have shaken her for spoiling everything. - -Mrs. Meredith was meditating sending some one to the spring to show them -the way back, when Sir Clement and Mary again came into sight. They did -not seem to be saying much, yet were so engrossed that they zigzagged -toward the rest of the party like persons seeking their destination in a -mist. Just as they reached the trees Mary looked up so softly at her -companion that Rob turned away in an agony. - -'It is a long way to the spring,' were Mary's first words, as if she -expected to be taken to task for their lengthened absence. - -'So it seems,' said Dick. - -The baronet crossed with the pail to Mrs. Meredith, and stopped half-way -like one waking from a dream. Mrs. Meredith held out her hand for the -pail, and the baronet stammered with vexation. Simultaneously the whole -party saw what was wrong, but Will only was so merciless as to put the -discovery into words. - -'Why,' cried the boy, pausing to whistle in the middle of his sentence, -'you have forgotten the water!' - -It was true. The pail was empty. Sir Clement turned it upside down, and -made a seat of it. - -'I am so sorry,' he said to Mrs. Meredith, trying to speak lightly. 'I -assure you I thought I had filled the pail at the spring. It is entirely -my fault, for I told Miss Abinger I had done so.' - -Mary's face was turned from the others, so that they could not see how -she took the incident. It gave them so much to think of that Will was -the only one of the whole party who saw its ridiculous aspect. - -'Put it down to sunstroke, Miss Meredith,' the baronet said to Nell; 'I -shall never allow myself to be placed in a position of trust again.' - -'Does that mean,' asked Dick, 'that you object to being sent back again -to the spring?' - -'Ah, I forgot,' said Sir Clement. 'You may depend on me this time.' - -He seized the pail once more, glad to get away by himself to some place -where he could denounce his stupidity unheard, but Mrs. Meredith would -not let him go. As for Mary, she was looking so haughty now that no one -would have dared to mention the pail again. - -During the meal Dick felt compelled to talk so much that he was -unusually dull company for the remainder of the week. The others were -only genial now and again. Sir Clement sought in vain to gather from -Mary's eyes that she had forgiven him for making the rest of the party -couple him and her in their thoughts. Mrs. Meredith would have liked to -take her daughter aside and discuss the situation, and Nell was looking -covertly at Rob, who, she thought, bore it bravely. Rob had lately -learned carving from a handbook, and was dissecting a fowl, murmuring to -himself, 'Cut from _a_ to _b_ along the line _f g_, taking care to sever -the wing at the point _k_.' Like all the others, he thought that Mary -had promised to be the baronet's wife, and Nell's heart palpitated for -him when she saw how gently he passed Sir Clement the mustard. Such a -load lay on Rob that he felt suffocated. Nell noticed indignantly that -Mary was not even 'nice' to him. For the first time in her life, or at -least for several weeks, Miss Meredith was wroth with Miss Abinger. Mary -might have been on the rack, but she went on proudly eating bread and -chicken. Relieved of his fears, Dick raged internally at Mary for -treating Angus cruelly, and Nell, who had always dreaded lest things -should not go as they had gone, sat sorrowfully because she had not been -disappointed. They all knew how much they cared for Rob now, all except -Mary of the stony heart. - -Sir Clement began to tell some travellers' tales, omitting many things -that were creditable to his bravery, and Rob found himself listening -with a show of interest, wondering a little at his own audacity in -competing with such a candidate. By and by some members of the little -party drifted away from the others, and an accident left Mary and Rob -together. Mary was aimlessly plucking the berries from a twig in her -hand, and all the sign she gave that she knew of Rob's presence was in -not raising her head. If love is ever unselfish his was at that moment. -He took a step forward, and then Mary, starting back, looked round -hurriedly in the direction of Sir Clement. What Rob thought was her -meaning flashed through him, and he stood still in pain. - -'I am sorry you think so meanly of me,' he said, and passed on. He did -not see Mary's arms rise involuntarily, as if they would call him back. -But even then she did not realise what Rob's thoughts were. A few yards -away Rob, moving blindly, struck against Dick. - -'Ah, I see Mary there,' her brother said, 'I want to speak to her. Why, -how white you are, man!' - -'Abinger,' Rob answered hoarsely, 'tell me. I must know. Is she engaged -to Dowton?' - -Dick hesitated. He felt sore for Rob. 'Yes, she is,' he replied. 'You -remember I spoke of this to you before.' Then Dick moved on to have it -out with Mary. She was standing with the twig in her hand, just as Rob -had left her. - -'Mary,' said her brother bluntly, 'this is too bad. I would have -expected it from any one sooner than from you.' - -'What are you talking about?' asked Mary frigidly. - -'I am talking about Angus, my friend. Yes, you may smile, but it is not -play to him.' - -'What have I done to your friend?' said Mary, looking Dick in the face. - -'You have crushed the life for the time being out of as fine a fellow -as I ever knew. You might at least have amused yourself with some one a -little more experienced in the ways of women.' - -'How dare you, Dick!' exclaimed Mary, stamping her foot. All at once -Dick saw that though she spoke bravely her lips were trembling. A sudden -fear seized him. - -'I presume that you are engaged to Dowton?' he said quickly. - -'It is presumption certainly,' replied Mary. - -'Why, what else could any one think after that ridiculous affair of the -water?' - -'I shall never forgive him for that,' Mary said, flushing. - -'But he----' - -'No. Yes, he did, but we are not engaged.' - -'You mean to say that you refused him?' - -'Yes.' - -Dick thought it over, tapping the while on a tree-trunk like a -woodpecker. - -'Why?' he asked at last. - -Mary shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing. - -'You seemed exceedingly friendly,' said Dick, 'when you returned here -together.' - -'I suppose,' Mary said bitterly, 'that the proper thing in the -circumstances would have been to wound his feelings unnecessarily as -much as possible?' - -'Forgive me, dear,' Dick said kindly; 'of course I misunderstood--but -this will be a blow to our father.' - -Mary looked troubled. - -'I could not marry him, you know, Dick,' she faltered. - -'Certainly not,' Dick said, 'if you don't care sufficiently for him; -and yet he seems a man that a girl might care for.' - -'Oh, he is,' Mary exclaimed. 'He was so manly and kind that I wanted to -be nice to him.' - -'You have evidently made up your mind, sister mine,' Dick said, 'to die -a spinster.' - -'Yes,' said Mary, with a white face. - -Suddenly Dick took both her hands, and looked her in the face. - -'Do you care for any other person, Mary?' he asked sharply. - -Mary shook her head, but she did not return her brother's gaze. Her -hands were trembling. She tried to pull them from him, but he held her -firmly until she looked at him. Then she drew up her head proudly. Her -hands ceased to shake. She had become marble again. - -Dick was not deceived. He dropped her hands, and leant despondently -against a tree. - -'Angus----' he began. - -'You must not,' Mary cried; and he stopped abruptly. - -'It is worse than I could have feared,' Dick said. - -'No, it is not,' said Mary quickly. 'It is nothing. I don't know what -you mean.' - -'It was my fault bringing you together. I should have been more----' - -'No, it was not. I met him before. Whom are you speaking about?' - -'Think of our father, Mary.' - -'Oh, I have!' - -'He is not like you. How could he dare----' - -'Dick, don't.' - -Will bounced towards them with a hop, step, and jump, and Mrs. Meredith -was signalling that she wanted both. - -'Never speak of this again,' Mary said in a low voice to Dick as they -walked toward the others. - -'I hope I shall never feel forced to do so,' Dick replied. - -'You will not,' Mary said, in her haste. 'But, Dick,' she added -anxiously, 'surely the others did not think what you thought? It would -be so unpleasant for Sir Clement.' - -'Well, I can't say,' Dick answered. - -'At all events, he did not?' - -'Who is he?' - -'Oh, Dick, I mean Mr. Angus?' - -Dick bit his lip, and would have replied angrily; but perhaps he loved -this sister of his more than any other person in the world. - -'Angus, I suppose, noticed nothing,' he answered, in order to save Mary -pain, 'except that you and Dowton seemed very good friends.' - -Dick knew that this was untrue. He did not remember then that the -good-natured lies live for ever like the others. - -Evening came on before they returned to the river, and Sunbury, now -blazing with fireworks, was shooting flaming arrows at the sky. The -sweep of water at the village was one broad bridge of boats, lighted by -torches and Chinese lanterns of every hue. Stars broke overhead, and -fell in showers. It was only possible to creep ahead by pulling in the -oars and holding on to the stream of craft of all kinds that moved -along by inches. Rob, who was punting Dick and Mary, had to lay down his -pole and adopt the same tactics, but boat and punt were driven apart, -and soon tangled hopelessly in different knots. - -'It is nearly eight o'clock,' Dick said, after he had given up looking -for the rest of the party. 'You must not lose your train, Angus.' - -'I thought you were to stay overnight, Mr. Angus,' Mary said. - -Possibly she meant that had she known he had to return to London, she -would have begun to treat him better earlier in the day, but Rob thought -she only wanted to be polite for the last time. - -'I have to be at the _Wire_,' he replied, 'before ten.' - -Mary, who had not much patience with business, and fancied that it could -always be deferred until next day if one wanted to defer it very much, -said, 'Oh!' and then asked, 'Is there not a train that would suit from -Sunbury?' - -Rob, blinder now than ever, thought that she wanted to get rid of him. - -'If I could catch the 8.15 here,' he said, 'I would reach Waterloo -before half-past nine.' - -'What do you think?' asked Dick. 'There is no time to lose.' - -Rob waited for Mary to speak, but she said nothing. - -'I had better try it,' he said. - -With difficulty the punt was brought near a landing-stage, and Rob -jumped out. - -'Good-bye,' he said to Mary. - -'Good-night,' she replied. Her mouth was quivering, but how could he -know? - -'Wait a moment,' Dick exclaimed. 'We might see him off, Mary?' Mary -hesitated. - -'The others might wonder what had become of us,' she said. - -'Oh, we need not attempt to look for them in this maze,' her brother -answered. 'We shall only meet them again at the _Tawny Owl_.' - -The punt was left in charge of a boatman, and the three set off silently -for the station, Mary walking between the two men. They might have been -soldiers guarding a deserter. - -What were Mary's feelings? She did not fully realise as yet that Rob -thought she was engaged to Dowton. She fancied that he was sulky because -a circumstance of which he knew nothing made her wish to treat Sir -Clement with more than usual consideration; and now she thought that -Rob, having brought it on himself, deserved to remain miserable until he -saw that it was entirely his own fault. But she only wanted to be cruel -to him now to forgive him for it afterwards. - -Rob had ceased to ask himself if it was possible that she had not -promised to be Dowton's wife. His anger had passed away. Her tender -heart, he thought, made her wish to be good to him--for the last time. - -As for Dick, he read the thoughts of both, and inwardly called himself a -villain for not reading them out aloud. Yet by his merely remaining -silent these two lovers would probably never meet again, and was not -that what would be best for Mary? - -Rob leant out of the carriage window to say good-bye, and Dick, ill at -ease, turned his back on the train. It had been a hard day for Mary, -and, as Rob pressed her hand warmly, a film came over her eyes. Rob saw -it, and still he thought that she was only sorry for him. There are far -better and nobler things than loving a woman and getting her, but Rob -wanted Mary to know, by the last look he gave her, that so long as it -meant her happiness his misery was only an unusual form of joy. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -COLONEL ABINGER TAKES COMMAND - - -One misty morning, about three weeks after the picnic, Dick found -himself a prisoner in the quadrangle of Frobisher's Inn. He had risen to -catch an early train, but the gates were locked, and the porter in -charge had vanished from his box. Dick chafed, and tore round the Inn in -search of him. It was barely six o'clock; which is three hours after -midnight in London. The windows of the Inn had darkened one by one, -until for hours the black building had slept heavily with only one eye -open. Dick recognised the window, and saw Rob's shadow cast on its white -blind. He was standing there, looking up a little uneasily, when the -porter tramped into sight. - -'Is Mr. Angus often as late as this?' Mary's brother paused to ask at -the gate. - -'Why, sir,' the porter answered, 'I am on duty until eight o'clock, and -as likely as not he will still be sitting there when I go. His shadow up -there has become a sort of companion to me in the long nights, but I -sometimes wonder what has come over the gentleman of late.' - -'He is busy, I suppose; that is all,' Dick said sharply. - -The porter shook his head doubtfully, like one who knew the ways of -literary hands. He probably wrote himself. - -'Mr. Angus only came in from his office at three o'clock,' he said, 'and -you would think he would have had enough of writing by that time. You -can see his arm going on the blind though yet, and it won't be out of -his common if he has another long walk before he goes to bed.' - -'Does he walk so late as this?' asked Dick, to whom six in the morning -was an hour of the night. - -'I never knew such a gentleman for walking,' replied the porter, 'and -when I open the gate to him he is off at six miles an hour. I can hear -the echo of his feet two or three streets off. He doesn't look as if he -did it for pleasure either.' - -'What else would he do it for?' - -'I can't say. He looks as if he wanted to run away from himself.' - -Dick passed out, with a forced laugh. He knew that since saying good-bye -to Mary at Sunbury Station, Rob had hardly dared to stop working and -face the future. The only rest Rob got was when he was striding along -the great thoroughfares, where every one's life seemed to have a purpose -except his own. But it was only when he asked himself for what end he -worked that he stopped working. There were moments when he could not -believe that it was all over. He saw himself dead, and the world going -on as usual. When he read what he had written the night before, he -wondered how people could be interested in such matters. The editor of -the _Wire_ began to think of this stolid Scotsman every time there was a -hitch in the office, but Rob scarcely noticed that he was making -progress. It could only mean ten or twenty pounds more a month; and what -was that to a man who had only himself to think of, and had gathered a -library on twenty shillings a week? He bought some good cigars, however. - -Dick, who was longing for his father's return from the Continent, so -that the responsibility for this miserable business might be transferred -to the colonel's shoulders, frequently went into Rob's rooms to comfort -him, but did not know how to do it. They sat silently on opposite sides -of the very hearthrug which Mary had once made a remark about--Rob had -looked interestedly at the rug after she went away--and each thought -that, but for the other's sake, he would rather be alone. - -What Dick felt most keenly was Rob's increased regard for him. Rob never -spoke of the _Tawny Owl_ without an effort, but he showed that he -appreciated Dick's unspoken sympathy. If affairs could have righted -themselves in that way, Mary's brother would have preferred to be turned -with contumely out of Rob's rooms, where, as it was, and despite his -friendship for Rob, he seemed now to be only present on false pretences. -Dick was formally engaged to Nell now, but he tried at times to have no -patience with Rob. Perhaps he thought a little sadly in his own rooms -that to be engaged is not all the world. - -Dick had hoped that the misunderstanding which parted Rob and Mary at -Sunbury would keep them apart without further intervention from him. -That was not to be. The next time he went to Molesey he was asked why he -had not brought Mr. Angus with him, and though it was not Mary who asked -the question, she stopped short on her way out of the saloon to hear his -answer. - -'He did not seem to want to come,' Dick replied reluctantly. - -'I know why Mr. Angus would not come with you,' Nell said to Dick when -they were alone; 'he thinks Mary is engaged to Sir Clement.' - -'Nonsense,' said Dick. - -'I am sure of it,' said Nell; 'you know we all thought so that day we -were up the river.' - -'Then let him think so if he chooses,' Dick said harshly. 'It is no -affair of his.' - -'Oh, it is!' Nell exclaimed. 'But I suppose it would never do, Dick?' - -'What you are thinking of is quite out of the question,' replied Dick, -feeling that it was a cruel fate which compelled him to act a father's -part to Mary; 'and besides, Mary does not care for him like that. She -told me so herself.' - -'Oh, but she does,' Nell replied, in a tone of conviction. - -'Did she tell you so?' - -'No, she said she didn't,' answered Nell, as if that made no difference. - -'Well,' said Dick wearily, 'it is much better that Angus should not come -here again.' - -Nevertheless, when Dick returned to London he carried in his pocket an -invitation to Rob to spend the following Saturday at the _Tawny Owl_. It -was a very nice note in Mary Abinger's handwriting, and Dick would have -liked to drop it over the Hungerfield Bridge. He gave it to Rob, -however, and stood on the defensive. - -The note began, 'Dear Mr. Angus, Mrs. Meredith would be very pleased if -you could----' - -The blood came to Rob's face as he saw the handwriting, but it went as -quickly. - -'They ask me down next Saturday,' Rob said bluntly to Dick, 'but you -know why I can't go.' - -'You had better come,' miserable Dick said, defying himself. - -'She is to marry Dowton, is she not?' Rob asked, but with no life in his -voice. - -Dick turned away his head, to leave the rest to fate. - -'So, of course I must not go,' Rob continued bravely. - -Dick did not dare to look him in the face, but Rob put his hand on the -shoulder of Mary's brother. - -'I was a madman,' he said, 'to think that she could ever have cared for -me, but this will not interfere with our friendship, Abinger?' - -'Surely not,' said Dick, taking Rob's hand. - -It was one of those awful moments in men's lives when they allow, face -to face, that they like each other. - -Rob concluded that Mrs. Meredith, knowing nothing of his attachment for -Mary, saw no reason why he should not return to the house-boat, and that -circumstances had compelled Mary to write the invitation. His blundering -honesty would not let him concoct a polite excuse for declining it, and -Mrs. Meredith took his answer amiss, while Nell dared not say what she -thought for fear of Dick. Mary read his note over once, and then went -for a solitary walk round the island. Rob saw her from the tow-path -where he had been prowling about for hours in hopes of catching a last -glimpse of her. Her face was shaded beneath her big straw hat, and no -baby-yacht, such as the Thames sports, ever glided down the river more -prettily than she tripped along the island path. Once her white frock -caught in a dilapidated seat, and she had to stoop to loosen it. Rob's -heart stopped beating for a moment just then. The way Mary extricated -herself was another revelation. He remembered having thought it -delightful that she seldom knew what day of the month it was, and having -looked on in an ecstasy while she searched for the pocket of her dress. -The day before Mrs. Meredith had not been able to find her pocket, and -Rob had thought it foolish of ladies not to wear their pockets where -they could be more easily got at. - -Rob did not know it, but Mary saw him. She had but to beckon, and in -three minutes he would have been across the ferry. She gave no sign, -however, but sat dreamily on the ramshackle seat that patient anglers -have used until the Thames fishes must think seat and angler part of the -same vegetable. Though Mary would not for worlds have let him know that -she saw him, she did not mind his standing afar off and looking at her. -Once after that Rob started involuntarily for Molesey, but realising -what he was about by the time he reached Surbiton, he got out of the -train there and returned to London. - -An uneasy feeling possessed Dick that Mary knew of the misunderstanding -which kept Rob away, and possibly even of her brother's share in -fostering it. If so, she was too proud to end it. He found that if he -mentioned Rob to her she did not answer a word. Nell's verbal -experiments in the same direction met with a similar fate, and every one -was glad when the colonel reappeared to take command. - -Colonel Abinger was only in London for a few days, being on his way to -Glen Quharity, the tenant of which was already telegraphing him glorious -figures about the grouse. Mary was going too, and the Merediths were -shortly to return to Silchester. - -'There is a Thrums man on this stair,' Dick said to his father one -afternoon in Frobisher's Inn, 'a particular friend of mine, though I -have treated him villainously.' - -'Ah,' said the colonel, who had just come up from the house-boat, 'then -you might have him in, and make your difference up. Perhaps he could -give me some information about the shooting.' - -'Possibly,' Dick said; 'but we have no difference to make up, because he -thinks me as honest as himself. You have met him, I believe.' - -'What did you say his name was?' - -'His name is Angus.' - -'I can't recall any Angus.' - -'Ah, you never knew him so well as Mary and I do.' - -'Mary?' asked the colonel, looking up quickly. - -'Yes,' said Dick. 'Do you remember a man from a Silchester paper who was -at the castle last Christmas?' - -'What!' cried the colonel, 'an underbred, poaching fellow who----' - -'Not at all,' said Dick, 'an excellent gentleman, who is to make his -mark here, and, as I have said, my very particular friend.' - -'That fellow turned up again,' groaned the colonel. - -'I have something more to tell you of him,' continued Dick -remorselessly. 'I have reason to believe, as we say on the Press when -hard up for copy, that he is in love with Mary.' - -The colonel sprang from his seat. 'Be calm,' said Dick. - -'I am calm,' cried the colonel, not saying another word, so fearful was -he of what Dick might tell him next. - -'That would not, perhaps, so much matter,' Dick said, coming to rest at -the back of a chair, 'if it were not that Mary seems to have an equal -regard for him.' - -Colonel Abinger's hands clutched the edge of the table, and it was not a -look of love he cast at Dick. - -'If this be true,' he exclaimed, his voice breaking in agitation, 'I -shall never forgive you, Richard, never. But I don't believe it.' - -Dick felt sorry for his father. - -'It is a fact that has to be faced,' he said, more gently. - -'Why, why, why, the man is a pauper!' - -'Not a bit of it,' said Dick. 'He may be on the regular staff of the -_Wire_ any day now.' - -'You dare to look me in the face, and tell me you have encouraged this, -this----' cried the colonel, choking in a rush of words. - -'Quite the contrary,' Dick said; 'I have done more than I had any right -to do to put an end to it.' - -'Then it is ended?' - -'I can't say.' - -'It shall be ended,' shouted the colonel, making the table groan under -his fist. - -'In a manner,' Dick said, 'you are responsible for the whole affair. Do -you remember when you were at Glen Quharity two or three years ago -asking a parson called Rorrison, father of Rorrison the war -correspondent, to use his son's Press influence on behalf of a Thrums -man? Well, Angus is that man. Is it not strange how this has come -about?' - -'It is enough to make me hate myself,' replied the irate colonel, though -it had not quite such an effect as that. - -When his father had subsided a little, Dick told him of what had been -happening in England during the last month or two. There had been a -change of Government, but the chief event was the audacity of a plebeian -in casting his eyes on a patrician's daughter. What are politics when -the pipes in the bath-room burst? - -'So you see,' Dick said in conclusion, 'I have acted the part of the -unrelenting parent fairly well, and I don't like it.' - -'Had I been in your place,' replied the colonel, 'I would have acted it -a good deal better.' - -'You would have told Angus that you considered him, upon the whole, the -meanest thing that crawls, and that if he came within a radius of five -miles of your daughter you would have the law of him? Yes; but that sort -of trespassing is not actionable nowadays; and besides, I don't know -what Mary might have said.' - -'Trespassing!' echoed the colonel; 'I could have had the law of him for -trespassing nearly a year ago.' - -'You mean that time you caught him fishing in the Dome? I only heard of -that at second-hand, but I have at least no doubt that he fished to some -effect.' - -'He can fish,' admitted the colonel; 'I should like to know what flies -he used.' - -Dick laughed. - -'Angus,' he said, 'is a man with a natural aptitude for things. He does -not, I suspect, even make love like a beginner.' - -'You are on his side, Richard.' - -'It has not seemed like it so far, but, I confess, I have certainly had -enough of shuffling.' - -'There will be no more shuffling,' said the colonel fiercely. 'I shall -see this man and tell him what I think of him. As for Mary----' - -He paused. - -'Yes,' said Dick, 'Mary is the difficulty. At present I cannot even tell -you what she is thinking of it all. Mary is the one person I could never -look in the face when I meditated an underhand action--I remember how -that sense of honour of hers used to annoy me when I was a boy--and so I -have not studied her countenance much of late.' - -'She shall marry Dowton,' said the colonel decisively. - -'It is probably a pity, but I don't think she will,' replied Dick. 'Of -course you can prevent her marrying Angus by simply refusing your -consent.' - -'Yes, and I shall refuse it.' - -'Though it should break her heart she will never complain,' said Dick, -'but it does seem a little hard on Mary that we should mar her life -rather than endure a disappointment ourselves.' - -'You don't look at it in the proper light,' said the colonel, who, like -most persons, made the proper light himself; 'in saving her from this -man we do her the greatest kindness in our power.' - -'Um,' said Dick, 'of course. That was how I put it to myself, but just -consider Angus calmly, and see what case we have against him.' - -'He is not a gentleman,' said the colonel. - -'He ought not to be, according to the proper light, but he is.' - -'Pshaw!' the colonel exclaimed pettishly. 'He may have worked himself up -into some sort of position, like other discontented men of his class, -but he never had a father.' - -'He says he had a very good one. Weigh him, if you like, against Dowton, -who is a good fellow in his way, but never, so far as I know, did an -honest day's work in his life. Dowton's whole existence has been devoted -to pleasure-seeking, while Angus has been climbing up ever since he was -born, and with a heavy load on his back, too, most of the time. If he -goes on as he is doing, he will have both a good income and a good -position shortly.' - -'Dowton's position is made,' said the colonel. - -'Exactly,' said Dick, 'and Angus is making his for himself. Whatever -other distinction we draw between them is a selfish one, and I question -if it does us much credit.' - -'I have no doubt,' said the colonel, 'that Mary's pride will make her -see this matter as I do.' - -'It will at least make her sacrifice herself for our pride, if you -insist on that.' - -Mary's father loved her as he had loved her mother, though he liked to -have his own way with both of them. His voice broke a little as he -answered Dick. - -'You have a poor opinion of your father, my boy,' he said. 'I think I -would endure a good deal if Mary were to be the happier for it.' - -Dick felt a little ashamed of himself. - -'Whatever I may say,' he answered, 'I have at least acted much as you -would have done yourself. Forgive me, father.' - -The colonel looked up with a wan smile. - -'Let us talk of your affairs rather, Richard,' he said. 'I have at least -nothing to say against Miss Meredith.' - -Dick moved uncomfortably in his chair, and then stood up, thinking he -heard a knock at the door. - -'Are you there, Abinger?' some one called out. 'I have something very -extraordinary to tell you.' - -Dick looked at his father, and hesitated. 'It is Angus,' he said. - -'Let him in,' said the colonel. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -THE BARBER OF ROTTEN ROW - - -Rob started when he saw Mary's father. - -'We have met before, Mr. Angus,' said the colonel courteously. - -'Yes,' answered Rob, without a tremor; 'at Dome Castle, was it not?' - -This was the Angus who had once been unable to salute anybody without -wondering what on earth he ought to say next. This was the colonel whose -hand had gaped five minutes before for Rob's throat. The frown on the -face of Mary's father was only a protest against her lover's improved -appearance. Rob was no longer the hobbledehoy of last Christmas. He was -rather particular about the cut of his coat. He had forgotten that he -was not a colonel's social equal. In short, when he entered a room now -he knew what to do with his hat. Their host saw the two men measuring -each other. Dick never smiled, but sometimes his mouth twitched, as now. - -'You had something special to tell me, had you not?' he asked Rob. - -'Well,' Rob replied, with hesitation, 'I have something for you in my -rooms.' - -'Suppose my father,' began Dick, meaning to invite the colonel upstairs, -but pausing as he saw Rob's brows contract. The colonel saw too, and -resented it. No man likes to be left on the outskirts of a secret. - -'Run up yourself, Abinger,' Rob said, seating himself near Mary's -father; 'and, stop, here are my keys. I locked it in.' - -'Why,' asked Dick, while his father also looked up, 'have you some -savage animal up there?' - -'No,' Rob said, 'it is very tame.' - -Dick climbed the stair, after casting a quizzical look behind him, which -meant that he wondered how long the colonel and Rob would last in a -small room together. He unlocked the door of Rob's chambers more quickly -than he opened it, for he had no notion of what might be caged up -inside, and as soon as he had entered he stopped, amazed. All men of -course are amazed once in their lives--when they can get a girl to look -at them. This was Dick's second time. - -It was the hour of the evening when another ten minutes can be stolen -from the day by a readjustment of one's window curtains. Rob's blind, -however, had given way in the cords, and instead of being pulled up was -twisted into two triangles. Just sufficient light straggled through the -window to let Dick see the man who was standing on the hearthrug looking -sullenly at his boots. There was a smell of oil in the room. - -Dowton!' Dick exclaimed; 'what masquerade is this?' - -The other put up his elbow as if to ward off a blow, and then Dick -opened the eyes of anger. - -'Oh,' he said, 'it is you, is it?' - -They stood looking at each other in silence. - -'Just stand there, my fine fellow,' Dick said, 'until I light the gas. I -must have a better look at you.' - -The stranger turned longing eyes on the door as the light struck him. - -'Not a single step in that direction,' said Dick, 'unless you want to go -over the banisters.' - -Abinger came closer to the man who was Sir Clement Dowton's double, and -looked him over. He wore a white linen jacket, and an apron to match, -and it would have been less easy to mistake him for a baronet aping the -barber than it had been for the barber to ape the baronet. - -'Your name?' asked Dick. - -'Josephs,' the other mumbled. - -'You are a barber, I presume?' - -'I follow the profession of hair-dressing,' replied Josephs, with his -first show of spirit. - -Had Dick not possessed an inscrutable face, Josephs would have known -that his inquisitor was suffering from a sense of the ludicrous. Dick -had just remembered that his father was downstairs. - -'Well, Josephs, I shall have to hand you over to the police.' - -'I think not,' said Josephs, in his gentlemanly voice. - -'Why not?' asked Dick. - -'Because then it would all come out.' - -'What would all come out?' - -'The way your father was deceived. The society papers would make a great -deal of it, and he would not like that.' - -Dick groaned, though the other did not hear him. - -'You read the society journals, Josephs?' - -'Rather!' said Josephs. - -'Perhaps you write for them?' - -Josephs did not say. - -'Well, how were you brought here?' Dick asked. - -'Your friend,' said Josephs sulkily, 'came into our place of business in -Southampton Row half an hour ago, and saw me. He insisted on bringing me -here at once in a cab. I wanted to put on a black coat, but he would not -hear of it.' - -'Ah, then, I suppose you gave Mr. Angus the full confession of your -roguery as you came along?' - -'He would not let me speak,' said Josephs. 'He said it was no affair of -his.' - -'No? Then you will be so good as to favour me with the pretty story.' - -Dick lit a cigar and seated himself. The sham baronet looked undecidedly -at a chair. - -'Certainly not,' said Dick; 'you can stand.' - -Josephs told his tale demurely, occasionally with a gleam of humour, and -sometimes with a sigh. His ambition to be a gentleman, but with no -desire to know the way, had come to him one day in his youth when -another gentleman flung a sixpence at him. In a moment Josephs saw what -it was to belong to the upper circles. He hurried to a street corner to -get his boots blacked, tossed the menial the sixpence, telling him to -keep the change, and returned home in an ecstasy, penniless, but with an -object in life. That object was to do it again. - -At the age of eighteen Josephs slaved merrily during the week, but had -never any money by Monday morning. He was a gentleman every Saturday -evening. Then he lived; for the remainder of the week he was a barber. -One of his delights at this period was to have his hair cut at -Truefitt's and complain that it was badly done. Having reproved his -attendant in a gentlemanly way, he tipped him handsomely and retired in -a glory. It was about this time that he joined a Conservative -association. - -Soon afterwards Josephs was to be seen in Rotten Row, in elegant -apparel, hanging over the railing. He bowed and raised his hat to the -ladies who took his fancy, and, though they did not respond, glowed with -the sensation of being practically a man of fashion. Then he returned to -the shop. - -The years glided by, and Josephs discovered that he was perfectly -content to remain a hairdresser if he could be a gentleman now and -again. Having supped once in a fashionable restaurant, he was satisfied -for a fortnight or so with a sausage and onions at home. Then the -craving came back. He saved up for two months on one occasion, and then -took Saturday to Monday at Cookham, where he passed as Henry K. Talbot -Devereux. He was known to the waiters and boatmen there as the gentleman -who had quite a pleasure in tossing them half-crowns, and for a month -afterwards he had sausage without onions. So far this holiday had been -the memory of his life. He studied the manners and language of the -gentlemen who came to the shop in which he was employed, and began to -dream of a big thing annually. He had learnt long ago that he was -remarkably good-looking. - -For a whole year Josephs abstained from being a gentleman except in the -smallest way, for he was burning to have a handle to his name, and -feared that it could not be done at less than twenty pounds. His week's -holiday came, and found Josephs not ready for it. He had only twelve -pounds. With a self-denial that was magnificent he crushed his -aspirations, took only two days of delight at Brighton, and continued to -save up for the title. Next summer saw him at the Anglers' Retreat, near -Dome Castle. 'Sir Clement Dowton' was the name on his Gladstone bag. A -dozen times a day he looked at it till it frightened him, and then he -tore the label off. Having done so, he put on a fresh one. - -Josephs had selected his baronetcy with due care. Years previously he -had been told that he looked like the twin-brother of Sir Clement -Dowton, and on inquiry he had learned that the baronet was not in -England. As for the Anglers' Retreat, he went there because he had heard -that it was frequented by persons in the rank of life to which it was -his intention to belong for the next week. He had never heard of Colonel -Abinger until they met. The rest is known. Josephs dwelt on his -residence at Dome Castle with his eyes shut, like a street-arab -lingering lovingly over the grating of a bakery. - -'Well, you are a very admirable rogue,' Dick said, when Josephs had -brought his story to an end, 'and, though I shall never be proud again, -your fluency excuses our blindness. Where did you pick it up?' The -barber glowed with gratification. - -'It came naturally to me,' he answered. 'I was intended for a gentleman. -I dare say, now, I am about the only case on record of a man who took to -pickles and French sauces the first time he tried them. Mushrooms were -not an acquired taste with me, nor black coffee, nor caviare, nor -liqueurs, and I enjoy celery with my cheese. What I liked best of all -was the little round glasses you dip your fingers into when the dinner -is finished. I dream of them still.' - -'You are burst up for the present, Josephs, I presume?' - -'Yes, but I shall be able to do something in a small way next Christmas. -I should like to put it off till summer, but I can't.' - -'There must be no more donning the name of Dowton,' said Dick, trying to -be stern. - -'I suppose I shall have to give that up,' the barber said with a sigh. -'I had to bolt, you see, last time, before I meant to go.' - -'Ah, you have not told me yet the why and wherefore of those sudden -disappearances. Excuse my saying so, Josephs, but they were scarcely -gentlemanly.' - -'I know it,' said Josephs sadly, 'but however carefully one plans a -thing, it may take a wrong turning. The first time I was at the castle I -meant to leave in a carriage and pair, waving my handkerchief, but it -could not be done at the money.' - -'The colonel would have sent you to Silchester in his own trap.' - -'Ah, I wanted a brougham. You see I had been a little extravagant at the -inn, and I could not summon up courage to leave the castle without -tipping the servants all round.' - -'So you waited till you were penniless, and then stole away?' - -'Not quite penniless,' said Josephs; 'I had three pounds left, but----' - -He hesitated. - -'You see,' he blurted out, blushing at last, 'my old mother is dependent -on me, and I kept the three pounds for her.' - -Dick took his cigar from his mouth. - -'I am sorry to hear this, Josephs,' he said, 'because I meant to box -your ears presently, and I don't know that I can do it now. How about -the sudden termination to the visit you honoured the colonel with last -Christmas?' - -'I had to go,' said Josephs, 'because I read that Sir Clement Dowton had -returned to England. Besides, I was due at the shop.' - -'But you had an elegant time while your money held out?' - -Josephs wiped a smile from his face. - -'It was grand,' he said. 'I shall never know such days again.' - -'I hope not, Josephs. Was there no streak of cloud in those halcyon -days?' - -The barber sighed heavily. - -'Ay, there was,' he said, 'hair oil.' - -'Explain yourself, my gentle hairdresser.' - -'Gentlemen,' said Josephs, 'don't use hair oil. I can't live without it. -That is my only stumbling-block to being a gentleman.' - -He put his fingers through his hair, and again Dick sniffed the odour of -oil. - -'I had several bottles of it with me,' Josephs continued, 'but I dared -not use it.' - -'This is interesting,' said Dick. 'I should like to know now, from you -who have tried both professions, whether you prefer the gentleman to the -barber.' - -'I do and I don't,' answered Josephs. 'Hair-dressing suits me best as a -business, but gentility for pleasure. A fortnight of the gentleman sets -me up for the year. I should not like to be a gentleman all the year -round.' - -'The hair oil is an insurmountable obstacle.' - -'Yes,' said the barber; 'besides, to be a gentleman is rather hard -work.' - -'I dare say it is,' said Dick, 'when you take a short cut to it. Well, I -presume this interview is at an end. You may go.' - -He jerked his foot in the direction of the door, but Josephs hesitated. - -'Colonel Abinger well?' asked the barber. - -'The door, Josephs,' replied Dick. - -'And Miss Abinger?' - -Dick gave the barber a look that hurried him out of the room and down -the stairs. Abinger's mouth twitched every time he took the cigar out of -it, until he started to his feet. - -'I have forgotten that Angus and my father are together,' he murmured. -'I wonder,' he asked himself, as he returned to his own chambers, 'how -the colonel will take this? Must he be told? I think so.' - -Colonel Abinger was told, as soon as Rob had left, and it added so much -fuel to his passion that it put the fire out. - -'If the story gets abroad,' he said, with a shudder, 'I shall never hold -up my head again.' - -'It is a safe secret,' Dick answered; 'the fellow would not dare to -speak of it anywhere. He knows what that would mean for himself.' - -'Angus knows of it. Was it like the chivalrous soul you make him to -flout this matter before us?' - -'You are hard up for an argument against Angus, father. I made him -promise to let me know if he ever came on the track of the impostor, and -you saw how anxious he was to keep the discovery from you. He asked me -at the door when he was going out not to mention it to either you or -Mary.' - -'Confound him,' cried the colonel testily; 'but he is right about Mary; -we need not speak of it to her. She never liked the fellow.' - -'That was fortunate,' said Dick, 'but you did, father. You thought that -Josephs was a gentleman, and you say that Angus is not. Perhaps you have -made a mistake in both cases.' - -'I say nothing against Angus,' replied the colonel, 'except that I don't -want him to marry my daughter.' - -'Oh, you and he got on well together, then?' - -'He can talk. The man has improved.' - -'You did not talk about Mary?' asked Dick. - -'We never mentioned her; how could I, when he supposes her engaged to -Dowton? I shall talk about him to her, though.' - -Two days afterwards Dick asked his father if he had talked to Mary about -Angus yet. - -'No, Richard,' the old man admitted feebly, 'I have not. The fact is -that she is looking so proud and stately just now, that I feel nervous -about broaching the subject.' - -'That is exactly how I feel,' said Dick, 'but Nell told me to-day that, -despite her hauteur before us, Mary is wearing her heart away.' - -The colonel's fingers beat restlessly on the mantelpiece. - -'I'm afraid she does care for Angus,' he said. - -'As much as he cares for her, I believe,' replied Dick. 'Just think,' he -added bitterly, 'that these two people love each other for the best that -is in them, one of the rarest things in life, and are nevertheless to be -kept apart. Look here.' - -Dick drew aside his blind, and pointed to a light cast on the opposite -wall from a higher window. - -'That is Angus's light,' he said. 'On such a night as this, when he is -not wanted at the _Wire_, you will see that light blazing into the -morning. Watch that moving shadow; it is the reflection of his arm as he -sits there writing, writing, writing with nothing to write for, and only -despair to face him when he stops. Is it not too bad?' - -'They will forget each other in time,' said the colonel. 'Let Dowton -have another chance. He is to be at the Lodge.' - -'But if they don't forget each other; if Dowton fails again, and Mary -continues to eat her heart in silence, what then?' - -'We shall see.' - -'Look here, father. I cannot play this pitiful part before Angus for -ever. Let us make a bargain. Dowton gets a second chance; if he does not -succeed, it is Angus's turn. Do you promise me so much?' - -'I cannot say,' replied the colonel thoughtfully. 'It may come to that.' - -Rob was as late in retiring to rest that night as Dick had predicted, -but he wrote less than usual. He had something to think of as he paced -his room, for, unlike her father and brother, he knew that when Mary -was a romantic schoolgirl she had dressed the sham baronet, as a child -may dress her doll, in the virtues of a hero. He shuddered to think of -her humiliation should she ever hear the true story of Josephs--as she -never did. Yet many a lady of high degree has given her heart to a -baronet who was better fitted to be a barber. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -ROB PULLS HIMSELF TOGETHER - - -In a London fog the street-lamps are up and about, running maliciously -at pedestrians. He is in love or writing a book who is struck by one -without remonstrating. One night that autumn a fog crept through London -a month before it was due, and Rob met a lamp-post the following -afternoon on his way home from the _Wire_ office. He passed on without a -word, though he was not writing a book. Something had happened that day, -and, but for Mary Abinger, Rob would have been wishing that his mother -could see him now. - -The editor of the _Wire_ had called him into a private room, in which -many a young gentleman, who only wanted a chance to put the world to -rights, has quaked, hat in hand, before now. It is the dusty sanctum -from which Mr. Rowbotham wearily distributes glory or consternation, -sometimes with niggardly hand, and occasionally like an African explorer -scattering largess among the natives. Mr. Rowbotham might be even a -greater editor than he is if he was sure that it is quite the proper -thing for so distinguished a man as himself to believe in anything, and -some people think that his politics are to explain away to-day the -position he took up yesterday. He seldom writes himself, and, while -directing the line to be adopted by his staff, he smokes a cigar which -he likes to probe with their pens. He is pale and thin, and has roving -eyes, got from always being on the alert against aspirants. - -All the chairs in the editorial room, except Mr. Rowbotham's own, had -been converted, like the mantelpiece, into temporary bookcases. Rob -tumbled the books off one (your _Inquiry into the State of Ireland_ was -among them, gentle reader) much as a coal-heaver topples his load into a -cellar, or like a housewife emptying her apron. - -'You suit me very well, Angus,' the editor said. 'You have no lurking -desire to write a book, have you?' - -'No,' Rob answered; 'since I joined the Press that ambition seems to -have gone from me.' - -'Quite so,' said Mr. Rowbotham, his tone implying that Rob now left the -court without a stain upon his character. The editor's cigar went out, -and he made a spill of a page from _Sonnets of the Woods_, which had -just come in for review. - -'As you know,' the editor continued, 'I have been looking about me for a -leader-writer for the last year. You have a way of keeping your head -that I like, and your style is not so villainously bad. Are you prepared -to join us?' - -'I should think so,' said Rob. - -'Very well. You will start with £800 a year. Ricketts, as you may have -heard, has half as much again as that, but he has been with us some -time.' - -'All right,' said Rob calmly, though his chest was swelling. He used to -receive an order for a sack of shavings in the same tone. - -'You expected this, I dare say?' asked the editor. - -'Scarcely,' said Rob. 'I thought you would offer the appointment to -Marriott; he is a much cleverer man than I am.' - -'Yes,' assented Mr. Rowbotham, more readily than Rob thought necessary. -'I have had Marriott in my eye for some time, but I rather think -Marriott is a genius, and so he would not do for us.' - -'You never had that suspicion of me?' asked Rob, a little blankly. - -'Never,' said the editor frankly. 'I saw from the first that you were a -man to be trusted. Moderate Radicalism is our policy, and not even -Ricketts can advocate moderation so vehemently as you do. You fight for -it with a flail. By the way, you are Scotch, I think?' - -'Yes,' said Rob. - -'I only asked,' the editor explained, 'because of the shall and the will -difficulty. Have you got over that yet?' - -'No,' Rob said sadly, 'and never will.' - -'I shall warn the proof-readers to be on the alert,' Mr. Rowbotham said, -laughing, though Rob did not see what at. 'Dine with me at the Garrick -on Wednesday week, will you?' - -Rob nodded, and was retiring, when the editor called after him-- - -'You are not a married man, Angus?' - -'No,' said Rob, with a sickly smile. - -'Ah, you should marry,' recommended Mr. Rowbotham, who is a bachelor. -'You would be worth another two hundred a year to us then. I wish I -could find the time to do it myself.' - -Rob left the office a made man, but looking as if it all had happened -some time ago. There were men shivering in Fleet Street as he passed -down it who had come to London on the same day as himself, every one -with a tragic story to tell now, and some already seeking the double -death that is called drowning care. Shadows of university graduates -passed him in the fog who would have been glad to carry his bag. That -night a sandwich-board man, who had once had a thousand a year, crept -into the Thames. Yet Rob bored his way home, feeling that it was all in -vain. - -He stopped at Abinger's door to tell him what had happened, but the -chambers were locked. More like a man who had lost £800 a year than one -who had just been offered it, he mounted to his own rooms, hardly -noticing that the door was now ajar. The blackness of night was in the -sitting-room, and a smell of burning leather. - -'Another pair of slippers gone,' said a voice from the fireplace. It was -Dick, and if he had not jumped out of one of the slippers he would have -been on fire himself. Long experience had told him the exact moment to -jump. - -'I tried your door,' Rob said. 'I have news for you.' - -'Well,' said Dick, 'I forced my way in here because I have something to -tell you, and resolved not to miss you. Who speaks first? My news is -bad--at least for me.' - -'Mine is good,' said Rob; 'we had better finish up with it.' - -'Ah,' Dick replied, 'but when you hear mine you may not care to tell me -yours.' - -Dick spoke first, however, and ever afterwards was glad that he had done -so. - -'Look here, Angus,' he said bluntly, 'I don't know that Mary is engaged -to Dowton.' - -Rob stood up and sat down again. - -'Nothing is to be gained by talking in that way,' he said shortly. 'She -was engaged to him six weeks ago.' - -'No,' said Dick, 'she was not, though for all I know she may be now.' - -Then Dick told his tale under the fire of Rob's eyes. When it was ended -Rob rose from his chair, and stared silently for several minutes at a -vase on the mantelpiece. Dick continued talking, but Rob did not hear a -word. - -'I can't sit here, Abinger,' he said; 'there is not room to think. I -shall be back presently.' - -He was gone into the fog the next moment. 'At it again,' muttered the -porter, as Rob swung past and was lost ten paces off. He was back in an -hour, walking more slowly. - -'When the colonel writes to you,' he said, as he walked into his room, -'does he make any mention of Dowton?' - -'He never writes,' Dick answered; 'he only telegraphs me now and again, -when a messenger from the Lodge happens to be in Thrums.' - -'Miss Abinger writes?' - -'Yes. I know from her that Dowton is still there, but that is all.' - -'He would not have remained so long,' said Rob, 'unless--unless----' - -'I don't know,' Dick answered. 'You see it would all depend on Mary. -She had a soft heart for Dowton the day she refused him, but I am not -sure how she would take his reappearance on the scene again. If she -resented it, I don't think the boldest baronet that breathes would -venture to propose to Mary in her shell.' - -'The colonel might press her?' - -'Hardly, I think, to marry a man she does not care for. No, you do him -an injustice. What my father would like to have is the power to compel -her to care for Dowton. No doubt he would exercise that if it was his.' - -'Miss Abinger says nothing--sends no messages--I mean, does she ever -mention me when she writes?' - -'Never a word,' said Dick. 'Don't look pale, man; it is a good sign. -Women go by contraries, they say. Besides, Mary is not like Mahomet. If -the mountain won't go to her, she will never come to the mountain.' - -Rob started, and looked at his hat. - -'You can't walk to Glen Quharity Lodge to-night,' said Dick, following -Rob's eyes. - -'Do you mean that I should go at all?' - -'Why, well, you see, it is this awkward want of an income that spoils -everything. Now, if you could persuade Rowbotham to give you a thousand -a year, that might have its influence on my father.' - -'I told you,' exclaimed Rob; 'no, of course I did not. I joined the -staff of the _Wire_ to-day at £800.' - -'Your hand, young man,' said Dick, very nearly becoming excited. 'Then -that is all right. On the Press every one with a good income can add -two hundred a year to it. It is only those who need the two hundred -that cannot get it.' - -'You think I should go north?' said Rob, with the whistle of the train -already in his ears. - -'Ah, it is not my affair,' answered Dick; 'I have done my duty. I -promised to give Dowton a fair chance, and he has had it. I don't know -what use he has made of it, remember. You have overlooked my share in -this business, and I retire now.' - -'You are against me still, Abinger.' - -'No, Angus, on my word I am not. You are as good a man as Dowton, and if -Mary thinks you better----' - -Dick shrugged his shoulders to signify that he had freed them of a load -of prejudice. - -'But does she?' said Rob. - -'You will have to ask herself,' replied Dick. - -'Yes; but when?' - -'She will probably be up in town next season.' - -'Next season,' exclaimed Rob; 'as well say next century.' - -'Well, if that is too long to wait, suppose you come to Dome Castle with -me at Christmas?' - -Rob pushed the invitation from him contemptuously. - -'There is no reason,' he said, looking at Dick defiantly, 'why I should -not go north to-night.' - -'It would be a little hurried, would it not?' Dick said to his pipe. - -'No,' Rob answered, with a happy inspiration. 'I meant to go to Thrums -just now, for a few days at any rate. Rowbotham does not need me until -Friday.' - -Rob looked up and saw Dick's mouth twitching. He tried to stare Mary's -brother out of countenance, but could not do it. - -Night probably came on that Tuesday as usual, for Nature is as much as -man a slave to habit, but it was not required to darken London. If all -the clocks and watches had broken their mainsprings no one could have -told whether it was at noon or midnight that Rob left for Scotland. It -would have been equally impossible to say from his face whether he was -off to a marriage or a funeral. He did not know himself. - -'This human nature is a curious thing,' thought Dick, as he returned to -his rooms. 'Here are two of us in misery, the one because he fears he is -not going to be married, and the other because he knows he is.' - -He stretched himself out on two chairs. - -'Neither of us, of course, is really miserable. Angus is not, for he is -in love; and I am not, for----' He paused, and looked at his pipe. - -'No, I am not miserable; how could a man be miserable who has two chairs -to lie upon, and a tobacco jar at his elbow? I fancy, though, that I am -just saved from misery by lack of sentiment. - -'Curious to remember that I was once sentimental with the best of them. -This is the Richard who sat up all night writing poems to Nell's -eyebrows. Ah, poor Nell! - -'I wonder, is it my fault that my passion burned itself out in one -little crackle? With most men, if the books tell true, the first fire -only goes out after the second is kindled, but I seem to have no more -sticks to light. - -'I am going to be married, though I would much rather remain single. My -wife will be the only girl I ever loved, and I like her still more than -any other girl I know. Though I shuddered just now when I thought of -matrimony, there can be little doubt that we shall get on very well -together. - -'I should have preferred her to prove as fickle as myself, but how true -she has remained to me! Not to me, for it is not the real Dick Abinger -she cares for, and so I don't know that Nell's love is of the kind to -make a man conceited. Is marriage a rash experiment when the woman loves -the man for qualities he does not possess, and has not discovered in -years of constant intercourse the little that is really lovable in him? -Whatever I say to Nell is taken to mean the exact reverse of what I do -mean; she reads my writings upside down, as one might say; she cries if -I speak to her of anything more serious than flowers and waltzes, but -she thinks me divine when I treat her like an infant. - -'Is it weakness or strength that has kept me what the world would call -true to Nell? Is a man necessarily a villain because love dies out of -his heart, or has his reason some right to think the affair over and -show him where he stands? - -'Yes, Nell after all gets the worse of the bargain. She will have for a -husband a man who is evidently incapable of a lasting affection for -anybody. That, I suppose, means that I find myself the only really -interesting person I know. Yet, I think, Richard, you would at times -rather be somebody else--anybody almost would do. - -'It is a little humiliating to remember that I have been lying to Angus -for the last month or two--I, who always thought I had such a noble -admiration for the truth. I did it very easily too, so I suppose there -can be no doubt that I really am a very poor sort of creature. I wonder -if it was for Mary's sake I lied, or merely because it would have been -too troublesome to speak the truth? Except by fits and starts I have -ceased apparently to be interested in anything. The only thing nowadays -that rouses my indignation is the attempt on any one's part to draw me -into an argument on any subject under the sun. Here is this Irish -question; I can pump up an article in three paragraphs on it, but I -don't really seem to care whether it is ever settled or not. Should we -have a republic? I don't mind; it is all the same to me: but don't give -me the casting vote. Is Gladstone a god? is Gladstone the devil? They -say he is one or other, and I am content to let them fight it out. How -long is it since I gave a thought to religion? What am I? There are men -who come into this room and announce that they are agnostics, as if that -were a new profession. Am I an agnostic? I think not; and if I was I -would keep it to myself. My soul does not trouble me at all, except for -five minutes or so now and again. On the whole I seem to be indifferent -as to whether I have one, or what is to become of it.' - -Dick rose and paced the room, until his face gave the lie to everything -he had told himself. His lips quivered and his whole body shook. He -stood in an agony against the mantelpiece with his head in his hands, -and emotions had possession of him compared with which the emotions of -any other person described in this book were but children's fancies. By -and by he became calm, and began to undress. Suddenly he remembered -something. He rummaged for his keys in the pocket of the coat he had -cast off, and, opening his desk, wrote on a slip of paper that he took -from it, '_Scalping Knife_, Man Frightened to Get Married (humorous)!' - -'My God!' he groaned, 'I would write an article, I think, on my mother's -coffin.' - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE AUDACITY OF ROB ANGUS - - -Colonel Abinger had allowed the other sportsmen to wander away from him, -and now lay on his back on Ben Shee, occasionally raking the glen of -Quharity through a field-glass. It was a purple world he saw under a sky -of grey and blue; with a white thread that was the dusty road twisting -round a heavy sweep of mountain-side, and a broken thread of silver that -was the Quharity straggling back and forward in the valley like a stream -reluctant to be gone. To the naked eye they were bare black peaks that -overlooked the glen from every side but the south. It was not the -mountains, however, but the road that interested the colonel. By and by -he was sitting up frowning, for this is what he saw. - -From the clump of trees to the north that keeps Glen Quharity Lodge warm -in winter, a man and a lady emerged on horseback. They had not advanced -a hundred yards, when the male rider turned back as if for something he -had forgotten. The lady rode forward alone. - -A pedestrian came into sight about the same time, a mile to the south of -the colonel. The field-glass lost him a dozen times, but he was -approaching rapidly, and he and the rider must soon meet. - -The nearest habitation to Colonel Abinger was the schoolhouse, which -was some four hundred yards distant. It stands on the other side of the -white road, and is approached by a straight path down which heavy carts -can jolt in the summer months. Every time the old dominie goes up and -down this path, his boots take part of it along with him. There is a -stone in his house, close to the door, which is chipped and scarred -owing to his habit of kicking it to get the mud off his boots before he -goes inside. The dominie was at present sitting listlessly on the dyke -that accompanies this path to the high road. - -The colonel was taking no interest in the pedestrian as yet, but he -sighed as he watched the lady ride slowly forward. Where the road had -broken through a bump in the valley her lithe form in green stood out as -sharply as a silhouette against the high ragged bank of white earth. The -colonel had recognised his daughter, and his face was troubled. - -During all the time they had been at the Lodge he had never mentioned -Rob Angus's name to Mary, chiefly because she had not given him a chance -to lose his temper. She had been more demonstrative in her love for her -father than of old, and had anticipated his wants in a way that -gratified him at the moment but disturbed him afterwards. In his -presence she seemed quite gaily happy, but he had noticed that she liked -to slip away on to the hillside by herself, and sit there alone for -hours at a time. Sir Clement Dowton was still at the Lodge, but the -colonel was despondent. He knew very well that, without his consent, -Mary would never give her hand to any man, but he was equally aware that -there his power ended. Where she got her notions he did not know, but -since she became his housekeeper she had impressed the colonel -curiously. He was always finding himself taking for granted her purity -to be something so fine that it behoved him to be careful. Mary affected -other people in the same way. They came to know that she was a very rare -person, and so in her company they became almost fine persons -themselves. Thus the natural goodness of mankind asserted itself. Of -late the colonel had felt Mary's presence more than ever; he believed in -her so much (often to his annoyance) that she was a religion to him. - -While Colonel Abinger sat in the heather, perturbed in mind, and trying -to persuade himself that it was Mary's fault, the pedestrian drew near -rapidly. Evidently he and the rider would meet near the schoolhouse, and -before the male rider, who had again emerged from the clump of trees, -could make up on his companion. - -The dominie, who did not have such a slice of the outer world as this -every day, came to the end of his path to have a look at the persons who -were nearing him from opposite directions. He saw that the pedestrian -wore an elegant silk hat and black coat, such as were not to be got in -these parts. Only the delve with which he walked suggested a man from -Thrums. - -The pedestrian made a remark about the weather as he hurried past the -dominie. He was now so near the colonel that his face could be -distinctly seen through the field-glass. The colonel winced, and turned -white and red. Then the field-glass jumped quickly to the horsewoman. -The pedestrian started as he came suddenly in sight of her, and at the -same moment her face lit up with joy. The colonel saw it and felt a -pain at his heart. The glass shook in his hand, thus bringing the -dominie accidentally into view. - -The dominie was now worth watching. No sooner had the pedestrian passed -him than the old man crouched so as not to seem noticeable, and ran -after him. When he was within ten yards of his quarry he came to rest, -and the field-glass told that he was gaping. Then the dominie turned -round and hurried back to the schoolhouse, muttering as he ran: - -'It's Rob Angus come home in a lum hat, and that's one o' the leddies -frae the Lodge. I maun awa to Thrums wi' this. Rob Angus, Robbie Angus, -michty, what a toon there'll be aboot this!' - -Rob walked up to Mary Abinger, feeling that to bid her good afternoon -was like saying 'Thank you' in a church when the organ stops. He felt -himself a saw-miller again. - -The finest thing in the world is that a woman can pass through anything, -and remain pure. Mary had never been put to the test, but she could have -stood it. Her soul spoke in her face, and as Rob looked at her the sound -of his own voice seemed a profanation. Yet Mary was not all soul. She -understood, for instance, why Rob stammered so much as he took her hand, -and she was glad that she had on her green habit instead of the black -one. - -Sir Clement Dowton rode forward smartly to make up on Miss Abinger, and -saw her a hundred yards before him from the top of a bump which the road -climbs. She was leaning forward in her saddle talking to a man whom he -recognised at once. The baronet's first thought was to ride on, but he -drew rein. - -'I have had my chance and failed,' he said to himself grimly. 'Why -should not he have his?' - -With a last look at the woman he loved, Sir Clement turned his horse, -and so rode out of Mary Abinger's life. She had not even seen him. - -'Papa has been out shooting,' she said to Rob, who was trying to begin, -'and I am on my way to meet him. Sir Clement Dowton is with me.' - -She turned her head to look for the baronet, and Rob, who had been -aimlessly putting his fingers through her horse's mane, started at the -mention of Sir Clement's name. - -'Miss Abinger,' he said, 'I have come here to ask you one question. I -have no right to put it, but Sir Clement, he----' - -'If you want to see him,' said Mary, 'you have just come in time. I -believe he is starting for a tour of the world in a week or so.' - -Rob drew a heavy breath, and from that moment he liked Dowton. But he -had himself to think of at present. He remembered that he had another -question to ask Miss Abinger. - -'It is a very long time since I saw you,' he said. - -'Yes,' said Mary, sitting straight in her saddle, 'you never came to the -house-boat those last weeks. I suppose you were too busy.' - -'That was not what kept me away,' Rob said. 'You know it was not.' - -Mary looked behind her again. - -'There was nothing else,' she said; 'I cannot understand what is -detaining Sir Clement.' - -'I thought----' Rob began. - -'You should not,' said Mary, looking at the schoolhouse. - -'But your brother----' Rob was saying, when he paused, not wanting to -incriminate Dick. - -'Yes, I know,' said Mary, whose intellect was very clear to-day. She -knew why Rob stopped short, and there was a soft look in her eyes as -they were turned upon him. - -'Your brother advised me to come north,' Rob said, but Mary did not -answer. - -'I would not have done so,' he continued, 'if I had known that you knew -why I stayed away from the house-boat.' - -'I think I must ride on,' Mary said. - -'No,' said Rob, in a voice that put it out of the question. So Mary must -have thought, for she remained there. 'You thought it better,' he went -on huskily, 'that, whatever the cause, I should not see you again.' - -Mary was bending her riding-whip into a bow. - -'Did you not?' cried Rob, a little fiercely. - -Mary shook her head. - -'Then why did you do it?' he said. - -'I didn't do anything,' said Mary. - -'In all London,' said Rob, speaking at a venture, 'there has not been -one person for the last two months so miserable as myself.' - -Mary's eyes wandered from Rob's face far over the heather. There might -be tears in her eyes at any moment. The colonel was looking. - -'That stream,' said Rob, with a mighty effort, pointing to the distant -Whunny, 'twists round the hill on which we are now standing, and runs -through Thrums. It turns the wheel of a saw-mill there, and in that -saw-mill I was born and worked with my father for the greater part of my -life.' - -'I have seen it,' said Mary, with her head turned away. 'I have been in -it.' - -'It was on the other side of the hill that my sister's child was found -dead. Had she lived I might never have seen you.' - -'One of the gamekeepers,' said Mary, 'showed me the place where you -found her with her foot in the water.' - -'I have driven a cart through this glen a hundred times,' continued Rob -doggedly. 'You see that wooden shed at the schoolhouse; it was my father -and I who put it up. It seems but yesterday since I carted the boards -from Thrums.' - -'The dear boards,' murmured Mary. - -'Many a day my mother has walked from the saw-mill into this glen with -my dinner in a basket.' - -'Good mother,' said Mary, - -'Now,' said Rob, 'now, when I come back here and see you, I remember -what I am. I have lived for you from the moment I saw you, but however -hard I might toil for you, there must always be a difference between -us.' - -He was standing on the high bank, and their faces were very close. Mary -shuddered. - -'I only frighten you,' cried Rob. - -Mary raised her head, and, though her face was wet, she smiled. Her hand -went out to him, but she noticed it and drew it back. Rob saw it too, -but did not seek to take it. They were looking at each other bravely. -His eyes proposed to her, while he could not say a word, and hers -accepted him. On the hills men were shooting birds. - -Rob knew that Mary loved him. An awe fell upon him. 'What am I?' he -cried, and Mary put her hand in his. 'Don't, dear,' she said, as his -face sank on it; and he raised his head and could not speak. - -The colonel sighed, and his cheeks were red. His head sank upon his -hands. He was young again, and walking down an endless lane of green -with a maiden by his side, and her hand was in his. They sat down by the -side of a running stream. Her fair head lay on his shoulder, and she was -his wife. The colonel's lips moved as if he were saying to himself words -of love, and his arms went out to her who had been dead this many a -year, and a tear, perhaps the last he ever shed, ran down his cheek. - -'I should not,' Mary said at last, 'have let you talk to me like this.' - -Rob looked up with sudden misgiving. - -'Why not?' he cried. - -'Papa,' she said, 'will never consent, and I--I knew that; I have known -it all along.' - -'I am not going to give you up now,' Rob said passionately, and he -looked as if he would run away with her at that moment. - -'I had no right to listen to you,' said Mary. 'I did not mean to do so, -but I--I'--her voice sank into a whisper--'I wanted to know----' - -'To know that I loved you! Ah, you have known all along.' - -'Yes,' said Mary, 'but I wanted--I wanted to hear you say so yourself.' - -Rob's arms went over her like a hoop. - -'Rob, dear,' she whispered, 'you must go away, and never see me any -more.' - -'I won't,' cried Rob; 'you are to be my wife. He shall not part us.' - -'It can never be,' said Mary. - -'I shall see him--I shall compel him to consent.' - -Mary shook her head. - -'You don't want to marry me,' Rob said fiercely, drawing back from her. -'You do not care for me. What made you say you did?' - -'I shall have to go back now,' Mary said, and the softness of her voice -contrasted strangely with the passion in his. - -'I shall go with you,' Rob answered, 'and see your father.' - -'No, no,' said Mary; 'we must say good-bye here, now.' - -Rob turned on her with all the dourness of the Anguses in him. - -'Good-bye,' he said, and left her. Mary put her hand to her heart, but -he was already turning back. - -'Oh,' she cried, 'do you not see that it is so much harder to me than to -you?' - -'Mary, my beloved,' Rob cried. She swayed in her saddle, and if he had -not been there to catch her she would have fallen to the ground. - -Rob heard a footstep at his side, and, looking up, saw Colonel Abinger. -The old man's face was white, but there was a soft look in his eye, and -he stooped to take Mary to his breast. - -'No,' Rob said, with his teeth close, 'you can't have her. She's mine.' - -'Yes,' the colonel said sadly; 'she's yours.' - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE VERDICT OF THRUMS - - -On a mild Saturday evening in the following May, Sandersy Riach, -telegraph boy, emerged from the Thrums post-office, and, holding his -head high, strutted off towards the Tenements. He had on his uniform, -and several other boys flung gutters at it, to show that they were as -good as he was. - -'Wha's deid, Sandersy?' housewives flung open their windows to ask. - -'It's no a death,' Sandersy replied. 'Na, na, far frae that. I daurna -tell ye what it is, because it's agin' the regalations, but it'll cause -a michty wy doin' in Thrums this nicht.' - -'Juist whisper what it's aboot, Sandersy, my laddie.' - -'It canna be done, Easie; na, na. But them 'at wants to hear the noos, -follow me to Tammas Haggart's.' - -Off Sandersy went, with some women and a dozen children at his heels, -but he did not find Tammas in. - -'I winna hae't lyin' aboot here,' Chirsty, the wife of Tammas, said, -eyeing the telegram as something that might go off at any moment; 'ye'll -better tak it on to 'imsel. He's takkin a dander through the buryin' -ground wi' Snecky Hobart.' - -Sandersy marched through the east town end at the head of his -following, and climbed the steep, straight brae that leads to the -cemetery. There he came upon the stone-breaker and the bellman strolling -from grave to grave. Silva McQuhatty and Sam'l Todd were also in the -burying-ground for pleasure, and they hobbled toward Tammas when they -saw the telegram in his hand. - -'"Thomas Haggart,"' the stone-breaker murmured, reading out his own name -on the envelope, '"Tenements, Thrums."' Then he stared thoughtfully at -his neighbours to see whether that could be looked upon as news. It was -his first telegram. - -'Ay, ay, deary me,' said Silva mournfully. - -'She's no very expliceet, do ye think?' asked Sam'l Todd. - -Snecky Hobart, however, as an official himself, had a general notion of -how affairs of state are conducted. - -'Rip her open, Tammas,' he suggested. 'That's but the shell, I'm -thinkin'.' - -'Does she open?' asked Tammas, with a grin. - -He opened the telegram gingerly, and sat down on a prostrate tombstone -to consider it. Snecky's fingers tingled to get at it. - -'It begins in the same wy,' the stone-breaker said deliberately; -'"Thomas Haggart, Tenements, Thrums."' - -'Ay, ay, deary me,' repeated Silva. - -'That means it's to you,' Snecky said to Tammas. - -'Next,' continued Tammas, 'comes, "Elizabeth Haggart, 101, Lower Fish -Street, Whitechapel, London."' - -'She's a' names thegether,' muttered Sam'l Todd, in a tone of -remonstrance. - -'She's a' richt,' said Snecky, nodding to Tammas to proceed. 'Elizabeth -Haggart--that's wha the telegram comes frae.' - -'Ay, ay,' said the stone-breaker doubtfully, 'but I ken no Elizabeth -Haggart.' - -'Hoots,' said Snecky; 'it's your ain dochter Lisbeth.' - -'Keep us a',' said Tammas, 'so it is. I didna un'erstan' at first; ye -see we aye called her Leeby. Ay, an' that's whaur she bides in London -too.' - -'Lads, lads,' said Silva, 'an' is Leeby gone? Ay, ay, we all fade as a -leaf; so we do.' - -'What!' cried Tammas, his hand beginning to shake. - -'Havers,' said Snecky, 'ye hinna come to the telegram proper yet, -Tammas. What mair does it say?' - -The stone-breaker conned over the words, and by and by his face wrinkled -with excitement. He puffed his cheeks, and then let the air rush through -his mouth like an escape of gas. - -'It's Rob Angus,' he blurted out. - -'Man, man,' said Silva, 'an' him lookit sae strong an' snod when he was -here i' the back-end o' last year.' - -'He's no deid,' cried Tammas, 'he's mairit. Listen, lads, "The thing is -true Rob Angus has married the colonel's daughter at a castle Rob Angus -has married the colonel."' - -'Losh me!' said Sam'l, 'I never believed he would manage't.' - -'Ay, but she reads queer,' said Tammas. 'First she says Rob's mairit the -dochter, an' neist 'at he's mairit the colonel.' - -'Twa o' them!' cried Silva, who was now in a state to believe anything. - -Snecky seized the telegram, and thought it over. - -'I see what Leeby's done,' he said admiringly. 'Ye're restreected to -twenty words in a telegram, an' Leeby found she had said a' she had to -say in fourteen words, so she's repeated hersel to get her full -shilling's worth.' - -'Ye've hit it, Snecky,' said Tammas. 'It's juist what Leeby would do. -She was aye a michty thrifty, shrewd crittur.' - -'A shilling's an awfu' siller to fling awa, though,' said Sam'l. - -'It's weel spent in this case,' retorted Tammas, sticking up for his -own; 'there hasna been sic a startler in Thrums since the English kirk -steeple fell.' - -'Ye can see Angus's saw-mill frae here,' exclaimed Silva, implying that -this made the affair more wonderful than ever. - -'So ye can,' said Snecky, gazing at it as if it were some curiosity that -had been introduced into Thrums in the night-time. - -'To think,' muttered Tammas, ''at the saw-miller doon there should be -mairit in a castle. It's beyond all. Oh, it's beyond, it's beyond.' - -'Sal, though,' said Sam'l suspiciously, 'I wud like a sicht o' the -castle. I mind o' readin' in a booky 'at every Englishman's hoose is his -castle, so I'm thinkin' castle's but a name in the sooth for an ord'nar -hoose.' - -'Weel a wat, ye never can trust thae foreigners,' said Silva; 'it's weel -beknown 'at English is an awful pretentious langitch too. They slither -ower their words in a hurried wy 'at I canna say I like; no, I canna -say I like it.' - -'Will Leeby hae seen the castle?' asked Sam'l. - -'Na,' said Tammas; 'it's a lang wy frae London; she'll juist hae heard -o' the mairitch.' - -'It'll hae made a commotion in London, I dinna doot,' said Snecky, 'but, -lads, it proves as the colonel man stuck to Rob.' - -'Ay, I hardly expected it.' - -'Ay, ay, Snecky, ye 're richt. Rob'll hae manage't him. Weel, I will say -this for Rob Angus, he was a crittur 'at was terrible fond o' gettin' -his ain wy.' - -'The leddy had smoothed the thing ower wi' her faither,' said Tammas, -who was notorious for his knowledge of women; 'ay, an' there was a -brither, ye mind? Ane o' the servants up at the Lodge said to Kitty -Wobster 'at they were to be mairit the same day, so I've nae doot they -were.' - -'Ay,' said Sam'l, pricking up his ears, 'an' wha was the brither -gettin'?' - -'Weel, it was juist gossip, ye understan'. But I heard tell 'at the -leddy had a tremendous tocher, an' 'at she was called Meredith.' - -'Meredith!' exclaimed Silva McQuhatty, 'what queer names some o' thae -English fowk has; ay, I prefer the ord'nar names mysel.' - -'I wonder,' said Snecky, looking curiously at the others, 'what Rob has -in the wy o' wages?' - -'That's been discuss't in every hoose in Thrums,' said Sam'l, 'but -there's no doubt it's high, for it's a salary; ay, it's no wages.' - -'I dinna ken what Rob has,' Silva said, 'but some o' thae writers makes -awfu' sums. There's the yeditor o' the _Tilliedrum Weekly Herald_ noo. -I canna tell his income, but I have it frae Dite Deuchars, wha kens, 'at -he pays twa-an'-twenty pound o' rent for's hoose.' - -'Ay, but Rob's no a yeditor,' said Sam'l. - -'Ye're far below the mark wi' Rob's salary,' said Tammas. 'My ain -opeenion is 'at he has a great hoose in London by this time, wi' twa or -three servants, an' a lad in knickerbuckers to stan' ahent his chair and -reach ower him to cut the roast beef.' - -'It may be so,' said Snecky, who had heard of such things, 'but if it is -it'll irritate Rob michty no to get cuttin' the roast 'imsel. Thae -Anguses aye likit to do a'thing for themsels.' - -'There's the poseetion to think o',' said Tammas. - -'Thrums'll be a busy toon this nicht,' said Sam'l, 'when it hears the -noos. Ay, I maun awa an' tell the wife.' - -Having said this, Sam'l sat down on the tombstone. - -'It'll send mair laddies on to the papers oot o' Thrums,' said Tammas. -'There's three awa to the printin' trade since Rob was here, an' Susie -Byars is to send little Joey to the business as sune as he's auld -eneuch.' - -'Joey'll do weel in the noospaper line,' said Silva; 'he writes a better -han' than Rob Angus already.' - -'Weel, weel, that's the main thing, lads.' - -Sam'l moved off slowly to take the news into the east town end. - -'It's to Rob's creedit,' said Tammas to the two men remaining, ''at he -wasna at all prood when he came back. Ay, he called on me very frank -like, as ye'll mind, an' I wasna in, so Chirsty dusts a chair for 'im, -and comes to look for me. Lads, I was fair ashamed to see 'at in her -fluster she'd gien him a common chair, when there was hair-bottomed anes -in the other room. Ye may be sure I sent her for a better chair, an' got -him to change, though he was sort o' mad like at havin' to shift. That -was his ind'pendence again.' - -'I was aye callin' him Rob,' said Snecky, 'forgettin' what a grand man -he was noo, an', of coorse, I corrected mysel, and said Mr. Angus. Weel, -when I'd dune that mebbe a dozen times he was fair stampin's feet wi' -rage, as ye micht say. Ay, there was a want o' patience aboot Rob -Angus.' - -'He slippit a gold sovereign into my hand,' said Silva, 'but, losh, he -wudna lat me thank 'im. "Hold yer tongue," he says, or words to that -effec', when I insistit on't.' - -At the foot of the burying-ground road Sam'l Todd could be seen laying -it off about Rob to a little crowd of men and women. Snecky looked at -them till he could look no longer. - -'I maun awa wi' the noos to the wast toon end,' he said, and by and by -he went, climbing the dyke for a short cut. - -'Weel, weel, Rob Angus is mairit,' said Silva to Tammas. - -'So he is, Silva,' said the stone-breaker. - -'It's an experiment,' said Silva. - -'Ye may say so, but Rob was aye venturesome.' - -'Ye saw the leddy, Tammas?' - -'Ay, man, I did mair than that. She spoke to me, an' speired a lot aboot -the wy Rob took on when little Davy was fund deid. He was fond o' his -fowk, Rob, michty fond.' - -'What was your opeenion o' her then, Tammas?' - -'Weel, Silva, to tell the truth I was oncommon favourably impreesed. She -shook hands wi' me, man, an' she had sic a saft voice an' sic a bonny -face I was a kind o' carried awa; yes, I was so.' - -'Ay, ye say that, Tammas. Weel, I think I'll be movin'. They'll be keen -to hear aboot this in the square.' - -'I said to her,' continued Tammas, peering through his half-closed eyes -at Silva, ''at Rob was a lucky crittur to get sic a bonny wife.' - -'Ye did!' cried Silva. 'An' hoo did she tak that?' - -'Ou,' said Tammas complacently, 'she took it weel.' - -'I wonder,' said Silva, now a dozen yards away, ''at Rob never sent ony -o' the papers he writes to Thrums juist to lat's see them.' - -'He sent a heap,' said Tammas, 'to the minister, meanin' them to be -passed roond, but Mr. Dishart didna juist think they were quite the -thing, ye un'erstan', so he keeps them lockit up in a press.' - -'They say in the toon,' said Silva, ''at Rob would never hae got on sae -weel if Mr. Dishart hadna helpit him. Do you think there's onything in -that?' - -Tammas was sunk in reverie, and Silva at last departed. He was out of -sight by the time the stone-breaker came to. - -'I spoke to the minister aboot it,' Tammas answered, under the -impression that Silva was still there, 'an' speired at him if he had -sent a line aboot Rob to the London yeditors, but he wudna say.' - -Tammas moved his head round, and saw that he was alone. - -'No,' he continued thoughtfully, addressing the tombstones, 'he would -neither say 'at he did nor 'at he didna. He juist waved his han' like, -to lat's see 'at he was at the bottom o't, but didna want it to be -spoken o'. Ay, ay.' - -Tammas hobbled thoughtfully down one of the steep burying-ground walks, -until he came to a piece of sward with no tombstone at its head. - -'Ay,' he said, 'there's mony an Angus lies buried there, an' Rob's the -only are left noo. I hae helpit to hap the earth ower five, ay, sax o' -them. It's no to be expeckit, no, i' the course o' natur' it's no to be -expeckit, 'at I should last oot the seventh: no, but there's nae sayin'. -Ay, Rob, ye wasna sae fu' o' speerits as I'll waurant ye are the noo, -that day ye buried Davy. Losh, losh, it's a queer warld.' - -'It's a pretty spot to be buried in,' he muttered, after a time; and -then his eyes wandered to another part of the burying-ground. - -'Ay,' he said, with a chuckle, 'but I've a snod bit cornery up there for -mysel. Ou ay.' - - -THE END - - Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty at the - Edinburgh University Press - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of When a Man's Single, by J. M. 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