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diff --git a/42496-8.txt b/42496-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index eb2addf..0000000 --- a/42496-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5355 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miracle Gold (Vol. 2 of 3), by Richard Dowling - -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: Miracle Gold (Vol. 2 of 3) - A Novel - -Author: Richard Dowling - -Release Date: April 8, 2013 [EBook #42496] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIRACLE GOLD (VOL. 2 OF 3) *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - - 1. Page scan source: - http://books.google.com/books?id=nj4VAAAAQAAJ - (Oxford University) - - - - - - - MIRACLE GOLD. - - - - - - - New Novels at the Libraries. - - * * * * * - - MARVEL. By the Author of "Molly Bawn." 3 vols. - FOR FREEDOM. By TIGHE HOPKINS. 2 vols. - MOLLY'S STORY; a Family History. 3 vols. - AN ADVENTURESS. 2 vols. - LADY STELLA AND HER LOVER. 3 vols. - ONE MAID'S MISCHIEF. By G. M. FENN. 3 vols. - UNCLE BOB'S NIECE. By LESLIE KEITH. 3 vols. - A VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS. By C. FOTHERGILL. 3 vols. - - * * * * * - - WARD & DOWNEY, PUBLISHERS, LONDON. - - - - - - - MIRACLE GOLD. - - - A Novel. - - - - - - BY - - RICHARD DOWLING, - - AUTHOR OF - - "The Mystery of Killard," "The Weird Sisters," - "Tempest Driven," "Under St. Paul's," &c. - - - - - _IN THREE VOLUMES_. - - - VOL. II. - - - - - - LONDON: - - WARD AND DOWNEY, - - 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C. - - 1888. - - [_All rights reserved_.] - - - - - - - PRINTED BY - KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, - AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES. - - - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - CHAP. - - XIV.--Spirit and Flesh. - - XV.--A Substitute for Gold. - - XVI.--Red Herrings. - - XVII.--Dinner at Curzon Street. - - XVIII.--In the Dark. - - XIX.--Mrs. Hanbury. - - XX.--John Hanbury Alone. - - XXI.--Timmons's Tea and Leigh's Dinner. - - XXII.--A Quarter Past Twelve. - - XXIII.--An Early Visitor to Timmons. - - XXIV.--Gracedieu, Derbyshire. - - XXV.--Two of a Race. - - XXVI.--The End of Day. - - - - - - - MIRACLE GOLD. - - - - - - - MIRACLE GOLD. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - SPIRIT AND FLESH. - - -The folding-doors between the back and front drawing-rooms at Mrs. -Ashton's were thrown open, and both rooms were full that Thursday -afternoon. Some of the visitors were standing, some sitting, and many -ladies and gentlemen were moving about. A few had cups of tea, and all -seemed to wish to appear pleased and pleasant. If serious matters were -mentioned or discussed, it was in a light and desultory way It was -impossible to plan ground for the foundation of enduring structures in -politics, or taste, or art, or science, or polemics, when a humourist -might come up and regard what you were saying as the suggestion for a -burlesque opera or harlequinade. All the talk was touch-and-go, and as -bright and witty as the speakers could make it. There was an unceasing -clatter of tongues and ripple of laughter, which had not time to -gather volume. Most of the people were serious and earnest, but the -great bulk of the dialogue was artificial, designedly and deliberately -artificial, for the purpose of affording relief to the speakers. Mrs. -Ashton held that the most foolish way to spend life is to be always -wise. These At homes were for recreation, not for the solemnities of -work. People took no liberties, but all were free. Even such sacred -subjects as the franchise, drainage, compound interest, the rights of -the subject, and oysters, were dealt with lightly on Thursdays in -Curzon Street. - -As Oscar Leigh followed John Hanbury slowly from the immediate -vicinity of Mrs. Ashton, his ears were aware of many and various -voices saying many and various things, but he paid no attention to -voices or words. He was all eyes. Miss Ashton was moving away to her -former place by the window. She was accompanied by a tall, grizzled, -military-looking man, who, to judge by her quick glances and laughing -replies, was amusing and interesting her very much. - -"That was a wild prank of yours," said Hanbury, bending over the -little man and laying admonitory emphasis on his words. "You ought not -to play tricks like that in a place like this. Everyone who saw and -heard, Mrs. Ashton of course among the number, must have noticed your -manner and the effect your words had upon----" He paused. They were -standing in the second window-place. He did not like to say "upon me," -for that would be an admission he had felt alarmed or frightened; it -would also imply a suspicion of Leigh's trustworthiness in keeping his -word and the secret. - -The clockmaker did not say anything for a moment. He had no intention -of helping Hanbury over the pause. It was his design, on the contrary, -to embarrass the other as much as he could. He looked up with an -innocent expression of face, and asked, "The effect of my manner on -what, or whom?" - -"Well," said Hanbury, with hesitation, "upon anyone who heard. Tricks -of that kind may be amusing, but I am afraid you did not improve your -credit for sense with Miss Ashton by what you said and your way of -saying it. For a moment I felt afraid she might be surprised into an -expression that would betray all." - -"_You!_" cried Leigh in a low tone of wild amazement. "_You_ were -afraid Miss Ashton might have been surprised into an expression that -would have betrayed all?" - -"Yes. She was not prepared for your little sally and your subtlety," -said Hanbury with a frown. It was intolerable to have to speak of Dora -Ashton, his Dora, his wife that was to be, to this mechanic, or -mechanist, or mechanician, or whatever he happened to be. "Miss Ashton -might have been taken off her guard." - -"Bah, sir! _You_ might have been surprised and taken off _your_ guard -by what I said, but not _she!_ Hah!" He said this with a secret -mocking laugh. "I am fairly astonished at a man of your intelligence, -Mr. Hanbury, mistaking me for a fool. I _never_ make mistakes about -people. I never make wrong estimates of the _men_ or _women_ I meet. I -would trust Miss Ashton in any position of danger or difficulty, any -situation requiring courage or tact." - -"I am sure if she knew your high estimate of her she would be -enormously flattered," said Hanbury, with a sneer. - -"No, she would not. She is not the woman to be flattered by anything, -and certainly not by any such trifle as my opinion of her good sense. -_You_ ought to know as much by this time. You and she are engaged?" - -The cool assurance of the dwarf's manner, and the simple directness of -the question with which he finished his speech, had the effect of -numbing Hanbury's faculties, and confusing his purpose. "The relations -between Miss Ashton and me are not a subject I care to speak of, and I -beg of you to say no more of the matter," said he, with clumsiness, -arising from disgust and annoyance, and the sense of helplessness. - -"Hah! I thought so. Now if you were only as clever as Miss Ashton, you -would not allow me to find out how matters stood between you and her, -as you have plainly done by your answer. You are a young man, and in -life many things are against a young man. In an encounter of this kind -his bad temper is his chief foe. Hah!" - -Hanbury's head was fiery hot, and his mind in a whirl. Things and -people around him were blurred and dim to his eyes. "I have performed -my part of the contract," he said, with impotent fury, "had we not -better go now? This is no place for scenes or lectures, for lectures -by even the most able and best qualified." - -This conversation had been conducted in suppressed voices, inaudible -to all ears but those of the speakers, and most of it by the open -window, Miss Ashton being at her former position in the other one -looking into the street. - -"Yes, you have done your part. You have introduced me to Miss Ashton, -or rather Mrs. Ashton has done so, and that is the same thing. I am -perfectly satisfied so far. I do not ask you to do any more. I am not -a levier of blackmail. I, too, have performed my part of the contract. -So far we are quits. We are as though we had never met. If you have -any engagement or wish that draws you away from this place I do not -see why you should remain. If you want to go, by all means go. I shall -stay. Hah!" - -"What! Mr. Leigh, you do not mean to say you intend using my -introduction here, which I undertook in compliance with your whim, as -the means of effecting a lodgment!" - -Leigh sprinkled a few drops of eau-de-cologne from his little silver -flask into the palms of his long brown-yellow hands and sniffed it up -noisily. "You do not use eau-de-cologne? You are wrong. It is -refreshing--most refreshing. If you had been poring over retorts and -crucibles until your very marrow was turned to dust, burnt-up to -powder, you'd appreciate eau-de-cologne. It's most refreshing. It is, -indeed. I am not going away from this place yet; but do not let me -detain you if business or pleasure is awaiting you anywhere else. Do -not stand on ceremony with me, my dear sir." - -Hanbury ground his teeth and groaned. Sinbad's Old Man of the Sea was -pleasant company compared with this hideous monster. Go from this -place leaving him behind! John Hanbury would sooner fling himself -head-foremost from that window than walk down the stairs without this -hateful incubus. He now knew Leigh too well to try and divert or win -him from his purpose. The dwarf was one of those men who see the -object they desire to the exclusion of all other objects, and never -take their eyes off it until it is in their hands. Once having brought -Leigh here, he must hold himself at his mercy until it pleased the -creature to take himself off. How deplorably helpless and mean and -degraded he felt! He had never been in so exasperating and humiliating -a position before, and to feel as he felt now, and be so circumstanced -in this house above all other houses in London! It was not to be -borne. - -Then he reflected on the events which had drawn him into the -predicament. He had gone down that atrocious Chetwynd Street at Dora's -request, and against his own wish, conviction, instinct. They had seen -the hateful place, and the odious people who lived there. That -accident had befallen him, and while he was insensible Dora had given -this man their names. He had come back to prevent their names getting -into the newspapers, and found this man in the act of meditating a -paragraph, with the "Post Office Directory" before him. He saw this -man was not open to a money-bribe, but still he was open to a bribe, -and the bribe was, to state it shortly, bringing him here, and -introducing him to Dora. He introduced him to Mrs. Ashton, and, seeing -that he brought Leigh to her house, she naturally thought he was a -great friend of his! Good heavens, a great friend of his! - -Only for Dora nothing of this would ever have happened. It all arose -out of her foolish interest in the class of people of whom Leigh was a -specimen. It was poetic justice on her that Leigh should insist upon -coming here. Would it not be turning this visit into a useful lesson -to her if she were allowed to see more of this specimen of the people? -The kind of mind this man had? The kind of man he was? Yes, they -should go to Dora. - -During the progress of Leigh and Hanbury through the room to Mrs. -Ashton, and on their way from her to the window, Hanbury had met a -score of people he knew intimately, and several others with whom he -was acquainted. He had nodded and spoken a few words of greeting right -and left, and, when there was any likelihood of friends expecting more -of him, had glanced at his companion to intimate that he was engaged -and devoted to him. Whatever was to happen, it would not do to allow -the clockmaker to break away from him, and mingle unaccompanied in the -throng. While the two were at the window, Hanbury stood with his back -to the room, in front of Leigh, so that he himself might not easily be -accosted, and Leigh should be almost hidden from view. - -He now made a violent effort to compose his mind and his features, and -with an assumption of whimsical good humour turned round and faced the -room. He had in a dismal and disagreeable way made up his mind to -brazen out this affair. Let them both go to Dora, and when he was -alone with her after dinner he could arrange that Leigh was not to -come here again, for apart from Leigh's general objectionableness it -would be like living in a powder magazine with a lunatic possessing -flint and steel to be in Ashton's house with a man who held the secret -of Chetwynd Street or Welbeck Place, or whatever the beastly region -was called. - -"I am not in the least hurry away from this, Mr. Leigh," said he, -partly turning to the other. "It occurred to me that the place might -be dull to you." - -"On the contrary, the place and the people are most interesting to me. -I am not, as you may fancy, much of a society man. I go out but -little. I am not greatly sought after, Mr. Hanbury; and I do not think -you can consider it unreasonable in me to wish to see this thing out." -He was speaking suavely and pleasantly now, and when one was not -looking at him there appeared nothing in his tone or manner to suggest -disagreeableness, unless the heavy thick breathing, half wheeze, half -gasp. - -"But there is nothing to be seen out. There is no climax to these At -homes. People come and chat and perhaps drink a cup of tea and go -away. That is all. By the way, the servant has just set down some tea -by Miss Ashton; perhaps you would like a cup." - -"I have had no breakfast. I have eaten nothing to-day." - -"I am sorry for that. I am greatly afraid they will not give you -anything very substantial here; nothing but a cup of tea and a biscuit -or wafery slice of bread. But let us get some. Half a loaf is better -than no bread." He forced a smile, as pleasant a one as he could -command. - -"I shall be most grateful for a cup of tea from Miss Ashton's hands," -said the dwarf graciously. - -"He can," thought Hanbury, as they moved towards the other window, -where Miss Ashton was now standing over a tiny inlaid table on which -rested the tea equipage, "be quite human when he likes." Aloud he -said, "I hope you will be more guarded this time?" - -"I am always guarded--and armed. I shall be glad to take the useful -olive from Pallas-Athena." - -"And the olive bough too, I hope," said Hanbury under an impulse of -generosity. - -"It was a dove not a goddess brought the olive bough." - -"But the dove was only a messenger." - -"The olive bough was only a symbol; the olive itself was substantive -good." - -"But is not the symbol of peace better than an earthly meal?" - -"Answer your own case out of your own mouth. I have never eaten -to-day. I have never eaten yet in all my life. You are filled with -divine luxuries. Go you your gait, I go mine. Tell me, Mr. Hanbury, -would you rather have the spirit of my promise to you or the flesh of -my promise?" - -"I do not know exactly what you mean." - -"Would you rather trust my word or see my dead body? If I were dead I -could not speak." - -"Trust your word beyond all doubt," said Hanbury with a perplexed and -uneasy smile. - -"Hah! I believe you believe what you say. But I am afraid your -shoulders are not broad enough, your back is not strong enough for the -faith you profess in me. I don't suppose you'd go to the extremity of -murdering me, but at this moment you would not be sorry if I fell dead -at your feet. Hah!" - -"Pray do not say such a horrible thing. I assure you it is not -true. Indeed you wrong me. I do not want the miserable thing talked -about----" - -"Sir, are you referring to me? I am the only miserable thing here." - -"You are incorrigible." - -"You are mistaken, sir. I am as plastic as wax; but like wax, if the -fingers that touch me are cold I become brittle." - -"If you persist how are we to approach Miss Ashton?" - -"Thus! Follow me!" - -He threw back his head haughtily, and glancing with scorn from side to -side, strode to the table over which bent the exquisite face and -figure of Dora. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - A SUBSTITUTE FOR GOLD. - - -The air of pleasant badinage which pervaded the room had no more -effect on Oscar Leigh than on the gasalier. No one spoke to him, for -no one knew him. Except what passed between Leigh and Hanbury all -words were intended for any ears who might hear. Intensities of -individuality were laid aside at the threshold. Those whose -individuality pursued and tyrannized over them like a Frankenstein -remained away. They did not put it to themselves in this way. They -told themselves they found the place too mixed or too light or too -frivolous or too distracting. - -Oscar Leigh was in no degree influenced by the humour or manner of the -people present. These chattering men and women were indifferent to -him, so long as he did not see how to put them to any use or find them -in his way. He was not accustomed to the society of ladies and -gentlemen, and consequently he omitted little customary observances. -But he was not inured to any society at all, and this saved him from -vulgarities; and then he was much used to commune with himself, which -gave him directness and simplicity of manner. - -One of the things affording freshness and vitality to Leigh was that -he did not feel the need of common-places. Common-places are the -tribute which intelligence pays to stupidity. They are the inventions -of a beneficent Satan in the interest of the self-respect of fools. - -"Miss Ashton," said Leigh bowing without emphasis or a smile, "I have -ventured to come to beg a cup of tea of you." - -She looked at him with a smile and said, "You have chosen the right -moment. I have just got a fresh supply." - -"This is a very fortunate day for me. It may be the most fortunate day -of my life." - -"And what is the nature of the good fortune you have found to-day?" -she asked, handing him a tiny cup, while the servant who still -lingered near offered him some thin bread-and-butter. There were -half-a-dozen films on an exquisite china dish. Leigh took one doubled -it twice and ate it greedily. - -"You will let me have all? I have tasted no food to-day." - -"Oh, certainly. I am afraid all is very little. But James can get us -more." A faint colour had come into Miss Ashton's face. James, the -servant, who had been christened Wilfrid, passed his disengaged hand -over his mouth to conceal a smile. Hanbury flushed purple. For a -moment there was a pause in the talk of those within hearing. - -"What's the matter?" asked a very young man with a very fresh -healthy-looking face of a chatty dowager who was looking through a -gold-rimmed eye-glass at the dwarf. - -"Hanbury's friend, the dwarf, is _eating!_" - -"Good Heavens!" cried the young man leaning against the wall at his -back as in dismay. - -Leigh went on eating. - -"It is excellent bread-and-butter," said he when he had finished the -last slice. "I have never tasted better." - -Hanbury stooped to pick up nothing and whispered "This is not a -restaurant," fiercely into Leigh's ear. - -"Eh? No. I am well aware of that," said the other in an ordinary tone -and quite audibly. "You would not find such good bread-and-butter as -that in any restaurant I know of. Or it may be that I was very -hungry." - -"Shall I get some more?" asked Miss Ashton, who had by this time -recovered from her surprise and was beaming with good-natured -amusement. - -"You are very kind, thank you. It was enough." - -"I tell you what it is, Lady Forcar, that is a remarkable person," -said the young man with the fresh complexion, to the dowager. - -"If people hear of this it will become the fashion," said Lady Forcar, -whose complexion never altered except in her dressing-room or when the -weather was excessively hot. - -"What?" asked the young man. "What will become the fashion?" - -"Eating." - -"How shocking!" - -"If that man had only money and daring and a handsome young wife, he -could do anything--anything. He could make pork sausages the rage. -Have you ever eaten pork sausages, Sir Julius?" - -"Thousands of times. They are often the only things I can eat for -breakfast, but not in London. One should never eat anything they can -make in London." - -"Pork is a neglected animal," said Lady Forcar with a sigh. "It must -be years since I tasted any." - -"You know pork isn't exactly an animal?" - -"No. Pork sausages are animalculę of pork with bread and thyme and -sweet marjoram and fennel and mint. Have you ever taken it into your -mind, Sir Julius, to explain why it is that while a pig when alive is -far from agreeable company, no sooner does he die than all the -romantic herbs of the kitchen garden gather round him?" - -"No doubt it comes under the head of natural selection." - -"No doubt it does. Have you ever tried to account for the fact that -there are no bones in pork sausages?" - -"I fancy it may be explained by the same theory of natural selection. -The bones select some other place." - -"True. Very true. _That_ never occurred to me before. Do you know I -have often thought of giving up my intellect and devoting the -remainder of my days to sensualism." - -"Good gracious, Lady Forcar, that sounds appalling." - -"It does. If I had as much genius as that humpbacked little man, I'd -do it, but I feel my deficiency; I know I haven't the afflatus." - -"The thing sounds very horrible as you put it. For what form of -sensualism would you go in? climate? or soap? or chemical waters? or -yachting?" - -"None of them. Simply pork. You observe that the people who are -nearest the sensible and uncorrupted beasts worship pork. If you hear -anyone speak well of pork, that person is a sensualist at heart. I -sigh continually for pork. The higher order of apes, including man, -live in trees and on fruits that grow nearer to Heaven than any other -thing. Cows and sheep and low types of man and brutes of moderate -grossness eat things they find on the earth, such as grass and corn, -and hares and deer and goats, but it is only pigs and men of the -lowest types that burrow into the ground for food. The lowest creature -of all is the sensualist, who not only eats potatoes and turnips and -carrots but the very pigs that root for things nature has had the -decency to hide away from the sight of the eyes of angels and of men. -Can you conceive anything lower in the scale of sensual joy or more -delicious than pork and onions? I tell you, Sir Julius, if this -humpbacked dwarf only had money, a handsome wife and courage, he could -popularize sausages being served before the soup. He is the only man -since Napoleon the Great who has the manner of power sufficient for -such a reform." - -"Let us devoutly hope, Lady Forcar, that he may bring about the -blessed change, that is if you wish it." - -"Wish it! Good Heavens, Sir Julius, you don't for a moment fancy me -capable of trifling with such a subject! I say to you deliberately, it -is the only thing which would now save Society from ennui and its -present awful anxiety about the temperature of the soup." - -The dowager Lady Forcar was well known for her persiflage, her -devotion to her young and plain daughter-in-law, the head now of her -son's house, her inch-thick paint, of which she spoke freely and -explained on the grounds of keeping in the swim, and her intense -interest in all that affected the welfare of the rural cottager. - -Sir Julius Whinfield, in spite of his very fresh young face and -affectation, was an excellent authority on Hebrew and the manufacture -of silk, so that if he had only happened to live once upon a time he -might have talked wisdom to Solomon and dresses with Solomon's wives. -He was not a clever conversationalist, but when not under pressure -could say sound things pithily. Of Lady Forcar he once declared that -he never understood what a saint must have been like when living until -he met her. This did not come to her ears and had nothing to do with -her liking for the young man. - -The tall, military-looking man who had been speaking to Miss Ashton, -and who was not a soldier but a composer of music, now came up and -said: - -"I am in sore need of you, Lady Forcar. I am about to start a new -crusade. I am going to try to depose the greatest tyrant of the time." - -"And who is that? Wagner? Bismarck? The Russian Bear? The Higher -Culture?" - -"No. Soap. I am of opinion that this age can do no good so long as it -is bound to the chariot wheels of soap. This is the age of science, -and soap is its god. Old Q. once became impatient with the river -Thames, and said he could see nothing in it----" - -"He was born too soon. In his time they had not begun to spy into the -slums of nature. For my part I think the microscope is the tyrant of -this age. What did old Q. say about our father Tiber?" - -"He said he could see nothing in it, that it always went -flow--flow--flow, and that was all." - -"One must not expect too much of a river. A river is no more than -human, after all. But what has soap been doing?" - -"Nothing; and in the fact that it has been doing nothing lies one of -my chief counts against it. Of old you judged a man by the club to -which he belonged, the number of his quarterings, the tailor who made -his clothes, the income he had, the wife he married, the horses he -backed, or the wine he drank. Now we classify men according to the -soap they use. There are more soaps now than patent medicines." - -"Soaps are patent medicine for external use only," said Lady Forcar, -touching her white plump wrist. - -"There may be some sense in a pill against the earthquake, or against -an unlucky star, but how on earth can soap be of any use? First you -smear a horrid compound over you, and then you wash it off as quickly -as possible. Can anything be more childish? It is even more childish -than the Thames. It can't even flow of itself. It is a relic of -barbarism." - -"But are not we ourselves relics of barbarism? Suppose you were to -abolish all relics of barbarism in man, you would have no man at all. -Heads, and arms, and bodies, are relics of barbaric man. Had not -barbaric man heads, and arms, and bodies? Are you going to abolish -heads, and arms, and bodies?" - -"Well," said Mr. Anstruther, the composer, "I don't know. I think they -might be reduced. Anyway," dropping his voice, and bending over her -ladyship, "our little friend here, whom Mr. Hanbury brought in, -manages to hold his own, and more than hold his own, with less of such -relics of barbarism than most of us." - -"I was just saying to Sir Julius when you, Mr. Anstruther, came up, -that I consider the stranger the most remarkable man I ever met in -this house, and quite capable of undertaking and carrying out any -social revolution, even to the discrediting of soap. If you have been -introduced bring him to me." - -"I haven't, unfortunately, but I'll tell Hanbury, who looks as black -as thunder, that you would like to speak to him." - -"I have scarcely seen Miss Ashton to-day. Let us go to them. That is -the simplest way," said Lady Forcar, rising and moving towards the -place where Dora, Hanbury, and Leigh stood. - -When Leigh finished eating the bread-and-butter and drinking the tiny -cup of tea, he said: "You wish, Miss Ashton, to know in what way I -have been lucky to-day?" - -She looked in perplexity at Hanbury, and then at the dwarf. She had no -doubt he had alluded to her when he spoke of having found a model for -the Pallas-Athena. An average man accustomed to ordinary social -observances would not pursue that kind of flattery any further, but -could this man be depended on? He certainly was not an ordinary man, -and as certainly he was not accustomed to ordinary social observances. -If he pursued that subject it would be embarrassing. It was quite -plain John was in very bad humour. He deserved to be punished for his -pusillanimous selfishness to-day, but there were limits beyond which -punishment ought not to be pressed. She would forgive John now and try -to make the best of the situation. She felt convinced that John would -not have brought this man here except under great pressure. Let him be -absolved from further penalties. - -She said pleasantly: "One always likes to hear of good fortune coming -to those in whom one is interested." Nothing could be more bald, or -commonplace, or trite, yet in the heart of Leigh the words made joyous -riot. She had implied, even if she did not mean her implication, that -she took an interest in _him_. - -"I was speaking a moment ago about the figures of time in my clock. I -had the honour of telling Mrs. Ashton that there would be thousands of -them, and that they would be modelled, not chiefly or at all for the -display of mechanism, but in the first place as works of art; to these -works of art mechanism would be adapted later." - -"Which will make your clock the only one of the kind in the world," -said she, much relieved to find no pointed reference to herself. - -"Precisely. But I did not do myself the honour of telling Mrs. Ashton -of what material the figures were to be composed." - -"No. I do not think you said what they would be made of. Wax, is it -not?" With the loss of apprehension on her own account, she had gained -interest in this wonderful clock. - -"The models will of course be made of wax, but the figures themselves, -the figures which I intend to bequeath to posterity, will be made of -gold." - -"Gold! All those figures made of gold! Why, your clock will cost you a -fortune." - -"It will not cost _me_ as much as it would cost any other man living. -I am going to make the gold too." He drew himself up, and looked -proudly round. - -At this moment Lady Forcar and Mr. Anstruther came up, and -introductions took place. Leigh submitted to the introductions as -though he had no interest in them beyond the interruption they caused -in what he was saying. - -Miss Ashton briefly placed Lady Forcar and Mr. Anstruther in -possession of the subject, and then Leigh went on. He no longer leant -upon his stick. He straightened himself, threw back his head -haughtily, and kept it back. He shifted his stout gnarled stick into -his left hand and thrust the long, thin, sallow, hairy fingers of his -right hand into the breast of his coat, and looked around as though -challenging denial. - -"I have," he said, "invented a metal, a compound which is absolutely -indistinguishable from gold, which is in fact gold, and of which I -shall make my figures. Mystery gold was a clumsy juggle that one found -out in the fire. My gold is _bonā fide_ a miracle, and I have called -it Miracle Gold. My gold will resist the acid, and the blow-pipe, and -the crucible. As I live, if they provoke me, I will sell them not -metal miracle gold, but perchloride of miracle gold. No one can doubt -me then!" - -"And will you be able, Mr. Leigh, to make not only enough for your -figures but some for sale also?" asked Mr. Anstruther. - -"I may be able to spare a little, but my gold cannot be sold for a -chapman's price. It will cost me much in money and health and risk, -and even then the yield will be small." - -"In health and risk?" said Miss Ashton, in a tone of concern and -sympathy. "How in health and risk?" He seemed even now to have but -little store of health. - -He lowered his head and abated the arrogance of his manner. "The steam -of fusing metals and fumes of acids are not for men who would live -long, Miss Ashton. They paralyse the muscles and eat into the -wholesome flesh of those whose flesh is wholesome, while with one who -is not fashioned fair to the four winds of attack, the end comes with -insidious speed. Then for the risk, there are conjunctions of -substances that, both in the dry and the wet, lead often to unexpected -ebullitions and rancorous explosions of gas or mere forces that kill. -There may spring out of experiments vapours more deadly than any known -now, poisons that will slay like the sight of the angel of death." - -"Then, Mr. Leigh," said the girl, with eyes fixed upon him, "why need -you make these figures of time of such costly material?" - -"Ah, there may be reasons too tedious to relate." - -"And does the good fortune you speak of concern the manufacture of -this miracle gold?" she asked with a faint flush, and eyes shining -with anxiety. - -"It does." - -"A discovery which perhaps will make the manufacture less dangerous?" - -"Which would make the manufacture unnecessary." - -She clasped her hands before her with delight, and cried while her -eyes shone joyously into his, "Oh, that would be lucky indeed. And how -will you know if your augury of good fortune will come true?" - -"You are interested?" He bent his head still lower, and his voice was -neither so firm nor so harsh. - -"Intensely. You tell us your life may be endangered if you go on. Tell -us you think you can avoid the risk." - -"I do not know yet." - -"When can you know?" - -"Would you care to hear as soon as I know?" - -"Oh, yes." - -"I shall, I think, be certain by this day week." - -"Then come to us again next Thursday. We shall all be here as we are -now?" - -"Thank you, Miss Ashton, I will. Good day." - -He backed a pace and bowed to her, and then turned round, and, with -head erect and scornful eyes flashing right and left, but seeing -nothing, strode out of the room. - -"Dora," whispered Lady Forcar, "you have made another conquest. That -little genius is in love with you." - -The girl laughed, but did not look up for a moment. When she did so -her eyes were full of tears. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - RED HERRINGS. - - -Dealers in marine stores generally select quiet by-ways, back-waters -of traffic, for the scene of their trade. In the open high roads of -business the current is too quick for them. They buy and sell -substantial and weighty articles; their transactions are few and far -between. Those who come to sell may be in haste; those who come to -buy, never. No one ever yet rushed into a marine-store dealer's, and -hammered with his money on a second-hand copper, in lieu of a counter, -and shouted out that he could not wait a moment for a second-hand iron -tripod. It is extremely doubtful if a marine-store dealer ever sells -anything. Occasionally buying of ungainly, heavy, amorphous, -valueless-looking bundles goes on, but a sale hardly ever. Who, for -instance, could want an object visible in the business establishment -of John Timmons, Tunbridge Street, London Road? The most -important-looking article was a donkey-engine without a funnel, or any -of its taps, and with a large rusty hole bulged in its knobby boiler. -Then there lay a little distance from the engine the broken beam of a -large pair of scales and the huge iron scoop of another pair. After -this, looking along the left-hand side out of the gloom towards the -door, lay three cannon-shot, for guns of different calibres; then the -funnel of a locomotive, flat, and making a very respectable pretence -of having been the barrel from which the cannon-shot had dribbled, -instead of flown, because of the barrel's senile decay. After the -funnel came a broken anvil, around the blockless and deposed body -of which gathered--no doubt for the sake of old lang syne--two -sledge-hammer heads, without handles, and the nozzle of a prodigious -forge-bellows. Next appeared a heap of chunks of leaden pipe. Next, a -patch of mutilated cylindrical half-hundred weights, like iron -mushrooms growing up out of the ferruginous floor. The axle-tree and -boxes of a cart stood against the wall, like the gingham umbrella of -an antediluvian giant, and keeping them company the pillars and trough -of a shower-bath, plainly the stand into which the umbrella ought to -have been placed, if the dead Titan had had any notion of tidiness. -Then appeared the cistern of the shower-bath, like the Roundhead iron -cap of the cyclopean owner of the umbrella. Then spread what one might -fancy to be the mouth of a mine of coffee mills, followed by a huge -chaotic pile of rusty and broken guns and swords, and blunderbusses -and pistols. Beyond this chaotic patch, a ton of nuts and screws and -bolts; and, later, a bank of washers, a wire screen, five dejected -chimney-jacks, the stock of an anchor, broken from the flukes, several -hundred fathoms of short chains of assorted lengths, half a bundle of -nailrod iron, three glassless ship's lamps, a pile of brazen -miscellanies, a pile of iron miscellanies, a pile of copper -miscellanies, and then the doorless opening into Tunbridge Street, and -standing on the iron-grooved threshold, into which the shutters fitted -at night, Mr. John Timmons in person, the owner of this flourishing -establishment. - -Mr. John Timmons was a tall and very thin man, of fifty years, or -thereabouts. His face was dust-colour, with high, well-padded cheek -bones, blue eyes and insignificant cocked nose. His hair was dark -brown, touched here and there with grey, curly, short, thin. He wore a -low-crowned brown felt hat and a suit of dark chocolate tweed, the -trousers being half a span too short over his large shoes, and the -waistcoat half a span too wide, half a span too long, and buttoned up -to the deep-sunken hollow of his scraggy throat. His neck was -extremely long and thin and wrinkled, and covered with sparse greyish -hair. His ears were enormous, and stood out from his ill-shapen head -like fins. They were iron-grey, the colour of the under surface of a -bat's wing. The forehead was low, retreating, and creased with -close parallel lines. The eyes were keen, furtive, suspicious. A -hand's-breath below the sharp, large apple of his throat, and hanging -loose upon the waistcoat, was the knot of a washed-out blue cotton -neckerchief. He wore long mutton-chop whiskers. The rest of the face -was covered with a short, grizzled stubble. When he was not using his -hands, he carried them thrust down to the utmost in his trousers' -pockets, showing a wide strip of red sinewy arm between the sleeve of -his coat and the pocket of the trousers. No shirt was visible, and the -neckerchief touched the long, lank neck, there being no collar or -trace of linen. Excepting the blue patch of neckerchief on his chest, -and his blue eyes, no positive colour appeared anywhere about the man. -No part of the man himself or of his clothes was clean. - -Mr. Timmons was taking the air on his own threshold late in the -afternoon of that last Thursday in June. It was now some hours since -the dwarf had called and had held that conversation with him in the -cellar. Not a human being had entered the marine store since. Mr. -Timmons was gazing out of his watchet blue eyes in a stony and -abstracted way at the dead brick wall opposite. He had been standing -in this position for a good while, now shifting the weight of his body -to one foot, now to the other. Occasionally he cleared his throat, -which, being a supererogation, showed that he was in deep thought, for -no man, in his waking moments, could think of clearing so long a -throat without ample reason. The sound he made was so deep and -sepulchral it seemed as though he had left his voice behind him in the -cellar, and it was becoming impatient there. - -Although it had not yet struck six o'clock, he was thinking of closing -his establishment. At this time of the day very few people passed -through Tunbridge Street; often a quarter of an hour went by bringing -no visitor. But after six the street became busier, for with the end -of the working day came more carts and vans and barrows to rest for -the night with their shafts thrust up in the air, after their -particular manner of sleeping. This parking of the peaceful artillery -of the streets Mr. Timmons looked on with dislike, for it brought many -people about the place and no grist to his mill. He shared with poets -and aristocrats the desire for repose and privacy. - -As he was about to retire for the long shutters that by night defended -and veiled his treasure from predatory hands or prying eyes, his -enormous left ear became aware that feet were approaching from the end -of the street touching London Road. He turned his pale blue eyes in -the direction of the sound and saw coming along close to the wall the -figure of a low sized stout woman, wearing a black bonnet far off her -forehead. She was apparently about his own age, but except in the -matter of age there was no likeness in the appearance of the two. She -was dressed in shabby black stuff which had long ago forgotten to what -kind of material it belonged. Her appearance was what merciful -newspaper reporters describe as "decent," that is, she was not old or -in tatters, or young and attractive and gaudy in apparel; her clothes -were black and whole, and she was sober. She looked like an humble -monthly nurse or an ideal charwoman. She carried a fish-basket in her -hand. Out of this basket projected the tails of half-a-dozen red -herrings. She had, apparently, once been good-looking, and was now -well-favoured. She had that smooth, cheesy, oily, colourless rounded -face peculiar to well-fed women of the humbler class indigenous in -London. - -Mr. Timmons' forehead wrinkled upwards as he recognised the visitor to -Tunbridge Street. He smiled, displaying an imperfect line of long -discoloured teeth. - -"Good afternoon," said John Timmons in a deep vibrating voice that -sounded as though it had effected its escape from the cellar through a -drum. - -"Afternoon," said the woman entering the store without pausing. Then -nodding her head back in the direction whence she had come she asked: -"Anyone?" - -"No," answered Timmons, after a long and careful scrutiny of the -eastern half of Tunbridge Street. "Not a soul." - -"I thought I'd never get here. It's mortal hot. Are you sure there is -no one after me?" said the woman, sitting down on a broken fire-grate, -in the rear of the pile of shutters standing up against the wall on -the left. She began rubbing her perspiring glistening face with a -handkerchief of a dun colour rolled up in a damp ball. Still she held -her fish-bag in her hand. - -"Certain. Which shows what bad taste the men have. Now, only for Tom I -know you'd have one follower you could never shake off," said Timmons, -with a gallant laugh that sounded alarmingly deeper than his speaking -voice. Timmons was at his ease and leisure, and he made it a point to -be always polite to ladies. - -"Tom's at home," said the woman, thrusting the handkerchief into her -pocket and smiling briefly and mechanically in acknowledgment of the -man's compliment to her charms. "I've brought you some fish for your -tea." - -"Herrings," he said, bending to examine the protruding tails. "Fresh -herrings, or red?" he asked in a hushed significant voice. He did not -follow the woman into the store, but still stood at the threshold, so -that he could see up and down the street. - -"Red," she whispered hoarsely, "and as fine as ever you saw. I thought -you might like them for your tea." - -By this time a man with a cart turned into the street, and, it just -then striking six, the door of a factory poured out a living turbid -stream of bedraggled, frowsy girls, some of whom went up and some down -the street, noisily talking and laughing. - -"Yes, There is nothing I am so fond of for my tea as red herrings," he -said, with his face half turned to the store, half to the street. "And -I shall like them particularly to-night." - -"Eh! Particularly to-night? Are you alone? Are you going to have -company at tea, Mr. Timmons?" asked the woman in a tone and manner of -newly-awakened interest. She now held her fish basket with both hands -in front of her fat body and resting on her shallow lap. - -Timmons was standing half-a-dozen yards from her on the threshold. She -could hear his voice quite plainly, notwithstanding the noise in the -street and the fact that he spoke in a muffled tone. While he answered -he kept his mouth partly open, and, because of so doing, spoke with -some indistinctness. It was apparent he did not want people within -sight or hearing to know he was speaking. "No; I am not expecting -anyone to tea, and there is no one here. I am going to have my tea all -by myself. I am very busy just now. I have had a visitor to-day--a few -hours ago----" - -"Well," whispered the woman eagerly. - -"And _I have the kettle on the boil_, and I am going to put those red -herrings in it for my tea." He was looking with vacant blue eyes down -the street as he spoke. He did not lay stress upon the words, "I have -the kettle on the boil." He uttered them in a lower tone and more -slowly than any others. The emphasis thus given them was very great. -It seemed to startle the woman. She rose partly as if to go to him. -She was fluttered and agreeably fluttered. - -"Stay where you are," he said. He seemed to know she had attempted to -rise without turning his eyes upon her. She was half hidden in the -gloom of the store. No casual observer passing by would have noticed -her. She was simply a black shapeless mass on the old fire-grate -against a dingy dark wall in a half light. She might easily be taken -for some of Timmons's stock. - -"And," she said, "he'll do it!" - -"He will. He's been to Birmingham and has arranged all. They'll take -every bit they can get and pay a good price--twice as much as could be -got otherwise--from anyone else." - -"Fine! Tine! You know, Mr. Timmons, how hard it is to find a bit -now, and to get so little for it as we have been handling is very -bad--heartbreaking. It takes all the spirit out of Tom." - -"Where did you buy the six herrings?" - -"Well," said the woman, with a smile, "I didn't exactly buy them -herrings, though they are as good ones as ever you saw. You see, my -little boys went to the meeting about the votes, or the Niggers, or -the Gospel, or something or other, and they found the herrings growing -on the trees there, ha-ha-ha." - -"I know. It was a meeting for trying to get some notion of -Christianity into the heads of the African Blacks. I read about it in -the newspaper this morning. The missionaries and ourselves are much -beholden to the Blacks." - -"It was something now I remember about the Blacks. Anyway, they're six -beauties. And can you let me have a little money, Mr. Timmons, for I -must hurry back to Tom with the good news." - -"How is Tom? Is he on the drink?" - -"No, he isn't." - -"That's a bad sign. What's the matter?" - -"I don't know, if it isn't going to them Christian meetings about the -Blacks. It's my belief that he'll turn Christian in the end, and you -know, Mr. Timmons, that won't pay _him_." - -"Not at Tom's time of life. You must begin that kind of thing young. -There are lots of converted--well sinners, but they don't often make -bishops of even the best of them." - -"Well, am I to go? What are you going to give me, Mr. Timmons? When -Tom isn't in a reasonable state of drink there's no standing him. Make -it as much as you can. Say a fiver for luck on the new-found-out." - -"I'll give you an order on the Bank of England for a million if you -like, but I can't give you more than ten thousand pounds in -sovereigns, or even half sovereigns, just at this moment, even for the -good of the unfortunate heathen Blacks. But here, anyway, take this -just to keep you going. I haven't landed any fish myself yet." - -The woman rose and he handed to her money. Then followed a long, -good-humoured dialogue in which she begged for more, and he firmly, -but playfully, refused her. Then she went away, and Mr. John Timmons -was left once more alone. - -He had taken the fish basket from the woman when giving her the money, -and now carried it to the back of the store and descended with, it to -the cellar. He did not remain long below, but soon came trotting up -the ladder, humming a dull air in a deep growl. Then he set himself -briskly to work putting up the shutters, taking them out of the pile -in front of the old fire-grate on which the woman had sat, carrying -each one separately to the front and running it home through the slot. -When all were up, he opened the lower part of one, which hung on -hinges serving as a wicket, and stepped out into the street full from -end to end of the bright, warm evening sunlight. - -He rubbed his forehead with the sleeve of his coat and took a -leisurely survey of the street. The noisy girls from the factory had -all disappeared, and the silence of evening was falling upon the -place. A few men busied themselves among the carts and vans and a dull -muffled sound told of the traffic in London Road. The hum of machinery -had ceased, and, contrasted with the noise of an hour ago, the place -was soundless. - -John Timmons seemed satisfied with his inspection. He closed the -wicket and retired into the deep gloom of the store. The only light -now in this place entered through holes up high in two shutters. The -holes were no more than a foot square, and were protected by -perforated iron plates. They were intended for ventilating not -lighting the store. - -Even in the thick dark air John Timmons was quite independent of -light. He could have found any article in his stock blindfold. He was -no sun-worshipper, nor did he pay divine honours to the moon. A good -thick blinding London fog was his notion of reasonable weather. One -could then do one's business, whatever it might be, without fear of -bright and curious eyes. - -He had told his late visitor that he had the kettle on the fire. She -had brought him half-a dozen red herrings and left them with him in a -fish-basket. Now red herrings, differing in this respect from other -kinds of fish, are seldom or never cooked in a kettle, and although -the front of the door was closed and the only visible source of heat -the two ventilators high up in the shutters, the air of the store was -growing already warmer and drier, and although there was no smell of -cooking there was an unmistakable smell of fire. - -The owner did not seem in any great hurry to cook and taste his -savoury victuals. He might have meant that the kettle was for tea -merely, and had nothing to do directly with the red herrings. He -fastened the wicket-door very carefully, and then slowly examined the -rear of the shutters one by one, and, holding his eye close to them -here and there, tried if he could spy out, in order to ascertain if -any one could spy in. Then he rested his shoulder against the middle -shutter, leant his head against the panel and, having thrust his hands -deeper than ever into his trousers' pockets, gave up his soul to -listening. - -In the meantime the fish basket, with the tails of the six red -herrings sticking out, was lying on the top of the old fire-grate -which had served his visitor as a seat. It had been placed here by -Timmons when he took it from the woman. - -A quarter of an hour the man remained thus without moving. Apparently -he was satisfied at last. He stood upright upon his feet, shook -himself, gazed confidently round the store and then walked to the old -fire-grate. He was going to get his tea at last. - -He took up the basket, drew out the wooden skewer by which it was -closed, caught the herrings in a bundle and threw them behind him on -the gritty earthen floor. - -He opened the bag wide and peered into it. Holding it in his left hand -upon his upraised thigh he thrust his right hand into it and fumbled -about, bending his head down to look the better. - -He was on the point of drawing something out when he suddenly paused -and listened motionless. - -There was the sound of approaching steps. Timmons stood as still as -death. - -Three soft knocks sounded upon the wicket and then, after an interval -of a few seconds, two more knocks still softer. - -"It's Stamer himself," cried Timmons, with an imprecation, in a -muffled voice. Then he added: "What does he want? More money? Anyway, -I suppose I must let him in." - -He turned round, caught up the scattered red herrings, thrust them -into the bag, fixed it with the skewer, and then threw it carelessly -on the hob of the old grate. Then he went to the wicket, opened it -without speaking, and admitted his second visitor of that evening. - -When the new comer was inside the door and the bolt drawn once more, -Timmons said, in a slow angry tone, "Well, Stamer, what do you want? -Is a bargain a bargain? You were not to come here in daylight, and -only in the dark when something of great consequence brought you. I -gave your wife all I will give just now, if we are to go on working on -the co-operative principle. What do you want?" - -The low sized, round shouldered man, dressed in fustian and wearing -two gold rings on the little finger of his left hand, said in a -whisper: "The ole 'oman gev me the coin, gov'nor. I don't want no more -till all's right. What I did come about is of consequence, is of the -greatest consequence, gov'nor." He glanced round with furtive eyes, -looking apprehensively in the dim light at everything large enough to -conceal a man. - -"What is it? Out with it!" said Timmons impatiently. - -"You're going to see this cove to-night?" - -"Yes." - -"At what o'clock?" - -"That's my affair," said Timmons savagely. - -"I know it is, Mr. Timmons, but still I'm a bit interested too, if I -understand right the co-operative principle." - -"You! What are you interested in so long as you get the coin?" - -"In you. I'm powerful interested in you." - -"What do you mean?" asked Timmons, frowning. - -"Tell me when you're going and I'll tell you." - -"Midnight." - -"Ah! It will be dark then!" - -"What news you tell us. It generally is dark at midnight." - -"Are you going to take much of the stuff with you--much of the red -stuff--of the red herrings?" - -Timmons drew back a pace with a start and looked at Stamer -suspiciously. "Have you come to save me the trouble? Eh? Would you -like to take it yourself? Eh? Did you come here to rob me? I mean to -share fair. Do you want to throw up the great co-operative principle -and bag all?" - -Stamer's eyes winked quickly, and he answered in a tone of sorrow and -reproach: "Don't talk like that, gov'nor. You know I'm a square un, I -am. I'd die for you. Did I ever peach on you when I was in trouble, -gov'nor? It hurts my feelings for you to talk like that! I say, don't -do it, gov'nor. You know I'm square. Tell me how much stuff are you -going to take with you to-night?" - -The words and manner of the man indicated extreme sincerity, and -seemed to reassure Timmons. "About two pounds," he answered. - -"Oh!" groaned Stamer, shaking his close-cropped head dismally. - -"What is the matter with the man? Are you mad? You're not drunk. Your -wife tells me you're not on the drink." - -"No. I'm reforming. Drink interferes dreadful with business. It spoils -a man's nerve too. Two pounds is an awful lot." - -"What are you driving at, Stamer? You say you're a square man. Well, -as far as I have had to do with you I have found you a square man----" - -"And honest?" said Stamer pathetically. - -"With me. Yes." - -"No man is honest in the way of business." - -"Well, well! What is the matter?" said Timmons impatiently; "I've got -the kettle on and must run down. I haven't put in those herrings your -old woman brought yet." - -"I know. I'm sorry, gov'nor, for bothering you. I'd give my life for -you. Look here, gov'nor, suppose _he_ is not an honest man, like me. -He isn't in our co-operative plan, you know. Suppose _he_ isn't -particular about how he gets hold of a bit of stuff?" - -"And tried to rob me?" - -"That's not what I'd mind." He put his hand to the back of his -waistband. "You know what I carry here. Suppose he carries one too?" - -"You mean that he may murder me first and rob me after?" - -Stamer nodded. - -"Well, I'm very much obliged to you, Stamer, indeed I am; but I'm not -a bit afraid, not a bit. Why, he's not much over four feet, and he's a -hunchback as well." - -"But hunchbacks can buy tools like this, and a man's inches don't -matter then," moving his hand under his coat. - -"I'm not a bit afraid. Not a bit. If that's what you came about it's -all right, and now I _must_ go down. The fire is low by this time, and -I may as well run these out of likeness at once." - -He opened the door for Stamer, who, with a doubtful shake of the head, -stepped over the raised threshold and went out. As Stamer sauntered -down Tunbridge Street he muttered to himself, "I'll keep my eye on -this affair anyway." - -When the wicket-door was closed Timmons took up the fish-basket, flung -away the red herrings a second time, and descended to the cellar. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - DINNER AT CURZON STREET. - - -When Oscar Leigh left Mrs. Ashton's drawing-room abruptly that -afternoon, Hanbury was too much annoyed and perplexed to trust himself -to speak to Dora. It was getting late. He had promised to dine in -Curzon Street that evening, and would have ample opportunity after -dinner of saying to Dora anything he liked. Therefore he made an -excuse and a hasty exit as if to overtake Leigh. He had had however -enough of the clockmaker for that day, for all his life; so when he -found himself on the landing and stairs and in the hall he walked -slowly, allowing time for Leigh to get out of sight before emerging -from the house. - -He took his way south and crossed Piccadilly at Hyde Park Corner. He -had to get to his mother's house in Chester Square, to dress for -dinner, and there was not much time to lose. His mother did not expect -him to dine at home that day. She knew he had promised to go to Curzon -Street, and was not in the house when he arrived. - -He went straight to his own room in no very amiable humour. He was not -at all pleased with the day. He did not think Dora had acted with -prudence in persisting on going slumming in Chelsea, he was quite -certain she had not done prudently in giving Leigh their names. He -considered Leigh had behaved--well, not much better than a man of his -class might be expected to behave, and, worst of all and hardest of -all to bear, he did not consider his own conduct had been anything -like what it ought. - -If he made up his mind to go in for a popular platform, he must -overcome, beat down this squeamishness which caused him to give way at -unpleasant sights. Whether he did or did not adopt the popular -platform he ought to do this. It was grotesque that his effectiveness -in an emergency should be at the mercy of a failing which most -school-girls would laugh at! It was too bad that Dora should be able -to help where he became a mere encumbrance. Poor girl----but there, he -must not allow himself to run off on a sentimental lead just now. He -must keep his mind firm, for he must be firm with Dora this evening. - -What a wonderful likeness there was between that strange girl and -Dora. Yes, Miss Grace was, if possible, lovelier in face than Dora. -More quiet and still mannered. She absolutely looked more of an -aristocrat than Dora. It would be curious to see if her mind was like -Dora's too; if, for example, she had active, vivid, democratic -sympathies. - -Every one who knew him told him he had a brilliant future before him. -Before he got married (about which there was no great hurry as they -were both young) it would be necessary for him to take up a definite -position in politics. He felt he had the stuff in him out of which to -make an orator, and an orator meant a statesman, and a statesman meant -power, what he pleased, a coronet later in life if he and Dora cared -for one. But he must select his career before marriage. - -It would be very interesting to see if those two girls, so -marvellously alike in appearance, were similar in aspirations. How -extraordinarily alike they were. The likeness was as that man had -said, stranger than his own fabulous miracle gold. - -Ashton and his wife got on very well together, although they did not -take the same view of public affairs. But then in this case things -were different from what they would be in his. Mrs. Ashton was an -ardent politician, her husband none at all. For a politician to enter -upon his public career with a young wife opposed to him would be most -unwise, the beginning of disagreement at home. At first, when he met -Dora, he was attracted towards her by the enthusiasm of her spirit. He -had never before met so young a woman, a mere girl, with such settled -faith. At that time he was not very sure how he himself thought on -many of the questions which divided men. She knew no doubt or -hesitancy, and she was very lovely and bright and fresh. He had -thought--What a helpmate for a busy man! And then, before he had time -to think much more, he had made up his mind he could not get on -without Dora. - -There were many cases in which wives had been the best aids and -friends of illustrious politicians. It would never do for a man to -have a wife who would continually throw cold water on her husband's -public ardours; or, worse still, who would be actively opposed to him. -Such a state could not be borne. - -Dora had clearer views and more resolute convictions than he. Women -always saw more quickly and sharply than men. If he threw himself into -the arms of the people she would be with him heart and soul, and he -should attain a wide popularity at all events. - -How on earth did that man Leigh become acquainted with that exquisite -creature, Miss Grace? No wonder he called her miracle gold. - -Well, it was time for him to be getting back to Curzon Street. There -was to be no one at dinner but the family and himself. There would, -therefore, neither before nor after be any politics. What a relief it -was to forget the worry, and heat and dust of politics now and then -for a while, for a little while even! - -Grimsby Street was an awful place for a girl like Miss Grace to live -in. Why did she live in such horrible street? Poverty, no doubt. -Poverty. What a shame! She looked as if it would suit her better to -live in a better place. By heavens, what a lovely, exquisite girl she -was. Could that poor misshapen clockmaker be in love with her? He in -love? Monstrous! - -Ten minutes past eight! Not a moment to be lost. - -"Hansom! Curzon Street." - -John Hanbury reached Ashton's as dinner was announced. The host -greeted him with effusion. He was always glad to have some guest, and -he particularly liked Hanbury. He was by no means hen-pecked, but -there was between him and his wife when alone the consciousness of a -truce, not the assurance of peace. Each felt the other was armed, she -with many convictions, he with only one, namely, that all convictions -were troublesome and more or less fraudulent. They lived together in -the greatest amity. They did not agree to disagree, but they agreed -not to disagree, which is a much better thing. Ashton of course -guessed there was something between Dora and Hanbury, but he had no -official cognizance of it yet, and therefore treated Hanbury merely as -a very acceptable visitor. He liked the young man, and his position -and prospects were satisfactory. - -Towards the end of dinner, he said: "They tell me, Hanbury, that you -brought a very remarkable character with you to-day, a sorcerer, or an -astrologer, or alchemist. I thought men of that class had all turned -into farriers by this time." - -"I don't think Leigh has anything to do with hooves, unless hooves of -the cloven kind," said Hanbury with a laugh. "If a ravenous appetite -for bread confirms the graminivorous characteristic of the hoof I am -afraid it is all up with poor Leigh in Mrs. Ashton's opinion." - -"I found him very interesting I am sure," said Mrs. Ashton, "and I am -only sorry I had not more opportunity of hearing about his wonderful -clock." - -"Clock? Oh, he is a clockmaker, is he," said the host, "Then I did not -make such a bad shot after all. He has something to do with metal?" - -"I told you, Jerry, he makes _gold_, miracle gold," said Mrs. Ashton -vivaciously. - -"So you did, my dear. So you did. My penetration then in taking him -for an alchemist does not seem to have been very great. I should be a -first-rate man to discover America now. But I fancy if I had been born -before Columbus I should not have taken the bread out of his mouth." - -"Mr. Leigh told us he was not sure he would go on making this miracle -gold," said Dora. - -"Not go on making gold!" cried the father in astonishment, "was there -ever yet a man who of his own free will gave up making gold? Why is he -thinking of abandoning the mine, Dora?" - -"There is so much difficulty and danger, he says, father." - -"Difficulty and danger! Of course there is always difficulty in making -gold; but danger--what is the danger?" - -"He is liable to be blown up." - -"Good heavens! for making gold? Why, what are you talking of, child? -Ah! I see," with a heavy, affected sigh, "he is a bachelor. If he were -a married man he would stand in danger of being blown up for _not_ -making gold. Well, Josephine, my dear," to his wife, "you do get some -very original people around you. I must say I should like to see this -timid alchemist." - -"If Mr. Ashton will honour his own house with his presence this day -week, he will have an excellent opportunity of meeting Mr. Leigh," -said Mrs. Ashton with a bow. - -"My dearest Josephine, your friend, Mr. Ashton, will do nothing of the -kind. He will not add another to your collection of monsters." - -"That's a very heartless and rude speech, father." - -"And I look on it as distinctly personal," said Hanbury, "for I attend -regularly." - -"I have really very little to do with the matter," said Mrs. Ashton. -"Mr. Leigh is Dora's thrall." - -The girl coloured and looked reproachfully at her mother, and uneasily -at Hanbury. It would be much more pleasant if the conversation shifted -away from Leigh. - -"He is going to model her for Pallas-Athena." - -"Mother, the poor man did not say that." - -"No; he did not _say_ it, but he meant it, Dora." - -"Oh, he is a sculptor, too!" cried Mr. Ashton with a laugh. "Is there -any end to this prodigy's perfections and accomplishments? But, I say, -Dora, seriously, I won't have any folly of that kind. I won't have you -give sittings to any one." - -"Oh, father! indeed, you must not mind mother. She is joking. Mr. -Leigh never said or meant anything of the kind." She had grown red and -very uncomfortable. - -Her father sat back in his chair and said in a bantering tone, under -which the note of seriousness could be heard: - -"You know I am not a bigot. But I will have no professional-beauty -nonsense, for three reasons: First, because professional beauties are -played out; they are no longer the rage--that reason would be -sufficient with average people. Second, and more important, it isn't, -and wasn't, and never can be good form to be a professional beauty; -and third," he hesitated and looked fondly at his daughter, "and -third--confound it, my girl is too good-looking to be mentioned in the -same breath as any of these popular beauties." - -"Bravo, sir," said Hanbury, as he got up to open the door for Mrs. -Ashton and Dora, who had risen to leave the room. - -When the two men were left alone, Mr. Ashton said: - -"This Leigh is, I assume, one of the people?" - -"Yes," said Hanbury, who wished Leigh and all about him at the bottom -of the Red Sea. "But, he is not, you know, one of the horny-handed -sons of toil. He is a man of some reading, and intelligence, and -education, but rather vulgar all the same." - -"All right. I'm sure if he is your friend he must be an excellent -fellow, my dear Hanbury; and if you put him up for this constituency, -I'll vote for him, no matter what his principles are. That is," he -added thoughtfully, "if I have a vote. But, for the present, my -dear fellow, I'll tell you what we'll do with him--we'll let him -alone--that is, if you don't mind doing so." - -"I shall do so with great pleasure. I have had quite enough of him for -to-day," said the other, greatly relieved. - -"All right. Hanbury, I shall let you into a secret. I don't care for -people who aren't nice. I prefer nice people. I like people like my -wife and Dora, and your mother and yourself." - -"I am sure, sir, you are very good to include me in your list." - -"And I don't care at all for people who aren't nice, you know. I don't -care at all for the poor. When they aren't objectionable they are an -awful bore. For the life of me I can't make out what reasonable men -and women see in the people. I don't object to them. I suppose they -are necessary, and have their uses and functions, and all that; but if -they have, why interfere with them? Lots of fellows I know go in for -the poor partly out of fun, and for a change, and partly to catch -votes. All right. But these fellows don't emigrate from the West and -live in the East End. If they did, they'd go mad, my boy--they'd go -mad. Anyway, I should. You know, I hate politics, and never talk -politics. If I were a very rich man, I'd buy the whole of the Isle of -Wight and banish all the poor from it, and live there the whole of my -life, and drown any of the poor that dared to land on it. I wouldn't -tell this to any soul in the world except you. I know I can trust you -to keep my secret. Mind, I don't object to my wife and Dora doing what -they like in such affairs; in fact, I rather like it, for it keeps -matters smooth for me. This is, I know, a horribly wicked profession -of faith; but I make it to you alone. I know that, according to poetic -justice, I ought to be killed on my way to the club by a coster's -run-away ass or the horse in a pauper's hearse, but I don't think I -shall oblige poetic justice by falling into or under such a scheme--_I -am always very careful at crossings_. If you are _very_ careful at -crossings, I don't see how poetic justice is to get at you. There, let -us drop this ghastly subject now." - -The conversation then wandered off into general ways, and lost its -particular and personal character. - -Hanbury had never heard from any other man so cynical a speech as -Ashton's, and he was considerably shocked and pained by it. His own -convictions were few. He was himself in that condition of aimless -aspiring enthusiasm proper to ardent youth, when youth has just begun -to think conscientiously with a view to action. He could see nothing -very clearly, but everything he did see shone fiercely in splendid -clouds. This low view of life, this mere animal craving for peace and -comfort, for nice things and nice people, was abhorrent to him. If in -the early part of that day he had spoken slightingly of the people, it -was out of no cynical indifference, but from the pain and worry caused -to himself in his own mind by his opinions not being ascertained and -fixed. - -If he hesitated to throw his fortunes into the scale with the more -advanced politicians, it was from no mean or sordid motive. He could -not decide within himself which class had the more worthy moral -sanction. If the present rate of progress was too slow, then those who -sought to retard it were villains; if too quick, those who tried to -accelerate it were fools. Whatever else he might be, he was not -corrupt. - -What Mr. Ashton said had a great influence on young Hanbury. It -aroused his suspicions. Could it be that most of those who sought to -check the car of progress harboured such vile and unmanly sentiments -as his host had uttered in confidence? Could it be that Ashton was -more courageous because he had nothing tangible to lose by candour? -Could it be that if he himself espoused the side of the slower movers, -it would be assumed he harboured opinions such as those Ashton had -just uttered? The mere supposition was an outrage. It was a suspicion -under which he would not willingly consent to rest one hour. This -cold-blooded declaration of Ashton's had done more towards the making -up of his mind than all he had heard and read since he turned his -attention to public affairs. - -Yes, he would decide to throw himself body and soul among the more -progressive party. He would espouse the principles of the extreme -Liberals. Then there would be no more wavering or doubt, and no -question of discord in politics would arise between Dora and himself. -They would have but the one creed in public affairs. Their opinions -would not merely resemble the principles of one another--they would be -identical. - -Mr. Ashton and his guest did not remain long in the dining-room. -Hanbury was not treated with ceremony in that house, so Mr. Ashton -merely looked into the drawing-room for a few minutes, and then went -off to his club. Mrs. Ashton had letters to write, and retired shortly -after him to the study, leaving Dora alone with John Hanbury. - -He thought that in order to keep a good understanding there was -nothing like establishing a clear understanding. In order to ensure -complete pleasantness in the future, all things that might lead to -unpleasantness ought to be removed from the past and present. The best -way of treating a nettle, when you have to touch it, is to seize it -boldly. - -He was in love with Dora, and he was resolved to marry her. That very -evening he was going to ask her if she did not think the best thing -they could do would be to get married soon, at once. He had made up -his mind to adopt the popular platform, and then, of course, his way -would be clear. Up to this he had been regarded as almost committed to -the more cautious side, to the Conservative party, the Democratic -Conservative party. By declaring himself now for the advanced party, -he should be greeted by it as a convert, and no doubt he could find a -willing constituency at the next general election. - -That was all settled, all plain sailing. He was a young man, and in -love; but it must be observed he was not also a fool. He would show -all who knew him he was no fool. The life he now saw before him was -simple, straightforward, pleasant. Dora was beautiful, and good, and -clever, and in his part of popular politician would be an ornament by -his side, and, perhaps, a help to him in his career. She was a dear -girl, and would adorn any position to which he might aspire, to which -he might climb. - -Yes, he was a young man, he was in love, but he was no fool, and he -knew that Dora would think less of him, would think nothing at all of -him, if she believed him to be a fool. Between lovers there ought to -be confidence, freedom of speech. She would esteem him all the more -for being candid and plain with her. What was this he had to say to -her? Oh, yes, he recollected---- - -Dora and he were sitting close to one another in the window-place -where Leigh and he had found her earlier. The long June day had faded -into luminous night; the blinds had not been lowered, or the lamps in -the room lit. The long, soft, cool, blue midsummer twilight was still -and delicious for any people, but especially for lovers. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - IN THE DARK. - - -"Well, Dora," he began, "this has been an exciting day." - -"Yes," she said softly, and added with tender anxiety, "I hope -you have quite recovered? I hope you do not feel any bad effects -of--of--of--what happened to you, Jack?" She did not know how he would -take even this solicitous reference to his fainting. - -"I feel quite well, dearest. Do not let us talk of that affair again. -That cabman brought you quite safe?" - -"Oh, quite safe," she said gently. "Tell me what happened after you -left me?" It gratified her that he thought of her. She had accused him -of selfishness, now he was showing that his first thought was of her. -With the self-sacrificing spirit of her sex she was satisfied with a -little sympathy on her own account. She wanted to give him all her -sympathy now. "Of course, I know you found Mr. Leigh. What an -extraordinary man. Is he a little mad, do you think?" - -"A good deal mad, I fancy, with conceit," he said impatiently. Leigh, -personally, had been a misfortune, and now the memory of him was -exasperating and a bore. - -The ungentleness of the answer jarred upon the girl's heart. Leigh had -suffered such miserable wrongs at the hand of fate, that surely he was -deserving of all consideration and compassion. His bodily disabilities -made him more helpless and piteous than a lonely, deserted child. -"Tell me all," she said. "It was so good of you to bring him here. I -felt quite proud of you when I saw you coming with him. Many men would -have been afraid to trust so uncouth a man with so unpleasant a secret -into this room of a Thursday." She spoke to encourage Hanbury, by -anticipating in part his account of the generous thing she fancied he -had done. - -He twisted and turned uneasily on his chair. Whatever Dora or anyone -else might think of him, he was not going to pose in plumes that were -not his by right. It was very gratifying in one sense that she should -give him credit for such extravagant, such Quixotic good nature; but -she must not be allowed to run away with the story. - -"The fact is, Dora," said he in a tone of deliberation and -dissatisfaction, "I did not bring him here of my own free will. -Indeed, I do not know how you could imagine I would invite such a man. -I found him contemplating a paragraph for the papers, and he promised -he would say nothing about what had occurred if I would introduce him -to you. He seems to have conceived a romantic interest in you, because -of your likeness to some one he knows." Later this evening he should -tell her all about this "some one." - -"I see," she said, her spirits declining. It was not out of good -nature or generosity, but cowardice, moral cowardice, Jack had brought -Leigh. The principle which had made Jack flee from Welbeck Place after -sending Leigh for the cab, and then made him fly back there again when -he learned that the little man knew their names, had forced him -against his will to bring Leigh to her mother's At home. She was in -the most indulgent and forgiving of humours, but--but--but--"Oh, Jack, -I am so sorry!" was all she could think of saying. She was sorry for -him, for John Hanbury, who either was not, or would not be, too big to -be troubled by such paltry fears, and irritated by such paltry -annoyances. - -"Sorry! Sorry for what?" he cried. He gathered from her tone and -manner that she was not speaking out fully. He could not guess what -was in her mind. He had a little lecture or exhortation prepared to -deliver her, and in addition to the unpleasantness of not knowing -exactly what she meant when she said she was sorry, he had the -confusing and exasperating sense of repression, of not being able to -get on the ground he intended occupying. - -She did not speak for a while. She was looking out into the dark blue -air of the street. She had formed a high ideal of what he, her hero, -ought to be, nearly was. But now and then, often, he did not reach the -standard she had raised. Her ideal was the man of noble thought -certainly, but he should still more be the man of noble action. She -would have laid down her life freely in what she believed to be a good -cause, and to her mind the noblest cause in which a woman could die -would be for a noble man whom she loved. She believed the place of -woman was by the side of man, not independent of man. She held that in -all matters man and wife should be, to use words that had been -employed in acts, to think of which rent her heart with agony, one and -undivisible. She regarded strong-minded women as wrong-minded women. -Strength and magnanimity were the attributes of men; love and -gentleness of women. She wanted this man beside her to shine bright in -the eyes of men by reason of his great and rare gifts. No one doubted -his abilities as a man; she wanted him to treat his abilities as only -the foundation of his character. She wanted not only to know that he -possessed great gifts and precious powers, but to feel as well that he -was fit to be a god. She yearned to pass her life by the side of a man -who could force the world to listen to his words, and fill the one -pedestal in her earthly temple. She wanted him to be a hero and a -conqueror in the face of the world, and she wanted to give him the -whole loyal worship of her woman's heart, that she might live always -in the only attitude which rests a woman's spirit, the attitude of -giving service of the hand and largess of the heart, and homage of the -soul. She wanted to give this man all her heart and soul unceasingly. -To give him everything that was hers to give, under Heaven. - -It was necessary to make some reply, and she had none ready. In the -pause she had not been thinking. She had been seeing visions, dreaming -dreams, from which occupations thought is always absent. - -He became still more uneasy. Her hand was in his. He pressed it -slightly, to recall her attention to him, "What are you sorry for, -Dora? What are you thinking of, dear? Are you angry with me still?" - -She started without turning her eyes away from the blue duskness of -the street, and in a tone of wonderful tenderness and sadness, said: - -"I don't know exactly what I was thinking of, Jack. The evening is so -fresh and still it is not necessary for one to think. Angry with you, -dear! Oh, no! Oh, no! Angry with you for what?" - -"About the harsh words I said of Leigh. It seems to me your manner -changed the moment I mentioned his name. Let us not speak of him any -more this evening." - -He pressed her hand, and stole his arm round her waist. She returned -the pressure of his hand, but did not turn her eyes inward from the -still street. - -"But why should we not speak of him, Jack?" - -"Because, dear, we are here together, and we are much more interesting -to one another than he can be to either." - -"Yes, dear, in a way more interesting to one another than all the -world besides; but in another way not nearly so interesting as this -poor clockmaker," she said slowly, in a dreamy voice. - -"I own," he said testily, "I do not see the matter as you put it. How -can he, a mere stranger, and a mere stranger who might have done us -harm, be more interesting in any light than we are to one another?" He -was a man, and thought as the average man thinks, of getting not -giving. He was here alone with this beautiful girl who was to be his -wife one day, and his chief concern was to get the most pleasure out -of her presence by his side, the sound of her voice, the assurance of -her love, the contemplation of their future happiness, the sense that -she was his very own, that she would be bound to render him obedience -which would, of course, never be exacted, and that he was about to lay -before her his views of what her conduct ought to be, of where she had -declined to accept his advice with regard to their walk of that day, -and above all of his determination as to his future course, and the -desirableness of their early marriage. He wanted in fact to get her -disapproval of the expedition which had led to the unpleasantness of -that day, her disapproval of her venturesome overruling of his -judgment and her approval of all his plans for the future. He did not -state his position thus. He simply wanted certain things, and never -thought of referring his wants to any principle. - -"In this way," she answered softly, "all about us is happy and -assured. For ourselves we have everything that is necessary not only -for mere life, but for enjoyment. The things we lack are only -luxuries----" - -"Luxuries!" he cried. "Do you consider the ardours of a public life -luxuries? Do you not yet know me better than to believe I would lead -an existence of idle pleasure? Why, a public man now-a-days works -harder than a blacksmith, and generally without necessity or reward!" -He spoke indignantly. She had attacked his class, she was showing -indifference to the usefulness and disinterestedness of his order. - -Neither his words nor his manner roused her. "I am not at all -forgetting what you speak of. I am thinking, Jack dear, of things more -common and essential than fame or the reputation of a benefactor to -man. You know I hold that the first sphere of woman is her home. -People like us are rarely grateful for food or shelter, or even -health, and no people of any kind are grateful for the air they -breathe." She paused and sighed. She did not finish her thought in -words. - -"Well," said he, withdrawing his arm from her waist and taking a chair -opposite her in the window-place, "how does this apply? Of course, -when you realize the fact that you could not live without air, you are -grateful for it. I don't see what you are driving at." - -"I cannot help thinking of the man and pitying him. He will go into -his grave having missed nearly everything in the world." - -"Why, the man has enough conceit to make a battalion of Guards happy. -He is a greater man in his own opinion than the Premier, the Lord -Chancellor and the Commander-in-Chief rolled into one." - -"But even if he is, Jack, that is not all. The Premier and the Lord -Chancellor and the Commander-in-Chief, over and above their great -successes and fame, have the comforts ordinary men enjoy as well. They -are not afflicted in their forms as he is. You say he is interested in -me because I remind him of some one. How must it be with an ordinary -human heart beating in such a body? Would it not be better for such a -man to be born blind than to find his Pallas-Athena, as he calls her?" - -The eyes of the girl could not be seen in the darkness of the room; -they were full of tears and there were tears in her voice. - -Hanbury started, he could not tell why. He exclaimed: "Good Heavens, -Dora! you do not mean to tell me that you feel seriously concerned in -the love affairs, if there are such things, of this man?" - -"No, dear, but I am saddened when I think of them. However absurd it -may seem, I cannot help believing this finding of his ideal must be a -dreadful misfortune to him." - -"Even if you yourself were the ideal, Dora?" - -"Even so. But you tell me he had found it before he came here. Of -course, dear, my mind is influenced only for the moment by the thought -of him and his affairs; but ever since I heard him speak, grotesque as -it may seem, my heart has been feeling for him with his poor deformed -body and his elaborate gallantry of manner and his Pallas-Athena." - -Now was the time to tell Dora of this Miss Grace, but it seemed to him -the story was too long for so late an hour, and that it could be told -with pleasanter effect when Dora was less exercised about the dwarf. -The conversation was too sentimental for him. He had matters of -practical moment to speak about, and this subject obstinately blocked -the way. The best thing for him to do was to give the matter an -every-day aspect at once. "Well, Dora, in any case, Leigh isn't in the -first glory of youth, and if he ever does fall in love and marry, it -will, I am sure, be no Pallas-Athena, but a barmaid, with practical -views, and a notion of keeping an hotel, or something of that kind." - -"But how do you think a man with his imagination, his Pallas-Athena, -and his incomparable clock and his miracle gold----?" - -"Which is nonsense, of course. You don't mean that you believe in -transmutation in this end of the nineteenth century?" he said -impatiently. - -"I do not know. I am not scientific. I suppose more wonderful things -have been done. If there ever was a time for making gold it is now. -All the wonders that poets dreamed of long ago are coming true in -prose to-day. Why not the great dream of the alchemists too? At all -events, the fancies are bad for him. Suppose there is to be no -Pallas-Athena or wonderful clock or miracle gold in his life, what is -there left to him? It seems to me he is all the poorer for his -delusions. Jack, I will not try to disguise it. I am intensely -interested in this poor clockmaker, this mad visionary, if you prefer -to call him that." - -This was not at all the kind of preface Hanbury wanted to the -communications he had to make to her. He felt disconcerted, clumsy, -petulant. "I have been so unfortunate as to introduce the cause of all -this anxiety to you. It would have been much better for every sake I -had not gone back and met the man the second time, much better I -should cut a ridiculous figure before all the town to-morrow!" He was -growing angry as his speech went on. His own words were inflaming his -mind by the implication of his wrongs. - -She placed her hand gently on his, and said in a reproachful voice, a -voice quite different from the meditative tones in which she had been -speaking, "Jack, I did not mean that. You know I did not mean that. -Why do you reproach me with thoughts you ought to know I could not -harbour?" She had turned in from the window, and was looking at him -opposite her in the dim darkness. She was now fully alive to his -presence and everything around her. - -"No doubt," he said bitterly, "I am ungenerous to you. I am unjust. I -am afraid, Dora, I am but an ill-conditioned beast----" - -"Jack, that is the most unjust thing you could possibly say to me. In -saying it you seem to use words you fancy I would like to use, only I -am not brave enough." - -"I know you are brave enough for anything. I know it is I who am the -coward." - -"Jack! Oh, Jack!" - -"You told me so yourself to-day. You cannot say I am putting that word -into your mouth." He was taking fire. - -"Have you no mercy for me, Jack; my Jack?" - -"You told me with your own lips I had no thought but of my miserable -self in the miserable thing that happened." - -"Jack, have you no pity. My Jack, have you no pity for your own Dora." -She seized his hands with both her own. There were no tears in her -voice now, there was the blood of her heart. - -"Ay, and when I, yielding to my cowardly heart----" - -"Oh God!" She took her hands away from his and covered her face with -them. - -"--And brought that man here as the price of his silence, you--knowing -the chicken-livered creature I am--absolutely asked him to come next -week. To come here where his presence is to cure me of my cowardice or -accustom me to the peril of ridicule which you know I hate worse than -death!" He was blazing now. - -"Good night." - -"After this, how can I be sure that you may not consider it salutary -to betray me yourself?" He was mad. - -"Good bye, Jack. Oh God, my heart is broken!" - -"I tell you----" He turned around. He was alone. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - - MRS. HANBURY. - - -John Hanbury had reached the end of the street before he knew where he -was. He had no memory of how he got out of the house. No doubt he had -behaved like a madman, and he had been temporarily insane. He must -have snatched his hat in the hall, but he was without his overcoat. - -His heart was beating violently, and his head was burning hot. He must -have run down the street. There was no one in view. He had only a -whirling and flashing memory of the last few minutes with Dora. His -temper had completely mastered him, and he must have spoken and -behaved like a maniac. He must have behaved like a maniac in her -presence--to her! - -Now and then, in the heat of public speaking, he had been carried -beyond himself, beyond the power of memory afterwards, but never in -his life had impetuosity betrayed him in private life until now. What -sort of a lunatic must he have been to sin for the first time before -the only woman he ever cared for? The woman he had asked to be his -wife? - -The excitement of the day had been too much for him, and he had broken -down in the end. He had taken only one glass of wine at dinner, and -only coffee after. Something must have gone wrong with his brain. -Could it be this fainting which had overtaken him to-day, and twice -before, indicated some flaw or weakness in the brain? It would have -been better he had died in that accursed slum than come back to -consciousness and done this. Then he had fainted like a woman, and -behaved like a coward. Now he had acted like a cad! He had abused, -reviled the woman he professed to love, and who he knew loved him! He -dared say he had not struck her! It was, perhaps, a pity he had not -struck her, for if he had he should be either now in the hands of the -police, or shot by her father! It was a good job the girl had a father -to shoot him. If he was called out he should fire in the air, and if -Ashton demanded another shot and missed him, he should reserve his -fire and blow his own brains out. When a man did a thing like this, -there was only one reflection that could ease his intolerable agony of -reproach--he could blow out his brains and rid the world of a cowardly -cad. - -From the moment he found himself at the end of Curzon Street until he -reached his mother's house in Chester Square, he walked rapidly, -mechanically, and without design. When he saw the door before him he -was staggered for a moment. - -"How did I come here?" he asked himself, as he opened it with a -latch-key. He could not answer the question. He saw in a dim way that -it would be interesting to imagine how a man in possession of his -faculties walked a whole mile without knowing why he walked or -remembering anything by the way. But at present--Pooh! pooh! - -"Mrs. Hanbury wishes to see you, sir, in her own room, if you please," -said a servant, who had heard him come in and appeared while he was -hanging up his hat. - -"Very well. Tell her I shall be with her in a few minutes." - -His mother's room adjoined her sleeping chamber, and was opposite his -own bed-room on the second floor. - -He turned into the long dining-room to his right. There was here a dim -light burning, the windows were wide open, the place cool and still. - -He shut the door behind him and began pacing quickly up and down. It -was necessary in some way to collect his mind before meeting his -mother. - -He shut his fists hard against his chest and breathed hard as he -walked. By his breathing he judged he must have run part of the way -from Curzon Street. - -The perspiration was trickling down his forehead. He held his head up -high; he felt as though there was a tight hand round his throat. He -thrust his fingers inside his collar and tried to ease his neck. - -"This is absurd," he said aloud at last. But what it was that he felt -to be absurd he did not know. - -"The heat is suffocating one!" he said in a short time, and tore again -at his shirt, loosing his necktie and rumpling his collar. - -"I am choking for air!" he cried, and tried to fling the windows -higher up, but they were both as high as they could go. - -"My throat is cracking!" he cried huskily, and looking round with -blazing eyes through the dim room saw a caraffa on the side-board. He -poured out a glass of water and swallowed the water at a draught. "Oh, -that is much better," he said with a smile, and resumed his walk up -and down the long room at a lessened rate. "Let me think," he said; -"let me think if I can." - -He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned his head on one side, -his attitude when designing the plan of a speech or musing upon the -parts of it. - -The water he had swallowed and the slackened pace and the posture of -reflection, tended to cool him and bring his mind into condition for -harmonious working. - -"Let me treat the matter," he whispered, "as though I were only a -friend, and had come here to state my case and implore advice. How -does the matter stand exactly? Let us look at the facts, the simple -facts first." - -His pace became slower and slower. His face ceased to work, and lost -the flushed and wild appearance. Gradually his head rose erect and -stood back upon his neck. His eyes lit up with the flashes of reason. -They no longer blazed with the flame of chaotic despair. He unclasped -his hands and began to gesticulate. He ceased to be the self-convicted -culprit, and became the argumentative contender before the court. He -had ceased to do his worst against the accused and was exercising all -his faculties to compel an acquittal. - -Presently his manner changed. He had adduced all his reasons and knit -them together in his argument. Now he was beginning to appeal to the -feelings of the man on the bench and the men in the box. His head was -no longer erect, his gestures no longer combative. He was asking them -to remember the circumstances of the case. He was painting a picture -of himself. He appealed to their finer natures, and begged them not to -contemn this young man, who by the nature of the great art, the noble -art of oratory, to which he had devoted much study and in which he had -had some successful practice, lived always in a state of exalted -sentiment and sensations. This young man was more likely than others -of his years to be overborne and carried away by emotions which would -not disturb the equanimity of another man. His nature was excitable, -and he had the ready, in this case the fatally ready, command of words -belonging to men who had trained themselves for public speaking. - -Here the scene became so real to his mind that unknown to himself he -broke out into speech: - -"Gentlemen, I know he, may not be excused wholly. I will not ask you -to say he is not to blame. I will not dare to say I think he behaved -as a considerate and thoughtful man. But, gentlemen, though you -cannot approve his conduct, you will not, oh, I pray you, do not take -away from him the reputation he holds dearer than life, the reputation -of being a sincere man and a gentleman. Amerce him in any penalty -you please short of denying him the reputation of being earnest and -high-minded and----" He paused. Tears for the spectacle of himself -were in his eyes. His voice was shaken by the intensity of his pity -for himself. - -"John," said a soft voice behind him. - -He turned quickly round. A tall, slender woman, with calm, clear face -and snow-white hair, was standing in the room. - -"Mother! I did not hear you come in." - -"I hope I did not break in disastrously. It is late. I wanted to see -you for a few minutes before I went to bed. I did not like to speak -until you stopped." - -He had gone to her and put his arm round her waist and kissed her -smooth white hair above her smooth, pure forehead. "Mother," he said, -in a low, soft, musical and infinitely tender voice, "I am sorry I -kept you waiting for me. I was going to you in a moment, dear." - -There was none of the art of the orator in these words, or in the -exquisitely tender flexions of the voice. But the heart of the man was -in the tones of his voice for his mother. - -She looked at him in the dim light and saw his disordered collar and -tie, but put that down to excitement caused by his rehearsal. - -He led her gently to a chair and took one in front of her by the side -of the dining-table. He took her thin, white hand in both his own and -looked into her calm, beautiful face, radiant with that tranquil light -of maternal love justified and fulfilled. - -"You have something to tell me, mother? Something pleasant, I hope, -about yourself." He had never spoken in a voice of such unreckoning -love to Dora in all their meetings and partings. It was the broad, -rich, even sound of a river that is always flowing in one direction -and always full, not the tinkle of a capricious fountain or the -tempestuous rush of a torrent at the mercy of exhaustion or drought. - -"I have, my son. It does not concern me, or if it does, but -indirectly. Indeed, I do not know. It has to do with you, dear." They, -like sweethearts, called one another "dear," because they were -inexpressibly dear to one another. - -"With me, mother? And how?" John Hanbury was not a handsome man, but -when he smiled at his slender, grey-haired mother, and patted her -delicate white thin hands with his own large and brown, there was more -than physical beauty in his looks, there was a subjugating, an -intoxicating radiance, and all-completed prostration of his soul -before the mother he worshipped. - -"I do not know exactly, John. Your father gave me in trust for you, as -you know, a paper, which I was not to give to you except at some great -crisis of your life. If no harm of any particular moment threatened -you until you were thirty, you were never to see this paper." - -"I know," he said. "I was only seventeen then--not launched in the -world--and he thought I might, when I came of age, and got my two -thousand a-year, plunge into dissipation, and take to racing or -backing horses, or cards, or something of that kind. Well, mother, I -hope you are not uneasy about me on those scores? This paper is no -doubt one of extremely good advice from an excellent father to a young -son. I am sure I will read the paper with all the respect I owe to any -words he may have left for my guidance. You do not think, mother, I am -now likely to give way to any of those temptations?" - -She shook her small head gravely. - -"I do not fear you will give way to the ordinary temptations of youth, -John. I know you too well to dread anything of the kind. I don't think -the paper your father left me for you refers to the ordinary danger in -a young man's path." - -"Then you must believe it has to do with unusual dangers, and you must -believe I am now threatened by some unusual dangers?" said he with a -start. He had been threatened by a very uncommon danger that day, the -danger of being made a laughing stock for the whole town, but such a -misfortune could never have been contemplated by his father. Compared -with the importance of a message from his dead father, how poor and -insignificant seemed his fears of the early part Of this day. - -"I do not know. I am not sure. Something out of the common must be in -your case, my dear child." What a luxury of pride and delight to think -the tall, powerful, stalwart, clever man, was her child, had been a -little helpless baby lying in her lap, pressed close to her heart! -"When your father died you were in his opinion too young, I dare say, -to be taken into his confidence. He often told me he would leave a -paper for you, and that I was not to give it you until you were -between twenty one and thirty (if I lived), and that I was only to -give it to you in case you showed any very strong leaning towards -politics or a public life." - -The son smiled, and threw himself back in his chair. He felt greatly -relieved. He knew his father had always shown a morbid horror of -politics, and had always tried to impress upon him the emptiness of -public honours and distinctions. Why, his father never said. The son -distinctly remembered how tremulously excited the old and ailing man -had been at every rumour of ambitious scheming abroad, particularly -how he garrulously condemned the ceaseless scheming for the throne of -France then perplexing the political world. He had often pointed out -to his young son the folly of the Legitimists and the Orleanists and -the Napoleons, until once John had said, "Why, sir, you are as -emphatic to me in this matter as if I myself were a pretender!" Upon -which his father had said, "Hush! Hush! my boy. You must not jest -about such matters. Idle, the idlest, pretensions of the kind have -often caused oceans of bloodshed." Upon which John had smiled in -secret to note how his father's cherished horror had carried him so -far as to caution him, John Hanbury, member of a simple English -household, against aspiring to the kingly or imperial throne of the -Tuileries! - -"You do not think, mother," he said gaily, "that I am going to buy a -tame eagle, and hire a fishing boat and take France?" - -She smiled sadly, remembering her husband's dread of lofty aspirants. -"No," she said, "I think, if your father were alive now, he would see -as little need of cautioning you against becoming a pretender to the -throne of France as of keeping out of dissipation. But he told me if -ever you showed signs of plunging into politics I was to give you the -paper. I left it in my room, thinking we might both sit there, not -fancying we should have our chat here. I shall give it to you as you -go to your room." - -"And you have no clue to what the paper contains?" he asked -pleasantly. - -"No," she answered with hesitancy and a thoughtful lowering of her -eyes. "You remember, at that time--I mean as a boy and lad--you were a -fierce Radical." - -"Oh, more than that! I was a Republican, a Socialist, a Nihilist, I -think. A regular out-and-out Fire-eater, Iconoclast, Destructionist, I -think," the young man laughed, throwing himself back in his chair and -enjoying the memory of his youthful thoroughness. - -"And your father took no part whatever in politics, seemed to dread -the mention of them. He was at heart, I think, an aristocrat." - -"And married the daughter of Sir Ralph Preston, whose family goes back -centuries before the Plantagenets, and to whom a baronetcy is like a -mere Brummagem medal on the breast of a Pharoah." - -Mrs. Hanbury shook her head deprecatingly and smiled. "I am afraid you -are as ardent in your estimate of my family pretensions to lineage as -you were long ago in your hatred of kings and princes." - -"But I have always been true to you, mother!" he said in that -wonderful, irresistible, meltingly affectionate voice; he took her -hand and kissed it reverentially. - -"Yes, my son. Always." As his head was bent over her hand she laid her -hand on his thick dark curly hair. - -"My mother," he murmured, when he felt her touch. - -Her eyes filled and shone with tears. She made an effort, commanded -herself, and as her son sat back on his chair, went on: "You know when -your father went into business there was no necessity of a money kind -for his doing so. The Hanburys have had plenty of money always, never -lands, as far as I know, but money always. They were not a very old -family as far as I have heard. This was a point on which your father -was reticent. At all events he went into business in the City, as you -are aware, and there made a second fortune." - -"Well, mother, I am not at all ashamed of our connection with business -or the City," said the young man pleasantly. - -"Nor am I, John, as you know. When I married your father, none of my -people said, at all events to me, that I disgraced my family or -degraded my blood. Your father was in business in Fenchurch Street -then. My family had known your father all his life. Our marriage was -one purely of inclination, and was most happy. Your father was a -simple, intelligent, kind-hearted gentleman, John, and as good a -husband and father as ever breathed." - -"Indeed, mother, I am quite sure of that. I still feel raw and cold -without him," said the young man gravely. - -"And I shall never get over his loss. I never forget it for one hour -of any day. But I am growing talkative in my age like all old people," -she said, drawing herself up and laughing faintly. "I am sure I have -no reason for saying it, but I fancy the paper your father left with -me for you, is in some way connected with the business, or the reason -which made him go into business. He gave it to me a few days before he -died, and when he knew he was dying. He gave it to me after saying a -great deal to me about business, after arranging his other business -affairs. He said he did not like you to take so much interest in -politics, but that he supposed he must not try to foretell your -future. That there was such a thing as going too far in any cause, and -that if ever you showed any disposition to put your extreme views in -practice, I was to give you this paper. 'In fact, Amy,' said he, 'if -our dear boy goes into public life at the popular side, give him this -paper; it may be the means of moderating his ardour; but do not give -it to him until he is over twenty-one. He will have, I think, no need -of it if he keeps quiet until he is thirty. If his mind takes the -other bend and he shows any sympathy with any reactionary party in -Europe, any party that wants to unsettle things as they now are, -destroy this on your peril. If you think he is devoted only to English -Radicalism, give him the paper; if he mixes himself up with any -Republican party on the Continent, give him the paper. But if he shows -sympathy with any pretender on the Continent, _burn the paper, Amy, as -you love your boy, and bury the ashes of it too_.' Those were his very -words. What they mean or refer to I do not know." Her face had grown -paler. - -"And you never read the paper?" - -"No. Nor have I the least clue to its contents. I only know that your -father was a sensible man, and attached great importance to it. If you -come I will give it to you now." - -They both rose and left the dining-room together. As they went -up-stairs she said: - -"I am aware for some time you have not been quite certain as to the -side you would throw in your lot with. I don't think your father ever -contemplated such a situation, and it seems to me that if this paper -is to be of any use to you it must be of most use when you are -wavering." - -"But I am no longer wavering. I have decided to throw in my lot with -the advanced party." - -"When did you make up your mind?" - -"To-day." - -"Oh, you dined at Curzon Street. And have you arranged about your -marriage with dear Dora? No new daughter was ever so welcome as she -will be to me. Has the time been fixed?" - -He started. "No, not exactly, mother." He had forgotten for the past -quarter of an hour all about the quarrel or scene with Dora. He -flushed crimson, and then grew dusky white. He seized the balustrade -for a moment to steady himself. His mother was walking in front, and -could not see the signs of his agitation. - -He recovered himself instantly. - -She judged by his tone that her question had not been well timed. With -the intention of getting away as far as possible from the thought of -Dora, or marriage, she said, turning round upon him with a smile as -she opened her boudoir door, "By the way, who was that admirable -paragon whose panegyric you were pronouncing in the dining-room when I -came in?" - -He laughed uneasily and did not meet her eyes. "An acquaintance of -mine, a poor devil who has got himself into serious trouble." - -"A friend of yours, John, in serious trouble." - -"Not a friend, mother, an acquaintance of mine." - -"Do I know him, John?" - -"No, mother. Not in the least. I should be very sorry you did. I hope -you may never know him." - -For the second time in a minute Mrs. Hanbury felt that she had asked -an ill-timed question. - -She handed him the paper of which she had spoken. He said good-night -to her, and as the clock on the lower lobby was striking midnight he -entered his own room. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - JOHN HANBURY ALONE. - - -When John Hanbury closed and locked the door of his own room and threw -himself into an old easy chair, he felt first an overwhelming sense of -relief. A day of many exciting and unpleasant events was over, and he -was encompassed by the security of his home and environed closely by -the privacy of his own sleeping chamber. No one uninvited would enter -by the outer door of the house; no one could enter this room without -his absolute permission. He was secure against the annoyance or -intrusion of people. Here he could rest and be safe. Here he was -protected against even himself, for he could not make himself -ridiculous or commit himself when alone. All trials of great agony -spring from what we conceive to be our relations with others. Beyond -physical pains and pleasures, which are few and unimportant in life, -we owe all our joys and sorrows to what others think or say of us. -Even in the most abstracted spiritual natures the anger of Heaven is -more intolerable to anticipate than the torture of Hell. - -John Hanbury's room was in the back of the house. Here, as in the -dining-room, the window was wide open. The stars were dull in the -misty midsummer sky. Now and then came the muffled rattle of a distant -cab, now and then the banging of doors, now and then the sounds of -shooting locks and bolts as servants fastened up the rears of houses -for the night. Beyond these sounds there was none, and these came so -seldom and so dulled by distance, and with intervals so increasing in -length that they seemed like the drowsy muttering of the vast city as -it moved heavily seeking ease and sleep. - -For a while Hanbury sat without stirring. He still held in his hand -the paper his mother had given him. He knew he had not escaped the -battle. He was merely reposing between the fights. He sat with his -head drooped low upon his chest, his arms lying listlessly by his -side, his legs stretched out. This was the first rest of body or mind -he had had that day, but, as in a sleep obtained from narcotics, while -it gave him physical relief his mind was gaining no freshness. - -At length Hanbury shook himself, shuddered, and rose. The light was -not fully up. He left his window open from the bottom all night. He -went to it, pulled up the blind and sat down on the low window-frame. -He put his hand on the stone window sill, and leaning forward looked -below. - -Here the silence was not so deep or monotonous as in the room with the -blind down. There arose sounds, faint sounds of music from the backs -of houses where entertainments were being given, now and then voices -and laughter could be heard indistinctly. In many of the windows shone -lights. No suggestion of tumult or trouble came from any side or from -the sky above. On earth spread a peaceful heaven of man's making and -man's keeping; above a peaceful heaven of God's will. - -Here was the largest, and richest, and most powerful, and most -civilized city of all time, lying round the feet of a stupendous -goddess of liberty, whose statue had been reared by wisdom borrowed -from all the ages of the history of man. This was the heart of the -colossal nation whose vital blood flowed in every clime. - -Here were powers capable of beneficent application lying ready to the -hand of every strength. To be here and able was to have the key-board -of the most gigantic organ ever devised by human mind open to one's -touch. - -Here all creeds were free, all thoughts were free, all words were -free, all men were free. There was no slavery of the soul or the -person. Here, the leader of the people was the ruler of the state. The -people made the laws, and the King saw that the laws were obeyed. - -Each man of the people was a monarch who deputed his regal powers to -the King. - -An hereditary sovereign was the best, better a thousand times than -elected King. - -In this country were no plots and schemings about succession. Here the -King's son came to the throne under the will of the people. This -country was never disturbed by struggles to get a good ruler. This -country always had a good ruler, that is the will of the people. - -What a miserable spectacle France, great France, chivalric France -presented now! How many pretenders were there to the throne?--to the -presidential chair? There were the Legitimists, and the Orleanists, -and the Napoleons, two branches of Napoleons, and a dozen aspirants to -the presidency! How miserable! What waste of vigour and dignity. - -Yes, he was glad he had made up his mind. He would devote himself, -body and soul, to the sovereign people under the constitutional -sovereign. - -He would be as advanced as any man short of revolution, short of -violence. His motto should be All things for the people under the -people's King. - -No doubt his mother's talk to him in the dining-room had set him off -on such currents of thought. His mother's talk in the dining-room--by -the way, he had not yet looked at the paper she had given him. - -He pulled down the blind, turned up the lights over the mantel, and -standing with his back to the chimney-piece, examined the packet in -his hand. - -It was a large envelope, tied in a very elaborate manner, and the -string was sealed in three places at the back. On the front, under the -string, he read his own name in his father's well-known large legible -writing. He cut the string and the envelope, and drew out of the -latter a long narrow parcel. This he opened, and found to consist of -half-a-dozen sheets of brief-paper closely covered on both sides with -the large legible writing of his father. The paper was secured at the -left hand corner by a loop of red tape. He saw at a glance that the -document took the form of a letter to him. It began, "My dear and only -son, John," and finished with "Your most affectionate and anxious -father, William Hanbury." The young man turned over the sheets slowly, -glancing at each in turn. This long letter was not, from first to -finish, broken in any way. There were no general heading, or divisions -into sections, or even paragraphs. From beginning to end no break -appeared. The wide margin bore not a single scratch. There was no mark -from the address to the signature to attract attention. - -He glanced at the opening words of this long letter. From them it was -plain his father meant him to read them quietly and deliberately in -the sequence in which they ran. The first sentence was this: - - -"It is of the greatest importance to the object I have in view that -the facts I am about to disclose to you should reach your mind in the -order I have here put them; otherwise the main fact in the revelation -might have a pernicious effect upon you, my son." - - -The young man lowered the manuscript and mused a moment. It was -obvious to him that no matter what he should think of the contents of -this document his father had considered them of first-rate importance, -and likely to influence his own mind and actions in no ordinary way. -His father's sense and judgment! had never been called in question by -any of his father's oldest and closest friends, and those who knew him -most intimately never saw reason to account him liable to exaggerated -estimates of the influence of ideas, except in his morbid -sensitiveness to anything like popular revolutions or dynastic -intrigues. - -John Hanbury raised the document and recommenced where he had left -off. That first sentence was cautionary: the second sentence took away -the breath of the young man, by reason of the large field it opened to -view, and the strange and intense personal interest it at once -aroused. It ran thus: - - -"About the middle of the last century, when George the Second sat on -the throne of England, and the usurper, Elizabeth, daughter of Peter -the Great, on the throne of Russia, Sir Charles Hanbury Williams was -appointed our ambassador to Russia. To Sir Charles Hanbury Williams -you and I owe our name, although a drop of his blood does not flow in -our veins, nor are we in any way that I know of related to him or -his." - - -Again the young man lowered the manuscript from before his eyes. His -face suddenly flushed, his eyes contracted, he thrust his head forward -as though listening intently. What could be coming? He strained his -hearing to catch sounds and voices muttering and mumbling on the -limits of his thoughts. He was at sea, gazing with wild eagerness into -the haze ahead, trying to determine whether what he saw was sea-smoke -or cloud or land. Why these great chords in the prelude? What meant -these muffled trumpets, telling of ambassadors and courts and kingdoms -and empires? What concords were these preluding? What stately themes -and regal confluences of harmony? Were these words the first taps of -the kettle drums in his march upon some soul-expanding knowledge? What -should he now see with his eyes and hear with his ears and touch with -his hands? Upon what marvellous scenes of the undisclosed past was the -curtain about to rise? Were some mighty engines that had wrought in -the world's history about to be exhibited to his eyes? What mysteries -of councils and of courts was he destined to witness and understand? -Who was he? Of whom was he? Whence was he? Hanbury and yet no Hanbury. -How came it he owned the middle and not the final name of the -diplomatist and poet of the days of George the Second? - -God of Heaven, could it be there was the blood of a shameful woman in -his veins? - -His face suddenly blanched. The thick dark veins of his temples and -forehead lay down flat and then sank hollow. His swarthy rough skin -shrank and puckered. His lips drew backward thinned and livid. His -clenched white teeth shone out, and his breath came though them with a -hissing noise. He drew himself up to his full height, and for a moment -looked round defiantly. - -All at once the blood flew back to his cheeks, his forehead, his neck. -He covered his face with his bent arm and sank into a chair, crying: -"Not that! Oh God, not that! Anything but that!" - -He remained for a long time motionless, with his face covered by his -arm, and the hand of that arm holding the paper against his shoulder. -At first no thoughts passed through his mind. He was no longer trying -to see or hear or divine. He felt overwhelmed, and if he had the power -to do it he would there and then have ceased to think, have -annihilated the power of thought for ever. To his sensitive and -highly-wrought mind, base blood of even four or five generations back -would have forbidden him any part in public life, and, worse than that -a thousand times, have destroyed his personal interest and pride in -himself for ever. - -"I would rather," he moaned, when his mind became more orderly, "carry -the hump upon the withered, distorted legs of that man, Oscar Leigh, -than a bend sinister. A noble woman may fall, but no noble woman who -has fallen would take money for her sin. It is not the sin that would -hurt me, but the hire of the sin, the notion that I had the blood of -shame in my veins, and the price of shame in my pocket. Bah! I would -die of fever if it were so. My blood, the blood in my veins would -ferment and stew my flesh. I should rot from within." - -He dropped his arm and looked around him. The sight of the familiar -room and well-known objects allayed the agony of despair. He drew a -deep breath and sat up. - -"I have been terrifying myself with shadows, with less than shadows, -with absolute blanks; nay, I have been terrifying myself with less -than nothing! I have been trying to change the absolute and manifest, -and vouched sunlight into gloom and the people of gloom, phantoms. The -only evidence before me is evidence against my fears. Instead of an -intangible horror, there is an affirmed and ponderable assurance that -although my name is Hanbury, and I got that name from Sir Hanbury -Williams, not a drop of his blood is in my veins! Why, I am more like -a girl with her first love-letter, trying to guess its contents from -the outside, than a man with a business document in his hand! Let me -read this thing through now as I discussed another matter awhile ago, -as if it were a brief put into my hands as a counsel. It is exactly, -or almost exactly like a brief." He tossed the sheets carelessly in -his hand. "Let us see what the case is." - -He sat himself back deliberately in his chair, thrust out his legs -before him, and holding the manuscript in both hands began it again. - -With contracted brows and face of stern attention he read on. He -betrayed no more excitement than if he held in his hand a bluebook -which he desired to master for some routine speech. Now and then he -cleared his throat softly, imperfectly, indifferent to the result; for -all other sound he made he might have been fashioned of marble. Now -and then he turned the leaves and moved slightly from side to side; -for all other motion he made he might have been dead. - -At last he came to the final line, to his father's signature. He read -all and then allowing the manuscript to fall from his hands and his -arms to drop to his side, sat in the chair motionless, staring into -vacancy. - -For an hour he remained thus. Beyond the heaving of his chest and his -calm regular respiration, he was perfectly still. At length he sighed -profoundly, not from sadness, but deep musing, shook himself, -shuddered, looked round him as though he had just waked from sleeping -in a strange place. - -He rose slowly and going to the window drew up the blind. - -No lights were now to be seen in the rear of any of the houses, and -complete silence filled the windless air. - -"How peaceful," he whispered, "how calm. All the loyal subjects of Her -Majesty Queen Victoria are now sleeping in calm security. What a -contrast! Here the person of the subject is as sacred as the person -of the sovereign. Good heavens, what a contrast! Gracedieu in -Derbyshire. I seem to have heard of that place before, but I cannot -recollect, when or where. Gracedieu must be a very small place, -for my father says it is near the village of Castleton. I don't know -where Castleton is, beyond the fact that it is in Derbyshire. -Gracedieu--Gracedieu--Gracedieu. The name seems familiar enough, but -joined with what or whom I cannot think. It is a common name. There -must be many places of the name in England. My memory of it must be -connected with some circumstance or people, for I am sure I have never -been in the place myself or in Castleton either; or in Derbyshire at -all, for the matter of that, except passing through. I don't think I -can be familiar with the name in connection with the Peak. My only -knowledge of the Peak and its neighbourhood is from some written -description, and my only memory of the name Gracedieu is one of the -ear, not of the eye. - -"I am sure my memory of it is of the ear, and that it is a pleasant -memory too! but I can get no further now. To-morrow I shall go and see -the place for myself. This whole history is astounding. I am too much -stunned by it to think about it yet. - -"There's two o'clock striking. I must not wake my mother to tell her. -I feel as if my reason were a little disturbed. I feel choked and -smothered up--as if I could not breathe. I am worn out and weak. The -day has been too much for me. I will go to bed. I am sure I shall -sleep. I am half asleep as it is." - -He drew back from the window and stretched up his hand for the cord. - -"The Queen of England sleeps secure, with all her subjects secure -around her--and I----" He did not finish the sentence. He shook his -head and pulled down the blind. - -Suddenly he struck his thigh with his clenched fist, calling out in a -whisper: "Of course, I now remember where I heard of Gracedieu. What a -stupid fool I have been not to recall it at once! It's the place that -beautiful girl the dwarf introduced me to comes from! My head must be -dull not to remember that! His Pallas-Athena, and I----" - -He turned out the lights, and began undressing in the dim twilight; -there were already faint blue premonitions of dawn upon the blind. - -"I wonder," he muttered in the twilight, "will his figures of time -include Cophetua and the Beggar Maid! Ha--ha--ha. I am half asleep. - -"That old story I read this night was not unlike Cophetua and the -Beggar Maid, only--I must not think of it now, I am too dazed and -stunned and stupid." - -He was in bed, and in a few minutes was asleep. On a sudden he woke up -at the sound of his own voice, crying out loud in the profound peace -of the early dawn:-- - -"Thieves! Thieves! Kosciusko to the rescue. The king is on your side!" - -He found himself standing up in the bed gesticulating wildly. The -sweat was pouring down from his forehead and he was trembling -violently in all his limbs. - -He stood listening awhile to ascertain if his shout had wakened the -household, but unbroken silence followed his cry. Then he lay down and -soon fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - - TIMMONS'S TEA AND LEIGH'S DINNER. - - -Mr. John Timmons's tea was a very long and unsociable meal. It took -hours, and not even the half-dozen red-herrings brought to him by Mrs. -Stamer in the fish-basket were allowed to assist at it. They lay in -dense obscurity on the floor of the marine-store. Tunbridge Street was -now as silent as the grave. - -It was after eleven o'clock and John Timmons had not yet emerged from -his cellar. All the while he had been below a strong pungent smell of -burning, the dry sulphurous smell of burning coke, had ascended from -below, with now and then noise of a hand-bellows blowing a fire, but no -steam or sound or savour of cooking. Now and again there was the noise -of stirring a fire, and now and again the noise of a tongs gripping -and loosing and slipping on what a listener might, in conjunction with -other evidence, take to be pieces of coke. From time to time the man -below might be heard to breathe heavily and sigh. Otherwise he uttered -no sound. If the subterranean stoker desired secrecy he had his wish, -for there was no one in or near the place listening. - -But if no one was listening to the stoker some one was watching -the exterior of the marine-store in Tunbridge Street. A short time -before eleven o'clock a man dressed in seedy black cloth, with short -iron-grey, whiskers and beard, and long iron-grey hair and wearing -blue spectacles, turned into the street, and sat down in a crouching -position on the axle-tree of a cart, whose shafts, like a pair of -slender telescopes, pointed to the dim summer stars, or taken together -the cart and man looked like a huge flying beetle, the body of the -cart being the wings, the wheels the high elbowed legs, the man the -body of the insect and the two long shafts the antennae thrust upwards -in alarm. - -When it was about a quarter past eleven John Timmons emerged from the -cellar, carrying in one hand a dark lantern, with the slide closed. -When he found himself in his upper, or ground-floor chamber, or shop, -or store, he drew himself to his full height, and, with head advanced -sideways, listened awhile. - -There was no sound. He nodded his head with satisfaction. Then he went -cautiously to the wicket, and with a trowel began digging up the earth -of the floor, which was here dark and friable and dry. It was, old -sand from a foundry, and could be moved and replaced without showing -the least trace of disturbance. Timmons did not use the lamp. He had -placed it beside him on the ground with the slide closed. - -After digging down about a foot he came upon a small, old, -courier-bag, which he lifted out, and which contained something heavy. -The bag had been all rubbed over with grease and to the grease the -dark sand stuck thickly. Out of this bag he took a small, heavy, -cylindrical bundle of chamois leather. Then he restored the bag to the -hole, shovelled back the sand and smoothed the floor, rose and stood a -minute hearkening, with the cylinder of chamois rolled-up leather in -his hand. - -This hiding-place had been selected and contrived with great -acuteness. It was so close to the foot of the shutters that no one -looking in through the ventilators at any angle could catch sight of -it. The presence of the moulder's sand at the threshold was explained -by the fact that no other substance was so good for canting heavy -metal objects upon. Superficial disturbances were to be expected in -such a floor, and it was impossible to tell superficial disturbances -from deep ones. Once the sand was re-levelled with a broom-handle, -used as a striker is used in measuring corn, it was impossible to -guess whether any disturbance had recently taken place. In concealing -and recovering anything here the operator's ear was within two inches -of the street, and he could hear the faintest sound outside. The -threshold was not a likely place to challenge examination in case of -search. - -Timmons now walked softly over his noiseless floor, carrying his -lantern in one hand and the roll of leather in the other, until he got -behind the old boiler of the donkey engine. Here he slid back the -slide of the lantern and unrolled the leather. The latter proved to be -a belt about a palm deep, and consisting of little bags or pockets of -chamois leather, clumsily but securely sewn to a band of double -chamois. - -There were a dozen of those little pockets in all; six of them -contained some heavy substance. Each one closed with a piece of string -tied at the mouth. Timmons undid one and rolled out on his hand a -thick lump of yellow metal about the size of the large buttons worn as -ornaments on the coats of coachmen. It was not, however, flat, but -slightly convex at one side and almost semi-spherical on the other. - -He smiled a well-satisfied smile at the gold ingot, and weighed it -affectionately in his black, grimy palm, where the gold shone like a -yellow unchanging flame. Timmons gave the ingot a loving polish with -his sleeve, dropped it back into its bag, and re-tied the string. Then -out of each of his trousers' pockets he took a similar ingot or -button, weighed each, and looked at each with affectionate approval, -and secured each in one of the half-dozen vacant leather bags. - -"Two pounds two ounces all together," he whispered. "I have never been -able to get more than fifteen shillings an ounce for it, taking it all -round at fifteen carats. His offer is as good as thirty shillings an -ounce, which leaves a margin for a man to get a living out of it, if -the dwarf is safe. If I had had only one deal with him, I'd feel he's -safe, but he has done nothing but talk grand and nonsense up to this, -and----" Timmons paused and shook his head ominously. He did not -finish the sentence, but as he stood weighing the belt up and down in -his hand, assumed suddenly a more pleasant look, and whispered with a -smile exhibiting his long yellow teeth: "But after this deal to-night -he can't draw back or betray me. That's certain, anyhow." - -He unbuttoned his waistcoat, strapped the belt round his lank, hollow -waist, blew out the lantern, and walking briskly, crossed the store, -opened the wicket and stepped into the deserted street. He closed and -locked the door behind him, and turning to his left walked rapidly -among the carts and vans to London Road. - -Before he disappeared, the elderly man with grizzled hair and -whiskers, dressed in seedy black cloth, emerged from the shadow -of the cart and kept stealthily and noiselessly in the rear of the -marine-store dealer. John Timmons was on his way to keep his important -business appointment with Leigh in Chetwynd Street, Chelsea, and the -low-sized man with blue spectacles was following, shadowing Timmons. - -When Leigh left Curzon Street that evening, he made his way into -Piccadilly first, and thence westward in a leisurely way, with his -head held high and a look of arrogant impudence and exultation on his -face. He turned to the left down Grosvenor Place. He was bound to -Chetwynd Street, but he was in no humour for short cuts or dingy -streets. - -He was elated. He walked with his head among the stars. All the men he -met were mud and dross compared with him. Whatever difficulty he set -himself before melted into nothingness at his glance. If it had suited -him to set his purpose to do what other men counted impossible, that -thing should be done by him. No political party he led should ever be -out-voted, no army he commanded defeated, no cause he advocated -extinguished. These creatures around him were made of clay, he of pure -spirit, that saw clearly where the eyes of mere men were filled with -dust and rheum. - -This clock upon which he was engaged would be the eighth wonder of the -world when completed. He had not yet done all the things he spoke of, -had not yet introduced all the movements and marvels he had described -to the groundlings. But the clock was not finished. Why it was not -well begun. By and by he would set about those figures of time. They -would require a new and vastly complicated movement and great -additional power, but to a man of genius what was all this but a -bagatelle, a paltry thing he could devise in an hour and execute by -and by? - -Already the clock was enormously complicated, and although it seemed -simple enough, as simple as playing cats-cradle when he was near it, -when he could see the cause and application of all its parts and -instantly put any defect to rights, still when he was away from it for -a long time, part of it seemed to stop and sometimes the whole of it, -and--this was distracting, maddening--the power seemed to originate at -the escapements, and the whole machine would work backward against his -will until the enormous weights in the chimney, out of which he got -his power, were wound up tight against the beams, until the chains -seemed bursting and the beams tearing and the wheels splitting and -dashing asunder. And all the while the escapements went flying in -reverse so fast as to dazzle him and make him giddy, and then, when -all seemed lost and the end at hand, some merciful change would occur -and the accursed reversed movement would die away and cease, and after -a pause of unspeakable joy the machine would start in its natural and -blessed way again and he would cry out and weep for happiness at the -merciful deliverance. - -Hah! He felt in thinking of these sufferings about the clock as though -the movement were going to be reversed now. - -Leigh paused for a moment, and looked around him to bring himself back -to the actual world. - -"Hah!" he whispered. "I know why I feel so queer. It's the want of -food. I have had no food to-day--for the body any way--except what she -gave me. What food she gave me for the soul! My soul was never full -fed until to-day." - -He resumed his course, and, without formulating his destination, -directed his steps instinctively towards the restaurant where he -usually dined. - -"But this alchemy?" his thoughts went on, "this miracle gold? What of -it?" He dropped his chin upon his chest and lapsed into deep thought. -The boastful and confident air vanished from his eyes and manner. He -was deep sunk in careful and elaborate thought. - -The position looks simple if regarded in one way. Here this man -Timmons calls on him and says:-- - -I am a marine store dealer, and all kinds of old metal come into my -hands. I buy articles of iron and copper and lead and brass and tin -and zinc. I buy old battered silver electro-plate and melt it down for -the silver. Silver is not worth the attention of a great chemist like -you. But sometimes I come across gold. It may reach my hands in one -way or several ways. It may turn up in something I am melting. It may -be gilding on old iron I buy. You are not to know all the secrets of -my trade as a marine store dealer, which is a highly respectable if -not an exalted trade. Now gold, no matter how or where it may be, is -worth any man's consideration. The gold that comes my way is never -pure. It averages half or little more than half alloy. You are a great -chemist. I cannot afford time to separate the gold from the alloy. I -cannot spare time to go about and sell it. Every man to his trade; I -am a marine-store dealer, you are a great chemist. What will you give -me for ingots fifteen carats fine? - -The value of gold of fifteen carats to sell is two pounds thirteen -shillings and a penny. Gold is the only thing that never changes its -price. Any one who wants pure gold must give four pounds four -shillings and eleven pence halfpenny for it. Fifteen twenty-fourths! -The value of fifteen twenty-fourths of that sum is two pounds thirteen -and a penny. The alloy counts as dross and fetches nothing---- - -"Hah! Yes," thought Leigh interrupting his retrospect with a start as -he found himself at the door of the restaurant where he proposed -dining, "I must have food for the body. Food for the soul, if taken -too largely or alone, kills the body, no matter how strong and shapely -and lithe it may be. I shall think this matter out when I have eaten. -I shall think it out over a cigar and coffee." - -He ordered a simple meal and ate it slowly, taking great comfort and -refreshment out of the rest and meat. He had a little box all to -himself. He was in no humour for company, and it was long past the -dinner time in this place, so that the room was comparatively -deserted. - -When he had finished eating he ordered coffee and a cigar, and putting -his legs up on the seat, rested his elbow on the table, lit his cigar -and resumed his cogitations in a more vigorous and vocal manner, using -words in his mind now instead of pictures. - -"Let me see. Where was I? Oh, I recollect. Timmons can't spare time -for chemistry or metallurgy and doesn't care to deal with so valuable -a metal as gold, even if he had the time. I understand all about -metals and chemistry and so on. I entertain the suggestion placed -before me and turn it round in my mind to see what I can make of it. I -get hold of a superb idea. - -"Of course, after extracting the metal from the alloy, when I had the -virgin gold in my hand I should have to find a market for it, to sell -it. The time has not yet come for absolutely forming my figures of -time in metal. Wax will do even after I begin the mere drudgery of the -modelling. - -"Well, if I were to offer considerable quantities of gold for sale in -the ordinary way, I should have to mention all about John Timmons, and -that would be troublesome and derogatory to my dignity, for then it -would seem as though I were doing no more than performing cupelling -work for this man Timmons. - -"The whole volume of science is open to me. I am a profound chemist. I -am theoretically and practically acquainted with the whole science -from the earliest records of alchemy down to to-day. I agree with -Lockyer, that according to the solar spectrum some of the substances -we call elements have been decomposed in the enormous furnaces of the -sun. I hold instead of their being seventy elements there is but one, -in countless modifications, owing to countless contingencies. What we -call different elements are only different arrangements of one -individual element, the one element of nature, the irreducible unit of -the creation, the primal atom. This is a well-known theory, but no one -has proved it yet. - -"I stand forth to prove it, and how better can I prove it than by -realizing the dream of the old transmuters of metals. Alikser is not a -substance. The philosopher's stone is not a thing you can carry in -your pocket. It is no more than a re-arrangement of primal atoms. What -we call gold is, let us say, nothing more than crystallized -electricity, and I have found the secret of so bringing the atoms of -electricity together that they fall into crystals of pure gold. Up to -this the heat of the strongest furnaces have not been able to -volatilize one grain of metallic gold: all you have to do to make -metallic gold is to solidify it out of its vapourous condition, say -electricity or hydrogen, what you please. - -"How this is done is my great discovery, my inviolate secret. The -process of manufacture is extremely expensive, I cannot share the -secret with anyone, lest I should lose all the advantage and profit of -my discovery, for no patent that all the government of earth could -make with brass and steel would keep people from making gold if they -could read how it may be done. - -"Pure gold is value for a halfpenny less than four pounds five -shillings an ounce Troy. I will sell you pure gold, none of your -childish mystery gold with its copper, and silver, and platinum -clumsiness that will not stand the fire, but pure gold that will defy -any test wet or dry, or cupel, for four pounds the ounce. Come, will -you buy my Miracle Gold at four pounds the ounce Troy?" - -Leigh struck the table triumphantly with his hand, and uttered the -question aloud. His excitement had carried him away from the table, -and the restaurant. He was nowhere he could name. He was in the clouds -challenging no one he could name to refuse so good an offer. He was -simply in the lists of immortality, throwing down the gage to -universal man. - -No one was present to accept or decline his offer. No one caught the -words he uttered. But the sound of the blow of his fist upon the table -brought a waiter to the end of the box. Leigh ordered more coffee and -another cigar. When they had been brought and he was once more alone, -his mind ran on:-- - -"That is one view of it, that is the view I should offer to my -customers and to the world of my position. But what kept me so from -closing with this Timmons was the consideration that everyone who -heard my version of the matter might not accept it. - -"The clock is out-growing me, and often I feel giddy and in a maze -with it. A clock cannot fill all my life and satisfy all a man's -heart. At the time I began it years ago I fancied it would suffice. I -fancied it would keep my heart from preying on itself. But now the -mechanism is often too much for me when it is not before my eyes. It -wears, and wears, and wears the mind, as it wears, and wears, and -wears itself. - -"When this man Timmons came to me first, I thought of putting the -clock to a use I never contemplated when I started making it. Since I -began to think of making the clock of use in my dealings with this -Miracle Gold, I have seen her; I have seen this Edith Grace, who -staggered me in my pursuit of Miracle Gold and filled my veins with -fire I never knew before. What fools we men are! And I who have not -the proportions of a man, what a fool ten thousand times multiplied! -She shrank from me as though I were a leper, I who am only a monster! -I would give all the gold that ever blazed before the eye-balls of men -to have a man's fair inches and straight back! I! I! I! What am I that -I should have feelings? Why, I am worse than the vilest lepers that -rotted without the city gate. _They_, even _they_, had had their days -of wholesomeness and strength before the plague fell upon them. I was -predestined from birth to stand in odious and grotesque blackness -against the sun, to seem in the eyes of all women a goblin spewed out -of the maw of hell!" - -He paused. The clock struck. He sprang to his feet. - -"Ten!" he said aloud. He said to himself: "Ten o'clock, and I have a -good deal to do before Timmons comes at midnight." - -Suddenly he paused on his way to the door of the restaurant, and stood -in deep thought. Then he resumed his way to the door and when he got -out into the street, said half aloud: - -"Strange that I should have forgotten all about that. Have I much to -do before midnight? I told her--the other, the more wonderful and more -beautiful one of the same mould, the one with the heart, the lady of -the two--that I should decide about the gold between the time I was -speaking to her and the same time next week. She did not shrink from -me as if I were a leper, this second one of the two. Stop, I have no -time to think this matter out now. I have a week. I will take all -steps as though I had not seen her in that room. What a pitiful, mean -cad that Hanbury is! Why, he's lower than a leper! He's more -contemptible than even I!" - -He cleared his mind of all doubts and concentrated it upon what he had -to do before meeting John Timmons. He hurried along and in a few -minutes let himself into his house with his latch-key. - -There was no voice or even light to greet him in his home. As he -ascended the stairs he thought: "If tombs were only as roomy as this -house I shouldn't mind being done with daylight and the world, and -covered up. Now, I'd give all I own in this world to have a -comfortable mind like Williams, my friend the publican, over the way. -Ha-ha-ha!" His hideous laugh, now shrill like the squeal of grating -metal, now soft and flabby and gelatinous like the flapping of a wet -cloth, echoed in the impenetrable darkness around him. - -"If Hanbury were only here now and had a knife--in ten minutes I'd -know more than any living man. Ha-ha-ha!" - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - - A QUARTER PAST TWELVE. - - -Oscar Leigh sat in the dark on the last step but one of the stairs of -his house, awaiting the arrival of John Timmons. It was close to the -appointed hour. He had spent the interval in his workshop with the -clock. He had one of his knees drawn up close to his body, his elbow -rested on his knee, his long bearded chin in the palm of that hand. It -was pitch dark. Nothing could be seen, absolutely nothing. For all the -human eye could learn an inch from it might be a plate of iron or -blind space. - -"My mother cannot live for ever," whispered the dwarf--like many -people who live much in the solitude of cities he had the habit of -communing with himself aloud--"and then all will be blank, all will be -dark as this place round me. Where shall I turn then? Whom shall I -speak my heart to? I designed my clock to be a companion, a friend, a -confidant, a solace, a triumph; it is becoming a tyrant and a scourge. -It is cruel that my mother should grow old. Why should not things stop -as they are now? But we are all on our way to death. We are all on our -way out of the world to make room for those who are coming in. No -sooner do we grow to full years and strive to form our hearts than we -discover we are only lodgers in this world and that those we like are -leaving our neighbourhood very soon, and that while we cannot go with -them we cannot remain either. - -"A man must have something to think of besides himself; a deformed -dwarf must never think of himself at all, unless he thinks great -things of himself. I am depressed to-night. I have been living too -fast all day. What a long day it has been. I told that young whelp, -Hanbury, I should show him something more wonderful than Miracle Gold. -I took him with me to Grimsby Street, and the marvellous likeness -between those two girls took the sight out of his eyes and the speech -out of his mouth, and the little brains he has out of his head. Then I -go with him to see _her_ who is the other, only with glory added to -beauty. She is better and more wonderful than Miracle Gold, better and -more wonderful than the substance of the ruby flash in the flame of -the diamond. If the devil had but let me grow up as other men, she -might have made me try to carry myself and act like a god. I am of -Satan's crew now--it would hardly pay to apostatize. Here's Timmons." - -The knock agreed upon sounded on the door and reverberated through the -hollow darkness. Leigh rose, and sliding his left foot and supporting -his body on the stick, held close in under his ribs, went to the door -and opened it. - -"Twelve to the minute," said Timmons, holding up his hand and waving -it in the direction whence came the sound of a church clock striking -midnight. - -"Let us go for a walk," said Leigh, turning west, away from Welbeck -Place and the Hanover, and shutting the door behind him. - -"But I have the stuff with me," said Timmons, in a tone of annoyance -and protest. - -"Let us go for a walk, I say," cried Leigh imperiously, striking his -thick twisted stick fiercely on the flags as he spoke. - -The two men turned to the left, and went on a few paces in silence. -Timmons was sulky. A nice thing surely for a creature to ask a man to -call on business at his private residence with valuable property at -midnight and then slam the door in his face and coolly ask him to go -out for a walk! It was a downright insult, but a man couldn't resent -an insult from such a creature. That was the worst of it. - -"I have been in telegraphic communication with Birmingham since I saw -you," said Leigh, stopping under a lamp-post, pouring out a few drops -of eau-de-cologne into his palm and inhaling the spirit noisily. - -"Oh?" said Timmons interrogatively, as he looked contemptuously at the -dwarf. - -"Hah! That's very refreshing. Most refreshing. May I offer you a -little eau-de-cologne, Mr. Timmons?" said the little man with -elaborate suavity. - -"No, thanks," said Timmons gruffly. "I don't like it." Timmons's -private opinion was that a man who used perfume of any kind must be an -effeminate fool. It was not pleasant to think this man, with whom he -was about to have very important business transactions, should be an -effeminate fool. Perhaps it indicated that he was only a new kind of -villain; that would be much better. - -"Hah!" said Leigh, as they re-commenced their walk, "I am sorry for -that, for it is refreshing, most refreshing. I was saying that since I -had the pleasure of visiting your emporium--I suppose it is an -emporium, Mr. Timmons?" he asked, with a pleasant smile. - -"It may be, or it may be an alligator, or a bird-show, or anything -else you like to call it," said Timmons in exasperation. "But you were -saying you had a message from Birmingham since I saw you." - -"I had not only a message, but several messages. I went straight from -your emporium to King's Cross, so as to be near Birmingham and save -delay in wiring. I know where I can usually get a clear wire there--a -great thing when one is in a hurry--the mere signalling of the message -is, as you know, instantaneous." - -"Ay," said Timmons scornfully, with an impatient serpentine movement -running up his body and almost shaking his head off its long, -stalk-like neck. "Well, is the fool off the job?" asked he coarsely, -savagely, in slang, with a view to showing how cheap he held such -unprincipled circumlocution. - -The dwarf stopped and looked up with blank amazement on his face and -an ugly flash in his eyes. "Is what fool off the job, Mr. Timmons? Am -I to understand that you are tired of these delays?" - -Timmons snorted in disdainful rage. The implication that he was the -only fool connected with the matter lay in the tone rather than the -words, but it was unmistakable. The dwarf meant to insult him grossly, -and he could not strike him, for it would be unmanly to hit such a -creature, and he could not strangle him, for there were people about -the street. By a prodigious effort he swallowed down his rage, spread -his long thin legs out wide, as if to prevent the flight of Leigh, and -said in a hoarse, threatening, sepulchral voice: "Look here, Mr. -Leigh. I've come on business. What have you to say to me? I have -twenty-six ounces that will average fifteen carats. Are you going to -act square and stump up?" - -"Hah! I see," said Leigh, smiling blandly, as though rejoicing on -dismissing the injurious suspicion that Timmons wanted to back out of -the bargain. "I own I am relieved. The fact, my dear sir, is, that on -leaving you I telegraphed to my correspondent in Birmingham for----" - -"No more gammon," said the other, menacingly. They were in front of a -church, of the church whose clock they had heard strike midnight -before they left Leigh's doorstep. Here there was a quiet space suited -to their talk. The church and churchyard interrupted the line of -houses, and fewer people passed on that side of the way than on the -other. There were no shops in this street. Still it was lightsome, and -never quite free from the sound of footsteps or the presence of some -one at a distance. Stamer had hinted that Leigh might try to murder -Timmons for plunder, and now Timmons was almost in the humour to -murder Leigh for rage. - -Leigh made a gesture of gracious deprecation with his left hand and -bowed. "This, Mr. Timmons, is a matter of business, and I never allow -anything so odious as fiction to touch even the robe of sacred -business." He lifted his hat, raised his eyes to the top of the spire -of the church and then bowed low his uncovered head. "For, Mr. -Timmons, business is the deity every one of our fellow-countrymen -worship." - -"What are you going to do; that's what I want to know?" said the other -fiercely. - -"Precisely. Well, sir, I shall tell you my position in two words. I -suspect my Birmingham correspondent." Leigh threw back his head and -smiled engagingly, as though he had ended an amusing anecdote. - -"By ----, you don't say that?" cried Timmons, fairly startled and -drawing back a pace. - -"I do." - -"What does he know?" - -"About what, my dear sir? What does he know about what? Are you -curious to learn his educational equipments? Surely you cannot be -curious on such a point?" He looked troubled because of Timmons's idle -curiosity. - -"Don't let us have any more rot. You say you suspect this man?" - -"I do." - -"What does he know of the stuff?" - -"Of the stuff, as you call it, he knows from me absolutely nothing." - -"How can you suspect him if he doesn't know? How can he peach if you -haven't let him into the secret?" - -"I didn't say I suspected him of betraying the secret of my -manufacture." - -"Then what _do_ you suspect him of--speak plain?" Timmons's voice and -manner were heavy with threat. - -"Of something much worse than treachery." - -"There is nothing worse than treachery in our business." - -"I suspect this man of something that is worse than treachery in any -business." - -"It has no name?" - -"It has a name. I suspect this man of not having much money." - -"Ah!" - -"Is not that bad? Is not that worse than treachery?" - -Timmons did not heed these questions. They were too abstract for his -mind. - -"And you think this villain might cheat, might swindle us after all -our trouble?" - -"I think this villain capable of trying to get the best of us, in the -way of not paying promptly or the full price agreed upon, or perhaps -not being able to pay at all." - -"And, Mr. Leigh, when did you begin to suspect this unprincipled -scoundrel?" Timmons's language was losing the horrible element of -slang as the virtuous side of his nature began to assert itself. - -"Only to-day; only since I saw you in Tunbridge Street." - -"Mr. Leigh, I hope, sir, you'll forgive my hot words of a while ago. I -know I have a bad temper. I humbly ask your pardon, Mr. Leigh." -Timmons was quite humble now. - -"Certainly, freely. We are to work, as you suggested, on the -co-operative principle. If through my haste or inefficiency the money -had been lost, we should all be the poorer." - -"I have advanced about twenty pounds of my own money on the bit I have -on me. My own money, without allowing anything for work and labour -done in the way of melting down, or for anxiety of mind, or for -profit. If that little bit of yellow stuff could keep me awake of -nights, I often wonder how the people that own the Bank of England can -sleep at all." - -"They hire a guard of soldiers to sleep for them in the Bank every -night." - -"Eh, sir?" - -"Hah! Nothing. Now you understand why I did not ask you into my place -and take the alloy. We must wait a little yet. We must wait until I -can light upon an honest man to work up the result of our great -chemical discovery. I hope by this day week to be able to give you -good and final news. In the meantime the ore is safe with you." - -"I'm sure I'm truly grateful to you, sir." - -"What greater delight can a person have than helping an honest man to -protect himself against business wretches who are little better than -thieves?" - -"Eh?" - -"Hah! Nothing. Give me a week. This day week at the same hour and at -the same place." - -"Very good. I shall be there." - -An empty hansom was passing. Leigh whistled and held up his hand to -the driver. - -Suddenly both he and Timmons started, a long clang came from the other -side of the railings. - -"'Tisn't the last Trumpet for the tenants of these holdings," said -Leigh, pointing his long, skinny, yellow, hairy hand at the graves. -"It's the clock striking the quarter-past twelve. Good-night." - -"Good-night," said Timmons, in a tone of reserve and suspicion. He was -far from clear as to what he thought of the little man now bowling -along down the road in the hansom. - -Yes, this man was quite beyond him. Whether the whole thing was a -solemn farce or not he could not determine. This man talked fifty to -the dozen, at least fifty to the dozen. - -Timmons touched his belt. Ay, the gold was there sure enough. That was -a consolation anyway, but---- - -He shook his head, and set out to walk the whole way back to the dim, -dingy street off the Borough Road, where he had a bed-room in which he -spent no part of his time but the hours of sleep. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - - AN EARLY VISITOR TO TIMMONS. - - -Men in Mr. Timmons's business never look fresher at one period of the -day than another. They seem no brighter for sleep, and, to judge by -their appearance, either soap and water has no effect on them, or they -seek no effect of soap and water. Lawyers put aside their wigs and -gowns, and professors their gowns and mortar-boards, and butchers -their aprons, and cooks their caps, before they leave the scene of -their labours, but dealers in marine-stores never lay aside their -grime. They cannot. The signs and tokens of their calling are ground -into their flesh, and would resist any attempt at removal. Mr. Timmons -was no exception to his class. On Thursday morning he was in every -outward seeming the same as on Wednesday night. He was the same as on -all other mornings, except that he came a little earlier than usual to -his place in Tunbridge Street. He had private business to transact -before throwing open the front of his store to the eyes of the few -stragglers who passed through that gloomy haunt of discarded and -disabled vehicles of the humbler kind. - -He went in through the wicket, locked the wicket after him, and -without loss of time dug up the old canvas-bag from under the sand, -rolled up the chamois belt, and, having placed the belt in the bag, -re-buried the latter in its old hiding place. Then he rose and -stretched himself and yawned, more like a man whose day's work was -over than about to begin. - -He sat down on the old fire-grate where Mrs. Stamer had rested the -night before, yawned again, leaned his head against the wall and fell -fast asleep. The fact is he had slept little or nothing the night -before. Oscar Leigh's strange conduct had set him thinking and -fearing, and the knowledge that for the first time his chamois-belt -was away from its home made him restless and kept him awake. - -John Timmons had no regular time for throwing his bazaar open to the -public. The shutters were never taken down before eight o'clock and -never remained up after ten. He had come that morning at seven, and -sat down to rest and doze before eight. At a little after nine he -jumped up with a start and looked round with terror. A knock on the -outside of the shutters had aroused him. He had often been at the -store as early as seven, but never until now had he heard a demand for -admittance at so early an hour. Could it be he had slept long into the -day, or were the police after him? - -He looked round hastily, wildly, out of his pale blue eyes. He threw -up his arms on high, and shook them, indicating that all was lost. -Then he composed himself, pulled his hat straight over his forehead, -drew down his waistcoat and coat-sleeves, arranged his blue tie, and -clearing his throat with a deep loud sound, stepped quickly to the -wicket, where for a moment he moved his feet rapidly about to give the -newly-levelled sand an appearance of ordinary use. - -With great noise and indications of effort he unlocked the door and -opened it. - -A low-sized man, with grizzled hair and mutton-chop whiskers and blue -spectacles, dressed in seedy black, and looking like a schoolmaster -broken in health and purse, stood in the doorway. - -Timmons stared at the man in amazement first, anger next, and lastly -rage. - -"Well?" he bellowed fiercely; "who are you? What do you want?" - -The man did not speak. He coolly stepped over the bar of the wicket -and stood close to Timmons in the dimly-lighted store. - -The dealer was staggered. Was this a policeman come to arrest him? If -he was, and if he had come alone, so much the worse for him! - -Timmons put his hand on the man's shoulder, drew the man quickly clear -of the wicket, shut the door and locked it. Then turning menacingly on -the intruder, who had taken a couple of paces into the store, he said -ferociously, "Now, sir! What is it?" - -Quick as lightning the man drew a revolver from his waist-band under -his coat and presented it at Timmons's head. - -The latter fell back against the shutters with an oath and a shout of -dismay. - -Swift as thought the man dropped the weapon and thrust it back into -its place in his waist-band under his coat, saying as he did so: - -"You always said you should know me if I was boiled. What do you say -now?" - -"Stamer!" yelled Timmons, with another oath. - -The other laughed. "And not even boiled either." - -"By ----, I'll have it out of you for this trick yet," said Timmons in -a whisper. "What a fright you gave me! and what a shout I made! -Someone may have heard me. You should not play such tricks as that, -Stamer. It's no joke. I thought you were a copper." And he began -walking up and down rapidly to calm himself. - -"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Timmons," said the man, humbly and with an -apologetic cough, "but I think your nerves want looking after." - -"You scoundrel!" - -"They do indeed, sir; you ought to get your doctor to put them right." - -"You cursed blackguard!" hissed Timmons as he strode up and down the -dark store, wiping the sweat off his streaked forehead with the ball -of his hand. - -"In an anxious business like ours, sir, a man can't be too careful. -That's my reason again' the drink. Attendin' them temperance meetin's -has done me a deal of good. I never get flustered now, Mr. Timmons, -since I gave up the drink. I know, sir, you're next door to a -teetotaller. It may be too much studyin', sir, with you. I have heard, -sir, that too much studyin' on the brain and such like is worse than -gin. If you could get away to the sea-side for a bit, sir, I'm certain -'twould do you a deal of good. You know I speak for your good, Mr. -Timmons." - -"You fool, hold your tongue! First I took you for a policeman----" - -"I haven't come to that yet, sir," said the man in a tone of injury, -and raising his shoulders to his ears as if to protect them from the -pollution of hearing the word. - -"And then I took you for a thief." - -"Mr. Timmons!" cried the man pathetically. "Couldn't you see who I -was? I never came here on business, sir. I came for the pleasure of -seeing you, and to try if you would do a favour for me." - -"Hold your tongue!" cried Timmons. "Hold your tongue, you fool." - -The man said no more, but leaning his back against the wall, looked up -blankly at the unceiled rafters and boards of the floor above. - -The manner of Mr. John Timmons gradually became less volcanic. He -arranged his necktie and thrust his hands deep into his trousers' -pockets instead of swinging them round him, or running his fingers -through his grizzled hair and whiskers. Suddenly he stopped before his -visitor, and said grimly in a low voice, "Stamer, aren't you surprised -you are alive?" - -Stamer stood up on his feet away from the wall and said in a tone of -expostulation, "Now, Mr. Timmons, it isn't so bad as that with me yet. -I may have let one or two people see the barrel, you know, just to -help business; but I never pulled trigger yet, sir. Indeed, I didn't." - -"I mean, you fool, aren't you surprised I didn't kill you?" he asked -heavily. - -"You kill me, sir! For what?" cried the man in astonishment. - -"For coming here at this time of the morning in the disgraceful state -you are now in," he said, pointing scornfully at the other. - -"Disgraceful state, Mr. Timmons, sir! You don't mean to say you think -I'm in liquor?" said Stamer in an injured tone. - -"In liquor, no. But worse. You are in masquerade, sir. In masquerade." - -"Indeed, I'm not, sir. Why, I couldn't be! I don't even as much as -know what it is." - -"I mean, sir (and you know very well what I mean), that you are not -here in your own clothes. What do you mean in coming here with your -tomfoolery?" said Timmons severely. He was now quite recovered from -his fright, and wanted to say nothing of his recent abject condition. -The best way of taking a man's mind off you is to make an attack on -him. - -"Not in my own clothes! I hope you don't think I'm such a born loony -as to walk about the streets in togs that I came by in the course of -business. If you think that of me, sir, you put me down very low. I'm -a general hand, as you ought to know, sir, and when there isn't -anything to be done in the crib line, I'm not above turning my hand to -anything that may be handy, such as tickers in a crowd. I use the duds -I have on when I go to hear about the African Blacks. I change about, -asking questions for information, and writin' down all the gentlemen -tell me in my note-book, and I wind up my questions by asking not what -o'clock it is, which would be suspicious, but how long the meeting -will last, and no man, sir, that I ever saw can answer that question -without hauling out his ticker, and then I can see whether it is all -right, or pewter, or a Waterbury. Mr. Timmons, Waterburys is growing -that common that men who have to make a living are starving. It's a -downright shame and imposition for respectable English gentlemen to -give their time to tryin' to improve the condition of the African -Black, and do nothing to encourage the English watch-maker. What's to -become of the English watch-maker, Mr. Timmons? I feel for him, sir!" - -"You have a great deal too much talk for a man in your position. Why -did you come here at this hour and in this outlandish get-up?" - -"Well, sir," said Stamer, answering the latter question first, "you -see I was here yesterday in fustian, and I didn't like to come here -to-day in the same rags. It might look suspicious, for a man in my -line can't be too careful. Of course, Mr. Timmons, you and I know, -sir, that I come here on the square; but bad-minded people are horrid -suspicious, and sometimes them new hands in the coppers make the -cruellest and most unjust mistakes, sir. So I hope you'll forgive me -coming here as an honest man. It won't occur again, sir. Indeed it -won't." - -"You have a great deal too much talk for a man in your position," -repeated Timmons, who by this time had regained his ordinary -composure. "You know I treat you as men in your position are never -treated by men in mine. I not only give you a fair price for your -goods, but now, when the chance comes, I am going to admit you to the -advantages of the co-operative system." - -"It's very, very kind of you, sir, and I'm truly thankful, sir; and I -need only say that, barring thick and thin uns, I bring you -everything, notes included, that come my way. The thick and thin uns, -sir, are the only perquisites of the business I look for." - -"Stamer, hold your tongue. Tell me in two words, what brought you -here?" - -"Well, sir, I was anxious to know how you got on last night? You know -how anxious I was about you, because of your carrying so much stuff -with you down a bad locality like Chelsea. I know you got there safe. -I hope you'll excuse me, Mr. Timmons, for the liberty I took, but I -thought two of us would be safer than one." - -"You know I got there! Two of us safer than one! What do you mean? You -are full of talk and can't talk straight. Out with it, man! Out with -it!" cried Timmons, shaking his fist in Stamer's face. - -"I took the liberty of followin' you, sir, at a respectful distance -and I saw you safe to Mr. Leigh's door----" - -"You infernal, prying ruffian----" - -"No, sir. I was not curious. I was only uneasy about you, and I only -saw you at his door all right; then I knew I could be of no more use, -for, of course, you'd leave the stuff with him, and if anyone got wind -of it there would be no use in followin' you after, and I could do -nothing while you was in the house." - -"Ah!" cried Timmons sharply, as though Stamer had convicted himself of -lying. "If you came away when you saw me go into the house how did you -find out the man's name? _I_ never told you. That's one question I -want to ask you; now here's another. What o'clock was it when you saw -me go into the house?" - -"Twelve to the minute." - -"How do you know? Had you a red herring in your pocket? Eh?" asked -Timmons derisively, shaking his forefinger in Stamer's face. - -"I heard the clock, a church clock strike." - -Timmons paused and drew back. He recollected his holding up his hand -to Leigh, as the latter opened the door, and drawing attention to his -own punctuality. - -"But then what did you mean by going peeping and prying about there. -Did you think I was deceiving you?" The dealer scowled at his visitor -as he put the question. - -Stamer made a gesture of humility and protest: - -"Oh, no, sir! It was this way. When I saw you safe into the house----" - -"Oh--ha-ha-ha! So you saw me safe into the house, did you? -Ha-ha-ha--ho-ho-ho!" laughed Timmons in an appallingly deep voice. - -"Well, no," answered Stamer in mild protest. "I didn't exactly see you -go into the house. You know, for the moment I forgot I had these duds -on, and I thought you might turn round and look back and see me and be -wild with me for followin' you, so the minute you stopped at the door -and knocked I slipped into a public that's at the corner, to be out of -sight in case you should turn around, as most people do, to have a -good look before going into a strange house--anyway I always do----" - -"Very likely. Very likely you do have a good look round both before -and after too. Well, and when you got into the public-house--although -you're not on the drink--you began making your inquiries, I dare say?" -said Timmons in withering reproach. "Or, may be you didn't bother to -ask questions, but told all you knew right off to the potman or the -barmaid. Eh?" - -"Mr. Timmons, you're too hard," said Stamer in an injured tone, and -with a touch of outraged dignity. "If you don't want to hear what -happened, or won't believe what I say, I'll stop." - -"Well, go on, but don't take all day." - -"There isn't much to tell. I got into the private bar at the end of a -passage and, just as I got in, the landlord was sayin' how Mr. Leigh, -the little gentleman over the way, with the hump on him, had been in -that day, and had told him wonderful things he was going to do with -the skeleton of Moses, or somethin' of that kind, which had been found -at the bottom of the Nile, or somewhere. This mention of a little man -with a hump made me take an interest, for I remembered what you told -me last evenin'. And, as the landlord was talking quite free and open -for all to hear, I asked for a tuppenny smoke and a small lemon--for -I'm off the drink----" - -"Go on, or you'll drive me to it," said Timmons impatiently. - -"I couldn't understand what the landlord was sayin' about the Prince -being as dry as snuff, but anyway, after a minute he said: 'There he -is, winding up his wonderful clock,' and all the men in the bar looked -up, and I did too, and there was the little man with the hump on his -back pulling at something back and forward like the rods in a railway -signal-box." - -"You saw him?" - -"Yes, and all the men in the bar saw him." - -"How many men were there in the private bar?" - -"Half-a-dozen or eight." - -"You were drunk last night, Stamer." - -"I was as sober as I am now." - -"What o'clock was it then?" - -"Well, I cannot say exactly, between twelve and half-past." - -"How long did you stay in that public-house?" - -"Until closing time." - -"And how soon after you went in did you see the little man working the -handle, or whatever it was?" - -"A minute after I went in. As I went in the landlord was speakin', and -before he finished what he had to say he pointed, and I looked up and -saw Mr. Leigh." - -"The next time you dog me, and tell a lie to get out of blame, tell a -good lie." - -"Mr. Timmons, what I tell you is as true as that there's daylight at -noon." - -"Tell a better lie next time, Stamer," said Timmons, shaking his -minatory finger at the other. - -"Strike me dead if it isn't true." - -"Why, the man, Mr. Leigh, did not go back into the house at all last -night. He and I went for a walk, and were more than half-a-mile away -when a quarter past twelve struck." - -"Has your Mr. Leigh a twin brother?" - -"Pooh! as though a twin brother would have a hump! Stamer, I don't -know what your object is, but you are lying to me." - -"Then the man's neighbours does not know him. All the men in the bar, -except two or three, knew the hump-backed Leigh, and they saw the -man's face plain enough, for at twenty minutes past twelve by the -clock in the bar he stopped working at the handle and turned round and -nodded to the landlord, who nodded back and waved his hand and said, -'There he his a noddin' at me now.' The publican is a chatty man. And -then Mr. Leigh nodded back again, and after that turned round and went -on working at the handle again." - -"I tell you, at a quarter past twelve last night, I was standing under -the church clock you heard, talking to Mr. Leigh, and as they keep all -public-house clocks five minutes fast, that's the time you say you saw -him. I never found you out in a lie to me, Stamer. I'll tell you what -happened. You got beastly drunk and dreamed the whole thing." - -"What, got drunk in half-an-hour? 'Tain't in the power of liquor to do -it. Mr. Timmons, I swear to you I had nothing to drink all yesterday -but that small lemon. I swear it to you, so help me----, and I swear -to you, so help me, that all I say is true, and that all I say I saw I -saw with my eyes, as I see you now, with my wakin' eyes and in my -sober senses. If you won't take my word for it, go down to Chelsea and -ask the landlord of the Hanover--that's the name of the house I was -in." - -The manner of the man was earnest and sincere, and Timmons could not -imagine any reason for his inventing such a story. The dealer could -make nothing of the thing, except that Stamer was labouring under some -extraordinary delusion. Timmons had never been to Leigh's place before -and never in the Hanover. If he had not been with Leigh during the -very minutes Stamer was so sure he had seen Leigh working at his -clock, he would have had no hesitation whatever in believing what the -other had told him. But here was Stamer, or rather the hearsay -evidence of the landlord of the public house, that Leigh was visibly -working at his clock and in Chetwynd Street at the very moment the -dwarf was talking to himself in the open air half-a-mile away. Of -course five minutes in this case might make all the difference in the -world, and there is often more than five minutes' difference in the -time of clocks in public places; but then Stamer said Leigh was -together the whole quarter-hour from midnight to a quarter past -twelve! - -There was something hideous, unearthly, ghastly, about this deformed -dwarf. The chemist or clockmaker, in the few interviews which had -taken place between them, had talked of mysteries and mysterious power -and faculties which placed him above other men. There was something -creepy in the look of the man, and something horrible in the touch of -his long, lean, sallow, dark-haired, monkeylike fingers. The man or -monster was unnatural, no doubt--was he more or less than mortal? Did -he really know things hidden from other men? To make up for his -deformities and deficiencies had powers and faculties denied to other -men been given to him? - -John Timmons did not believe in ghosts, but he did believe in devils, -and he was not sure that devils might not even now assume human form, -or that Oscar Leigh was not one of them, habilitated in flesh for evil -purposes among men. - -Stamer held no such faith. He did not believe in devils. He believed -in man, and man was the only being he felt afraid of. He thought -it no more than reasonable that Timmons should lie to him. He had -the most implicit faith in the material honesty of Timmons in the -dealings between the two of them; but lying was a consideration of -spiritual faith, and he had no spiritual faith himself. But he was -liberal-minded and generous, and did not resent spiritual faith in -others. It was nothing to him. Timmons was the only man he had ever -met who was absolutely honest in the matter of money dealings with -him, and Stamer had elevated Timmons into the position of an idol to -which he paid divine honours. He would not have lied to Timmons, for -it would have done no good. He brought the fruits of his precarious -and dangerous trade as a thief and burglar to Timmons, and he acted as -agent for other men of his trade and class, and Timmons was the first -fence he had met who treated him honourably, considerately. He had -conceived a profound admiration and dog-like affection for this man. -He would have laid down his life for him freely. He would have -defended him with the last drop of his blood against his own -confederates and associates. He would not have cheated him of a penny; -but he would have lied to him freely if there was any good in lying, -but as far as he could see there wasn't, and why should he bother to -lie? - -He was anxious about the fate of the twenty-six ounces of gold. If -Timmons got the enhanced price promised by the dwarf, some more money, -a good deal more money, was promised to him by Timmons, and he knew as -surely as fate that if Timmons succeeded the money would be paid to -himself. But he was afraid of the craft of this Oscar Leigh who was -not shaped as other men, whom other men suspected of possessing -strange powers, and who, according to his own statement, had been -fishing up the corpses of prophets, or something of that kind, out of -the bottom of the Nile. - -A long silence had fallen on the two men. Timmons had resumed his walk -up and down the store, but this time his eyes were cast down, his -steps slow. He had no reason to distrust Stamer beyond the ordinary -distrustfulness with which he regarded all sons of Adam. He had many -reasons for relying on Stamer more than on nine-tenths of the men he -met and had dealings with. He was puzzled, sorely puzzled, and he -would much prefer to be alone. He was confounded, but it would not do -to admit this, even in manner, to Stamer, and he felt conscious that -his manner was betraying him. He stopped suddenly before his visitor -and said sharply "Now that you have been here half-an-hour and upwards -can't you say what you want. Money?" - -"No, sir. Not money to-day. I called partly to know if you was safe, -and partly to know if you had arranged. I hope you will excuse my -bein' a little interested and glad to see you all right." Stamer never -used slang to Timmons. He paid this tribute to the honesty of the -dealer. - -"Yes. Of course, it would be bad for you if I was knifed or shot. -You'd fall into the hands of a rogue again. Well, you may make your -mind easy for the present. I am alive, as you see. He did not come to -any final arrangement last night. I brought the stuff back again with -me safe and sound, and I am to meet him again at the same place in a -week. Are you satisfied now?" - -"No!" Stamer moved towards the door. - -"Why?" - -Stamer shook his head. "Have nothing to do with that man." - -"What maggot have you got in your head now, Stamer?" - -"He'll sell the pass. It is not clear in my mind now that he has not -sold the pass already, that he has not rounded on you. If you meet him -there again in a week it isn't clear to me that you won't find more -company than you care for." - -"What do you mean? Shall you be there?" - -"No." - -"Who then?" - -"The police." - -Stamer hurried through the wicket and was gone. - -Timmons shut the door once more, and leaning his back against it -plunged into a sea of troubled thoughts. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - - GRACEDIEU, DERBYSHIRE. - - -When Edith Grace came into the little sitting-room in Grimsby Street, -the morning after her flight from Eltham House, she found her -grandmother had not yet appeared. She went to Mrs. Grace's door and -asked if she might bring the old woman her breakfast. To her question -she received a blithe answer that Mrs. Grace would be ready in a -minute. The girl came back to the room where the breakfast was laid -and sat down to wait. The old woman always presided, and sat with her -face to the window. She liked to see as much sunlight and cheerfulness -as came into Grimsby Street. On the table were two plates, two cups, -eggs, rashers, and a loaf of bread. By the side of Mrs. Grace's plate -a letter. It was a frugal-looking breakfast for middle-class people, -but much, more elegantly appointed than one would expect to find in a -Grimsby Street lodging-house. The cutlery, linen, silver and china -were bright and clean and excellent. There were no delicacies or -luxuries on the table, but the adjuncts of the viands were such as no -lady need take exception to. - -Edith was dressed in a perfectly plain black gown, one she had got for -her duties as companion. She had a trace of colour at the best of -times. This morning she looked pale and listless. She had slept little -during the night. She had lain awake, alternately reviewing the -extraordinary events of the day before, and trying to discover some -means by which in her future search of employment she might insure -herself against repeating her recent experience. - -Up to this she knew little or nothing of the world. Her father, a -barrister, had died when she was young. Her mother had been dead since -her childhood. She had spent seven years at a boarding school, during -which time she had come home for the holidays to find her -grandmother's position gradually declining, until from a fine house in -Bloomsbury the old woman was reduced to poor lodgings in Grimsby -Street, where the two had lived together since Edith left school, -three years ago. The money left her by her father had been more than -enough to pay the fees of the "select seminary for young ladies" where -she had spent those seven years. - -While at school she had kept much apart from the other boarders, and -had made no friends, for she knew all the girls she met at Miss -Graham's had homes much better than she could hope to possess after -her grandmother had been compelled to leave Russell Square. - -Edith did not care to take any of her school-fellows into the secret -of their decaying fortunes. She was too proud to pretend to be their -equal in wealth, and too sensitive to allow them to know how poor she -was. She was the quietest, most silent, most reserved girl in all the -school. The majority of those around her were the daughters of City -men. Her father had been a barrister. He had never soiled his fingers -with business. He had been a gentleman by the consecration of -generations of forefathers who had never chaffered across a counter, -never been in trade; and she was a lady. She did not despise those -around her for their wealth or unfortunate origin. She simply kept -herself to herself, and made no friends. She was kind and considerate -to all, and polite almost to painfulness, but she would let no one -near her. Her school-fellows said Edith Grace would be perfect, simply -perfect, if she only had a heart. - -But, alas! the girl had a heart, and what is worse still, a heart very -hard to possess in seeming peace in a young breast confronted with a -decaying fortunes. - -Her school-fellows said she ought to be a queen. By this they meant -that she was, by her appearance and manners, suited to statelinesses, -and splendours, and pageants. They conceived a queen to be above the -common nature of our kind. To be free from the aches and pains of -feeling. To be superior to the bemeaning littlenesses of life. To be -incapable of joy or suffering which does not involve the triumph or -the ruin of a state. - -From the moment of her father's death she knew she must expect to be -poor, poor far below any depth she would have been likely to know, if -he had lived a dozen years longer. Young as she then was, she felt -within herself a love of all the beautiful things that money can buy. -She loved rich and exquisite flowers, and dainty fabrics, and -sparkling stones, and gleaming metals, and fine odours, and stately -pictures, and glories of lamps and melody. As she grew older, her love -of these things would, she told herself, increase. To what purpose? To -the torture of desire denied; for with such splendour she could hold -no converse. She was poor, and she should always be poor. What was to -be done? Beat down, stamp out these tastes, teach herself to rise -above them. Deny herself. - -In time she should leave school and be a woman. She should, when she -left school, be a young woman, and a young woman of no ordinary -personal attractions. She knew this as fully as she knew that the -perfume of the tuberose is sweet, by the evidence of one of her -senses. How should it be with her, then? All these other girls around -her would marry, she never. For who would come wooing her? Some other -lodger in Grimsby Street! A City clerk, or a prosperous hairdresser, -or a furniture dealer, or a man who contracted for the supply of -suppers, or a man who beat carpets, or a baker in a white cap, or the -son and heir of a tailor! She had no moderation of power to -discriminate between any of these. They were all preposterously -impossible lovers, and there were no others left! No thing was -degrading even to fancy. There was only one way of meeting this aspect -of her poverty--she should never marry. That was easy enough. Nothing -could be easier than to keep all men at as great a distance as she -kept the cabman, or the young man who sold her the double elephant -paper for drawing, or the telegraph clerk. No man should, to her dying -day, ever say anything to her beyond the mere business words necessary -to their meeting. Thus she should be as strong in this way as she was -now in her indifference to diamonds or the opera. People said girls -were weak, but girls could be as strong as men, stronger than men, if -they only made up their minds not to long for pretty, or fine, or -interesting objects. - -In the latter class Edith supposed lovers would find their place. - -She should be strong because she should be self-contained. She should -be content because she should be undesiring. She should be independent -because she should form no ties of any kind. Her position should be -completely unassailable. - -So she did not allow herself to display any particular affection for -any one of her schoolmates. She was uniformly kind, and gentle, and -polite. But she was too poor to love anyone, for it would rend her -heart to be separated from one she loved, and she could run no risk of -breaking her heart about her poverty when her poverty did not step in -to separate her from one on whom she settled her affections. - -So for the three years she had lived at home with her grandmother she -comported herself with strict exclusiveness. No young man out of the -formidable list of possible suitors she had allowed to a young girl -with her means had approached her to tell a tale of love, and towards -all whom she met she sought to pass for a retiring shadow. - -But her first advent into the world had brought an alarming, a -horrible awakening. - -The discipline of denial to which she had inured herself prepared her -for the loss of her modest competency. Up to the time of leaving -school, she had regarded her income as sure as the coming of the -planets into the constellations. Soon after leaving Miss Graham's -doubts began to arise in her mind. When at length the blow came, and -she learned she was penniless, no giant despair crushed her. She -simply bowed to the inevitable, without going to the trouble of even -affecting indifference. The money or income had been hers, and was -gone. To lose an income was an unmixed evil, but it ought to affect -her less than others, for had she not cultivated self-abnegation? Was -she not used to desire little or nothing, and was not the step between -asking for little next to that of working for the necessaries of life, -for the things indispensable? She should now have to go forth and earn -her bread, for she could not think of encroaching on the little left -to her grandmother. She was young, and healthy, and accomplished, as -far as Miss Graham's select seminary for young ladies at Streatham -could make a receptive pupil accomplished. - -Up to this she had allowed herself only one luxury, a deep, and quiet, -and romantic love, the love for her kind-hearted old grandmother. That -need not even now be put away, could not, indeed, be put away, but it -might and must be dissimulated. Or, anyway, it might and must remain -undemonstrative, for to show much affection to her grandmother would -be to enhance the pain of the old woman at the parting. - -Hence she steeled herself, and prepared for the separation with -seeming indifference, which only made the desolation seem to Mrs. -Grace more complete, more like death, and freed it from the torture of -struggling with a living and cruel force. - -When Edith Grace saw Oscar Leigh, and arranged to go as companion to -his mother, although she shrank naturally from his objectionable -manner and unhappy appearance, she was better pleased than if he had -belonged to the ordinary mould of man. His deformities made him seem a -being proper to a new condition of life, a condition of life in which -his very unusualness would enable her to preserve and even increase -the feeling of reserve, and being apart from the world, cultivated by -her with such success at Miss Graham's and at home. He was so much out -of the common, he need not be taken into account at all. His -unhandsome appearance would be no more to her than the unhandsomeness -of this street in which she, who dreamed of parks and palaces, and the -Alhambra of Granada, lived. No doubt to look at him was to feel -unpleasant, but the endurance of unpleasant sights was not very much -harder, if so hard, as doing without pleasing sights, and she had -taught herself to abstain from longing after gratifying the eyes. The -system of self-denial which she had imposed upon herself with so much -success needed only a little extension to cover endurance of the -undesirable. She was strong, fortified at every point. This system of -hers was the whole secret of getting through life scatheless. It -afforded an armour nothing could pierce. It made her superior to -fate--absolutely superior to fate. - -She had built for herself a tower of strength. She lived in a virgin -fortress. - -In thinking over at Miss Graham's the possible suitors a young lady -who lodged in Grimsby Street might have, she had allowed as likely a -City clerk, or a prosperous hairdresser, or a man who contracted for -the supply of suppers, or a man who beat carpets, or a baker in a -white cap, or the son and heir of a tailor. With such, she had some -kind of acquaintance, either personal or by strong hearsay. Often in -amused reverie, she passed these candidates for the hand of an -imaginary young lady before her view. The young men were invariably in -their Sunday best when they came a-wooing. There was a dandified air, -an air of coxcombry, about them which amused her. They were, of -course, dandies only after their kind; not like Lord Byron in his -Childe Harold days, or the dandy officers for whom the great Duke of -Wellington prayed so devoutly. They wore gloves of a sort, and flowers -in their button-holes. They carried canes in genteel imitation of the -beaux of old. Their hair was arranged with much precision and nicety. -Their figures were good. They were stalwart and valorous, not, indeed, -in the grand way, but as of their kind. They made displays, as -displays may be made in reasonable conduct, of their physical graces -and alertness. They carried themselves with the heroic air, without -the inartistic stiffness of soldiers of the rank and file. Their -features were well proportioned and agreeable, and they wore smiles of -bland confidence and alluring archness. They looked their approbation -of this imaginary young lady, but their good manners, their awe, never -allowed them to do anything more than strut like harmless peacocks -before the object of their admiration. - -When the girl was alone and in good spirits, she often laughed aloud -at these phantom suitors of this imaginary young lady lodger in -Grimsby Street. She did not look on them with the pity of disdain. She -regarded them as actors in a play. She summoned them for her amusement -and dismissed them without emotion, without even thanks for the -entertainment which they had afforded her. - -On stepping out of the world of dreams into the world of reality what -had happened? - -This man, this deformed, odious little man, whose bread she was to eat -for hire and whose money she was to take for services under his roof, -had paid her attentions! forced his hateful attentions upon her! -attempted to kiss her after an acquaintance of a few hours! - -Good Heavens! Had she, Edith Grace, lived to see that day? Had it come -to this with her? Had she fallen so low? Had she suffered such -degradation and lived? - -It was not the young lady lodger in Grimsby Street of her imagination, -who had been compelled to listen to the ridiculous suits of the clerk, -and the caterer, and the carpet-beater, and the baker, and the tailor -of her fancy, but she herself, Edith Grace, who had had love offered -to her by this miserable creature who was her master also! - -Yet she had lived through it, and the house, Eltham House, had not -fallen down on them, nor had the ground opened and swallowed them, and -neither her grandmother herself nor Leigh seemed to realise the -enormity of the crime! - -Even if she had been the young lady of her imagination, and the young -men of her fancy had taken flesh and done this thing, it would be -unendurable degradation. What had occurred had been endured, although -to reason a thing infinitely less seemed unendurable! In pity's name, -had all that had taken place happened to her, Edith Grace? - -Thoughts in part such as these had haunted the dark hours and early -morning of the young girl. What wonder she was wakeful. Then she had -to consider the future. Turn which way she might, the prospect was not -cheerful. The necessity for her seeking her own living was as -imperative as ever. She could not live at home in idleness without -absolutely depriving her grandmother of the comforts of life. All her -own money had vanished into thin air, and so much of Mrs. Grace's that -there would be barely enough for her mere comfort. When Edith arranged -to go to Eltham House Mrs. Grace had given the landlady notice that -she should no longer require the second bed-room. It was doubtful if -even the sitting-room could be retained, and if the old woman had to -content herself with a bed-room and the "use" of a sitting-room (which -no lodger ever used except to eat in), the poor old woman would mope -and pine and, in all likelihood, sicken and break down. This -consideration, being one not of her own, Edith allowed to trouble her -deeply. For herself she had no pity, but she could not forbear weeping -in the security of her own room when she thought of her grandmother -suffering absolute poverty in old age. No wonder the girl looked pale -and worn. - -She was standing at the window absorbed in thought, when Mrs. Grace -glided into the room and took the girl in her arms before Edith was -aware of her presence. - -"Thank God, you are here once more, my darling. To see you makes even -this place look like home. Oh, what a miserable time it was to me -while my child was away. It seemed an age. Short as it was, it seemed -an age, darling. Of one thing, Edy, I am quite certain, that no matter -what is to become of us we shall never be separated again, never, -darling, never. That is, if you are not too proud or too nice to be -satisfied with what will satisfy your old grandmother." - -It was only in moments of great emotion that Mrs. Grace called her -grand-daughter by the affectionate pet name, Edy. The girl's name was -Edith, and she looked all Edith could mean, and deserved the full -stateliness of the name. But this morning the old woman's heart was -overflowing upon the lost one who had returned. The heart of the -blameless prodigal was so disturbed and softened that it became human, -and all Edith could say or do was to fall upon the bosom of the old -woman, and with her young, soft, moist lips, kiss the dry lips of the -other and cry out: - -"Oh, mother! oh, mother!" and burst into tears. - -Mrs. Grace calling the young girl Edy was not by any means common, but -Edith's weeping in a scene was without any parallel. It frightened the -grandmother. What she, the passionless, the collected, the just Edith -in tears! This was very serious, very serious indeed. The affair of -Eltham House must have had a much greater effect upon the child than -anything which had hitherto occurred, for Mrs. Grace could remember no -other manifestation exactly so sudden and so vehement. - -"There child, there!" cried the old woman, caressing the bent, -shapely, smooth head against her breast. She durst not say any more. -She was afraid of checking this outburst of feeling, afraid of saying -something which would not be in harmony with the feelings of this -troubled young heart. - -So the girl sobbed her long-pent torrent of chaotic feeling away, the -old woman stroking softly the dark glossy hair with one hand and -pressing the head to her bosom with the other. - -In a little while Edith recovered her composure, and stealing out of -her grandmother's arms, turned towards the window to conceal her red -and tear-stained face. The old woman went and busied herself at the -table, re-arranging what was quite in order, and making changes that -were no improvement. At last she sat down and saw the letter awaiting -her close to her plate. She took it up anxiously, hoping it might -prove the means of introducing some new subject between them. - -Mrs. Grace was no slave to that foolish modern habit of tearing and -rending a letter open the minute one sees it, as though it were a -long-lost enemy. Most of the few letters she received were pleasant. -She liked to savour the good things that came by the post before she -bolted them. To one who knows how to enjoy this self-denial of delay, -the few moments before a letter addressed in unknown or partly -remembered handwriting are more precious than the coarse pleasures of -realization. While the seal is unbroken one holds the key of an -intensely provoking mystery. Once the envelope is removed the mystery -is explained, and no mystery ever yet improved upon explanation. The -writing of this letter was unknown to Mrs. Grace. She could make -nothing of it. She turned the back, she could make nothing of that -either. She was expecting a letter from her solicitor, Mr. James -Burrows. This was not from him. He had the bad taste to print his name -on the back of the envelope, a vandalism which paralyzed all power of -speculation at once, and was more coldly and brutally disenchanting -than the habit of writing the name of the sender on the left-hand -corner of the face, for this external signature had often the merit of -being illegible. The writing on the face of this was in a business, -clerkly hand. The thing was a circular, no doubt. - -"Edy," she said, "here is a letter. I have not my glasses with me. -Will you read it to me, dear?" - -The girl turned round, took the letter and went back to the -window--for a better light. - -"From whom is it?" asked Mrs. Grace, when she saw Edith break the -envelope. - -"It is signed Bernard Coutch," answered the girl in a low voice. - -"Bernard Coutch--Bernard Coutch. I do not know anyone of that name. -Are you quite sure the address is right?" - -"Quite sure, mother. 'Mrs. Grace, 28, Grimsby Street.'" - -"Well, go on, child. Let us hear what this Mr. Coutch has to say. -Breakfast must wait. Nothing grows cold in such lovely weather. I hope -this Mr. Coutch has good news." - - -"Dear Madam, - -"Mr. James Burrows, solicitor, of Lincoln's Inn, wrote me a few weeks -ago, with a view to ascertaining some facts regarding the Graces of -Gracedieu----" - -"Stop," said Mrs. Grace, "where is the letter dated from?" - -"Castleton, Derbyshire," answered the girl with some awakening of -interest in her voice and manner. - -"Wait a minute, Edith." The old woman rose excitedly and came to the -window. "I must tell you, dear, that when first Mr. Burrows wrote me -to say the bank had failed, and that your money and mine were gone, I -went to him, as you know, and got no hope of ever saving anything out -of the bank. But I did not tell you then, for I was ashamed of being -so weak as to mention the matter to Mr. Burrows, that I told him all I -knew of the history of the Graces of Gracedieu, and of the old story -of mysterious money going to the runaway Kate Grace, of a hundred and -twenty or thirty years ago. I asked him to make what inquiry he could, -and let me know any news he might pick up. I was foolish enough to -imagine, dear, that something might come to you out of the property of -the rich Graces if we only knew where they are, if there are any. Now -go on, dear." - -Edith re-commenced the letter:-- - - -"Dear Madam, - -"Mr. James Burrows, solicitor, of Lincoln's Inn, wrote me a few weeks -ago, with a view to ascertaining some facts regarding the Graces of -Gracedieu, near this place. He requested, with a view to saving time, -that I should forward you the result of my inquiries. - -"I regret to say that I have not been able to find out much. Gracedieu -is a small residence about a couple of miles from this. No property of -any extent is or was, as far as I can ascertain, attached to the -place. In the middle of the last century the Graces lived in this -town, and dealt, I believe, in wool. The family were in comfortable -circumstances, and one of the daughters, a lady of great beauty, -attracted the attention of all who lived in the town, or saw her in -passing through. She disappeared and was, so the story goes, never -afterwards heard of here. It was rumoured she married a very handsome -and rich young foreign nobleman who had been on a visit in the -neighbourhood, but nothing is known for certain of her fate. - -"Some years after the disappearance of the young lady, Mr. Grace -seemed to come suddenly into a large amount of money; for he gave up -the wool business, bought a few acres of land, and built a house for -himself a couple of miles out of the town, and called his place -Gracedieu. From the name of the house it was assumed the gentleman the -young Miss Grace had married was a French nobleman. Why this was -supposed from the name is not clear, except that the name is French. -It is, however, a common name enough in England. I know two other -Gracedieus. About a hundred years ago the Graces left Gracedieu for -ever, and went to reside, it is believed, in London. Absolutely -nothing else is known of them in this neighbourhood, and even this -much would not be remembered only for the romantic disappearance of -Miss Kate Grace, the rumour she was married, and the sudden influx of -wealth upon the family. - -"The land attached to Gracedieu in the time of the builder of the -house was about five acres. The family, as far as is known, never held -any other property here. - -"If you desire it, search, involving considerable expense, can be made -in the records of the town and parish and county, but I understand -from Mr. Burrows that no expense is to be incurred without hearing -further from you or him. - - "Yours faithfully, - - "Bernard Coutch." - - -The girl turned away from the window, dropped the letter to the floor, -and said in a listless voice, looking, with eyes that did not see -external things, at the old woman, "Mother you ought to be glad you -are not one of the family of Grace." - -"Why, child, why?" - -"We are an accursed race." - -"My child! my child, what folly you talk. There is no disgrace in -marriage, no disgrace in this. There was no shame in this, and who -knows but the mysterious man who ran away with the beautiful Kate long -ago, and married her, may now be a great man in France. He was a -nobleman then and honours are things that grow, dear. If we could only -find out the title he had. I suppose we could if we tried." - -The girl shook her head. "Where there is no disgrace, mother, there is -no secrecy about such things. I thought the Graces went further back -than that." - -"What! Do you want them to go back to Noah or Adam? Why this is four -or five generations! How many of the best titled houses in England go -back so far? Nonsense, child, I wish we knew what the French title -is." - -"So there really was no family of Grace of Gracedieu after all. That -is if this account is true. And there was no estate, mother, and there -can be no money. I am very, very sorry for you, mother." - -"For me, child! Why for me? I don't want anything, pet. I have enough -for my darling and myself, more than enough. I did not make these -inquiries on my own account, but it was on yours that I asked Mr. -Burrows to find out for me. Anyway, dear, no harm has been done. Come -pet, breakfast must be getting cold even this warm morning. How -delightful it is to be able to breakfast with the window open. Tea is -such a luxury this warm weather." - -It was the only luxury on that table tasted by either woman that -morning. The food went away untouched. - -When the landlady saw the unbroken food, she said to her daughter, "I -know the poor ladies are sorely troubled by their losses in that -shameful bank. There's one thing I can't make out about our corrupt -nature. The people who are troubled by something wrong with their -bodies eat and drink more than is good for them by way of trying to -coax themselves to break their fast, and them that are troubled in -their minds don't eat anything at all. The matter seems upside down -somehow." - - - - - CHAPTER XXV. - - TWO OF A RACE. - - -That day had not opened pleasantly or auspiciously for Mrs. Grace and -her granddaughter. As soon as the pretence of breakfast was disposed -of, Edith went to her room and the old woman took her work and sat in -the open window. - -Edith was too unnerved to think of doing anything that day towards -getting a new place. Disappointment and despair seemed to hedge her in -on all sides; but she was resolved to persevere in getting a situation -as soon as she recovered from the effects of her late discomfiture and -shock. The need for immediate employment was all the greater now, for -her outfit and expedition to Eltham House had not only absorbed the -money she had by her, but all her grandmother could command as well, -and there would be little or nothing coming in now. - -For herself she did not care, because she had schooled herself to -regard herself and her feelings as of no consequence. Until that -morning she had enjoyed the sustaining power of family pride. If what -this attorney of Castleton said were true, she no longer could count -on that support. What were three or four or five generations to one -who had believed her name and race had come with the blood-making -William? She had no blood in her veins worth speaking about. She was -at most fifth in line from an humble dealer in wool, in an obscure -provincial town. She who had regarded half-a-dozen of the great ducal -houses as new people! She! who was she or what was she? After all -perhaps it might be better that one who had to earn her bread by -rendering service should not have too far back reaching a lineage. -There was less derogation in earning money by service when one came of -a race of humble dealers in wool than if one had come of an historic -house. - -But the discovery had a depressing effect nevertheless. Her -grandmother didn't feel the matter, of course, so much as she felt it; -for the old woman had none of the Grace blood in her veins. Never had -she, while at school, committed the vulgar folly of boasting of her -family. How fortunate that was, in face of the fact disclosed this -morning. Why, her people had started as small shopkeepers, come by -money and affected therefrom the airs of their betters, and the -consequence of illustrious race. The claims of the Grace family were -nothing more than a piece of pretentious bombast, if not, at the -outset, deliberate lying. No doubt her father had believed he was -well-bred and of gentle birth, but his father before him, or, anyway, -his father before him again, must have known better. - -No doubt the house of Leeds could show no higher origin, but then she -had had nothing but contempt for the house of Leeds. She would rather -have come of an undistinguished soldier of William's, one who never in -himself, or any descendant of his, challenged fame or bore a title, -than owe origin to a City source. She had believed the Graces had the -undiluted blood of Hastings, and now she found they could trace back -no further than the common puddle of an obscure country town. The -romantic past and mysterious background of an old race, no longer -modified the banalities of her position. If she were to choose a -suitor of her peers she should have to take one of the bourgeois -tribe, and one in poor circumstances, too, to suit her own condition! - -Why, if ever she thought of marriage, the fit mate for her was to be -found in that line of vulgar admirers she had paraded for her -amusement, her laughter, her scorn! - -After the discovery of that morning, she, Edith Grace, could lift her -head no more. - -The hours of the weary, empty day went by slowly for the girl. The -blaze of sunlight was unbroken by a cloud. The sun stood up so high in -heaven it cast scant shadows. Grimbsy Street was always quiet, but -after the morning efflux of men towards the places of their daily -work, the street was almost empty until the home-returning of the men -in the late afternoon and early morning. In the white and flawless air -there was nothing to mark the passage of time. - -A sense of oppression and desolation fell upon Edith. In the old days, -that were only a few hours of time gone by, she could always wrap -herself from the touch of adversity in the rich brocaded cloak of -noble, if undistinguished, ancestry. Now she was cold and bare, and -full in the vulgar light of day, among the common herd of people. No -better than the very landlady whose rooms they occupied, and whom a -day back she looked on as a separate and but dimly understood -creation. - -In the middle of the day there was a light lunch, at which Mrs. Grace -made nothing of the disappointment of the morning, and Edith passed -the subject almost silently. Then the afternoon dragged on through all -the inexhaustible sunlight to dinner, and each woman felt a great -sense of relief when the meal arrived, for it marked the close of that -black, blank day, and all the time between dinner and bed-time is but -the twilight dawn of another day. - -An after-dinner custom of the two ladies was that Mrs. Grace should -sit in her easy chair at one side of the window in summer, and Edith -at the other, while the girl read an evening paper aloud until the -light failed or the old woman fell asleep. - -It was eight o'clock, and still the unwearying light pursued and -enveloped the hours pertinaciously. The great reflux of men had long -since set in and died down low. Now and then a brisk footstep passed -the window with sharp beating sound; now and then a long and echoing -footfall lingered from end to end of the opposite flagway; now and -then an empty four-wheeled cab lumbered sleepily by. - -The fresh, low voice of the girl bodied forth the words clearly, but -with no emotion or aid of inflection beyond the markings of the -punctuation on the page. She had been accustomed to read certain parts -of the paper in a particular order, and she began in this order and -went on. The words she read and uttered conveyed no meaning to her own -mind, and if at any moment she had been stopped and asked what was the -subject of the article, she would have been obliged to wait and trust -to the unconsciously-recording memory of her ear for the words her -voice had uttered. - -The old woman's eyes were open. She was broad awake, but not listening -to a word that Edith read. The girl's voice had a pleasing soothing -effect, and she was sadly fancying how they two could manage to live -on the narrow means now adjudged to her by fate. - -Suddenly there was a sharper, brisker sound than usual in the street. -The old woman awoke to observation. The sound approached rapidly, and -suddenly stopped close at hand with the harsh tearing noise of a -wheel-tire grating along the curbstone. Mrs. Grace leaned forward and -looked out of the window. A hansom cab had drawn up at the door, and a -man was alighting. - -"There's the gentleman who was here yesterday with Mr. Leigh," said -Mrs. Grace drawing back from the window. - -Edith paused a moment, and then went on reading aloud in the same -mechanical voice as before. - -"I wonder could he have forgotten his gloves or his cane yesterday?" -said Mrs. Grace, whose curiosity was slightly aroused. Any excitement, -however slight, would be welcome now. - -"I don't know, mother. If he forgot anything he must have left it -downstairs. I saw nothing here, and I heard of nothing." - -"If you please, Mrs. Grace, Mr. Hanbury has called and wishes to see -you," said the landlady's daughter from the door of the room. - -"Mr. Hanbury wants to see me!" said the old lady in astonishment. -"Will you kindly ask him to walk up? Don't stir, darling," she said as -Edith rose to go. "No doubt he brings some message from Mr. Leigh." - -With a listless sigh the young girl sank back upon her chair in the -window-place. - -"Mr. Hanbury, ma'am," said the landlady's daughter from the door, as -the young man looking hot and excited, stepped into the room, drew up, -and bowed to the two ladies. - -"I feel," said the young man, as the door was closed behind him, "that -this is a most unreasonable hour for a visit of one you saw for the -first time, yesterday, Mrs. Grace; but last night I made a most -astounding discovery about myself, and to-day I made a very surprising -discovery about you." - -"Pray, sit down," said the old lady graciously, "and tell us what -these discoveries are. But discovery or no discovery I am glad to see -you. A visit from the distinguished Mr. Hanbury would be an honour to -any house in London." - -The young man bowed and sat down. In manner he was restless and -excited. He glanced from one of the women to the other quickly, and -with flashing eyes. - -Edith leaned back on her chair, and looked at the visitor. He was -sitting between the two a little back from the window, so that the -full light of eight o'clock in midsummer fell upon him. The girl could -in no way imagine what discovery of this impetuous, stalwart, gifted -young man could interest them. - -"You see, Mrs. Grace," he said, looking rapidly again from one to the -other, "I have just come back from the country where I had to go on an -affair of my own. An hour or two ago I got back to London, and after -seeing my mother and speaking to her awhile I came on here to you." - -"Are all men impudent," thought Edith, "like Leigh and this one. What -have we to do with him or his mother, or his visit to the country?" - -"Oh!" cried Mrs. Grace. "I know. I understand. You've been to Millway -and Eltham House with Mr. Leigh, and you have been kind enough to -bring us news of my grand-daughter's luggage." - -"Eh? What?" He looked in astonishment from one to the other. - -"Are all men," thought Edith indignantly, "so pushing, and impudent, -and interfering? What insolence of this man to call at such an hour -about my luggage!" - -"Eltham House? Millway? Miss Grace's luggage? Believe me, I do not -understand." Again his eyes wandered in confused amazement from one to -the other. - -"My grand-daughter left Mr. Leigh's house early yesterday morning and -did not bring her luggage with her," said the old woman severely. "If -you have not called on behalf of Mr. Leigh about the luggage, may I -ask to what you are referring when you say you have been to the -country and found out something of interest to me?" - -"But I have not said I have been to Mr. Leigh's place in the country. -May I ask you where it is?" - -"Near Millway, on the south coast; Sussex, I think." - -"I don't know where Millway is. I have never been there; I have not -come from the south. I have been in the Midlands since I had the -pleasure of seeing you yesterday." - -"The Midlands? The Midlands?" said the old woman, leaning forward and -looking at him keenly. - -Edith's face changed almost imperceptibly. She showed a faint trace of -interest. - -"Yes; I have just come back from Derbyshire. You are interested in -Derbyshire, aren't you?" - -"Go on," said the old woman eagerly. She was now trembling, and caught -the arms of her easy chair to steady her hands. - -"In Derbyshire I had occasion to visit Castleton, and there I met a -Mr. Coutch, who said he had been in communication with you respecting -your family--the Graces of Gracedieu, in the neighbourhood of -Castleton." - -"Yes, yes," said the old woman impatiently. "That is quite right. I -had a letter from Mr. Coutch this morning, saying the Graces had left -the place long ago, and owned no property in the place. Have you any -other--any better news?" - -"Not respecting the Graces and Gracedieu, as far as your questions -go." - -"Oh," said the old woman, and with a sigh she sank back in the chair, -her interest gone. "The Graces are a Derbyshire family, and as my -grand-daughter has just lost all her little fortune, I was anxious to -know if there were any traces of her people in Derbyshire still." - -The eyes of the man moved to the girl and rested on her. - -"I am sorry to hear Miss Grace has lost her fortune," he said softly. -"Very sorry indeed." - -"It was not very much," said the old woman, becoming garrulous and -taking it for granted Hanbury was an intimate friend of Leigh's and -knew all the dwarf's affairs, "and the loss of it was what made my -granddaughter accept the companionship to old Mrs. Leigh down at -Eltham House, near Millway. Miss Grace could not endure Mr. Leigh, and -left, without her luggage, a few hours after arriving there. That was -why I thought you came about Miss Grace's luggage." - -"Miss Grace a companion to Mr. Leigh's mother?" cried the young man in -a tone of indignant protest. "What!" he thought. "This lovely creature -mewed up in the same 'house with that little, unsightly creature?" - -"Yes. But she stayed only a few hours. In fact she ran away, as no -doubt your friend told you." - -"Mr. Leigh told me absolutely nothing of the affair; and may I beg of -you not to call him my friend? He told you I was a friend of his, but -I never met him till yesterday, and I have no desire to meet him -again. When he had the impudence to bring me here I did not know where -I was coming, or whom I was coming to see. I beg of you, let me -impress upon you, Mr. Leigh is no friend of mine, and let me ask you -to leave him out of your mind for a little while. The matter that -brings me here now has nothing to do with him. I have come this time -to talk about the Grace family, and I hope you will not think my visit -impertinent, though the hour is late for a call." - -"Certainly not impertinent. I am glad to see you again, Mr. Hanbury, -particularly as you tell me that odious man is no friend of yours." - -"You are very kind," said the young man, with no expression on his -face corresponding with the words. "Mr. Coutch, the attorney of -Castleton, told me that a few weeks ago you caused inquiries to be -made in his neighbourhood respecting the Grace family. Now it so -happened that this morning, before London was awake, I started for -Castleton to make inquiries about the Grace family." - -"What, you, Mr. Hanbury! Are you interested in the Grace family?" -enquired the old woman vivaciously. - -"Intensely," he answered, moving uneasily on his chair. He dreaded -another interruption. - -Edith Grace saw now that Hanbury was greatly excited. She put out her -hand gently and laid it soothingly on her grandmother's hand as it -rested on the arm of the chair. This young man was not nearly so -objectionable as the other man, and he had almost as much as said he -hated Leigh, a thing in itself to commend him to her good opinion. It -was best to hear in quiet whatever he had to tell. - -"Yes, my child," said Mrs. Grace, responding to the touch of the -girl's hand, "I am most anxious to hear Mr. Hanbury." - -"When I had the pleasure of seeing you yesterday I did not take more -interest in Castleton than any other out-of-the-way English town of -which I knew nothing, and my only interest in your family was confined -to the two ladies in this room. Last night a document was given me by -my mother, and upon reading it, I conceived the most intense interest -in Castleton and Gracedieu and the family which gave that place a -name." - -He was very elaborate, and seemed resolved upon telling his story in a -way he had arranged, for his eyes were not so much concerned with Mrs. -Grace and Edith as with an internal scroll from which he was reading -slowly and carefully. - -"I went to Derbyshire this morning to see Gracedieu and to make -inquiries as to a branch of the Grace family." - -"And you, like me, have found out that there is no trace of the other -branch," said the widow sadly. "You found out from Mr. Coutch that -there were my granddaughter and myself and no clue to anyone else." - -"Pardon me. I found out all I wanted." - -"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Grace, sitting up in her chair and becoming -once more intensely interested. "You found out about the other -branch?" - -"Yes, I found out all about the other branch." - -"And where--where are they? Who are they? What is the name?" cried the -old woman in tremulous excitement. - -"The other branch is represented by Miss Grace, here," said Hanbury, -softly laying his hand on the girl's hand as it rested on the old -woman's. - -"What? What? I don't understand you! We are the Graces of Gracedieu, -or rather my husband and son were, and my grand-daughter is. There was -no difficulty in finding out us. The difficulty was to find out the -descendants of Kate Grace, who married a French nobleman in the middle -of the last century." - -He rose, and bending over the girl's hand raised it to his lips and -kissed it, saying in a low voice, deeply shaken: "I am the only -descendant of Kate Grace, who, in the middle of the last century, -married Stanislaus Augustus Poniatowski, called Stanislaus the Second, -King of Poland." - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - - THE END OF DAY. - - -Edith sprang from her chair trembling, abashed, overwhelmed. Mrs. -Grace fell back and stared at Hanbury. It was not a moment for -coherent thought or reasonable words. Even John Hanbury was as much -overcome as though the discovery came upon him then for the first -time. He felt more inclined for action than for words, and thought was -out of the question. He would have liked to jump upon a horse and ride -anywhere for life. He would have liked to plunge into a tumultuous -river and battle with the flood. The sight of lives imperilled by -fire, and rescue possible through him alone, would have afforded a -quieting relief in desperate and daring effort. - -In his own room, the night before, when he came upon this astounding -news in his father's letter, the discovery brought only dreams and -visions, echoing voices of the past, and marvellous views of glories -and pageantries, splendours and infamies, a feeble ancestor and a -despoiled nation. - -Now, here was the first effect of declaring his awful kinship to the -outside world. His mother's was he, and what was his glory, or infamy -of name, was hers; although she was not of the blood. He knew that -whatever he was, she was that also, body and soul. But here were two -women, one of whom was allied to his race, though stranger to his -blood; and the other of whom was remotely his cousin, whose ancestor -had been the sister of a king's wife, and he, the descendant of that -king. This young girl was kin, though not kind, they were of the -half-blood. Revealing his parentage to these two women, was as though -he assumed the shadowy crown of kingship in a council of his kinsfolk, -conferring and receiving homage. - -A king! Descended from a king! - -How had his mind shifted and wavered, uncertain. How had his -aspirations now fixed on one peak, now on another, until he felt in -doubt as to whether there were any stable principle in his whole -nature. How had his spirit now sympathised with the stern splendours -of war, and now with the ennobling glories of peace. How had he -trembled for the rights of the savage, and weighed the consideration -that civilization, not mere man, was the only thing to be counted of -value. How had he felt his pulses throb at the thought of the lofty -and etherealizing privileges of the upper classes, and sworn that -Christ's theory of charity to the poor, and fellowship with the simple -and humble, was the only way of tasting heaven, and acting God's will -while on earth. Had all these mutations, these dizzying and -distracting vacillations, been only the stirring of the kingly -principle in his veins? - -After many meaningless exclamations and wide questions by Mrs. Grace, -and a few replies from Hanbury, the latter said, "I think the best -thing I can do is to tell you all I know, as briefly as possible." - -"That will be the best," said Mrs. Grace. "But if the man who married -Kate Grace was a Pole, how did they come to call him a Frenchman?" - -"No doubt he used French here in England, as being the most convenient -language for one who did not know English. Remember, he was a private -gentleman then." - -"I thought you said he was a count?" - -"Well, yes, of course he was a count; but I meant, he had no public -position such as he afterwards held, nor had he any hopes of being -more than plain Count Poniatowski." - -"Oh, I see. Then may we hear the story?" She settled herself back in -her chair, taking the hand of her grand-daughter into the safe keeping -and affectionate clasp of both her hands. - -"Towards the end of the first half of the eighteenth century, Count -Poniatowski, son of a Lituanian nobleman, came to England. He was a -man of great personal beauty and accomplishments. While he was in this -country he made the acquaintance of Sir Hanbury Williams, and became a -favourite with that poet and diplomatist. When Sir Hanbury went as -Ambassador to St. Petersburg, he took the young nobleman with him. In -the Russian capital, he attracted the attention of the Grand Duchess -Catherine. When she came to the Russian throne--when King Augustus -III. of Poland died, in 1764--Catherine, now Empress--used her -influence to such effect, that Stanislaus was elected King of Poland. -He was then thirty-two years of age. It was under this unfortunate -king that the infamous partition of Poland took place, and the kingdom -was abolished. Russia, Austria and Germany now own the country over -which Stanislaus once reigned." - -"And how about Kate Grace?" asked the widow in a low voice. - -"I am coming to that, as you may imagine, but I wanted first to tell -you who this man was. Well, Stanislaus spent a good while in England, -and among other places that he went to was Derbyshire, and there, -while staying in the neighbourhood with a gentleman, a friend of Sir -Hanbury Williams, he saw and fell in love with Kate Grace, the beauty -of the place in those times. He made love to her, and she ran away -with him, and was married to him in the name of Augustus Hanbury, in -the town of Derby, as the parish Register, my father says, shows to -this day. Subsequently she came to London and lived with him as his -wife, but under the name of Hanbury. He sent a substantial sum of -money to his father-in-law, and an assurance that Kate had been -legally married, but that, for family reasons, he could not -acknowledge his wife just then, but would later. Subsequently he went -to Russia in the train of his friend, Sir Hanbury Williams, leaving -behind him his wife and infant son comfortably provided for. He had -not been long in St. Petersburg when his King, Augustus III of Poland, -recalled him to that kingdom. Meanwhile, his wife, Kate Grace that had -been, died; they said of a broken heart. Young Stanislaus Hanbury, the -son of this marriage, was taken charge of by one of the Williams -family, and when Stanislaus became King of Poland, he sent further -moneys to the Graces, and to provide for his son, Stanislaus. But the -Graces never knew exactly the man their daughter had married. They -were quite sure she was legally married, and had no difficulty in -taking the money Stanislaus sent them. They were under the impression -their daughter had gone to France, that she died early, and that she -left no child." - -"It is a most wonderful and romantic history," said the old woman in a -dazed way. The story had seemed to recede from her and hers, and to be -no more to her than a record of things done in China a thousand years -ago. The remote contact of her grand-daughter with the robes of a -crowned King, had for the time numbed her faculties. It seemed as -though the girl, upon the mere recital, must have suffered a change, -and that it would be necessary to readjust the relations between them. - -Edith did not say anything. She merely pressed the under one of the -two hands that held hers. - -"A very romantic history," said the visitor. "I have now told you whom -Kate Grace married. She married a man who, after her death, sat thirty -years on the throne of Poland, and was alive when that kingdom ceased -to exist. What this man was I will not say. It is not my place, as a -descendant of his, to tell his story. It has been told by many. I know -little of it, but what I know is far from creditable to him. Remember, -I never had my attention particularly directed to Stanislaus the -Second, or Poland, until last night, and since then I have been -enquiring after the living, and not unearthing the records of the -dead." - -"And you never even suspected anything of this until last night?" said -Mrs. Grace, who now began slowly to recover the use of the ordinary -faculties of the mind. - -"Never. Nor did my mother. In the long paper my father left in charge -of my mother he says he only heard the facts from some descendant of -Sir Hanbury Williams. When he found out who he really was he seemed to -have been seized with a positive horror of the blood in his veins, not -because of what it had done in the past, but of what it might do in -the future. He was a careful, timid man. He thought the best way to -kill the seed of ambition in the veins of a Hanbury would be to reduce -the position of the family from that of people of independent means to -that of traders. Hence he went into business in the City; although he -had no need of more money, he made a second fortune. He says his -theory was that, in these days, no man who ever made up parcels of -tea, or offered hides for sale, could aspire to a throne, and that no -man of business who was doing well at home, ever became a conspirator -abroad. When he saw I was taking a great interest in the struggles of -parties in France, he thought the best thing he could do would be to -let me know who I was, and leave me his opinion as to the folly of -risking anything in a foreign cause, when one could find ample -opportunity of employing one's public spirit usefully in England, for -notwithstanding his foreign blood, my father was an Englishman with -Englishmen against all the world. His instructions to my mother were, -that if, at any time, I showed signs of abandoning myself to excess in -politics, I was to get the paper, for if I leaned too much to the -people the knowledge that I had the blood of a King in me might modify -my ardour; and if I seemed likely to adopt the cause of any foreign -ruler or pretender, I might be restrained by a knowledge that, as far -as the experience of one of my ancestors went, unwelcome rulers meant -personal misery and national ruin." - -"And, Mr. Hanbury, what do you purpose doing? Do you intend changing -your name and claiming your rights?" - -"The only rights I have are those common to every Englishman. The name -I have worn I shall continue to wear. Though my great grandfather's -grandfather was for more than thirty years a king, there is not now a -rood of ground for his descendants to lord it over. This marriage of -Stanislaus Poniatowski with Kate Grace has been kept secret up to -this. Now I wish to bind you and Miss Grace to secrecy for the future. -I have told you the history of the past in order, not to glorify the -past and magnify the Hanburys, but in order to establish between you -two, and my mother and myself, the friendly relations which ought to -exist between kith and kin. You are the last left of your line and we -of ours. To divulge to the public what I have told you now would be to -expose us to ridicule. I came here yesterday in the design of saving -myself from ridicule a thousand times less than would follow if any -one said I set up claims to be descended from a king. I will tell you -the story of yesterday another time. Anyway, I hope I have made out -this evening that we are related. I know, if you will allow it, we -shall become friends. As earnest of our friendship will you give me -your hands?" - -The old woman held out hers with the young girl's in it and Hanbury -stood up and bent and kissed the two hands. - -Then Mrs. Grace began to cry and sob. It was strange to meet a kinsman -of her dead husband, and her son, and her son's child, so late in her -life, and it comforted her beyond containing herself, so she sobbed on -in gratitude. - -"My mother, who is the greatest-hearted woman alive, will come to see -you both tomorrow. Fortunately all the Stanislaus or Grace, or -Hanbury, money was not in rotten banks, and as long as English Consols -hold their own there will be no need to seek a fortune in Millway or -any other part of Sussex. Edith, my cousin, I may call you Edith?" he -asked, gently taking her hand. - -"If it pleases you," she said, speaking for the first time. She had -felt inclined to say "Sir," or "My Lord," or even "Sire." She had been -looking in mute astonishment at the being before her. She, who had -more respect for birth than for power, or wealth, or genius, had sat -there listening to the speech of this man as he referred to his origin -in an old nobility, and related the spreading splendours of his -forefathers blossoming into kingly honours, regal state! There, -sitting before her, at the close of this dull day of disenchantment -and sordid cares, was set a man who was heir not only to an ancient -title in Poland, but to the man who had sat, the last man who had sat, -in the royal chair of that historic land. Her heart swelled with a -rapture that was above pride, for it was unselfish. It was the -intoxicating joy one has in knowledge of something outside and beyond -one's self, as in the magnitude of space, the immensities of the -innumerable suns of the heavens, the ineffable tribute of the flowery -earth to the sun of summer. Her spirit rose to respect, veneration, -awe. What were the tinsel glories she had until that morning -attributed to her own house, compared with the imperial, solid, golden -magnificence of his race? Nothing. No better than the obscure shadows -of the forgotten moon compared with the present and insistent -effulgence of the zenith sun. - -And, intolerable thought! the blood of this man had been allied with -the humble stream flowing in her veins, and he was calling her cousin, -and kissing her hand, he standing while she sat! instead of her -kneeling to kiss his hand and render him homage! - -"My lord and my king," she thought. "Yes, my king. After a joy such as -this, the rest of life must seem a desert. After this night I shall -desire to live no more. I, who thought myself noble because I came of -an untitled soldier of the Conqueror's, am claimed as cousin by the -son of one who ruled in his country as William himself ruled in -England, from the throne!" - -"And we shall be good friends," Hanbury said, smiling upon her. - -"Yes," she said, having no hope or desire for better acquaintance with -the king in her heart, for who could be friends with her king, even -though there were remote ties of blood between them? - -He caught the tone of doubt in the voice, and misconstrued it. "You -will not be so unkind, so unjust, as to visit my intrusion of -yesterday upon me?" - -"No." How should one speak to a king when one could not use the common -titles or forms? - -"You must know that the man I came with yesterday told me if I -accompanied him he would show me something more wonderful than miracle -gold." - -"Yes," she said, for he paused, and her answer by some word or note -was necessary to show she was hearkening. - -"And I came and saw you, Edith, but did not then know you were my -cousin, nor did you dream it?" - -"No." - -"You are the only relative I have living, except my mother, and you -will try and not be distant and cold with me?" - -"Yes, I will try." But in the tone there was more than doubt. - -"And you will call me John or Jack?" - -"Oh!--no--no--no!" She slipped from her chair and knelt close to where -he stood. - -"Are you faint?" he cried, bending over her anxiously. - -"I am better now," she said, rising. - -Unknown to him she had stooped and kissed his hand. - - - - - END OF VOLUME II. - - - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Miracle Gold (Vol. 2 of 3), by Richard Dowling - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIRACLE GOLD (VOL. 2 OF 3) *** - -***** This file should be named 42496-8.txt or 42496-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/4/9/42496/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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