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diff --git a/42731.txt b/42731.txt deleted file mode 100644 index cca60a3..0000000 --- a/42731.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6467 +0,0 @@ - STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON! (VOLUME III) - - - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - - -Title: Stand Fast, Craig-Royston! (Volume III) -Author: William Black -Release Date: May 17, 2013 [EBook #42731] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON! -(VOLUME III) *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON! - - A Novel - - - BY - - WILLIAM BLACK, - - AUTHOR OF - "A DAUGHTER OF HETH," "MACLEOD OF DARE," ETC. - - - - _IN THREE VOLUMES._ - VOL. III. - - - - LONDON: - SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, LIMITED - St. Dunstan's House - FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, E.C. - 1891. - - [_All rights reserved._] - - - - - LONDON: - PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, - STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. - - - - - CONTENTS OF VOL. III. - -CHAPTER - - I. In Vain--in Vain - II. Beyond Seas - III. West and East - IV. Enlightenment - V. Marriage not a la Mode - VI. A Split at Last - VII. New Ways of Life - VIII. In a Northern Village - IX. A Babble o' Green Fields: the End - - - - - STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON! - - - - CHAPTER I. - - IN VAIN--IN VAIN. - - -One evening Mr. Courtnay Fox, the London correspondent of the Edinburgh -_Chronicle_, was as usual in his own room in the office in Fleet-street, -when a card was brought to him. - -"Show the gentleman up," said he to the boy. - -A couple of seconds thereafter Vincent Harris made his appearance. - -"Mr. Fox?" said he, inquiringly. - -The heavy-built journalist did not rise to receive his visitor; he -merely said-- - -"Take a chair. What can I do for you?" - -"No, thanks," said Vincent, "I don't wish to detain you more than a -moment. I only wanted to see if you could give me any information about -Mr. George Bethune." - -"Well, that would be only fair," said the big, ungainly man, with the -small, keen blue eyes glinting behind spectacles; "that would be only a -fair exchange, considering I remember how Mr. Bethune came down here one -night and asked for information about you." - -Vincent looked astonished. - -"And I was able," continued Mr. Fox, "to give him all the information he -cared for--namely, that you were the son of a very rich man. I presume -that was all he wanted to know." - -There was something in the tone of this speech--a familiarity bordering -on insolence--that Vincent angrily resented; but he was wise enough to -show nothing: his sole anxiety was to have news of Maisrie and her -grandfather; this man's manner did not concern him much. - -"I do not ask for information about Mr. Bethune himself; I dare say I -know him as well as most do," said he with perfect calmness. "I only -wish to know where he is." - -"I don't know where he is," said the burly correspondent, examining the -stranger with his small shrewd eyes, "but I guarantee that, wherever he -is, he is living on the best. Shooting stags in Scotland most likely--" - -"They don't shoot stags in December," said Vincent, briefly. - -"Or careering down the Mediterranean in a yacht--gad, an auxiliary screw -would come in handy for the old man," continued Mr. Fox, grinning at his -own gay facetiousness; "anyhow, wherever he is, I'll bet he's enjoying -himself and living on the fat of the land. Merry as a cricket--bawling -away at his Scotch songs: I suppose that was how he amused himself when -he was in Sing Sing--perhaps he learnt it there--" - -"I thought you would probably know where he is," said Vincent, not -paying much heed to these little jocosities, "if he happened to be -sending in to you those articles on the Scotch ballads--" - -"Articles on Scotch ballads!" said Mr. Fox, with a bit of a derisive -laugh. "Yes, I know. A collation of the various versions: a cold -collation, I should say, by the time he has got done with them. Why, my -dear sir, have you never heard of Professor Childs, of Harvard College?" - -"I have heard of Professor Child," said Vincent. - -"Well, well, well, well, what is the difference?" said the ponderous -correspondent, who rolled from side to side in his easy-chair as if he -were in a bath, and peered with his minute, twinkling eyes. "And indeed -it matters little to me what kind of rubbish is pitchforked into the -_Weekly_. If my boss cares to do that kind of thing, for the sake of a -'brother Scot,' that's his own look-out. All I know is that not a scrap -of the cold collation has come here, or has appeared in the _Weekly_ as -yet; so there is no clue that way to the whereabouts of old Father -Christmas, old Santa Claus, the Wandering Scotch Jew--if that is what -you want." - -"I am sorry to have troubled you," said Vincent, with his hand on the -door. - -"Stop a bit," said Mr. Fox, in his blunt and rather impertinent fashion. -"You and I might chance to be of use to each other some day. I like to -know the young men in politics. If I can do you a good turn, you'll -remember it; or rather you won't remember it, but I can recall it to -you, when I want you to do me one. Take a seat. Let's make a compact. -When you are in the House, you'll want the judicious little paragraph -sent through the provinces now and again: I can manage all that for you. -Then you can give me an occasional tip: you're in ----'s confidence, -people say--as much as any one can expect to be, that is. Won't you take -a seat?--thanks, that will be better. I want to know you. I've already -made one important acquaintanceship through your friend Mr. Bethune: it -was quite an event when the great George Morris condescended to visit -this humble office----" - -"George Morris!" said Vincent. - -"Perhaps you know him personally?" Mr. Fox said, and he went on in the -most easy and affable fashion: "I may say without boasting that I am -acquainted with most people--most people of any consequence: it is part -of my business. But George Morris, somehow, I had never met. You may -imagine, then, that when he came down here, to ask a few questions, I -was precious glad to be of such service as I could; for I said to myself -that here was just the man for me. Take a great scandal, for -example--they do happen sometimes, don't they?--even in this virtuous -land of England: very well--I go to George Morris--a hint from him--and -there I am first in the field: before the old mummies of the London -press have had time to open their eyes and stare." - -Vincent had brought a chair from the side of the room, and was now -seated: there was only the table, littered with telegrams and proofs, -between those two. - -"Did I understand you to say," he asked, with his eyes fixed on this -man, "that George Morris had come to you to make inquiries about Mr. -Bethune?" - -"You understood aright." - -"Who sent him?" demanded Vincent, abruptly--for there were strange -fancies and still darker suspicions flying through his head. - -But Courtnay Fox smiled. - -"George Morris, you may have heard, was not born yesterday. His -business is to get out of you what he can, and to take care you get -nothing out of him. It was not likely he would tell me why he came -making these inquiries--even if I had cared to ask, which I did not." - -"You told him all you knew, of course, about Mr. Bethune?" Vincent went -on, with a certain cold austerity. - -"I did." - -"And how much more?" - -"Ah, very good--very neat," the spacious-waisted journalist exclaimed -with a noisy laugh. "Very good indeed. But look here, Mr. Harris, if -the great solicitor was not born yesterday, you were--in a way; and so I -venture to ask you why you should take such an interest in Mr. Bethune's -affairs?" - -Vincent answered him without flinching. - -"Because, amongst other things, certain lies have been put in -circulation about Mr. Bethune, and I wished to know where they arose. -Now I am beginning to guess." - -For an instant Mr. Courtnay Fox seemed somewhat disconcerted; but he -betrayed no anger. - -"Come, come," said he, with an affectation of good humour, "that is a -strong word. Morris heard no lies from me, I can assure you. Why, -don't we all of us know who and what old George Bethune is! He may -flourish and vapour successfully enough elsewhere; but he doesn't impose -on Fleet-street; we know him too well. And don't imagine I have any -dislike towards your venerable friend; not the slightest; in fact, I -rather admire the jovial old mountebank. You see, he doesn't treat me -to too much of his Scotch _blague_; I'm not to the manner born; and he -knows it. Oh, he's skilful enough in adapting himself to his -surroundings--like a trout, that takes the colour of the pool he finds -himself in; and when he gets hold of a Scotchman, I am told his acting -of the rugged and manly independence of the Scot--of the Drury Lane -Scot, I mean--is splendid. I wonder he doesn't go and live in -Edinburgh. They take things seriously there. They might elevate him -into a great position--make a great writer of him--they're in sore need -of one or two; and then every now and again he could step out of his -cloud of metaphysics, and fall on something. That's the way the -Scotchmen get hold of a subject; they don't take it up as an ordinary -Christian would; they fall on it. We once had an English poet called -Milton; but Masson fell on him, and crushed him, and didn't even leave -us an index by which to identify the remains. Old Bethune should go -back to Scotland, and become the Grand Lama of Edinburgh letters: it -would be a more dignified position than cadging about for a precarious -living among us poor southrons." - -Vincent paid but small heed to all this farrago: he was busily thinking -how certain undoubted features and circumstances of old George Bethune's -life might appear when viewed through the belittling and sardonic -scepticism of this man's mind; and then again, having had that hue and -shape conferred upon them, how would they look when presented to the -professional judgment of such a person as Mr. George Morris? - -"The Scotch are the very oddest people in all the world," Mr. Fox -continued, for he seemed to enjoy his own merry tirade. "They'll clasp -a stranger to their bosom, and share their last bawbee with him, if only -he can prove to them that he, too, was born within sight of -MacGillicuddy's Reeks----" - -"MacGillicuddy's Reeks are in Ireland," said Vincent. - -"Well, MacGillicuddy's Breeks--no, that won't do; they don't wear such -things in the north. Any unpronounceable place--any kind of puddle or -barren rock: to be born within sight of that means that you own -everything of honesty, and manliness, and worth that's going--yes, -worth--worth is a sweet word--manly worth--it is the prerogative of -persons who have secured the greatest blessing on earth, that of being -born north of the Tweed. Now, why doesn't old George Bethune go away -back there; and wave his tartan plaid, and stamp, and howl balderdash, -and have monuments put up to him as the White-haired Bard of Glen-Toddy? -That surely would be better than hawking bogus books about London and -getting subscriptions for things that never appear; though he manages to -do pretty well. Oh, yes, he does pretty well, one way and another. The -cunning old cockroach--to take that girl around with him, and get her to -make eyes at tradesmen, so as to swindle them out of pounds of tea!" - -But at this a sudden flame seemed to go through the young man's -brain--and unhappily he had his stick quite close by. In an instant he -was on his feet, his right hand grasping the cane, his left fixed in the -coat-collar of the luckless journalist, whose inert bulk he was -attempting to drag from the chair. - -"You vile hound!" Vincent said with set teeth--and his nostrils were -dilated and his eyes afire, "I have allowed you to insult an old -man--but now--now you have gone too far. Come out of that--and I will -break every bone in your body----!" - -Down came the stick; but by a fortunate accident it caught on the back -of the chair, and the force of the blow sent it flying in two. - -"For God's sake--stop!" the other cried--but in a terrified whisper--and -his face was as white as death. "What are you doing!--are you mad!--I -beg your pardon--can I do more? I beg your pardon--for God's sake, have -a little common sense!" - -Vincent looked at the man: more abject cowardice he had never beheld -than was displayed in every trembling limb of his huge carcase, in every -feature of the blanched face. He flung him from him--in disdain. - -"Yes," said Mr. Fox, with a desperate effort at composure, and he even -tried to put his coat collar to rights, though his fingers were all -shaking, and himself panting and breathless. "You--you may thank -me--for--for having saved you. If--I had touched that bell--if I had -called out--you would have been ruined--ruined for life--a pretty story -for ---- to hear--about his favourite protege--increase your chances of -getting into Parliament, wouldn't it? Can't you take a bit of a -joke?--you're not a Scotchman!" - -Vincent was still standing there, with louring brow. - -"When you are busy with your jokes," said he, "I would advise you to -keep any friends of mine out of them--especially a girl who has no one -to defend her. But I am glad I came here to-night. I begin to -understand in whose foul mind arose those distortions, and -misrepresentations, and lies. So it was to you George Morris came when -he wanted to know about Mr. Bethune and his granddaughter? An excellent -authority! And it was straight from you, I suppose, that George Morris -went to my father with his wonderful tale----" - -"One moment," said Courtnay Fox--and he appeared to speak with a little -difficulty: perhaps he still felt the pressure of knuckles at his neck. -"Sit down. I wish to explain. Mind you, I could make this a bad -night's work for you, if I chose. But I don't, for reasons that you -would understand if you were a little older and had to earn your own -living, as I have. It is my interest to make friends----" - -"And an elegant way you have of making them," said Vincent, scornfully. - -"----and I want to assure you that I never said anything to George -Morris about Mr. Bethune that was not quite well-known. Nor had I the -least idea that Morris was going to your father; or that you had the -least interest or concern in the matter. As for a bit of chaff about -Scotland: who would mind that? Many a time I've had it out with Mr. -Bethune himself in this very room; and do you suppose he cared?--his -grandiloquent patriotism soared far away above my little Cockney jests. -So I wish you to perceive that there was no enmity in the affair, no -intention to do harm, and no misrepresentation; and when you see that, -you will see also that you have put yourself in the wrong, and I hope -you will have the grace to apologise." - -It was a most creditable effort to escape from a humiliating position -with some semblance of dignity. - -"Apologise for what?" said Vincent, staring. - -"Why, for your monstrous and outrageous conduct of this evening!" - ---"I am to apologise?" said Vincent, with his brows growing dark again. -"You introduce into your scurrilous talk the name of a young lady who is -known to me--you speak of her in the most insulting and gratuitous -fashion--and--and I am to apologise! Yes, I do apologise: I apologise -for having brought such a fool of a stick with me: I hope it will be a -heavier one if I hear you make use of such language again." - -"Come, come, threats will not serve," said Mr. Fox--but he was clearly -nervous and apprehensive. "Wouldn't it be better for you, now, to be a -little civil--and--and I could promise to send you Mr. Bethune's address -if I hear of it? Wouldn't that be better--and more reasonable? Yes, I -will--I promise to send you his address if it comes in any way to this -office--isn't that more reasonable?" - -"I thank you," said Vincent, with formal politeness; and with an equally -formal 'Good night' the young man took his leave. Mr. Courtnay Fox -instantly hid the broken portions of the cane (until he should have a -chance of burning them), and, ringing the bell, called in a loud and -manly voice for the latest telegrams. - -So Vincent was once more thrown back on himself and his own resources. -During these past few days he had sought everywhere for the two lost -ones; and sought in vain. First of all he had made sure they had left -Brighton; then he had come to London; and morning, noon, and night had -visited their accustomed haunts, without finding the least trace of -them. He went from this restaurant to that; in the morning he walked -about the Parks; he called at the libraries where they were known; no -sign of them could be found anywhere. And now, when he thought of -Maisrie, his heart was no longer angry and reproachful: nay, he grew to -think it was in some wild mood of self-sacrifice that she had resolved -to go away, and had persuaded her grandfather to take her. She had got -some notion into her head that she was a degraded person; that his -friends suspected her; that no future as between him and her was -possible; that it was better they should see each other no more. He -remembered how she had drawn up her head in maidenly pride--in -indignation, almost: his relatives might be at peace: they had nothing -to fear from her. And here was the little brooch--with its tiny white -dove, that was to rest on her bosom, as if bringing a message of love -and safety--all ready for her; but her place was empty; she had gone -from him, and perhaps for ever. The very waiters in the restaurants, -when he went there all alone, ventured to express a little discreet -surprise, and make enquiries: he could say nothing. He had the -sandal-wood necklace, to be sure; and sometimes he wore it over his -heart; and on the way home, through the dark thoroughfares, at times a -faint touch of the perfume reached his nostrils--but there was no -Maisrie by his side. And then again, a sudden, marvellous vision would -come before him: of Maisrie, her hair blown by the winds, her eyes -piteous and full of tears, her eyebrows and lashes wet with the flying -spray; and she would say 'Kiss me, Vincent, kiss me!' as if she had -already resolved to go, and knew that this was to be a last, despairing -farewell. - -The days passed; and ever he continued his diligent search, for he knew -that these two had but little money, and guessed that they had not -departed on any far travel, especially at this time of the year. He -went down to Scotland, and made enquiries among the Edinburgh newspaper -offices--without avail. He advertised in several of the London daily -journals: there was no reply. He told the head-waiter at the Restaurant -Mentavisti, that if Mr. Bethune and his granddaughter--who were -well-known to all in the place--should make their appearance any -evening, and if he, the headwaiter, could manage to send some one to -follow them home and ascertain their address, that would mean a couple -of sovereigns in his pocket; but the opportunity never presented itself. -And meanwhile this young man, taking no care of himself, and fretting -from morning till evening, and often all the sleepless night through as -well, was gradually losing his colour, and becoming like the ghost of -his own natural self. - -Christmas came. Harland Harris and Vincent went down to pass the -holidays with Mrs. Ellison, at Brighton; and for the same purpose Lord -Musselburgh returned to the Bedford Hotel. The four of them dined -together on Christmas evening. It was not a very boisterous party, -considering that the pragmatical and pedantic voice of the man of wealth -was heard discoursing on such light and fanciful themes as the payment -of returning officers' expenses, the equalisation of the death duties, -and the establishment of state-assisted intermediate schools; but -Musselburgh threw in a little jest now and again, to mitigate the -ponderosity of the harangue. Vincent was almost silent. Since coming -down from London, he had not said a single word to any one of them about -Mr. Bethune or his granddaughter: no doubt they would have told him--and -perhaps rejoiced to tell him--that he had been betrayed. But Mrs. -Ellison, sitting there, and watching more than listening, was concerned -about the looks of her boy, as she called him; and before she left the -table, she took up her glass, and said-- - -"I am going to ask you two gentlemen to drink a toast--and it is the -health of the coming member for Mendover. And I'm going to ask him to -pull himself together, and show some good spirits; for there's nothing a -constituency likes so much as a merry and good-humoured candidate." - -It was clear moonlight that night: Vin's room faced the sea. Hour after -hour he sate at the window, looking on the wide, grey plain and the -faint blue-grey skies; and getting no good of either; for the -far-searching doves of his thoughts came back to him without a twig of -hope in their bill. The whole world seemed empty--and silent. He began -to recall the time in which he used to think--or to fear--that some day -a vast and solitary sea would come between Maisrie and himself; it was -something he had dreamed or imagined; but this was altogether different -now--this blank ignorance of where she might be was a far more terrible -thing. He went over the different places he had heard her -mention--Omaha, Chicago, Boston, Toronto, Montreal, Quebec: they only -seemed to make the world the wider--to remove her further away from him, -and interpose a veil between. She had vanished like a vision; and yet -it was but the other day that he had found her clinging tight to his -arm, her beautiful brown hair blown wet about her face, her eyes with -love shining through her tears, her lips--when he kissed them--salt with -the flying spray. And no longer--after that first and sudden outburst of -indignant wrath--did he accuse her of any faithlessness or treachery: -rather it was himself whom he reproached. Had he not promised, at the -very moment when she had made her maiden confession to him, and spoken -to him as a girl speaks once only in her life, had he not promised that -always and always he would say to himself 'Wherever Maisrie is--wherever -she may be--she loves me, and is thinking of me?' This was the Mizpah -set up between those two; and he had vowed his vow. What her going away -might mean he could not tell; but at all events it was not permitted him -to doubt--he dared not doubt--her love. - -As for these repeated allegations that old George Bethune was nothing -less than a mendicant impostor, what did that matter to him? Even if -these charges could be substantiated, how was that to affect Maisrie or -himself? No association could sully that pure soul. Perhaps it was the -case that Mr. Bethune was not over-scrupulous and careful about money -matters; many otherwise excellent persons had been of like habit. The -band of private inquiry agents had amongst them discovered that the old -man had allowed Vincent to pay the bill at the various restaurants they -frequented. Well, that was true. Among the vague insinuations and -assumptions that had been pieced together to form an indictment, here -was one bit of solid fact. And what of it? Of what importance were -those few trumpery shillings? It was of little moment which paid: here -was an arrangement, become a habit, that had a certain convenience. And -Vincent was proud to set against that, or against any conclusions that -might be drawn from that, the incident of old George Bethune's stopping -the poor woman in Hyde Park, and handing over to her all he -possessed--sovereigns, shillings, and pence--so that he did not even -leave himself the wherewithal to buy a biscuit for his mid-day meal. -Perhaps there were more sides to George Bethune's character than were -likely to occur to the imagination of Messrs. Harland Harris, Morris, -and Company? - -The white moon sailed slowly over to the west; the house was still; the -night outside silent; but there was no peace for him at all. If only he -could get to see Maisrie--for the briefest moment--that he might demand -the reason of her sudden flight! Was it some over-strung sensitiveness -of spirit? Did she fear that no one would understand this carelessness -of her grandfather about money-matters; and that she might be suspected -of complicity, of acquiescence, in certain doubtful ways? Was that the -cause of her strange sadness, her resignation, her hopelessness? Was -that why she had spoken of her 'degradation'--why she had declared she -could never be his wife--why she had begged him piteously to go away, -and leave this bygone friendship to be a memory and nothing more? 'Can -you not understand, Vincent!' she had said to him, in heart-breaking -accents, as though she could not bring herself to the brutality of -plainer speech. Well, he understood this at all events: that in -whatever circumstances Maisrie Bethune may have been placed, no -contamination had touched _her_; white as the white moonlight out there -was that pure soul; he had read her eyes. - -The next morning Lord Musselburgh was out walking in the King's Road -with the fair young widow who hoped soon to be re-transformed into a -wife. - -"That friend of yours down at Mendover," said she,--"what is his -name?--Gosford?--well, he seems an unconscionable time dying. I wish -he'd hurry up with his Chiltern Hundreds and put an end to himself at -once. That is what is wanted for Vin--the novelty and excitement of -finding himself in the House of Commons. Supposing Mr. Gosford were to -resign at once, how soon could Vin be returned? There's some procedure, -isn't there?--the High Sheriff or somebody, issues a writ, or -something----?" - -"I really cannot say," her companion answered blandly. "I belong to a -sphere in which such violent convulsions are unknown." - -"At all events, Parliament will meet about the middle of February?" she -demanded. - -"I presume so," was the careless answer. - -"I wish the middle of February were here now, and Vin all securely -returned," said she. "I suppose that even in the case of a small -borough like Mendover, one's constituents can keep one pretty busy? -They will watch how you vote, won't they?--and remonstrate when you go -wrong; and pass resolutions; and expect you to go down and be -cross-examined. Then there are always public meetings to be addressed; -and petitions to be presented; and people wanting admission to the -Speaker's Gallery----" - -"Why, really, Madge, there's a sort of furious activity about you this -morning," said he. "You quite take one's breath away. I shouldn't be -surprised to see you on a platform yourself." - -"It's all for Vin's sake I am so anxious," she exclaimed. "I can see -how miserable and sad the poor boy is--though he bears it so -bravely--never a word to one of us, lest we should ask him if he -believes in those people now. I wonder if he can. I wonder if he was so -blinded that even now he will shut his eyes to their true character?" - -"They are quite gone away, then?" her companion asked. - -"Oh, yes," she made answer. "I hope so. Indeed, I know they are. And -on the whole it was opportune, just as this election was coming on; for -now, if ever, Vin will have a chance of throwing off an infatuation that -seemed likely to be his ruin, and of beginning that career of which we -all hope such great things." - -She glanced round, cautiously; and lowered her voice. - -"But, oh, my goodness, if ever he should find out the means we took to -persuade them to go, there will be the very mischief to pay: he will -tear us to pieces! You know how impetuous and proud he is; and then -those people have appealed to him in a curious way--their -loneliness--their poverty--and their---- Yes, I will admit it--certain -personal qualities and characteristics. I don't deny it; any more than -I would deny that the girl was extremely pretty, and the old man -picturesque, and even well-mannered and dignified in his way. All the -more dangerous--the pair of them. Well, now they are gone, I breathe -more freely. While they were here, no argument was of any avail. Vin -looked into the girl's appealing face--and everything was refuted. And -at all events we can say this to our own conscience--that we have done -them no harm. We are not mediaeval tyrants; we have not flung the -venerable patriot and the innocent maiden into a dungeon, to say nothing -of breaking their bones on a rack. The venerable patriot and the -innocent maiden, I have no doubt, consider themselves remarkably well -off. And that reminds me that Harland Harris, although he is of opinion -that all property should be under social control----" - -"Not all property, my dear Madge," said Lord Musselburgh, politely. "He -would say that all property should be under social control--except his -property." - -"At all events, it seems to me that he occasionally finds it pretty -convenient to have plenty of money at his own individual command. Why, -for him to denounce the accumulation of capital," she continued, with a -pretty scorn, "when no one makes more ostentatious use of the power of -money! Is there a single thing he denies himself--one single thing that -is only possible to him through his being a man of great wealth? I -shouldn't wonder if, when he dies, he leaves instructions to have the -electric light turned on into his coffin, just in case he should wake up -and want to press the knob." - -"Come, come, Madge," said Musselburgh. "Be generous. A man cannot -always practice what he preaches. You must grant him the privilege of -sighing for an ideal." - -"Harland Harris sighing for an ideal," said Mrs. Ellison, with something -of feminine spite, "would make a capital subject for an imaginative -picture by Watts--if my dear brother-in-law weren't rather stout, and -wore a black frock-coat." - -Meanwhile, Vincent returned to London, and renewed his solitary search; -it was the only thing he felt fit for; all other employments had no -meaning for him, were impossible. But, as day by day passed, he became -more and more convinced that they must have left London: he knew their -familiar haunts so well, and their habits, that he was certain he must -have encountered them somewhere if they were still within the great -city. And here was the New Year drawing nigh, when friends far -separated recalled themselves to each other's memory, with hopes and -good wishes for the coming time. It seemed to him that he would not -have felt this loneliness so much, if only he had known that Maisrie was -in this or that definite place--in Madrid--in Venice--in Rome--or even -in some huge steamship ploughing its way across the wide Atlantic. - -But a startling surprise was at hand. About half-past ten on the last -night of the old year a note was brought upstairs to him by a servant. -His face grew suddenly pale when he saw the handwriting, which he -instantly recognised. - -"Who brought this?" he said, breathlessly. - -"A man, sir." - -"Is he waiting?" - -"No, sir; he said there was no answer." - -"What sort of man?" asked Vincent, with the same rapidity--and not yet -daring to open the letter. - -"A--a common sort of man, sir." - -"Very well--you needn't wait." - -The moment that the servant had retired, Vincent tore open the envelope; -and the first thing that he noticed, with a sudden sinking of the heart, -was that there was no address at the head of the letter. It ran -thus--the handwriting being a little tremulous here and there-- - - -'DEAR VINCENT, - -When you receive this, we shall be far away; but I have arranged that -you shall get it just before the New Year, and it brings my heart-felt -wishes for your happiness, as well as the good-bye that I cannot say to -you personally now. What I foresaw has come to pass; and it will be -better for all of us, I think; though it is not with a very light heart -that I write these few lines to you. Sometimes I wish that we had never -met each other; and then again I should never have known all your -kindness to me and to my grandfather, which will always be something to -look back upon; and also the companionship we had for a time, which was -so pleasant--you would understand how pleasant to me, if you had known -what had gone before, and what is now likely to come after. But do not -think I repine: more has been done for me than ever I can repay; and as -I am the only one to whom my grandfather can look now for help and -sympathy, I should be ungrateful indeed if I grudged it. - -Forgive me, dear friend, if I speak so much of myself; my thoughts are -far more often concerned about you than with anything that can happen to -me. And I know that this step we are taking, though it may pain you for -a little while, will be salutary in the end. You have a great future -before you; your friends expect much of you; you owe it to yourself not -to disappoint them. And after a little while, you will be able to go -back to the places where we used to go; and there will be nothing but -friendly recollections of pleasant evenings; and I am sure nothing need -ever come between us (as you feared) I mean in the way of having kind -thoughts of each other, always and always; and when you marry no one -will more heartily wish you every happiness and blessing than I shall. -This is to be my last letter to you; I have promised. I wish I could -make it convey to you all I think; but you will understand, dear -Vincent, that there is more in it than appears in these stiff and cold -words. And another kindness I must beg of you, dear friend, before -saying good-bye--and farewell--it is this, Would you try to forget a -_little_ of what I said to you that morning on the pier? If you thought -anything I said was a little more than a girl should have confessed, -would you try to forget it, dear Vincent? I was rather miserable--I -foresaw we should have to say good-bye to each other, when you would not -see it, for you were always so full of courage and confidence; and -perhaps I told you more than I should have done--and you will try to -forgot that. I don't want you to forget it _all_, dear Vincent; only -what you think was said too frankly--or hurriedly--at such a moment. - -And now, dearest friend, this is good-bye; and it is good-bye for ever, -as between you and me. I will pray for your happiness always. - -MAISRIE. - -P.S.--There was one thing I said to you that you _promised_ you would -not forget. - -M.' - - -Was he likely to forget it, or any single word she had uttered, on that -wild, wind-tossed morning? But in the meantime the immediate question -was--How and whence had this letter come? For one thing, it had been -brought by hand; so there was no post-mark. Who, then, had been the -messenger? How had he come to be employed? What might he not know of -Maisrie's whereabouts? Was there a chance of finding a clue to Maisrie, -after all, and just as the glad New Year was coming in? - -It was barely eleven o'clock. He went down into the hall, whipped on -overcoat and hat, and the next moment was striding away towards Mayfair; -he judged, and judged rightly, that a boon companion and poet was not -likely to be early abed on such a night. When he reached the -lodging-house in the little thoroughfare off Park-street, he could hear -singing going forward in the subterranean kitchen: nay, he could make -out the raucous chorus-- - - _Says Wolseley, says he,_ - _To Arabi,_ - _You can fight other chaps, but you can't fight me._ - - -He rapped at the door; the landlady's daughter answered the summons; she -showed him into a room, and then went below for her father. Presently -Mr. Hobson appeared--quite creditably sober, considering the occasion. - -"Did you bring a note down to me to-night, Hobson?" was the young man's -first question. - -"I did, sir." - -His heart leapt up joyously: his swift surmise had been correct. - -"And has Miss Bethune been here recently?" he asked, with the greatest -eagerness. - -"No, no, sir," said Hobson, shaking his head. "That was giv me when they -was going away, and says she, 'Hobson,' says she, 'I can trust you; and -there's never a word to be said about this letter--not to hany one -whatever; and the night afore New Year's Day you'll take it down -yourself, and leave it for Mr. Harris.' Which I did, sir; though not -waitin,' as I thought there wasn't a answer; and ope there's nothing -wrong, sir." - -Vincent was standing in the middle of the room--not listening. - -"You have heard or seen nothing, then, of Mr. Bethune or of Miss -Bethune, since they left?" he asked, absently. - -"Nothing, sir--honly that I took notice of some advertisements, sir, in -the papers--" - -"I know about those," said Vincent. - -So once more, as on many and many a recent occasion, his -swiftly-blossoming hopes had been suddenly blighted; and there was -nothing for him but to wander idly and pensively away back to Grosvenor -Place. The New Year found him in his own room--with Maisrie's letter -before him; while, with rather a careworn look on his face he studied -every line and phrase of her last message to him. - -But the New Year had something else in store for him besides that. He -was returned, unopposed, for the borough of Mendover. And about the -first thing that his constituents heard, after the election, was that -their new member proposed to pay a visit to the United States and -Canada, and that at present no date had been fixed for his coming back. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - BEYOND SEAS. - - -Out here on the deck of this great White Star Liner--with the yellow -waters of the Mersey lapping in the sunlight, and a brisk breeze -blowing, and the curious excitement of departure thrilling through all -the heterogeneous crowd of passengers--here something of hope came to -him at last. This was better than haunting lonely restaurants, or -walking through solitary streets; he seemed to know that Maisrie was no -longer in the land he was leaving; she had fled away across the -ocean--gone back to the home, to some one of the various homes, of her -childhood and girlhood. And although it appeared a mad thing that a -young man should set out to explore so vast a continent in search of his -lost love, it was not at all the impossible task it looked. He had made -certain calculations. Newspaper offices are excellent centres of -intelligence; and Scotch-American newspaper offices would still further -limit the sphere of his inquiries. He had dreamed of a wide and -sorrowful sea lying between him and her; but instead of that imaginary -and impassable sea, why, there was only the familiar Atlantic, that -nowadays you can cross in less than a week. And when he had found her, -and seized her two hands fast, he would reproach her--oh, yes, he would -reproach her--though perhaps there might be more of gladness than of -anger in his tones.... 'Ah, false love--traitress--coward heart--that -ran away! What Quixotic self-sacrifice was it, then, that impelled -you?--what fear of relatives?--what fire of wounded pride? No matter -now: you are caught and held. You gave yourself to me; you cannot take -yourself away again; nor shall any other. No more sudden -disappearances--no more trembling notes of farewell--while I have you by -the hand!' - -The last good-byes had been called by the people crowded on the deck of -the tender, the great ship was cautiously creeping down the stream, and -the passengers, having done with the waving of handkerchiefs (and here -and there a furtive drying of eyes) set about preparing for the -voyage--securing their places at table, investigating their cabins, and -getting their things unpacked. These occupations kept most of them in -their state-rooms until close on dinner-time, so that they had not much -chance of examining each other; but it is wonderful how rumour runs in a -ship--especially if the Purser be a cheerful and communicative sort of -person; and so it was that when all were assembled in the long and -gorgeous saloon, two things had already become known; first, that the -tall and handsome young Englishman who seemed to have no companion or -acquaintance on board was the newly-elected member for Mendover; and -second, that the extremely pretty woman who had the seat of honour at -the Captain's table was a Mrs. de Lara, a South American, as might have -been guessed from her complexion, her eyes, and hair. It appeared to be -a foregone conclusion that Mrs. de Lara was to be the belle of the ship -on this voyage; such things are very soon settled; perhaps one or two of -the commercial gentlemen may have crossed with her before, and seen her -exercise her sway. As for Vin Harris, his unopposed return for such an -insignificant place as Mendover would not have secured much notice -throughout the country had it not been that, immediately after the -election, the great ---- had been kind enough to write to the new member -a charming note of congratulation, which, of course, had to be -published. It was a significant pat on the back, of which any young man -might very well have been proud; and Mrs. Ellison bought innumerable -copies of that morning's newspapers, and cut the letter out, and sent it -round to her friends, lest they should not have seen it. Mr. Ogden was -also so condescending as to send a similar message--but that was not -published. - -Now during the first evening on board ship, strangers mostly remain -strangers to each other; but next morning things become -different--especially if the weather be fine, and everyone is on deck. -Small courtesies are tendered and accepted; people get introduced, or -introduce each other, on the smallest pretence--except the old stagers, -the wary ones, who hang aloof, in order to pick and choose. As for -Vincent, he was well content with his own society, varied by an -occasional chat with the Purser, when that ubiquitous official could -spare a few moments. He was not anxious to make acquaintances. His -thoughts were far ahead. He saw--not the thin, blue line of the Irish -coast that actually was visible on the horizon--but the shallow waters -at Sandy Hook, the broad bay, the long dusky belt of the city, with its -innumerable spires jutting up into the white sky. He was wondering how -long ago it was since Maisrie and her grandfather had crossed the -Newfoundland Banks: it was a long start, but he would overtake them yet. -Perhaps, when he was down in the big and busy town, making his inquiries -from one newspaper-office to another he might suddenly find himself face -to face with the splendid old man, and the beautiful, pensive-eyed -girl.... 'Ah, Maisrie, you thought you would escape?--but I have you -now--never to let you go again! And if you would rather not return to -England--if your pride has been wounded--if you are indignant at what -has been said or suspected of you and your grandfather--well, then, I -will remain with you here! My love is more to me than my home: we will -fight the world together--the three of us together: remaining here, if -that pleases you better--only, no further thought of separation between -you and me!' - -On this brisk and bracing morning he was leaning idly with his elbows on -the rail, and looking towards the distant line of the Irish coast that -was slowly becoming more definite in form, when Mr. Purser Collins came -up to him. - -"There's a very charming lady would like to make your acquaintance," -said the officer. "Will you come with me, and I will introduce you?" - -"Oh, very well," Vincent said, but with no great eagerness. "Tell me -her name now that I may make sure of it." - -"You are favoured--Mrs. de Lara." - -"Oh, really," he said, indifferently. "She seems to me to have had half -the men on the ship fetching and carrying for her all the morning." - -And indeed, when he followed the Purser in order to be introduced to -this lady, he found her pretty well surrounded by assiduous gentlemen; -and 'if you please--if you please,' Mr. Collins had to keep repeating, -before he could bring the new comer into the august presence. Mrs. de -Lara--who, on closer inspection, turned out to be quite a young woman, -with a pale, clear, olive complexion, softly-lustrous dark eyes that -could say a good deal, a pretty smile and dimple, and magnificent -hair--received him very graciously; and at once, and completely, and -without the slightest compunction, proceeded to ignore the bystanders -who had been so officiously kind to her. Of course their conversation -was at first the usual nothings. Wonderful weather. Might be midsummer, -but for the cold wind. Captain been on the bridge ever since Liverpool, -poor man; get some rest after leaving Queenstown. Was she a good -sailor?--Some ladies remained in their berths all the way over. Dry -champagne, and plenty of it, the only safe-guard? Crossed many times? -And so forth. But at length she said-- - -"Couldn't you find a chair, and bring it along?" - -Now the assiduous gentlemen had managed to find a very snug corner for -Mrs. de Lara, where there was just room for two deck chairs--her own and -that of her companion and friend, Miss Martinez; and Vincent, being -rather shy, had no intention of jamming himself into this nook. He made -some little excuse--and remained standing with the others: whereupon -Mrs. de Lara said to her companion-- - -"Isabel, will you go and see that the letters I left in my cabin are all -properly stamped and put in the post-bag for Queenstown. Thank you, -dear!" - -Then, the moment her faithful friend was gone, she said, with something -of a French manner-- - -"Here is a seat for you: come, tell me what the news of the ship is!" - -Vincent could not very well refuse; though the result of her open -preference and selection was that her other obsequious admirers fell -away one by one, under some pretence of playing rope-quoits or -shovel-board: so that, eventually, he and she were left alone together, -for Miss Martinez did not return. - -"Now," said the young grass-widow, whose very pretty chin was cushioned -on abundant furs, "I am going to make you happy. But first of all I -must tell you--you are in love." - -"Oh, really?" said Vincent. - -"Ah, yes, yes, yes," she said, with a charming insistence. "I have -watched you. I know. You keep apart; you look far away; you speak to -no one. And then I said to myself that I would make you happy. How? -By asking you to tell me all about her." - -Whereupon Vincent said to himself, 'You're a very impertinent -woman--although you've got pretty eyes.' And again he said, 'But after -all you are a woman; and perhaps from you I may learn something more -about Maisrie.' So he said aloud-- - -"The deck of a steamer is hardly the place for secrets." - -"Why not?" she protested. "Besides, it is no secret--to anyone with -eyes. Come, tell me all about her--and be happy! I wish to interest -you; I wish you to interest me; and so let us talk about the only thing -that is worth talking about--that is, love. No, there are two things, -perhaps--love, and money; but love is so full of surprises; it is the -perpetual miracle that no one can understand; it is such a wonderful, -unexpected, desperate kind of thing, that it will always be the most -interesting. Now!" - -"Well," said he--for there was something catching in the mad audacity of -this young matron--"it must be secret for secret. My story for yours!" - -She laughed long and heartily--until her merriment brought tears to her -eyes. - -"Why, I'm an old married woman!" she exclaimed. "Ah, I see what your -bargain means. You only want to put me off. You think the time and -place are not romantic enough; some night--out in mid-Atlantic--with -perhaps a moon--and you'll be more communicative, when you forsake the -smoking-room for half-an-hour, and send me a little message to meet you. -Very well. Perhaps there are too many people tramping up and down. -Shall we have a tramp too? Sitting still so stiffens one. There--can -you pull off the rugs, do you think? They've swathed me up like a -mummy. Now give me your arm; and mind you don't let me go flying--I'm -never steady on my feet for the first day or two." - -Well, he found the grass-widow a most charming companion--bright, -loquacious, and happy, until, indeed, they steamed into the entrance to -Cork Harbour. Here, as most of the passengers were going on board the -tender, for a scamper ashore, while the ship waited for the mails to -arrive, Mrs. de Lara began to look a little wistful. All of a sudden it -occurred to him that he ought, if only in common gratitude for her -marked condescension, to ask her if she would care to go also. - -"Oh--Mrs. de Lara," said he, "wouldn't you like to go ashore, and have a -look round Queenstown?" - -Her face lighted up in an instant; but there was a curious, amused -expression in her eyes. - -"I couldn't go alone with you, you know," said she. - -"Why not?" said he. - -She did not answer that question. - -"If you like to ask Miss Martinez as well as myself," she continued, -"I'm sure we should be delighted--and it would be very kind of you." - -"Of course I will!" he said--and at once he went off in search of the -needful companion. A few minutes thereafter the three of them were on -board the tender, along with the rest of this crowd of eager, chattering -passengers. - -And a very pleasant visit it was they paid to the picturesque -watering-place and its wide-stretching bay. First of all he took his -two guests to a hotel, and gave them an excellent lunch, at which Mrs. -de Lara made merry like an enfranchised schoolgirl; then he got an open -carriage, and they were driven all about the place; and he bought them -such fruit and flowers as he could find, until they were quite laden by -the time they got back to the tender. They were in plenty of time; the -mails were late. When they eventually returned on board the steamer, -Vincent was on the whole very well pleased with that little excursion; -only he hoped that the new acquaintanceship that had been formed had not -been too conspicuously displayed, for people are given to talking during -the _longueurs_ of an Atlantic voyage. - -And indeed it very soon appeared that after this little adventure ashore -Mrs. de Lara meant to claim him as her own. When she came on deck for -the usual promenade before dinner, she sent for him (though there were -plenty of gentlemen only too anxious to wait on her), and she took his -arm during that perfunctory march up and down. Then she said to him-- - -"Would you think me very rude if I asked you to come and sit at our -table? The fact is, I want somebody to be good to me, and to look after -me; and the Captain, although he is a most delightful man when he -happens to be there, is nearly always away, on duty, no doubt. I hate -sitting next an empty chair--that throws me on to Miss Martinez and she -and I have exhausted all our subjects long ago. You've no particular -friend, have you? Come to our table!" - -"But I couldn't think of turning anybody out!" he protested. - -"Oh, that's all right!" she made answer, cheerfully enough. "Miss -Martinez will get a place somewhere else--Mr. Collins will arrange -that--I dare say she will be rather pleased to be set free." - -And so it came to pass that at dinner Vincent found himself in the seat -that had been vacated by the useful Isabel; and perhaps his promotion -provoked a few underhand comments and significant glances at certain of -the other tables, for very small trifles are noted on board ship. At -all events he only knew that Mrs. de Lara was as engaging, and -complaisant, and loquacious as ever; and that she talked away with very -little regard as to who might overhear her. Nor was she any longer the -merry, rattle-pated creature of the Queenstown hotel. Oh, no. Her -conversation now was of a quite superior order. It was literary; and -she had caught up plenty of the phrases of the rococo school; she could -talk as well as another of environments, conditions, the principal note, -style charged with colour, and the like. Nay, she adventured upon an -epigram now and again--or, at least, something that sounded like an -epigram. "England," she said, "was a shop; France a stage; Germany a -camp; and the United States a caucus." And again she said, "There are -three human beings whom I wish to meet with before I die: a pretty -Frenchwoman, a modest American, and an honest Greek. But I am losing -hope." And then there was a tirade against affectation in writing. -"Why should the man thrust himself upon me?" she demanded. "I don't -want to know him at all. I want him to report honestly and simply what -he has seen of the world and of human nature, and I am willing to be -talked to, and I am willing to believe; but when he begins to posture -and play tricks, then I become resentful. Why should he intrude his own -personality at all?--he was never introduced to me; I have no wish for -his acquaintance. So long as he expresses an honest opinion, good and -well; I am willing to listen; but when he begins to interpose his clever -little tricks and grimaces, then I say, 'Get away, mountebank--and get a -red-hot poker ready for pantaloon.'" And in this way she went on, -whimsical, petulant, didactic by turns, to the stolid astonishment of a -plethoric and red-faced old lady opposite, who contributed nothing to -the conversation but an indigestion cough, and sate and stared, and -doubtless had formed the opinion that any one who could talk in that -fashion before a lot of strangers was no better than she should be. - -But it was not of literature that Mrs. de Lara discoursed when Vincent -returned that evening to the saloon, after having been in the -smoking-room for about an hour, watching the commercials playing poker -and getting up sweepstakes on the next day's run. When she caught sight -of him, she immediately rose and left the group of newly-formed -acquaintances with whom she had been sitting--in the neighbourhood of -the piano--and deliberately came along and met him half-way. - -"Let us remain here," said she; "and then if we talk we shan't interfere -with the music." - -She lay back in her chair as if waiting for him to begin; he was -thinking how well her costume became her--her dress of black silk -touched here and there with yellow satin--the sharp scarlet stroke of -her fan--the small crescent of diamonds in her jet-black hair. Then the -softened lamplight seemed to lend depth and lustre to her dark eyes; and -gave something of warmth, too, to the pale and clear complexion. She -had crossed her feet; her fan lay idle in her lap; she regarded him from -under those long, out-curving lashes. - -"They cannot hear you," she said--perhaps thinking that he was silent -out of politeness to the innocent young damsels who were doing their -best at the piano--"and you cannot hear them, which is also fortunate. -Music is either divine--or intolerable; what they are doing is not -divine; I have been listening. But good music--ah, well, it is not to -be spoken of. Only this; isn't it strange that the two things that can -preserve longest for you associations with some one you have been fond -of are music and scent? Not painting--not any portrait; not poetry--not -anything you have read, or may read: but music and scent. You will -discover that some day." - -He laughed. - -"How curiously you talk! I dare say I am older than you--though that is -not saying much." - -"But I have seen the world," said she, with a smile, almost of sadness. - -"Not half of what I have seen of it, I'll answer for that." - -"Oh, but you," she continued, regarding him with much favour and -kindliness, "you are an _ingenu_--you have the frank English -character--you would believe a good deal--in any one you cared for, I -mean." - -"I suppose I should," he said, simply enough. "I hope so." - -"But as I say," she resumed, "the two things that preserve associations -the longest--and are apt to spring on you suddenly--are music and scent. -You may have forgotten in every other direction; oh, yes, forgetting is -very easy, as you will find out; for 'constancy lives in realms above,' -and not here upon earth at all: well, when you have forgotten the one -you were fond of, and cannot remember, and perhaps do not care to -remember all that happened at that too blissful period of life--then, on -some occasion or another there chances to come a fragment of a song, or -a whiff of scent, and behold! all that bygone time is before you again, -and you tremble, you are bewildered! Oh, I assure you," she went on, -with a very charming smile, "it is not at all a pleasant experience. -You think you had buried all that past time, and hidden away the ghosts; -you are beginning to feel pretty comfortable and content with all -existing circumstances; and then--a few notes of a violin--a passing -touch of perfume--and your heart jumps up as if it had been shot through -with a rifle-ball. What is your favourite scent?" she asked, somewhat -abruptly. - -"Sandal-wood," said he (for surely that was revealing no secret?) - -"Then she wore a string of sandal-wood beads," said Mrs. de Lara, with a -quick look. - -He was silent. - -"And perhaps she gave them to you as a keep-sake?" was the next -question. - -Here, indeed, he was startled; and she noticed it; and laughed a little. - -"No, I am not a witch," she said. "All that has happened before now: do -you think you are the first? Why, I'm sure, now, you've worn those -beads next your heart, in the daytime, and made yourself very -uncomfortable; yes, and you've tried wearing them at night, and couldn't -sleep because they hurt you. Never mind, I will tell you what to do: -get them made into a watch chain, with small gold links connecting the -beads; and when you wear it with evening dress, every woman will -recognise it as a love-gift--every one of them will say 'A girl gave him -that.'" - -"Perhaps I might not wish to make a display of it," said Vincent. - -"Then you're in the first stage of inconstancy," said she, promptly. -"If you're not madly anxious that the whole world should know you have -won her favour, then you've taken the first step on the downward road to -indifference; you are regarding certain things as bygone, and your eyes -are beginning to rove elsewhere. Well, why not? It's the way of the -world. It's human nature. At the same time I want to hear some more -about the young lady of the sandal-wood necklace." - -"I have told you more than I intended," he answered her. - -"You haven't told me anything: I guessed for myself." - -"Well, now, I am going to ask your advice," said he--for how could he -tell but that this bright, alert, intrepid person, with her varied -experience of the world, might be able to help him? She was far -different from Maisrie, to be sure; different as night from day; but -still she was a woman; and she might perhaps be able to interpret a -nature wholly alien from her own. - -So she sate mute and attentive, and watching every expression of his -face, while he put before her a set of imaginary circumstances. It was -not his own story; but just so much of it as might enable her to give -him counsel. And he had hardly finished when she said-- - -"You don't know where to find her; and yet you have never thought of a -means of bringing her to you at once?" - -"What means?" said he. - -"Why, it is so simple!" she exclaimed. "Have you no invention? But I -will tell you, then. As soon as you land in New York, get yourself -knocked over by a tram-car. The accident to the rich young Englishman -who has just arrived in America will be in all the papers, and will lose -nothing in the telling. Your father's name is known; you have recently -been elected a member of Parliament; they will make the most of the -story--and of course you needn't say your life is _not_ in danger. Then -on the wings of love the fair one comes flying; flops down by the side -of your bed, in tears; perhaps she would even consent to a marriage--if -you were looking dreadfully pale; then you could get well again in -double quick time--and live happy ever after." - -She was still watching him from under her long, indolent lashes; and of -a sudden she changed her tone. - -"Are you vexed? You find me not sympathetic? Perhaps I am not. Perhaps -I am a little incredulous. You have told me very little; but I surmise; -and when a young lady remains away from her lover, and does not wish it -to be known where she is, then I confess I grow suspicious. Instead of -'Seek the woman,' it is 'Find the man'--oh, I mean in most cases--I mean -in most cases--not in all--you must not misunderstand me!" - -"In this case you are mistaken, then," said Vincent, briefly. - -Indeed the gay young grass-widow found that she could not get very far -into Vincent's confidence in this matter; and when she indulged in a -little pleasantry, he grew reserved and showed a disposition to -withdraw; whereupon she thought it better to give up the subject -altogether. But she did not give him up; on the contrary, she took -possession of him more completely than ever; and made no secret of the -favour she bestowed on him. For example, there was an amateur -photographer on board; and one morning (everybody knew everybody else by -this time) he came up to Mrs. de Lara, who was seated in her deck-chair, -with a little band of devoted slaves and admirers surrounding her. - -"Mrs. de Lara," said he, "I've taken nearly everybody on board except -you. Aren't you going to give me a chance?" - -"Oh, yes," said she. "Yes, certainly." Then she looked round, and -added, in the most natural way in the world--"But where is Mr. Harris?" - -"He's in the saloon writing letters--I saw him there a minute ago," said -one of the bystanders. - -"Won't somebody go and fetch him?" she continued. "We ought to be all -in--if Mr. Searle can manage it." - -Accordingly Vincent was summoned from below, and forthwith made his -appearance. - -"You come and sit by me, Mr. Harris," said the young matron. "It would -look absurd to have one sitting and all the others standing." - -"Oh, no--this will do," said Vincent, seating himself on a signal-cannon -that was close to the rail, while he steadied himself by putting a hand -on the shrouds. - -"Not at all," she protested, with a certain imperious wilfulness. -"You're too far over; you'll be out of the picture altogether. There is -Isabel's chair over there: fetch that." - -And, of course, he had to do as he was bid; though it was rather a -conspicuous position to assume. Then, when that negative was taken, she -would have the grouping altered; Vincent had to stand by her side, with -his arm on her chair; again he had to seat himself on the deck at her -feet; whatever suggestions were made by the artist, she managed somehow -that she and Vincent should be together. And when, next day, the -bronze-brown proofs were handed about, they were very much -admired--except, perhaps, by the lady-passengers, who could not -understand why Mrs. de Lara should pose as the only woman on board the -steamer. - -But it was not Mrs. de Lara who was in his thoughts when, early one -morning, he found himself on the upper deck, just under the bridge, with -his eyes fixed on a far strip of land that lay along the western -horizon. Not a thin sharp line of blue, but a low-lying bulky mass of -pale neutral tint; and there were faint yellow mists hanging about it, -and also covering the smooth, long-undulating surface of the sea. -However, the sunrise was now declared; this almost impalpable fog would -soon be dispersed; and the great continent behind that out-lying coast -would gradually awaken to the splendour of the new day. And in what -part of its vast extent was Maisrie now awaiting him?--no, not awaiting -him, but perhaps thinking of him, and little dreaming he was so near? - -They cautiously steamed over the shallow waters at Sandy Hook; they -sailed up the wide bay; momentarily the long flat line of New York, with -its towering buildings and steeples jutting up here and there, was -drawing nigh. Mrs. de Lara, rather wistfully, asked him whether she was -ever likely to see him again; he answered that he did not know how soon -he might have to leave New York; but, if she would be so kind as to give -him her address, he would try to call before he went. She handed him -her card; said something about the pleasant voyage they had had; and -then went away to see that Isabel had not neglected anything in her -packing. - -They slowed into the wharf; the luggage was got ashore and examined--in -this universal scrimmage he lost sight of Mrs. de Lara and her faithful -companion: and by and by he was being jolted and pitched and flung about -in the coach that was carrying him to the hotel he had chosen. With an -eager curiosity he kept watching the passers-by on the side-walk, -searching for a face that was nowhere to be seen. He had heard and -known of many strange coincidences: it would only be another one--if a -glad and wonderful one--were he to find Maisrie on the very first day of -his arrival in America. - -As soon as he had got established in his hotel, and seen that his -luggage had been brought up, he went out again and made away for the -neighbourhood of Printing House Square. It needs hardly be said that -the _Western Scotsman_ was not in possession of a vast white marble -building, with huge golden letters shining in the afternoon sun; all the -same he had little difficulty in finding the small and unpretentious -office; and his first inquiry was for Mr. Anstruther. Mr. Anstruther -had been there in the morning; but had gone away home, not feeling very -well. Where did he live?--over in Brooklyn. But he would be at the -office the next day? Oh, yes; almost certainly; it was nothing but a -rather bad cold; and as they went to press on the following evening, he -would be pretty sure to be at the office in the morning. - -Then Vincent hesitated. This clerk seemed a civil-spoken kind of young -fellow. - -"Do you happen to know if--if a Mr. Bethune has called at this office of -late?" - -"Bethune?--not that I am aware of," was the answer. - -"He is a friend of Mr. Anstruther's," Vincent went on, led by a vague -hope, "an old gentleman with white hair and beard--a handsome old man. -There would be a young lady with him most probably." - -"No, sir; I have not seen any one of that description," said the clerk. -"But he might have called on Mr. Anstruther at his home." - -"Oh, yes, certainly--very likely," said Vincent. "Thank you. I will -come along to-morrow morning, and hope to find Mr. Anstruther quite well -again." - -So he left and went out into the gathering dusk of the afternoon; and as -he had nothing to do now, he walked all the way back to his hotel, -looking at the various changes that had taken place since last he had -been in the busy city. And then, when he reached the sumptuous and -heavily-decorated apartment that served him at once as sitting-room and -bed-room, he set to work to put his things in order, for they had been -rather hurriedly jammed into his portmanteau on board ship. - -He was thus engaged when there came a knock at the door. - -"Entrez!" he called out, inadvertently (with some dim feeling that he -was in a foreign town.) - -The stranger needed no second invitation. He presented himself. He was -a small man, with a sallow and bloodless face, a black beard closely -trimmed, a moustache allowed to grow its natural length, and dark, -opaque, impassive eyes. He was rather showily dressed, and wore a -pince-nez. - -For a second he paused at the door to take out his card-case; then, -without uttering a word, he stepped forward and placed his card on the -table. Vincent was rather surprised at this form of introduction; but of -course he took up the card. He read thereon. '_Mr. Joseph de Lara._' - -"Oh, really," said he (but what passed through his mind was--'Is that -confounded woman going to persecute me on shore as well as at sea?'). -"How do you do? Very glad to make your acquaintance." - -"Oh, indeed, are you?" the other said, with a peculiar accent, the like -of which Vincent had never heard before. "Perhaps not, when you know -why I am here. Ah, do not pretend!--do not pretend!" - -Vincent stared at him, as if this were some escaped lunatic with whom he -had to deal. - -"Sir, I am here to call you to account," said the little foreigner, in -his thick voice. "It has been the scandal of the whole ship--the talk -of all the voyage over--and it is an insult to me--to me--that my wife -should be spoken of. Yes, you must make compensation--I demand -compensation--and how? By the only way that is known to an Englishman. -An Englishman feels only in his pocket; if he does wrong, he must pay; I -demand from you a sum that I expend in charity----" - -Vincent who saw what all this meant in a moment, burst out laughing--a -little scornfully. - -"You've come to the wrong shop, my good friend!" said he. - -"What do you mean? What do you mean?" the little dark man exclaimed, -with an affectation of rising wrath: "Look at this--I tell you, look at -this!" He drew from his pocket one of the photographs which had been -taken on board the steamer, and smacked it with the back of his hand. -"Do you see that?--the scandal of the whole voyage! My wife -compromised--the whole ship talking--you think you are to get off for -nothing? No! No! you do not! The only punishment that can reach you is -the punishment of the pocket--you must pay." - -"Oh, don't make a fool of yourself!" said Vincent, with angry contempt. -"I've met members of your profession before. But this is too thin." - -"Oh--too thin? You shall find out!" the other said, vindictively--and -yet the black and beady eyes behind the pince-nez were impassive and -watchful. "There, on the other side of my card, is my address. You can -think over it. Perhaps I shall see you to-morrow. If I do not--if you -do not come there to give the compensation I demand, I will make this -country too hot to hold you--yes, very much too hot, as you shall -discover. I will make you sorry--I will make you sorry--you shall -see----" - -He went on vapouring in this fashion for some little time longer, -affecting all the while to become more and more indignant; but at length -Vincent, growing tired, walked to the door and opened it. - -"This is the way out," he said curtly. - -Mr. de Lara took the hint with a dignified equanimity. - -"You have my address," he said, as he passed into the corridor; "I do -not wish to do anything disagreeable--unless I am compelled. You will -think over it; and I shall see you to-morrow, I hope. I wish to be -friendly--it will be for your interest, too. Good night!" - -Vincent shut the door and went and sate down, the better to consider. -Not that he was in the least perturbed by this man's ridiculous threats; -what puzzled him--and frightened him almost--was the possible connection -of the charming and fascinating Mrs. de Lara with this barefaced attempt -at blackmail. But no; he could not, he would not, believe it! He -recalled her pretty ways, her frankness, her engaging manner, her good -humour, her clever, wayward talk, her kindness towards himself; and he -could not bring himself to think that all the time she had been planning -a paltry and despicable conspiracy to extort money, or even that she -would lend herself to such a scheme at the instigation of her scapegrace -husband. However, his speculations on these points were now interrupted -by the arrival of the dinner-hour; and he went below to the table -d'hote. - -During dinner he thought that a little later on in the evening he would -go along to Lexington Avenue, and call on a lawyer whose acquaintance he -had made on a former visit to New York. He might by chance be at home -and disengaged; and an apology could be made for disturbing him at such -an unusual hour. And this, accordingly, Vincent did; found that Mr. -Griswold was in the house; was shown into the study; and presently the -lawyer--a tall, thin man, with a cadaverous and deeply-lined face and -cold grey eyes--came in and received his unexpected visitor politely -enough. - -"De Lara?" said he, when Vincent had told his story. "Well, yes, I know -something of De Lara. And a very disagreeable fellow he is to have any -dealings with." - -"But I don't want to have any dealings with him," Vincent protested, -"and I don't see how there should be any necessity. The whole thing is -a preposterous attempt at extortion. If only he were to put down on -paper what he said to me this evening, I would show him something--or at -least I should do so if he and I were in England." - -"He is not so foolish," the lawyer said. "Well, what do you propose to -do?--compromise for the sake of peace and quietness?" - -"Certainly not," was the instant reply. - -"He's a mischievous devil," said Mr. Griswold, doubtfully. "And of -course you don't want to have things said about you in newspapers, -however obscure. Might get sent over to England. Yes, he's a -mischievous devil when he turns ugly. What do you say now?--for the -sake of peace and quietness--a little matter of a couple of hundred -dollars--and nobody need know anything about it----" - -"Give a couple of hundred dollars to that infernal scoundrel?--I will -see him d----d first!" said Vincent, with a decision that was -unmistakeable. - -"There's no reason why you should give him a cent--not the slightest," -the lawyer went on. "But some people do, to save trouble. However, you -will not be remaining long in this city; I see it announced that you are -going on a tour through the United States and Canada." - -"The fact is, Mr. Griswold," said Vincent, "I came along--at this unholy -hour, for which I hope you will forgive me--not to ask you what I should -do about that fellow's threats--I don't value them a pin's-point--but -merely to see if you knew anything about those two----" - -"The De Lara's?" - -"Yes, what does he do, to begin with? What's his occupation--his -business?" - -"Nominally," said Mr. Griswold, "he belongs to my own profession; but I -fancy he is more mixed up with some low-class newspapers. I have heard, -indeed, that one of his sources of income is levying black-mail on -actresses. The poor girls lose nerve, you understand: they won't fight; -they would rather 'see' him, as the phrase is, than incur his enmity." - -"Well, then, what I want to know still more particularly," the young man -proceeded, "is this: is Mrs. de Lara supposed to take part in these -pretty little plans for obtaining money?" - -The lawyer smiled. - -"You ought to know her better than I do; in fact, I don't know her at -all." - -Vincent was silent for a second. - -"No; I should not have imagined it of her. It seems incredible. But if -you don't know her personally, perhaps you know what is thought of her? -What is her general reputation?" - -"Her reputation? I can hardly answer that question. I should say," Mr. -Griswold went on, in his slow and deliberate manner, "that there is a -kind of--a kind of impression--that, so long as the money was -forthcoming, Mrs. de Lara would not be too anxious to inquire where it -came from." - -"She was at the Captain's table!" Vincent exclaimed. - -"Ship captains don't know much about what is going on on shore," was the -reply. "Besides, if Mrs. de Lara wanted to sit at the Captain's table, -it's at the Captain's table you would find her, and that without much -delay! In any case why are you so anxious to find out about Mrs. de -Lara's peculiarities--apart from her being a very pretty woman?" - -"Oh," said Vincent, as he rose to apologise once more for this -intrusion, and to say good-night, "one is always meeting with new -experiences. Another lesson in the ways of the world, I suppose." - -But all the same, as he walked slowly and thoughtfully back to his -hotel, he kept saying to himself that he would rather not believe that -Mrs. de Lara had betrayed him and was an accomplice in this shameless -attempt to make money out of him. Nay, he said to himself that he would -refuse to believe until he was forced to believe: though he did not go a -step further, and proceed to ask himself the why and wherefore of this -curious reluctance. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - WEST AND EAST. - - -When Vincent went along the next morning to the office of the _Western -Scotsman_, he was at once shown into the editorial room, and there he -found before him a short, thick-set man with a leonine profusion of -light chestnut hair thrown back from a lofty forehead, somewhat -irregular features, and clear blue eyes that had at present something of -a cold scrutiny in them. To any one else, the editor of the _Western -Scotsman_ might have appeared a somewhat commonplace-looking person; but -to Vincent he was far from commonplace. Here was one who had befriended -the two world-wanderers; who had known them in the bygone years; perhaps -Maisrie herself had sat, in this very room, patiently waiting, while the -two men talked. And yet when he asked for news of old George Bethune -and his granddaughter, Mr. Anstruther's manner was unaccountably -reserved. - -"No," said he, "I know nothing of them, nothing whatever; but I can well -understand that George Bethune might be in New York, or might have -passed through New York, without calling on me." - -"Why?" said Vincent in surprise. - -"Oh, well," said the Editor, with some touch of asperity and even of -indignation, "I should like to believe the best of an old friend; and -certainly George Bethune always seemed to me a loyal Scot--proud of his -country--proud of the name he bears, as well he might; but when you find -him trying to filch the idea of a book--from a fellow-countryman, -too--and making use of the letter of introduction I gave him to Lord -Musselburgh to get money----" - -"But that can all be explained," said Vincent, eagerly--and he even -forgot his immediate disappointment in his desire to clear away those -imputations from Maisrie's grandfather. "The money was repaid to Lord -Musselburgh as soon as it was found that the American book was coming -out; I know it was--I am certain of it; and when the volume did come -out, no one was so anxious to welcome it, and give it a helping hand, as -Mr. Bethune himself. He wrote the review in the _Edinburgh -Chronicle_----" - -"Oh, did he?" said the Editor, with some slight alteration in his tone. -"I am glad of that. I could see it was written by some one with ample -knowledge: in fact, I quoted the article in the _Scotsman_, it seemed to -me so well done. Yes, I am glad of that," Mr. Anstruther repeated. - -"And then," continued Vincent, "the old man may easily have persuaded -himself that, being familiar with the subject, he was entitled to -publish a volume on the other side of the water. But I know this, that -what he desired above all was that honour should be done to those -Scotchmen who had written about their affection for their native country -while living in other lands, and that the people at home should know -those widely-scattered poets; and when he found that this work had -already been undertaken, and was actually coming out, there was no -jealousy in his mind--not the slightest--he was only anxious that the -book should be known everywhere, but especially in Scotland." - -"I can assure you I am very glad to hear it," said Mr. Anstruther, who -was clearly much mollified by this vague but earnest vindication. "And -I may say that when some one came here making inquiries about George -Bethune, I did not put matters in their worst light----" - -"Oh, some one has been here making inquiries?" said Vincent, quickly. - -"About a month ago, or more." - -"Who was it?" - -"I forget the name," the Editor replied. "In fact, I was rather vexed -at the time about my friend Ross's book--and Mr. Bethune getting money -from Lord Musselburgh; and I did not say very much. I am glad there is -some explanation; one likes to think the best of a brother Scot. But -you--you are not a Scot?" he demanded with a swift glance of inquiry. - -"No, I am not," said Vincent, "but I am very much interested in Mr. -Bethune and his granddaughter; and as they quite suddenly disappeared -from London, I thought it very likely they had returned to the United -States; and also, if they had come to New York, I imagined you would be -sure to know." - -"One thing is pretty certain," said Mr. Anstruther. "If George Bethune -is in this city, he will be heard of to-morrow evening." - -"To-morrow evening?" Vincent repeated, vaguely. - -"The twenty-fifth!" exclaimed the Editor, with an astonished stare. - -And yet the young man seemed none the wiser. - -"It is evident you are no Scotchman," Mr. Anstruther said at length, and -with good humour. "You don't remember that 'a blast o' Janwar win' blew -hansel in on Robin'? The twenty-fifth of January--the birthday of -Robert Burns!" - -"Oh, yes--oh, certainly," said Vincent, with guilty haste. - -"There will be a rare gathering of the clans to-morrow night," the -Editor continued; "and if George Bethune is on this side the water, -he'll either show up himself or somebody will have heard of him." - -"I think he must be over here," Vincent said. "At first I imagined he -might have gone to Scotland: he was thinking of a topographical and -antiquarian book on the various places mentioned in the Scotch -songs--and he had often spoken of making a pilgrimage through the -country for that purpose. So I went down to Scotland for a few days, -but I could hear nothing of him." - -"What do you say--that you have been quite recently in Scotland?" Mr. -Anstruther said, with a sudden accession of interest. - -"About three weeks ago," was the answer. - -"Well, well, well!" the Editor exclaimed, and he regarded the young man -with quite a kindly curiosity. "Do ye tell me that! In Scotland--not -more than three weeks since! And whereabouts--whereabouts?" - -"I was in Edinburgh most of the time," Vincent said. - -"In Edinburgh?--did ye see the Corstorphine Hills?" was the next eager -question; and the man's eyes were no longer coldly scrutinising, but -full of a lively interest and friendliness. "Ay, the Corstorphine -Hills: ye would see them if ye went up to the top of Nelson's Monument, -and looked away across the town--away along Princes Street--that -wonderful view!--wonderful!--when I think of it, I seem to see it all a -silver-white--and Scott's Monument towering high in the middle, like -some splendid fountain turned to stone. Ay, ay, and ye were walking -along Princes Street not more than three weeks ago; and I suppose ye -were thinking of old Christopher, and the Ettrick Shepherd, and Sir -Walter, and Jeffrey, and the rest of them? Dear me, it's a kind of -strange thing! Did ye go out to Holyrood? Did ye climb up Arthur's -Seat? Did ye see Portobello, and Inch Keith, and the Berwick Law----" - -"'The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith,'" Vincent quoted, with a smile. - -The other's eyes flashed recognition; and he laughed aloud. - -"Ay, ay, that was a great favourite with the old man. Many's the time -he has announced himself coming up these very stairs with that." - -"Did Maisrie ever come with him?" Vincent asked--with his heart going a -bit quicker. - -"His granddaughter? Oh, yes, to be sure--sometimes. He was fond of -coming down the night before we went to press, and looking over the -columns of Scotch news, and having a chat. You see we have to boil down -the smaller Scotch papers for local news--news that the bigger papers -don't touch; and very often you notice a name that is familiar to you, -or something of that kind. Well, now, I wish the old man was here this -very minute! I do indeed--most heartily. We'd let bygones be -bygones--no doubt I was mistaken--I'll back George Bethune for a true -and loyal Scot. Ah say, man," continued Mr. Anstruther, pulling out his -big silver watch--and now all his assumption of the reserved American -manner was gone, and he was talking with enthusiastic emphasis--"There's -a countryman of mine--a most worthy fellow--close by here, who would be -glad to see any friend of old George Bethune's. It's just about his -lunch time; and he'll no grudge ye a farl of oatcake and a bit of Dunlop -cheese; in fact nothing pleases him better than keeping open house for -his cronies. A man of sterling worth; and a man of substance, too: -sooner or later, I expect, he'll be going away back to the old country -and buying a bit place for himself in his native county of Aberdeen. -Well, well," said the Editor, as he locked his desk, and put on his hat, -and opened the door for his visitor, "and to think it was but the other -day ye were walking along Princes Street in Edinburgh! Did ye go out at -night, when the old town was lit up?--a grand sight, wasn't it--nothing -like it in the world! Ye must tell honest John--John MacVittie, that -is--that ye've just come straight from the 'land of brown heath and -shaggy wood,' and ye'll no want for a welcome!" - -And indeed it was a very frank and friendly welcome he received when -they at length reached Mr. MacVittie's place of business, and were shown -into the merchant's private room. Here they found himself and his two -partners (all Scotchmen) about to sit down at table; and places were -immediately prepared for the new-comers. The meal was a much more -varied affair than the Editor had foreshadowed: its remarkable feature -being, as Vincent was informed, that nearly everything placed on the -board had been sent over from Scotland. Mr. MacVittie made a little -apology. - -"It's a kind of hobby of mine," said he; "and even with perishable -things it's not so difficult nowadays, the ice-houses of the big -steamers being so convenient. What would you like to drink, sir? I can -give ye a choice of Talisker, Glenlivet, Long John, and Lagavulin; but -perhaps ye would prefer something lighter in the middle of the day. I -hope you don't object to the smell of the peats; we Scotch folk are -rather fond of it; I think our good friend here, Anstruther, would -rather have a sniff of the peat than the smell of the best canvas-back -duck that was ever carried through a kitchen. I get those peats sent -over from Islay: you see, I try to have Scotland--or some fragments of -it--brought to me, since I cannot go to it." - -"But why don't you go to Scotland, sir?" said Vincent--knowing he was -speaking to a man of wealth. - -"At my time of life," Mr. MacVittie answered, "one falls into certain -ways and grooves, and it's an ill job getting out of them. No, I do not -think I shall ever be in Scotland again, until I'm taken there--in a -box. I shall have to be like the lady in 'The Gay Goss-hawk'-- - - 'An asking, an asking, my father dear, - An asking grant ye me! - That if I die in merry England, - In Scotland you'll bury me.'" - - -"Oh, nonsense, John!" one of his partners cried. "Nonsense, man! We'll -have you building a castle up somewhere about Kincardine O'Neil; and -every autumn we'll go over and shoot your grouse and kill your salmon -for you. That's liker it!" - -Now here were three sharp and shrewd business men met together in the -very heart of one of the great commercial cities of the world; and the -fourth was a purveyor of news (Vincent did not count: he was so -wonderstruck at meeting people who had known George Bethune and Maisrie -in former days, and so astonished and fascinated by any chance reference -to them that he did not care to propound any opinions of his own: he was -well content to listen) and it might naturally have been supposed that -their talk would have been of the public topics of the hour--politics -home and foreign, the fluctuations of trade, dealings with that -portentous surplus that is always getting in the way, and so forth. But -it was nothing of the kind. It was all about the dinner of the Burns' -Society of New York, to be given at Sutherland's in Liberty-street the -following evening, in celebration of the birthday of the Scotch poet; -and Tom MacVittie--a huge man with a reddish-brown beard and a bald -head--in the enthusiasm of the moment was declaring that again and -again, on coming across a song, by some one of the minor Scotch poets, -that was particularly fine, he wished he had the power to steal it and -hand it over to the Ayrshire bard--no doubt on the principle that, -'whosoever hath, to him shall be given.' Then there was a comparison of -this gem and that; favourites were mentioned and extolled; the air was -thick with Willie Laidlaw, Allan Cunningham, Nicol, Hogg, Motherwell, -Tannahill, and the rest; while the big Tom MacVittie, returning to his -original thesis, maintained that it would be only fair punishment if -John Mayne were mulcted of his 'Logan Braes,' because of his cruel -maltreatment of 'Helen of Kirkconnell.' - -"Yes, I will say," he continued--and his fist was ready to come down on -the table if needs were. "Robbie himself might well be proud of 'Logan -Braes;' and John Mayne deserves to have something done to him for trying -to spoil so fine a thing as 'Helen of Kirkconnell.' I cannot forgive -that. I cannot forgive that at all. No excuse. Do ye think the man -that wrote the 'Siller Gun' did not know he was making the fine old -ballad into a fashionable rigmarole? Confound him, I would take 'Logan -Braes' from him in a minute, if I could, and hand it over to Robbie----" - -"Did you ever notice," interposed the editor of the Scotch paper, "the -clever little trick of repetition in the middle of every alternate -verse---- - - 'By Logan's streams that rin so deep, - Fu' aft wi' glee I've herded sheep; - Herded sheep, or gathered slaes, - Wi' my dear lad on Logan braes. - But wae's my heart, thae days are gane, - And I wi' grief may herd alane; - While my dear lad maun face his faes, - Far, far frae me and Logan braes.' - -I do not remember Burns using that device, though it was familiar in -Scotch song--you recollect 'Annie Laurie'---'her waist ye weel might -span.' And Landor used it in 'Rose Aylmer'-- - - 'Rose Aylmer, all were thine. - Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes--'" - - -"I would like now," continued Tom MacVittie, with a certain impatience -over the introduction of a glaiket Englisher, "to hand over to Robbie -'There's nae luck about the house.' The authorship is disputed anyhow; -though I tell you that if William Julius Mickle ever wrote those verses -I'll just eat my hat--and coat, too! It was Jean Adams wrote that song; -I say it was none other than Jean Adams. Mickle--and his Portuguese -stuff----" - -"God bless me, Tom, do you forget 'Cumnor Hall'?" his brother exclaimed. - -"'Cumnor Hall?' I do not forget 'Cumnor Hall?'" Tom MacVittie rejoined, -with a certain disdain. "'Cumnor Hall!'--a wretched piece of fustian, -that no one would have thought of twice, only that Walter Scott's ear -was taken with the first verse. Proud minions--simple nymphs--Philomel -on yonder thorn: do ye mean that a man who wrote stuff like that could -write like this-- - - 'Rise up and mak' a clean fireside, - Put on the mickle pot; - Gie little Kate her cotton gown, - And Jock his Sunday's coat; - And mak' their shoon as black as slaes, - Their stockins' white as snaw; - It's a' to pleasure our gudeman-- - He likes to see them braw.' - -That's human nature, man; there you've the good-wife, and the goodman, -and the bairns; none o' your Philomels, and nymphs, and swains! That -bletherin' idiot, Dr. Beattie, wrote additional verses--well, he might -almost be forgiven for the last couplet, - - 'The present moment is our ain, - The neist we never saw.'----" - - -"That was a favourite quotation of old George Bethune's," said the elder -MacVittie, with a smile, to Vincent. - -The young man was startled out of a reverie. It was so strange for him -to sit and hear conversation like this, and to imagine that George -Bethune had joined in it, and no doubt led it, in former days, and that -perhaps Maisrie had been permitted to listen. - -"Yes," he made answer, modestly; "and no man ever carried the spirit of -it more completely into his daily life." - -"What makes ye think he is in New York, or in the United States, at -least?" was the next question. - -"I can hardly say," said Vincent, "except that I knew he had many -friends here." - -"If George Bethune is in New York," Tom MacVittie interposed, in his -decisive way, "I'll wager he'll show up at Sutherland's to-morrow -night--I'll wager my coat and hat!" - -And then the Editor put in a word. - -"If I thought that," said he, "I would go along to the Secretary, and -see if I could have a ticket reserved for him. I'm going to ask Mr. -Harris here to be my guest; for if he isn't a Scotchman, at least he has -been in Scotland since any of us were there." - -"And I hope you don't need to be a Scotchman in order to have an -admiration for Robert Burns," said Vincent; and with that appropriate -remark the symposium broke up; for if MacVittie, MacVittie, and Hogg -chose to enliven their brief mid-day meal with reminiscences of their -native land and her poets, they were not in the habit of wasting much -time or neglecting their business. - -A good part of the next day Vincent spent in the society of Hugh -Anstruther; for in the stir and ferment then prevailing among the Scotch -circles in New York, it was possible that George Bethune might be heard -of at any moment; and, indeed, they paid one or two visits to -Nassau-street, to ask of the Secretary of the Burns Society whether Mr. -Bethune had not turned up in the company of some friend applying for an -additional ticket. And in the meantime Vincent had frankly confessed to -this new acquaintance what had brought him over to the United States. - -"Man, do ye think I could not guess that!" Hugh Anstruther exclaimed: he -was having luncheon with Vincent at the latter's hotel. "Here are you, -a fresh-elected member of Parliament--and I dare say as proud as Punch -in consequence; and within a measurable distance of your taking your -place in the House, you leave England, and come away over to America to -hunt up an old man and a young girl. Do I wonder?--I do not wonder. A -bonnier lassie, a gentler creature, does not step the ground anywhere; -ay, and of good birth and blood, too; though there may be something in -that to account for George Bethune's disappearance. A proud old deevil, -ye see; and wilful; and always with those wild dreams of his of getting -a great property----" - -"Well, but is there the slightest possibility of their ever getting that -property?" Vincent interposed. - -"There is a possibility of my becoming the President of the United -States of America," was the rather contemptuous (and in point of fact, -inaccurate) answer. "The courts have decided: you can't go and disturb -people who have been in possession for generations--at least, I should -think not! As for the chapter of accidents: no doubt the estates might -come to them for want of a more direct heir; such things certainly do -happen; but how often? However, the old man is opinionated." - -"Not as much as he was," Vincent said. "Not on that point, at least. -He does not talk as much about it as he used--so Maisrie says." - -"Oh, Maisrie? I was not sure. A pretty name. Well, I congratulate you; -and when, in the ordinary course of things, it falls upon you to provide -her with a home, I hope she will lead a more settled, a happier life, -than I fancy she could have led in that wandering way." - -Vincent was silent. There were certain things about which he could not -talk to this new acquaintance, even though he now seemed so well -disposed towards old George Bethune and that solitary girl. There were -matters about which he had given up questioning himself: mysteries that -appeared incapable of explanation. In the meantime his hopes and -speculations were narrowed down to this one point: would Maisrie's -grandfather--from whichsoever part of the world he might hail--suddenly -make his appearance at this celebration to-night? For in that case she -herself could not be far off. - -And wildly enthusiastic this gathering proved to be, even from the -outset. Telegrams were flying this way and that (for in the old country -the ceremonies had begun some hours previously); there was no -distinction between members and friends; and as Scot encountered Scot, -each vied with the other in recalling the phrases and intonation of -their younger years. In the midst of this turmoil of arrival and joyous -greeting, Vincent's gaze was fixed on the door; at any moment there -might appear there a proud-featured old man, white-haired, keen-eyed, of -distinguished bearing--a striking figure--and not more picturesque than -welcome! For would not Maisrie, later on in the evening, be still -waiting up for him? And if, at the end of the proceedings, one were to -walk home with the old man, and have a chance of saying five words to -Maisrie herself, by way of good-night? No, he would not reproach her! -He would only take her hand, and say, 'To-morrow--to-morrow, Maisrie, I -am coming to scold you!' - -Thin Scot, burly Scot, red-headed Scot, black-a-vised Scot, Lowlander -and Highlander--all came trooping in, eager, talkative, delighted to -meet friends and acquaintances; but there was no George Bethune. And -when they had settled down in their places, and when dinner had begun, -Hugh Anstruther, who was 'Croupier' on this occasion, turned to his -guest and said:-- - -"You must not be disappointed. I hardly expected him; I could not hear -of any one who had invited him. But it is quite likely he may turn up -latter on--very likely, indeed, if he is anywhere within travelling -distance of New York. George Bethune is not the one to forget the -twenty-fifth of January; and of course he must know that many of his -friends are assembled here." - -Then presently the Croupier turned to his guest and said in an -undertone-- - -"There's a toast that's not down in the list; and I'm going to ask ye to -drink it; we'll drink it between ourselves. Fill your glass, man--bless -me, what's the use of water!--see, here's some hock--Sutherland's famous -for his hock--and now this is the toast. 'Here's to Scotch lassies, -wherever they may be!'" - -"Yes--'wherever they may be,'" Vincent repeated, absently. - -"Oh, don't be downhearted!" his lion-maned friend said, with cheerful -good humour. "If that self-willed old deevil has taken away the lassie, -thinking to make some grand heiress of her, he'll find it's easier to -talk about royal blood than to keep a comfortable house over her head; -and some day he may be glad enough to bring her back and see her safely -provided with a husband well-to-do and able to take care of her. Royal -blood?--I'm not sure that I haven't heard him maintain that the Bethunes -were a more ancient race than the Stewarts. I shouldn't wonder if he -claimed to be descended from Macbeth, King of Scotland. Oh, he holds -his head high, the old scoundrel that has 'stole bonny Glenlyon away.' -But you'll be even with him yet; you'll be even with him yet. Why, if -he comes in to-night, and finds ye sitting here, he'll be as astonished -as Maclean of Duart was at Inverary, when he looked up from the banquet -and saw his wife at the door." - -So Vincent had perforce to wait in vague expectancy; but nevertheless -the proceedings of the evening interested him not a little, and all the -more that he happened to know two of the principal speakers. For to Mr. -Tom MacVittie was entrusted the toast of the evening--"The Immortal -Memory of Robert Burns"--and very eloquently indeed did the big merchant -deal with that well-worn theme. What the subject lacked in novelty was -amply made up by the splendid enthusiasm of his audience: the most -familiar quotations--rolled out with MacVittie's breadth of accent and -strong north-country burr--were welcome as the songs of Zion sung in a -strange land; this was the magic speech that could stir their hearts, -and raise visions of their far-off and beloved native home. Nor were -they at all _laudatores temporis acti_--these perfervid and kindly -Scots. When the Croupier rose to propose the toast that had been -allotted to him--"The Living Bards of Scotland"--cheer after cheer -greeted names of which Vincent, in his southern ignorance, had never -even heard. Indeed, to this stranger, it seemed as if the Scotland of -our own day must be simply alive with poets; and not of the kind that -proclaimed at Paisley "They sterve us while we're leevin, and raise -moniments to us when we're deed;" but of a quiet and modest character, -their subjects chiefly domestic, occasionally humorous, more frequently -exhibiting a sincere and effective pathos. For, of course, the Croupier -justified himself with numerous excerpts; and there was no stint to the -applause of this warm-blooded audience; insomuch that Vincent's idle -fancies went wandering away to those (to him) little known minstrels in -the old land, with a kind of wish that they could be made aware how they -were regarded by their countrymen across the sea. Nay, when the -Croupier concluded his speech, "coupling with this toast" a whole string -of names, the young man, carried away by the prevailing ardour, said-- - -"Mr. Anstruther, surely nothing will do justice to this toast but a drop -of whiskey!" - ---and the Croupier, passing him the decanter, said in reply---- - -"Surely--surely--on an evening like this; and yet I'm bound to say that -if it had not been for the whiskey, my list of living Scotch poets would -have been longer." - -The evening passed; and Vincent's hopes, that had been too lightly and -easily raised, were slowly dwindling. Had George Bethune been in New -York, or within any reasonable distance of it, he would almost certainly -have come to this celebration, at which several of his old friends were -assembled. As Vincent walked home that night to his hotel, the world -seemed dark and wide; and he felt strangely alone. He knew not which -way to turn now. For one thing, he was not at all convinced, as Hugh -Anstruther appeared to be, that it was Mr. Bethune who had taken his -granddaughter away, and that, sooner or later, he would turn up at one -or other of those trans-Atlantic gatherings of his Scotch friends. -Vincent could not forget Maisrie's last farewell; and if this separation -were of her planning and executing, then there was far less chance of -his encountering them in any such haphazard fashion. 'It is good-bye -for ever between you and me,' she had written. And of what avail now -were her wild words, 'Vincent, I love you!--I love you!--you are my -dearest in all the world! You will remember, always and always, whenever -you think of me, that that is so: you will not forget: remember that I -love you always, and am thinking of you!' Idle phrases, that the winds -had blown away! Of what use were they now? Nay, why should he believe -them, any more than the pretty professions that Mrs. de Lara had made on -board the steamer? Were they not both women, those two? And then he -drew back with scorn of himself; and rebuked the lying Satan that seemed -to walk by his side. Solitariness--wounded -pride--disappointment--almost despair--might drive him to say or imagine -mad things at the moment; but never--never once--in his heart of hearts -had he really doubted Maisrie's faith and honour. All other things -might be; not that. - -He resolved to leave New York and go out west; it was just possible that -Maisrie had taken some fancy for revisiting the place of her birth; he -guessed they might have certain friends there also. Hugh Anstruther came -to the railway station to see him off. - -"Yes," he said, "you may hear something about them in Omaha; but it is -hardly probable; for those western cities grow at a prodigious pace, and -the traces of people who leave them get very soon obliterated. Besides, -the population is more or less shifting; there are ups and downs; and -you must remember it is a considerable time since Mr. Bethune and his -granddaughter left Omaha. However, in case you don't learn anything of -them there, I have brought you a letter of introduction to Daniel -Thompson of Toronto--the well-known banker--you may have heard of -him--and he is as likely as any one to know anything that can be known -of George Bethune. They are old friends." - -Vincent was very grateful. - -"And I suppose," he said, as he was getting his smaller belongings into -the car, "I shan't hear anything further of that fellow de Lara?" - -"Not a bit--not a bit!" the good-natured Scotch Editor made answer. -"You took the right way with him at the beginning. He'll probably call -you a scoundrel and a blackguard in one or two obscure papers; but that -won't break bones." - -"I have a stout oak cudgel that can, though," said Vincent, "if there -should be need." - -It was a long and a lonely journey; Vincent was in no mood for making -acquaintances; and doubtless his fellow-passengers considered him an -excellent specimen of the proud and taciturn travelling Englishman. But -at last he came in sight of the wide valley of the Missouri, with its -long mud-banks and yellow water-channels; and beyond that again the flat -plain of the city, dominated by the twin-spired High School perched on a -distant height. And he could see how Omaha had grown even within the -short time that had elapsed since his last visit; where he could -remember one-storeyed tenements stuck at haphazard amongst trees and -waste bits of green there were now streets with tram-cars and important -public buildings; the city had extended in every direction; it was a -vast wilderness of houses that he beheld beyond the wide river. Perhaps -Maisrie had been surprised too--on coming back to her old home? Alas! -it seemed so big a place in which to search for any one; and he knew of -no kindly Scotch Editor who might help. - -And very soon he got to recognise that Hugh Anstruther's warnings had -been well founded. Omaha seemed to have no past, nor any remembrance of -bygone things; the city was too busy pushing ahead to think of those who -had gone under, or left. It is true that at the offices of the Union -Pacific Railway, he managed to get some scant information about the -young engineer with whom fortune had dealt so hardly; but these were not -personal reminiscences; there were new men everywhere, and Maisrie's -father had not been known to any of them. As for the child-orphan and -the old man who had come to adopt her, who was likely to remember them? -They were not important enough; Omaha had its 'manifest destiny' to -think of; besides, they were now gone some years--and some years in a -western city is a century. - -This was not a wholesome life that Vincent was leading--so quite alone -was he--and anxious--and despairing. He could not sleep very well. At -intervals during the night he would start up, making sure that he heard -the sound of a violin; and sometimes the distant and almost inaudible -notes seemed to have a suggestion of Maisrie's voice in them--'_I daurna -tryst wi' you, Willie ... I daurna tryst ye here ... But we'll hold our -tryst in heaven, Willie ... In the spring-time o' the year_'--and then -he would listen more and more intently, and convince himself it was only -the moaning of the wind down the empty street. He neglected his meals. -When he took up a newspaper, the printed words conveyed no meaning to -him. And then he would go away out wandering again, through those -thoroughfares that had hardly any interest for him now; while he was -becoming more and more hopeless as the long hours went by, and feeling -himself baffled at every point. - -But before turning his face eastward again, he had written to Mr. Daniel -Thompson of Toronto, mentioning that he had a letter of introduction -from Hugh Anstruther, and stating what had brought him out here to the -west. Then he went on: - -"Mr. Bethune was never very communicative about money-matters--at least, -to me; indeed, he seemed to consider such things too trivial for talking -about. At the same time I understood from him that when his son, Miss -Bethune's father, died, there was either some remnant of his shattered -fortunes--or perhaps it was some fund subscribed by sympathising -friends--I never could make out which, and was not curious enough to -inquire--that produced a certain small annual income. Now I thought -that if I could discover the trustees who paid over this income, they -would certainly know where Mr. Bethune and his granddaughter were now -living; or, on the other hand, supposing the fund was derived from some -investment, if I could find out the bank which held the securities, they -also might be able to tell me. But all my inquiries have been in vain. -I am a stranger; people don't want to be bothered; sometimes I can see -they are suspicious. However, it has occurred to me that you, as an old -friend of Mr. Bethune, might chance to know who they are who have this -fund in trust; and if you could tell me, you would put me under a -life-long debt of gratitude. If you were aware of all the -circumstances, you would be convinced that no ill-use is likely to be -made of the information. When I first became acquainted with Mr. Bethune -and his granddaughter, they seemed to me to be living a very happy and -simple and contented life in London; and I am afraid I am in some -measure responsible for their having suddenly resolved to leave these -quiet circumstances, and take to that wandering life of which Miss -Bethune seemed so sadly tired. If I can get no news of them here, I -propose returning home by Toronto and Montreal, and I shall then give -myself the pleasure of calling upon you, when I may be able to assure -you that, if you should hear anything of Mr. Bethune and Miss Bethune, -you would be doing no injury to them, or to any one, in letting me -know." - -Then came the answer--from a cautious Scot. - -"Dear Sir,--As you rightly observe, my old friend George Bethune was -never very communicative about money matters; and perhaps he was even -less so with me than with others--fearing that any such disclosures -might be misconstrued into an appeal for help. I was vaguely aware, -like yourself, that he had some small annual income--for the maintenance -of his granddaughter, as I understood; but from whence it was derived I -had, and have, no knowledge whatever; so that I regret I cannot give you -the information you seek. I shall be pleased to see you on your way -through Toronto; and still further pleased to give you any assistance -that may lie in my power." - -There was not much encouragement in this letter; but after these weary -and lonely days in this hopeless city, he was glad to welcome any -friendly hand held out to him. And he grew to think that he would be -more likely to hear of Maisrie in Toronto or Montreal than in this big -town on the banks of the Missouri. Canada had been far longer her home. -She used to talk of Toronto or Montreal--more rarely of Quebec--as if -she were familiar with every feature of them; whereas she hardly ever -mentioned Omaha. He remembered her telling him how she used to climb up -to the top of the tower of Toronto College, to look away across the wide -landscape to the lofty column of soft white smoke that rose from Niagara -Falls into the blue of the summer sky. He recalled her description of -the small verandahed villa in which they lived, out amongst the sandy -roads and trees and gardens of the suburbs. Why, it was the _Toronto -Globe_ or the _Toronto Mail_ that old George Bethune was reading, when -first he had dared to address them in Hyde Park. Then Montreal: he -recollected so well her talking of the Grey Nunnery, of Notre Dame, of -Bonsecours Market, of the ice palaces, and toboggan slides, and similar -amusements of the hard northern winter. But a trivial little incident -that befell him on his arrival in Toronto persuaded him, more than any -of these reminiscences, that in coming to Canada he was getting nearer -to Maisrie--that at any moment he might be within immediate touch of -her. - -It was rather late in the evening when he reached his hotel; he was -tired; and he thought he would go soon to bed. His room looked out into -a side street that was pretty sure to be deserted at this hour; so that, -just as he was turning off the light, he was a trifle surprised to hear -a slight and distant sound as of singing; and from idle curiosity he -went to the window. There was a full moon; the opposite pavement and -the fronts of the houses were white in the cold and clear radiance; -silence reigned save for this chance sound he had heard. At the same -moment he descried the source of it. There were two young girls coming -along the pavement opposite--hurrying home, apparently, -arm-in-arm--while they amused themselves by singing a little in an -underhand way, one of them even attempting a second from time to time. -And how could he mistake the air?--it was the _Claire Fontaine_! The -girls were singing in no sad fashion; but idly and carelessly to amuse -themselves on their homeward way; and indeed so quietly that even in -this prevailing silence he could only guess at the words-- - - J'ai perdu ma maitresse - Sans l'avoir merite, - Pour un bouquet de roses - Que je lui refusai. - - * * * * * - - Je voudrais que la rose - Fut encore au rosier, - Et moi et ma maitresse - Dans les mems amities. - -And then the two slight, dark figures went by in the white moonlight; -and eventually the sound ceased in the distance. But he had been -greatly cheered and comforted. This was a friendly and familiar air. -He had reached Maisrie's home at last; _la Claire Fontaine_ proclaimed -it. And if, when he neared the realms of sleep, his heart was full of -the old refrain-- - - Lui ya longtemps que je t'aime, - Jamais je ne t'oublierai, - -there was something of hopefulness there as well: he had left the -despair of Omaha behind him. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - ENLIGHTENMENT. - - -Next morning he was up and out betimes--wandering through this town that -somehow seemed to be pervaded by Maisrie's presence, or, at least, by -recollections of her and associations with her. He had hardly left his -hotel when he heard a telegraph-boy whistling the air of 'Isabeau s'y -promene.' He went from one street to another, recognising this and that -public building: the polished marble pillars shining in the cold, clear -sunlight. Then he walked away up College Avenue, and entered Queen's -Park; and there, after some little delay, he obtained permission to -ascend to the top of the University tower. But in vain he sought along -the southern horizon for the cloud of soft white smoke of which Maisrie -had often spoken; the distant Niagara was frozen motionless and mute. -When he returned to the more frequented thoroughfares, the business-life -of the city was now in full flow; nevertheless he kept his eyes on the -alert; even amid this hurrying crowd, the figure of George Bethune would -not readily escape recognition. But, indeed, he was only seeking to pass -the time, for he thought he ought not to call on the banker before -mid-day. - -Mr. Daniel Thompson he found to be a tall, spare man, of well over -sixty, with short white whiskers, a face otherwise clean shaven, and -eyes that were shrewd and observant, but far from unkindly. He listened -to the young man's tale with evident interest. - -"And so you have come all the way across the Atlantic," said he, "to -look for my old friend George Bethune and little Maggie." - -"Maggie," repeated Vincent, somewhat startled. "Maisrie, you mean." - -"Maisrie!" the banker said, with a certain impatience. "Does he still -keep up that nonsense? The girl's name is Margaret; Margaret -Bethune--surely a good enough name for any Christian. But his head is -just full of old ballads and stuff of that kind; any fancy that strikes -him is just as real to him as fact; I dare say he could persuade himself -that he was intimately acquainted with Sir Patrick Spens and the Scots -lords who were drinking in Dunfermline town----" - -"But in any case," Vincent protested (for how could he surrender the -name that was so deeply graven on his heart)? "Maisrie is only a form -of Margaret--as Marjorie is--a pet name--" - -"Maisrie!" said the banker, contemptuously. "Who ever heard of any human -creature being called Maisrie--outside of poetry-books and old ballads? -I warned the little monkey, many and many a day ago, when I first got -her to write to me, that she must sign her own name, or she would see -what I would do to her. Well, how is the little Omahussy? What does -she look like now? A sly little wretch she used to be--making people -fond of her with her earnest eyes--" - -"I don't think you quite understand," said Vincent, who resented this -familiar tone, though in truth it only meant an affectionate kindliness. -"Miss Bethune is no longer the little girl you seem to imagine; she is -quite a young lady now--and taller than most." - -"The little Omahussy grown up to be a tall young lady?" said he, in a -pleased fashion. "Yes, yes, I suppose so. No doubt. And tall, you -say? Even when she was here last she was getting on; but the only -photograph I have of her was done long before that--when she was hardly -more than twelve; and then I'm an old bachelor, you see; I'm not -accustomed to watch children grow up; and somehow I remember her mostly -as when I first knew her--a shy young thing, and yet something of a -little woman in her ways. Grown up good-looking, too, I suppose?--both -her father and mother were handsome." - -"If you saw her now," said Vincent, "I think you would say she was -beautiful; though it might not be her beauty that would take your -attention the most." - -The elderly banker regarded this young man for a second or so--and with -a favouring glance: he was clearly well impressed. - -"I hope you will not consider me intrusive or impertinent if I ask you a -question," said he. "I am an old friend of George Bethune's--perhaps -the oldest alive now; and besides that I have always regarded myself as -a sort of second father to the little Margaret--though their wandering -way of life has taken her out of my care. Now--don't answer unless you -like--tell me to mind my own business--but at the same time one would -almost infer, from your coming over here in search of them, that you -have some particular interest in the young lady----" - -"It is the chief interest of my life," said Vincent, with simple -frankness. "And that is why I cannot rest until I find them." - -"Well, now, one question more," the banker continued. "I don't wish to -pry into any young lady's secrets--but--but perhaps there may be some -understanding between her and you?" - -"I hope so," said Vincent. - -"And the young wretch never wrote me a line to tell me of it!" Mr. -Thompson exclaimed--but it was very obvious that this piece of news had -caused him no chagrin. "The little Omahussy grows up to be a fine and -tall young lady; chooses her sweetheart for herself; thinks of getting -married and all the rest of it; and not a word to me! Here is filial -gratitude for you! Why, does she forget what I have promised to do for -her? Not that I ever said so to her; you don't fill a school-girl's -head full of wedding fancies; but her grandfather knew; her grandfather -must have told her when this affair was settled between you and her----" - -But here Vincent had to interpose and explain that nothing was settled; -that unhappily everything was unsettled; and further he went on to tell -of all that had happened preceding the disappearance of Maisrie and her -grandfather. For this man seemed of a kindly nature; he was an old -friend of those two; then Vincent had been very much alone of -late--there was no one in Omaha in whom he could confide. Mr. Thompson -listened with close attention; and at last he said-- - -"I can see that you have been placed in a very peculiar position; and -that you have stood the test well. The description of my old friend -Bethune that your father put before you could be made to look very -plausible; and I imagine that most young men would have been staggered -by it. I can fancy that a good many young men would have been apt to -say 'Like grandfather, like granddaughter'--and would have declined to -have anything more to do with either. And yet I understand that, -however doubtful or puzzled you may have been, at least you never had -any suspicion of Margaret?" - -"Suspicion?" said Vincent. "Of the girl whom I hope to make my wife? I -need not answer the question." - -Mr. Thompson give a bit of a laugh, in a quiet, triumphant manner. - -"Evidently my little Omahussy had her eyes widely and wisely open when -she made her choice," said he, apparently to himself. - -"And what can I do now?" Vincent went on, in a half-despairing way. -"You say you are certain they are not in Canada or they would have come -to see you. The Scotchmen in New York told me they were positive Mr. -Bethune was not there, or he would have shown up at the Burns -Anniversary. Well, where can I go now? I must find her--I cannot rest -until I have found her--to have everything explained--and--and to find -out her reason for going away----" - -"I wonder," said Mr. Thompson, slowly, "what old George had in his head -this time? To him, as I say, fancies are just as real as facts, and I -cannot but imagine that this has been his doing. She would not ask him -to break up all his arrangements and ways of living for her sake; she -was too submissive and dependent on him for that; it is she who has -conformed to some sudden whim of his. You had no quarrel with him?" - -"A quarrel? Nothing of the kind--not the shadow of a quarrel!" Vincent -exclaimed. - -"Did you mention to him those reports about himself?" was the next -question. - -"Well, yes, I did, in a casual sort of way," the young man answered -honestly. "But it was merely to account for any possible opposition on -the part of my father; and, in fact, I wanted Mr. Bethune to consent to -an immediate marriage between Maisrie and myself." - -"And what did Margaret say to that?" Mr. Thompson proceeded to ask; he -was clearly trying to puzzle out for himself the mystery of this -situation. - -"You mean the last time I saw her--the very last time?" the young man -answered him. "Well, she seemed greatly troubled: as I mentioned to -you, there was some wild talk about degradation--fancy degradation -having anything to do with Maisrie Bethune!--and she said it would be -better for us to separate; and she made me promise certain things. But -I wouldn't listen to her; I was going down to Mendover; I made sure -everything would come right as soon as I could get back. And then, when -I got back, they were gone--and not a trace of them left behind." - -"Had old George got any news about the Balloray estates?" the banker -asked, with a quick look. - -"Not that I know of," Vincent answered. "Besides, if there had been any -news of importance, it would have been in the papers; we should all have -seen it!" - -"And you and Margaret parted on good terms?" - -"Good terms?" said Vincent. "That is hardly the phrase. But beyond -what I told you, I cannot say more. There are some things that are for -myself alone." - -"Quite right--quite right," said Mr. Thompson, hastily, "I quite -understand." - -At this moment a card was brought in. - -"Tell the gentleman I will see him directly," was the reply. - -Vincent, of course, rose. - -"I confess," said the banker, "that the whole affair perplexes me; and I -should like a little time to think it over. Have you any engagement for -this evening?" - -"No," said Vincent; "I only arrived in Toronto last night: and I don't -suppose I know any one in the town." - -"Come and dine with me at my club, then, this evening, will you? Just -our two selves: the ---- club, at seven. I want to talk to you about -this matter; for I have a particular interest, as you may suppose, in -the little Maggie; and I want to know what it all means. I should like -to learn something more about you, too, in view of certain -possibilities. And perhaps I can give you a few hints about my old -friend George, for you don't quite seem to understand, even with all the -chances you have had. Yes, I can see a little doubt in your mind at -times. You would rather shut your eyes--for Margaret's sake, no doubt; -but I want to show you that there isn't much of that needed, if you only -look the right way. However, more of that when we meet. At seven, -then. Sorry to seem so rude--but this is an appointment----" - -That proved to be a memorable evening. To begin with small things: -Vincent, after his late solitary wanderings in unfamiliar conditions of -life, now and suddenly found himself at home. The quiet, old-fashioned -unobtrusive comfort of this club; the air of staid respectability; the -manner of the waiters; the very cooking, and the order in which the -wines were handed--all appeared to him to be so thoroughly English; and -the members, judging by little points here and there, seemed also to be -curiously English in their habits and ways. He had received a similar -impression on his first visit to Toronto; but on this occasion it was -more marked than ever; perhaps the good-humoured friendliness of this -Scotch banker had something to do with it, and their being able to talk -about people in whom they had a common concern. However, it was after -dinner, in a snug corner of the smoking-room, that Mr. Thompson -proceeded to talk of his old friend in a fashion that considerably -astonished the young man who was his guest. - -"Yes," he continued, after he had examined and cross-examined Vincent -with regard to certain occurrences, "there is no doubt at all that -George Bethune is a rank old impostor; but the person on whom he has -mostly imposed, all his life through, has been--George Bethune. I -suppose, now, every one of us has in his nature a certain amount of -self-deception; it would be a pity if it weren't so. But here is this -man who has been gifted with a quite unlimited faculty of -self-deception; and with a splendid imagination, too--the imagination of -a poet, without a poet's responsibilities; so that he lives in a world -entirely of his own creation, and sees things just as he wants to see -them. As I say, he has the imagination of a poet, and the unworldliness -of a poet, without any one calling him to do anything to prove his -powers; he is too busy constructing his own fanciful universe for -himself; and all the common things of life--debts, bills, undertakings, -and so forth--they have no existence for him. Ah, well, well," Mr. -Thompson went on, as he lay back in his chair, and watched the blue -curls of smoke from his cigar, "I don't know whether to call it a pity -or not. Sometimes one is inclined to envy him his happy temperament. I -don't know any human creature who has a braver spirit, whose conscience -is clearer to himself, who can sleep with greater equanimity and -content. Why should he mind what circumstances are around him when in a -single second he can transport himself to the Dowie Dens o' Yarrow or be -off on a raid with Kinmont Willie? And there's nothing that he will not -seize if he has a mind to it--a sounding name, a tradition, a historical -incident--why, he laid hold of the Bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie, carried -them off bodily to Balloray, and I suppose wild horses wouldn't tear -from him the admission that Balloray never had anything to do with those -mill-dams or the story of the two sisters----" - -"I know," said Vincent; "Maisrie told me about that." - -"Maisrie!" said Mr. Thompson, with a return of his former impatience. -"That is another of his fantasticalities. I tell you her name is -Margaret----." - -"But she has been Maisrie to me, and Maisrie she will be to me always," -Vincent made answer stoutly--for surely he had some right to speak on -this matter too. "As I said this morning, it is only a pet name for -Margaret; and if she chooses to use it, to please her grandfather, or to -please herself even----" - -"Stay a moment: I want to show you something." - -The banker put his hand into his breast-pocket; and pulled out an -envelope. - -"Not the photograph?" said Vincent, rather breathlessly. - -Mr. Thompson smiled in his quiet, sagacious way. - -"When I mentioned this portrait to you to-day," said he, "I saw -something in your eyes--though you were too modest to put your request -into words. Well, I have brought it; here it is; and if you'll look at -the foot you'll see that the little Omahussy signs herself, as she ought -to sign herself, 'Margaret Bethune.'" - -And what a revelation was this, of what Maisrie had been in the years -before he had known her! The quaint, prim, small miss!--he could have -laughed, with a kind of delight: only that here were those calm, grave, -earnest eyes, that seemed to know him, that seemed to speak to him. -Full of wistfulness they were, and dreams: they said to him, 'I am -looking forward; I am waiting till I meet you--my friend; life has that -in store--for you and me.' - -"I thought you would be interested," said Mr. Thompson, blandly. "And I -know you would like me to give you that photograph: perhaps you think -you have some right to it, having won the young lady herself----" - -"Won her?" said Vincent, still contemplating this strange, quaint -portrait that seemed to speak to him somehow. "It hardly looks like -it." - -"Well, I cannot give you the photograph," the elderly Scotchman -continued, in his friendly way, "but, if you like, I will have it -copied--perhaps even enlarged, if it will stand it--and I will send you -one----" - -"Will you?" said Vincent, with a flash of gratitude in his eyes. "To me -it would be simply a priceless treasure." - -"I just thought it would be," Mr. Thompson said, considerately. "I've -seen something of the ways of young people in my time. Yes; I'll send -you a copy or two as soon as I can get them done." - -Vincent handed back the photograph--reluctantly, and keeping his eyes on -it until it had disappeared. - -"I brought it out to show you she could sign her name properly when -under proper instruction," the banker continued. "And now to return to -her grandfather, who seems to have puzzled you a little, as well might -be the case. I can see how you have been trying to blind yourself to -certain things: no doubt you looked towards Margaret, and thought she -would make up for all. But I surmise you have been a little unjust to -my old friend; notwithstanding your association with him, you have not -quite understood him; and perhaps that is hardly to be wondered at. And -certainly you would never take him to be what I consider him to be--a -very great man who has been spoiled by a fatal inheritance. I do truly -and honestly believe there were the makings of a great man in George -Bethune--a man with his indomitable pluck and self-reliance, his -imagination, his restless energy, his splendid audacity and independence -of character. Even now I see something heroic in him: he seems to me a -man of heroic build--of heroic attitude towards the rest of the world: -people may say what they like about George Bethune; but I know him -better than most, and I wholly admire him and love him. If it hadn't -been for that miserable property! I suppose, now, a large estate may -turn out a fortunate or unfortunate legacy accordingly as you use it; -but if your legacy is only the knowledge that the estate ought to be -yours, and isn't, that is a fine set of circumstances! And I have -little doubt it was to forget that wretched lawsuit, to escape from a -ceaseless and useless disappointment, that he took refuge in a world of -imagination, and built up delusions round about him--just as other -people take refuge in gin or in opium. At all events, his spirit has -not been crushed. Did you ever hear him whine and complain?--I should -think not! He has kept a stout heart, has old George Bethune. Perhaps, -indeed, his pride has been excessive. Here am I, for example: I'm -getting well on in years, and I haven't a single near relative now -living; I've scraped together a few sixpences in my time; and nothing -would give me greater pleasure than if George Bethune were to come to me -and ask me to share my purse with him. And he knows it too. But would -he? Not a bit! Rather than come to me and get some useful sum, he -would go and get a few pounds out of some newspaper-office on account of -one of his frantic schemes to do something fine for poor old Scotland. -No," the banker proceeded, with rather an injured air, "I suppose I'm -not distinguished enough. Friend George has some very high and mighty -notions about the claims of long descent--and _noblesse oblige_--and all -that. It is a condescension on his part to accept help from any one; -and it is the privilege of those who have birth and lineage like himself -to be allowed to come to his aid. I'm only Thompson. If I were -descended from Richard Coeur de Lion I suppose it would be different. -Has he ever accepted any money from you?" - -"Never," said Vincent--who was not going to recall a few restaurant -bills and cab fares. - -"No," resumed the banker, "Your name is Harris. But when it comes to -Lord Musselburgh, that is quite different, that is all right. No doubt -Lord Musselburgh was quite proud to be allowed to subscribe--how much -was it?--towards a book that never came out." - -"Oh, but I ought to explain that that money was paid back," said -Vincent, quickly. - -"Paid back?" repeated the banker, staring. "That is a new feature, -indeed! The money paid back to Lord Musselburgh? How did that come -about? How did friend George yield to a weakness of that kind?" - -"The fact is," said Vincent, blushing like a school-boy, "I paid it." - -"Without letting the old gentleman know?" - -"Yes." - -"Then excuse my saying so," Mr. Thomson observed, "but you threw away -your money to very little purpose. If George Bethune is willing to take -a cheque from Lord Musselburgh--if he can do so without the slightest -loss of self-respect or dignity--why should not his lordship be allowed -to help a brother Scot? Why should you interfere?" - -"It was for Maisrie's sake," said Vincent, looking down. - -"Ah, yes, yes," the banker said, knitting his brows. "That is where the -trouble comes in. I shouldn't mind letting George Bethune go his own -way; he is all right; his self-sufficiency will carry him through -anything: but for a sensitive girl like that it must be terrible. I -wonder how much she suspects," he went on. "I wonder how much she sees. -Or if it is possible he has blinded her as well as himself to their -circumstances? For you must remember this--I am talking to you now, Mr. -Harris, as one who may have a closer relationship with these two--you -must remember this, that to himself George Bethune's conscience is as -clear as that of a one-year-old child. Do you think he sees anything -shady or unsatisfactory in these little transactions or forgetfulnesses -of his? He is careless of money because he despises it. If he had any, -and you wanted it, it would be yours." - -"I know that," said Vincent, eagerly; and he told the story of their -meeting the poor woman in Hyde Park. - -"Take that string of charges you spoke of," the banker resumed. "I have -not the least doubt that from the point of view of the people who -discovered those things their story was quite accurate. Except, -perhaps, about his calling himself Lord Bethune: I don't believe that, -and never heard of it; that was more likely a bit of toadyism on the -part of some bar-loungers. But, as I say, from a solicitor's point of -view, George Bethune would no doubt be regarded as a habitual impostor; -whereas to himself he is no impostor at all, but a perfectly honourable -person, whose every act can challenge the light of day. If there is any -wrong or injury in the relations between him and the world, be sure he -considers himself the wronged and injured one: though you must admit he -does not complain. The question is--does Margaret see? Or has he -brought her up in that world of imagination--careless of the real facts -of life--persuading yourself of anything you wish to believe--thinking -little of rent or butchers' bills so long as you can escape into the -merry green-wood and live with Burd Helens and May Colleans and the -like? You see, when I knew her she was little more than a child; it -would never occur to her to question the conduct of her grandfather; but -now you say she is a woman--she may have begun to look at things for -herself----" - -Mr. Thompson paused, and eyed his companion curiously. For a strange -expression had come into Vincent's face. - -"What then?" asked the banker. - -"I am beginning to understand," the young man said, "and--and--perhaps -here is the reason of Maisrie's going away. Suppose she imagined that I -suspected her grandfather--suppose she thought I considered those -reports true: then she might take that as a personal insult; she might -be too proud to offer any defence; she would go to her grandfather and -say 'Grandfather, if this is what he and his friends think of us, it is -time we should take definite steps to end this companionship.' It has -been all my doing, then, since I was so blind?" Vincent continued, -evidently in deep distress. "I don't wonder that she was offended and -insulted--and--and she would be too proud to explain. I have all along -had a kind of notion that she had something to do, perhaps everything to -do, with their going away. And yet----" - -He was silent. Mr. Thompson waited for a second or two, not wishing to -interrupt: then he said-- - -"Of course you know her better than I do; but that is not how I should -read the situation. It is far more probable that her own eyes have been -gradually opening--not to what her grandfather is, but to what he may -appear to be in the eyes of the world; and when she has come more and -more to perceive the little likelihood of his being considerately -judged, she may have determined that you should be set free from all -association with him and with her. I think that is far more likely, in -view of the things you have told me. And I can imagine her doing that. -A resolute young creature; ready to sacrifice herself; used to -wandering, too--her first solution of any difficulty would be to 'go -away.' A touch of pride, perhaps, as well. I dare say she has -discovered that if you look at George Bethune through blue spectacles, -his way of life must look rather questionable; but if you look at him -through pink spectacles, everything is pleasant, and fine, and even -grand. But would she ask anyone to put on a pair of pink spectacles? -No; for she has the stiff neck of the Bethunes. I imagine she can hold -her head as high as any one, now she is grown up. And of course she will -not ask for generous interpretation; she will rather 'go away.'" - -Vincent was still silent; but at length he said--as if speaking to -himself-- - -"I wonder what Maisrie must have thought of me." - -He had evidently been going over all that had happened in those bygone -days--by the light of this new knowledge. - -"What do you mean?" the banker said. - -"Why, if there were any generous interpretation needed or expected, -surely it should have come first of all from me. The outside world -might be excused for thinking this or that of Mr. Bethune; but I was -constantly with him; and then, look at the relations that existed -between Maisrie and myself. I thought I was doing enough in the way of -generosity when I tried to shut my eyes to certain things; whereas I -should have tried to see more clearly. I might have understood--if any -one. I remember now Maisrie's saying to me on one occasion--it was -about that book on the Scottish-American poets--she said quite -piteously: 'Don't you understand? Don't you understand that grandfather -can persuade himself of anything? If he has thought a thing over, he -considers it done, and is ready for something else.' And then there was -another time----" - -"Come, come," said Mr. Thompson, good-naturedly, "I don't see you have -much to reproach yourself with. You must admit that that affair--if he -really did see the proof-sheets in New York--looked pretty bad. You say -yourself that Hugh Anstruther was staggered by it----" - -"Yes, he was," said Vincent, "until I explained that the money had been -repaid to Lord Musselburgh, and also that I had no doubt Mr. Bethune -considered himself, from his knowledge of the subject, quite entitled to -publish a volume on the other side of the water. Mr. Ross's book was -published only on this side--at least, that is my impression." - -"Did you tell Anstruther who repaid the money to Lord Musselburgh?" Mr. -Thompson asked, with a shrewd glance. - -"No," answered Vincent, looking rather shame-faced. - -"Ah, well," the banker said, "a freak of generosity is very pardonable -in a young man, especially where a young lady is concerned. And you had -the means besides. Your father is a rich man, isn't he?" - -"Oh, yes, pretty well." - -"And you--now forgive my curiosity--it only arises from my interest in -Margaret--I dare say you are allowed a sufficient income?" - -"I have more money than I need," said Vincent, frankly, "but of course -that would not be the case if I married Maisrie Bethune, for then I -should have to depend on my own resources. I should have to earn my own -living." - -"Oh, earn your own living? Well, that is very commendable, in any case. -And how do you propose to earn your own living?" - -"By writing for the newspapers." - -"Have you had any experience?" Maisrie's 'second father' continued. - -"Yes, a little; and I have had fair encouragement. Besides, I know one -or two important people in the newspaper world." - -"And what about your seat in Parliament?" - -"That would not interfere: there are several journalists in the House." - -The banker considered for a little while. - -"Seems a little hazardous, doesn't it, to break away from a certainty of -income?" he asked, at length. "Are you quite convinced that if you -married Margaret your relatives would prove so implacable?" - -"It isn't what they would do that is the question," Vincent responded, -with promptitude. "It is what I should be inclined to do. At present -they regard Maisrie as nothing more nor less than a common adventuress -and swindler--or rather an uncommon one--a remarkably clever one. Now -do you think I am going to take her by the hand, and lead her up to -them, and say, 'Dear Papa,' or 'Dear Aunt,' as the case may be, 'Here is -the adventuress and swindler whom I have married, but she is not going -to be wicked any more; she is going to reform; and I beg you to receive -her into the family, and forgive her all that she has been; and also I -hope that you will give me money to support her and myself.' You see," -continued Vincent, "before I did that I think I would rather try to find -out how much a week I could make by writing leading-articles." - -"Quite right--quite right," said Mr. Thompson, with a smile: for why -this disdain?--_he_ had not counselled the young man to debase himself -so. - -"And then it isn't breaking away from any certainty of income," Vincent -proceeded, "but quite the reverse. The certainty is that as soon as I -announce my intention of marrying Miss Bethune, my father will suggest -that I should shift for myself. Very well. I'm not afraid. I can take -my chance, like another. They say that poverty is a good test of -affection: I am ready to face it, for one." - -"Oh, as for that," the banker interposed, "I wish you to understand -this--that your bride won't come to you empty-handed. George Bethune -may hold aloof from me as long as he likes. If he thinks it is more -dignified for him to go cadging about with vague literary projects--all -for the honour and glory of Scotland, no doubt--instead of letting his -oldest friend share his purse with him, I have nothing to say. My -name's only Thompson; _noblesse oblige_ has nothing to do with me. But -when my little Margaret walks into church to meet the man of her choice, -it will be my business to see that she is suitably provided for. I do -not mean to boast, or make rash promises, or raise false expectations; -but when her husband brings her away it will be no pauper he is taking -home with him. And I want to add this, since we are talking in -confidence: I hope her husband will be none other than yourself. I like -you. I like the way you have spoken of both grandfather and -granddaughter; and I like your independence. By all means when you get -back to the old country: by all means carry out that project of yours of -earning an income for yourself. It can do you no harm, whatever -happens; it may be invaluable to you in certain circumstances. And in -the meantime, if I may still further advise, give up this search of -yours for the present. I dare say you are now convinced they are not on -this side the water; well, let that suffice for the time being. Here is -Parliament coming together; you have your position to make; and the -personal friend and protege of ---- should surely have a great chance in -public life. Of course, you will say it is easy to talk. But don't -misunderstand me. What can you do except attend to these immediate and -practical affairs? If George Bethune and Margaret have decided, for -reasons best known to themselves, to sever the association between you -and them, mere advertising won't bring them back. And searching the -streets of this or that town is a pretty hopeless business. No; if you -hear of them, it will not be in that way: it will be through some -communication with some common friend, and just as likely as not that -friend will be myself." - -All this seemed very reasonable--and hopeless. Vincent rose. - -"I must not keep you up too late," said he, in am absent sort of way. -"I suppose you are right--I may as well go away back to England at once. -But of course I will call to see you before I go--to-morrow if I may--to -thank you for all your kindness." - -"Ah, but you must keep up your heart, you know," the banker said, -regarding the young man in a favouring way. "No despair. Why, I am -sure to hear from one or other of them; they cannot guess that you have -been here; even if they wish to keep their whereabouts concealed from -you they would have no such secret from me. And be sure I will send you -word the moment I hear anything. I presume the House of Commons will be -your simplest and surest address." - -As he walked away home that night Vincent had many things to ponder -over; but the question of questions was as to whether Maisrie had -indignantly scorned him for his blindness in not perceiving more clearly -her grandfather's nature and circumstances, or for his supineness in -wavering, and half-admitting that these charges might bring disquiet. -For now the figure of old George Bethune seemed to stand out distinctly -enough: an amiable and innocent monomaniac; a romantic enthusiast; a -sublime egotist; a dreamer of dreams; a thaumaturgist surrounding -himself with delusions and not knowing them to be such. And if Daniel -Thompson's reading of the character of his old friend was accurate--if -George Bethune had merely in splendid excess that faculty of -self-deception which in lesser measure was common to all mortals--who -was going to cast the first stone? - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - MARRIAGE NOT A LA MODE. - - -London had come to life again; the meeting of Parliament had summoned -fathers of families from distant climes and cities--from Algiers and -Athens, from Constantinople and Cairo; the light blazed at the summit of -the Clock-tower; cabs and carriages rattled into Palace Yard. And here, -at a table in the Ladies' Dining-room of the House of Commons, sate Mrs. -Ellison and her friend Louie Drexel, along with Lord Musselburgh and -Vincent Harris, the last-named playing the part of host. This Miss -Drexel was rather an attractive-looking little person, brisk and trim -and neat, with a healthy complexion, a pert nose, and the most -astonishingly clear blue eyes. Very frank those eyes were; almost -ruthless in a way; about as ruthless as the young lady's tongue, when -she was heaping contempt and ridicule on some conventionality or social -superstition. "Seeva the Destroyer" Vincent used gloomily to call her, -when he got a little bit tired of having her flung at his head by the -indefatigable young widow. Nevertheless she was a merry and vivacious -companion; with plenty of independence, too: if she was being flung at -anybody's head it was with no consent of her own. - -"You don't say!" she was observing to her companion. "Fancy any one -being in Canada in the winter and not going to see the night tobogganing -at Rideau Hall!" - -"I never was near Ottawa," said Vincent, in answer to her; "and, -besides, I don't know the Viceroy." - -"A member of the British Parliament--travelling in Canada: I don't think -you would have to wait long for an invitation," said she. "Why, you -missed the loveliest thing in the world--just the loveliest thing in the -whole world!--the toboggan-slide all lit up with Chinese lanterns--the -black pine woods all around--the clear stars overhead. Then they have -great bonfires down in the hollow--to keep the chaperons from freezing: -poor things, it isn't much fun for them; I dare say they find out what a -good thing hot coffee is on a cold night. And you were at Toronto?" she -added. - -"Yes, I was at Toronto," he answered, absently: indeed at this time he -was thinking much oftener of Toronto than this young lady could have -imagined--wondering when, or if ever, a message was coming to him from -the friendly Scotch banker there. - -Mrs. Ellison was now up in town making preparations for her approaching -marriage; but so anxious was she that Louie Drexel and Vincent should -get thrown together, that she crushed the natural desire of a woman's -heart for a fashionable wedding, and proposed that the ceremony should -be quite a quiet little affair, to take place at Brighton, with Miss -Drexel as her chief attendant and Vincent as best man. And of course -there were many consultations; and Mrs. Ellison and her young friend -were much together; and they seemed to think it pleasanter, in their -comings and goings, to have a man's escort, so that the Parliamentary -duties of the new member for Mendover were very considerably interfered -with. - -"Look here, aunt," said he, at this little dinner, "do you think I went -into the House of Commons simply to get you places in the Ladies' -gallery and entertain you in the Ladies' Dining-room?" - -"I consider that a very important part of your duties," said the young -widow, promptly. "And I tell you this: when we come back from the -Riviera, for the London season, I hope to be kept informed of everything -that is going on--surely, with a husband in one House and a nephew in -the other!" - -"But what I want to know is," said Lord Musselburgh on this same -occasion, "what Vin is going to do about the taxation of ground rents. -I think that is about the hardest luck I ever heard of. Here is a young -man, who no sooner gets into Parliament than he is challenged to say -whether he will support the taxation of ground rents; and lo and behold! -every penny of his own fortune is invested in ground rents! Isn't that -hard? Other things don't touch him. Welsh Disestablishment will -neither put a penny in his pocket nor take one out; while he can make -promises by the dozen about the abolition of the tea duty, extension of -Factory Acts, triennial Parliaments, and all the rest of it. Besides, -it isn't only a question of money. He knows he has no more right to tax -ground rents than to pillage a baker's shop; he knows he oughtn't to -give the name of patriot to people who merely want to steal what doesn't -belong to them; and I suppose he has his own ideas about contracts -guaranteed by law, and the danger of introducing the legislation of -plunder. But what is he going to do? What are you going to do, Marcus -Curtius? Jump in, and sacrifice yourself, money and principles and all?" - -"You are not one of my constituents," said Vincent, "and I decline to -answer." - -Day after day went by, and week after week; but no tidings came of the -two fugitives. In such moments of interval as he could snatch from his -various pursuits (for he was writing for an evening paper now, and that -occupied a good deal of his time) his imagination would go wandering -away over the surface of the globe, endeavouring to picture them here or -there. He had remembered Maisrie's injunction; he could not forget -that; but of what avail was it now? Busy as he was, he led a solitary -kind of life; much thinking, especially during the long hours of the -night, was eating into his spirit; in vain did Mrs. Ellison scheme and -plan all kinds of little festivities and engagements in order to get him -interested in Louie Drexel. But he was grateful to the girl, in a sort -of way; when they had to go two and two (which Mrs. Ellison endeavoured -to manage whenever there was a chance) she did all the talking; she did -not seem to expect attention; she was light-hearted and amusing enough. -He bought her music; sent her flowers; and so forth; and no doubt Mrs. -Ellison thought that all was going well; but it is to be presumed that -Miss Drexel herself was under no misapprehension, for she was an -observant and shrewd-witted lass. Once, indeed, as they were walking up -Regent-street, she ventured to hint, in a sisterly sort of fashion, that -he might be a little more confidential with her; but he did not respond -to this invitation; and she did not pursue the subject further. - -Then the momentous wedding-day drew near; and it was with curious -feelings that Vincent found himself on the way to Brighton again. But -he was not alone. The two Drexel girls and Lord Musselburgh were with -him, in this afternoon Pullman; and Miss Louie was chattering away like -twenty magpies. Always, too, in an oddly personal way. You--the person -she was addressing--you were responsible for everything that had -happened to her, or might happen to her, in this country; you were -responsible for the vagaries of the weather, for the condition of the -cab that brought her, for the delay in getting tickets. - -"Why," she said to Vincent, "you know perfectly well that all that your -English poets have written about your English spring is a pure -imposture. Who would go a-Maying when you can't be sure of the weather -for ten minutes at a time? 'Hail, smiling morn!'--just you venture to -say that, on the finest day you ever saw in an English spring; the -chances are your prayer will be answered, and the chances are that the -morn does begin to hail, like the very mischief. You know perfectly -well that Herrick is a fraud. There never were such people as Corydon -and Phyllis--with ribbons at their knees and in their caps. The -farm-servants of Herrick's time were no better off than the -farm-servants of this present time--stupid, ignorant louts, not thinking -of poetry at all, but living the most dull and miserable of lives, with -an occasional guzzle. But in this country, you believe anything that is -told you. One of your great men says that machine-made things are bad; -and so you go and print your books on hand-made paper--and worry -yourselves to death before you can get the edges out. I call the man -who multiplies either useful or pretty things by machinery a true -philanthropist; he is working for the mass of the people; and it's about -time they were being considered. In former days----" - -"Don't you want to hire a hall, Louie?" said her sister Anna. - -"Oh, I've no patience with sham talk of that kind!" continued Miss -Drexel, not heeding the interruption. "As I say, in former days no one -was supposed to have anything fine or beautiful in their house, except -princes and nobles. The goldsmiths, and the lapidaries, and the -portrait-painters--and the poor wretches who made Venetian lace--they -all worked for the princes and nobles; and the common people were not -supposed to have anything to do with art or ornament; they could herd -like pigs. Well, I'm for machinery. I'm for chromolithography, when it -can give the labourer a very fair imitation of a Landseer or a Millais -to hang up in his cottage; I'm for the sewing-machine that can give the -L150-a-year people a very good substitute for Syrian embroidery to put -in their drawing-room. You've been so long used to princes and nobles -having everything and the poor people nothing----" - -"But we're learning the error of our ways," said Vincent, interposing. -"My father is a Socialist." - -"A Socialist," observed Lord Musselburgh, "who broke the moulds of a -dessert-service lest anybody else should have plates of the same -pattern!" - -"Who has been telling tales out of school?" Vincent asked; but the -discussion had to end here, for they were now slowing into the station. - -Nor did Mrs. Ellison's plans for throwing those two young people -continuously and obviously together work any better in Brighton; for -Vincent had no sooner got down than he went away by himself, seeking out -the haunts he had known when Maisrie and her grandfather had been there. -Wretchedness, loneliness, was destroying the nerve of this young man. He -had black moods of despair; and not only of despair, but of remorse; he -tortured himself with vain regrets, as one does when thinking of the -dead. If only he could have all those opportunities over again, he would -not misunderstand or mistrust! If only he could have them both -here!--the resolute, brave-hearted old man who disregarded all mean and -petty troubles while he could march along, with head erect, repeating to -himself a verse of the Psalms of David, or perhaps in his careless -gaiety singing a farewell to Bonny Mary and the pier o' Leith. And -Maisrie?--but Maisrie had gone away, proud, and wounded, and indignant. -She had found him unworthy of the love she had offered him. He had not -risen to her height. She would seek some other, no doubt, better fitted -to win her maiden trust. He thought of 'Urania'-- - - 'Yet show her once, ye heavenly Powers, - One of some worthier race than ours! - One for whose sake she once might prove - How deeply she who scorns can love.' - -And that other one, that worthier one, she would welcome-- - - 'And she to him will reach her hand, - And gazing in his eyes will stand, - And know her friend, and weep for glee, - And cry: _Long, long I've looked for thee_.' - -Then again his mood would change. If Maisrie were only here--if but for -a second or so he could look into her clear, pensive, true eyes, surely -he could convince her of one thing--that even when his father had -offered him chapter and verse to prove that she was nothing but the -accomplice of a common swindler, his faith in her had never wavered, -never for an instant. And would she not forgive his blindness in not -understanding so complex a character as that of her grandfather? He had -not told her of his half-suspicions; nay, he had treated those charges -with an open contempt. And if her quick eyes had perceived that behind -those professions there lingered some unconfessed doubt, would she not -be generous and willing to pardon? It was in her nature to be generous. -And he had borne some things for her sake that he had never revealed to -any mortal. - -He ought to have been attending to his groomsman's duties, and acting as -escort to the young ladies who had gone down; but instead of that he -paid a visit to German-place, to look at the house in which the two -Bethunes had lodged; and he slowly passed up and down the Kemp-Town -breakwater, striving to picture to himself the look in Maisrie's eyes -when her soul made confession; and he went to the end of the Chain Pier, -to recall the tempestuous morning on which Maisrie, with her wet hair -blown about by the winds, and her lips salt with the sea-spray, had -asked him to kiss her, as a last farewell. And his promise?--"Promise -me, Vincent, that you will never doubt that you are my dearest in all -the world; promise me that you will say to yourself always and always, -'Wherever Maisrie is at this moment, she loves me--she is thinking of -me.'" He had made light of her wild words; he could not believe in any -farewell; and now--now all the wide, unknown world lay between him and -her, and there was nothing for him but the memory of her broken accents, -her sobs, her distracted, appealing eyes. - -Mrs. Ellison affected not to notice his remissness; nay, she went on the -other tack. - -"Don't you think it is a pity, Vin," she said on one occasion when she -found him alone--and there was a demure little smile on her very pretty -and expressive face: "Don't you think it is a pity the two marriages -couldn't be on the same day?" - -"What two marriages?" he demanded, with a stare. - -"Oh, yes, we are so discreet!" she said, mockingly. "We wouldn't -mention anything for worlds. But other people aren't quite blind, young -gentleman. And I do think it would have been so nice if the four of us -could have gone off on this trip together; Louie despises -conventions--she wouldn't mind. Many's the time I've thought of it; -four make such a nice number for driving along the Riviera; and four who -all know each other so well would be quite delightful. If it came to -that, I dare say it could be arranged yet: I'm sure I should be willing -to have our marriage postponed for a month, and I have no doubt I could -persuade Hubert to agree: then the two weddings on the same day would be -jolly--" - -"What are you talking about, aunt!" he exclaimed. - -"Oh, well," she said, with a wise and amiable discretion, "I don't want -to hurry on anything, or even to interfere. But of course we all expect -that the attentions you have been paying to Louie Drexel will lead to -something--and it would have been very nice if the two weddings could -have been together." - -He was still staring at her. - -"Mind you," she went on, "I wish you distinctly to understand that Louie -has not spoken a single word to me on the subject--" - -"Well, I should hope not!" said Vincent, with quick indignation. - -"Oh, don't be angry! Do you think a girl doesn't interpret things?" -continued Mrs. Ellison. "She has her own pride, of course; she wouldn't -speak until she is spoken to. But _I_ can speak; and surely you know -that it is only your interests I have at heart. And that is why we have -been so glad to see this affair coming along--" - -"Who have been glad to see it?" he asked again. - -"Well, Hubert, for one. And I should think your father. Of course they -must see how admirable a wife she would make you, now you are really -embarked in public life. Clever, bright, amusing; of a good family; -with a comfortable dowry, no doubt--but that would be of little -consequence, so long as your father was pleased with the match: you will -have plenty. And this is my offer, a very handsome one, I consider it: -even now, at the last moment, I will try to get Hubert to postpone our -marriage, if you and Louie will have your wedding on the same day with -us. I have thought of it again and again; but somehow I didn't like to -speak. I was waiting for you to tell me that there was a definite -understanding between you and Louie Drexel----" - -"Well, there is not," he said calmly. "Nor is there ever likely to be." - -"Oh, come, come," she said insidiously, "don't make any rash resolve, -simply because I may have interfered a little too soon. Consider the -circumstances. Did you ever hear of any young man getting into -Parliament with fairer prospects than you? Your friendship with ---- is -of itself enough to attract attention to you. You have hardly opened -your mouth in the House yet; all the same I can see a disposition on the -part of the newspapers to pet you----" - -"What has that got to do with Louie Drexel?" Vincent asked bluntly. - -"Everything," was the prompt reply. "You must have social position. -You must begin and entertain--and make your own circle of friends and -allies. Then I shall want you to come to Musselburgh House--you and -your wife--so that my dinner parties shan't be smothered up with elderly -people and political bores. You can't begin too early to form your own -set; and not only that, but with a proper establishment and a wife at -the head of it, you can pay compliments to all kinds of people, even -amongst those who are not of your own set. Why shouldn't you ask Mr. -Ogden to dinner, for example?--there's many a good turn he might do you -in time to come. Wait till you see how I mean to manage at Musselburgh -House--if only Hubert would be a little more serious, and profess -political beliefs even if he hasn't any. For I want you to succeed, -Vincent. You are my boy. And you don't know how a woman who can't -herself do anything distinguished is proud to look on and admire one of -her own family distinguishing himself, and would like to have all the -world admiring him too. I tell you you are losing time; you are losing -your opportunities. What is the use--what on earth can be the use," -continued this zealous and surely disinterested councillor, "of your -writing for newspapers? If the articles were signed, then I could -understand their doing you some good; or if you were the editor of an -important journal, that would give you a position. But here you are -slaving away--for what? Is it the money they give you? It would be odd -if the son of Harland Harris had to make that a consideration. What -otherwise, then? Do you think half-a-dozen people know that you write -in the ---- ----." - -"My dear aunt," he answered her, "all that you say is very wise and very -kind; but you must not bother about me when your own affairs are so much -more important. If I have been too attentive to Miss Drexel--I'm sure I -wasn't aware of it, but I may have been--I will alter that----" - -"Oh, Vin, don't be mean!" Mrs. Ellison cried. "Don't do anything shabby. -You won't go and quarrel with the girl simply because I ventured to hope -something from your manner towards her--you wouldn't do such a thing as -that----" - -"Certainly not," said he, in a half-amused way. "Miss Drexel and I are -excellent friends----" - -"And you will continue to be so!" said Mrs. Ellison, imploringly. "Now, -Vincent, promise me! You know there are crises in a woman's life when -she expects a little consideration--when she expects to be petted--and -have things a little her own way: well, promise me now you will be very -kind to Louie--kinder than ever--why, what an omen at a wedding it would -be if my chief attendant and the groomsman were to fall out----" - -"Oh, we shan't fall out, aunt, be sure of that," he said good-naturedly. - -"Ah, but I want more," she persisted. "I shall consider myself a horrid -mischief-maker if I don't see that you are more attentive and kind to -Louie Drexel than ever. It's your duty. It's your place as groomsman. -You'll have to propose their health at the wedding-breakfast; and of -course you'll say something nice about American girls--could you say -anything too nice, I wonder?--and you'll have to say it with an air of -conviction. For they'll expect you to speak well, of course: you, a -young member of Parliament; and where could you find a more welcome -toast, at a wedding-breakfast, than the toast of the unmarried young -ladies? Yes, yes; you'll have plenty of opportunity of lecturing a -sleepy House of Commons about Leasehold Enfranchisement and things of -that kind; but this is quite another sort of chance; and I'm looking -forward to my nephew distinguishing himself--as he ought to do, when he -will have Louie and Anna Drexel listening." And here this astute and -insidious adviser ceased, for her future husband came into the room, to -pay his last afternoon call. - -Whether Vincent spoke well or ill on that auspicious occasion does not -concern us here: it only needs to be said that the ceremony, and the -quiet little festivities following, all passed off very satisfactorily; -and that bride and bridegroom (the former being no novice) drove away -radiant and happy, amid the usual symbolic showers. It was understood -they were to break their journey southward at Paris for a few days; and -Vincent--who had meanwhile slipped along to his hotel to change his -attire--went up to the railway station to see them off. He was -surprised to find both the Drexel girls there. - -"Now, look here, Vin," said the charming, tall, pretty-eyed, and not -inexperienced bride, "I want you to do me a favour. If a woman isn't to -be humoured and petted on her wedding day--when, then? Well, Louie and -Anna don't return to town till to-morrow morning; and what are they to -do in that empty house with old Mrs. Smythe? I want you to take them in -hand for the afternoon--to please me. Leave that wretched House of -Commons for one more evening: in any case you couldn't go up now before -the five o'clock express." - -And then she turned to the two young ladies. "Louie, Vincent has -promised to look after you two girls; and he'll see you safely into your -train to-morrow morning. So you must do your best to entertain him in -the meanwhile; the afternoon will be the dullest--you must find -something to amuse yourselves with----" - -Miss Drexel seemed a little self-conscious, and also inclined to laugh. - -"If he will trust himself entirely to us," said she, with covertly merry -eyes fixed on the bride, "Anna and I will do our best. But he must put -himself entirely in our charge. He must be ruled and governed. He must -do everything we ask----" - -"Training him for a husband's duties," said Lord Musselburgh, without -any evil intention whatever; for indeed he was more anxious about -getting a supply of foot-warmers into the carriage that had been -reserved for him. - -Then the kissing had to be gone through; there were final farewells and -good wishes; away went the train; there was a fluttering of -handkerchiefs; and here was Vincent Harris, a captive in the hands of -those two young American damsels--who, at first, did not seem to know -what to do with him. - -But very soon their shyness wore off; and it must be freely conceded -that they treated him well. To begin with, they took him down into the -town, and led him to a little table at a confectioner's, and ordered two -ices for themselves and for him a glass of sherry and a biscuit. When -that fluid was placed before him, he made no remark: his face was -perfectly grave. - -"What's the matter now?" Louie Drexel asked, looking at him. - -"I said nothing," he answered. - -"What are you thinking, then?" - -"Nothing--nothing." - -"But I insist on knowing." - -"Oh, very well," he said. "But it isn't my fault. I promised to obey. -If you ask me to drink a glass of confectioner's sherry I will do -so--though it seems a pity to die so young." - -"What would you rather have then--tea or an ice?" - -She got an ice for him; and duly paid for the three--much to his -consternation, but he had undertaken to be quite submissive. Then they -took him for a walk and showed him the beauties of the place, making -believe to recognise the chief features and public buildings of New -York. Then they carried him with them to Mrs. Ellison's house, and -ascended into the drawing room there, chatting, laughing, -nonsense-making, in a very frank and engaging manner. Finally, towards -six o'clock, Miss Drexel rang the bell, and ordered the carriage. - -"Oh, I say, don't do that," Vincent interposed, grown serious for a -moment. "People don't like tricks being played with their horses. You -may do anything else in a house but that." - -"And pray who asked you to interfere?" she retorted, in a very imperious -manner; so there was nothing for it but acquiescence and resignation. - -And very soon--in a few minutes, indeed--the carriage was beneath the -windows: coachman on the box, footman at the door, maidservant -descending the steps with rugs, all in order. It did not occur to -Vincent to ask how those horses came to be harnessed in so miraculously -brief a space of time; he accepted anything that might befall; he was as -clay in the hands of the potter. And really the two girls did their -best to make things lively--as they drove away he knew not, and cared -not, whither. The younger sister was rather more subdued, perhaps; but -the elder fairly went daft, as the saying is; and her gaiety was -catching. Not but that she could be dexterous in the midst of her -madness. For example, she was making merry over the general inaptitude -of Englishmen for speech-making; and was describing scenes she had -herself witnessed in both Houses of Parliament, when she suddenly -checked herself. - -"At all events," she said, "I will say this for your House of Commons, -that there are a number of very good-looking men in it. No one can deny -that. But the House of Lords--whew! You know, my contention is that my -pedigree is just as long as that of any of your lords; but I've got to -admit that, some of them more nearly resemble their ancestors--I mean -their quadrumanous ancestors--" - -"Louie!" said the sister, reprovingly. - -And she was going on to say some very nice things about the House of -Commons (as contrasted with the Upper Chamber) when Vincent happened to -look out into the now gathering dusk. - -"Why," said he, "we're at Rottingdean; and we're at the foot of an -awfully steep hill; I must get out and walk up." - -"No, no, no," said Miss Drexel, impatiently. "The horses have done -nothing all day but hang about the church door. You English are so -absurdly careful of your horses: more careful of them than of -yourselves--as I've noticed myself at country houses in wet weather. I -wonder, when I get back home, if the people will believe me when I tell -them that I've actually seen horses in England with leather shoes over -their feet to keep the poor things warm and comfortable. Yes, in this -very town of Brighton--" - -But here Miss Louie had the laugh turned against her, when he had -gravely to inform her that horses in England wore over-shoes of leather, -not to keep their feet warm, but to prevent their cutting the turf when -hauling a lawn-roller. - -"But where are we going?" said he again. - -"Oh, never mind," she answered, pertly. - -"All right--all right," he said, and he proceeded to ensconce himself -still more snugly in the back seat. "Well, now, since you've told us of -all the absurd and ludicrous things you've seen in England, won't you -tell us of some of the things you have admired? We can't be insane on -every point, surely." - -"I know what you think I am," she said of a sudden. "A -comparison-monger." - -"You were born in America," he observed. - -"And you despise people who haven't the self-sufficiency, the stolid -satisfaction, of the English." - -"We don't like people who are too eager to assert themselves--who are -always beating drums and tom-toms--quiet folk would rather turn aside, -and give them the highway." - -"But all the same, you know," Miss Drexel proceeded, "some of your -countrymen have been very complimentary when they were over with us: of -course you've heard of the one who said that the biggest things he had -seen in America were the eyes of the women?" - -"What else could he say?--an Englishman prides himself on speaking the -truth," he made answer, very properly. - -By this time, however, he was beginning seriously to ask himself whither -those two young minxes meant to take him--a runaway expedition carried -out with somebody else's horses! At all events they were going to have -a fine night for it. For by now it ought to have been quite dark; but -it was not dark: the long-rolling downs, the wide strip of turf along -the top of the cliffs, and the far plain of the sea were all spectrally -visible in a sort of grey uncertainty; and he judged that the moon was -rising, or had risen in the east. What did Charles and Thomas, seated -on the box, think of this pretty escapade? In any case, his own part -and lot in the matter had already been decided: unquestioning obedience -was what had been demanded of him. It could not be that Gretna Green -was the objective point?--this was hardly the way. - -At last they descended from those grey moonlit solitudes, and got down -into a dusky valley, where there were scattered yellow lights--lamp -lights and lights of windows. "This is Newhaven," he thought to -himself; but he did not say anything; for Miss Drexel was telling of a -wild midnight frolic she and some of her friends had had on Lake -Champlain. Presently the footfalls of the horses sounded hollow; they -were going over a wooden bridge. Then they proceeded cautiously for a -space, and there was a jerk or two; they were crossing a railway line. -And now Vincent seemed to understand what those mad young wretches were -after. They were going down to the Newhaven Pier Hotel. To dine there? -Very well; but he would insist on being host. It was novel, and odd, -and in a certain way fascinating, for him to sit in a restaurant and -find himself entertained by two young ladies---find them pressing -another biscuit on him, and then paying the bill; but, of course, the -serious business of dinner demanded the intervention of a man. - -What followed speedily drove these considerations out of his head. The -enterprising young damsels having told the coachman when to return with -the carriage, conducted their guest to the hotel, and asked for the -coffee-room. A waiter opened the door for them. The next thing that -Vincent saw was that, right up at the end of the long room, Lord -Musselburgh and his bride were seated at a side table, and that they -were regarding the new comers--especially himself--with some little -amusement. They themselves were in no wise disconcerted, as they ought -to have been. - -"Come along!" the bridegroom said, rather impatiently. "You're nearly -half-an-hour late, and we're famishing. Here, waiter, dinner at once, -please! Vin, my boy, you sit next Miss Drexel--that's all right!" - -At this side-table, covers were already laid for five. As Vincent took -his place, he said:-- - -"Well, this is better than being had up before a magistrate for stealing -a carriage and a pair of horses!" - -"Sure they didn't let on?" the bride demanded, with a glance at the two -girls. - -"Not a word!" he protested. "I had not the remotest idea where or what -we were bound for. Looked more like Gretna Green than anything else." - -"The nearest way to Gretna Green," said she, regarding Vincent with -significant eyes, "is through Paris--to the British Embassy." - -Now although this remark (which Miss Drexel affected not to hear--she -was so busy taking off her gloves) seemed a quite haphazard and casual -thing, it very soon appeared, during the progress of this exceedingly -merry dinner, that Lady Musselburgh, as she now was, had been wondering -whether they might not carry the frolic a bit further; whether, in -short, this little party of five might not go on to Paris together by -the eleven o'clock boat that same night. - -"Why, Louie, you despise conventionalities," she exclaimed. "Well, now -is your chance!" - -Miss Louie pretended to be much frightened. - -"Oh, but I couldn't do that!" she cried. "Neither Nan nor I have any -things with us." - -"The idea of American girls talking of taking things with them to -Paris!" the bride said, with a laugh. "That is the very reason you -should go to Paris--to get the things." - -"Do you really mean to cross to-night?" Vincent asked, turning to -Musselburgh. - -"Oh, yes, certainly. The fixed service--eleven o'clock--so there's no -hurry, whatever you decide on." - -For he, too, seemed rather taken with this audacious project; said he -thought it would be good fun; pleasant company, and all that; also he -darkly hinted--perhaps for the benefit of the American young -ladies--that Paris had been altogether too pallid of late, and wanted a -little crimson added to its complexion. And indeed as the little -banquet proceeded, these intrepid schemes widened out, in a half-jocular -way. Why should the runaway party stop at Paris? Why should they not -all go on to the Mediterranean together, to breathe the sweet airs blown -in from the sea, and watch the Spring emptying her lavish lap-full of -flowers over the land? Alas! it fell to Vincent's lot to demolish these -fairy-like dreams. He said he would willingly wait to see the recruited -party off by that night's steamer; and would send any telegrams for -them, or deliver any messages; but he had to return to London the next -morning, without fail. And then Miss Louie Drexel said it was a pity to -spoil a pleasant evening by talking of impossibilities; and that they -had already sufficiently outraged conventionalities by running away with -a carriage and pair and breaking in upon a wedding tour. So the -complaisant young bride had for the moment to abandon her half-serious, -half-whimsical designs; and perhaps she even hoped that Miss Drexel had -not overheard her suggested comparison between the British Embassy at -Paris and Gretna Green. - -At nine o'clock the carriage came round, and at nine o'clock the younger -people, having got their good-byes said all over again, set out for -home. - -"I suppose we ought to keep this little expedition a secret," said -Vincent, as they were climbing up from the dusky valley to the moonlight -above, which was now very clear and white. - -"Why?" said Miss Louie. - -"Rather unusual--isn't it?" he asked, doubtfully, for he knew little of -such matters. - -"That's what made it so nice," she answered, promptly. "Don't you think -they were charmed? Fancy their being quite alone in that big hotel, -waiting for a steamer! We had it all planned out days ago. Didn't you -suspect in the least--when you knew they were going by Newhaven and -Dieppe, and that they would have to wait till eleven to-night? I'm sure -they would have been delighted if we had gone over to Paris with them, -and down to the Mediterranean: but I suppose that would have been a -little too much--just a little too much!" - -And if Miss Drexel was vivacious and talkative or her way out, she was -equally so on the way back; so that Vincent, in such cheerful company, -had little reason to regret their having captured and run away with him. -Then again the night was surpassingly beautiful--the moonlight grey on -the land and white on the sea; the heavens cloudless; the world -everywhere apparently silent and asleep. Not that they were to get all -the way home without a little bit of an adventure, however. When they -reached the top of the height just west of Rottingdean, Louie Drexel -proposed that they should get out and walk along the cliff for a while, -leaving the carriage to go slowly on by road. This they accordingly -did; and very soon the carriage was out of sight; for at this point the -highway is formed by a deep cutting in the chalk. It was pleasant to be -by themselves on such a night--high up on this lofty cliff, overlooking -the wide, far-shimmering, silver sea. - -Presently there came into the stillness a sound of distant voices; and -shortly afterwards, at the crest of the hill, a band of strayed -revellers appeared in sight, swaying much in their walk, and singing -diverse choruses with energy rather than with skill. They were in high -good humour, all of them. As they drew near, Vincent perceived that one -of them was a soldier; and he seemed the centre of attraction; this one -and that clung to his arm, until their legs, becoming involved, carried -them wide away, when two other members of the group would occupy the -twin places of honour. The soldier was drunk, too; but he had the -honour of the flag to maintain; and made some heroic effort to march -straight. - -Now what with their insensate howling and staggering, they were almost -on Vincent and his two companions before they were aware; but instantly -there was a profusion of offers of hospitality. The gentleman must -drink with them, at the Royal Oak. The gentleman declined to drink, and -civilly bade them good-night. At the same moment another member of the -jovial crew appeared to have discovered that there were also two young -ladies here; most probably he had a dim suspicion there might only be -one; however, it was this one, the one nearest, he insisted should also -go down and have a glass at the Royal Oak. It was all done in good -fellowship, with no harm meant; but when at the same time this -particular roysterer declared he would have his sweetheart come along o' -him, and caught Miss Louie by the arm, he had distinctly overstept the -bounds of prudence. - -"Hands off!" said Vincent; and he slung the fellow a clip on the ear -that sent him staggering, until his legs got mixed up somehow, and away -he went headlong on to the grass. - -Then he said in a rapid undertone to the two girls-- - -"Off you go to the carriage--quick!" - -He turned to the now murmuring group. - -"What do you want?" he said. "I can't fight all of you: I'll fight the -soldier--make a ring, to see fair play----" - -He glanced over his shoulder: the two girls had disappeared: now he -breathed freely. - -"But, look here," said he in a most amicable tone, "you've had a -glass--any one can see that--and it's no use a man trying to fight if -he's a bit unsteady on his pins; you know that quite well. And I don't -want to fight any of you. If you ask me in a friendly way, I'll go down -to the Royal Oak and have something with you; or I'll treat you, if you -like that better. I call that fair." - -And they seemed to think it fair, too; so they picked up their companion -(who looked drowsy) and helped him along. But they hadn't gone -half-a-dozen yards when two dark figures appeared at the top of the -chalk cutting; and these, when they came quickly up, Vincent to his -surprise discovered to be the coachman and footman. - -"Where are the young ladies?" he demanded, instantly and angrily. - -"Miss Drexel is on the box, sir--she sent us to you," said the -coachman--staring with amazement at the revellers, and no doubt -wondering when the fighting was about to begin. - -"Oh, go away back!" said he. "Get the ladies into the carriage and -drive them home! I'm going to have a drink with these good -fellows--I'll follow on foot!" - -"I'm quite sure, sir, Miss Drexel won't go," said the coachman. - -But here the soldier stepped forward. He had arrived at some nebulous -perception of the predicament; and he constituted himself spokesman of -the party. They had no wish to inconvenience the gentleman. He hoped -some other night--proud to see such a gentleman--wouldn't interfere with -ladies--not interfere with anybody--all gentlemen and good friends--no -use in animosity--no offence I meant--no offence taken---- - -This harangue might have gone on all night had not Vincent cut it short -by requesting to be allowed to hand his friends five shillings to drink -his health withal; and away the jocund brethren went to obtain more -liquor--if haply they could induce the landlord of the Royal Oak to -serve them. - -And here, sure enough, was Miss Louie Drexel seated sedately on the box, -whip and reins in hand; and there was Miss Anna, in the white moonlight, -at the horses' heads. When Vincent and his two companions were in the -carriage again, he said to the elder of them-- - -"Why didn't you drive away home?" - -"Drive away home?" said she, with some touch of vibrant indignation in -her voice. "And leave you there? I was just as near as possible going -back myself, with the whip in my hand. Do you think I couldn't have -lashed my way through those drunken fools?" - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - A SPLIT AT LAST. - - -The renovation of Musselburgh House took more time than had been hoped; -bride and bridegroom remained abroad, basking in the sweet airs and -sunlight of the Mediterranean spring; and it was not until well on in -the month of May that they returned to London. Immediately after their -arrival Vincent called on them--one afternoon on his way down to St. -Stephen's. He stayed only a few minutes; and had little to say. But -the moment he had left Lady Musselburgh turned to her husband. - -"Oh, Hubert, isn't it dreadful! Did you ever see such a change in any -human being? And no one to tell us of it--not even his own father--nor -a word from Louie Drexel, though she wrote often enough about him and -what he was doing in the House----" - -"Yes, he does look ill," said Lord Musselburgh, with a seriousness not -usual with him. "Very ill, indeed. Yet he doesn't seem to know -it--declares there is nothing the matter with him--shows a little -impatience, even, when you begin to ask questions. I suppose he has been -working too hard; too eager and anxious all the way round; too -ambitious--not like most young men. He'd better give up that -newspaper-nonsense, for one thing." - -"Oh, it isn't that, Hubert; it isn't that!" she exclaimed, in rather -piteous accents; and she walked away to the window (this was the very -room in which Vincent had first set eyes on Maisrie Bethune and her -grandfather). - -She stood there, alone, for a time. Then her husband went and joined -her, and linked his arm within hers. She was crying a little. - -"I did it for the best, Hubert," she sobbed. - -"Did what for the best?" - -"Getting that girl away. I never thought it would come to this." - -"Now, now, Madge," said he, in a very affectionate fashion, "don't you -worry about nothing--or rather, it isn't nothing, for Vin does look -pretty seedy; but you mustn't assume that you are in any way -responsible. People don't die nowadays of separation and a broken -heart--not nowadays. He is fagged; he is not used to the late hours of -the House of Commons; then there's that newspaper work----" - -"But his manner, Hubert, his manner!" she exclaimed. "He seemed as if -he no longer cared for anything in life; he hardly listened when I told -him where we had been; he appeared to be thinking of something quite -different--as if he were looking at ghosts." - -"And perhaps he was looking at ghosts," said her husband. "For it was -by that table there he first saw those two people who have made all this -trouble. But why should you consider yourself responsible, Madge? It -wasn't your money that sent them out of the country. It wasn't you who -found out what they really were." - -She passed her handkerchief across her eyes. - -"I was quite sure," she went on--not heeding this consolation--"that as -soon as she was got away--as soon as he was removed from the fascination -of her actual presence--he would begin to see things in their true -light. And then, thrown into the society of a charming and clever girl -like Louie Drexel, I hoped everything for him. And is this all that has -come of it, that he looks as if he were at death's door? It isn't the -House of Commons, Hubert; and it isn't the newspaper-work: it is simply -that he still believes in that girl, and that he is eating his heart out -about her absence, and has no one to confide in. For that is the worst -of it all: it is all a sealed book now, as between him and us. He was -for leaving my house in Brighton--oh, the rage he was in with me about -her!--and it would have been for the last time too, I know; only that I -promised never again to mention the subject to him, and on that -condition we have got on fairly well since. But how am I to keep -silence any longer? I cannot see my boy like that. I must speak to him; -I must ask him if he is still so mad as to believe in the honesty of -those two people; and then, if I find that his infatuation still exists, -even after all this time, then I must simply tell him that they took -money to go away. How can he get over that? How can he get over that, -Hubert?" - -In her despair, this was almost a challenge as well as an appeal. But -her husband was doubtful. - -"When a man is in love with a woman," said he, "he can forgive a good -lot--confound it, he can forgive everything, or nearly everything, so -long as she can persuade him she loves him in return----" - -"But not this, Hubert, not this!" the young wife exclaimed. "Even if he -could forgive her being a thief and the accomplice of an old charlatan -and swindler--and what an 'if!--imagine that of Vincent--of Vincent, who -is as proud as Lucifer--imagine that of him!--but even if he were -willing to forgive all that, how could he forgive her being bought over, -her taking money to remain away from him? No, no, Hubert: surely there -is a limit, even to a young man's folly!" - -"Of course you know best," her husband said, in a dubious kind of way. -"I've seen some queer things in my time, with young men. And Vin is an -obstinate devil, and tenacious: he sticks to anything he takes up: look -at him and that wretched newspaper-work, for example. If he has -persuaded himself of the innocence and honour of this girl, it may be -hard to move him. And I remember there was something very winning and -attractive about her--something that bespoke favour----" - -"That was what made her so useful to that old impostor!" Lady -Musselburgh said, vindictively. - -"Of course," he admitted, "as you say, here is the undoubted fact of -their taking the money. If Vin is to be convinced at all, it is -possible that may convince him." - -"Very well, then," said she, with decision, "he must and shall be -convinced; and that no further off than to-morrow morning. I'll tell -Harland I'm coming along to lunch; so that he may be in the house, to -give me any papers I may want. And surely, surely, when Vincent -perceives what these people are, and what an escape he has had, he will -cease to mope and fret: at his time of life there ought to be other -things to think of than a girl who has deceived him all the way through, -and ended by taking money to leave the country!" - -But notwithstanding all this brave confidence, Lady Musselburgh felt -very nervous and anxious as she went down next morning to Grosvenor -Place. She was alone--her husband was coming along later, for lunch; and -she went on foot, to give her a little more time to arrange her plan of -procedure. For this was her last bolt, and she knew it. If his fatal -obstinacy withstood this final assault, then there was no hope for him, -or for her far-reaching schemes with regard to him. - -She went into the drawing-room; and he came as soon as he was sent for. -These two were now alone. - -"Do you know, Vin," she began at once, "Hubert and I have been much -concerned about you; for though you won't admit there is anything the -matter, the change in your appearance struck us yesterday the moment you -came in: indeed, it made me quite anxious; and after you were gone, -Hubert and I talked a little about you and your affairs--you may be sure -with only the one wish in our minds. Hubert thinks you are over-fagged; -that you are too close in your attendance at the House; and that you -should give up your newspaper-writing for a time. I wish it were no -more than that. But I suspect there is something else----" - -"Aunt," said he, interrupting her--and yet with something of a tired -air, "do you think there is any use in talking, and inquiring, and -suggesting? What has happened, has happened. It is something you don't -understand; and something you couldn't put right--with all your good -wishes." - -"Yes, yes," she said eagerly, for she was rejoiced to find that he took -her interference so amiably: "that is quite right; and mind you, I don't -forget the agreement we came to at Brighton, that a certain subject -should never be referred to by either of us. I quite remember that; and -you know I have never sought to return to it again in any way whatever. -But your looks yesterday, Vin, frightened me; and at this moment--why, -you are not like my dear boy at all. I wish in all seriousness you had -come over to Paris with us--you and Louie--and gone with us to the -Mediterranean; we should not have allowed you to fall into this -condition--" - -"Oh, I'm well enough, aunt!" said he. - -"You are not well!" she insisted. "And why? Because your mind is ill at -ease--" - -"And very little comfort I have to hope for from you," said he, -remembering former conversations: but there was no bitterness in his -tone--only a sort of resigned hopelessness. - -"Now, that is not fair, Vin!" she protested. "If I said things to you -you did not like, what motive had I but your happiness? And now at this -moment, if I re-open that subject, it is not the kind of comfort you -apparently hope for that I am prepared to bring you, but something quite -different. I should like to heal your mental ailment, once and for all, -by convincing you of the truth." - -"Yes, I think we have heard something of that sort on previous -occasions," he said, rather scornfully. "The truth as it is in George -Morris! Well, I will tell you what would be more useful, more to the -point, and more becoming. Before saying anything further about that old -man and his granddaughter, I think you ought to go and seek them out, -and go down on your knees to them, and ask their pardon--" - -"For what?" - -"For what you have already said of them--and suspected." - -"Really you try my patience too much!" she exclaimed, with some show of -temper. "What have I said or suspected of them that was not amply -justified by the account of them that your father offered to show you? -Of course you wouldn't look at it. Certainly not! Facts are -inconvenient things, most uncomfortable things, where one's -prepossessions are involved. But I had no objection to looking at it--" - -"I suppose not!" said he. - -"And my eyes were not blinded: I could accept evidence when it was put -before me." - -"Evidence!" he repeated. "You forget that I have been across the -Atlantic since that precious document was compiled. I heard how that -evidence had been got: I could see how it could be perverted to suit the -malignant theories of a pack of detectives. And if I came back with any -settled conviction, it was that you and one or two others--myself, too, -in a way--could do no better than go and humble ourselves before that -old man and that girl, and beg for their forgiveness, and their -forgetfulness of the wrongs and insults we have put upon them." - -"Oh, this is beyond anything!" she cried--rather losing command of -herself. "You drive me to speak plain. Everything your father and I -could think of was tried to cure you of this mad infatuation--the most -patient inquiry--expenditure of money--representations that would have -convinced any sane person. Nothing was of any use. What was to be done -next? Well, we could only buy up those honourable persons--who were not -adventurers in any kind of way--oh, certainly not!--but all the same -they were willing to be bought; and so, on payment of a substantial -consideration, they agreed to pack up their traps and be off. What do -you think of that? What do you say to that? Where was the old -gentleman's indomitable pride?--where was the girl's pretended affection -for you?--when they consented to take a good round sum of money and be -off? How can you explain that away?" - -She regarded him with a certain defiance--for she was moved to anger by -his obduracy. But if she expected him to wince under this sudden stab -she was mistaken. - -"How do I know that this is true?" he said, calmly. - -"I am not in the habit of speaking untruths," she said, slightly drawing -herself up. - -"Oh, of course not," he answered. "But all through this matter there -has been a good deal of twisting about and misrepresentation. I should -like to know from whom Mr. Bethune got this money--and in what form." - -Well, she was prepared. - -"I suppose you would be convinced," said she, "if I showed you the -receipt--a receipt for L5,000--which he signed and gave to George -Morris?" - -"Where is that receipt?" he asked. - -"In this house. I will go to your father, and get it. Shall I ask him -at the same time for those other documents which you would not read? -Perhaps all taken together they might enable you to realise the truth at -last." - -"No, thank you," said he, coldly. "I know how those other documents -were procured. I shall be glad to see the receipt." - -She hurried away, anxious to strike while the iron was hot, and certain -she had already made a profound impression. And so she had, in one way, -all unknowing. When she left the room, he remained standing, gazing -blankly at the sides of the books on the table: outwardly impassive, but -with his brain working rapidly enough. He made no manner of doubt that -she could produce this receipt. He took it for granted that George -Bethune had accepted the money. Of course, Maisrie had nothing to do -with it; her grandfather kept her in ignorance of his pecuniary affairs; -and it would be enough for him to say that she must go away with him -from England--she was obedient in all things. And no doubt the old man -had been cajoled and flattered into believing he was acting justly and -in the best interests of every one concerned; there could have been -little difficulty about that; he was quick to persuade himself of -anything that happened to fall in with the needs of the moment. All -this Vincent understood at once. But when he came to consider that it -was his own relatives who had brought upon him all the long torture and -suffering of these bygone months--and not only that: for what was he or -his hidden pain?--but also that they had once more driven forth those -two tired wanderers--the old man who had some wistful notion of ending -his days in his own country, the young girl whose maiden eyes had just -made confession of her love-secret--then his heart grew hot within him. -It was too cruel. When Lady Musselburgh returned with the receipt in -her hand, he took the paper, and merely glanced at it. - -"And whose clever and original idea was this?" he demanded--with what -she took to be indifference. - -"But Vincent--are you convinced at last!" she exclaimed. "Surely you -must see for yourself now. You will give up thinking of them--thinking -of that girl especially when you see what she is----" - -"Whose idea was it to get them sent away?" he repeated. - -"Well, it was my idea," she said; "but your father paid the money." - -He was silent for a second or two, and then he said slowly---- - -"And you are my nearest relatives; and this is what you have done, not -to me only, but to one who is dearer to me than life. So be it. But -you cannot expect me to remain longer under this roof, or to sit down at -table, anywhere, with my cruellest enemies----" - -She turned very pale. - -"Vincent!" she exclaimed. - -"It is a question of taking sides," he went on, with perfect composure; -"and I go over to the other side. They most need help: they are poor -and friendless. I hope the mischief you have done is not irreparable; I -cannot tell; but I dare say when you and I meet again time will have -shown." - -She was thunderstruck and stupefied; she did not even seek to detain him -as he left the room. For there was a curious air of self-possession, of -resolution, about his manner: this was no pique of disappointed passion, -nor any freak of temper. And she could not but ask herself, in a -breathless sort of way, whether after all he might not be in the right -about those people; and, in that case, what was this that she had -brought about? She was frightened--too frightened to reason with -herself, perhaps: she only saw Vincent leaving his father's -roof--cutting himself off from his own family--and she had a dumb -consciousness that it was her work, through some fatal error of -judgment. And she seemed to know instinctively that this step that he -had taken was irrevocable--and that she was in some dim way responsible -for all that had occurred. - -When Lord Musselburgh arrived, he and Harland Harris came upstairs -together; and almost directly afterwards luncheon was announced. As -they were about to go down to the dining-room the great -Communist-capitalist looked round with a little air of impatience and -said-- - -"But where is Vin?" - -"He was here a short time ago," said Lady Musselburgh: she dared not say -more. - -Mr. Harris, from below, sent a message to his son's room: the -answer--which Lady Musselburgh heard in silence--was that they were not -to wait luncheon for him. - -"Too busy with his reply to the _Sentinel_," Musselburgh suggested. -"Sharp cuts and thrusts going. I wonder that celestial minds should -grow so acrid over such a subject as the nationalisation of tithe." - -There was some scuffle on the stairs outside, to which nobody (except -Lady Musselburgh, whose ears were painfully on the alert) paid any -attention; but when a hansom was called up to the front door, Harland -Harris happened to look out. - -"What, is he going off somewhere? I never knew any creature so careless -about his meals. I presume his indifference means a good digestion." - -"Oh, Vin's digestion is all right," Lord Musselburgh said. "I hear he -dines every night at the House of Commons--and yet he is alive----" - -"But there are his portmanteaus!" Mr. Harris exclaimed, and he even rose -and went to the window for a second. Well, he was just in time to see -Vincent step into the cab, and drive off; and therewith he returned to -his place at table, and proceeded, in his usual bland and somewhat -patronising manner, to tell Lord Musselburgh of certain experiments he -was having made in copper-lustre. He was not in the least concerned -about that departing cab; nor did he know that that was the last glimpse -of his son he was to have for many and many a day. - -And meanwhile Lady Musselburgh sate there frightened, and guilty, and -silent. And that without reason; for what she had done she had done -with the full concurrence and approval of her brother-in-law and her -_fiance_ (as he then was). Yet somehow she seemed to feel herself -entirely answerable for all that had happened--for the failure of all -her schemes--for the catastrophe that had resulted. And the moment she -got outside her brother-in-law's house, she began and confessed the -whole truth to her husband. - -"But why didn't you tell Harris?" said he, pausing as if even now he -would go back. - -"Oh, I couldn't, Hubert; I daren't!" she said, evidently in great -distress. "I was so confident everything would come right--I advised -him--I persuaded him to pay the L5,000----" - -"Oh, nonsense!" was the impatient reply. "A man doesn't hand over -L5,000 unless he is himself convinced that it is worth while. And he -got what he bargained for. Those people have gone away; they don't -interfere any more----" - -"Ah, but that is not all," Lady Musselburgh put in, rather sadly. "I -made so sure that Vin would forget--that as soon as the hallucination -had worn off a little, he would see what those people really were, and -turn his eyes elsewhere: yet apparently he believes in their honesty -more firmly than ever--talks of my going and asking their pardon--and -the like; and now he has wholly broken away from us--declares he will -never be under the same roof with us, or sit down at the same table with -us. He has gone over to the other side, he says, because they are poor -and friendless. Poor and friendless!" she repeated, with a snap of -anger--"living on the fat of the land through their thieving! And -yet----" - -And here again she paused, as if recalling something to herself: "Do you -know, Hubert, I was startled and frightened by Vin's manner to-day; for -I had suddenly to ask myself whether after all it was possible he might -be in the right, and we altogether wrong. In all other things he shows -himself so clear-headed and able and shrewd; and then he has seen the -world; you would not take him to be one who could be easily deceived. -Sometimes I hardly know what to think. But at all events, this is what -you must do now, Hubert: you must get hold of him, and persuade him to -go back home, before Harland knows anything of what had been intended. -He can invent some excuse about the portmanteaus. You can go down to -the House to-night, and see him there; and if you persuade him to return -to Grosvenor Place, that will be so much of the mischief set straight. -That is the first thing to be done; but afterwards----" - -It was quite clear that she knew not what to think, for she went on -again, almost as if talking to herself-- - -"Of course, if the girl were a perfectly good and honest girl, and above -suspicion of every kind, Vin's constancy and devotion to her would be a -very fine and noble thing; and I for one should be proud of him for it. -But as things are, it is a monomania--nothing else than a monomania! He -must see that she is in league with that old man to get money on false -pretences." - -"He sees nothing of the kind," said her husband bluntly. "She may or -she may not be; I know little or nothing about her; but if she is, Vin -doesn't see it: you may make up your mind about that." - -"And yet he seems sharp-sighted in other things," said Lady Musselburgh -in a pensive sort of way; and then she added: "However, the first step -to be taken is to get him back to his own family; and none can do that -so well as you, Hubert; you are his old friend; and you stand between -us, as it were. And there's one thing about Vin: he can't disappear out -of the way; you can always get hold of him--at the House of Commons." - -Lord Musselburgh had not been long married; he did as he was bid. And -very eagerly did Vincent welcome this ambassador, when he encountered -him in the Lobby. - -"Come out on to the Terrace. I was just going to write to you: I want -you to do me the greatest service you can imagine!" - -"Here I am, ready to do anybody any number of services," said Lord -Musselburgh, as they proceeded to stroll up and down this dark space, -with the wide river flowing silently by, and the innumerable small beads -of gold showing where London lay in the dusk. "Only too happy. And I -am in the best position for being mediator, for I have nothing to gain -from either side--except, of course that I should be extremely sorry to -see you quarrelling with your relations. This is always a mistake, Vin, -my boy: bad for you, bad for them. And I hope you will let me go back -with the important part of my commission done--that is to say, I was to -persuade you to return to Grosvenor Place, just as if nothing had -happened. My wife is awfully upset about it--thinks it is entirely -owing to her; whereas I don't see that it is at all. She has been -trying to do her best for everybody--for your father as well as for -yourself. And the notion that you should cut yourself off from your -family naturally seems very dreadful to her; and if I can take her the -assurance that you don't mean anything of the kind--very well!" - -"Oh, but look here, Musselburgh," said Vincent, "you entirely mistake. -It was not about that I wished to see you: not at all: on that point it -is useless saying anything. You must assure Lady Musselburgh that this -is no piece of temper on my part--nothing to be smoothed over, and -hushed up. I have seen all along that it was inevitable. From the -moment that my aunt and my father took up that position against--against -Maisrie Bethune and her grandfather--I foresaw that sooner or later this -must come. I have tried to reason with them; I have assured them that -their suspicions and their definite charges were as cruel as they were -false; and all to no purpose. And this last thing: this bribing of an -old man, who can be too easily persuaded, to take his granddaughter away -with him and subject her to the homeless life she had led for so many -years--perhaps there are some other considerations I need not -mention--this is too much. But I knew that sooner or later a severance -would come between them and me; and I am not unprepared. You wondered at -my drudging away at that newspaper work, when my father was allowing me -a handsome income. Now do you see the use of it? I am independent. I -can do as I please. I can't make a fortune; but I can earn enough to -live--and something more. Let them go their way, as I go mine: it has -not been all my doing." - -Lord Musselburgh was disconcerted; but he was a dutiful husband; he went -on to argue. He found he might as well attempt to argue with a -milestone. Nothing could shake this young man's determination. - -"I told Lady Musselburgh I had gone over to the other side, this time -for good," said he. "We are in opposite camps now. We have been so all -along--but not openly. This piece of treachery has been too much for -me: we are better apart: I could not sit down at table with people who -had acted like that--whatever their motives were. But you, Musselburgh, -you were not concerned in that wretched piece of scheming; and as I tell -you, you can do me the greatest possible service. Will you do it? Or -will you rather cast in your lot with them?" - -"Oh, well," said Musselburgh, rather disappointedly, "I don't see why I -should be compelled to take sides. I want to do my best for everybody -concerned. I've just come into the family, as you might say; and it -seems a pity there should be any quarrel or break up. I had a kind of -notion that we should all of us--but particularly my wife and myself and -you and--and--your wife--I thought our little party of four might have a -very pleasant time together, both at home and abroad. My wife and I -have often talked of it, and amused ourselves with sketching out plans. -Seems such a pity----" - -"Yes," said Vincent, abruptly, "but there are other things in life -besides going to Monte Carlo and staking five-franc pieces." - -"What is this that you want me to do?" his friend asked next--seeing -that those inducements did not avail. - -"Well," said Vincent, "I suppose you know that Lady Musselburgh showed -me this morning the receipt Mr. Bethune gave George Morris for the -L5,000. It was a simple receipt: nothing more. But everybody knows -George Morris is not the man to part with money unconditionally; there -must have been arrangements and pledges; and I want to discover what Mr. -Bethune undertook to do, where he undertook to go. Morris won't tell -me, that is certain enough: but he would probably tell you." - -Lord Musselburgh hesitated. - -"Why," said he, "you know why that money was paid. It was paid for the -express purpose of getting them away--so that you should not know where -they are----" - -"Precisely so," said Vincent. "And you would therefore be undoing a -part of the wrong that has been done them, by your wife and my father." - -"Oh, I don't call it doing a wrong to a man to give him L5,000," said -Lord Musselburgh, with a touch of resentment. "He needn't have taken -the money unless he liked." - -"Do you know what representations were made to him to induce him to take -it?" Vincent said. - -"Well, I don't," was the reply. "They settled all that amongst -themselves; and I was merely made acquainted with the results. It would -hardly have been my place to interfere, you see; it was before my -marriage, remember; in any case, I don't know that I should have wanted -to have any say in the matter. However, the actual outcome we all of us -know; and you must confess, Vin, whatever persuasions were used, it -looks a rather shady transaction." - -"Yes--on the part of those who induced him to accept the bribe!" Vincent -said, boldly. - -"Oh, come, come," Lord Musselburgh interposed, rather testily, "don't be -so bigoted. It isn't only your considering that girl to be everything -that is fine and wonderful--I can understand that--the glamour of love -can do anything; but you go too far in professing the greatest -admiration and respect for this old man. Leave us some chance of -agreeing with you, of believing you sane. For you can't deny that he -took the money: there is the plain and simple fact staring you in the -face. More than that, his taking it was the justification of those who -offered it: it proved to them that he was not the kind of person with -whom you should be connected by marriage. I say nothing about the young -lady; I don't know her; perhaps her association all these years with -this old--well, I won't call him names--has not affected her in any way; -perhaps she believes in him as implicitly as you appear to do. But as -for him: well, take any unprejudiced outsider, like myself; what am I to -think when I find him accepting this money from strangers?" - -"Yes," said Vincent, a little absently, "I suppose, to an outsider, that -would look bad. But it is because you don't know him, Musselburgh; or -the story of his life; or his circumstances. I confess that at one time -there were things that disquieted me; I rather shut my eyes to them; but -now that I understand what this man is, and what he has gone through, -and how he bears himself, it isn't only pity I feel for him, it is -respect, and more than respect. But it's a long story; and it would -have to be told to sympathetic ears; it would be little use telling it -to my father or to my aunt--they have the detectives' version before -them--they have the detectives' reading of the case." - -"Well, tell me, at least," said his friend. "I want to get at the -truth. I have no prejudice or prepossession one way or the other. For -another thing, I like to hear the best of everybody--and to believe it, -if I can; it makes life pleasanter; and I can't forget, either, that it -was through me you got to know George Bethune." - -It was a long story, as Vincent had said; and it was a difficult one to -set in order and in a proper light: but it was chiefly based on what had -been told him by the Toronto banker; and Mr. Thompson's generous -interpretation of it ran through it all. Lord Musselburgh listened with -the greatest interest and attention. What seemed mostly to strike him -was the banker's phrase--'Call George Bethune an impostor, if you like; -but the man he has imposed on, his whole life through, has been--George -Bethune.' - -"Well, it's all very extraordinary," he said, when Vincent had finished. -"I wish I had taken the trouble to become a little better acquainted -with him; one is so apt to judge by the outside; I thought he was merely -a picturesque old fellow with a mad enthusiasm about Scotland. And yet -I don't know what to say even now. All that you have told me sounds -very plausible and possible--if you take that way of looking at it; and -the whole thing seems so pitiable, especially for the girl: he has his -delusions and self-confidence--she has only her loneliness. But at the -same time, Vin, you must admit that these little weaknesses of his might -easily be misconstrued----" - -"Certainly," said Vincent, with promptitude. "It is just as Mr. Thompson -said: if you choose to look at George Bethune through blue spectacles, -his way of life must appear very doubtful: if you choose to look at him -through pink spectacles, there is something almost heroic about him. -And I think, Musselburgh, if you knew the lion-hearted old man a little -better, you wouldn't shrink from acknowledging that there was something -fine and even grand in his character. As for Maisrie--as for Miss -Bethune--she asks for no generous consideration, or forbearance, or -anything of the kind; she asks for no leniency of judgment, and needs -none; she is beyond and above all that. I know her--none better than I; -and she has only to remain what she is--'dass Gott sie erhalte, so -schoen und rein und hold'!" - -There was a break in his voice as he spoke. Lord Musselburgh was silent -for a moment--he felt like an intruder upon something too sacred. And -yet he had his mission; so presently he forced himself to resume: - -"Well, after all, Vin, I think you must grant that there is something to -be said for your relatives, even if they have been mistaken. They could -not know all that you know--all that you learned in Canada as well; they -could only judge from the outside; they could only believe what they -heard----" - -"Why did they interfere at all?" Vincent demanded, in his turn. "Why -had they Mr. Bethune's steps dogged by detectives?" - -"You should be the last to protest. It was entirely for your sake that -it was done." - -"Yes," said Vincent, with a certain scorn. "It was for my sake they -were so ready to suspect--it was for my sake they were so eager to -regard everything from the attorney's point of view! They would not take -my word for anything; they would rather trust to their private enquiry -offices. I was supposed to be so easily blinded; the swindlers had such -a willing dupe; no reliance was to be placed but on the testimony of -spies. What childish rubbish! Why, I introduced my aunt to Mr. Bethune -and his granddaughter: she could not find a word to say against -them--but her suspicions remained all the same! And then apparently she -went and consulted with my father. It was so dreadful that I was being -cheated by those two dangerous characters! Couldn't the lawyers and -their private inquiry agents--couldn't they make out some story that -would appal me? Couldn't they make up some bogey--straw, and an old -coat--that would terrify me out of my wits? And then when I wasn't -appalled by their idle trash of stories--oh, for goodness sake, get -those desperate creatures smuggled away out of the country! No safety -unless they were hidden away somewhere! And then they went to the old -man; and I can imagine how they persuaded him. The greatest kindness to -every one concerned if only he would fall in with their views; he would -save his granddaughter from entering a family who had mistaken, but -undoubted, prejudices against her; and of course they couldn't allow him -to put himself so much about without endeavouring to pay part of the -cost. It was no solatium to the young lady--oh, no, certainly -not!--probably she was destined for much higher things; and it was no -gift to himself; it was merely that the relatives of that hot-headed -young man were desirous of pleasing themselves by showing how much they -appreciated his, Mr. Bethune's, generosity in making this little -sacrifice. Well, they succeeded: but they little knew--and they little -know--what they have done!" - -Perhaps there was something in the proud and withal disdainful tones of -the young man's voice that was quite as convincing as his words; at all -events, his friend said-- - -"Well, I sympathise with you, Vin, I do really. But you see how I am -situated. I am an emissary--an intermediary--I want peace----" - -"It is no use saying peace where there is no peace," Vincent broke in. -"Nor need there be war. Silence is best. Let what has been done go; it -cannot be undone now." - -"Vincent--if you would only think how fond your aunt is of you--if you -would think of her distress----" - -"It was she who ought to have considered first," was the rejoinder. "Do -you imagine I have suffered nothing, before I went to America, and then, -and since? But that is of little account. I could forgive whatever has -happened to myself. It is when I think of some one else--sent adrift -upon the world again--but it is better not to talk!" - -"Well, yes," persisted Lord Musselburgh, who was in a sad quandary; for -the passionate indignation of this young man seemed so much stronger -than any persuasive argument that could be brought against it, "I can -perfectly understand how you may consider yourself wronged and injured; -and how much more you feel what you consider wrong and injury done to -others; but you ought to be a little generous, and take motives into -account. Supposing your father and your aunt were mistaken in acting as -they did, it was not through any selfishness on their part. It was for -your welfare, as they thought. Surely you must grant that to them." - -"I will grant anything to them, in the way of justification," said -Vincent, "if they will only take the first step to make atonement for -the mischief they have wrought. And that they can do through you. They -can tell you on what conditions Mr. Bethune was persuaded to take the -money; so that I may go to him, and bring him back--and her." - -"But probably they don't know where he is!" his friend exclaimed, in -perfect honesty. "My impression was that Mr. Bethune agreed to leave -this country for a certain time; but of course no one would think of -banishing him to any particular spot." - -"And so they themselves don't know where Mr. Bethune has gone?" said -Vincent, slowly. - -"I believe not. I am almost certain they don't. But I will make -inquiries, if you like. In the meantime," said Musselburgh, returning -to his original prayer, "do consider, Vin, and be reasonable, and go -back to your father's house to-night. Don't make a split in the family. -Give them credit for wishing you well. Let me take that message from -you to my wife--that you will go home to Grosvenor Place to-night." - -"Oh, no," said Vincent, with an air of quiet resolve. "No, no. This is -no quarrel. This is no piece of temper. It is far more serious than -that; and, as I say, I have seen all along that it was inevitable. -After what I have told you, you must recognise for yourself what the -situation is. I have spoken to you very freely and frankly; because I -know you wish to be friendly; and because I think you want to see the -whole case clearly and honestly. But how could I talk to them, or try to -explain? Do you think I would insult Miss Bethune by offering them one -word of excuse, either on her behalf or on that of her grandfather? No, -and it would be no use besides. They are mad with prejudice. No doubt -they say I am mad with prepossession. Very well; let it stand so." - -Lord Musselburgh at length perceived that his task was absolutely -futile. His only chance now was to bring Vincent into a more placable -disposition by getting him the information he sought; but he had not -much hope on that score; for people do not pay L5,000 and then at once -render up all the advantages they fancy they have purchased. So here -was a deadlock--he moodily said to himself, as he walked away home to -Piccadilly. - -And as for Vincent? Well, as it chanced, on the next morning--it was a -Wednesday morning--when he went across from the Westminster Palace Hotel -to the House of Commons, and got his usual little bundle of letters, the -very first one that caught his eye bore the Toronto post-mark. How -anxiously he had looked for it from day to day--wondering why Mr. -Thompson had heard no news--and becoming more and more heart-sick and -hopeless as the weary time went by without a sign--and behold! here it -was at last. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - NEW WAYS OF LIFE. - - -But no sooner had he torn open the envelope than his heart seemed to -stand still--with a sort of fear and amazement. For this was Maisrie's -own handwriting that he beheld--as startling a thing as if she herself -had suddenly appeared before him, after these long, voiceless months. -Be sure the worthy banker's accompanying letter did not win much regard: -it was this sheet of thin blue paper that he quickly unfolded, his eye -catching a sentence here and there, and eager to grasp all that she had -to say at once. Alas! there was no need for any such haste: when he -came to read the message that she had sent to Toronto, it had little to -tell him of that which he most wanted to know. And yet it was a -marvellous thing--to hear her speak, as it were! There was no date nor -place mentioned in the letter; but none the less had this actual thing -come all the way from her; her fingers had penned those lines; she had -folded up this sheet of paper that now lay in his hands. It appeared to -have been written on board ship: further than that all was uncertain and -unknown. - -He went into the Library, and sought out a quiet corner; there was -something in the strange reticence of this communication that he wished -to study with care. And yet there was an apparent simplicity, too. She -began by telling Mr. Thompson that her grandfather had asked her to -write to him, merely to recall both of them to his memory; and she went -on to say that they often talked of him, and thought of him, and of -bygone days in Toronto. "Whether we shall ever surprise you by an -unexpected visit in Yonge-street," she proceeded, "I cannot tell; for -grandfather's plans seem to be very vague at present, and, in fact, I do -not think he likes to be questioned. But as far as I can judge be does -not enjoy travelling as much as he used; it appears to fatigue him more -than formerly; and from my heart I wish he would settle down in some -quiet place, and let me care for him better than I can do in long -voyages and railway-journeys. You know what a brave face he puts on -everything--and, indeed, becomes a little impatient if you show anxiety -on his behalf; still, I can see he is not what he was; and I think he -should rest now. Why not in his own country?--that has been his talk for -many a day; but I suppose he considers me quite a child yet, and won't -confide in me; so that when I try to persuade him that we should go to -Scotland, and settle down to a quiet life in some place familiar to him, -he grows quite angry, and tells me I don't understand such things. But -I know his own fancy goes that way. The other morning I was reading to -him on deck, and somehow I got to think he was not listening; so I -raised my head; and I saw there were tears running down his cheeks--he -did not seem to know I was there at all--and I heard him say to -himself--'The beech-woods of Balloray--one look at them--before I die!' -And now I never read to him any of the Scotch songs that mention -places--such as Yarrow, or Craigieburn, or Logan Braes--he becomes so -strangely agitated; for some time afterwards he walks up and down, by -himself, repeating the name, as if he saw the place before him; and I -know that he is constantly thinking about Scotland, but won't -acknowledge it to me or to any one. - -"Then here is another piece of news, which is all the news one can send -from on board a ship; and it is that poor dear grandfather has grown -very _peremptory_! Can you believe it? Can you imagine him irritable -and impatient? You know how he has always scorned to be vexed about -trifles; how he could always escape from everyday annoyances and -exasperations into his own dream-world; but of late it has been quite -different; and as I am constantly with him, I am the chief sufferer. Of -course I don't mind it, not in the least; if I minded it I wouldn't -mention it, you may be sure; I know what his heart really feels towards -me. Indeed, it amuses me a little; it is as if I had grown a child -again, it is 'Do this' and 'Do that'--and no reason given. Ah, well, -there is not much amusement for either of us two: it is something." And -here she went on to speak of certain common friends in Toronto, to whom -she wished to be remembered; finally winding up with a very pretty -message from "Yours affectionately, Margaret Bethune." - -Then Vincent bethought him of the banker; what comments had he to make? - -"Dear sir, I enclose you a letter, received to-day, from the pernicious -little Omahussy, who says neither where she is nor where she is going, -gives no date nor the name of the ship from which she writes, and is -altogether a vexatious young witch. But I imagine this may be the old -gentleman's doing; he may have been 'peremptory' in his instructions; -otherwise I cannot understand why she should conceal anything from me. -And why should he? There also I am in the dark; unless, indeed -(supposing him to have some wish to keep their whereabouts unknown to -you) he may have seen an announcement in the papers to the effect that -you were going to the United States and Canada, in which case he may -have guessed that you would probably call on one whose name they had -mentioned to you as a friend of theirs. And not a bad guess either: -George Bethune is long-headed--when he comes down from the clouds; -though why he should take such elaborate precautions to keep away from -you, I cannot surmise." - -Vincent knew only too well! The banker proceeded:-- - -"I confess I am disappointed--for the moment. I took it for granted you -would have no difficulty in discovering where they were; but, of course, -if friend George is not going to give his address to anybody, for fear -of their communicating with you, some time may elapse before you hear -anything definite. I forgot to mention that the postmark on the -envelope was Port Said----" - -Port Said! Had Maisrie been at Port Said--and not so long ago either? -Instantly there sprang into the young man's mind a vision of the place -as he remembered it--a poor enough place, no doubt, but now all lit up -by this new and vivid interest: he could see before him the rectangular -streets of pink and white shanties, the sandy roads and arid squares, -the swarthy Arabs and yellow Greeks and Italians, the busy quays and -repairing-yards and docks, the green water and the swarming boats. And -did Maisrie and her grandfather--while the great vessel was getting in -her coals, and the air was being filled with an almost imperceptible -black dust--did they escape down the gangway, and go ashore, and wander -about, looking at the strange costumes, and the sun-blinds, and the -half-burnt tropical vegetation? Mr. Thompson went on to say that he -himself had never been to Port Said; but that he guessed it was more a -calling-place for steamers than a pleasure or health resort; and no -doubt the Bethunes had merely posted their letters there en route. But -were they bound East or West? There was no answer to this question--for -they had not given the name of the ship. - -So the wild hopes that had arisen in Vincent's breast when he caught -sight of Maisrie's handwriting had all subsided again; and the world was -as vague and empty as before. Sometimes he tried to imagine that the -big steamer which he pictured to himself as lying in the harbour at Port -Said was homeward-bound; and that, consequently, even now old George -Bethune and his granddaughter might have returned to their own country; -and then again something told him that it was useless to search papers -for lists of passengers--that the unknown ship had gone away down the -Red Sea and out to Australia or New Zealand, or perhaps had struck north -towards Canton or Shanghai. He could only wait and watch--and he had a -sandal-wood necklace when he wished to dream. - -But the truth is he had very little time for dreaming; for Vin Harris -was now become one of the very busiest of the millions of busy creatures -crowding this London town. He knew his best distraction lay that way; -but there were other reasons urging him on. As it chanced, the great -statesman who had always been Vincent's especial friend and patron, -finding that his private secretary wished to leave him, decided to put -the office in commission; that is to say, he proposed to have two -private secretaries, the one to look after his own immediate affairs and -correspondence, the other to serve as his 'devil,' so to speak, in -political matters; and the latter post he offered to Vincent, he having -the exceptional qualification of being a member of the House. It is not -to be supposed that the ex-Minister was influenced in his choice by the -fact that the young man was now on the staff of two important papers, -one a daily journal, the other a weekly; for such mundane considerations -do not enter the sublime sphere of politics; nor, on the other hand, is -it to be imagined that Vincent accepted the offer with all the more -alacrity that his hold on those two papers might probably be -strengthened by his confidential relations with the great man. Surmises -and conjectures in such a case are futile--the mere playthings of one's -enemies. It needs only to be stated that he accepted the office with -every expectation of hard work; and that he got it. Such hunting up of -authorities; such verification of quotations; such boiling-down of -blue-books; such constant attendance at the House of Commons: it was all -hardly earned at a salary of L400 a year. But very well he knew that -there were many young men in this country who would have rejoiced to -accept that position at nothing a year; for it is quite wonderful how -private secretaries of Parliamentary chiefs manage, subsequently, to -tumble in for good things. - -Then it is probable that his journalistic enterprises--which necessarily -became somewhat more intermittent after his acceptance of the -secretaryship--brought him in, on the average, another L400 a year. On -this income he set seriously to work to make himself a miser. His -tastes had always been simple--and excellent health may have been at -once the cause and the effect of his abstemiousness; but now the meagre -fare he allowed himself, and his rigidly economical habits in every way, -had a very definite aim in view. He was saving money; he was building -up a miniature fortune--by half-crowns and pence. Food and drink cost -him next to nothing; if he smoked at all, it was a pipe the last thing -in the morning before going to bed. Omnibusses served his turn unless -some urgent business on behalf of his chief demanded a hansom. He could -not give up his club; for that was in a way a political institution; and -oftentimes he had to rush up thither to find someone who was not in the -precincts of St. Stephen's; but then, on the other hand, in a good club -things are much cheaper than in any restaurant or in the members' -dining-room of the House of Commons. It was remarkable how the little -fortune accumulated; and it was a kind of amusement in a fashion. He -pinched himself--and laughed. He debated moral questions--for example -as to whether it was lawful to use club-stationery in writing articles -for newspapers; but he knew something of the ways of Government offices, -and perhaps his conscience was salved by evil example. What the manager -of the Westminster Palace Hotel thought of his manner of living can be -imagined--if so august an official cared to enquire into such details. -His solitary room, breakfast, and washing: no more: those were small -bills that he called for week by week. And so his little hoard of -capital gradually augmented--very gradually, it is true, but surely, as -the rate of interest on deposits rose and fell. - -In the meanwhile Lord Musselburgh had not been very successful in his -endeavours to bring about a reconciliation between Vin Harris and his -family; nor had he been able to obtain the information that Vincent -demanded. - -"You see, Vin," he said (they were again walking up and down the -lamp-lit Terrace, by the side of the deep-flowing river), "my wife is -awfully upset over this affair. She thinks it is entirely owing to her -mismanagement. She would never have told you about the L5,000 if she -had not been certain that that would be conclusive proof to you of the -character of those two people; and now that she sees what has come of -her telling you so much, she is afraid to tell you any more. Not that I -suppose there is much to tell. Mr. Bethune and Miss Bethune are no -longer in this country; but I doubt whether any one can say precisely -where they are----" - -"Nonsense!" Vincent broke in, impatiently. "They're humbugging you, -Musselburgh. Consider this for a moment. Do you imagine that George -Morris handed over that L5,000, as a lump sum, without making -stipulations, and very definite stipulations? Do you imagine he would -be content to take the word of a man whom he considered a thief? It is -absurd to think so. _Do ut facias_ would be his motto; and he would -take precious good care to keep control over the money in case of -non-fulfilment----" - -"But there is the receipt!" put in Lord Musselburgh. - -"A receipt--for theatrical purposes!" said Vincent, with something of -contempt. "You may depend on it the money was not handed over in that -unconditional fashion: that is not the way in which George Morris would -do business. He has got some hold over Mr. Bethune; and he must know -well enough where he is. Supposing Mr. Bethune had that money in his -pocket, what is to prevent his returning to this country to-morrow? -Where would be the penalty for his breaking his covenant? You don't -trust a man whom you consider a swindler; you must have some guarantee; -and the guarantee means that you must be able to get at him when you -choose. It stands to reason!" - -"Yes, I suppose so--it would seem so," said Lord Musselburgh, rather -doubtfully; "but at all events it isn't George Morris who is going to -open his mouth. I've been to him; he declines; refers me to your -family. And then, you see, Vin, I'm rather in an awkward position. I -don't want to take sides; I don't want to be a partisan; I would rather -act as the friend of all of you; but the moment I try to do anything I -am met by a challenge--and a particularly inconvenient challenge it is. -Do I believe with them, or do I believe with you? I told your aunt what -you said about Mr. Bethune--how you described his character, and all -that; but I didn't do it as well as you; for she remains unconvinced. -As you told the story, it seemed natural and plausible; but as I told -it--and I was conscious of it at the time--it was less satisfactory. And -mind you, if you stick to hard facts, and don't allow for any -interpretation----" - -"If you look through the blue spectacles, in short----" - -"Precisely. Well, then, you are confronted with some extremely awkward -things. I don't wonder that your aunt asks pertinently why, if you are -to begin and extend this liberal construction of conduct--this allowing -for motives--this convenient doctrine of forgiving everything to -self-deception--I don't wonder that she asks why anybody should be sent -to prison at all." - -"Oh, as for that," said Vincent, frankly, "I don't say it would be good -for the commonwealth if all of us were George Bethunes. Far from it. I -look upon him as a sort of magnificent lusus naturae; and I would not -have him other than he is--not in any one particular. But a nation of -George Bethunes?--it would soon strike its head against the stars." - -"Very well, then," said his friend, "you are not contending for any -general principle. I don't see why you and your family shouldn't be -prepared to agree. You may both of you be right. You don't insist upon -having the justifications you extend to Mr. Bethune extended to everyone -else, or to any one else; you make him the exception; and you needn't -quarrel with those who take a more literal view of his character." - -"Literal?" said Vincent, with a certain coldness. "Blindness--want of -consideration--want of understanding--is that to be literal? Perhaps it -is. But I thought you said something just now about Mr. Bethune and a -prison: will you tell me of any one action of his that would suggest -imprisonment?" - -"Your aunt was merely talking of theories," said Musselburgh, rather -uneasily, for he had not intended to use the phrase. "What I urge is -this--why shouldn't both of you admit that there may be something in the -other's view of Mr. Bethune, and agree to differ? I stand between you: -I can see how much can be advanced on both sides." - -"And so you would patch up a truce," said Vincent. "How long would it -last? Of course I do not know for what period of banishment my kind -relatives stipulated; L5,000 is a considerable sum to pay; I suppose -they bargained that Mr. Bethune and his granddaughter should remain away -from England for some time. But not for ever? Even then, is it to be -imagined that they cannot be found? Either in this country or abroad, -Miss Bethune and I meet face to face again; and she becomes my wife--I -hope. It is what I live for. And then? Where will your patched-up -truce be then? Besides, I don't want any sham friendships with people -who have acted as they have done----" - -"It was in your interest, Vin," his friend again urged. "Why not give -them a little of the lenient judgment you so freely extend to those -others----" - -"To those others?" replied Vincent, firing up hotly. "To whom?" - -"To Mr. Bethune, then," was the pacific reply. - -"I don't think Mr. Bethune ever consciously wronged any human being. -But they--were they not aware what they were doing when they played this -underhand trick?--sending that girl out into the world again, through -her devotion to her grandfather? I have told you before: there is no -use crying peace, peace, when there is no peace. Let them undo some of -the mischief they have done, first: then we will see. And look at this -silly affectation of secrecy! They told me too much when they told me -they had paid money to get George Bethune out of the country: then I -understood why Maisrie went: then I knew I must have patience until she -came back--in the same mind as when she left, that I know well. I was -puzzled before, and sometimes anxious; but now I understand; now I am -content to wait. And I have plenty to do in the meantime. I have to -gain a proper foothold--and make some provision for the future as well: -already I am independent of anybody and everybody. And perhaps, in time -to come, when it is all over, when all these things have been set right, -I may be able to forgive; but I shall not be able to forget." - -This was all the message that Lord Musselburgh had to take home with -him, to his wife's profound distress. For she was very fond of her -nephew, and very proud of him, too, and of the position he had already -won for himself; and what she had done she had done with the best -intentions towards him. Once, indeed, she confessed to her husband that -in spite of herself she had a sort of sneaking admiration for Vincent's -obdurate consistency and faith; insomuch (she said) that--if only the -old man and all his chicaneries were out of the way--she could almost -find it in her heart to try to like the girl, for Vincent's sake. - -"The real question," she continued, "the thing that concerns me most of -all to think of is this: can a girl who has been so dragged through the -mire have retained her purity of mind and her proper self-respect? -Surely she must have known that her grandfather was wheedling people out -of money right and left--and that he took her about with him to enlist -sympathy? Do you suppose she was not perfectly aware that Vincent -invariably paid the bills at those restaurants? When tradespeople were -pressing for money, do you fancy she was in ignorance all the time? -Very well: what a life for any one to lead! How could she hold up her -head amongst ordinarily honest and solvent people? Even supposing that -she herself was all she ought to be, the humiliation must have sunk -deep. And even if one were to try to like her, there would always be -that consciousness between her and you. You might be sorry for her, in a -kind of way; but you would be still sorrier for Vincent; and that would -be dreadful." - -"My dear Madge," her husband said--in his character of mediator and -peacemaker, "you are arguing on a series of assumptions and prejudices. -If Vin does hold on to his faith in those two--and if he does in the end -marry Miss Bethune--I shall comfort myself with the conviction that he -was likely to know more about them than anybody else. He and they have -been on terms of closest intimacy, and for a long time; and you may be -pretty sure that the girl Vin wants to marry is no tarnished kind of a -person--in his eyes." - -"Ah, yes--in his eyes!" said Lady Musselburgh, rather sadly. - -"Well, his eyes are as clear as most folks'--at least, I've generally -found them so," her husband said--trying what a little vague optimism -would do. - -One afternoon Vincent was walking along Piccadilly--and walking rapidly, -as was his wont, for the twin purposes of exercise and economy--when he -saw, some way ahead of him, Lady Musselburgh crossing the pavement to -her carriage. She saw him, too, and stopped--colour mounting to her -face. When he came up he merely lifted his hat, and would have kept on -his way but that she addressed him. - -"Vincent!" she said, in an appealing, half-reproachful fashion. - -And then she said-- - -"I want you to come into the house for a few minutes--I must speak with -you." - -"Is there any use?" he asked, rather coldly. - -However, she was very much embarrassed, as her heightened colour showed; -and he could not keep her standing here in Piccadilly; he said 'Very -well,' and followed her up the steps and into the house. When they had -got into the drawing-room she shut the door behind them, and began at -once--with not a little piteous agitation in her manner. - -"Vin, this is too dreadful! Can nothing be done? Why are you so -implacable? I suppose you don't understand what you have been to me, -always, and how I have looked to your future as something almost -belonging to me, something that I was to be proud of; and now that it is -all likely to come true, you go and make a stranger of yourself! When I -see your name in the papers, or hear you spoken of at a dinner-table--it -is someone who is distant from me, as if I had no concern with him any -longer. People come up to me and say 'Oh, I heard your nephew speak at -the Mansion House the other afternoon,' or 'I met your nephew at the -Foreign Office last night;' and I cannot say 'Don't you know; he has -gone and made himself a stranger to us--?'" - -"I wonder who it was who made a stranger of me!" he interposed--but -quite impassively. - -"I can only say, again and again, that it was done for the best, Vin!" -she answered him. "The mistake I made was in letting you know. But I -took it for granted that as soon as you were told that those people had -accepted money from us to go away--" - -"Those people? What people?" he demanded, with a sterner air. - -"Oh, I meant only Mr. Bethune himself," said she, hastily. "Oh, yes, -certainly, only him; there were no negotiations with any one else." - -"Negotiations!" he said, with a touch of scorn. "Well, perhaps you can -tell me what those negotiations were? How long did Mr. Bethune -undertake to remain out of this country?" - -"Three years, Vin," said she, timidly regarding him. - -"Three years?" he repeated, in an absent way. - -"But there is no reason," she added quickly, "why he should not return -at any moment if he wishes: so I understand: of course, I did not make -the arrangement--but I believe that is so." - -"Return at any moment?" he said, slowly. "Do you mean to tell me that -you put L5,000 into that old man's hands, on condition he should leave -the country for three years, and that all the same you left him free to -return at any moment?" - -"Of course he would forfeit the money," said she, rather nervously. - -"But how could he forfeit the money if he already has it? He has got -the money: you showed me the receipt. Come, aunt," said he, in quite a -different tone, "Let us be a little more honest and above-board. Shall -I tell you how I read the whole situation? You can contradict me if I -am wrong. But that receipt you showed me: wasn't it produced for merely -theatrical purposes? Wasn't it meant to crush and overwhelm me as a -piece of evidence? The money wasn't handed over like that, was it? -Supposing I were to conjecture that somebody representing you or -representing my father has still got control over that money; and that -it is to be paid in instalments as it is earned--by absence? Well isn't -that so?" - -He fixed his eyes on her; she hesitated--and was a little confused. - -"I tell you, Vin," she said, "I had personally nothing to do with making -the arrangement; all that was left in George Morris's hands; and of -course he would take whatever precautions he thought necessary. And why -should you talk about theatrical purposes? I really did think that when -I could show you Mr. Bethune was ready to take money from strangers to -go away from England you would change your opinion of him. But -apparently, in your eyes, he can do no wrong. He is not to be judged by -ordinary rules and standards. Everything is to be twisted about on his -behalf, and forgiven, or even admired. Nobody else is allowed such -latitude of construction; and everything is granted to him--because he -is George Bethune. But I don't think it is quite fair: or that you -should take sides against your own family." - -This was an adroit stroke, following upon a very clever attempt to -extricate herself from an embarrassing position; but his thoughts were -otherwise occupied. - -"I should like you to tell me," said he, "if you can, what moral wrong -was involved in Mr. Bethune consenting to accept that money. Where was -the harm--or the ignominy? Do you think I cannot guess at the -representations and inducements put before him, to get him to stay -abroad for three years? Why, I could almost tell you, word for word, -what was said to him! Here was an arrangement that would be of -incalculable benefit to everybody concerned. He would be healing up -family dissensions. He would be guarding his granddaughter from a -marriage that could only bring her disappointment and humiliation. -Three years of absence and forgetfulness would put an end to all those -projects. And then, of course, you could not ask him to throw up his -literary engagements and incur the expense of travel, without some -compensation. Here is a sum of L5,000, which will afford him some kind -of security, in view of this disturbance of his engagements. A receipt? -oh, yes, a receipt, if necessary! But then, again, on second thoughts, -wouldn't it only be prudent to lodge this L5,000 with some third person, -some man of position whom all could trust, and who would send it in -instalments, to avoid the risk of carrying so large a sum about with -one? There might be a little harmless condition or two attached, -moreover. You undertake, for example, that the young people shall not -have communication with each other; you say your granddaughter will do -as you wish in all things. Very well, take her away: disappear, both of -you; you are doing us an immense kindness, and you are acting in the -best interests of all concerned. Never mind a little misery here or -there, or the risk of a broken heart; we can afford to pay for such -things; we can afford to have the moulds of a dessert service -destroyed--and a little matter of L5,000 is not much, when we have -plans.... And so those two go out into the world again." He paused for -a second. "Well, aunt, you've had your way; and there's no more to be -said, except this, perhaps, that you don't seem to realise the greatest -of all the mistakes you have made. Your three years, even if they -should be three years of absence, will not be years of forgetfulness on -either Maisrie Bethune's part or mine. Oh, no; nothing of the kind; -don't cherish any illusions on that score. It happened curiously that -just before they left Brighton she and I had a little talk over one or -two things; and she asked me for a promise, which I gave her, and which -I mean to keep." - -Well, the handsome lad now standing before her had a great hold on her -affection; and she even admired, in a covert way, this very bigotry of -constancy and unswerving faith of his, so that for an instant her head -swam, and she was on the point of crying out 'Vincent--Vincent--go and -bring her to me--and I will take her to my heart--for your sake!' But -the next moment she had recovered from that mad impulse: she saw that -what had been done was not to be undone in that happy-go-lucky fashion, -even if it could be undone at all; and she was silent and embarrassed. -It was he who spoke. - -"Well, you must excuse me, aunt; I've to be down at the House by -question time." - -"You're not going like that, Vin!" she exclaimed. - -"What do you want of me?" he asked in a coldly civil way. - -"I--I--want you to be as you once were, to all of us," she cried, rather -incoherently. "I want you to go back to Grosvenor Place; and to accept -the allowance your father has made you ever since you came of age; and -to resume the old bygone relations with us. Surely it might be -possible, with a little consideration on both sides. What we have done -was done entirely out of thoughtfulness for you; and if we have made a -mistake--we are only human beings! And remember, it is quite possible -that you may be mistaken too, Vin; you may be mistaken just as much as -we--and--and--" - -"What you propose, aunt," said he (for time was precious with him) "even -if it were practicable, would only be temporary. I am looking forward -to marrying Maisrie Bethune--in spite of your three years of -forgetfulness!--and when that happens, your patched-up state of affairs -would all come to bits again. So what is the use of professing a sort -of sham reconciliation? I have no wish to return to Grosvenor Place. I -have taken some rooms at the foot of Buckingham-street; and I have a key -that lets me through by the Embankment Gardens into Villiers-street; it -will be convenient for getting to the House. And I can tide along -pretty well without any allowance from my father; in fact, I'm saving a -little money in a quiet way--" - -"But at what a cost, Vincent--at what a cost!" she protested. "I wish -you could see how worn and ill you are looking-- - -"Well, I've had some things to think of lately--thanks to my kind -relatives!" said he. "But really I must be off--" - -"Vincent," she said, making one last despairing effort to bring things -back to their former footing, "when are you going to ask Louie Drexel -and me to dine with you at the House?" - -"I'm so busy, aunt, just now," said he, as he opened the door for her. -Then he saw her into her carriage; and she drove away--a most perplexed -and unhappy woman. - -These rooms that Vincent had taken at the foot of Buckingham-street were -right up at the top of the building; and commanded a spacious prospect -of the river, the Embankment gardens, the bridges, the great dusky world -of London lying all around, and the dome of St. Paul's rising dim and -phantasmal in the east. They were bachelor chambers, that had doubtless -seen many tenants (the name of one, George Brand, was still over the -door, and Vincent did not think it worth while to change it), but the -young man had no sooner entered into possession than he began a series -of alterations and improvements that bachelor chambers did not seem to -demand. Not in any hurry, however; nor perhaps with any fixed intent; -it was a kind of amusement for this or that odd half-hour he could -snatch from his multifarious duties. To begin with, he had the woodwork -painted a deep Indian red, and the walls a pearly-blue grey: while the -former colour was repeated in the Japanese window-curtains, and the -latter by the great world outside, on the lambent moonlight nights, or -sometimes in the awakening of the dawn, as he lay in a low easy-chair, -and watched the vast, silent city coming out of its sleep. This -top-floor was a very still place, except for the early chattering of the -tree-sparrows, into whose nests, swaying on the branches just beneath -him, he could have tossed a biscuit. And then his peregrinations -through London, rapid though they were as a rule, occasionally brought -him face-to-face with a bric-a-brac shop; and from time to time he -picked up one thing or another, just as it happened to strike his fancy. -Perhaps these modest purchases were just a trifle too elegant for a -bachelor's apartments; the sitting-room away up in that lofty situation -came to look rather like a boudoir; for example, there was a music-stand -in rosewood and ormulu--a tall stand it was, as if for a violin -player--which he himself never used. Pictures he could not afford; but -books he could; and the volumes which were one by one added to those -shelves were of a more graceful and literary stamp than you would have -expected to find in the library of a young and busy member of -Parliament. It was not a lordly palace of art, this humble suite of -apartments in the neighbourhood of the Strand; but there was a -prevailing air of selection and good taste; perhaps, one ought to say, -of expectancy, also, in the presence of things not yet in use. Then the -two large and low windows of the sitting-room were all surrounded with -ivy, of long training; but besides that, there were flower-boxes; and at -a moment's notice, and at small expense, these could be filled with -potted geraniums, if one wished to be gay. And always outside was the -varied panorama of the mighty city; the wide river and the bridges, the -spires and the towers, the far masses of buildings becoming more and -more spectral as they receded into the grey and wavering mist. -Sometimes the rose and saffron of the dawn were there, ascending with a -soft suffusion behind the purple dome of St. Paul's; sometimes there -were blown and breezy days, with flying showers and watery gleams of -sunlight; and sometimes the night lay blue and still and clear, the -Surrey side in black and mysterious shadow, the white moon high in the -south. These silent altitudes were a fine place for dreaming, after all -the toil and moil of the working-hours were over; and a fine place for -listening, too; sometimes, towards the morning, just as the leaves began -to stir, you could fancy the wind was bringing a message with it--it -seemed, coming from far away, to say something about _Claire Fontaine_. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - IN A NORTHERN VILLAGE. - - -But there were to be no three years of absence, still less of -forgetfulness. One afternoon, on Vincent's going down to the House, he -found a telegram along with his letters. He opened it mechanically, -little thinking; but the next moment his eyes were staring with -amazement. For these were the words he saw before him:--"_Grandfather -very ill; would like to see you. Maisrie Bethune, Crossmains, by -Cupar_." Then through his bewilderment there flashed the sudden -thought: why, the lands of Balloray were up in that Fifeshire -region!--had, then, the old man, tired of his world-wanderings, and -feeling this illness coming upon him, had he at length crept home to -die, perhaps as a final protest? And Maisrie was alone there, among -strangers, with this weight of trouble fallen upon her. Why could not -these intervening hours, and the long night, and the great distance, be -at once annihilated?--he saw Maisrie waiting for him, with piteous eyes -and outstretched hands. - -He never could afterwards recall with any accuracy how he passed those -hours: it all seemed a dream. And a dream it seemed next day, when he -found himself in a dogcart, driving through a placid and smiling -country, with the sweet summer air blowing all around him. He talked to -the driver, to free his mind from anxious and futile forecasts. -Crossmains, he was informed, was a small place. There was but the one -inn in it--the Balloray Arms. Most likely, if two strangers were to -arrive on a visit, they would put up at the inn; but very few people did -go through--perhaps an occasional commercial traveller. - -"And where is Balloray House--or Balloray Castle?" was the next -question. - -"Just in there, sir," said the man, with a jerk of his whip towards the -woods past which they were driving. - -And of course it was with a great interest and curiosity that Vincent -looked out for this place of which he had heard so much. At present -nothing could be seen but the high stone wall that surrounds so many -Scotch estates; and, branching over that, a magnificent row of beeches; -but by and bye they came to a clearing in the "policies"; and all at -once the Castle appeared in sight--a tall, rectangular building, with a -battlemented parapet and corner turrets, perched on a spacious and lofty -plateau. It looked more modern than he had imagined to himself; but -perhaps it had been recently renovated. From the flag-staff overtopping -the highest of the turrets a flag idly dropped and swung in the blue of -the summer sky: no doubt the proprietor was at home--in proud -possession; while the old man who considered himself the rightful owner -of the place was lying, perhaps stricken unto death, in some adjacent -cottage or village inn. Then the woods closed round again; and the -mansion of Balloray was lost from view. - -Vincent was not in search of the picturesque, or he might have been -disappointed with this village of Crossmains--which consisted of but one -long and wide thoroughfare, bordered on each hand with a row of bare and -mean-looking cottages and insignificant houses. When they drove up to -the inn, he did not notice that it was a small, two-storied, drab-hued -building of the most common-place appearance; that was not what he was -thinking of at all; his heart was beating high with emotion--what wonder -might not meet his eager gaze at any instant? And indeed he had hardly -entered the little stone passage when Maisrie appeared before him; she -had heard the vehicle arrive, and had quickly come down-stairs; and now -she stood quite speechless--her trembling, warm hands clasped in his, -her face upturned to him, her beautiful sad eyes all dimmed with tears, -and yet having a kind of joy in them, too, and pride. She could not say -a single word: he would have to understand that she was grateful to him -for his instant response to her appeal. And perhaps there was more than -gratitude; she seemed to hunger to look at him--for she had not seen him -for so long a while: perhaps she had never thought to see him again. - -"Have you any better news, Maisrie?" said he. - -She turned and led the way into a little parlour. - -"Yes," said she (and the sound of her voice startled him: the Maisrie of -his many dreams, sleeping and waking, had been all so silent!). -"Grandfather is rather better. I think he is asleep now--or almost -asleep. It is a fever--a nervous fever--and he has been so -exhausted--and often delirious; but he is quieter now--rest is -everything--" - -"Maisrie," he said again (in his bewilderment) "it is a wonderful thing -to hear you speak! I can hardly believe it. Where have you been all -this while? Why did you go away from me?" - -"I went because grandfather wished it," said she. "I will tell you some -other time. He is anxious to see you. He has been fretting about so -many things; and he will not confide in me--not entirely--I can see that -there is concealment. And Vincent," she went on, with her appealing -eyes fixed on him, "don't speak to him about Craig-Royston!--and don't -let him speak about it. When he got ill in Cairo, it was more -home-sickness than anything else, as I think; and he said he wanted to -go and die in his own country and among his own people; and so we began -to come to Scotland by slow stages. And now that we are here, there is -no one whom he knows; he is quite as much alone here as he was in Egypt; -far more alone than we used to be in Canada. I fancy he expects that a -message may come for me from Balloray--that I am to go there and be -received; and of course that is quite impossible; I do not know them, -they do not know me; I don't suppose they are even aware that we are -living in this place. But if he is disappointed in that, it is -Craig-Royston he will think of next--he will want to go there to seek -out relatives on my account. Well, Vincent, about Craig-Royston----" - -She hesitated; and the pale and beautiful face became suffused with a -sort of piteous embarrassment. - -"But I understand, Maisrie, quite well!" said he, boldly. "Why should -you be troubled about that? You have found out there is no such -place?--but I could have told you so long ago! There was a district -so-named at one time; and that is quite enough for your grandfather; a -picturesque name takes his fancy, and he brings it into his own life. -Where is the harm of that? There may have been Grants living there at -one time--and they may have intermarried with the Bethunes: anyhow your -grandfather has talked himself into believing there was such a -relationship; and even if it is a delusion, what injury does it do to -any human creature? Why," he went on, quite cheerfully, to reassure her -and give her comfort, "I am perfectly aware that no Scotch family ever -had 'Stand Fast, Craig-Royston!' as its motto. But if the phrase caught -your grandfather's ear, why should not he choose it for his motto? -Every motto has been chosen by some one at some one time. And then, if -he thereafter came to persuade himself that this motto had been worn by -his family, or by some branch of his family, what harm is there in that? -It is only a fancy--it is an innocent delusion--it injures no one----" - -"Yes, but, Vincent," she said--for these heroic excuses did not touch -the immediate point--"grandfather is quite convinced about the Grants of -Craig-Royston; and he will be going away in search of them, so that I -may find relatives and shelter. And the disappointment will be terrible. -For he has got into a habit of fretting that never was usual with him. -He has fits of distrusting himself, too, and begins to worry about -having done this or done that; and you know how unlike that is to his -old courage, when he never doubted for a moment but that everything he -had done was done for the best. And to think that he should vex himself -by imagining he had not acted well by me--when he has given his whole -life to me, as long as I can remember----" - -"Maisrie," said he, "when your grandfather gets well, and able to leave -this place, where are you going?" - -"How can I say?" she made answer, wistfully enough. - -"For I do not mean to let you disappear again. No, no. I shall not let -you out of my sight again. Do you know that I have a house waiting for -you, Maisrie?" - -"For me?" she said, looking up surprised. - -"For whom else, do you imagine? And rather pretty the rooms are, I -think. I have got a stand for your music, Maisrie: that will be handier -for you than putting it on the table before you." - -She shook her head, sadly. - -"My place is with my grandfather, Vincent," she said. "And now I will -go and see how he is. He wished to know as soon as possible of your -arrival." - -She left the room and was absent only for a couple of minutes. - -"Yes; will you come upstairs, Vincent?" she said on her return. "I'm -afraid you will find him much changed. And sometimes he wanders a -little in his talking; you must try to keep him as quiet as may be." - -As they entered the room, an elderly Scotchwoman--most probably the -landlady--who had been sitting there, rose and came out. Vincent went -forward. Despite Maisrie's warning he was startled to notice the -ravages the fever had wrought; but if the proud and fine features were -pinched and worn, the eyes were singularly bright--bright and furtive at -the same time. And at sight of his visitor, old George Bethune made a -desperate effort to assume his usual gallant air. - -"Ha?" said he--though his laboured breathing made this affectation of -gaiety a somewhat pitiable thing--"the young legislator--fresh from the -senate--the listening senate, the applause of multitudes----" - -He turned his restless eyes on Maisrie; and said in quite an altered -tone---- - -"Go away, girl, go away!" - -Well, Maisrie's nerves were all unstrung by anxiety and watching; and -here was her lover just arrived, to listen to her being so cruelly and -sharply rebuked; and so, after a moment of indecision, she lost her -self-control, she flung herself on her knees by the side of the bed, and -burst out crying. - -"Don't speak to me like that, grandfather," she sobbed, "don't speak to -me like that!" - -"Well, well, well," said he, in an altered tone, "I did not mean to hurt -you. No, no, Maisrie; you're a good lass--a good lass--none better in -the whole kingdom of Scotland. I was not thinking--I beg your pardon, -my dear--I beg your pardon." - -She rose, and kissed his hand, and left the room. Then old George -Bethune turned to his visitor, and began to talk to him in a curiously -rapid way--rapid and disconnected and confused--while the brilliant eyes -were all the time fixed anxiously on the young man. - -"Yes, I am glad you have come--I have been sorely perplexed," he said, -in his husky and hurried fashion; "--perhaps, when one is ill, -confidence in one's own judgment gives way a little--and it is -not--every one whom you can consult. But that is not the main thing--not -the main thing at all--a question of money is a minor thing--but -yesterday--I think it was yesterday--my voice seemed to be going from -me--and I thought--I would leave you a message. The book there--bring -it--" - -He looked towards a red volume that was lying on the window-sill. -Vincent went and fetched it; though even as he did so, he thought it -strange that a man who was perhaps lying on his deathbed should bother -about a book of ballads. But when, he might have asked himself, had -George Bethune ever seemed to realise the relative importance of the -things around him? To him a harebell brought from the Braes of -Gleniffer was of more value than a king's crown. - -"Open at the mark," said the sick man, eagerly. "See if you -understand--without much said--to her, I mean. Poor lass--poor lass--I -caught her crying once or twice--while we were away--and I have been -asking myself whether--whether it was all done for the best." Then he -seemed to pull himself together a little. "Yes, yes, it was done for -the best--what appeared best for every one; but now--well, now it may be -judged differently--I am not what I was--I hope I--have done no wrong." - -Vincent turned to the marked page; and there he found a verse of one of -the ballads pencilled round, with the last line underscored. This is -what he read: - - He turned his face unto the wa', - And death was with him dealing; - "Adieu, adieu, my dear friends a'-- - _Be kind to Barbara Allen!_" - - -The old man was watching him anxiously and intently. - -"Yes, I understand," Vincent said. "And I think you may depend on me." - -"Then there is another thing," the old man continued--his mind leaping -from one point to another with marvellous quickness, though he himself -seemed so languid and frail. "I--I wish to have all things left in -order. If the summons--comes--I must be able to meet it--with head -up--fear never possessed me during life. But who has not made -mistakes--who has not made mistakes?--not understood at the time. And -yet perhaps it was not a mistake--I am not the man I was--I have -doubts--I thought I was doing well by all--but now--I am -uneasy--questions come to me in the night-time--and I have not my old -strength--I cannot cast them behind me as in better days." - -He glanced towards the door. - -"Keep Maisrie out," said he. "Poor lass--poor lass--I thought I was -doing well for her--but when I found her crying-- Take care she does -not come back for a minute or two----" - -"She won't come until you send for her," Vincent interposed. - -"Then I must make haste--and you must listen. The money--that I was -persuaded to take from your family--that must be paid back--to the last -farthing; and it will not be difficult--oh, no, not difficult--not much -of it has been used--Bevan and Morris will tell you--Bevan and Morris, -Pall Mall, London. And indeed I meant to do what I promised--when I -went away--but when I got ill--I could not bear the idea of being buried -out of Scotland--I was like the Swiss soldier--in the trenches--who -heard the Alphorn--something arose in my breast--and Maisrie, she was -always a biddable lass--she was just as willing to come away. But the -money--well, is there one who knows me who does not know how I have -scorned that--that delight of the ignoble and base-born?--and yet this -is different--this must be paid back--for Maisrie's sake--every -farthing--to your family. She must be no beggar--in their eyes. And you -must not tell her anything--I trust you--if I can trust you to take care -of her I can trust you in smaller things--so take a pencil -now--quick--when I remember it--and write down his address--Daniel -Thompson----" - -"Of Toronto?" said Vincent. "I know him." - -At this moment George Bethune turned his head a little on one side, and -wearily closed his eyes. Vincent, assuming that he now wished for -rest--that perhaps he might even have sunk into sleep, which was the -all-important thing for him--thought it an opportune moment to retire; -and on tiptoe made for the door. But even that noiseless movement was -sufficient to arouse those abnormally sensitive faculties; those -restless eyes held him again. - -"No--no--do not go," the old man said, in the same half-incoherent, -eager fashion. "I must have all put in order--Daniel -Thompson--banker--Toronto--he will make all that straight with your -family. For Maisrie's sake--and more than that he would do for her--and -be proud and glad to do it too. He will be her friend--and you--well, I -leave her to you--you must provide a house for her." - -"It is ready," said Vincent. - -"She will make a good wife--she will stand firm by the man she -marries--she has courage--and a loyal heart. Perhaps--perhaps I should -have seen to it before--perhaps you should have had your way at -Brighton--and she--well, she was so willing to go--that deceived me. -And there must be laughing now for her--it is natural for a young lass -to be glad and merry--not any more weeping--she is in her own land. -Why," said he, and his eyes burned still more brightly, and his speech -became more inconsecutive, though always hurried and panting. "I -remember a story--a story that a servant lass used to tell me when I was -a child--I used to go into the kitchen--when she was making the -bread--it was a story about a fine young man called Eagle--he had been -carried away to an eagle's nest when he was an infant--and his -sweetheart was called Angel. Well, I do not remember all the -adventures--I have been thinking sometimes that they must have been of -Eastern origin--Eastern origin--yes--the baker who tried to burn him in -an oven--the Arabian Nights--but no matter--at the end he found his -sweetheart--and there was a splendid wedding. And just as they were -married, a white dove flew right down the middle of the church, and -called aloud '_Kurroo, kurroo; Eagle has got his Angel now!_' I used to -imagine I could see them at the altar--and the white dove flying down -the church---- - -"Don't you think you should try to get a little rest now?" Vincent said, -persuasively. "You have arranged everything--all is put in order. But -what we want is for you to get rest and quiet, until this illness leaves -you, and you grow strong and well again." - -"Yes, yes," said the old man, quickly, "that is quite right--that is -so--for I must pay off Thompson, you know, I must pay off Thompson. -Thompson is a good fellow--and an honest Scot--but he used to talk a -little. Let him do this--for Maisrie's -sake--afterwards--afterwards--when I am well and strong again--I will -square up accounts with him. Oh, yes, very easily," he continued; and -now he began to whisper in a mysterious manner. "Listen, now--I have a -little scheme in mind--not a word to anybody--there might be some one -quick to snatch it up. It is a volume I have in mind--a volume on the -living poets of Scotland--think of that, now--a splendid subject, -surely!--the voice of the people--everyday sorrows and joys--the -minstrelsy of a whole race. There was the American book--but something -went wrong--I did not blame any one--and I was glad it was -published--Carmichael let me review it--yes, yes, there may be a chance -for me yet--I may do something yet--for auld Scotland's sake! I have -been looking into the _domus exilis Plutonia_--the doors have been wide -open--but still there may be a chance--there is some fire still burning -within. But my memory is not what it was," he went on, in a confused, -perplexed way. "I once had a good memory--an excellent memory--but now -things escape me. Yesterday--I think it was yesterday--I could not tell -whether Bob Tennant was still with us--and his verses to Allander Water -have all gone from me--all but a phrase--'How sweet to roam by -Allander'--'How sweet to roam by Allander'--no, my head is not so clear -as it ought to be----" - -"No, of course not," said Vincent, in a soothing sort of way. "How -could you expect it, with this illness? But these things will all come -back. And I'm going to help you as much as I can. When I was in New -York I heard your friend, Hugh Anstruther, deliver a speech about those -living Scotch poets, and he seemed to be well acquainted with them; I -will write to him for any information you may want. So now--now that is -all settled; and I would try to rest for a while, if I were you: that is -the main thing--the immediate thing." - -But the old man went on without heeding him, muttering to himself, as it -were: - -"Chambers's Journal--perhaps as far back as thirty years since--there's -one verse has rung in my ears all this time--but the rest is all -blank--and the name of the writer forgotten, if it ever was published -... ''Tis by Westray that she wanders ... 'Tis by Westray that she -strays ... O waft me, Heavens, to Westray ... in the spring of the young -days!' ... No, no, it cannot be Westray--Westray is too far -north--Westray?--Yet it sounds right ... ''Tis by Westray that she -wanders ... 'tis by Westray that she strays--'" - -There was a tap at the door, and the doctor appeared: a little, old, -white-haired man, of sharp and punctilious demeanour. Behind him was -the landlady, hanging back somewhat as if it were for further -instructions; so, she being there to help, Vincent thought he would go -downstairs and seek out Maisrie. He found her in the little -parlour--awaiting him. - -"What do you think, Vincent?" she said, quickly. - -"I haven't spoken to the doctor yet," he made answer. "Of course, -everyone can see that your grandfather is very ill; but if courage will -serve, who could have a better chance? And I will tell you this, -Maisrie, he is likely to have more peace of mind now. He has been -vexing himself about many things, as you guessed; and although he was -wandering a good deal while I was with him--perhaps all the time--I -could not quite make sure--still, it is wonderful how he has argued -these matters out, and how clearly you can follow his meaning. It was -about you and your future he was most troubled--in the event of anything -happening to him; and he has not been afraid to look all possibilities -in the face; he told me the doors of the _domus exilis Plutonia_ had -stood wide open before him, and I know he was not the one to be alarmed, -for himself. But about you, Maisrie: do you know that he has given you -over to me--if the worst comes to the worst? He asked me to provide a -home for you: I told him it was already there, awaiting you. You see I -have not forgotten what you said to me at Brighton; and I knew that some -day you and I should find ourselves, as we now find ourselves, face to -face--perhaps in sad circumstances, but all the more dependent on each -other----" - -"Do you think he is so very ill, Vincent?" she said: she seemed to have -no thought of herself--only of her grandfather. - -"You must see he is very ill, Maisrie--very," he answered her. "But, as -I say, if splendid courage will serve, then you may hope for the best. -And he ought to be quieter in mind now. We will hear what the doctor -has to say----" - -But at this moment there was an unwonted sound without in the still -little village--the sound of carriage-wheels on the stony street; and -presently some vehicle, itself unseen, was heard to stop in front of the -inn. In another second or so, a servant-girl opened the door of the -parlour and timidly said to Maisrie-- - -"Miss Bethune, Miss." - -"Miss Bethune?" Maisrie repeated, wondering. - -"From the Castle, Miss," the girl said, in awe-stricken tones. - -And it was curious that at such a crisis Maisrie's eyes should turn -instinctively to Vincent--as if to appeal for advice. Of course his -decision was taken on the instant. - -"Ask Miss Bethune to step this way, then," he said to the girl. - -Maisrie rose--pale a little, but absolutely self-possessed. She did not -know who this might be--perhaps the bearer of grave and harassing -tidings for her grandfather; for she had grown to fear Balloray, and all -its associations and belongings. As it turned out she had not much to -fear from this emissary. There came into the room a tall and elegant -lady of about thirty, not very pretty, but very gentle-looking, with -kind grey eyes. For a brief second she seemed embarrassed on finding a -third person present; but that passed directly; she went up to Maisrie, -and took her hand and held it, and said, in a voice so sweet and winning -that it went straight to the heart-- - -"Dr. Lenzie has told me of your trouble. I'm very, very sorry. Will -you let me help you in any way that is possible? May I send to -Edinburgh for a trained nurse to give you assistance; and in the -meantime, if you wished it, I could send along my maid to do anything -you wanted--" - -Maisrie pressed her to be seated, and tried, in rather uncertain -accents, to thank her for her exceeding kindness. For this stranger, -with the greatest tact, made no apology for her intrusion; it was no -case of the castle coming to the cottage, with acts of officious -benevolence; it was simply one woman appealing to another woman to be -allowed to help her in dire straits. Whether she knew that the old man -upstairs claimed to be the rightful owner of Balloray, whether she knew -that the beautiful pensive-eyed girl who was speaking to her had -indirectly suffered through that legal decision of generations ago, -Vincent could not at the moment guess: what was obvious was merely this -womanly act of sympathy and charity, for which Maisrie Bethune showed -herself abundantly grateful. When the doctor came down, this visitor -with the friendly eyes and the soft voice explained that, just in case -the patient should need brandy to keep up his strength, she had taken -the liberty of bringing some with her--of good quality: the resources of -the Balloray Arms being limited in that respect. As she said this she -hesitatingly blushed a little; and Vincent thought she looked really -beautiful. He recalled to himself his aunt, Lady Musselburgh; and -wondered whether she, with all her fine presence and eloquent eyes, -could look as nobly beautiful as this poor woman, who was rather plain. - -The doctor's report was on the whole encouraging; the temperature of the -patient was the least thing lower, and he was more equable in mind. - -"He appears to have been greatly pleased by your visit, sir," the little -doctor said, in a strong east-country accent, to the young man. "Very -pleased indeed. And it is just wonderful how he can reason and explain; -though I'm not so sure he'll be able to remember all he's been saying. -But now, he tells me, all his dispositions are made; he is content; -there is nothing more on his mind--except, as I gather, about some -book." - -"I know all about that," said Maisrie. "I can pacify him about that; -and I'm going upstairs directly." - -Of course she had to wait and see Miss Bethune and the doctor leave; -then she turned to Vincent. - -"Will you go out for a walk, Vincent? I have asked Mrs. MacGill to let -you have some dinner at seven." - -"Oh, don't you bother about me, Maisrie!" he said. "Can't I be of any -use to you upstairs?" - -"Not unless grandfather asks for you again--then I will send for you," -she answered. - -She was going away when he interrupted her for a moment. - -"I will come up whenever you want me," he said; and then he added: -"But--but--you know him so much better than I do, Maisrie. Do you think -we should tell him of Miss Bethune having been here?" - -"Oh, no, no, Vincent!" she said, in earnest remonstrance. "Nothing -would excite him more terribly. You know he has already been talking of -some message coming from Balloray to me--of the possibility of it--and -this would set his brain working in a hundred different directions. He -might think they were coming to take me away from him--perhaps to do me -some harm--or he might imagine that I had humbled myself before them, to -make friends with them, and that would trouble him more than anything -else: you cannot tell what wild fancies might not get into his head. So -there must not be a word said about Miss Bethune, Vincent." - -"Of course you know best, Maisrie," said he. And still he did not let -her go. What was he to say next, to detain her? It was so long since -he had heard her voice! "When you go upstairs, Maisrie, I wish you -would look at the book of ballads that is lying on the table. There are -some lines marked--you will see a bit of paper to tell you the page. Do -you know what that means? Your grandfather thought that he might not -have strength enough left to speak to me when I came; and so this was to -be a last message for me. Isn't it strange that in the face of so -serious an illness he should be thinking about a ballad; but you know -better than anyone that ballads are as real to your grandfather as the -actual things around him. And I want you to look at that message. I -have told your grandfather that he may depend on me." - -She went upstairs; he passed out into the golden glow of the afternoon. -It was not a beautiful village, this: plain, unlovely, melancholy in the -last degree; moreover, his own mind was filled with dim and dark -forebodings; so that a sort of gloom of death and separation seemed to -hang over those houses. Nor was there anything to look at, for the -distraction of thought. An English village would have had a picturesque -old church and a pretty churchyard; here there was nothing but a small -mission-house of the most dull and forbidding exterior, while, just -beyond the last of the hovels, there was a cemetery--a mound enclosed by -a stone wall. He went to the gate, and stood there a long time, with -some curious fancies and imaginings coming into his head. He seemed to -see an open grave there, and a small knot of people, himself the chief -mourner. And then, after the simple and solemn ceremony, he saw himself -leave the sad enclosure and go away back through the unlovely street, -rather fearing what lay before him. For how was he to attempt to -console the solitary girl awaiting him there in her despair and her -tears? But behold now, if there were any charity and commiseration left -in the world--if one, hitherto obdurate, would but consent to bury her -enmity in that open grave they had left--as well she might, for there -was no one to offend her now--and if she were to reach out a woman's -hand to this lonely girl, and take her with her, and shelter her, until -the time of her sorrow was over? This was a bleak, plain, commonplace -sort of a burial ground into which he was gazing: but none the less had -human hearts come away from it heavy and remorseful--remorseful when it -was too late. And if some little atonement were to be offered in the -way he had imagined--if it were the only thing now left? This girl, -sitting alone there in her desperate grief--without kindred--without -friends--without any home or habitation to turn her face to: surely her -situation was of all things possible most forlorn--surely no woman's -heart could resist that mute appeal for sympathy and association? - -As he walked slowly and aimlessly back to the inn, he began to think he -had been a little too hard on those relatives of his. Death, or even -the menace of death, was a solvent of many things: it made all -antagonisms, animosities, indignations appear so trivial and unworthy. -He could not but remember that it was not through any selfishness those -relatives of his had acted (unless some small trace of family ambition -were a minor motive): what they had done they had done, as they -imagined, to serve him; there might have been errors of judgment, but no -ill-will on their part. And now, in this terrible crisis, if he were to -write to Lady Musselburgh--write in all conciliation and kindness--and -tell her how Maisrie Bethune was situated, would she not allow her heart -to answer? She was a woman; she professed to be a Christian. And if the -worst befel, or even if the worst were threatened, surely she would come -at once to Scotland, and make what little amends were now within her -power? How many homes had she--in London, Brighton, Mendover--how many -friends, relations, well-wishers--as compared with this tragically -lonely girl, who had nothing but the wide world around her, and no one -offering her a sympathetic hand? He would write to his aunt a long and -urgent letter--appealing to her own better nature--and asking to be -allowed to summon her, by telegram, if there were need. He would even -humble and abase himself--for Maisrie's sake. - -But when he got back to the inn, he found that all these sombre -prognostications were, happily, not immediately called for. On the -contrary, Maisrie came running down to say that her grandfather had been -asleep, or apparently asleep, and that, when he woke up, he seemed much -refreshed, with his memory grown infinitely clearer. He was especially -proud that he could remember the verses about Allander Water. He wanted -Vincent to go up to him at once. - -"And you must please him, Vincent," she said, breathlessly, "by -promising to do everything to help him with the book. Promise whatever -he wishes. But be sure you don't mention that Miss Bethune was -here--don't say a word about that--or anything about Balloray." - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - A BABBLE O' GREEN FIELDS: THE END. - - -There was a wonderful vitality, especially of the brain, in this old -man; after long periods of languor and exhaustion, with low moanings and -mutterings quite unintelligible to the patient watchers, he would flame -up into something like his former self, and his speech would become -eager and voluble, and almost consecutive. It was in those intervals -that he showed himself proud of his recovered memory: again and again -they could hear him repeat the lines that for a time had baffled him-- - - 'How sweet to roam by Allander, to breathe the balmy air, - When cloudless are the summer skies, and woods and fields are - fair; - To see the skylark soaring high, and chanting on the wing, - While in yon woods near Calder Kirk the wild birds sweetly - sing.' - -He was busy with the new book--choosing and arranging; and Maisrie, as -his amanuensis, jotted down memoranda as to the poets to be included, -and the pieces most characteristic of them. For he was not to be -pacified into silence and acquiescence--in these clearer moods. There -was hurry, he said. Some one else might step in. And he cross-examined -Vincent about the quotations that Hugh Anstruther had made at the Burns' -Celebration in New York. - -"I hardly remember," Vincent answered him. "There were a good many. But -there was one piece I thought rather pathetic--I don't recall the name -of it--but it was about a little pair of shoes--the mother thinking of -her dead child." - -"What?--what?" said the old man, quickly. "Not James Smith's? Not 'The -Wee Pair o' Shoon'?" - -"Well, yes, I think that was the title," said Vincent. - -An anxious and troubled expression came into the sick man's eyes: he was -labouring with his memory--and Maisrie saw it. - -"Never mind, grandfather: never mind just now: if you want it, I'll -write to Mr. Anstruther for it. See, I will put it down in the list; and -I'll send for it; and it will be back here in plenty of time." - -"But I know it quite well!" he said, fretfully, "The last verse anyway. -'The eastlin wind blaws cauld, Jamie--the snaw's on hill and plain----'" -He repeated those two lines over and over again, with half-shut eyes; -and then all at once he went on with the remainder-- - - "'The flowers that decked my lammie's grave - Are faded noo, an' gane! - O, dinna speak! I ken she dwells - In yon fair land aboon; - But sair's the sicht that blin's my e'e-- - That wee, wee pair o' shoon.'" - - -There was a kind of proud look in his face as he finished. - -"Yes, yes; it's a fine thing to have a good memory--and I owe that to my -father--he said there never was a minute in the day that need be -wasted--you could always repeat to yourself a verse of the Psalms of -David. I think the first word of approval--I ever got from him--ye see, -Maisrie, we were brought up under strict government in those days--was -when I repeated the CXIX. Psalm--the whole twenty-two parts--with hardly -a mistake. And what a talisman to carry about with ye--on the deck of a -steamer--on Lake Ontario--in the night--with the stars overhead--then -the XLVI. Psalm comes into your mind--you are back in Scotland--you see -the small church, and the boxed-in pews--the men and women standing up -to sing--the men all in black--I wonder if they have _Ballerma_ in the -Scotch churches now--and _Drumclog_--and _New St. Ann's_--" - -He shut his eyes--those unnaturally brilliant eyes--for a second or so; -but the next second they were open and alert again. - -"The book, Maisrie--the book--are you getting on?--no delay--no -delay--in case someone should interfere. Ye've got Shairp in, haven't -ye?--the burn of Quair--up yonder--above the Minch Moor-- - - 'I heard the cushies croon, - Through the gowden afternoon, - And Quair burn singin' doon to the vale o' Tweed.' - -Well do I know the very spot where he must have written those verses. -Yes, yes; well I remember it," he continued, more absently. "But I have -had my last look. I will see it no more--no more. You, Maisrie, you -will go there--your young husband will take you there--" - -"Grandfather, we will all go there together!" said Maisrie, piteously. - -"And both of you," the old man went on, paying no attention to her, for -he was apparently gazing at some distant thing, "both of you are young, -and light of step--and light of heart, which is still better--well, -well, my lass, perhaps not so light of heart as might be at your -years--but all that will change for you--and I think when you are up at -the burn of Quair--you will find it--in your mind--to cross the Minch -Moor to Yarrow Water. Newark Castle you will see--then you will turn to -go down the Yarrow Vale--but not with any sad heart, Maisrie--I forbid -ye that--it's a beautiful place, Yarrow, though it had its tragedies and -sorrows in the olden time--and you--you are young--you have life before -you--and I tell ye it is with a light and glad heart you must go down -the Yarrow Vale. Why, lass, you'll come to Mount Benger--you'll come to -Dryhope Tower--you'll come to Altrive--and St. Mary's Loch--and the Loch -o' the Lows--and Chapel-hope--but mind ye now--if it's bad -weather--ye're not to come running away, and altogether mistaking the -place--ye'll just stop somewhere in the neighbourhood until it clears." -And then he added, in a wistful kind of way: "I once had thoughts--of -taking ye there myself, Maisrie." - -"And so you will, grandfather!" she pleaded. - -"No more--no more," he said, as if not heeding her. "And why should a -young life be clouded?--the two of them--they'll be fine company for -each other--when they're wandering--along by the side of Yarrow Water." -But here he recalled himself; and would have Maisrie sit down again to -that list; in order that the book might be pushed rapidly forward. - -It was on this same evening that Dr. Lenzie, on arriving to pay his -accustomed visit, went into the little parlour and sent for Vincent. -Vincent came downstairs. - -"Do ye see that?" said he, holding out a book that was in his hand. - -Vincent took the volume from him and glanced at the title--Recent and -Living Scottish Poets, by A. G. Murdoch. He was not in the least -astonished--but he was angry and indignant. - -"Very well," said he, "what of it? Do you mean to say you are going to -vex an old man, who may be on his death-bed, by bringing charges of -plagiarism against him? I dare say Mr. Bethune never saw the book, or, -if he has seen it, he has forgotten it." - -"I perceive ye do not understand," said the little doctor, without -taking offence. "When I came to know what undertaking it was that Mr. -Bethune had on his mind, I made sure I had either seen or heard of some -such collection; and I sent to Edinburgh; and here it is, just arrived. -Now the one thing he seems anxious about, the one that troubles him, is -getting on with this work; and it occurred to me that if I could show -him there was a similar book already published, he might cease -fretting----" - -"Cease fretting!" Vincent exclaimed, with a stare of astonishment. And -then he hesitated. "Well, you are an older man than I, and you have more -experience in these cases; but I should have said that a cruel -disappointment such as this is sure to cause would distress his mind -beyond measure. He must occupy himself with something; his brain is -incessantly working; and so long as he is talking of getting out his -book, he is at least looking forward with hope. But if you show him -this volume, it will be a crushing blow; the very thing he seems to live -for will be taken from him; he will feel injured by being anticipated, -and brood over it. Of course I have no right to speak; I am not a -relative; but ask his granddaughter--she knows him better than any -one----" - -"Perhaps you are right--perhaps you are right," said the little doctor. -"It was merely an idea of mine--thinking it would quiet him. But on -reflection I will not risk it; it may be better not to risk it." - -"In that case," Vincent struck in, promptly, "will you let me tie up the -book in paper, and will you take it away with you when you go? I mean, -that I don't wish Miss Bethune to see it. She has plenty to think of at -present: don't worry her with a trifling matter like this. It is of no -consequence to her, or to any human being, how many collections of -Scotch poems may be published--the more the merrier--so long as readers -can be found for them; but she is anxious and nervous and tired at -present--and it might surprise her, perhaps vex her, to find that this -volume had been published." - -"Oh, certainly, certainly," the doctor said, taking the failure of his -ingenuous little scheme with much equanimity. "I will put the book into -that sideboard drawer until I come down; and then I can take it away -with me without her or any one having seen it." - -The next day brought Vincent an unexpected and welcome surprise. He had -been out-of-doors for a brief breathing-space, and was returning to the -inn, when he saw in the distance, coming down the Cupar road, a -waggonette and pair. He seemed somehow to recognise the two figures -seated in the carriage; looked again; at last made certain--they were -Lord and Lady Musselburgh. Of course, in such circumstances, when they -drove up to the door of the inn, there was no great joyfulness of -greeting; only a few customary questions, and professions of hope for -the best; but at the same time, Vincent, who was touched by this -friendly act, could not help saying-- - -"Well, this is like you, aunt." - -"Oh, your letter was too much for me, Vin," she said, with frank good -nature. "I did not wait for the telegram--I trust there will be no need -to telegraph for anybody. But I don't want you to give me any credit. -I want to appear as I am; and I've always told you I'm a selfish -woman--the generous creature is Hubert here, who insisted on coming all -this distance with me. And now I want you to understand the full extent -of my selfishness. You are doing no good here--of course. You are -probably in the way. But all your affairs in London will be compromised -if you remain here: ----'s private secretary cannot be absent at such a -time----" - -"There's St. John!" Vincent exclaimed, referring to his colleague in the -office that had been put in commission. - -"He's not in the House," rejoined this practical and very charming -person; "and the short and the long of it is that you must get back to -London at once. That is part of my scheme; the other is, that I shall -take your place. I shall be of more use. You say there is no immediate -danger. So much the better. Go away back to your post. If anything -should happen--I could be of more service than you. What could you do? -Miss Bethune could not return to London with you--and go into lodgings -of your choosing. I will look after her--if she will allow me--if she -will let bygones be bygones. I will ask her pardon, or do anything; but -I don't suppose she is thinking of that at present. You go back with -Hubert and leave me here. I can shift for myself." - -"I think it is a sensible arrangement," her husband said, idly looking -around at the rather shabby furniture. - -"It is very kind of you, aunt," Vincent said--"and very far from being -selfish. But it is impossible. I must remain here. I have duties here -as well as elsewhere--perhaps more important in my own sight. -But--but--now that you are here--" - -"Oh, yes, I'll stay," said she good-naturedly. "Well, Hubert, it is you -who are packed off: I suppose you can return to Edinburgh to-night. I -brought a few things with me, Vincent, in case I should be wanted: will -you fetch them in from the waggonette? Still, I wish I could persuade -you to go back to London!" - -And in this manner it was that Lady Musselburgh became installed in the -inn, making some little excuses to Maisrie. She and her husband had -been in the neighbourhood. They had heard of Mr. Bethune's serious -illness, and of Vincent's having come down from town. Could she be of -any help? And so forth. Maisrie thanked her, of course; but did not -take much notice of her; the girl just then having many things in her -mind. For her grandfather's delirium was at times more pronounced now; -and in these paroxysms she alone could soothe him. - -Lady Musselburgh, indeed, rather hung back from entering the sick-room, -without stating her reasons to anyone. On every occasion that she saw -Maisrie she was most kind and considerate, and solicitous about the girl -herself; but she betrayed no great concern about the old man, further -than by making the usual enquiries. When Vincent suggested to her that, -if she did not go into the room and see Mr. Bethune, his granddaughter -might think it strange, she said in reply-- - -"But he won't remember me, Vin. We never met but at Henley." - -"He remembers everything that ever happened to him," was the answer. -"His memory is wonderful. And perhaps--afterwards--you may wish you had -said a civil word or two." - -"Oh, very well," she said. "Whatever you think right. Will you come -with me now?" - -She seemed a little apprehensive--she did not say why. They went -upstairs together. The door of the sick-room was open. Maisrie, when -she perceived this visitor, rose from her seat by the bedside; but Lady -Musselburgh motioned her to keep her place, while she remained standing -in the middle of the room, waiting to see if Mr. Bethune would take any -notice of her. But his eyes were turned away; and he was muttering to -himself almost inaudibly--they could only catch a word here and -there--Galashiels--Torwoodlee--Selkirk--Jedburgh--no doubt he was going -over in his own mind those scenes of his youth. Then Maisrie said, very -gently-- - -"Grandfather!" - -He turned his eyes, and they rested on the stranger for a second or so, -with a curiously puzzled expression. She went forward to the bedside. - -"I'm afraid you don't remember me," said she, diffidently. "It was at -Henley we met----" - -"I remember you very well, madam, very well indeed," said he, receiving -her with a sort of old-fashioned and ceremonious politeness--as far as -the wasted frame and poor wandering wits would allow. "I am sorry--to -have to welcome you--to so poor a house--these are altered conditions -truly--" He was still looking curiously at her. "Yes, yes, I remember -you well, madam--and--and I will not fail to send you my monograph on -the--the Beatons of the Western Isles--I will not fail to send it--but -if ye will forgive me--my memory is so treacherous--will you forgive me, -madam, if your name has escaped me for the moment--" - -"This is Lady Musselburgh, grandfather," Maisrie interposed, quietly. - -"Musselburgh--Musselburgh," he said; and then he went on, amid the -pauses of his laborious breathing: "Ah, yes--your husband, madam, is a -fine young man--and a good Scot--audacious, intrepid, and -gallant--perhaps a little cynical in public affairs--great measures want -earnest convictions--it may be that his lot has fallen in over-pleasant -places--and he has chosen the easier path. Well, why not?--why not? -There are some whose fate it is to--to fight a hard fight; while -others--others find nothing but smoothness and peace--let them thank -Heaven for it--and enjoy it. I hope he will hold on his way with a -noble cheerfulness--despising the envy of enemies--a noble -cheerfulness--I hope it may be his always--indeed, I know none deserving -of better fortune." - -It was now abundantly clear to Lady Musselburgh that he did not in any -way associate her with the arrangement that had been effected by George -Morris; and she was much relieved. - -"I mustn't disturb you any longer," said she. "Indeed, I only came along -to see if I could be of any assistance to Miss Bethune. I hear she has -been doing far too much. Now that is very unwise; for when you are -getting better, and need constant care, then she will find herself quite -worn out." - -"Yes, yes, that is right," said he, "I wish ye would persuade her--take -her in hand--make her look after herself--but she has a will of her own, -the creature--a slim bit of a lass, ye might think--but it's the spirit -that endures--shining clear--clearer and clearer in dark times of -trouble. And she--she has had her own troubles--and suffering--but -never a word of complaining--obedient--willing--ready at all times and -seasons--loyal--dutiful--and brave. What more could I say of her?--what -more? Sometimes I have thought to myself--there was the--the courage of -a man in that slim bit creature--and the gentleness of all womankind as -well--" - -"Grandfather," said Maisrie, "you mustn't talk any more now--you are -keeping Lady Musselburgh waiting." - -"But, madam," he continued, not heeding the girl at all, "you must -remember her descent--she comes of an inflexible race--she is of pure -blood--it is the thoroughbred that holds on till its heart breaks in -two. How could she help being proud-spirited, and silent in endurance, -and brave? Perhaps you may know that it was of one of her ancestors--as -he lay in his grave--that some one said--'There lies one who never -feared the face of man,'--a noble inscription for a tombstone--'who -never feared the face of man'--" - -Maisrie leant over and said to him, quite gently-- - -"Grandfather, you are forgetting; it was of John Knox that was said." - -He looked at her doubtfully; and then seemed to be puzzling with his own -memory. - -"Perhaps--perhaps," he said; and then he added, quite humbly, "I beg -your pardon for misleading you, madam--I did not intend it--but I forget -things--and Maisrie is generally right. John Knox?--perhaps--perhaps--I -thought it was a Beaton or a Bethune--but I cannot remember which of -them--perhaps she is right--" - -He closed his eyes, and turned away a little, as if to debate this -question with himself--or perhaps to seek some rest: seeing which Lady -Musselburgh and Vincent quietly withdrew, and went downstairs. "Poor old -man!" said she, when they were in the small parlour. "There is a great -change in him, entirely apart from his illness. Even in manner he is -not nearly so--so grandiose as he used to be: sometimes he was quite -humble. And as for her--my heart bleeds for her. I will do anything -you like, Vin--if she will accept. What is more, I will confess to you -now that, as far as she is concerned, I am convinced I was quite wrong. -You were right: your eyes were wide open, after all. How can one judge -of any one by an afternoon and an evening at Henley? That was my only -chance. Then perhaps there was a little excuse for prejudice--there was -the association--. But we'll say no more about that. I confess I was -wrong; you were right. That girl is as true as steel. If she gives her -husband half the devotion she bestows on that old man, he'll do very -well." She looked at her nephew. Then she said suddenly: "Vin, you -don't say a word. I believe you have never forgiven me one bit!" - -"Oh, yes, I have, aunt," he made answer, uneasily. "But there are some -things that need never have happened." - -She regarded him again. - -"Vin, you are too unforgiving! But can I not make up? See, now! If -Miss Bethune is left alone--I should like to call her Maisrie, if she -will let me: indeed I should: but it is so difficult to get any nearer -her--she is all wrapped up in her anxiety about her grandfather: well, -if she is left alone, I will take her with me. I will take her to -London. She will stay with me; there will be a home for her there, at -any rate; and we may become better friends. Oh, I know we shall; it is -only that at present she cares for nothing, and thinks of nothing, but -her duty towards her grandfather. I intend to be very kind to her--I -intend to win her affection if I can--" - -"And I shall be very grateful to you, aunt," said he. "But it is hardly -time yet to speak of such a thing: Mr. Bethune has always had a -wonderful constitution." - -"Did you notice how reticent the doctor was this morning?" she -asked,--and he did not answer. - -But at least one thing that Lady Musselburgh had observed and mentioned -was true: much, if not all, of the old grandiose manner had gone away -from George Bethune. If on rare occasions some flash of defiance flamed -up--as if he were still face to face with adversity and disappointment, -and determined not to abate one jot of his pride and independence--he -was ordinarily quite gentle and even humble, especially towards Maisrie. -On this same evening he said-- - -"Margaret" (as he sometimes called her now, forgetting) "will ye read to -me the XLVI. Psalm?" - -She went and got the book and began-- - - "God is our refuge and our strength, - In straits a present aid; - Therefore, although the earth remove, - We will not be afraid: - Though hills amidst the sea be cast; - Though waters roaring make, - And troubled be; yea, though the hills - By swelling seas do shake. - - "A river is, whose streams do glad - The city of our God; - The holy place, wherein the Lord - Most high hath his abode. - God in the midst of her doth dwell; - Nothing shall her remove: - The Lord to her our helper will, - And that right early, prove." - - -But when she had got so far, he said-- - -"Margaret--I hope ye will not take it ill--if I interrupt ye--it is no -unkindness I mean, my lass--but, ye see, ye've got the English speech, -as is natural--and I was trying to think how my father used to read out -the Psalm at family worship--and ye've not got the Scotch way--nor the -strong emphasis--how could ye?--how could ye? Ye'll not take it ill," -he went on, with the most piteous concern visible in his face--"ye'll -not think it's any unkindness----" - -"No, no, no, grandfather!" she said. "Of course not. Shall I ask Mrs. -MacGill to come up, to read to you in the Scotch way?" - -"No, no one but you, Maisrie--no one but you--perhaps if you take the -CXXVI. Psalm--'When Sion's bondage God turned back, as men that dreamed -were we'--I mind, they used to sing that to the tune of -_Kilmarnock_--and the young women's voices sounded beautiful. But -you're not vexed, Maisrie!--for I did not mean any unkindness to ye, my -dear----" - -"No, no, grandfather," she said; and she turned to this other Psalm, and -read it to him; and even after that it was some time before she could -assure him that she had not been in the least hurt. - -Two more of those long and anxious days went by; the fever waxing and -waning by turns; but all the time the strength of that once powerful -frame was slowly ebbing away. For one thing, his mind was well content. -He had no more anxiety about Maisrie; he appeared to regard her future -as well assured. He lay quietly murmuring to himself; and they could -make out, from chance sentences here and there, that he was going over -his boyhood's days again--bird's-nesting in the spring woods, making -swaying seats out of the shelving branches of the beeches, guddling for -trout in the small hill burns. An old refrain seemed to haunt him-- - - 'Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, - And O to be lying beyond thee: - O sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep, - That's laid in the bed beyond thee.' - -'_Die Voegelein schweigen im Walde_': that phrase also returned again -and again. And then he would go back to his school-days, and tell -Maisrie about a little patch of garden that had been given all to -himself; how he had watched the yellow spears of the crocuses pierce the -dry earth, and the green buds begin to show on the currant-bushes; how -he had planted scarlet-runners, and stuck the wands in, and trained the -young shoots; how he had waited for the big red globes of the peonies to -unroll; how he had white monkshood, and four distinct colours of -columbine. Then his pets; his diversions; his terrible adventures--half -drowned in a mill-dam--lost in a snowstorm on Laidlaw moor--the horrors -of a certain churchyard which he had sometimes to pass, alone, on the -dark winter evenings. Maisrie did not seek to interrupt him. There was -no agitation in these wandering reminiscences. Nay, they seemed to -soothe him; and sometimes he sank into an altogether dozing state. - -"Vincent," said Lady Musselburgh, when these two happened to find -themselves together, in the room below, "have you no authority over that -girl? She is killing herself!" - -"It is no use remonstrating," said he. "She knows what the doctor has -not dared to tell her. She sees that her grandfather is so weak he may -slip away at any moment, without a word or a sign." - -But on the evening of this second day, the old man, with such remnant of -his former resolution and defiance as still clung to him, seemed to try -to shake off this fatal lethargy--if only to say farewell. And in this -last hour or so of his life, the spectacle that George Bethune presented -was no unworthy one. Death, or the approach of death, which ennobles -even the poorest and the meanest, was now dealing with this man; and all -the husks and histrionic integuments that had obscured or hidden his -true nature seemed to fall away from him. He stood out himself--no -pressure of poverty distorting his mind--no hopeless regrets embittering -his soul. It was Scotland he thought of. In those last minutes and -moments, the deepest passion of his heart--an intense and proud love of -his native land--burned pure and strong and clear; and if he showed any -anxiety at all, it was merely that Maisrie, who was a kind of stranger, -should form a liking for this country to which she, too, in a measure, -belonged--that she should see it under advantageous conditions--that she -should think of all that had been said of those hills and vales, and -endow them with that added charm. - -"But I do not fear," he said (his eyes, with some brilliancy still left -in them, fixed on her, his voice low and panting). "You have an -inheritance, Maisrie--it is in your blood--a sympathy--an -insight--Scotland claims you--as one of her own. I knew that -when--when--you used to play the Scotch airs for me--the trembling -string, that made the soul tremble too--'The sun shines bright in -France'--'The Lowlands o' Holland, that twined my love and me'--it was -Scotch blood that made them thrill. Ye'll not be disappointed, -Margaret--ye'll understand--when ye get to Yarrow--and Ettrick -Water--and the murmur of the Tweed. I meant--to have taken ye -myself--but it was not to be--ye'll have younger and happier -guidance--as is but natural--I--I wish ye both well. And--and I would -like ye--to go in the spring-time, Maisrie--and--and if ye could find -out William Motherwell's grave--I have forgotten where it is--my memory -is not what it used to be--but if ye could find out Motherwell's -grave--ye might put a handful of primroses on it--for the sake of--of -_Jeanie Morrison_." - -He relapsed into silence; his breathing grew more laboured--and also -feebler; it was evident to those standing by that the end was not far -off now. Maisrie sate holding his hand in hers; the fountain of her -tears all dried up; her tragic grief seemed to have turned her to stone. -Even those spring days of which he had spoken--when she would have her -young husband by her side--they would want something. Her grandfather -had been kind to her; and they had been through many years together. - -He lay thus for nearly half-an-hour, the tide of life slowly receding. -He made but one final effort to speak--nay, for a second, it seemed as -if he would raise his head to give effect to his last proud -protestation. - -"Maisrie--Maisrie--they never saw me cowed--never once! I met--ill -fortune--or good--face to face ... I held--by the watchword--of our -house--Stand--Fast--Craig-Royston! ..." - -It was his last breath. And so, with a lie on his lips, but with none -in his heart, old George Bethune passed away: passed away from a world -that had perhaps understood him but none too well. - - - - - THE END. - - - - - LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, - STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - NOVELS BY WILLIAM BLACK. - - _Crown 8vo. 6s. each._ - -THE NEW PRINCE FORTUNATUS. -IN FAR LOCHABER. -THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A HOUSE-BOAT. -A DAUGHTER OF HETH. -KILMENY. -THREE FEATHERS. -LADY SILVERDALE'S SWEETHEART. -IN SILK ATTIRE. -SUNRISE. -THE PENANCE OF JOHN LOGAN. - - SAMPSON LOW AND CO., LIMITED, LONDON. - - -A PRINCESS OF THULE. -THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. -THE MAID OF KILLEENA. -MADCAP VIOLET. -GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY. -MACLEOD OF DARE. -WHITE WINGS. -THE BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. -SHANDON BELLS. -YOLANDE. -JUDITH SHAKESPEARE. -THE WISE WOMEN OF INVERNESS. -WHITE HEATHER. -SABINA ZEMBRA. - - MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON! -(VOLUME III) *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42731 - -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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