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diff --git a/43442-8.txt b/43442-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ca63984..0000000 --- a/43442-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,21147 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Golden Butterfly, by Walter Besant and James Rice - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Golden Butterfly - -Author: Walter Besant - James Rice - -Release Date: August 10, 2013 [EBook #43442] -[Last updated: February 16, 2015] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY *** - - - - -Produced by sp1nd and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected -without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have -been retained as printed. Words printed in italics are noted with -underscores: _italics_. The Table of Contents was not present in -the original text and has been produced for the reader's convenience. - - - - -THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY - - -BY - -WALTER BESANT AND JAMES RICE - - -NEW YORK -R. F. FENNO & COMPANY -9 AND 11 EAST 16TH STREET - - - - -TO - -_EDMUND YATES_, - -EDITOR OF "THE WORLD," -IN WHICH PAPER "THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY" -WAS FIRST PUBLISHED, - -This Story - -IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHORS. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -The Golden Butterfly, which gives a name to this novel, was seen by an -English traveller, two years ago, preserved as a curiosity in a mining -city near Sacramento, where it probably still remains. This curious -freak of Nature is not therefore an invention of our own. To the same -traveller--Mr. Edgar Besant--we are indebted for the description on -which is based our account of Empire City. - -The striking of oil in Canada in the manner described by Gilead P. -Beck was accomplished--with the waste of millions of gallons of the -oil, for want of casks and buckets to receive it, and with the result -of a promise of almost boundless wealth--by a man named Shaw, some ten -years ago. Shaw speculated, we believe; lost his money, and died in -poverty. - -Names of great living poets and writers have been used in this book in -connection with a supposed literary banquet. A critic has expressed -surprise that we have allowed Gilead Beck's failure to appreciate -Browning to stand as if it were our own. Is a writer of fiction to -stop the action of his story in order to explain that it is his -character's opinion and not his own, that he states? And it surely is -not asking too much to demand of a critic that he should consider -first of all the consistency of a character's actions or speeches. -Gilead Beck, a man of no education and little reading, but of -considerable shrewdness, finds Browning unintelligible and harsh. What -other verdict could be expected if the whole of Empire City in its -palmiest days had been canvassed? - -Moreover, we have never, even from that great writer's most ardent -admirers, heard an opinion that he is either easy to read, or musical. -The compliments which Mr. Beck paid to the guests who honoured his -banquet are of course worded just as he delivered them. - -Gilead Beck's experiences as an editor are taken--with a little -dressing--from the actual experiences of a living Canadian journalist. - -From their Virginian home Jack Dunquerque and Phillis his wife send -greetings to those who have already followed their fortunes. She only -wishes us to add that Mr. Abraham Dyson was right, and that the Coping -Stone of every woman's education is Love. Most people know this, she -says, from reading: but she never did read; and the real happiness is -to find it out for yourself. - - W. B. - J. R. - - _March, 1877._ - - - - - PROLOGUE - CHAPTER I. - CHAPTER II. - CHAPTER III. - CHAPTER IV. - CHAPTER V. - CHAPTER VI. - CHAPTER VII. - CHAPTER VIII. - CHAPTER IX. - CHAPTER X. - CHAPTER XI. - CHAPTER XII. - CHAPTER XIII. - CHAPTER XIV. - CHAPTER XV. - CHAPTER XVI. - CHAPTER XVII. - CHAPTER XVIII. - CHAPTER XIX. - CHAPTER XX. - CHAPTER XXI. - CHAPTER XXII. - CHAPTER XXIII. - CHAPTER XXIV. - CHAPTER XXV. - CHAPTER XXVI. - CHAPTER XXVII. - CHAPTER XXVIII. - CHAPTER XXIX. - CHAPTER XXX. - CHAPTER XXXI. - CHAPTER XXXII. - CHAPTER XXXIII. - CHAPTER XXXIV. - CHAPTER XXXV. - CHAPTER XXXVI. - CHAPTER XXXVII. - CHAPTER XXXVIII. - CHAPTER XXXIX. - CHAPTER XL. - CHAPTER XLI. - CHAPTER XLII. - CHAPTER XLIII. - CHAPTER XLIV. - CHAPTER XLV. - CHAPTER THE LAST. - - - - -THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. - - - - -PROLOGUE. - - -I. - -"What do you think, chief?" - -The speaker, who was leading by a half a length, turned in his saddle -and looked at his companion. - -"Push on," growled the chief, who was a man of few words. - -"If you were not so intolerably conceited about the value of your -words--hang it, man, you are not the Poet Laureate!--you might give -your reasons why we should not camp where we are. The sun will be down -in two hours; the way is long, the wind is cold, or will be soon. This -pilgrim has tightened his belt to stave off the gnawing at his -stomach; here is running water, here is wood, here is everything -calculated to charm the poetic mind even of Captain Ladds----" - -"Road!" interrupted his fellow-traveller, pointing along the track -marked more by deep old wheel-ruts, grown over with grass, than by any -evidences of engineering skill. "Roads lead to places; places have -beds; beds are warmer than grass--no rattlesnakes in beds; miners in -hotels--amusing fellows, miners." - -"If ever I go out again after buffaloes, or bear, or mountain-deer, or -any other game whatever which this great continent offers, with a -monosyllabic man, may I be condemned to another two months of buffalo -steak without Worcester sauce, such as I have had already; may I be -poisoned with bad Bourbon whisky; may I never again see the sweet -shady side of Pall Mall; may I----" - -Here he stopped suddenly, for want of imagination to complete the -curse. - -The first speaker was a young man of four and twenty--the age which is -to my sex what eighteen is to the other, because at four and twenty -youth and manhood meet. He of four and twenty is yet a youth, inasmuch -as women are still angels; every dinner is a feast, every man of -higher rank is a demigod, and every book is true. He is a man, -inasmuch as he has the firm step of manhood, he has passed through his -calf-love, he knows what claret means, and his heart is set upon the -things for which boys care nothing. He is a youth, because he can -still play a game of football and rejoice amazingly in a boat-race; he -is a man, because he knows that these things belong to the past, and -that to concern one's self seriously with athletics, when you can no -longer be an athlete in the games, is to put yourself on the level of -a rowing coach or the athletic critic of a sporting paper. - -Being only four and twenty, the speaker was in high spirits. He was -also hungry. He was always both. What has life better to offer than a -continual flow of animal spirits and a perpetual appetite? He was a -tall, slight, and perhaps rather a weedy youth, a little too long of -leg, a little too narrow in the beam, a little spare about the -shoulders; but a youth of a ruddy and a cheerful countenance. To say -that the lines of his face were never set to gravity would be too -much, because I defy any man to laugh when he is sleeping, eating, or -drinking. At all other times this young man was ready to laugh without -stopping. Not a foolish cackle of idiotic vacuity such as may be heard -in Earlswood asylum or at a tea-party to meet the curate, but a -cheerful bubble of mirth and good-humour, proof that the spirit within -took everything joyously, seeing in every misadventure its humorous -side, and in every privation its absurdity. - -The other who rode beside him was some years older at least. A man of -thirty-five, or perhaps more; a man with a hatchet-face--nose and -forehead in one straight line; long chin and long upper lip in -another; face red with health as well as bronzed with the sun--a good -honest face, supernaturally grave, grave beyond all understanding; -lips that were always tightly closed; eyes which sometimes sparkled in -response to some genial thought, or bubbled over at some joke of his -companion, but which, as a rule, were like gimlets for sternness, so -that strangers, especially stranger servants--the nigger of Jamaica, -the guileless Hindoo of his Indian station, and other members of the -inferior human brotherhood--trembled exceedingly when they met those -eyes. Captain Ladds was accordingly well served, as cold, reserved men -generally are. Mankind takes everything unknown _pro terribili_, for -something dreadful, and until we learn to know a man, and think we -know him, he is to be treated with the respect due to a possible -enemy. _Hostis_ means a stranger, and it is for strangers that we keep -our brickbats. - -People who knew Ladds laughed at this reputation. They said the -gallant captain was a humbug; they pretended that he was as gentle as -a turtle-dove; beneath those keen eyes, they said, and behind that -sharp hatchet-face, lurked the most amiable of dispositions. At any -rate, Ladds was never known to thrash a native servant, or to swear -more than is becoming and needful at a syce, while his hatchet-face -had been more than once detected in the very act of looking as soft -and tender as a young mother's over her first-born. The name of this -cavalier was short and simple. It was Thomas Ladds. His intimate -friends called him Tommy. - -They were in California, and were not buffalo-hunting now, because -there is not a buffalo within five hundred miles of Sacramento. Their -buffalo-hunting was over, having been accompanied by such small -hardships as have been already alluded to. They rode along a track -which was as much like a road as Richmond Park is like the Forest of -Arden. They were mounted on a pair of small nervous mustangs; their -saddles were the Mexican saddles used in the country, in front of -which was the never-failing horn. Round this was wound the horsehair -lariat, which serves the Western Nimrod for lassoing by day, and for -keeping off snakes at night, no snake having ever been known to cross -this barrier of bristly horsehair. You might as well expect a burgling -coolie, smeared with oil, and naked, to effect his escape by crawling -through a hedge of prickly pear. Also, because they were in a foreign -land, and wished to be in harmony with its institutions, they wore -immense steel spurs, inlaid with silver filigree, and furnished with -"lobs" attached to them, which jangled and danced to make melody, just -as if they formed part of an illustration to a Christmas book. Boots -of course, they wore, and the artistic instinct which, a year before, -had converted the younger man into a thing of beauty and a joy for the -whole Park in the afternoon, now impelled him to assume a _cummerbund_ -of scarlet silk, with white-tasselled fringes, the like of which, -perhaps, had never before been seen on the back of a Californian -mustang. His companion was less ornate in his personal appearance. -Both men carried guns, and if a search had been made, a revolver would -have been found either hidden in the belt of each or carried _perdu_ -in the trousers-pocket. In these days of Pacific Railways and -scampering Globe Trotters, one does not want to parade the revolver; -but there are dark places on the earth, from the traveller's as well -as from the missionary's point of view, where it would be well to have -both bowie and Derringer ready to hand. On the American continent the -wandering lamb sometimes has to lie down with the leopard, the -harmless gazelle to journey side by side with the cheetah, and the asp -may here and there pretend to play innocently over the hole of the -cockatrice. - -Behind the leaders followed a little troop of three, consisting of one -English servant and two "greasers." The latter were dressed in plain -unpretending costume of flannel shirt, boots, and rough trousers. -Behind each hung his rifle. The English servant was dressed like his -master, but more so, his spurs being heavier, the pattern of his -check-shirt being larger, his saddle bigger; only for the silk -cummerbund he wore a leather strap, the last symbol of the honourable -condition of dependence. He rode in advance of the greasers, whom he -held in contempt, and some thirty yards behind the leaders. The -Mexicans rode in silence; smoking cigarettes perpetually. Sometimes -they looked to their guns, or they told a story, or one would sing a -snatch of a song in a low voice; mostly they were grave and -thoughtful, though what a greaser thinks about has never yet been -ascertained. - -The country was so far in the Far West that the Sierra Nevada lay to -the east. It was a rich and beautiful country: there were park-like -tracts--supposing the park to be of a primitive and early -settlement-kind--stretching out to the left. These were dotted with -white oaks. To the right rose the sloping sides of a hill, which were -covered with the brush-wood called the chaparelle, in which grew the -manzanita and the scrub-oak, with an occasional cedar pine, not in the -least like the cedars of Lebanon and Clapham Common. Hanging about in -the jungle or stretching its arms along the side of the dry water -course which ran at the traveller's feet beside the road was the wild -vine loaded with its small and pretty grapes now ripe. Nature, in -inventing the wild grape, has been as generous as in her gift of the -sloe. It is a fruit of which an American once observed that it was -calculated to develop the generosity of a man's nature, "because," he -explained, "you would rather give it to your neighbour than eat it -yourself." - -The travellers were low down on the western slopes of the Sierra; they -were in the midst of dales and glades--cañons and gulches, of perfect -loveliness, shut in by mountains which rose over and behind them like -friendly giants guarding a troop of sleeping maidens. Pelion was piled -on Ossa as peak after peak rose higher, all clad with pine and cedar, -receding farther and farther, till peaks became points, and ridges -became sharp edges. - -It was autumn, and there were dry beds, which had in the spring been -rivulets flowing full and clear from the snowy sides of the higher -slopes; yet among them lingered the flowers of April upon the shrubs, -and the colours of the fading leaves mingled with the hues of the -autumn berries. - -A sudden turn in the winding road brought the foremost riders upon a -change in the appearance of the country. Below them to the left -stretched a broad open space, where the ground had been not only -cleared of whatever jungle once grew upon it, but also turned over. -They looked upon the site of one of the earliest surface-mining -grounds. The shingle and gravel stood about in heaps; the gullies and -ditches formed by the miners ran up and down the face of the country -like the wrinkles in the cheek of a baby monkey; old pits, not deep -enough to kill, but warranted to maim and disable, lurked like -man-traps in the open; the old wooden aqueducts, run up by the miners -in the year '52, were still standing where they were abandoned by the -"pioneers;" here and there lay about old washing-pans, rusty and -broken, old cradles, and bits of rusty metal which had once belonged -to shovels. These relics and signs of bygone gatherings of men were -sufficiently dreary in themselves, but at intervals there stood the -ruins of a log-house, or a heap which had once been a cottage built of -mud. Palestine itself has no more striking picture of desolation and -wreck than a deserted surface-mine. - -They drew rein and looked in silence. Presently they became aware of -the presence of life. Right in the foreground, about two hundred yards -before them, there advanced a procession of two. The leader of the -show, so to speak, was a man. He was running. He was running so hard, -that anybody could see his primary object was speed. After him, with -heavy stride, seeming to be in no kind of hurry, and yet covering the -ground at a much greater rate than the man, there came a bear--a real -old grisly. A bear who was "shadowing" the man and meant claws. A bear -who had an insult to avenge, and was resolved to go on with the affair -until he had avenged it. A bear, too, who had his enemy in the open, -where there was nothing to stop him, and no refuge for his victim but -the planks of a ruined log-house, could he find one. - -Both men, without a word, got their rifles ready. The younger threw -the reins of his horse to his companion and dismounted. - -Then he stood still and watched. - -The most exhilarating thing in the whole world is allowed to be a -hunt. No greater pleasure in life than that of the Shekarry, -especially if he be after big game. On this occasion the keenness of -the sport was perhaps intensified to him who ran, by the reflection -that the customary position of things was reversed. No longer did he -hunt the bear; the bear hunted _him_. No longer did he warily follow -up the game; the game boldly followed _him_. No joyous sound of horns -cheered on the hunter: no shout, such as those which inspirit the fox -and put fresh vigour into the hare--not even the short eager bark of -the hounds, at the sound of which Reynard begins to think how many of -his hundred turns are left. It was a silent chase. The bear, who -represented in himself the field--men in scarlet, ladies, master, -pack, and everything--set to work in a cold unsympathetic way, -infinitely more distressing to a nervous creature than the cheerful -ringing of a whole field. To hunt in silence would be hard for any -man; to be hunted in silence is intolerable. - -Grisly held his head down and wagged it from side to side, while his -great silent paws rapidly cleared the ground and lessened the -distance. - -"Tommy," whispered the young fellow, "I can cover him now." - -"Wait, Jack. Don't miss. Give Grisly two minutes more. Gad! how the -fellow scuds!" - -Tommy, you see, obeyed the instinct of nature. He loved the hunt: -if not to hunt actively, to witness a hunt. It is the same feeling -which crowds the benches at a bullfight in Spain. It was the same -feeling which lit up the faces in the Coliseum when Hermann, formerly -of the Danube, prisoner, taken red-handed in revolt, and therefore -_moriturus_, performed with vigour, sympathy, and spirit the _rôle_ of -Actĉon, ending, as we all know, in a splendid chase by bloodhounds; -after which the poor Teuton, maddened by his long flight and exhausted -by his desperate resistance, was torn to pieces, fighting to the end -with a rage past all acting. It is our modern pleasure to read of pain -and suffering. Those were the really pleasant days to the Roman ladies -when they actually witnessed living agony. - -"Give Grisly two minutes," said Captain Ladds. - -By this time the rest of the party had come up, and were watching the -movements of man and bear. In the plain stood the framework of a -ruined wooden house. Man made for log-house. Bear, without any -apparent effort, but just to show that he saw the dodge, and meant -that it should not succeed, put on a spurt, and the distance between -them lessened every moment. Fifty yards; forty yards. Man looked round -over his shoulder. The log-house was a good two hundred yards ahead. -He hesitated; seemed to stop for a moment. Bear diminished the space -by a good dozen yards--and then man doubled. - -"Getting pumped," said Ladds the critical. Then he too dismounted, and -stood beside the younger man, giving the reins of both horses to one -of the Mexicans. "Mustn't let Grisly claw the poor devil," he -murmured. - -"Let me bring him down, Tommy." - -"Bring him down, young un." - -The greasers looked on and laughed. It would have been to them a -pleasant termination to the "play" had Bruin clawed the man. Neither -hunter nor quarry saw the party clustered together on the rising -ground on which the track ran. Man saw nothing but the ground over -which he flew; bear saw nothing but man before him. The doubling -manoeuvre was, however, the one thing needed to bring Grisly within -easy reach. Faster flew the man, but it was the last flight of -despair; had the others been near enough they would have seen the cold -drops of agony standing on his forehead; they would have caught his -panting breath, they would have heard his muttered prayer. - -"Let him have it!" growled Ladds. - -It was time. Grisly, swinging along with leisurely step, rolling his -great head from side to side in time with the cadence of his -footfall--one roll to every half-dozen strides, like a fat German over -a _trois-temps_ waltz, suddenly lifted his face, and roared. Then -the man shrieked: then the bear stopped, and raised himself for a -moment, pawing in the air; then he dropped again, and rushed with -quickened step upon his foe; then--but then--ping! one shot. It has -struck Grisly in the shoulder; he stops with a roar. - -"Good, young un!" said Ladds, bringing piece to shoulder. This time -Grisly roars no more. He rolls over. He is shot to the heart, and is -dead. - -The other participator in this _chasse_ of two heard the crack of the -rifles. His senses were growing dazed with fear; he did not stop, he -ran on still, but with trembling knees and outstretched hands; and -when he came to a heap of shingle and sand--one of those left over -from the old surface-mines--he fell headlong on the pile with a cry, -and could not rise. The two who shot the bear ran across the -ground--he lay almost at their feet--to secure their prey. After them, -at a leisurely pace, strode John, the servant. The greasers stayed -behind and laughed. - -"Grisly's dead," said Tommy, pulling out his knife. "Steak?" - -"No; skin," cried the younger. "Let me take his skin. John, we will -have the beast skinned. You can get some steaks cut. Where is the -man?" - -They found him lying on his face, unable to move. - -"Now, old man," said the young fellow cheerfully, "might as well sit -up, you know, if you can't stand. Bruin's gone to the happy -hunting-grounds." - -The man sat up, as desired, and tried to take a comprehensive view of -the position. - -Jack handed him a flask, from which he took a long pull. Then he got -up, and somewhat ostentatiously began to smooth down the legs of his -trousers. - -He was a thin man, about five and forty years of age; he wore an -irregular and patchy kind of beard, which flourished exceedingly on -certain square half-inches of chin and cheek, and was as thin as grass -at Aden on the intervening spaces. He had no boots; but a sort of -moccasins, the lightness of which enabled him to show his heels to the -bear for so long a time. His trousers might have been of a rough -tweed, or they might have been black cloth, because grease, many -drenchings, the buffeting of years, and the holes into which they were -worn, had long deprived them of their original colour and brilliancy. -Above the trousers he wore a tattered flannel shirt, the right arm of -which, nearly torn to pieces, revealed a tattooed limb, which was -strong although thin; the buttons had long ago vanished from the front -of the garment; thorns picturesquely replaced them. He wore a -red-cotton handkerchief round his neck, a round felt hat was on his -head; this, like the trousers, had lost its pristine colour, and by -dint of years and weather, its stiffness too. To prevent the hat from -flapping in his eyes, its possessor had pinned it up with thorns in -the front. - -Necessity is the mother of invention: there is nothing morally wrong -in the use of thorns where other men use studs, diamond pins, and such -gauds; and the effect is picturesque. The stranger, in fact, was a law -unto himself. He had no coat; the rifle of Californian civilisation -was missing; there was no sign of knife or revolver; and the only -encumbrance, if that was any, to the lightness of his flight was a -small wooden box strapped round tightly, and hanging at his back by -means of a steel chain, grown a little rusty where it did not rub -against his neck and shoulders. - -He sat up and winked involuntarily with both eyes. This was the effect -of present bewilderment and late fear. - -Then he looked round him, after, as before explained, a few moments of -assiduous leg-smoothing, which, as stated above, looked ostentatious, -but was really only nervous agitation. Then he rose, and saw Grisly -lying in a heap a few yards off. He walked over with a grave face, and -looked at him. - -When Henri Balafré, Duc de Guise, saw Coligny lying dead at his feet, -he is said--only it is a wicked lie--to have kicked the body of his -murdered father's enemy. When Henri III. of France, ten years later, -saw Balafré dead at his feet, he did kick the lifeless body, with a -wretched joke. The king was a cur. My American was not. He stood over -Bruin with a look in his eyes which betokened respect for fallen -greatness and sympathy with bad luck. Grisly would have been his -victor, but for the chance which brought him within reach of a -friendly rifle. - -"A near thing," he said. "Since I've been in this doggoned country -I've had one or two near things, but this was the nearest." - -The greasers stood round the body of the bear, and the English servant -was giving directions for skinning the beast. - -"And which of you gentlemen," he went on with a nasal twang more -pronounced than before--perhaps with more emphasis on the word -"gentlemen" than was altogether required--"which of you gentlemen was -good enough to shoot the critter?" - -The English servant, who was, like his master, Captain Ladds, a man of -few words, pointed to the young man, who stood close by with the other -leader of the expedition. - -The man snatched from the jaws of death took off his shaky thorn-beset -felt, and solemnly held out his hand. - -"Sir," he said, "I do not know your name, and you do not know mine. If -you did you would not be much happier, because it is not a striking -name. If you'll oblige me, sir, by touching that"--he meant his right -hand--"we shall be brothers. All that's mine shall be yours. I do not -ask you, sir, to reciprocate. All that's mine, sir, when I get -anything, shall be yours. At present, sir, there is nothing; but I've -Luck behind me. Shake hands, sir. Once a mouse helped a lion, sir. -It's in a book. I am the mouse, sir, and you are the lion. Sir, my -name is Gilead P. Beck." - -The young man laughed and shook hands with him. - -"I only fired the first shot," he explained. "My friend here----" - -"No; first shot disabled--hunt finished then--Grisly out of the -running. Glad you're not clawed--unpleasant to be clawed. Young un did -it. No thanks. Tell us where we are." - -Mr. Gilead P. Beck, catching the spirit of the situation, told them -where they were, approximately. "This," he said, "is Patrick's Camp; -at least, it was. The Pioneers of '49 could tell you a good deal about -Patrick's Camp. It was here that Patrick kept his store. In those old -days--they're gone now--if a man wanted to buy a blanket, that -article, sir, was put into one scale, and weighed down with gold-dust -in the other. Same with a pair of boots; same with a pound of raisins. -Patrick might have died rich, sir, but he didn't--none of the pioneers -did--so he died poor; and died in his boots, too, like most of the -lot." - -"Not much left of the camp." - -"No, sir, not much. The mine gave out. Then they moved up the hills, -where, I conclude, you gentlemen are on your way. Prospecting likely. -The new town, called Empire City, ought to be an hour or so up the -track. I was trying to find my way there when I met with old Grisly. -Perhaps if I had let him alone he would have let me alone. But I -blazed at him, and, sir, I missed him; then he shadowed me. And the -old rifle's gone at last." - -"How long did the chase last?" - -"I should say, sir, forty days and forty nights, or near about. And -you gentlemen air going to Empire City?" - -"We are going anywhere. Perhaps, for the present, you had better join -us." - - -II. - -Mr. Gilead P. Beck, partly recovered from the shock caused to his -nerves by the revengeful spirit of the bear, and in no way discomfited -by any sense of false shame as to his ragged appearance, marched -beside the two Englishmen. It was characteristic of his nationality -that he regarded the greasers with contempt, and that he joined the -two gentlemen as if he belonged to their grade and social rank. An -Englishman picked up in such rags and duds would have shrunk abashed -to the rear, or he would have apologised for his tattered condition, -or he would have begged for some garments--any garments--to replace -his own. Mr. Beck had no such feeling. He strode along with a swinging -slouch, which covered the ground as rapidly as the step of the horses. -The wind blew his rags about his long and lean figure as picturesquely -as if he were another Autolycus. He was as full of talk as that -worthy, and as lightsome of spirit, despite the solemn gravity of his -face. I once saw a poem--I think in the _Spectator_--on Artemus Ward, -in which the bard apostrophised the light-hearted merriment of the -Western American; a very fortunate thing to say, because the Western -American is externally a most serious person, never merry, never -witty, but always humorous. Mr. Beck was quite grave, though at the -moment as happy as that other grave and thoughtful person who has made -a name in the literature of humour--Panurge--when he escaped -half-roasted from the Turk's Serai. - -"I ought," he said, "to sit down and cry, like the girl on the -prairie." - -"Why ought you to cry?" - -"I guess I ought to cry because I've lost my rifle and everything -except my Luck"--here he pulled at the steel chain--"in that darned -long stern chase." - -"You can easily get a new rifle," said Jack. - -"With dollars," interrupted Mr. Beck. "As for them, there's not a -dollar left--nary a red cent; only my Luck." - -"And what is your Luck?" - -"That," said Mr. Beck, "I will tell you by-and-by. Perhaps it's your -Luck, too, young boss," he added, thinking of a shot as fortunate to -himself as William Tell's was to his son. - -He pulled the box attached to the steel chain round to the front, and -looked at it tenderly. It was safe, and he heaved a sigh. - -The way wound up a valley--a road marked only, as has been said, by -deep ruts along its course. Behind the travellers the evening sun was -slowly sinking in the west; before them the peaks of the Sierra lifted -their heads, coloured purple in the evening light; and on either hand -rose the hill-sides, with their dark foliage in alternate "splashes" -of golden light and deepest shade. - -It wanted but a quarter of an hour to sunset when Mr. Gilead P. Beck -pointed to a township which suddenly appeared, lying at their very -feet. - -"Empire City, I reckon." - -A good-sized town of wooden houses. They were all alike and of the -same build as that affected by the architects of doll's houses; that -is to say, they were of one story only, had a door in the middle, and -a window on either side. They were so small, also, that they looked -veritable dolls' houses. - -There were one or two among them of more pretentious appearance, and -of several stories. These were the hotels, billiard-saloons, bars, and -gambling-houses. - -"It's a place bound to advance, sir," said Mr. Beck proudly. "Empire -City, when I first saw it, which is two years ago, was only two years -old. It is only in our country that a great city springs up in a day. -Empire City will be the Chicago of the West." - -"I see a city," said Captain Ladds; "can't see the people." - -It was certainly curious. There was not a soul in the streets; there -was no smoke from the chimneys; there was neither carts nor horses; -there was not the least sign of occupation. - -Mr. Gilead P. Beck whistled. - -"All gone," he said. "Guess the city's busted up." - -He pushed aside the brambles which grew over what had been a path -leading to the place, and hurried down. The others followed him, and -rode into the town. - -It was deserted. The doors of the houses were open, and if you looked -in you might see the rough furniture which the late occupants -disdained to carry away with them. The two Englishmen dismounted, gave -their reins to the servants, and began to look about them. - -The descendants of Og, king of Bashan, have left their houses in black -basalt, dotted about the lava-fields of the Hauran, to witness how -they lived. In the outposts of desert stations of the East, the Roman -soldiers have left their barracks and their baths, their jokes written -on the wall, and their names, to show how they passed away the weary -hours of garrison duty. So the miners who founded Empire City, and -deserted it _en masse_ when the gold gave out, left behind them marks -by which future explorers of the ruins should know what manner of men -once dwelt there. The billiard saloon stood open with swinging doors; -the table was still there, the balls lay about on the table and the -floor; the cues stood in the rack; the green cloth, mildewed, covered -the table. - -"Tommy," said the younger, "we will have a game to-night." - -The largest building in the place had been an hotel. It had two -stories, and was, like the rest of the houses, built of wood, with a -verandah along the front. The upper story looked as if it had been -recently inhabited; that is, the shutters were not dropping off the -hinges, nor were they flapping to and fro in the breeze. - -But the town was deserted; the evening breeze blew chilly up its -vacant streets; life and sound had gone out of the place. - -"I feel cold," said Jack, looking about him. - -They went round to the back of the hotel. Old iron cog-wheels lay -rusting on the ground with remains of pumps. In the heart of the town -behind the hotel stretched an open space of ground covered with piles -of shingle and intersected with ditches. - -Mr. Beck sat down and adjusted one of the thorns which served as a -temporary shirt-stud. - -"Two years ago," he said, "there were ten thousand miners here; now -there isn't one. I thought we should find a choice hotel, with a -little monty or poker afterwards. Now no one left; nothing but a -Chinaman or two." - -"How do you know there are Chinamen?" - -"See those stones?" - -He pointed to some great boulders, from three to six feet in diameter. -Some operation of a mystical kind had been performed upon them, for -they were jagged and chipped as if they had been filed and cut into -shape by a sculptor who had been once a dentist and still loved the -profession. - -"The miners picked the bones of those rocks, but they never pick quite -clean. Then the Chinamen come and finish off. Gentlemen, it's a -special Providence that you picked me up. I don't altogether admire -the way in which that special Providence was played up to in the -matter of the bar; but a Christian without a revolver alone among -twenty Chinamen----" - -He stopped and shrugged his shoulders. - -"They'd have got my Luck," he concluded. - -"Chief, I don't like it;" said the younger man. "It's ghostly. It's a -town of dead men. As soon as it is dark the ghosts will rise and walk -about--play billiards, I expect. What shall we do?" - -"Hotel," growled the chief. "Sleep on floor--sit on chairs--eat off a -table." - -They entered the hotel. - -A most orderly bar: the glasses there; the bright-coloured bottles: -two or three casks of Bourbon whisky; the counter; the very dice on -the counter with which the bar-keeper used to "go" the miners for -drinks. How things at once so necessary to civilised life and so -portable as dice were left behind, it is impossible to explain. - -Everything was there except the drink. The greasers tried the casks -and examined the bottles. Emptiness. A miner may leave behind him the -impedimenta, but the real necessaries of life--rifle, revolver, bowie, -and cards--he takes with him. And as for the drink, he carries that -away too for greater safety, inside himself. - -The English servant looked round him and smiled superior. - -"No tap for beer, as usual, sir," he said. "These poor Californians -has much to learn." - -Mr. Gilead P. Beck looked round mournfully. - -"Everything gone but the fixin's," he sighed. "There used to be good -beds, where there wasn't more'n two at once in them; and there used to -be such a crowd around this bar as you would not find nearer'n St. -Louis City." - -"Hush!" said Jack, holding up his hand. There were steps. - -Mr. Beck pricked up his ears. - -"Chinamen, likely. If there's a row, gentlemen, give me something, if -it's only a toothpick, to chime in with. But that's not a Chinese -step; that's an Englishman's. He wears boots, but they are not miner's -boots; he walks firm and slow, like all Englishmen; he is not in a -hurry, like our folk. And who but an Englishman would be found staying -behind in the Empire City when it's gone to pot?" - -The footsteps came down the stairs. - -"Most unhandsome of a ghost," said the younger man, "to walk before -midnight." - -The producer of the footsteps appeared. - -"Told you he was an Englishman!" cried Mr. Beck. - -Indeed, there was no mistaking the nationality of the man, in spite of -his dress, which was cosmopolitan. He wore boots, but not, as the -quick ear of the American told him, the great boots of the miner; he -had on a flannel shirt with a red silk belt; he wore a sort of blanket -thrown back from his shoulders; and he had a broad felt hat. Of course -he carried arms, but they were not visible. - -He was a man of middle height, with clear blue eyes; the perfect -complexion of an Englishman of good stock and in complete health; a -brown beard, long and rather curly, streaked with here and there a -grey hair; square and clear-cut nostrils; and a mouth which, though -not much of it was visible, looked as if it would easily smile, might -readily become tender, and would certainly find it difficult to be -stern. He might be any age, from five and thirty to five and forty. - -The greasers fell back and grouped about the door. The questions which -might be raised had no interest for them. The two leaders stood -together; and Mr. Gilead P. Beck, rolling an empty keg to their side, -turned it up and sat down with the air of a judge, looking from one -party to the other. - -"Englishmen, I see," said the stranger. - -"Ye-yes," said Ladds, not, as Mr. Beck expected, immediately holding -out his hand for the stranger to grasp. - -"You have probably lost your way?" - -"Been hunting. Working round--San Francisco. Followed track; accident; -got here. Your hotel, perhaps? Fine situation, but lonely." - -"Not a ghost, then," murmured the other, with a look of temporary -disappointment. - -"If you will come upstairs to my quarters, I may be able to make you -comfortable for the night. Your party will accommodate themselves -without our help." - -He referred to the greasers, who had already begun their preparations -for spending a happy night. When he led the way up the stairs, he was -followed, not only by the two gentlemen he had invited, but also by -the ragamuffin hunter, miner, or adventurer, and by the valet, who -conceived it his duty to follow his master. - -He lived, this hermit, in one of the small bed-rooms of the hotel, -which he had converted into a sitting-room. It contained a single -rocking-chair and a table. There was also a shelf, which served for a -sideboard, and a curtain under the shelf, which acted as a cupboard. - -"You see my den," he said. "I came here a year or so ago by accident, -like yourselves. I found the place deserted. I liked the solitude, the -scenery, whatever you like, and I stayed here. You are the only -visitors I have had in a year." - -"Chinamen?" said Mr. Gilead P. Beck. - -"Well, Chinamen, of course. But only two of them. They take turns, at -forty dollars a month, to cook my dinners. And there is a half-caste, -who does not mind running down to Sacramento when I want anything. And -so, you see, I make out pretty well." - -He opened the window, and blew a whistle. - -In two minutes a Chinaman came tumbling up the stairs. His inscrutable -face expressed all the conflicting passions of humanity at -once--ambition, vanity, self respect, humour, satire, avarice, -resignation, patience, revenge, meekness, long-suffering, remembrance, -and a thousand others. No Aryan comes within a hundred miles of it. - -"Dinner as soon as you can," said his master. - -"Ayah! can do," replied the Celestial. "What time you wantchee? - -"As soon as you can. Half an hour." - -"Can do. My no have got cully-powder. Have makee finish. Have got?" - -"Look for some; make Achow help." - -"How can? No, b'long his pidgin. He no helpee. B'long my pidgin makee -cook chow-chow. Ayah! Achow have go makee cheat over Mexican man. -Makee play cards all same euchre." - -In fact, on looking out of the window, the other Celestial was clearly -visible, manipulating a pack of cards and apparently inviting the -Mexicans to a friendly game, in which there could be no deception. - -Then Ladds' conscience smote him. - -"Beg pardon. Should have seen. Make remark about hotel. Apologise." - -"He means," said the other, "that he was a terrible great fool not to -see that you are a gentleman." - -Ladds nodded. - -"Let me introduce our party," the speaker went on. "This is our -esteemed friend Mr. Gilead P. Beck, whom we caught in a bear-hunt----" - -"Bar behind," said Mr. Beck. - -"This is Captain Ladds, of the 35th Dragoons." - -"Ladds," said Ladds. "Nibs, cocoa-nibs--pure aroma--best -breakfast-digester--blessing to mothers--perfect fragrance." - -"His name is Ladds; and he wishes to communicate to you the fact that -he is the son of the man who made an immense fortune--immense, Tommy?" - -Ladds nodded. - -"By a crafty compound known as 'Ladds' Patent Anti-Dyspeptic Cocoa.' -This is Ladd's servant, John Boimer, the best servant who ever put his -leg across pig-skin; and my name is Roland Dunquerque. People -generally call me Jack; I don't know why, but they do." - -Their host bowed to each, including the servant, who coloured with -pleasure at Jack's description of him; but he shook hands with Ladds. - -"One of ours," he said. "My name is Lawrence Colquhoun. I sold out -before you joined. I came here as you see. And--now, gentlemen, I -think I hear the first sounds of dinner. Boimer--you will allow me, -Ladds?--you will find claret and champagne behind that curtain. Pardon -a hermit's fare. I think they have laid out such a table as the -wilderness can boast in the next room." - -The dinner was not altogether what a man might order at the Junior -United, but it was good. There was venison, there was a curry, there -was some mountain quail, there was claret, and there was -champagne--both good, especially the claret. Then there was coffee. - -The Honourable Roland Dunquerque, whom we will call in future, what -everybody always called him, Jack, ate and drank like Friar John. The -keen mountain air multiplied his normal twist by ten. Mr. Gilead P. -Beck, who sat down to dinner perfectly unabashed by his rags, was good -as a trencherman, but many plates behind the young Englishman. Mr. -Lawrence Colquhoun, their host, went on talking almost as if they were -in London, only now and then he found himself behind the world. It was -his ignorance of the last Derby, the allusion to an old and -half-forgotten story, perhaps his use of little phrases--not slang -phrases, but those delicately-shaded terms which imply knowledge of -current things--which showed him to have been out of London and Paris -for more than one season. - -"Four years," he said, "since I left England." - -"But you will come back to it again?" - -"I think not." - -"Better," said Jack, whose face was a little flushed with the wine. -"Much better. Robinson Crusoe always wanted to get home again. So did -Selkirk. So did Philip Quarles." - -Then the host produced cigars. Later on, brandy-and-water. - -The brandy and water made Mr. Gilead P. Beck, who found himself a good -deal crowded out of the conversation, insist on having his share. He -placed his square box on the table, and loosed the straps. - -"Let me tell you," he said, "the story of my Luck. I was in Sonora -City," he began, patting his box affectionately, "after the worst -three months I ever had; and I went around trying to borrow a few -dollars. I got no dollars, but I got free drinks--so many free drinks, -that at last I lay down in the street and went to sleep. Wal, -gentlemen, I suppose I walked in that slumber of mine, for when I woke -up I was lying a mile outside the town. - -"I also entertained angels unawares, for at my head there sat an -Indian woman. She was as wrinkled an old squaw as ever shrieked at a -buryin'. But she took an interest in me. She took that amount of -interest in me that she told me she knew of gold. And then she led me -by the hand, gentlemen, that aged and affectionate old squaw, to a -place not far from the roadside; and there, lying between two rocks, -and hidden in the chaparelle, glittering in the light, was this -bauble." He tapped his box. "I did not want to be told to take it. I -wrapped it in my handkerchief and carried it in my hand. Then she led -me back to the road again. 'Bad luck you will have,' she said; 'but it -will lead to good luck so long as that is not broken, sold, given -away, or lost.' Then she left me, and here it is." - -He opened the little box. There was nothing to be seen but a mass of -white wool. - -"Bad luck I _have_ had. Look at me, gentlemen. Adam was not more -destitute when the garden-gates were shut on him. But the good will -come, somehow." - -He removed the wool, and, behold, a miracle of nature! Two thin plates -of gold delicately wrought in lines and curious chasing, like the -pattern of a butterfly's wing, and of the exact shape, but twice as -large. They were poised at the angle, always the same, at which the -insect balances itself about a flower. They were set in a small piece -of quaintly marked quartz, which represented the body. - -"A golden butterfly!" - -"A golden butterfly," said Mr. Beck. "No goldsmith made this -butterfly. It came from Nature's workshop. It is my Luck." - - "And If the butterfly fall and break, - Farewell the Luck of Gilead Beck," - -said Jack. - -"Thank you, sir. That's very neat. I'll take that, sir, if you will -allow me, for my motto, unless you want it for yourself." - -"No," said Jack; "I have one already." - - "If this golden butterfly fall and break, - Farewell the Luck of Gilead P. Beck," - -repeated the owner of the insect. "If you are going on, gentlemen, to -San Francisco, I hope you will take me with you." - -"Colquhoun," said Ladds, "you do not mean to stay by yourself? Much -better come with us, unless, of course----" - -Lying on the table was a piece of an old newspaper in which Jack had -wrapped something. Ladds saw Colquhoun mechanically take up the paper, -read it, and change color. Then he looked straight before him, seeing -nothing, and Ladds stopped speaking. Then he smiled in a strange -far-off way. - -"I think I will go with you," he said. - -"Hear, hear!" cried Jack. "Selkirk returns to the sound of the -church-going bell." - -Ladds refrained from looking at the paper in search of things which -did not concern himself, but he perceived that Colquhoun had, like -Hamlet, seen something. There _was_, in fact, an announcement in -the fragment which greatly interested Lawrence Colquhoun: - - "On April 3, by the Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of Turk's Island, - at St. George's Hanover Square, Gabriel Cassilis, of etc., to - Victoria, daughter of the Late Admiral Sir Benbow Pengelley, - K.C.B." - -In the morning they started, Mr. Beck being provided with a new -rig-out of a rough and useful kind. - -At the last moment one of the Chinamen, Leeching, the cook, besought -from his late master, as a parting favour and for the purpose of -self-protection, the gift of a pistol, powder, and ball. - -Mr. Colquhoun gave them to him, thinking it a small thing after two -years of faithful service. Then Leeching, after loading his pistol, -went to work with his comrade for an hour or so. - -Presently, Achow being on his knees in the shingle, the perfidious -Leeching suddenly cocked his pistol, and fired it into Achow's right -ear, so that he fell dead. - -By this lucky accident Leeching became sole possessor of the little -pile of gold which he and the defunct Achow had scraped together and -placed in a _cache_. - -He proceeded to unearth this treasure, put together his little -belongings, and started on the road to San Francisco with a smile of -satisfaction. - -There was a place in the windings of the road where there was a steep -bank. By the worst luck in the world a stone slipped and fell as -Leeching passed by. The stone by itself, would not have mattered much, -as it did not fall on Leeching's head; but with it fell a rattlesnake, -who was sleeping in the warmth of the sun. - -Nothing annoys a rattlesnake more than to be disturbed in his sleep. -With angry mind he awoke, looked around, and saw the Chinaman. -Illogically connecting him with the fall of the stone, he made for -him, and, before Leeching knew there was a rattlesnake anywhere near -him, bit him in the calf. - -Leeching sat down on the bank and realized the position. Being a -fatalist, he did not murmur; having no conscience, he did not fear; -having no faith, he did not hope; having very little time, he made no -testamentary dispositions. In point of fact, he speedily curled up his -legs and died. - -Then the deserted Empire City was deserted indeed, for there was not -even a Chinaman left in it. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -Joseph and His Brethren. - - -The largest and most solid of all the substantial houses in Carnarvon -Square, Bloomsbury, is Number Fifteen, which, by reason of its corner -position (Mulgrave Street intersecting it at right angles at this -point), has been enabled to stretch itself out at the back. It is a -house which a man who wanted to convey the idea of a solid income -without ostentation or attempt at fashion would find the very thing to -assist his purpose. The ladies of such a house would not desire to -belong to the world farther west; they would respect the Church, law, -and medicine; they would look on the City with favourable eyes when it -was represented by a partner in an old firm; they would have sound -notions of material comfort; they would read solid books, and would -take their pleasure calmly. One always, somehow, in looking at a house -wonders first of what sort its women are. There were, however, no -women at Number Fifteen at all, except the maids. Its occupants -consisted of three brothers, all unmarried. They were named -respectively Cornelius, Humphrey, and Joseph Jagenal. Cornelius and -Humphrey were twins. Joseph was their junior by ten years. Cornelius -and Humphrey were fifty--Joseph was forty. People who did not know -this thought that Joseph was fifty and his brethren forty. - -When the Venerable the Archdeacon of Market Basing, the well-known -author of _Sermons on the Duty of Tithe-Offerings_, the _Lesbia of -Catullus_, and a _Treatise on the Right Use of the Anapĉst in Greek -Iambic Verse_, died, it was found that he had bequeathed his little -savings, worth altogether about £500 a year, to his three sons in the -following proportions: the twins, he said, possessed genius; they -would make their mark in the world, but they must be protected. They -received the yearly sum of £200 apiece, and it was placed in the hands -of trustees to prevent their losing it; the younger was to have the -rest, without trustees, because, his father said, "Joseph is a dull -boy and will keep it." It was a wise distribution of the money. -Cornelius, then nineteen, left Oxford immediately, and went to -Heidelberg, where he called himself a poet, studied metaphysics, drank -beer, and learned to fence. Humphrey, for his part, deserted -Cambridge--their father having chosen that they should not be -rivals--and announced his intention of devoting his life to Art. He -took up his residence in Rome. Joseph stayed at school, having no -other choice. When the boy was sixteen, his guardians articled him to -a solicitor. Joseph was dull, but he was methodical, exact, and -endowed with a retentive memory. He had also an excellent manner, and -the "appearance of age," as port wine advertisers say, before he was -out of his articles. At twenty-five, Joseph Jagenal was a partner; at -thirty-five, he was the working partner; at forty, he was the senior -partner in the great Lincoln's-Inn firm of Shaw, Fairlight, and -Jagenal, the confidential advisers of as many respectable county -people as any firm in London. - -When he was twenty-five, and became a partner, the brethren returned -to England simultaneously, and were good enough to live with him and -upon him. They had their £200 a year each, and expensive tastes. -Joseph, who had made a thousand for his share the first year of his -admission to the firm, had no expensive tastes, and a profound respect -for genius. He took in the twins joyfully, and they stayed with him. -When his senior partner died, and Mr. Fairlight retired, so that -Joseph's income was largely increased, they made him move from -Torrington Square, where the houses are small, to Carnarvon Square, -and regulated his household for him on the broadest and most liberal -scale. Needless to say, no part of the little income, which barely -served the twins with pocket-money and their _menus plaisirs_, -went towards the housekeeping. Cornelius, poet and philosopher, -superintended the dinner and daily interviewed the cook. Humphrey, -he devotee of art, who furnished the rooms according to the latest -designs of the most correct taste, was in command of the cellar. -Cornelius took the best sitting-room for himself, provided it with -books, easy-chairs, and an immense study-table with countless drawers. -He called it carelessly his Workshop. The room on the first floor -overlooking Mulgrave Street, and consequently with a north aspect, was -appropriated by Humphrey. He called it his Studio, and furnished it in -character, not forgetting the easy-chairs. Joseph had the back room -behind the dining-room for himself; it was not called a study or a -library, but Mr. Joseph's room. He sat in it alone every evening, at -work. There was also a drawing-room, but it was never used. They dined -together at half-past six: Cornelius sat at the head, and Humphrey at -the foot, Joseph at one side. Art and Intellect, thus happily met -together and housed under one roof, talked to each other. Joseph ate -his dinner in silence. Art held his glass to the light, and flashed -into enthusiasm over the matchless sparkle, the divine hues, the -incomparable radiance, of the wine. Intellect, with a sigh, as one who -regrets the loss of a sense, congratulated his brother on his vivid -passion for colour, and, taking another glass, discoursed on the -ĉsthetic aspects of a vintage wine. Joseph drank one glass of claret, -after which he retired to his den, and left the brethren to finish the -bottle. After dinner the twins sometimes went to the theatre, or they -repaired arm-in-arm to their club--the Renaissance, now past its prime -and a little fogyish; mostly they sat in the Studio or in the -Workshop, in two arm-chairs, with a table between them, smoked pipes, -and drank brandy and potash-water. They went to bed at any time they -felt sleepy--perhaps at twelve, and perhaps at three. Joseph went to -bed at half-past ten. The brethren generally breakfasted at eleven, -Joseph at eight. After breakfast, unless on rainy days, a uniform -custom was observed. Cornelius, poet and philosopher, went to the -window and looked out. - -Humphrey, artist, and therefore a man of intuitive sympathies, -followed him. Then he patted Cornelius on the shoulder, and shook his -head. - -"Brother, I know your thought. You want to drag me from my work; you -think it has been too much for me lately. You are too anxious about -me." - -Cornelius smiled. - -"Not on my own account too, Humphrey?" - -"True--on your account. Let us go out at once, brother. Ah, why did -you choose so vast a subject?" - -Cornelius was engaged--had been engaged for twenty years--upon an epic -poem, entitled the _Upheaving of Ĉlfred_. The school he belonged to -would not, of course, demean themselves by speaking of Alfred. To them -Edward was Eadward, Edgar was Eadgar, and old Canute was Knut. In the -same way Cicero became Kikero, Virgil was Vergil, and Socrates was -spelt, as by the illiterate bargee, with a _k_. So the French prigs of -the ante-Boileau period sought to make their trumpery pedantries pass -for current coin. So, too, Chapelain was in labour with the _Pucelle_ -for thirty years; and when it came--But Cornelius Jagenal could not be -compared with Chapelain, because he had as yet brought forth nothing. -He sat with what he and his called "English" books all round him; in -other words, he had all the Anglo-Saxon literature on his shelves, and -was amassing, as he said, material. - -Humphrey, on the other hand, was engaged on a painting, the -composition of which offered difficulties which, for nearly twenty -years, had proved insuperable. He was painting, he said, the "Birth of -the Renaissance." It was a subject which required a great outlay in -properties, Venetian glass, Italian jewelry, mediĉval furniture, -copies of paintings--everything necessary to make this work a -masterpiece--he bought at Joseph's expense. Up to the present no one -had been allowed to see the first rough drawings. - -"Where's Cĉsar?" Humphrey would say, leading the way to the hall. -"Cĉsar! Why, here he is. Cĉsar must actually have heard us proposing -to go out." - -Cornelius called the dog Kaysar, and he refused to answer to it; so -that conversation between him and Cornelius was impossible. - -There never was a pair more attached to each other than these twin -brethren. They sallied forth each morning at twelve, arm-in-arm, with -an open and undisguised admiration for each other which was touching. -Before them marched Cĉsar, who was of mastiff breed, leading the way. -Cornelius, the poet, was dressed with as much care as if he were still -a young man of five-and-twenty, in a semi-youthful and wholly-ĉsthetic -costume, in which only the general air, and not the colour, revealed -the man of delicate perceptions. Humphrey, the artist, greatly daring, -affected a warm brown velvet with a crimson-purple ribbon. Both -carried flowers. Cornelius had gloves; Humphrey a cigar. Cornelius was -smooth-faced, save for a light fringe on the upper lip. Humphrey wore -a heavy moustache and a full long silky beard of a delicately-shaded -brown, inclining when the sun shone upon it to a suspicion of auburn. -Both were of the same height, rather below the middle; they had -features so much alike that, but for the hair on the face of one, it -would have been difficult to distinguish between them. Both were thin, -pale of face, and both had, by some fatality, the end of their -delicately-carved noses slightly tipped with red. Perhaps this was due -to the daily and nightly brandy-and-water. And in the airy careless -carriage of the two men, their sunny faces and elastic tread, it was -impossible to suppose that they were fifty and Joseph only forty. - -To be sure, Joseph was a heavy man, stout of build, broad in frame, -sturdy in the under-jaw; while his brothers were slight shadowy men. -And, to be sure, Joseph had worked all his life, while his brothers -never did a stroke. They were born to consume the fruits which Joseph -was born to cultivate. - -Outside the house the poet heaved a heavy sigh, as if the weight of -the epic was for the moment off his mind. The artist looked round with -a critical eye on the lights and shadows of the great commonplace -square. - -"Even in London," he murmured, "Nature is too strong for man. Did you -ever, my dear Cornelius, catch a more brilliant effect of sunshine -than that upon the lilac yonder?" - -Time, end of April; season forward, lilacs on the point of bursting -into flower; sky dotted with swift-flying clouds, alternate -withdrawals and bursts of sunshine. - -"I really must," said Humphrey, "try to fix that effect." - -His brother took the arm of the artist and drew him gently away. - -In front marched Cĉsar. - -Presently the poet looked round. They were out of the square by this -time. - -"Where is Kaysar?" he said, with an air of surprise. "Surely, brother -Humphrey, the dog can't be in the Carnarvon Arms?" - -"I'll go and see," said Humphrey, with alacrity. - -He entered the bar of the tavern, and his brother waited outside. -After two or three minutes, the poet, as if tired of waiting, followed -the artist into the bar. He found him with a glass of brandy-and-water -cold. - -"I had," he explained, "a feeling of faintness. Perhaps this spring -air is chilly. One cannot be too careful." - -"Quite right," said the poet. "I almost think--yes, I really do -feel--ah! Thank you, my dear." - -The girl, as if anticipating his wants, set before him a "four" of -brandy and the cold water. Perhaps she had seen the face before. As -for the dog, he was lying down with his head on his paws. Perhaps he -knew there would be no immediate necessity for moving. - -They walked in the direction of the Park, arm-in-arm, affectionately. - -It might have been a quarter of an hour after leaving the Carnarvon -Arms when the poet stopped and gasped-- - -"Humphrey, my dear brother, advise me. What would you do if you had a -sharp and sudden pain like a knife inside you?" - -Humphrey replied promptly: - -"If I had a sharp and sudden pain like a knife inside me, I should -take a small glass of brandy neat. Mind, no spoiling the effect with -water." - -Cornelius looked at his brother with admiration. - -"Such readiness of resource!" he murmured, pressing his arm. - -"I think I see--ah, yes--Kaysar--he's gone in before us. The sagacity -of that dog is more remarkable than anything I ever read." He took his -small glass of brandy neat. - -The artist, looking on, said he might as well have one at the same -time. Not, he added, that he felt any immediate want of the stimulant, -but he might; and at all times prevention is better than cure. - -It was two o'clock when they returned to Carnarvon Square. They walked -arm-in-arm, with perhaps even a greater show of confiding affection -than had appeared at starting. There was the slightest possible lurch -in their walk, and both looked solemn and heavy with thought. - -In the hall the artist looked at his watch. - -"Pa--pasht two. Corneliush, Work----" - -He marched to the Studio with a resolute air, and, arrived there, drew -an easy-chair before the fire, sat himself in it, and went fast -asleep. - -The poet sought the workshop. On the table lay the portfolio of -papers, outside which was emblazoned on parchment, with dainty -scroll-work by the hands of his brother the artist, the title of his -poem: - - The Upheaving of Ĉlfred: - - AN EPIC IN TWENTY-FOUR CANTOS. - - BY CORNELIUS JAGENAL. - -He gazed at it fondly for a few minutes; vaguely took up a pen, as if -he intended to finish the work on the spot; and then with a sigh, -thought being to much for brain, he slipped into his arm-chair, put up -his feet, and was asleep in two minutes. At half-past five, one of the -maids--they kept no footman in Carnarvon Square--brought him tea. - -"I have been dozing, have I, Jane?" he asked. "Very singular thing for -me to do." - -We are but the creatures of habit. The brethren took the same walk -every day, made the same remarks, with an occasional variation, and -took the same morning drams; they spent the middle of the day in -sleep, they woke up for the afternoon tea, and they never failed to -call Jane's attention to the singularity of the fact that they had -been asleep. This day Jane lingered instead of going away when the tea -was finished. - -"Did master tell you, sir," she asked, "that Miss Fleming was coming -to-day?" - -It was an irritating thing that, although Cornelius ordered the dinner -and sat at the head of the table, although Humphrey was in sole -command of the wine-cellar, the servants always called Joseph the -master. Great is the authority of him who keeps the bag; the power of -the penniless twins was a shadowy and visionary thing. - -The master had told his brothers that Miss Fleming would probably have -to come to the house, but no date was fixed. - -"Miss Fleming came this afternoon, sir," said Jane, "with a French -maid. She's in Mr. Joseph's room now." - -"Oh, tell Mr. Humphrey, Jane, and we will dress for dinner. Tell Mr. -Humphrey, also, that perhaps Miss Fleming would like a glass of -champagne to-day." - -Jane told the artist. - -"Always thoughtful," said Humphrey, with enthusiasm. "Cornelius is for -ever thinking of others' comfort. To be sure Miss Fleming shall have a -glass of champagne." - -He brought up two bottles, such was his anxiety to give full -expression to his brother's wishes. - -When the dinner-bell rang, the brethren emerged simultaneously from -their rooms, and descended the stairs together, arm-in-arm. Perhaps in -expectation of dinner, perhaps in anticipation of the champagne, -perhaps with pleasure at the prospect of meeting with Joseph's ward, -the faces of both were lit with a sunny smile, and their eyes with a -radiant light, which looked like the real and genuine enthusiasm of -humanity. It was a pity that Humphrey wore a beard, or that Cornelius -did not; otherwise it would have been difficult to distinguish between -this pair so much alike--these youthful twins of fifty, who almost -looked like five-and-twenty. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -"Phillis is my only joy." - - -"My brothers, Miss Fleming!" - -Joseph introduced the twins with a pride impossible to dissemble. They -were so youthful-looking, so airy, so handsome, besides being so nobly -endowed with genius, that his pride may be excused. Castor and Pollux -the wrong side of forty, but slim still and well preserved--these -Greek figures do not run tall--might have looked like Cornelius and -Humphrey. - -They parted company for a moment to welcome the young lady, large-eyed -as Hêrê, who rose to greet them, and then took up a position on the -hearthrug, one with his hand on the other's shoulder, like the Siamese -twins, and smiled pleasantly, as if, being accustomed to admiration -and even awe, they wished to reassure Miss Fleming and put her at -ease. - -Dinner being announced, Cornelius, the elder by a few moments, gave -his arm to the young lady. Humphrey, the younger, hovered close -behind, as if he too was taking his part in the chivalrous act. Joseph -followed alone, of course, not counting in the little procession. - -Phillis Fleming's arrival at No. 15 Carnarvon Square was in a manner -legal. She belonged to the office, not to the shrine of intellect, -poesy, and art created by the twin brethren. She was an orphan and a -ward. She had two guardians: one of them, Mr. Lawrence Colquhoun, -being away from England; and the other, Mr. Abraham Dyson, with whom -she had lived since her sixth birthday, having finished his earthly -career just before this history begins, that is to say, in the spring -of last year. Shaw, Fairlight, and Jagenal were solicitors to both -gentlemen. Therefore Joseph found himself obliged to act for this -young lady when, Mr. Abraham Dyson buried and done with, it became a -question what was to be done with her. There were offers from several -disinterested persons on Miss Fleming's bereaved condition being -known. Miss Skimpit, of the Highgate Collegiate Establishment for -Young Ladies, proposed by letter to receive her as a parlour-boarder, -and hinted at the advantages of a year's discipline, tempered by -Christian kindness, for a young lady educated in so extraordinary and -godless a manner. The clergyman of the new district church at Finchley -called personally upon Mr. Jagenal. He said that he did not know the -young lady except by name, but that, feeling the dreadful condition of -a girl brought up without any of the gracious influences of Anglican -Ritual and Dogma, he was impelled to offer her a home with his -Sisterhood. Here she would receive clear dogmatic teaching and learn -what the Church meant by submission, fasting, penance, and -humiliation. Mr. Jagenal thought she might also learn how to bestow -her fortune on Anglo Catholic objects when she came of age, and -dismissed his reverence with scant courtesy. Two or three widows who -had known better days offered their services, which were declined with -thanks. Joseph even refused to let Miss Fleming stay with Mrs. -Cassilis, the wife of Abraham Dyson's second cousin. He thought that -perhaps this lady would not be unwilling to enliven her house by the -attraction of an heiress and a _débutante_. And it occurred to him -that, for a short time at least, she might, without offending a -censorious world, and until her remaining guardian's wishes could be -learned, take up her abode at the house of the three bachelors. - -"I am old, Miss Fleming," he said, "Forty years old; a great age -to you, and my brothers, Cornelius and Humphrey, who live with me, -are older still. Cornelius is a great poet; he is engaged on a -work--_The Upheaving of Ĉlfred_--which will immortalise his name. -Humphrey is an artist; he is working at a group the mere conception of -which, Cornelius says, would make even the brain of Michel Angelo -stagger. You will be proud, I think, in after years, to have made the -acquaintance of my brothers." - -She came, having no choice or any other wish, accompanied by her -French maid and the usual impedimenta of travel. - -Phillis Fleming--her father called her Phillis because she was his -only joy--was nineteen. She is twenty now, because the events of this -story only happened last year. Her mother died in giving her birth; -she had neither brothers nor sisters, nor many cousins, and those far -away. When she was six her father died too--not of an interesting -consumption or of a broken heart, or any ailment of that kind. He was -a jovial fox-hunting ex-captain of cavalry, with a fair income and a -carefully cultivated taste for enjoyment. He died from an accident in -the field. By his will he left all his money to his one child and -appointed as her trustees his father's old friend, Abraham Dyson of -Twickenham and the City, and with him his own friend, Lawrence -Colquhoun, a man some ten years younger than himself, with tastes and -pursuits very much like his own. Of course, the child was taken to the -elder guardian's house, and Colquhoun, going his way in the world, -never gave his trust or its responsibilities a moment's thought. - -Phillis Fleming had the advantage of a training quite different from -that which is usually accorded to young ladies. She went to Mr. -Abraham Dyson at a time when that old gentlemen, always full of -crotchety ideas, was developing a plan of his own for female -education. His theory of woman's training having just then grown in -his mind to finished proportions, he welcomed the child as a subject -sent quite providentially to his hand, and proceeded to put his views -into practice upon little Phillis. That he did so showed a healthy -belief in his own judgment. Some men would have hastened into print -with a mere theory. Mr. Dyson intended to wait for twelve years or so, -and to write his work on woman's education when Phillis's example -might be the triumphant proof of his own soundness. The education -conducted on Mr. Dyson's principles and rigidly carried out was -approaching completion when it suddenly came to an abrupt termination. -Few things in this world quite turn out as we hope and expect. It was -on the cards that Abraham Dyson might die before the proof of his -theory. This, in fact, happened; and his chief regret at leaving a -world where he had been supremely comfortable, and able to enjoy his -glass of port to his eightieth and last year, was that he was leaving -the girl, the creation of his theory, in an unfinished state. - -"Phillis," he said, on his deathbed, "the edifice is now -complete,--all but the Coping-stone. Alas, that I could not live to -put it on!" - -And what the Coping-stone was no man could guess. Great would be the -cleverness of him, who seeing a cathedral finished save for roof and -upper courses, would undertake to put on these, with all the -ornaments, spires, lanterns, gargoyles, pinnacles, flying buttresses, -turrets, belfries, and crosses drawn in the dead designer's lost -plans. - -Abraham Dyson was a wealthy man. Therefore he was greatly respected by -all his relations, in spite of certain eccentricities, notably those -which forbade him to ask any of them to his house. If the nephews, -nieces and cousins wept bitterly on learning their bereavement, deeper -and more bitter were their lamentations when they found that Mr. Dyson -had left none of them any money. - -Not one penny; not a mourning ring; not a single sign or token of -affection to one of them. It was a cruel throwing of cold water on the -tenderest affections of the heart, and Mr. Dyson's relations were -deeply pained. Some of them swore; others felt that in this case it -was needless to give sorrow words, and bore their suffering in -silence. - -Nor did he leave any money to Phillis. - -This obstinate old theorist left it all to found a college for girls, -who were to be educated in the same manner as Phillis Fleming, and in -accordance with the scheme stated to be fully drawn up and among his -papers. - -Up to the present, Joseph Jagenal had not succeeded in finding the -scheme. There were several rolls of paper, forming portions of the -great work, but none were finished, and all pointed to the last -chapter, that entitled the "Coping-stone," in which, it was stated, -would be found the whole scheme with complete fulness of detail. But -this last chapter could not be found anywhere. If it never was found, -what would become of the will? Then each one of Mr. Dyson's relations -began to calculate what might fall to himself out of the inheritance. -That was only natural, and perhaps it was not every one who, like Mr. -Gabriel Cassilis, openly lamented the number of Mr. Dyson's collateral -heirs. - -Not to be found. Joseph Jagenal's clerks now engaged in searching -everywhere for it, and all the relations praying--all fervently and -some with faith--that it might never turn up. - -So that poor Phillis is sitting down to dinner with her education -unfinished--where is that Coping-stone? Every young lady who has had a -finishing year at Brighton may look down upon her. Perhaps, however, -as her education has been of a kind quite unknown in polite circles, -and she has never heard of a finishing year, she may be calm even in -the presence of other young ladies. - -What sort of a girl is she? - -To begin with, she has fifty thousand pounds. Not the largest kind of -fortune, but still something. More than most girls have, more than the -average heiress has. Enough to make young Fortunio Hunter prick up his -ears, smooth down his moustache, and begin to inquire about guardians; -enough to purchase a roomy cottage where Love may be comfortable; -enough to enable the neediest wooer, if he be successful, to hang up -his hat on the peg behind the door and sit down for the rest of his -years. Fifty thousand pounds is a sum which means possibilities. It -was her mother's, and, very luckily for her, it was so tied up that -Captain Fleming, her father, could not touch more than the interest, -which, at three per cent., amounts, as may be calculated, to fifteen -hundred a year. Really, after explaining that a young lady has fifty -thousand, what further praise is wanted, what additional description -is necessary? By contemplation of fifty thousand pounds, ardent youth -is inflamed as by a living likeness of Helen. Be she lovely or be she -loathly, be she young or old, be she sweet or shrewish--she has fifty -thousand pounds. - -With her fifty thousand pounds the gods have given Phillis Fleming a -tall figure, the lines of which are as delicately curved as those of -any yacht in the Solent or of any statue from Greek studio. She is -slight, perhaps too slight; she has hair of a common dark brown, but -it is fine hair, there is a great wealth of it, it has a gleam and -glimmer of its own as the sunlight falls upon it, as if there were a -hidden colour lying somewhere in it waiting to be discovered; her -eyes, like her hair, are brown--they are also large and lustrous; her -lips are full; her features are not straight and regular, like those -of women's beauties, for her chin is perhaps a little short, though -square and determined; she has a forehead which is broad and rather -low; she wears an expression in which good temper, intelligence, and -activity are more marked than beauty. She is quick to mark the things -that she sees, and she sees everything. Her hands are curious, because -they are so small, so delicate, and so sympathetic; while her face is -in repose you may watch a passing emotion by the quivering of her -fingers, just as you may catch, if you have the luck, the laughter or -tears of most girls first in the brightness or the clouding of their -eyes. - -There are girls who, when we meet them in the street, pass us like the -passing of sunshine on an April day; who, if we spend the evening in a -room where they are, make us understand something of the warmth which -Nature intended to be universal, but has somehow only made special; -whom it is a pleasure to serve, whom it is a duty to reverence, who -can bring purity back to the brain of a rake, and make a young man's -heart blossom like a rose in June. - -Of such is Phillis Fleming. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -Phillis's Education. - - -The dinner began without much conversation; partly because the twins -were hungry, and partly because they were a little awed by the -presence of an unwonted guest in white draperies. - -Phillis noted that, so far as she had learned as yet, things of a -domestic kind in the outer world were much like things at Mr. Dyson's, -that is to say, the furniture of the dining-room was similar, and the -dinner was the same. I do not know why she expected it, but she had -some vague notion that she might be called upon to eat strange dishes. - -"The Böllinger, brother Cornelius," said the artist. - -"Thoughtful of you, brother Humphrey," the poet answered. "Miss -Fleming, the Böllinger is in your honour." - -Phillis looked puzzled. She did not understand where the honour came -in. But she tasted her glass. - -"It is a little too dry for me," she said with admirable candour. "If -you have any Veuve Clicquot, Mr. Jagenal"--she addressed the younger -brother--"I should prefer that." - -All three perceptibly winced. Jane, the maid, presently returned with -a bottle of the sweeter wine. Miss Fleming tasted it critically and -pronounced in its favor. - -"Mr. Dyson, my guardian," she said, "always used to say the ladies -like their wine sweet. At least I do. So he used to drink Perier Jout -très sec, and I had Veuve Clicquot." - -The poet laid his forefinger upon his brow and looked meditatively at -his glass. Then he filled it again. Then he drank it off helplessly. -This was a remarkable young lady. - -"You have lived a very quiet life," said Joseph, with a note of -interrogation in his voice, "with your guardian at Highgate." - -"Yes, very quiet. Only two or three gentlemen ever came to the house, -and I never went out." - -"A fair prisoner, indeed," murmured the poet. "Danae in her tower -waiting for the shower of gold." - -"Danae must have wished," said Phillis, "when she was put in the box -and sent to sea, that the shower of gold had never come." - -Cornelius began to regret his allusion to the mythological maid for -his classical memory failed, and he could not at the moment recollect -what box the young lady referred to. This no doubt came of much poring -over Anglo-Saxon Chronicles. But he remembered other circumstances -connected with Danae's history, and was silent. - -"At least you went out," said Humphrey, "to see the Academy and the -Water-colours." - -She shook her head. - -"I have never seen a picture-gallery at all. I have not once been -outside Mr. Dyson's grounds until to-day, since I was six years old." - -Humphrey supported his nervous system, like his brother, with another -glass of the Böllinger. - -"You found your pleasure in reading divine Poetry," said the Maker -softly; "perhaps in writing Poetry yourself." - -"Oh dear no!" said Phillis. "I have not yet learned to read. Mr. Dyson -said that ladies ought not to learn reading till they are of an age -when acquiring that mischievous art cannot hurt themselves or their -fellow-creatures." - -Phillis said this with an air of superior wisdom, as if there could be -no disputing the axiom. - -Humphrey looked oceans of sympathy at Cornelius, who took out his -handkerchief as if to wipe away a tear, but as none was in readiness -he only sighed. - -"You were taught other things, however?" Joseph asked. - -"Yes; I learned to play. My master came twice a week, and I can play -pretty well; I play either by ear or by memory. You see," she added -simply, "I never forget anything that I am told." - -Compensation of civilised nature. We read, and memory suffers. Those -who do not read remember. Before wandering minstrels learned to read -and write, the whole Iliad was handed down on men's tongues; there are -Brahmins who repeat all their Sacred Books word for word without slip -or error, and have never learned to read; there are men at Oxford who -can tell you the winners of Events for a fabulous period, and yet get -plucked for Greats because, as they will tell you themselves, they -really cannot read. Phillis did not know how to read. But she -remembered--remembered everything; could repeat a poem dictated twice -if it were a hundred lines long, and never forgot it; caught up an air -and learned how to play it at a sitting. - -She could not read. All the world of fiction was lost to her. All the -fancies of poets were lost to her; all the records of folly and crime -which we call history were unknown to her. - -Try to think what, and of what sort, would be the mind of a person, -otherwise cultivated, unable to read. In the first place, he would be -clear and dogmatic in his views, not having the means of comparison; -next, he would be dependent on oral teaching and rumor for his -information; he would have to store everything as soon as learned, -away in his mind to be lost altogether, unless he knew where to lay -his hand upon it; he would hear little of the outer world, and very -little would interest him beyond his own circle; he would be in the -enjoyment of all the luxuries of civilisation without understanding -how they got there; he would be like the Mohammedans when they came -into possession of Byzantium, in the midst of things unintelligible, -useful, and delightful. - -"You will play to us after dinner, if you will be so kind," said -Joseph. - -"Can it be, Miss Fleming," asked Humphrey, "that you never went -outside the house at all?" - -"Oh no; I could ride in the paddock. It was a good large field and my -pony was clever at jumping; so I got on pretty well." - -"Would it be too much to ask you how you managed to get through the -day?" - -"Not at all," she replied; "it was very easy. I had a ride before -breakfast; gave Mr. Dyson his tea at ten; talked with him till twelve; -we always talked 'subjects,' you know, and had a regular course. When -we had done talking, he asked me questions. Then I probably had -another ride before luncheon. In the afternoon I played, looked after -my dress, and drew." - -"You are, then, an Artist!" cried Humphrey enthusiastically. -"Cornelius, I saw from the first that Miss Fleming had the eye of an -Artist." - -"I do not know about that; I can draw people. I will show you some of -my sketches, if you like, to-morrow. They are all heads and figures; I -shall draw all of you to-night before going to bed." - -"And in the evening?" - -"Mr. Dyson dined at seven. Sometimes he had one or two gentlemen to -dine with him; never any lady. When there was no one, we talked -'subjects' again." - -Never any lady! Here was a young woman, rich, of good family, -handsome, and in her way accomplished, who had never seen or talked -with a lady, nor gone out of the house save into its gardens, since -she was a child. - -Yet, in spite of all these disadvantages and the strangeness of her -position, she was perfectly self-possessed. When she left the table, -the two elder brethren addressed themselves to the bottle of Château -Mouton with more rapidity than was becoming the dignity of the wine. -Joseph almost immediately joined his ward. When the twins left the -dining-room with its empty decanters, and returned arm-in-arm to the -drawing-room, they found their younger brother in animated -conversation with the girl. Strange that Joseph should so far forget -his usual habits as not to go straight to his own room. The two bosoms -which heaved in a continual harmony with each other felt a -simultaneous pang of jealousy for which there was no occasion. Joseph -was only thinking of the Coping stone. - -"Did I not feel it strange driving through the streets?" Phillis was -saying. "It is all so strange that I am bewildered--so strange and so -wonderful. I used to dream of what it was like; my maid told me -something about it; but I never guessed the reality. There are a -hundred things more than I can ever draw." - -It was, as hinted above, the custom of this young person, as it was -that of the Mexicans, to make drawings of everything which occurred. -She was thus enabled to preserve a tolerably faithful record of her -life. - -"Show me," said Joseph--"show me the heads of my brothers and myself, -that you promised to do, as soon as they are finished." - -The brethren sat together on a sofa, the Poet in his favorite attitude -of meditation, forefinger on brow; the Artist with his eyes fixed on -the fire, catching the effects of colour. Their faces were just a -little flushed with the wine they had taken. - -One after the other crossed the room and spoke to their guest. - -Said Cornelius: - -"You are watching my brother Humphrey. Study him, Miss Fleming; it -will repay you well to know that childlike and simple nature, innocent -of the world, and aglow with the flame of genius." - -"I think I can draw him now," said Phillis, looking at the Artist as -hard as a turnkey taking Mr. Pickwick's portrait. - -Then came Humphrey: - -"I see your eyes turned upon my brother Cornelius. He is a great, a -noble fellow, Miss Fleming. Cultivate him, talk to him, learn from -him. You will be very glad some day to be able to boast that you have -met my brother Cornelius. To know him is a Privilege; to converse with -him is an Education." - -"Come," said Joseph cheerfully, "where is the piano? This is a -bachelor's house, but there is a piano somewhere. Have you got it, -Cornelius?" - -The Poet shook his head, with a soft sad smile. - -"Nay," he said, "is a Workshop the place for music? Let us rather -search for it in the Realms of Art." - -In fact it was in Mr. Humphrey's Studio, whither they repaired. The -girl sat down, and as she touched the keys her eyes lit up and her -whole look changed. Joseph was the only one of the three who really -cared for music. He stood by the fire and said nothing. The brethren -on either side of the performer displayed wonders of enthusiastic -admiration, each in his own way--the Poet sad and reflective, as if -music softened his soul; the Artist with an effervescing gaiety -delightful to behold. Joseph was thinking. "Can we"--had his thoughts -taken form of speech--"can we reconstruct from the girl's own account -the old man's scheme anew, provided the chapter on the Coping-stone be -never found? Problem given. A girl brought up in seclusion, without -intercourse with any of her sex except illiterate servants, yet bred -to be a lady: not allowed even to learn reading, but taught orally, so -as to hold her own in talk: required, to discover what the old man -meant by it, and what was wanted to finish the structure. Could it be -reading and writing? Could Abraham Dyson have intended to finish where -all other people begin?" - -This solution mightily commended itself to Joseph, and he went to bed -in great good spirits at his own cleverness. - -In the dead of night he awoke in fear and trembling. - -"They will go into Chancery," he thought. "What if the Court refuses -to take my view?" - -At three in the morning the brethren, long left alone with their -pipes, rose to go to bed. - -Brandy-and-soda sometimes makes men truthful after the third tumbler, -and beguiles them with illusory hopes after the fourth. The twins were -at the end of their fourth. - -"Cornelius," said the Artist, "she has £50,000." - -"She has, brother Humphrey." - -"It is a pity, Cornelius, that we, who have only £200 a year each, are -already fifty years of age." - -"Humphrey, what age do we feel?" - -"Thirty. Not a month more," replied the Artist, striking out with both -fists at an imaginary foe--probably old Time. - -"Right. Not an hour above the thirty," said the Bard, smiting his -chest gently. "As for Joseph, he is too old----" - -"Very much too old----" - -"To think of marrying such a young----" - -"Fresh and innocent----" - -"Engaging and clever girl as Miss Phillis Fleming." - -Did they, then, both intend to marry the young lady? - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -"To taste the freshness of the morning air." - - -Phillis retreated to her own room at her accustomed hour of ten. Her -nerves were excited; her brain was troubled with the events of this -day of emancipation. She was actually in the world, the great world of -which her guardian had told her, the world where history was made, -where wicked kings, as Mr. Dyson perpetually impressed upon her, made -war their play and the people their playthings. She was in the world -where all those things were done of which she had only heard as yet. -She had seen the streets of London, or some of them--those streets -along which had ridden the knights whose pictures she loved to draw, -the princesses and queens whose stories Mr. Dyson had taught her; -where the business of the world was carried on, and where there flowed -up and down the ceaseless stream of those whom necessity spurs to -action. As a matter of narrow fact, she had seen nothing but that part -of London which lies between Highgate Hill and Carnarvon Square; but -to her it seemed the City, the centre of all life, the heart of -civilisation. She regretted only that she had not been able to discern -the Tower of London. That might be, however, close to Mr. Jagenal's -house, and she would look for it in the morning. - -What a day! She sat before her fire and tried to picture it all over -again. Horses, carriages, carts, and people rushing to and fro; shops -filled with the most wonderful exhibition of precious things; -eccentric people with pipes, who trundled carts piled with yellow -oranges; gentlemen in blue with helmets, who lounged negligently along -the streets; boys who ran and whistled; boys who ran and shouted; boys -who ran and sold papers; always boys--where were all the girls? Where -were they all going? and what were they all wishing to do? - -In the evening the world appeared to narrow itself. It consisted of -dinner with three elderly gentlemen; one of whom was thoughtful about -herself, spoke kindly to her, and asked her about her past life; while -the other two--and here she laughed--talked unintelligently about Art -and themselves, and sometimes praised each other. - -Then she opened her sketch-book and began to draw the portraits of her -new friends. And first she produced a faithful _effigies_ of the -twins. This took her nearly an hour to draw, but when finished it made -a pretty picture. The brethren stood with arms intertwined like two -children, with eyes gazing fondly into each other's and heads thrown -back, in the attitude of poetic and artistic meditation which they -mostly affected. A clever sketch, and she was more than satisfied when -she held it up to the light and looked at it, before placing it in her -portfolio. - -"Mr. Humphrey said I had the eye of an artist," she murmured. "I -wonder what he will say when he sees this." - -Then she drew the portrait of Joseph. This was easy. She drew him -sitting a little forward, playing with his watch-chain, looking at her -with deep grave eyes. - -Then she closed her eyes and began to recall the endless moving -panorama of the London streets. But this she could not draw. There -came no image to her mind, only a series of blurred pictures running -into each other. - -Then she closed her sketch-book, put up her pencils, and went to bed. -It was twelve o'clock. Joseph was still thinking over the terms of Mr. -Dyson's will and the chapter on the Coping-stone. The twins were -taking their third split soda--it was brotherly to divide a bottle, -and the mixture was less likely to be unfairly diluted. - -Phillis went to bed, but she could not sleep. The steps of the -passers-by, the strange room, the excitement of the day kept her -awake. She was like some fair yacht suddenly launched from the dock -where she had grown slowly to her perfect shape, upon the waters of -the harbour, which she takes for the waters of the great ocean. - -She looked round her bedroom in Carnarvon Square, and because it was -not Highgate, thought it must be the vast, shelterless and unpitying -world of which she had so often heard, and at thought of which, brave -as she was, she had so often shuddered. - -It was nearly three when she fairly slept, and then she had a strange -dream. She thought that she was part of the great procession which -never ended all day long in the streets, only sometimes a little more -crowded and sometimes a little thinner. She pushed and hastened with -the rest. She would have liked to stay and examine the glittering -things exhibited--the gold and jewelry, the dainty cakes and delicate -fruits, the gorgeous dresses in the windows--but she could not. All -pushed on, and she with them; there had been no beginning of the rush, -and there seemed to be no end. Faces turned round and glared at -her--faces which she marked for a moment--they were the same which she -had seen in the morning; faces hard and faces hungry; faces cruel and -faces forbidding; faces that were bent on doing something -desperate--every kind of face except a sweet face. That is a rare -thing for a stranger to find in a London street. The soft sweet faces -belong to the country. She wondered why they all looked at her so -curiously. Perhaps because she was a stranger. - -Presently there was a sort of hue and cry and everybody began running, -she with them. Oddly enough, they all ran after her. Why? Was that -also because she was a stranger? Only the younger men ran, but the -rest looked on. The twins, however were both running among the -pursuers. The women pointed and flouted at her; the older men nodded, -wagged their heads, and laughed. Faster they ran and faster she fled; -they distanced, she and her pursuers the crowd behind; they passed -beyond the streets and into country fields, where hedges took the -place of the brilliant windows; they were somehow back in the old -Highgate paddock which had been so long her only outer world. The -pursuers were reduced to three or four, among them, by some odd -chance, the twin brethren and as one, but who she could not tell, -caught up with her and laid his hand upon hers, and she could run no -longer and could resist no more, but fell, not with terror at all, but -rather a sense of relief and gladness, into a clutch which was like an -embrace of a lover for softness and strength, she saw in front of her -dead old Abraham Dyson, who clapped his hands and cried, "Well run, -well won! The Coping-stone, my Phillis, of your education!" - -She woke with a start, and sat up looking round the room. Her dream -was so vivid that she saw the group before her very eyes in the -twilight--herself, with a figure, dim and undistinguishable in the -twilight, leaning over her; and a little distance off old Abraham -Dyson himself, standing, as she best remembered him, upright, and with -his hands upon his stick. He laughed and wagged his head and nodded it -as he said: "Well run, well won, my Phillis; it is the Coping-stone!" - -This was a very remarkable dream for a young lady of nineteen. Had she -told it to Joseph Jagenal it might have led his thoughts into a new -channel. - -She rubbed her eyes, and the vision disappeared. Then she laid her -head again upon the pillow, just a little frightened at her ghosts, -and presently dropped off to sleep. - -This time she had no more dreams; but she awoke soon after it was -daybreak, being still unquiet in her new surroundings. - -And now she remembered everything with a rush. She had left Highgate; -she was in Carnarvon Square; she was in Mr. Joseph Jagenal's house; -she had been introduced to two gentlemen, one of whom was said to have -a child-like nature all aglow with the flame of genius, while the -other was described as a great, a noble fellow, to know whom was a -Privilege and to converse with whom was an Education. - -She laughed when she thought of the pair. Like Nebuchadnezzar, she had -forgotten her dream. Unlike that king, she did not care to recall it. - -The past was gone. A new life was about to begin. And the April sun -was shining full upon her window-blinds. - -Phillis sprang from her bed and tore open the curtains with eager -hand. Perhaps facing her might be the Tower of London. Perhaps the -Thames, the silver Thames, with London Bridge. Perhaps St. Paul's -Cathedral, "which Christopher Wren built in place of the old one -destroyed by the Great Fire." Phillis's facts in history were short -and decisive like the above. - -No Tower of London at all. No St. Paul's Cathedral. No silver Thames. -Only a great square with houses all round. Carnarvon Square at dawn. -Not, perhaps, a fairy piece, but wonderful in its novelty to this -newly emancipated cloistered nun, with whom a vivid sense of the -beautiful had grown up by degrees in her mind, fed only in the -pictures supplied by the imagination. She knew the trees that grew in -Lord Manfield's park, beyond the paddock; she could catch in fine days -a glimpse of the vast city that stretches itself out from the feet of -breezy Highgate; she knew the flowers of her own garden; and for the -rest--she imagined it. River, lake, mountain, forest, and field, she -knew them only by talk with her guardian. And the mighty ocean she -knew because her French maid had crossed it when she quitted fair -Normandy, and told her again and again of the horrors encountered by -those who go down to the sea in ships. - -So that a second garden was a new revelation. Besides it was bright -and pretty. There were the first flowers of spring, gay tulips and -pretty things, whose name she did not know or could not make out from -the window. The shrubs and trees were green with the first sweet -chlorine foliage of April, clear and fresh from the broken buds which -lay thick upon the ground, the tender leaflets as yet all unsullied by -the London smoke. - -The pavement was deserted, because it was as yet too early for any -one, even a milk-boy, to be out. The only living person to be seen was -a gardener, already at work among the plants. - -A great yearning came over her to be out in the open air and among the -flowers. At Highgate she rose at all hours; worked in the garden; -saddled and rode her pony in the field; and amused herself in a -thousand ways before the household rose, subject to no restraint or -law but one--that she was not to open the front-door, or venture -herself in the outer world. - -"Mr. Jagenal said I was to do as I liked," she said, hesitating. "It -cannot be wrong to go out of the front-door now. Besides," reasoning -here like a casuist, "perhaps it is the back-door which leads to that -garden." - -In a quarter of an hour she was ready. She was not one of those young -ladies who, because no one is looking at them, neglect their personal -appearance. On the contrary, she always dressed for herself; -therefore, she always dressed well. - -This morning she wore a morning costume, all one colour, and I think -it was gray, but am not quite certain. It was in the graceful fashion -of last year, lying in long curved lines, and fitting closely to her -slender and tall figure. A black ribbon was tied round her neck, and -in her hat--the hats of last year did not suit every kind of face, but -they suited the face of Phillis Fleming--she wore one of those bright -little birds whose destruction for the purposes of fashion we all -deplore. In her hand she carried, as if she were still at Highgate and -going to saddle her pony, a small riding-whip. And thus she opened the -door, and slid down the stairs of the great silent house as stealthily -and almost as fearfully as the Lady Godiva on a certain memorable day. -It was a ghostly feeling which came over her when she ran across the -broad hall, and listened to the pattering of her own feet upon the -oilcloth. The broad daylight streamed through the _réverbère_; but yet -the place seemed only half lit up. The closed doors on either hand -looked as if dreadful things lurked behind them. With something like a -shudder she let down the door-chain, unbarred the bolts, and opened -the door. As she passed through she was aware of a great rush across -the hall behind her. It was Cĉsar, the mastiff. Awakened by a noise as -of one burgling, he crept swiftly and silently up the kitchen-stairs, -with intent to do a desperate deed of valour, and found to his -rapturous joy that it was only the young lady, she who came the night -before, and that she was going out for an early morning walk--a thing -he, for his part, had not been permitted to do for many, many moons, -not since he had been brought--a puppy yet, and innocent--to the heart -of London. - -No one out at all except themselves. What joy! Phillis shut the door -very carefully behind her, looked up and down the street, and then -running down the steps, seized the happy Cĉsar by the paws and danced -round and round with him upon the pavement. Then they both ran a race. -She ran like Atalanta, but Cĉsar led till the finish, when out of a -courtesy more than Castilian, he allowed himself to be beaten, and -Phillis won by a neck. This result pleased them both, and Phillis -discovered that her race had brought her quite to the end of one side -of the square. And then, looking about her, she perceived that a gate -of the garden was open, and went in, followed by Cĉsar, now in the -seventh heaven. This was better, better, than leading a pair of twins -who sometimes tied knots with their legs. The gate was left open by -the under-gardener, who had arisen thus early in the morning with a -view to carrying off some of the finer tulips for himself. They raced -and chased each other up and down the gravel walks between the lilacs -and laburnums bursting into blossom. Presently they came to the -under-gardener himself, who was busy potting a selection of the -tulips. He stared as if at a ghost. Half-past five in the morning, and -a young lady, with a dog, looking at him! - -He stiffened his upper lip, and put the spade before the flower-pots. - -"Beg pardon, miss. No dogs allowed. On the rules, miss." - -"William," she replied--for she was experienced in undergardeners, -knew that they always answer to the name of William, also that they -are exposed to peculiar temptations in the way of bulb--"William, for -whom you are potting those tulips?" - -Then, because the poor youth's face was suffused and his countenance -was "unto himself for a betrayal," she whistled--actually whistled--to -Cĉsar, and ran on laughing. - -"Here's a rum start," said William. "A young lady as knows my name, -what I'm up to and all, coming here at five o clock in the blessed -morning when all young ladies as I ever heard of has got their noses -in their pillowses--else 'tain't no good being a young lady. Ketches -me a disposin' of the toolups. With a dawg, and whistles like a young -nobleman." - -He began putting back the flowers. - -"No knowin' who she mayn't tell, nor what she mayn't say. It's -dangerous, William." - -By different roads, Montaigne wrote, we arrive at the same end. -William's choice of the path of virtue was in this case due to -Phillis's early visit. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -"Te duce Cĉsar." - - -Tired of running, the girl began to walk. It was an April morning, -when the east wind for once had forgotten to blow. Walking, she -whistled one of the ditties that she knew. She had a very superior -mode of performing on that natural piccolo-flute, the human mouth; it -was a way of her own, not at all like the full round whistle of the -street-boy, with as much volume as in a bottle of '51 port, as full of -unmeaning sound as a later poem of Robert Browning's, and as -unmelodious as the instrument on which that poet has always played. -Quite the contrary. Phillis's whistle was of a curious delicacy and of -a bullfinch-like note, only more flexible. She trilled out an old -English ditty, "When Love was young," first simply, and then with -variations. Presently, forgetting that she was not in the old paddock, -she began to sing it in her fresh young voice, William the -under-gardener and Cĉsar the dog her only audience. They were -differently affected. William grew sad, thinking of his sins. The dog -wagged his tail and rushed round and round the singer by way of -appreciation. Music saddens the guilty, but maketh glad those who are -clear of conscience. - -It was half past six when she became aware that she was getting -hungry. In the old times it was easy to descend to the kitchen and -make what Indian people call a _chota hazri_, a little breakfast -for herself. Now she was not certain whether, supposing the servants -were about, her visit would be well received; or, supposing they were -not yet up, she should know where to find the kettle, the tea, and the -firewood. - -She left the garden, followed by Cĉsar, who was also growing hungry -after his morning walk, and resolved on going straight home. - -There were two objections to this. - -First, she did not know one house from another, and they were all -alike. Second, she did not know the number, and could not have read it -had she known it. - -Mr. Jagenal's door was painted a dark brown; so were they all. Mr. -Jagenal's door had a knocker; so had they all. Could she go all round -the square knocking at every door, and waking up the people to ask if -Mr. Jagenal lived there? She knew little of the world, but it did -occur to her that it would seem unconventional for a young lady to -"knock in" at six in the morning. She did not, most unfortunately, -think of asking William the under-gardener. - -She turned to the dog. - -"Now, Cĉsar," she said, "take me home." - -Cĉsar wagged his tail, nodded his head, and started off before her at -a smart walk, looking round now and then to see that his charge was -following. - -"Lucky," said Phillis, "that I thought of the dog." - -Cĉsar proceeded with great solemnity to cross the road, and began to -march down the side of the square, Phillis expecting him to stop at -every house. But he did not. Arrived at the corner where Carnarvon -Street strikes off the square he turned aside, and looking round to -see that his convoy was steering the same course, he trudged sturdily -down that thoroughfare. - -"This cannot be right," thought Phillis. But she was loath to leave -the dog, for to lose him would be to lose everything, and she -followed. Perhaps he knew of a back way. Perhaps he would take her for -a little walk, and show her the Tower of London. - -Cĉsar, no longer running and bounding around her, walked on with the -air of one who has an important business on hand, and means to carry -it through. Carnarvon Street is long, and of the half-dismal, -half-genteel order of Bloomsbury, Cĉsar walked halfway down the -street. Then he suddenly came to a dead stop. It was in front of a -tavern, the Carnarvon Arms, the door of which, for it was an early -house, was already open, and the potboy was taking down the shutters. -The fact that the shutters were only half down made the dog at first -suspect that there was something wrong. The house, as he knew it, -always had the shutters down and the portals open. As, however, there -seemed no unlawfulness of licensed hours to consider, the dog marched -into the bar without so much as looking to see if Phillis was -following, and immediately lay down with his head on his paws. - -"Why does he go in there?" said Phillis. "And what is the place?" - -She pushed the door, which, as usual in such establishments, hung half -open by means of a leathern strap, and looked in. Nobody in the place -but Cĉsar. She entered, and tried to understand where she was. A smell -of stale beer and stale tobacco hanging about the room smote her -senses, and made her sick and faint. She saw the bottles and glasses, -the taps and the counters, and she understood--she was in a -drinking-place, one of the wicked dens of which her guardian sometimes -spoke. She was in a tavern, that is, a place where workmen spend their -earnings and leave their families to starve. She looked round her with -curiosity and a little fear. - -Presently she became aware of the early-risen potboy, who, having -taken down the shutters, was proceeding about his usual work behind -the bar, when his eyes fell upon the astonishing sight of a young -lady, a real young lady, as he saw at once, standing in the Bottle and -Jug department. He then observed the dog, and comprehended that she -was come there after Cĉsar, and not for purposes of refreshment. - -"Why, miss," he said, "Cĉsar thinks he's out with the two gentlemen. -He brings them here regular, you see, every morning, and they takes -their little glass, don't they, Cĉsar?" - -Probably--thought watchful Phillis, anxious to learn,--probably a -custom of polite life which Mr. Dyson had neglected to teach her. And -yet he always spoke with such bitterness of public-houses. - -"Will you take a drop of somethink, miss?" asked the polite assistant, -tapping the handles hospitably. "What shall it be?" - -"I should like----" said Phillis. - -"To be sure, it's full early," the man went on, "for a young lady and -all. But Lor' bless your 'art, it's never none too early for most, -when they've got the coin. Give it a name, miss, and there, the guvnor -he isn't hup, and we won't chalk it down to you, nor never ask you for -the money. On'y give it a name." - -"Thank you very much," said Phillis. "I _should_ like to have a cup of -tea, if I could take it outside." - -He shook his head, a gesture of disappointment. - -"It can't be had here. Tea!"--as if he had thought better things of so -much beauty--"Tea! Swipes! After all, miss, it's your way, and no -doubt you don't know no better. There's a Early Caufy-'ouse a little -way up the street. You must find it for yourself, because the dawg he -don't know it; knows nothink about Tea, that dawg. You go out, miss, -and Cĉsar he'll go to." - -Phillis thanked him again for his attention, and followed his advice. -Cĉsar instantly got up and sallied forth with her. Instead, however, -of returning to the square, he went straight on down Carnarvon Street, -still leading the way. Turning first to the right and then to the -left, he conducted Phillis through what seemed a labyrinth of streets. -These were mostly streets of private houses, not of the best, but -rather of the seediest. It was now nearly seven o'clock, and the signs -of life were apparent. The paper-boy was beginning, with the milk-man, -his rounds; the postman's foot was preparing for the first turn on his -daily treadmill of doorsteps and double knocks. The workmen, paid by -time, were strolling to their hours of idleness with bags of tools; -windows were thrown open here and there; and an early servant might be -seen rejoicing to bang her mats at the street-door. Phillis tried to -retain her faith in Cĉsar, and followed obediently. It was easy to see -that the dog knew where he was going, and had a distinct purpose in -his mind. It was to be hoped, she thought, that his purpose included a -return home as soon as possible, because she was getting a little -tired. - -Streets--always streets. Who were the people who lived in them all? -Could there be in every house the family life of which Mr. Dyson used -to tell her--the life she had never seen, but which he promised she -should one day see--the sweet life where father and mother and -children live together and share their joys and sorrows? She began to -look into the windows as she walked along, in the hope of catching a -hasty glance at so much of the family life as might be seen so early -in the morning. - -She passed one house where the family were distinctly visible gathered -together in the front kitchen. She stopped and looked down through the -iron railings. The children were seated at the table. The mother was -engaged in some cooking operations at the fire. Were they about to -sing a hymn and to have family prayers before their breakfast? Not at -this house apparently, for the woman suddenly turned from her -occupation at the fire and, without any adequate motive that Phillis -could discern, began boxing the children's ears all round. Instantly -there arose a mighty cry from those alike who had already been boxed -and those who sat expectant of their turn. Evidently this was one of -the houses where the family life was not a complete success. The scene -jarred on Phillis, upsetting her pretty little Arcadian castle of -domestic happiness. She felt disappointed, and hurried on after her -conductor. - -It is sad to relate that Cĉsar presently entered another public-house. -This time Phillis went in after him with no hesitation at all. She -encountered the landlord in person, who greeted the dog, asked him -what he was doing so early, and then explained to Miss Fleming that he -was accustomed to call at the house every day about noon, accompanied -by two gentlemen, who had their little whack and then went away; and -that she only had to go through the form of coming and departing in -order to get Cĉsar out too. - -"Little whack," thought Phillis. "Little glass! What a lot of customs -and expressions I have to learn!" - -For those interested in the sagacity of dogs, or in comparative -psychology, it may be noted as a remarkable thing that when Cĉsar came -out of that second public-house he hesitated, as one struck suddenly -with a grievous doubt. Had he been doing right? He took a few steps in -advance, then he looked round and stopped, then he looked up and down -the street. Finally he came back to Phillis, and asked for -instructions with a wistful gaze. - -Phillis turned round and said, "Home, Cĉsar." Then, after barking -twice, Cĉsar led the way back again with alacrity and renewed -confidence. - -He not only led the way home, but he chose a short cut known only to -himself. Perhaps he thought his charge might be tired; perhaps he -wished to show her some further varieties of English life. - -In the districts surrounding Bloomsbury are courts which few know -except the policeman; even that dauntless functionary is chary of -venturing himself into them, except in couples, and then he would -rather stay outside, if only out of respect to a playful custom, of -old standing, prevalent among the inhabitants. They keep flower-pots -on their first and second floors, and when a policeman passes through -the court they drop them over. If no one is hurt, there is no need of -an apology; if a constable receives the projectile on his head or -shoulder, it is a deplorable accident which those who have caused it -are the first to publicly lament. It was through a succession of these -courts that the dog led Phillis. - -Those of the men who had work to do were by this time gone to do it. -Those who had none, together with those who felt strongly on the -subject of Adam's curse and therefore wished for none, stayed at home -and smoked pipes, leaning against the doorposts. The ideal heaven of -these noble Englishmen is for ever to lean against doorposts and for -ever to smoke pipes in a land where it is always balmy morning, and -where there are "houses" handy into which they can slouch from time to -time for a drink. - -The ladies, their consorts, were mostly engaged in such household -occupations as could be carried on out of doors and within -conversation reach of each other. The court was therefore musical with -sweet feminine voices. - -The children played together--no officer of the London School Board -having yet ventured to face those awful flower-pots--in a continuous -stream along the central line of the courts. Phillis observed that the -same game was universal, and that the players were apparently all of -the same age. - -She also remarked a few things which struck her as worth noting. The -language of the men differed considerably from that used by Mr. Dyson, -and their pronunciation seemed to her to lack delicacy. The difference -most prominent at first was the employment of a single adjective to -qualify everything--an observance so universal as to arrest at once -the attention of a stranger. The women, it was also apparent, were all -engaged in singing together a kind of chorus of lamentation, in -irregular strophe and antistrophe, on the wicked ways of their men. - -Rough as were the natives of this place, no one molested Phillis. The -men stared at her and exchanged criticisms on her personal appearance. -These were complimentary, although not poetically expressed. The women -stared harder, but said nothing until she had passed by. Then they -made remarks which would have been unpleasant had they been audible. -The children alone took no notice of her. The immunity from insult -which belongs to young ladies in English thoroughfares depends, I -fear, more upon force of public opinion than upon individual chivalry. -Una could trust herself alone with her lion: she can only trust -herself among the roughs of London when they are congregated in -numbers. Nor, I think, the spectacle of goodness and purity, combined -with beauty, produce in their rude breasts, by comparison with -themselves, those feelings of shame, opening up the way to repentance, -which are expected by self-conscious maidens ministering in the paths -of Dorcas. - -Phillis walked along with steadfast eyes, watching everything and -afraid of nothing, because she knew of no cause for fear. The dog, -decreasing the distance between them, marched a few feet in advance, -right through the middle of the children, who fell back and formed a -lane for them to pass. Once Phillis stopped to look at a child--a -great-eyed, soft-faced, curly-haired, beautiful boy. She spoke to him, -asked him his name, held out her hand to him. The fathers and the -mothers looked on and watched for the result, which would probably -take the form of coin. - -The boy prefaced his reply with an oath of great fulness and rich -flavour. Phillis had never heard the phrase before, but it sounded -unmusically on her ear. Then he held out his hand and demanded a -copper. The watchful parents and guardians on the door-steps murmured -approval, and all the children shouted together like the men of -Ephesus. - -At this juncture Cĉsar looked round. He mastered the situation in a -moment, surrounded and isolated his convoy by a rapid movement almost -simultaneous in flank and rear; barked angrily at the children, who -threatened to close in _en masse_ and make short work of poor Phillis; -and gave her clearly to understand once for all that she was to follow -him with silent and unquestioning docility. - -She obeyed, and they came out of the courts and into the squares. -Phillis began to hope that the Tower of London would presently heave -in sight, or at least the silver Thames with London Bridge; but they -did not. - -She was very tired by this time. It was nearly eight, and she had been -up and out since five. Even her vigorous young limbs were beginning to -feel dragged by her three hours' ramble. Quite suddenly Cĉsar turned a -corner, as it seemed, and she found herself once more in Carnarvon -Square. The dog, feeling that he had done enough for reputation, -walked soberly along the pavement, until he came to No. 15, when he -ascended the steps and sat down. - -The door was open, Jane the housemaid assiduously polishing the -bell-handles. - -"Lor' a mercy, miss!" she cried, "I thought you was a-bed and asleep. -Wherever have you a-bin--with Cĉsar too?" - -"We went for a walk and lost ourselves," Phillis replied. "Jane, I am -very hungry; what time is breakfast?" - -"The master has his at eight, miss. But Mr. Cornelius he told me -yesterday that you would breakfast with him and Mr. Humphrey--about -eleven, he said. And Mr. Humphrey thought you'd like a little fresh -fish and a prawn curry, perhaps." - -"I shall breakfast with Mr. Joseph," said Phillis. - -She went to her room in a little temper. It was too bad to be treated -like a child wanting nice things for breakfast. A little more -experience taught her that any culinary forethought on the part of the -Twins was quite sure to be so directed as to secure their own -favourite dishes. - -She did breakfast with Joseph: made tea for him, told him all about -her morning adventures, received his admonitions in good part, and -sent him to his office half an hour later than usual. One of his -letters bore an American stamp. This he opened, putting the rest in a -leather pocket-book. - -"This letter concerns you, Miss Fleming," he apologised, in an -old-fashioned way; "that is why I opened it before you. It comes from -your remaining guardian, Mr. Lawrence Colquhoun. Listen to what he -says. He writes from New York; 'I am sorry to hear that my old friend -Abraham Dyson is gone. I shall be ready to assume my new -responsibilities in a fortnight after you receive this letter, as I -hope to land in that time at Liverpool. Meantime give my kindest -regards to my ward.' So--Lawrence Colquhoun home again!" - -"Tell me about him: is he grave and old, like Mr. Dyson? Will he want -me to go back to the old life and talk 'subjects'? Mr. Jagenal, much -as I loved my dear old guardian, I _could_ not consent to be shut -up any more." - -"You will not be asked, my dear young lady. Mr. Colquhoun is a man -under forty. He is neither old nor grave. He was in the army with your -father. He sold out seven or eight years ago, spent a year or two -about London, and then disappeared. I am his lawyer, and from time to -time he used to send me his address and draw on me for money. That is -all I can tell you of his travels. Lawrence Colquhoun, Miss Fleming, -was a popular man. Everybody liked him; especially the--the fair sex." - -"Was he very clever?" - -"N-no; I should say _not_ very clever. Not stupid. And, now one -thinks of it, it is remarkable that he never was known to excel in -anything, though he hunted, rode, shot, and did, I suppose, all the -other things that young men in the army are fond of. He was fond of -reading too, and had a considerable fund of information; but he never -excelled in anything." - -Phillis shook her head. - -"Mr. Dyson used to say that the people we like best are the people who -are in our own line and have acknowledged their own inferiority to -ourselves. Perhaps the reason why Mr. Colquhoun was liked was that he -did not compete with the men who wished to excel, but contentedly took -a second place." - -This was one of the bits of Dysonian philosophy with which Phillis -occasionally graced her conversation, quoting it as reverently as if -it had been a line from Shakespeare, sometimes with startling effect. - -"I shall try to like him. I am past nineteen, and at twenty-one I -shall be my own mistress. If I do not like him, I shall not live with -him any longer after that." - -"I think you will not, in any case, live at Mr. Colquhoun's -residence," said Joseph; "but I am sure you will like him." - -"A fortnight to wait." - -"You must not be shy of him," Joseph went on; "you have nothing to be -afraid of. Think highly of yourself, to begin with." - -"I do," said Phillis; "Mr. Dyson always tried to make me think highly -of myself. He told me my education was better than that of any girl he -knew. Of course that was partly his kind way of encouraging me. Mr. -Dyson said that shyness was a kind of cowardice, or else a kind of -vanity. People who are afraid of other people, he said, either -mistrust themselves or think they are not rated at their true value. -But I think I am not at all afraid of strangers. Do I look like being -afraid?" She drew herself up to her full height and smiled a conscious -superiority. "Perhaps you will think that I rate myself too highly." - -"That," said Joseph, with a compliment really creditable for a -beginner,--"that would be difficult, Miss. Fleming." - -When the Twins prepared to take their morning walk at twelve an -unexpected event happened. Cĉsar, for the first time on record, and -for no reason apparent or assigned, refused to accompany them. They -went out without him, feeling lonely, unhappy, and a little -unprotected. They passed the Carnarvon Arms without a word. At the -next halting-place they entered the bar in silence, glancing guiltily -at each other. Could it be that the passion for drink, divested of its -usual trappings of pretence, presented itself suddenly to the brethren -in its horrid ugliness? They came out with shame-faced looks, and -returned home earlier than usual. They were perfectly sober, and -separated without the usual cheery allusions to Work. Perhaps the -conscience was touched, for when Jane took up their tea she found the -Poet in his Workshop sitting at the table, and the Artist in his -Studio standing at his easel. Before the one was a blank sheet of -paper; before the other was a blank canvas. Both were fractious, and -both found fault with the tea. After dinner they took a bottle of -port, which Humphrey said, they really felt to want. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - "I do not know - One of my sex; no woman's face remember - Save, from my glass, mine own." - - -In the afternoon Phillis, who was "writing up" her diary after the -manner of the ancient Aztec, received a visitor. For the first time in -her life the girl found herself face to face with--a lady. Men she -knew--chiefly men of advanced age; they came to dine with Abraham -Dyson. Women-servants she knew, for she had a French maid--imported -too young to be mischievous; and there had been a cook at Highgate, -with two or three maids. Not one of these virgins possessed the art of -reading, or they would never have been engaged by Mr. Dyson. Nor was -she encouraged by her guardian to talk with them. Also she knew that -in the fulness of time she was to be somehow transferred from the -exclusive society of men to that in which the leading part would be -taken by ladies--women brought up delicately like herself, but not -all, unhappily, on the same sound fundamental principle of oral -teaching. - -Among the loose odds and ends which remained in Mr. Dyson's -portfolios, and where lay all that Joseph Jagenal could ever find to -help in completing his great system of education, was the following -scrap:-- - -"Women brought up with women are hindered in their perfect -development. Let the girls be separated from the society of their sex, -and be educated mostly among men. In this way the receptivity of the -feminine mind may be turned to best account in the acquirement of -robust masculine ideas. Every girl may become a mother; let her -therefore sit among men and listen." - -Perhaps this deprivation of the society of her own sex was a greater -loss to Phillis than her ignorance of reading. Consider what it -entailed. She grew up without the most rudimentary notions of the -great art of flirtation; she had never even heard of looking out for -an establishment; she had no idea of considering every young man as a -possible husband; she had, indeed, no glimmerings, not the faintest -streak of dawning twilight in the matter of love; while as for -angling, hooking a big fish and landing him, she was no better than a -heathen Hottentot. This was the most important loss, but there were -others; she knew how to dress, partly by instinct, partly by looking -at pictures; but she knew nothing about Making-up. Nature, which gave -her the figure of Hebe, made this loss insignificant to her, though it -is perhaps the opinion of Mr. Worth that there is no figure so good -but Art can improve it. But not to _know_ about Making-up is, for -a woman, to lose a large part of useful sympathy for other women. - -Again, she knew nothing of the way in which girls pour little -confidences, all about trifles, into each other's ears; she had not -cultivated that intelligence which girls can only learn from each -other, and which enables them to communicate volumes with a -half-lifted eyelid; she had a man's way of saying out what she -thought, and even, so far as her dogmatic training permitted, of -thinking for herself. She did not understand the mystery with which -women enwrap themselves, partly working on the imagination of youth, -and partly through their love of secluded talk--a remnant of barbaric -times, and a proof of the subjection of the sex, the _frou-frou_ -of life was lost to her. And being without mystery, with the art of -flirtation, with nothing to hide and no object to gain, Phillis was -entirely free from the great vice into which women of the weaker -nature are apt to fall--she was perfectly and wholly truthful. - -And now she was about to make acquaintance for the first time with a -lady--one of her own sex and of her own station. - -I suppose Phillis must have preserved the characteristic instincts of -her womanhood, despite her extraordinary training, because the first -thing she observed was that her visitor was dressed in a style quite -beyond her power of conception and imperfect taste. So she generalised -from an individual case, and jumped at the notion that here was a very -superior woman indeed. - -The superiority was in the "young person" at Melton and Mowbray's, who -designed the dress; but that Phillis did not know. - -A more remarkable point with Mrs. Cassilis, Phillis's visitor, than -her dress was her face. It was so regular as to be faultless. It might -have been modelled, and so have served for a statue. It was also as -cold as a face of marble. Men have prayed--men who have fallen into -feminine traps--to be delivered from every species of woman except the -cold woman; even King Solomon, who had great opportunities, including -long life, of studying the sex, mentions her not; and yet I think that -she is the worst of all. Lord, give us tender-hearted wives! When we -carve our ideal woman in marble, we do not generally choose the wise -Minerva nor the chaste Diana, but Venus, soft-eyed, lissom, -tender--and generally true. - -Mrs. Cassilis called. As she entered the room she saw a tall and -beautiful girl, with eyes of a deep brown, who rose to greet her with -a little timidity. She was taken by surprise. She expected to find a -rough and rather vulgar young woman, of no style and unformed manners. -She saw before her a girl whose attitude spoke unmistakably of -delicacy and culture. Whatever else Miss Fleming might be, she was -clearly a lady. That was immediately apparent, and Mrs. Cassilis was -not likely to make a mistake on a point of such vital importance. A -young lady of graceful figure, most attractive face, and, which was -all the more astonishing, considering her education, perfectly -dressed. Phillis, in fact, was attired in the same simple morning -costume in which she had taken her early morning walk. On the table -before her were her sketch-book and her pencils. - -Mrs. Cassilis was dressed, for her part, in robes which it had taken -the highest talent of Regent Street to produce. Her age was about -thirty. Her cold face shone for a moment with the wintery light of a -forced smile, but her eyes did not soften, as she took Phillis's hand. - -Phillis's pulse beat a little faster, in spite of her courage. - -Art face to face with Nature. The girl just as she left her nunnery, -ignorant of mankind, before the perfect woman of the world. They -looked curiously in each other's eyes. Now the first lesson taught by -the world is the way to dissemble. Mrs. Cassilis said to herself, -"Here is a splendid girl. She is not what I expected to see. This is a -girl to cultivate and bring out--a girl to do one credit." But she -said aloud-- - -"Miss Fleming? I am sure it is. You are _exactly_ the sort of a girl I -expected." - -Then she sat down and looked at her comfortably. - -"I am the wife of your late guardian's nephew--Mr. Gabriel Cassilis. -You have never met him yet; but I hope you will very soon make his -acquaintance." - -"Thank you," said Phillis simply. - -"We used to think, until Mr. Dyson died and his preposterous will was -read, that his eccentric behaviour was partly your fault. But when we -found that he had left you nothing, of course we felt that we had done -you an involuntary wrong. And the will was made when you were a mere -child, and could have no voice or wish in the matter." - -"I had plenty of money," said Phillis; "why should poor Mr. Dyson want -to leave me any more?" - -Quite untaught. As if any one could have too much money! - -"Forty thousand pounds a year! and all going to Female education. Not -respectable Female education. If it had been left to Girton College, -or even to finding bread-and-butter, with the Catechism and -Contentment, for charity girls in poke bonnets, it would have been -less dreadful. But to bring up young ladies as you were brought up, my -poor Miss Fleming----" - -"Am I not respectable?" asked Phillis, as humbly as a West Indian -nigger before emancipation asking if he was not a man and a brother. - -"My dear child, I hear you cannot even read and write." - -"That is quite true." - -"But everybody learns to read and write. All the Sunday school -children even know how to read and write." - -"Perhaps that is a misfortune for the Sunday school children," Phillis -calmly observed; "it would very likely be better for the Sunday school -children were they taught more useful things." Here Phillis was -plagiarising--using Mr. Dyson's own words. - -"At least every one in society knows them. Miss Fleming, I am ten -years older than you, and, if you will only trust me, I will give you -such advice and assistance as I can." - -"You are very kind," said Phillis, with a little distrust, of which -she was ashamed. "I know that I must be very ignorant, because I have -already seen so much, that I never suspected before. If you will only -tell me of my deficiencies I will try to repair them. And I can learn -reading and writing any time, you know, if it is at all necessary." - -"Then let us consider. My poor girl, I fear you have to learn the very -rudiments of society. Of course you are quite ignorant of things that -people talk about. Books are out of the question. Music and concerts; -art and pictures; china--perhaps Mr. Dyson collected?" - -"No." - -"A pity. China would be a great help; the opera and theatres; balls -and dancing; the rink----" - -"What is the rink?" asked Phillis. - -"The latest addition to the arts of flirtation and killing time. -Perhaps you can fall back upon Church matters. Are you a Ritualist?" - -"What is that?" - -"My dear girl"--Mrs. Cassilis looked unutterable horror as a thought -struck her--"did you actually never go to church?" - -"No. Mr. Dyson used to read prayers every day. Why should people go to -church when they pray?" - -"Why? why? Because people in society all go; because you must set an -example to the lower orders. Dear me! It is very shocking! and girls -are all expected to take such an interest in religion. But the first -thing is to learn reading." - -She had been carrying a little box in her hands all this time, which -she now placed on the table and opened. It contained small wooden -squares, with gaudy pictures pasted on them. - -"This is a Pictorial Alphabet: an introduction to all education. Let -me show you how to use it. What is this?" - -She held up one square. - -"It is a very bad picture, abominably coloured, of a hatchet or a -kitchen chopper." - -"An axe, my dear--A, x, e. The initial letter A is below in its two -forms. And this?" - -"That is worse. I suppose it is meant for a cow. What a cow!" - -"Bull, my dear--B, u, l, l, bull. The initial B is below." - -"And is this," asked Phillis, with great contempt, "the way to learn -reading? A kitchen chopper stands for A, and a cow with her legs out -of drawing stands for B. Unless I can draw my cows for myself, Mrs. -Cassilis, I shall not try to learn reading." - -"You can draw, then?" - -"I draw a little," said Phillis. "Not so well, of course, as girls -brought up respectably." - -"Pardon me, my dear Miss Fleming, if I say that sarcasm is not -considered good style. It fails to attract." - -Good style, thought Phillis, means talking so as to attract. - -"Do let me draw you," said Phillis. Her temper was not faultless, and -it was rising by degrees, so that she wanted the relief of silence. -"Do let me draw you as you sit there." - -She did not wait for permission, but sketched in a few moments a -profile portrait of her visitor, in which somehow the face, perfectly -rendered in its coldness and strength, was without the look which its -owner always thought was there--the look which invites sympathy. The -real unsympathetic nature, caught in a moment by some subtle artist's -touch, was there instead. Mrs. Cassilis looked at it, and an angry -flush crossed her face, which Phillis, wondering why, noted. - -"You caricature extremely well. I congratulate you on that power, but -it is a dangerous accomplishment--even more dangerous than the -practice of sarcasm. The girl who indulges in the latter at most fails -to attract; but the caricaturist repels." - -"Oh!" said Phillis, innocent of any attempt to caricature, but trying -to assimilate this strange dogmatic teaching. - -"We must always remember that the most useful weapons in a girl's -hands are those of submission, faith and reverence. Men hate--they -hate and detest--women who think for themselves. They positively -loathe the woman who dares turn them into ridicule." - -She looked as if she could be one of the few who possess that daring. - -"Fortunately," she went on, "such women are rare. Even among the -strong-minded crew, the shrieking sisterhood, most of them are obliged -to worship some man or other of their own school." - -"I don't understand. Pardon me, Mrs. Cassilis, that I am so stupid. I -say what I think, and you tell me I am sarcastic." - -"Girls in society never say what they think. They assent, or at best -ask a question timidly." - -"And I make a little pencil sketch of you, and you tell me I am a -caricaturist." - -"Girls who can draw must draw in the conventional manner recognised by -society. They do not draw likenesses; they copy flowers, and sometimes -draw angels and crosses. To please men they draw soldiers and horses." - -"But why cannot girls draw what they please? And why must they try to -attract?" - -Mrs. Cassilis looked at this most innocent of girls with misgiving. -_Could_ she be so ignorant as she seemed, or was she pretending. - -"Why? Phillis Fleming, only ask me that question again in six months' -time if you dare." - -Phillis shook her head; she was clearly out of her depth. - -"Have you any other accomplishments?" - -"I am afraid not. I can play a little. Mr. Dyson liked my playing; but -it is all from memory and from ear." - -"Will you, if you do not mind, play something to me?" - -Victoria Cassilis cared no more for music than the deaf adder which -hath no understanding. By dint of much teaching, however, she had -learned to execute creditably. The playing of Phillis, sweet, -spontaneous, and full of feeling, had no power to touch her heart. - -"Ye-yes," she said, "that is the sort of playing which some young men -like: not those young men from Oxford who 'follow' Art, and pretend to -understand good music. You may see them asleep at afternoon recitals. -You must play at small parties only, Phillis. Can you sing?" - -"I sing as I play," said Phillis, rising and shutting the piano. "That -is only, I suppose, for small parties." The colour came into her -cheeks, and her brown eyes brightened. She was accustomed to think -that her playing gave pleasure. Then she reproached herself for -ingratitude, and she asked pardon. "I am cross with myself for being -so deficient. Pray forgive me, Mrs. Cassilis. It is very kind of you -to take all this trouble." - -"My dear, you are a hundred times better than I expected." - -Phillis remembered what she had said ten minutes before, but was -silent. - -"A hundred times better. Can you dance, my dear?" - -"No. Antoinette tells me how she used to dance with the villagers when -she was a little girl at Yport." - -"That can be easily learned. Do you ride?" - -At any other time Phillis would have replied in the affirmative. Now -she only asserted a certain power of sticking on, acquired on -pony-back and in a paddock. Mrs. Cassilis sighed. - -"After all, a few lessons will give you a becoming seat. Nothing so -useful as clever horsemanship. But how shall we disguise the fact that -you cannot read or write?" - -"I shall not try to disguise it," Phillis cried, jealous of Mr. -Dyson's good name. - -"Well, my dear, we come now to the most important question of all. -Where do you get your dresses?" - -"O Mrs. Cassilis! do not say that my dresses are calculated to repel!" -cried poor Phillis, her spirit quite broken by this time. "Antoinette -and I made this one between us. Sometimes I ordered them at Highgate, -but I like my own best." - -Mrs. Cassilis put up a pair of double eye-glasses, because they were -now arrived at a really critical stage of the catechism. There was -something in the simple dress which forced her admiration. It was -quite plain, and, compared with her own, as a daisy is to a dahlia. - -"It is a very nice dress," she said critically. "Whether it is your -figure, or your own taste, or material, I do not know; but you are -dressed _perfectly_, Miss Fleming. No young lady could dress better." - -Women meet on the common ground of dress. Phillis blushed with -pleasure. At all events, she and her critic had something on which -they could agree. - -"I will come to-morrow morning, and we will examine your wardrobe -together, if you will allow me; and then we will go to Melton & -Mowbray's. And I will write to Mr. Jagenal, asking him to bring you to -dinner in the evening, if you will come." - -"I should like it very much," said Phillis. "But you have made me a -little afraid." - -"You need not be afraid at all. And it will be a very small party. Two -or three friends of my husband's, and two men who have just come home -and published a book, which is said to be clever. One is a brother of -Lord Isleworth, Mr. Ronald Dunquerque, and the other is a Captain -Ladds. You have only to listen and look interested." - -"Then I will come. And it is very kind of you, Mrs. Cassilis, -especially since you do not like me." - -That was quite true, but not a customary thing to be said. Phillis -perceived dislike in the tones of her visitor's voice, in her eyes, in -her manner. Did Mrs. Cassilis dislike her for her fresh and -unsophisticated nature, or for her beauty, or for the attractiveness -which breathed from every untaught look and gesture of the girl? -Swedenborg taught that the lower nature cannot love the nobler; that -the highest heavens are open to all who like to go there, but the -atmosphere is found congenial to very few. - -"Not like you!" Mrs. Cassilis, hardly conscious of any dislike, -answered after her kind. "My dear, I hope we shall like each other -very much. Do not let fancies get into your pretty head. I shall try -to be your friend, if you will let me." - -Again the wintry smile upon the lips, and the lifting of the cold -eyes, which smiled not. - -But Phillis was deceived by the warmth of the words. She took her -visitor's hand and kissed it. The act was a homage to the woman of -superior knowledge. - -"Oh yes," she murmured, "if you only will." - -"I shall call you Phillis. My name is Victoria." - -"And you will tell me more about girls in society." - -"I will show you girls in society, which is a great deal better for -you," said Mrs. Cassilis. - -"I looked at the girls I saw yesterday as we drove through the -streets. Some of them were walking like this." She had been standing -during most of this conversation, and now she began walking across the -room in that ungraceful pose of the body which was more affected last -year than at present. Ladies do occasionally have intervals of lunacy -in the matter of taste, but if you give them time they come round -again. Even crinolines went out at last, after the beauty of a whole -generation had been spoiled by them. "Then there were others, who -walked like this." She laid her head on one side, and affected a -languid air, which I have myself remarked as being prevalent in the -High Street of Islington. Now the way from Highgate to Carnarvon -Square lies through that thoroughfare. "Then there were the boys. I -never dreamed of such a lot of boys. And they were all whistling. This -was the tune." - -She threw her head back, and began to whistle the popular song of last -spring. You know what it was. It came between the favourite air from -the _Fille de Madame Angot_ and that other sweet melody, "Tommy, make -room for your Uncle," and was called "Hold the Fort." It refreshed the -souls of Revivalists in Her Majesty's Theatre, and of all the -street-boys in this great Babylon. - -Mrs. Cassilis positively shrieked: - -"My dear, _dear_ DEAR girl," she cried, "you MUST not whistle!" - -"Is it wrong to whistle?" - -"Not morally wrong, I suppose. Girls never do anything morally wrong. -But it is far worse, Phillis, far worse; it is unspeakably vulgar." - -"Oh," said Phillis, "I am so sorry!" - -"And, my dear, one thing more. Do not cultivate the power of mimicry, -which you undoubtedly possess. Men are afraid of young ladies who can -imitate them. For actresses, authors, artists, and common people of -that sort, of course it does not matter. But for us it is different. -And now, Phillis, I must leave you till to-morrow. I have great hopes -of you. You have an excellent figure, a very pretty and attractive -face, winning eyes, and a taste in dress which only wants cultivation. -And that we will begin to-morrow at Melton and Mowbray's." - -"Oh yes," said Phillis, clapping her hands, "that will be delightful! -I have never seen a shop yet." - -"She has--never--seen--a Shop!" cried Mrs. Cassilis. "Child, it is -hard indeed to realise your Awful condition of mind. That a girl of -nineteen should be able to say that she has never seen a Shop! My -dear, your education has been absolutely unchristian. And poor Mr. -Dyson, I fear, cut off suddenly in his sins, without the chance of -repentance." - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -"Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear." - - -Joseph Jagenal and his charge were the last arrivals at Mrs. -Cassilis's dinner. It was not a large party. There were two ladies of -the conventional type, well dressed, well looking, and not -particularly interesting; with them their two husbands, young men of -an almost preternatural solemnity--such solemnity as sometimes results -from a too concentrated attention to the Money Market. They were there -as friends of Mr. Cassilis, whom they regarded with the reverence -justly due to success. They longed to speak to him privately on -investments, but did not dare. There were also two lions, newly -captured. Ladds, the "Dragoon" of the joint literary venture--"THE -LITTLE SPHERE, by the Dragoon and the Younger Son"--is standing -in that contemplative attitude by which hungry men, awaiting the -announcement of dinner, veil an indecent eagerness to begin. The -other, the "Younger Son," is talking to Mr. Cassilis. - -Phillis remarked that the room was furnished in a manner quite beyond -anything she knew. Where would be the dingy old chairs, sofas, and -tables of Mr. Dyson's, or the solid splendour of Joseph Jagenal's -drawing-room, compared with the glories of decorative art which Mrs. -Cassilis had called to her aid? She had no time to make more than a -general survey as she went to greet her hostess. - -Mrs. Cassilis, for her part, observed that Phillis was dressed -carefully, and was looking her best. She had on a simple white dress -of that soft stuff called, I think, Indian muslin, which falls in -graceful folds. A pale lavender sash relieved the monotony of the -white, and set off her shapely figure. Her hair, done up in the -simplest fashion, was adorned with a single white rose. Her cheeks -were a little flushed with excitement, but her eyes were steady. - -Phillis stole a glance at the other ladies. They were dressed, she was -glad to observe, in the same style as herself, but not better. That -naturally raised her spirits. - -Then Mrs. Cassilis introduced her husband. - -When Phillis next day attempted to reproduce her impressions of the -evening, she had no difficulty in recording the likeness of Mr. -Gabriel Cassilis with great fidelity. He was exactly like old Time. - -The long lean limbs, the pronounced features, the stooping figure, the -forelock which our enemy will _not_ allow us to take, the head, bald -save for that single ornamental curl and a fringe of gray hair over -the ears--all the attributes of Time were there except the scythe. -Perhaps he kept that at his office. - -He was a very rich man. His house was in Kensington Palace Gardens, a -fact which speaks volumes; its furnishing was a miracle of modern art; -his paintings were undoubted; his portfolios of water-colours were -worth many thousands; and his horses were perfect. - -He was a director of many companies--but you cannot live in Kensington -Palace Garden by directing companies and he had an office in the City -which consisted of three rooms. In the first were four or five clerks, -always writing; in the second was the secretary, always writing; in -the third was Mr. Gabriel Cassilis himself, always giving audience. - -He married at sixty-three, because he wanted an establishment in his -old age. He was too old to expect love from a woman, and too young to -fall in love with a girl. He did not marry in order to make a pet of -his wife--indeed, he might as well have tried stroking a statue of -Minerva as petting Victoria Pengelley; and he made no secret of his -motive in proposing for the young lady. As delicately as possible he -urged that, though her family was good, her income was small; that it -is better to be rich and married than poor and single; and he offered, -if she consented to become his wife, to give her all that she could -wish for or ask on the material and artistic side of life. - -Victoria Pengelley, on receipt of the offer, which was communicated by -a third person, her cousin, behaved very strangely. She first refused -absolutely; then she declared that she would have taken the man, but -that it was now impossible; then she retracted the last statement, -and, after a week of agitation, accepted the offer. - -"And I must say, Victoria," said her cousin, "that you have made a -strange fuss about accepting an offer from one of the richest men in -London. He is elderly, it is true; but the difference between eight -and twenty and sixty lies mostly in the imagination. I will write to -Mr. Cassilis to-night." - -Which she did, and they were married. - -She trembled a great deal during the marriage ceremony. Mr. Cassilis -was pleased at this appearance of emotion, which he attributed to -causes quite remote from any thought in the lady's mind. "Calm to all -outward seeming," he said to himself, "Victoria is capable of the -deepest passion." - -They had now been married between two and three years. They had one -child--a boy. - -It is only to be added that Mr. Cassilis settled the sum of fifteen -thousand pounds upon the wedding-day on his wife, and that they lived -together in that perfect happiness which is to be expected from -well-bred people who marry without pretending to love each other. - -Their dinners were beyond praise; the wine was incomparable; but their -evenings were a little frigid. A sense of cold splendour filled the -house--the child which belongs to new things and to new men. - -The new man thirty years ago was loud, ostentatious, and vulgar. The -new man now--there are a great many more of them--is very often quiet, -unpretending, and well-bred. He understands art, and is a patron; he -enjoys the advantages which his wealth affords him; he knows how to -bear his riches with dignity and with reserve. The only objection to -him is that he wants to go where other men, who were new in the last -generation, go, and do what they do. - -Mr. Cassilis welcomed Miss Fleming and Joseph Jagenal, and resumed his -conversation with Jack Dunquerque. That young man looked much the same -as when we saw him last on the slopes of the Sierra Nevada. His tall -figure had not filled out, but his slight moustache had just a little -increased in size. And now he looked a good deal bored. - -"I have never, I confess," his host was saying, wielding a double -eye-glass instead of his scythe,--"I have never been attracted by the -manners and customs of uncivilised people. My sympathies cease, I -fear, where Banks end." - -"You are only interested in the country of Lombardy?" - -"Yes; very good: precisely so." - -"Outside the pale of Banks men certainly carry their money about with -them----" - -"Which prevents the accumulation of wealth, my dear sir. Civilisation -was born when men learned to confide in each other. Modern history -begins with the Fuggers, of whom you may have read." - -"I assure you I never did," said Jack truthfully. - -Then dinner was announced. - -Phillis found herself on the right of Mr. Cassilis. Next to her sat -Captain Ladds. Mr. Dunquerque was at the opposite corner of the -table--he had given his arm to Mrs. Cassilis. - -Mrs. Cassilis, Phillis saw, was watching her by occasional glances. -The girl felt a little anxious, but she was not awkward. After all, -she thought, the customs of society at a dinner-table cannot be very -different from those observed and taught her by Mr. Dyson. Perhaps her -manner of adjusting things was a little wanting in finish and -delicacy--too downright. Also, Mrs. Cassilis observed she made no -attempt to talk with Captain Ladds, her neighbour, but was, curiously -enough, deeply interested in the conversation of Mr. Cassilis. - -Ladds was too young for Phillis, despite his five and thirty years. -Old men and greybeards she knew. Young men she did not know. She could -form no guess what line of talk would be adopted by a young man--one -who had a deep bass voice when he spoke, and attacked his dinner with -a vigour past understanding. Phillis was interested in him, and a -little afraid lest he should talk to her. - -Others watched her too. Jack Dunquerque, his view a little intercepted -by the _épergne_, lifted furtive glances at the bright and pretty -girl at the other end of the table. Joseph Jagenal looked at her with -honest pride in the beauty of his ward. - -They talked politics, but not in the way to which she was accustomed. -Mr. Dyson and his brother greybeards were like Cassandra, Elijah, -Jeremiah, and a good many prophets of the present day, inasmuch as the -more they discussed affairs the more they prophesied disaster. So that -Phillis had learned from them to regard the dreadful future with -terror. Every day seemed to make these sages more dismal. Phillis had -not yet learned that the older we get the wiser we grow, and the wiser -we grow the more we tremble; that those are most light-hearted who -know the least. At this table, politics were talked in a very -different manner; they laughed where the sages wagged their heads and -groaned; they even discussed, with a familiarity which seemed to drive -out anxiety, the favorite bugbear of her old politicians, the -continental supremacy of Germany. - -The two young City men, who were as solemn as a pair of Home -Secretaries, listened to their host with an eager interest and -deference which the other two, who were not careful about investments, -did not imitate. Phillis observed the difference, and wondered what it -meant. Then Mr. Cassilis, as if he had communicated as many ideas -about Russia as he thought desirable, turned the conversation upon -travelling, in the interests of the Dragoon and the younger son. - -"I suppose," he said, addressing Jack, "that in your travels among the -islanders you practised the primitive mode of Barter." - -"We did; and they cheated us when they could. Which shows that they -have improved upon the primitive man. I suppose he was honest." - -"I should think not," said the host. "The most honest classes in the -world are the richest. People who want to get things always have a -tendency to be dishonest. England is the most honest nation, because -it is the richest. France is the next. Germany, you see, which is a -poor country, yielded to the temptations of poverty and took -Sleswick-Holstein, Alsace and Lorraine. I believe that men began with -dishonesty." - -"Adam, for example," said Ladds, "took what he ought not to have -taken." - -"O Captain Ladds!" this was one of two ladies, she who had read up -the new book before coming to the dinner, and had so far an advantage -over the other--"that is just like one of the wicked things, the -delightfully wicked things, in the _Little Sphere_. Now we know which -of the two did the wicked things." - -"It was the other man," said Ladds. - -"Is it fair to ask," the lady went on, "how you wrote the book?" - -She was one of those who, could she get the chance, would ask -Messieurs Erckmann and Chatrian themselves to furnish her with a list -of the paragraphs and the ideas due to each in their last novel. - -Ladds looked as if the question was beyond his comprehension. - -At last he answered slowly-- - -"Steel pen. The other man had a gold pen." - -"No--no; I mean did you write one chapter and your collaborateur the -next, or how?" - -"Let me think it over," replied Ladds, as if it were a conundrum. - -Mrs. Cassilis came to the rescue. - -"At all events," she said, "the great thing is that the book is a -success. I have not read it, but I hear there are many clever and -witty things in it. Also some wicked things. Of course, if you write -wickedness you are sure of an audience. I don't think, Mr. -Dunquerque," she added, with a smile, "that it is the business of -gentlemen to attack existing institutions." - -Jack shook his head. - -"It was not my writing. It was the other man. I did what I could to -tone him down." - -"Have you read the immortal work?" Ladds asked his neighbour. He had -not spoken to her yet, but he had eyes in his head, and he was -gradually getting interested in the silent girl who sat beside him, -and listened with such rapt interest to the conversation. - -This great and manifest interest was the only sign to show that -Phillis was not accustomed to dinners in society. - -Ladds thought that she must be some shy maiden from the country--a -little "rustical" perhaps. He noticed now that her eyes were large and -bright, that her features were clear and delicate, that she was -looking at himself with a curious pity, as if, which was indeed the -case, she believed the statement about his having written the wicked -things. And then he wondered how so bright a girl had been able to -listen to the prosy dogmatics of Mr. Cassilis. Yet she had listened, -and with pleasure. - -Phillis was at that stage in her worldly education when she would have -listened with pleasure to anybody--Mr. Moody, a lecture on astronomy, -a penny-reading, an amateur dramatic performance, or an essay in the -_Edinburgh_. For everything was new. She was like the blind man who -received his sight and saw men, like trees, walking. Every new face -was a new world; every fresh speaker was a new revelation. No one to -her was stupid, was a bore, was insincere, was spiteful, was envious, -or a humbug, because no one was known. To him who does not know, the -inflated india-rubber toy is as solid as a cannon-ball. - -"I never read anything," said Phillis, with a half blush. Not that she -was ashamed of the fact, but she felt that it would have pleased -Captain Ladds had she read his book. "You see, I have never learned to -read." - -"Oh!" - -It was rather a facer to Ladds. Here was a young lady, not being a -Spaniard, or a Sicilian, or a Levantine, or a Mexican, or a -Paraguayan, or a Brazilian, or belonging to any country where such -things are possible, who boldly confessed that she could not read. -This in England; this in the year 1875; this in a country positively -rendered unpleasant by reason of its multitudinous School Boards and -the echoes of their wrangling! - -Jack Dunquerque, in his place, heard the statement and looked up -involuntarily as if to see what manner of young lady this could be--a -gesture of surprise into which the incongruity of the thing startled -him. He caught her full face as she leaned a little forward, and his -glance rested for a moment on a cheek so fair that his spirits fell. -Beauty disarms the youthful squire, and arms him who has won his -spurs. I speak in an allegory. - -Mrs. Cassilis heard it and was half amused, half angry. - -Mr. Cassilis heard it, opened his mouth, as if to make some remark -about Mr. Dyson's method of education, but thought better of it. - -The two ladies heard it and glanced at her curiously. Then they looked -at each other with the slightest uplifting of the eyebrow, which -meant, "Who on earth can she be?" - -Mrs. Cassilis noted that too, and rejoiced, because she was going to -bring forward a girl who would make everybody jealous. - -Ladds was the only one who spoke. - -"That," he said feebly, "must be very jolly." - -He began to wonder what could be the reason of this singular -educational omission. Perhaps she had a crooked back; could not sit up -to a desk, could not hold a book in her hand; but no, she was like -Petruchio's Kate: - - "Like the hazel twig. - As straight and slender." - -Perhaps her eyes were weak; but no, her eyes were sparkling with the -"right Promethean fire." Perhaps she was of weak intellect; but that -was ridiculous. - -Then the lady who had read the book began to ask more questions. I do -not know anything more irritating than to be asked questions about -your own book. - -"Will you tell us, Mr. Dunquerque, if the story of the bear-hunt is a -true one, or did you make it up?" - -"We made up nothing. That story is perfectly true. And the man's name -was Beck." - -"Curious," said Mr. Cassilis. "An American named Beck, Mr. Gilead P. -Beck, is in London now, and has been recommended to me. He is -extremely rich. I think, my dear, that you invited him to dinner -to-day?' - -"Yes. He found he could not come at the last moment. He will be here -in the evening." - -"Then you will see the very man," said Jack, "unless there is more -than one Gilead P. Beck, which is hardly likely." - -"This man has practically an unlimited credit," said the host. - -"And talks, I suppose, like, well, like the stage Americans, I -suppose," said his wife. - -"You know," Jack explained, "that the stage American is all nonsense. -The educated American talks a great deal better than we do. He can -string his sentences together; we can only bark." - -"Perhaps our bark is better than their bite," Ladds remarked. - -"A man who has unlimited credit may talk as he pleases," said Mr. -Cassilis dogmatically. - -The two solemn young men murmured assent. - -"And he always did say that he was going to have luck. He carried -about a Golden Butterfly in a box." - -"How deeply interesting!" replied the lady who had read the book. "And -is that other story true, that you found an English traveller living -all alone in a deserted city?" - -"Quite true." - -"Really. And who was it? Anybody one has met?" - -"I do not know whether you have ever met him. His name is Lawrence -Colquhoun." - -Mrs. Cassilis flushed suddenly, and then her pale face became paler. - -"Lawrence Colquhoun, formerly of ours," said Ladds, looking at her. - -Mrs. Cassilis read the look to ask what business it was of hers, and -why she changed colour at his name. - -"Colquhoun!" she said softly. Then she raised her voice and addressed -her husband: "My dear, it is an old friend of mine of whom we are -speaking, Mr. Lawrence Colquhoun." - -"Yes!" he had forgotten the name. "What did he do? I think I -remember----" He stopped, for he remembered to have heard his wife's -name in connection with this man. He felt a sudden pang of jealousy, a -quite new and rather curious sensation. It passed, but yet he rejoiced -that the man was out of England. - -"He is my guardian," Phillis said to Ladds. "And you actually know -him? Will you tell me something about him presently?" - -When the men followed, half an hour later, they found the four ladies -sitting in a large semi-circle round the fire. The centre of the space -so formed was occupied by a gentleman who held a cup of tea in one -hand and declaimed with the other. That is to say, he was speaking in -measured tones, and as if he were addressing a large room instead of -four ladies: and his right hand and arm performed a pump-handle -movement to assist and grace his delivery. He had a face so grave that -it seemed as if smiles were impossible; he was apparently about forty -years of age. Mrs. Cassilis was not listening much. She was -considering, as she looked at her visitor, how far he might be useful -to her evenings. Phillis was catching every word that fell from the -stranger's lips. Here was an experience quite new and startling. She -knew of America; Mr. Dyson, born not so very many years after the War -of Independence, and while the memory of its humiliations was fresh in -the mind of the nation, always thought and spoke of Americans as -England's hereditary and implacable enemies. Yet here was one of the -race talking amicably, and making no hostile demonstrations whatever. -So that another of her collection of early impressions evidently -needed reconsideration. - -When he saw the group at the door, Mr. Gilead Beck--for it was -he--strode hastily across the room, and putting aside Mr. Cassilis, -seized Jack Dunquerque by the hand and wrung it for several moments. - -"You have not forgotten me!" he said. "You remember that lucky shot? -You still think of that Grisly?" - -"Of course I do," said Jack; "I shall never forget him." - -"Nor shall I, sir; never." And then he went through the friendly -ceremony with Ladds. - -"You are the other man, sir?" - -"I always am the other man," said Ladds, for the second time that -evening. "How are you, Mr. Beck, and how is the Golden Butterfly?" - -"That Inseck, captain, is a special instrument working under -Providence for my welfare. He slumbers at my hotel, the Langham, in a -fire-proof safe." - -Then he seized Jack Dunquerque's arm, and led him to the circle round -the fire. - -"Ladies, this young gentleman is my preserver. He saved my life. It is -owing to Mr. Dunquerque that Gilead P. Beck has the pleasure of being -in this drawing-room." - -"O Mr. Dunquerque," said the lady who had read the book, "that is not -in the volume!" - -"Clawed I should have been, mauled I should have been, rubbed out I -should have been, on that green and grassy spot, but for the crack of -Mr. Dunquerque's rifle. You will not believe me, ladies, but I thought -it was the crack of doom." - -"It was a most charming, picturesque spot in which to be clawed," said -Jack, laughing. "You could not have selected a more delightful place -for the purpose." - -"There air moments," said Mr. Beck, looking round the room solemnly, -and letting his eyes rest on Phillis, who gazed at him with an -excitement and interest she could hardly control--"there air moments -when the soul is dead to poetry. One of those moments is when you feel -the breath of a Grisly on your cheek. Even you, young lady, would, at -such a moment, lose your interest in the beauty of Nature." - -Phillis started when he addressed her. - -"Did he save your life?" she asked, with flashing eyes. - -Jack Dunquerque blushed as this fair creature turned to him with looks -of such admiration and respect as the queen of the tournament bestowed -upon the victor of the fight. So Desdemona gazed upon the Moor when he -spake - - "Of most disastrous chances, - Of moving accidents by flood and field." - -Mrs. Cassilis affected a diversion by introducing her husband to Mr. -Beck. - -"Mr. Cassilis, sir," he said, "I have a letter for you from one of our -most prominent bankers. And I called in the City this afternoon to -give it you. But I was unfortunate. Sir, I hope that we shall become -better acquainted. And I am proud, sir, I am proud of making the -acquaintance of a man who has the privilege of life partnership with -Mrs. Cassilis. That is a great privilege, sir, and I hope you value -it." - -"Hum--yes; thank you, Mr. Beck," replied Mr. Cassilis, in a tone which -conveyed to the sharp-eared Phillis the idea that he thought -considerable value ought to be attached to the fact of having a life -partnership with _him_. "And how do you like our country?" - -The worst of going to America, if you are an Englishman, or of -crossing to England, if you are an American is that you can never -escape that most searching and comprehensive question. - -Said Mr. Gilead Beck: - -"Well, sir, a dollar goes a long way in this country--especially in -cigars and drinks." - -"In drinks!" Phillis listened. The other ladies shot glances at each -other. - -"Phillis, my dear"--Mrs. Cassilis crossed the room and interrupted her -rapt attention--"let me introduce Mr. Ronald Dunquerque. Do you think -you could play something?" - -She bowed to the young hero with sparkling eyes and rose to comply -with the invitation. He followed her to the piano. She played in that -sweet spontaneous manner which the women who have only been -_taught_ hear with despair; she touched the keys as if she loved -them and as if they understood her; she played one or two of the -"Songs without Words;" and then, starting a simple melody, she began -to sing, without being asked, a simple old ballad. Her tone was low at -first, because she did not know the room, not because she was afraid; -but it gradually rose as she felt her power, till the room filled with -the volumes of her rich contralto voice. Jack Dunquerque stood beside -her. She looked up in his face with eyes that smiled a welcome while -she went on singing. - -"You told us you could not read," said the young man when she -finished. - -"It is quite true, Mr. Dunquerque. I cannot." - -"How, then, can you play and sing?" - -"Oh, I play by ear and by memory. That is nothing wonderful." - -"Won't you go on playing?" - -She obeyed, talking in low, measured tones, in time with the air. - -"I think you know my guardian, Mr. Lawrence Colquhoun. Will you tell -me all about him? I have never seen him yet." - -This unprincipled young man saw his chance, and promptly seized the -opportunity. - -"I should like to very much, but one cannot talk here before all these -people. If you will allow me to call to-morrow, I will gladly tell you -all I know about him." - -"You had better come at luncheon-time," she replied, "and then I shall -be very glad to see you." - -Mr. Abraham Dyson usually told his friends to come at luncheon-time, -so she could not be wrong. Also, she knew by this time that the Twins -were always asleep at two o'clock, so that she would be alone; and -it was pleasant to think of a talk, _sola cum solo_, with this -interesting specimen of newly-discovered humanity--a young man who had -actually saved another man's life. - -"Is she an outrageous flirt?" thought Jack, "or is she deliciously and -wonderfully simple?" - -On the way home he discussed the problem with Ladds. - -"I don't care which it is," he concluded, "I must see her again. -Ladds, old man, I believe I could fall in love with that girl. 'Ask me -no more, for at a touch I yield.' Did you notice her, Tommy? Did you -see her sweet eyes--I must say she has the sweetest eyes in all the -world--looking with a pretty wonder at our quaint Yankee friend? Did -you see her trying to take an interest in the twaddle of old Cassilis? -Did you----" - -"Have we eyes?" Ladds growled. "Is the heart at five and thirty a -log?" - -"And her figure, tall and slender, lissom and _gracieuse_. And -her face, 'the silent war of lilies and of roses.' How I love the -brunette faces! They are never insipid." - -"Do you remember the half-caste Spanish girl in Manilla?" - -"Ladds, don't dare to mention that girl beside this adorable angel of -purity. I have found out her Christian name--it is Phillis--rhymes to -lilies; and am going to call at her house to-morrow--Carnarvon -Square." - -"And I am going to have half an hour in the smoking-room," said Ladds, -as they arrived at the portals of the club. - -"So am I," said Jack. "You know what Othello says of Desdemona: - - "'O thou weed, - Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet - That the sense aches at thee!' - -"I mean Phillis Fleming, of course, not your confounded tobacco." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -"They say if money goes before, all ways do lie open." - - -"I call this kind, boys," said Mr. Gilead P. Beck, welcoming his -visitors, Captain Ladds and Jack Dunquerque; "I call this friendly. I -asked myself last night, 'Will those boys come to see me, or will they -let the ragged Yankee slide?' And here you are." - -"Change," said Ladds the monosyllabic, looking round. "Gold looking -up?" - -There is a certain suite of rooms in the Langham Hotel--there may be a -hundred such suites known to the travellers who have explored that -mighty hostelry--originally designed for foreign princes, ambassadors, -or those wandering kings whom our hospitality sends to an inn. The -suite occupied by Mr. Beck consisted of a large reception-room, a -smaller apartment occupied by himself, and a bedroom. The rooms were -furnished in supposed accordance with the tastes of their princely -occupants, that is to say, with solid magnificence. Mr. Beck had been -in England no more than a week, and as he had not yet begun to buy -anything, the rooms were without those splendid decorations of -pictures, plate, and objects of art generally, with which he -subsequently adorned them. They looked heavy and rather cheerless. A -fire was burning on the hearth, and Mr. Beck was standing before it -with an unlighted cigar in his lips. Apparently he had already -presented some letters of introduction, for there were a few cards of -invitation on the mantelshelf. He was dressed in a black frock-coat, -as a gentleman should be, and he wore it buttoned up, so that his tall -stature and thin figure were shown off to full advantage. He wore a -plain black ribbon by way of necktie, and was modest in the way of -studs. Jack Dunquerque noticed that he wore no jewelry of any kind, -which he thought unusual in a man of unlimited credit, a new man whose -fortune was not two years old. He was an unmistakable American. His -chin was now close shaven, and without the traditional tuft; but he -had the bright restless eye, the long spare form, the obstinately -straight hair, the thin flexible mouth with mobile lips, the -delicately shaped chin, and the long neck which seem points -characteristic with our Transatlantic brethren. His grave face lit up -with a smile of pleasure when he saw Jack Dunquerque. It was a -thoughtful face; it had lines in it, such as might have been caused by -the buffets of Fate; but his eyes were kindly. As for his speech, it -preserved the nasal drawl of his New England birthplace; he spoke -slowly, as if feeling for the right words, and his pronunciation was -that of a man sprung from the ranks. Let us say at once that we do not -attempt to reproduce by an affected spelling, save occasionally, the -Doric of the New England speech. He was a typical man of the Eastern -Estate--self-reliant, courageous, independent, somewhat prejudiced, -roughly educated, ready for any employment and ashamed of none, and -withal brave as an Elizabethan buccaneer, sensitive as a Victorian -lady, sympathetic as--as Henry Longfellow. - -"There is change, sir"--he addressed himself to Ladds--"in most things -human. The high tides and the low tides keep us fresh. Else we should -be as stagnant as a Connecticut gospel-grinder in his village -location." - -"This is high tide, I see," said Jack, laughing. "I hope that American -high tides last longer than ours." - -"I am hopeful, Mr. Dunquerque, that they air of a more abiding -disposition. If you should be curious, gentlemen, to know my history -since I left you in San Francisco, I will tell you it from the -beginning. You remember that blessed inseck, the Golden Butterfly?" - -"In the little box," said Ladds. "I asked you after his welfare last -night." - -Jack began to blush. - -"Before you begin," he interposed, "we ought to tell you that since we -came home we have written a book, we two, about our travels." - -"Is that so?" asked Mr. Beck, with some natural reverence for the -author of a book. - -"And we have put you into it, with an account of Empire City." - -"Me--as I was--in rags and without even a gun?" - -"Yes; not a flattering likeness, but a true one." - -"And the lucky shot, is that there too?" - -"Some of it is there," said Ladds. "Jack would not have the whole -story published. Looked ostentatious." - -"Gentlemen, I shall buy that book. I shall take five hundred copies of -that book for my people in the Dominion. Just as I was, you say--no -boots but moccasins; not a dollar nor a cent; running for bare life -before a Grisly. Gentlemen, that book will raise me in the estimation -of my fellow-countrymen. And if you will allow me the privilege, I -shall say it was written by two friends of mine." - -Jack breathed freely. He was afraid Mr. Beck might have resented the -intrusion of his ragged personality. An Englishman certainly would. -Mr. Beck seemed to think that the contrast between present broadcloth -and past rags reflected the highest credit on himself. - -This part of the work, indeed, which the critics declared to be wildly -improbable, was the only portion read by Mr. Beck. And just as he -persisted in giving Jack the sole credit of his rescue--perhaps -because in his mental confusion he never even heard the second shot -which finished the bear--so he steadfastly regarded Jack as the sole -author of this stirring chapter, which was Ladd's masterpiece, and was -grateful accordingly. - -"And now," he went on, "I must show you the critter himself, the -Golden Bug." - -There was standing in a corner, where it would be least likely to -receive any rude shocks or collisions, a small heavy iron safe. This -he unlocked, and brought forth with great care a glass case which -exactly fitted the safe. The frame of the case was made of golden -rods; along the lower part of the front pane, in letters of gold, was -the legend: - - "If this Golden Butterfly fall and break, - Farewell the Luck of Gilead P. Beck." - -"Your poetry, Mr. Dunquerque," said Mr. Beck, pointing to the distich -with pride. "Your own composition, sir, and my motto." - -Within the case was the Butterfly itself, but glorified. The bottom of -the glass box was a thick sheet of pure gold, on which was fixed a -rose, the leaves, flower, and stalk worked in dull gold. Not a fine -work of art, perhaps, but a reasonably good rose, as good as that -Papal rose they show in the Cluny Hotel. The Butterfly was poised upon -the rose by means of thin gold wire, which passed round the strip of -quartz which formed the body. The ends were firmly welded into the -leaves of the flower, and when the case was moved the insect vibrated -as if he was in reality alive. - -"There! Look at it, gentlemen. That is the inseck which has made the -fortune of Gilead P. Beck." - -He addressed himself to both, but his eye rested on Jack with a look -which showed that he regarded the young man with something more than -friendliness. The man who fired that shot, the young fellow who saved -him from a cruel death, was his David, the beloved of his soul. - -Ladds looked at it curiously, as if expecting some manifestation of -the supernatural. - -"Is it a medium?" he asked. "Does it rap, or answer questions, or tell -the card you are thinking of? Shall you exhibit the thing in the -Egyptian Hall as a freak of Nature?" - -"No, sir, I shall not. But I will tell you what I did, if you will let -me replace him in his box, where he sits and works for Me. No harm -will come to him there, unless an airthquake happens. Sit down, -general, and you too, Mr. Dunquerque. Here is a box of cigars, which -ought to be good, and you will call for your own drink." - -It was but twelve o'clock, and therefore early for revivers of any -sort. Finally, Mr. Beck ordered champagne. - -"That drink," he said, "as you get it here, is a compound calculated -to inspirit Job in the thick of his misfortunes. But if there is any -other single thing you prefer, and it is to be had in this almighty -city, name that thing and you shall have it." - -Then he began: - -"I went off, after I left you, by the Pacific Railway--not the first -time I travelled up and down that line--and I landed in New York. Mr. -Colquhoun gave me a rig out, and you, sir,"--he nodded to Jack--"you, -sir, gave me the stamps to pay the ticket." - -Jack, accused of this act of benevolence, naturally blushed a guilty -acknowledgment. - -Mr. Gilead P. Beck made no reference to the gift either then or at any -subsequent period. Nor did he ever offer to repay it, even when he -discovered the slenderness of Jack's resources. That showed that he -was a sensitive and sympathetic man. To offer a small sum of money in -repayment of a free gift from an extraordinarily rich man to a very -poor one is not a delicate thing to do. Therefore this gentleman of -the backwoods abstained from doing it. - -"New York City," he continued, "is not the village I should recommend -to a man without dollars in his pocket. London, where there is an -institootion, or a charity, or a hospital, or a workhouse, or a -hot-soup boiler in every street, is the city for that gentleman. Fiji, -p'r'aps, for one who has a yearning after bananas and black -civilisation. But not New York. No, gentlemen; if you go to New York, -let it be when you've made your pile, and not before. Then you will -find out that there air thirty theatres in the city, with lovely and -accomplished actresses in each, and you can walk into Delmonico's as -if the place belonged to you. But for men down on their luck, New York -is a cruel place. - -"I left that city, and I made my way North. I wanted to see the old -folks I left behind long ago in Lexington; I found them dead, and I -was sorry. Then I went farther North. P'r'aps I was driven by the -yellow toy hanging at my back. Anyhow, it was only six weeks after I -left you that I found myself in the city of Limerick on Lake Ontario. - -"You do not know the city of Limerick, I dare say. It was not famous, -nor was it pretty. In fact, gentlemen, it was the durndest misbegotten -location built around a swamp that ever called itself a city. There -were a few delooded farmers trying to persuade themselves that things -would look up; there were a few down-hearted settlers wondering why -they ever came there, and how they would get out again; and there were -a few log-houses in a row which called themselves a street. - -"I got there, and I stayed there. Their carpenter was dead, and I am a -handy man; so I took his place. Then I made a few dollars doing chores -around." - -"What are chores?" - -"All sorts. The clocks were out of repair; the handles were coming off -the pails; the chairs were without legs; the pump-handle crank; the -very bell-rope in the meetin' house was broken. You never saw such a -helpless lot. I did not stay among them because I loved them, but -because I saw things." - -"Ghosts?" asked Ladds, with an eye to the supernatural. - -"No, sir. That was what they thought I saw when I went prowling around -by myself of an evening. They thought too that I was mad when I began -to buy the land. You could buy it for nothing; a dollar an acre; half -a dollar an acre; anything an acre. I've mended a cart-wheel for a -five-acre lot of swamp. They laughed at me. The children used to cry -out when I passed along, 'There goes mad Beck.' But I bought all I -could, and my only regret was that I couldn't buy up the hull -township--clear off men, women, and children, and start fresh. Some -more champagne, Mr. Dunquerque." - -"What was the Golden Butterfly doing all this time?" asked Ladds. - -"That faithful inseck, sir, was hanging around my neck, as when you -were first introduced to him. He was whisperin' and eggin' me on, -because he was bound to fulfil the old squaw's prophecy. Without my -knowing it, sir, that prodigy of the world, who is as alive as you are -at this moment, will go on whisperin' till such time as the rope's -played out and the smash comes. Then he'll be silent again." - -He spoke with a solemn earnestness which impressed his hearers. They -looked at the fire-proof safe with a feeling that at any moment the -metallic insect might open the door, fly forth, and, after hovering -round the room, light at Mr. Beck's ear, and begin to whisper words of -counsel. Did not Mohammed have a pigeon? and did not Louis Napoleon at -Boulogne have an eagle? Why should not Mr. Beck have a butterfly. - -"The citizens of Limerick, gentlemen, in that dismal part of Canada -where they bewail their miserable lives, air not a people who have -eyes to see, ears to hear, or brains to understand. I saw that they -were walking--no, sleeping--over fields of incalculable wealth, and -they never suspected. They smoked their pipes and ate their pork. But -they never saw and they never suspected. Between whiles they praised -the Lord for sending them a fool like me, something to talk about, and -somebody to laugh at. They wanted to know what was in the little box; -they sent children to peep in at my window of an evening and report -what I was doing. They reported that I was always doing the same -thing; always with a map of Limerick City and its picturesque and -interestin' suburbs, staking out the ground and reckoning up my acres. -That's what I did at night. And in the morning I looked about me, and -wondered where I should begin." - -"What did you see when you looked about?" - -"I saw, sir, a barren bog. If it had been a land as fertile as the -land of Canaan, that would not have made my heart to bound as it did -bound when I looked across that swamp; for I never was a tiller or a -lover of the soil. A barren bog it was. The barrenest, boggiest part -of it all was my claim; when the natives spoke of it they called it -Beck's Farm, and then the poor critturs squirmed in their chairs and -laughed. Yes, they laughed. Beck's Farm, they said. It was the only -thing they had to laugh about. Wal, up and down the face of that -almighty bog there ran creeks, and after rainy weather the water stood -about on the morasses. Plenty of water, but a curious thing, none of -it fit to drink. No living thing except man would set his lips to that -brackish, bad-smelling water. And that wasn't all; sometimes a thick -black slime rose to the surface of the marsh and lay there an inch -thick; sometimes you came upon patches of 'gum-beds,' as they called -them, where the ground was like tar, and smelt strong. That is what I -saw when I looked around, sir. And to think that those poor mean pork -raisers saw it all the same as I did and never suspected! Only cursed -the gifts of the Lord when they weren't laughing at Beck's Farm." - -"And you found--what? Gold?" - -"No. I found what I expected. And that was better than gold. Mind, I -say nothing against gold. Gold has made many a pretty little -fortune----" - -"Little!" - -"Little, sir. There's no big fortunes made out of gold. Though many a -pretty villa-location, with a tidy flower-garden up and down the -States, is built out of the gold-mines. Diamonds again. One or two men -likes the name of diamonds; but not many. There's the disadvantage -about gold and diamonds that you have to dig for them, and to dig -durned hard, and to dig by yourself mostly. Americans do not love -digging. Like the young gentleman in the parable, they cannot dig, and -to beg they air ashamed. It is the only occupation that they air -ashamed of. Then there's iron, and there's coals; but you've got to -dig for them. Lord! Lord! This great airth holds a hundred things -covered up for them who know how to look and do not mind digging. But, -gentlemen, the greatest gift the airth has to bestow she gave to -me--abundant, spontaneous, etarnal, without bottom, and free." - -"And that is----" - -"It is ILE." - -Mr. Beck paused a moment. His face was lit with a real and genuine -enthusiasm, a pious appreciation of the choicer blessings of life; -those, namely, which enable a man to sit down and enjoy the proceeds -of other men's labour. No provision has been made in the prayer-book -of any Church for the expression of this kind of thankfulness. Yet -surely there ought to be somewhere a clause for the rich. No more -blissful repose can fall upon the soul than, after long years of -labour and failure, to sit down and enjoy the fruits of other men's -labour. A Form of Thanksgiving for publishers, managers of theatres, -owners of coal-mines, and such gentlemen as Mr. Gilead P. Beck, might -surely be introduced into our Ritual with advantage. It would -naturally be accompanied by incense. - -"It is Ile, sir." - -He opened another bottle of champagne and took a glass. - -"Ile. Gold you have to dig, to pick, to wash. Gold means rheumatism -and a bent back. Ile flows, and you become suddenly rich. You make all -the loafers around fill your pails for you. And then your bankers tell -you how many millions of dollars you are worth." - -"Millions!" repeated Jack. "The word sounds very rich and luxurious." - -"It is so, sir. There's nothing like it in the Old Country. England is -a beautiful place, and London is a beautiful city. You've got many -blessin's in this beautiful city. If you haven't got Joe Tweed, you've -got----" - -"Hush!" said Jack; "it's libellous to give names." - -"And if you haven't got Erie stock and your whiskey-rings, you've got -your foreign bonds to take your surplus cash. No, gentlemen; London is -not, in some respects, much behind New York. But one thing this -country has not got, and that is--Ile. - -"It is nearly a year since I made up my mind to begin my well. I -_knew_ it was there, because I'd been in Pennsylvania and learned -the signs; it was only the question whether I should strike it, and -where. The neighbours thought I was digging for water, and figured -around with their superior intellecks, because they were certain the -water would be brackish. Then they got tired of watching, and I worked -on. Boring a well is not quite the sort of work a man would select for -a pleasant and variegated occupation. I reckon it's monotonous; but I -worked on. I knew what was coming; I thought o' that Indian squaw, and -I always had my Golden Butterfly tied in a box at my back. I bored and -I bored. Day after day I bored. In that lonely miasmatic bog I bored -all day and best part of the night. For nothing came, and sometimes -qualms crossed my mind that perhaps there would never be anything. But -always there was the gummy mud, smelling of what I knew was below, to -lead me on. - -"It was the ninth day, and noon. I had a shanty called the farmhouse, -about a hundred yards from my well. And there I was taking my dinner. -To you two young English aristocrats----" - -"Ladds' Cocoa, the only perfect fragrance." - -"Shut up, Ladds," growled Jack; "don't interrupt." - -"I say, to you two young aristocrats a farmer's dinner in that -township would not sound luxurious. Mine consisted, on that day and -all days, of cold boiled pork and bread." - -"Ah, yah!" said Jack Dunquerque, who had a proud stomach. - -"Yes, sir, my own remark every day when I sat down to that simple -banquet. But when you are hungry you must eat, murmur though you will -for Egyptian flesh-pots. Cold pork was my dinner, with bread. And the -watter to wash it down with was brackish. In those days, gentlemen, I -said no grace. It didn't seem to me that the most straight-walking -Christian was expected to be more than tolerably thankful for cold -pork. My gratitude was so moderate that it wasn't worth offering." - -"And while you were eating the pork," said Ladds, "the Golden -Butterfly flew down the shaft by himself, and struck oil of his own -accord." - -"No, sir; for once you are wrong. That most beautiful creation of -Nature in her sweetest mood--she must have got up with the sun on a -fine summer morning--was reposing in his box round my neck as usual. -He did not go down the shaft at all. Nobody went down. But something -came up--up like a fountain, up like the bubbling over of the airth's -eternal teapot; a black muddy jet of stuff. Great sun! I think I see -it now." - -He paused and sighed. - -"It was nearly all Ile, pure and unadulterated, from the world's -workshop. Would you believe it, gentlemen? There were not enough -bar'ls, not by hundreds, in the neighbourhood all round Limerick City, -to catch that Ile. It flowed in a stream three feet down the creek; it -was carried away into the lake and lost; it ran free and uninterrupted -for three days and three nights. We saved what we could. The -neighbours brought their pails, their buckets, their basins, their -kettles; there was not a utensil of any kind that was not filled with -Ile, from the pig's trough to the child's pap-bowl. Not one. It ran -and it ran. When the first flow subsided we calculated that seven -million bar'ls had been wasted and lost. Seven millions! I am a -Christian man, and grateful to the Butterfly, but I sometimes repine -when I think of that wasted Ile. Every bar'l worth nine dollars at -least, and most likely ten. Sixty-three millions of dollars. Twelve -millions of pounds sterling lost in three days for want of a few -coopers. Did you ever think, Mr. Dunquerque, what you could do with -twelve millions sterling?" - -"I never did," said Jack. "My imagination never got beyond thousands." - -"With twelve millions I might have bought up the daily press of -England, and made you all republicans in a month. I might have made -the Panama Canal; I might have bought Palesteen and sent the Jews -back; I might have given America fifty ironclads; I might have put Don -Carlos on the throne of Spain. But it warn't to be. Providence wants -no rivals, meddling and messing. That was why the Ile ran away and was -lost while I ate the cold boiled pork. Perhaps it's an interestin' -fact that I never liked cold boiled pork before, and I have hated it -ever since. - -"The great spurt subsided, and we went to work in earnest. That well -has continued to yield five hundred bar'ls daily. That is four -thousand five hundred dollars in my pocket every four and twenty -hours." - -"Do you mean that your income is nine hundred pounds a day?" asked -Jack. - -"I do, sir. You go your pile on that. It is more, but I do not know -how much more. Perhaps it's twice as much. There are wells of mine -sunk all over the place; the swamp is covered with Gilead P. Beck's -derricks. The township of Limerick has become the city of -Rockoleaville--my name, that was--and a virtuous and industrious -population are all engaged morning, noon, and night in fillin' my -pails. There's twenty-five bars, I believe, at this moment. There are -three meetin'-houses and two daily papers, and there air fifteen -lawyers." - -"It seems better than Cocoa Nibs," said Ladds. - -"But the oil may run dry." - -"It _has_ run dry in Pennsylvania. That is so, and I do not deny -it. But Ile will not run dry in Rockoleaville. I have been thinking -over the geological problem, and I have solved it, all by myself." - -"What is this world, gentlemen?" - -"A round ball," said Jack, with the promptitude of a Board schoolboy -and the profundity of a Woolwich cadet. - -"Sir, it is like a great orange. It has its outer rind, what they call -the crust. Get through that crust and what do you find?" - -"More crust," replied Ladds, who was not a competition-wallah. - -"Did you ever eat pumpkin-pie, sir?" Mr. Beck replied, _more -Socratico_, by asking another question. "And if you did, was your -pie all crust? Inside that pie, sir, was pumpkin, apple, and juice. So -inside the rind of the earth there may be all sorts of things: gold -and iron, lava, diamonds, coals; but the juice, the pie-juice, is Ile. -You tap the rind and you get the Ile. This Ile will run, I calculate, -for five thousand and fifty-two years, if they don't sinfully waste -it, at an annual consumption of eighteen million bar'ls. Now that's a -low estimate when you consider the progress of civilisation. When it -is all gone, perhaps before, this poor old airth will crack up like an -empty egg." - -This was an entirely new view of geology, and it required time for Mr. -Beck's hearers to grasp the truth thus presented to their minds. They -were silent. - -"At Rockoleaville," he went on, "I've got the pipe straight into the -middle of the pie, and right through the crust. There's no mistake -about that main shaft. Other mines may give out, but my Ile will run -for ever." - -"Then we may congratulate you," said Jack, "on the possession of a -boundless fortune." - -"You may, sir." - -"And what do you intend to do?" - -"For the present I shall stay in London. I like your great city. Here -I get invited to dinner and dancin', because I am an American and -rich. There they won't have a man who is not thoroughbred. Your friend -Mrs. Cassilis asks me to her house--a first-rater. A New York lady -turns up her pretty nose at a man who's struck Ile. 'Shoddy,' she -says, and then she takes no more notice. Shoddy it may be. Rough my -manners may be. But I don't pretend to anything, and the stamps air -real." - -"We always thought ourselves exclusive," said Jack. - -"Did you, sir? Wall----" He stopped, as if he had intended to say -something unpleasantly true. "I shall live in London for the present. -I've got a big income, and I don't rightly know what to do with it. -But I shall find out some time. - -"That was a lovely young thing with Mrs. Cassilis the other night," he -went on meditatively. "A young thing that a man can worship for her -beauty while she is young, and her goodness all her life. Not like an -American gal. Ours are prettier, but they look as if they would blow -away. And their voices are not so full. Miss Fleming is flesh and -blood. Don't blush, Mr. Dunquerque, because it does you credit." - -Jack did blush, and they took their departure. - -"Mr. Dunquerque," whispered Gilead P. Beck when Ladds was through the -door, "think of what I told you; what is mine is yours. Remember that. -If I can do anything for you, let me know. And come to see me. It does -me good to look at your face. Come here as often as you can." - -Jack laughed and escaped. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - "By my modesty, -The jewel in my dower, I would not wish -Any companion in the world but you." - - -Jack Dunquerque was no more remarkable for shrinking modesty than any -other British youth of his era; but he felt some little qualms as he -walked towards Bloomsbury the day after Mrs. Cassilis's dinner to -avail himself of Phillis's invitation. - -Was it coquetry, or was it simplicity? - -She said she would be glad to see him at luncheon. Who else would be -there? - -Probably a Mrs. Jagenal--doubtless the wife of the heavy man who -brought Miss Fleming to the party; herself a solid person in black -silk and a big gold chain; motherly with the illiterate Dryad. - -"Houses mighty respectable," he thought, penetrating into Carnarvon -Square. "Large incomes; comfortable quarters; admirable port, most -likely, in most of them; claret certainly good, too--none of your -Gladstone tap; sherry probably rather coarse. Must ask for Mrs. -Jagenal, I suppose." - -He did ask for Mrs. Jagenal, and was informed by Jane that there was -no such person, and that, as she presently explained with warmth, no -such person was desired by the household. Jack Dunquerque thereupon -asked for Mr. Jagenal. The maid asked which Mr. Jagenal. Jack replied -in the most irritating manner possible--the Socratic--by asking -another question. The fact that Socrates went about perpetually asking -questions is quite enough to account for the joy with which an -exasperated mob witnessed his judicial murder. The Athenians bore for -a good many years with his maddening questions--as to whether this way -or that way or how--and finally lost patience. Hence the little bowl -of drink. - -Quoth Jack, "How many are there of them?" - -Jane looked at the caller with suspicion. He seemed a gentleman, but -appearances are deceptive. Suppose he came for what he could pick up? -The twins' umbrellas were in the hall, and their great-coats. He -laughed, and showed an honest front; but who can trust a London -stranger? Jane remembered the silver spoons now on the luncheon-table, -and began to think of shutting the door in his face. - -"You can't be a friend of the family," she said, "else you'd know the -three Mr. Jagenals by name, and not come here showing your ignorance -by asking for Mrs. Jagenal. Mrs. Jagenal indeed! Perhaps you'd better -call in the evening and see Mr. Joseph." - -"I am not a friend of the family," he replied meekly. "I wish I was. -But Miss Fleming expects me at this hour. Will you take in my card?" - -He stepped into the hall, and felt as if the fortress was won. Phillis -was waiting for him in the dining-room, where, he observed, luncheon -was laid for two. Was he, then, about to be entertained by the young -lady alone? - -If she looked dainty in her white evening dress, she was far daintier -in her half-mourning grey frock, which fitted so tightly to her -slender figure, and was set off by the narrow black ribbon round her -neck which was her only ornament; for she carried neither watch nor -chain, and wore neither ear-rings nor finger-rings. This heiress was -as innocent of jewelry as any little milliner girl of Bond Street, and -far more happy, because she did not wish to wear any. - -"I thought you would come about this time," she said, with the -kindliest welcome in her eyes; "and I waited for you here. Let us sit -down and take luncheon." - -Mr. Abraham Dyson never had any visitors except for dinner or -luncheon; so that Phillis naturally associated an early call with -eating. - -"I always have luncheon by myself," explained the young hostess; "so -that it is delightful to have some one who can talk." - -She sat at the head of the table, Jack taking his seat at the side. -She looked fresh, bright, and animated. The sight of her beauty even -affected Jack's appetite, although it was an excellent luncheon. - -"This curried fowl," she went on. "It was made for Mr. Jagenal's -brothers; but they came down late, and were rather cross. We could not -persuade them to eat anything this morning." - -"Are they home for the holidays?" - -Phillis burst out laughing--such a fresh, bright, spontaneous laugh. -Jack laughed too, and then wondered why he did it. - -"Home for the holidays! They are always home, and it is always a -holiday with them." - -"Do you not allow them to lunch with you?" - -She laughed again. - -"They do not breakfast till ten or eleven." - -Jack felt a little fogged, and waited for further information. - -"Will you take beer or claret? No, thank you; no curry for me. Jane, -Mr. Dunquerque will take a glass of beer. How beautiful!" she went on, -looking steadily in the young man's face, to his confusion--"how -beautiful it must be to meet a man whose life you have saved! I should -like--once--just once--to do a single great action, and dream of it -ever after." - -"But mine was not a great action. I shot a bear which was following -Mr. Beck and meant mischief; that is all." - -"But you might have missed," said Phillis, with justice. "And then Mr. -Beck would have been killed." - -Might have missed! How many V.C.'s we should have but for that simple -possibility! Might have missed! And then Gilead Beck would have been -clawed, and the Golden Butterfly destroyed, and this history never -have reached beyond its first chapter. Above all, Phillis might never -have known Jack Dunquerque. - -"And you are always alone in this great house?" he asked, to change -the subject. - -"Only in the day-time. Mr. Joseph and I breakfast at eight. Then I -walk with him as far as his office in Lincoln's Inn-Fields, now that I -know the way. At first he used to send one of his clerks back with me, -for fear of my being lost. But I felt sorry for the poor young man -having to walk all the way with a girl like me, and so I told him, -after the second day, that I was sure he longed to be at his writing, -and I would go home by myself." - -"No doubt," said Jack, "he was rejoiced to go back to his pleasant and -exciting work. All lawyers' clerks are so well paid, and so happy in -their occupation, that they prefer it even to walking with a--a--a -Dryad." - -Phillis was dimly conscious that there was more in these words than a -literal statement. She was as yet unacquainted with the figures of -speech which consist of saying one thing and meaning another, and she -made a mental note of the fact that lawyers' clerks are a happy and -contented race. It adds something to one's happiness to know that -others are also happy. - -"And the boys--Mr. Jagenal's brothers?" - -"They are always asleep from two to six. Then they come down to -dinner, and talk of the work they have done. Don't you know them? Oh, -they are not boys at all! One is Cornelius. He is a great poet. He is -writing a long epic poem called the _Upheaving of Ĉlfred_. Humphrey, -his brother, says it will be the greatest work of this century. But I -do not think very much is done. Humphrey is a great artist, you know. -He is engaged on a splendid picture--at least it will be splendid when -it is finished. At present nothing is on the canvas. He says he is -studying the groups. Cornelius says it will be the finest artistic -achievement of the age. Will you have some more beer? Jane, give Mr. -Dunquerque a glass of sherry. And now let us go into the drawing-room, -and you shall tell me all about my guardian, Lawrence Colquhoun." - -In the hall a thought struck the girl. - -"Come with me," she said; "I will introduce you to the Poet and the -Painter. You shall see them at work." - -Her eyes danced with delight as she ran up the stairs, turning to see -if her guest followed. She stopped at a door, the handle of which she -turned with great care. Jack mounted the stairs after her. - -It was a large and well-furnished room. Rows of books stood in order -on the shelves. A bright fire burned on the hearth. A portfolio was on -the table, with a clean inkstand and an unsullied blotting-pad. By the -fire sat, in a deep and very comfortable easy-chair, the poet, sound -asleep. - -"There!" she whispered. "In the portfolio is the great poem. Look at -it." - -"We ought not to look at manuscripts, ought we?" - -"Not if there is anything written. But there isn't. Of course, I may -always turn over any pages, because I cannot read." - -She turned them over. Nothing but blank sheets, white in virgin -purity. - -Cornelius sat with his head a little forward, breathing rather -noisily. - -"Isn't it hard work?" laughed the girl. "Poor fellow, isn't it -exhaustive work? Let me introduce you. Mr. Cornelius Jagenal, Mr. -Ronald Dunquerque." Jack bowed to the sleeping bard. "Now you know -each other. That is what Mr. Dyson used always to say. Hush! we might -wake him up and interrupt--the Work. Come away, and I will show you -the Artist." - -Another room equally well furnished, but in a different manner. There -were "properties": drinking-glasses of a deep ruby red, luminous and -splendid, standing on the shelves; flasks of a dull rich green; a -model in armour; a lay figure, with a shawl thrown over the head and -looped up under the arm; a few swords hanging upon the walls; curtains -that caught the light and spread it over the room in softened -colouring; and by the fire a couch, on which lay, sleeping, Humphrey -with the wealth of silky beard. - -There was an easel, and on it a canvas. This was as blank as -Cornelius's sheets of paper. - -"Permit me again," said the girl. "Mr. Humphrey Jagenal, Mr. Ronald -Dunquerque. Now you know each other." - -Jack bowed low to the genius. - -Phillis, her eyes afloat with fun, beckoned the young man to the -table. Pencil and paper lay there. She sat down and drew the sleeping -painter in a dozen swift strokes. Then she looked up, laughing: - -"Is that like him?" - -Jack could hardly repress a cry of admiration. - -"I am glad you think it good. Please write underneath, 'The Artist at -work.' Thank you. Is that it? We will now pin it on the canvas. Think -what he will say when he wakes up and sees it." - -They stole out again as softly as a pair of burglars. - -"Now you have seen the Twins. They are really very nice, but they -drink too much wine, and sit up late. In the morning they are -sometimes troublesome, when they won't take their breakfast; but in -the evening, after dinner, they are quite tractable. And you see how -they spend their day." - -"Do they never do any work at all?" - -"I will tell you what I think," she replied gravely. "Mr. Dyson used -to tell me of men who are so vain that they are ashamed to give the -world anything but what they know to be the best. And the best only -comes by successive effort. So they wait and wait, till the time goes -by, and they cannot even produce second-rate work. I think the Twins -belong to that class of people." - -By this time they were in the drawing-room. - -"And now," said Phillis, "you are going to tell me all about my -guardian." - -"Tell me something more about yourself first," said Jack, not caring -to bring Mr. Lawrence Colquhoun into the conversation just yet. "You -said last night that you would show me your drawings." - -"They are only pencil and pen-and-ink sketches." Phillis put a small -portfolio on the table and opened it. "This morning Mr. Joseph took me -to see an exhibition of paintings. Most of the artists in that -exhibition cannot draw, but some can--and then--Oh!" - -"They cannot draw better than you, Miss Fleming, I am quite sure." - -She shook her head as Jack spoke, turning over the sketches. - -"It seems so strange to be called Miss Fleming. Everybody used to call -me Phillis." - -"Was--was everybody young?" Jack asked, with an impertinence beyond -his years. - -"No; everybody was old. I suppose young people always call each other -by their christian names. Yours seems to be rather stiff. Ronald, -Ronald--I am afraid I do not like it very much." - -"My brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, cousins and kinsfolk--the -people who pay my debts and therefore love me most--call me Ronald. -But everybody else calls me Jack." - -"Jack!" she murmured. "What a pretty name Jack is! May I call you -Jack?" - -"If you only would!" he cried, with a quick flushing of his cheek. "If -you only would! Not when other people are present, but all to -ourselves, when we are together like this. That is, if you do not -mind." - -Could the Serpent, when he cajoled Eve, have begun in a more subtle -and artful manner? One is ashamed for Jack Dunquerque. - -"I shall always call you Jack, then, unless when people like Mrs. -Cassilis are present." - -"And what am I to call you?" - -"My name is Phillis, you know." But she knew, because her French maid -had told her, that some girls have names of endearment, and she -hesitated a little, in hope that Jack would find one for her. - -He did. She looked him so frankly and freely in the face that he took -courage, and said with a bold heart: - -"Phillis is a very sweet name. You know the song, 'Phillis is my only -joy?' I ought to call you Miranda, the Princess of the Enchanted -Island. But it would be prettier to call you Phil." - -"Phil!" Her lips parted in a smile of themselves as she shaped the -name. It is a name which admits of expression. You may lengthen it out -if you like; you may shorten it you like. "Phil! That is very pretty. -No one ever called me Phil before." - -"And we will be great friends, shall we not?" - -"Yes, great friends. I have never had a friend at all." - -"Let us shake hands over our promise. Phil, say, 'Jack Dunquerque, I -will try to like you, and I will be your friend.'" - -"Jack Dunquerque," she placed her hands, both of them, in his and -began to repeat, looking in his face quite earnestly and solemnly, "I -will try--that is nonsense, because I _do_ like you very much -already; and I will always be your friend, if you will be mine and -will let me." - -Then he, with a voice that shook a little, because he knew that this -was very irregular and even wrong, but that the girl was altogether -lovable, and a maiden to be desired, and a queen among girls, and too -beautiful to be resisted, said his say: - -"Phil, I think you are the most charming girl I have ever seen in all -my life. Let me be your friend always, Phil. Let me"--here he stopped, -with a guilty tremor in his voice--"I hope--I hope--that you will -always go on liking me more and more." - -He held both her pretty shapely hands in his own. She was standing a -little back, with her face turned up to his, and a bright fearless -smile upon her lips and in her eyes. Oh, the eyes that smile before -the lips! - -"Some people seal a bargain," he went on, hesitating and stammering, -"after the manner of the--the--early Christians--with a kiss. Shall -we, Phil?" - -Before she caught the meaning of his words he stooped and drew her -gently towards him. Then he suddenly released her. For all in a moment -the woman within her, unknown till that instant, was roused into life, -and she shrank back--without the kiss. - -Jack hung his head in silence. Phil, in silence, too, stood opposite -him, her eyes upon the ground. - -She looked up stealthily and trembled. - -Jack Dunquerque was troubled as he met her look. - -"Forgive me, Phil," he said humbly. "It was wrong--I ought not. Only -forgive me, and tell me we shall be friends all the same." - -"Yes," she replied, not quite knowing what she said; "I forgive you. -But, Jack, please don't do it again." - -Then he returned to the drawings, sitting at the table, while she -stood over him and told him what they were. - -There was no diffidence or mock-modesty at all about her. The drawings -were her life, and represented her inmost thoughts. She had never -shown them all together to a single person, and now she was laying -them all open before the young man whom yesterday she had met for the -first time. - -It seemed to him as if she were baring her very soul for him to read. - -"I like to do them," she said, "because then I can recall everything -that I have done or seen. Look! Here is the dear old house at -Highgate, where I stayed for thirteen years without once going beyond -its walls. Ah, how long ago it seems, and yet it is only a week since -I came away! And everything is so different to me now." - -"You were happy there, Phil?" - -"Yes; but not so happy as I am now. I did not know you then, Jack." - -He beat down the temptation to take her in his arms and kiss her a -thousand times. He tried to sit calmly critical over the drawings. But -his hand shook. - -"Tell me about it all," he said softly. - -"These are the sketches of my Highgate life. Stay; this one does not -belong to this set. It is a likeness of you, which I drew last night -when I came home." - -"Did you really draw one of me? Let me have it. Do let me have it." - -"It was meant for your face. But I could do a better one now. See, -this is Mr. Beck, the American gentleman; and this is Captain Ladds. -This is Mr. Cassilis." - -They were the roughest unfinished things, but she had seized the -likeness in every one. - -Jack kept his own portrait in his hand. - -"Let me keep it." - -"Please, no; I want that one for myself." - -Once more, and for the last time in his life, a little distrust -crossed Jack Dunquerque's mind. Could this girl, after all, be only -the most accomplished of all coquettes? He looked up at her face as -she stood beside him, and then abused himself for treachery to love. - -"It is like me," he said, looking at the pencil portrait; "but you -have made me too handsome." - -She shook her head. - -"You _are_ very handsome, I think," she said gravely. - -He was not, strictly speaking, handsome at all. He was rather an ugly -youth, having no regularity of features. And it was a difficult face -to draw, because he wore no beard--nothing but a light moustache to -help it out. - -"Phil, if you begin to flatter me you will spoil me; and I shall not -be half so good a friend when I am spoiled. Won't you give this to -me?" - -"No; I keep my portfolio all to myself. But I will draw a better one, -if you like, of you, and finish it up properly, like this." - -She showed him a pencil-drawing of a face which Rembrandt himself -would have loved to paint. It was the face of an old man, wrinkled and -crows-footed. - -"That is my guardian, Mr. Dyson. I will draw you in the same style. -Poor dear guardian! I think he was very fond of me." - -Another thought struck the young man. - -"Phil, will you instead make me a drawing--of your own face?" - -"But can you not do it for yourself?" - -"I? Phil, I could not even draw a haystack." - -"What a misfortune! It seems worse than not being able to read." - -"Draw me a picture of yourself, Phil." - -She considered. - -"Nobody ever asked me to do that yet. And I never drew my own face. It -would be nice, too, to think that you had a likeness of me, -particularly as you cannot draw yourself. Jack, would you mind if it -were not much like me?" - -"I should prefer it like you. Please try. Give me yourself as you are -now. Do not be afraid of making it too pretty." - -"I will try to make it like. Here is Mrs. Cassilis. She did not think -it was very good." - -"Phil, you are a genius. Do you know that? I hold you to your promise. -You will draw a portrait of yourself, and I will frame it and hang it -up--no, I won't do that; I will keep it myself, and look at it when no -one is with me." - -"That seems very pleasant," said Phil, reflecting. "I should like to -think that you are looking at me sometimes. Jack, I only met you -yesterday, and we are old friends already." - -"Yes; quite old familiar friends, are we not? Now tell all about -yourself." - -She obeyed. It was remarkable how readily she obeyed the orders of -this new friend, and told him all about her life with Mr. Dyson--the -garden and paddock, out of which she never went, even to church; the -pony, the quiet house, and the quiet life with the old man who taught -her by talking; her drawing and her music; and her simple wonder what -life was like outside the gates. - -"Did you never go to church, Phil?" - -"No; we had prayers at home; and on Sunday evenings I sang hymns." - -Clearly her religions education had been grossly neglected. "Never -heard of a Ritualist," thought Jack, with a feeling of gladness. -"Doesn't know anything about vestments; isn't learned in school -feasts; and never attended a tea-meeting. This girl is a Phoenix." -Why--why was he a Younger Son? - -"And is Mr. Cassilis a relation of yours?" - -"No; Mr. Cassilis is Mr. Dyson's nephew. All Mr. Dyson's fortune is -left to found an institution for educating girls as I was -educated----" - -"Without reading or writing?" - -"I suppose so. Only, you see, it is most unfortunate that my own -education is incomplete, and they cannot carry out the testator's -wishes, Mr. Jagenal tells me, because they have not been able to find -the concluding chapters of his book. Mr. Dyson wrote a book on it, and -the last chapter was called the 'Coping-stone.' I do not know what -they will do about it. Mr. Cassilis wants to have the money divided -among the relations, I know. Isn't it odd? And he has so much -already." - -"And I have got none." - -"O Jack! take some of mine--do! I know I have such a lot somewhere; -and I never spend anything." - -"You are very good, Phil; but that will hardly be right. But do you -know it is five o'clock? We have been talking for three hours. I must -go--alas, I must go!" - -"And you have told me nothing at all yet about Mr. Colquhoun." - -"When I see you next I will tell you what I know of him. Good-bye, -Phil." - -"Jack, come and see me again soon." - -"When may I come? Not to-morrow--that would be too soon. The day -after. Phil, make me the likeness, and send it to me by post. I forgot -you cannot write." - -He wrote his address on a sheet of foolscap. - -"Fold it in that, with this address outside, and post it to me. Come -again, Phil? I should like to come every day, and stay all day." He -pressed her hand and was gone. - -Phillis remained standing where he left her. What had happened to her? -Why did she feel so oppressed? Why did the tears crowd her eyes? Five -o'clock. It wanted an hour of dinner, when she would have to talk to -the Twin brethren. She gathered up her drawings and retreated to her -own room. As she passed Humphrey's door, she heard him saying to Jane: - -"The tea, Jane? Have I really been asleep? A most extraordinary thing -for me." - -"Now he will see the drawing of the 'Artist at Work,'" thought -Phillis. But she did not laugh at the idea, as she had done when she -perpetrated the joke. She had suddenly grown graver. - -She began her own likeness at once. But she could not satisfy herself. -She tore up half a dozen beginnings. Then she changed her mind. She -drew a little group of two. One was a young man, tall, shapely, -gallant, with a queer attractive face, who held the hands of a girl in -his, and was bending over her. Somehow a look of love, a strange and -new expression, which she had never seen before in human eyes, lay in -his. She blushed while she drew her own face looking up in that other, -and yet she drew it faithfully, and was only half conscious how sweet -a face she drew and how like it was to her own. Nor could she -understand why she felt ashamed. - -"Come again soon, Jack." - -The words rang in the young man's ears, but they rang like bells of -accusation and reproach. This girl, so sweet, so fresh, so -unconventional, what would she think when she learned, as she must -learn some day, how great was his sin against her? And what would -Lawrence Colquhoun say! And what would the lawyer say? And what would -the world say? - -The worst was that his repentance would not take the proper course. He -did not repent of taking her hands--he trembled and thrilled when he -thought of it--he only repented of the swiftness with which the thing -was done, and was afraid of the consequences. - -"And I am only a Younger Son, Tommy"--he made his plaint to Ladds, who -received a full confession of the whole--"only a Younger Son, with -four hundred a year. And she's got fifty thousand. They will say I -wanted her money. I wish she had nothing but the sweet grey dress----" - -"Jack, don't blaspheme. Goodness sometimes palls; beauty always fades; -grey dresses certainly wear out; figures alter for the worse; the -funds remain. I am always thankful for the thought which inspired -Ladds' Perfect Cocoa. The only true Fragrance. Aroma and Nutrition." - -Humphrey did not discover the little sketch before dinner, so that his -conversation was as animated and as artistic as usual. At two o'clock -in the morning he discovered it. And at three o'clock the Twins, after -discussing the picture with its scoffing legend in all its bearings, -went to bed sorrowful. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - "I have in these rough words shaped out a man - Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug - With amplest entertainment." - - -Mr. Gabriel Cassilis, who, like Julius Cĉsar and other illustrious -men, was always spoken of by both his names, stepped from his carriage -at the door of the Langham Hotel and slowly walked up the stairs to -Mr. Beck's room. He looked older, longer, and thinner in the morning -than in the evening. He carried his hands behind him and bore a look -of pre-occupation and care. The man of unlimited credit was waiting -for him, and, with his first cigar, pacing the room with his hands in -his pockets. - -"I got your letter," said Mr. Cassilis, "and telegraphed to you -because I was anxious not to miss you. My time is valuable--not so -valuable as yours, but still worth something." - -He spread his hands palm downwards, and at right angles to the -perpendicular line of his body, had that been erect. But it was -curved, like the figure of the man with the forelock. - -"Still worth something," he repeated. "But I am here, Mr. Beck, and -ready to be of any service that I can." - -"My time is worth nothing," said the American, "because my work is -done for me. When I was paid by the hour, it was worth the hour's -pay." - -"But now," Mr. Cassilis interposed, "it is worth at the rate -of your yearly income. And I observe that you have unlimited -credit--un-lim-it-ed credit. That is what we should hardly give -to a Rothschild." - -He wanted to know what unlimited credit really meant. It was a thing -hitherto beyond his experience. - -"It is my Luck," said Mr. Beck. "Ile, as everybody knows, is not to be -approached. You may grub for money like a Chinee, and you may scheme -for it like a Boss in a whisky-ring. But for a steady certain flow -there is nothing like Ile. And I, sir, have struck Ile as it never was -struck before, because my well goes down to the almighty reservoir of -this great world." - -"I congratulate you, Mr. Beck." - -"And I have ventured, sir, on the strength of that introductory -letter, to ask you for advice. 'Mr. Cassilis,' I was told, 'has the -biggest head in all London for knowledge of money.' And, as I am going -to be the biggest man in all the States for income, I come to you." - -"I am not a professional adviser, Mr. Beck. What I could do for you -would not be a matter of business. It is true that, as a friend only, -I might advise you as to investments. I could show you where to place -money and how to use it." - -"Sir, you double the obligation. In America we do nothing without an -equivalent. Here men seem to work as hard without being paid as those -who get wages. Why, sir, I hear that young barristers do the work of -others and get nothing for it; doctors work for nothing in hospitals; -and authors write for publishers and get nothing from them. This is a -wonderful country." - -Mr. Cassilis, at any rate, had never worked for nothing. Nor did he -propose to begin now. But he did not say so. - -He sat nursing his leg, looking up at the tall American who stood over -him. They were two remarkable faces, that thus looked into each other. -The American's was grave and even stern. But his eyes were soft. The -Englishman's was grave also. But his eyes were hard. They were not -stealthy, as of one contemplating a fraud, but they were curious and -watchful, as of one who is about to strike and is looking for the -fittest place--that is, the weakest. - -"Will you take a drink, Mr. Cassilis?" - -"A--a--a drink?" The invitation took him aback altogether, and -disturbed the current of his thoughts. "Thank you, thank you. -Nothing." - -"In the silver-mines I've seen a man threatened with a bowie for -refusing a drink. And I've known temperate men anxious for peace take -drinks, when they were offered, till their back teeth were under -whisky. But I know your English custom, Mr. Cassilis. When you don't -feel thirsty you say so. Now let us go on, sir." - -"Our New York friend tells me, Mr. Beck, that you would find it -difficult to spend your income." - -Mr. Beck brightened. He sat down and assumed a confidential manner. - -"That's the hitch. That's what I am here for. In America you may chuck -a handsome pile on yourself. But when you get out of yourself, unless -you were to buy a park for the people in the centre of New York City, -I guess you would find it difficult to get rid of your money." - -"It depends mainly on the amount of that money." - -"We'll come to figures, sir, and you shall judge as my friendly -adviser. My bar'ls bring me in, out of my first well, 2,500 dollars, -and that's £500 a day, without counting Sundays. And there's a dozen -wells of mine around, not so good, that are worth between them another -£800 a day." - -Mr. Cassilis gasped. - -"Do you mean, Mr. Beck, do you actually mean that you are drawing a -profit, a clear profit, of more than £1,300 a day from your rock-oil -shafts?" - -"That is it, sir--that is the lowest figure. Say £1,500 a day." - -"And how long has this been going on?" - -"Close upon ten months." - -Mr. Cassilis produced a pencil and made a little calculation. - -"Then you are worth at this moment, allowing for Sundays, at least a -quarter of a million sterling." - -"Wall, I think it is near that figure. We can telegraph to New York, -if you like, to find out. I don't quite know within a hundred -thousand." - -"And a yearly income of £500,000, Mr. Beck!" said Mr. Cassilis, rising -solemnly. "Let me--allow me to shake hands with you again. I had no -idea, not the slightest idea, in asking you to my house the other day, -that I was entertaining a man of so much weight and such enormous -power." - -He shook hands with a mixture of deference and friendship. Then he -looked again, with a watchful glance, at the tall and wiry American -with the stern face, the grave eyes, the mobile lips, and the muscular -frame, and sat down and began to soliloquise. - -"We are accustomed to think that nothing can compare with the great -landholders of this country and Austria. There are two or three -incomes perhaps in Europe, not counting crowned heads, which approach -your own, Mr. Beck, but they are saddled. Their owners have great -houses to keep up; armies of servants to maintain; estates to nurse; -dilapidations to make good; farmers to satisfy; younger sons to -provide for; poor people to help by hundreds; and local charities to -assist. Why, I do not believe, when all has been provided for, that a -great man, say the Duke of Berkshire, with coal-mines and quarries, -Scotch, Irish, Welsh, and English estates, has more to put by at the -end of the year than many a London merchant." - -"That is quite right," said Mr. Beck; "a merchant must save, because -he may crack up; but the land don't run away. When you want stability, -you must go to the Airth. Outside there's the fields, the rivers, the -hills. Inside there's the mines, and there's Ile for those who can -strike it." - -"What an income!" Mr. Cassilis went on. "Nothing to squander it on. No -duties and no responsibilities. No tenants; no philanthropy; no -frittering away of capital. You _can't_ spend a tenth part of it -on yourself. And the rest accumulates and grows--grows--spreads and -grows." He spread out his hands, and a flush of envy came into his -cheeks. "Mr. Beck, I congratulate you again." - -"Thank you, sir." - -"I see, Mr. Beck--you are yet an unmarried man, I believe, and without -children--I foresee boundless possibilities. You may marry and found a -great family; you may lay yourself out for making a fortune so great -that it may prove a sensible influence on the course of events. You -may bequeath to your race the tradition of good fortune and the habit -of making money." - -"My sons may take care of themselves," said Mr. Beck; "I want to spend -money, not to save it." - -It was remarkable that during all this generous outburst of vicarious -enthusiasm Mr. Beck's face showed no interest whatever. He had his -purpose, but it was not the purpose of Mr. Cassilis. To found a -family, to become a Rothschild, to contract loans--what were these -things to a man who felt strongly that he had but one life, that he -wished to make the most of it, and that the world after him might get -on as it could without his posthumous interference? - -"Listen Mr. Beck, for one moment. Your income is £500,000 a year. You -may spend on your own simple wants £5,000. Bah! a trifle--not a -quarter of the interest. You save the whole; in ten years you have -three millions. You are still under fifty?" - -"Forty-five, sir." - -"I wish I was forty-five. You may live and work for another quarter of -a century. In that time you ought to be worth twelve millions at -least. Twelve millions!" - -"Nearly as much as ran away and was lost when the Ile was struck," -said Mr. Beck. "Hardly worth while to work for five-and-twenty years -in order to save what Nature spent in three days, is it?" - -What, says the proverb, is easily got is lightly regarded. This man -made money so easily that he despised the slow, gradual building up of -an immense fortune. - -"There is nothing beyond the reach of a man with twelve millions," Mr. -Cassilis went on. "He may rule the world, so long as there are poor -states with vast armies who want to borrow. Why, at the present moment -a man with twelve millions at his command could undertake a loan with -Russia, Austria, Turkey, Italy, or Egypt. He could absolutely govern -the share market; he could rule the bank rate----" - -Mr. Beck interrupted, quite unmoved by these visions of greatness: - -"Wal, sir, I am not ambitious, and I leave Providence to manage the -nations her own way. I might meddle and muss till I busted up the -whole concern; play, after all, into the hands of the devil, and have -the people praying to get back to their old original Providence." - -"Or suppose," Mr. Cassilis went on, his imagination fired with the -contemplation of possibilities so far beyond his own reach--"suppose -you were to buy up land--to buy all that comes into the market. -Suppose you were to hand down to your sons a traditional policy of -buying land with the established principle of primogeniture. In twenty -years you might have great estates in twenty counties----" - -"I could have half a state," said Mr. Beck, "if I went out West." - -"In your own lifetime you could control an election, make yourself -President, carry your own principles, force your opinions on the -country, and become the greatest man in it." - -"The greatest country in the world is the United States of -America--that is a fact," said Mr. Beck, laughing; "so the greatest -man in it must be the greatest man in the world. I calculate that's a -bitter reflection for Prince Bismarck when he goes to bed at night; -also for the Emperor of all the Russias. And perhaps your Mr. -Gladstone would like to feel himself on the same level with General -Ulysses Grant." - -"Mr. Beck," cried Mr. Cassilis, rising to his feet in an irrepressible -burst of genuine enthusiasm, and working his right hand round exactly -as if he was really Father Time, whom he so much resembled--"Mr. Beck, -I consider you the most fortunate man in the world. We slowly amass -money--for our sons to dissipate. Save when a title or an ancient name -entails a conservative tradition which keeps the property together, -the process in this country and in yours is always the same. The -strong men climb, and the weak men fall. And even to great houses like -the Grosvenors, which have been carried upwards by a steady tide of -fortune, there will surely one day come a fool, and then the tide will -turn. But for you and yours, Mr. Beck, Nature pours out her -inexhaustible treasures----" - -"She does, sir--in Ile." - -"You may spend, but your income will always go on increasing." - -"To a certain limit, sir--to five thousand and fifty-three years. I -have had it reckoned by one of our most distinguished mathematicians, -Professor Hercules Willemott, of Cyprus University, Wisconsin. He made -the calculations for me." - -"Limit or not, Mr. Beck, you are now a most fortunate man. And I shall -be entirely at your service. I believe," he added modestly, "that I -have some little reputation in financial circles." - -"That is so, sir. And now let me put my case." Mr. Beck became once -more animated and interested. "Suppose, sir, I was to say to you, 'I -have more than enough money. I will take the Luck of the Golden -Butterfly and make it the Luck of other people.'" - -"I do not understand," said Mr. Cassilis. - -"Sir, what do you do with your own money? You do not spend it all on -yourself?" - -"I use it to make more." - -"And when you have enough?" - -"We look at things from a different point of view, Mr. Beck. _You_ -have enough; but I, whatever be my success, can never approach the -fourth part of your income. However, let me understand what you want -to do, and I will give such advice as I can offer." - -"That's kind, sir, and what I expected of you. It is a foolish fancy, -and perhaps you'll laugh; but I have heard day and night, ever since -the Ile began to run, a voice which says to me always the same -thing--I think it is the voice of my Golden Butterfly: 'What you can't -spend, give.' 'What you can't spend, give.' That's my duty, Mr. -Cassilis; that's the path marked out before me, plain and shinin' as -the way to heaven. What I can't spend, I must give. I've given nothing -as yet. And I am here in this country of giving to find out how to do -it." - -"We--I mean the--the----" Mr. Cassilis was on the point of saying "the -Idiots," but refrained in time. "The people who give money send it to -charities and institutions." - -"I know that way, sir. It is like paying a priest to say your prayers -for you." - -"When the secretaries get the money they pay themselves their own -salaries first; then they pay for the rent, the clerks, and the -advertising. What remains goes to the charity." - -"That is so, sir; and I do not like that method. I want to go right -ahead; find out what to do, and then do it. But I must feel like -giving, whatever I do." - -"Your countryman, Mr. Peabody, gave his money in trust for the London -poor. Would you like to do the same?" - -"No, sir; I should not like to imitate that example. Mr. Peabody was a -great man, and he meant well; but I want to work for myself. Let a man -do all the good and evil he has to do in his lifetime, not leave his -work dragging on after he is dead. 'They that go down into the pit -cannot hope for the truth.' Do you remember that text, Mr. Cassilis? -It means that you must not wait till you are dead to do what you have -to do." - -Mr. Cassilis altered his expression, which was before of a puzzled -cheerfulness, as if he failed to see his way, into one of unnatural -solemnity. It is the custom of certain Englishmen if the Bible is -quoted. He knew no more than Adam what part of the Bible it came from. -But he bowed, and pulled out his handkerchief as if he was at a -funeral. In fact, this unexpected hurling of a text at his head -floored him for the moment. - -Mr. Beck was quite grave and in much earnestness. - -"There is another thing. If I leave this money in trust, how do I know -that my purpose will be carried out? In a hundred years things will -get mixed. My bequests may be worth millions, or they may be worth -nothing. The lawyers may fight over the letter of the will, and the -spirit may be neglected." - -"It is the Dead Hand that you dread." - -"That may be so, sir. You air in the inside track, and you ought to -know what to call it. But no Hand, dead or alive, shall ever get hold -of my stamps." - -"Your stamps?" - -"My stamps, sir; my greenbacks, my dollars. For I've got them, and I -mean to spend them. 'Spend what you can, and give what you cannot -spend,' says the Voice to Gilead P. Beck." - -"But, my dear sir, if you mean to give away a quarter of a million a -year, you will have every improvident and extravagant rogue in the -country about you. You will have to answer hundreds of letters a day. -You will be deluged with prospectuses, forms, and appeals. You will be -called names unless you give to this institution or to that----" - -"I shall give nothing to any society." - -"And what about the widows of clergymen, the daughters of officers, -the nieces of Church dignitaries, the governess who is starving, the -tradesman who wants a hundred pounds for a fortnight, and will repay -you with blessings and 25 per cent. after depositing in your hand as -security all his pawn-tickets." - -"Every boat wants steering, but I was not born last Sunday, and the -ways of big cities, though they may be crooked, air pretty well known -to me. There are not many lines of life in which Gilead P. Beck has -not tried to walk." - -"My dear sir, do you propose to act the part of Universal -Philanthropist and Distributor at large?" - -"No, sir, I do not. And that puzzles me too. I should like to be quiet -over it. There was a man down to Lexington, when I was a boy, who said -he liked his religion unostentatious. So he took a pipe on a Sunday -morning and sat in the churchyard listening to the bummin' and the -singin' within. Perhaps, sir, that man knew his own business. Perhaps -thoughts came over his soul when they gave out the Psalm that he -wouldn't have had if he'd gone inside, to sit with his back upright -against a plank, his legs curled up below the seat, and his eyes -wandering around among the gells. Maybe that is my case, too, Mr. -Cassilis. I should like my giving to be unostentatious." - -"Give what you cannot spend," said Mr. Cassilis. "There are at any -rate plenty of ways of spending. Let us attend to them first." - -"And there's another thing, sir," Mr. Beck went on, shifting his feet -and looking uneasy and distressed. "It's on my mind since I met the -young gentleman at your house. I want to do something big, something -almighty big, for Mr. Ronald Dunquerque." - -"Because he killed the bear?" - -"Yes, sir, because he saved my life. Without that shot the Luck of -Gilead P. Beck would have been locked up for ever in that little box -where the Golden Butterfly used to live. What can I do for him? Is the -young gentleman rich?" - -"On the contrary, I do not suppose--his brother is one of the poorest -peers in the house--that the Honorable Mr. Ronald Dunquerque is worth -£500 a year. Really, I should say that £300 would be nearer the mark." - -"Then he is a gentleman, and I am--well, sir, I hope I am learning -what a gentleman should do and think in such a position as the Golden -Butterfly has brought me into. But the short of it is that I can't say -to him: 'Mr. Dunquerque, I owe you a life, and here is a cheque for so -many thousand dollars.' I can't do it, sir." - -"I suppose not. But there are ways of helping a young man forward -without giving him money. You can only give money to poets and -clergymen." - -"That is so, sir." - -"Wait a little till your position is known and assured. You will then -be able to assist Mr. Ronald Dunquerque, as much as you please." He -rose and took up his gloves. "And now, Mr. Beck, I think I understand -you. You wish to do something great with your money. Very good. Do not -be in a hurry. I will think things over. Meantime, you are going to -let it lie idle in the bank?" - -"Wal, yes; I was thinking of that." - -"It would be much better for me to place it for you in good shares, -such as I could recommend to you. You would then be able to--to--give -away"--he pronounced the words with manifest reluctance--"the interest -as well as the principal. Why should the bankers have the use of it?" - -"That seems reasonable," said Mr. Beck. - -Mr. Cassilis straightened himself and looked him full in the face. He -was about to strike his blow. - -"You will place your money," he said quietly, as if there could be no -doubt of Mr. Beck's immediate assent, "in my hands for investment. I -shall recommend you safe things. For instance, as regards the shares -of the George Washington Silver Mine----" - -He opened his pocket-book. - -"No, sir," said Mr. Beck with great decision. - -"I was about to observe that I should not recommend such an -investment. I think, however, I could place immediately £20,000 in the -Isle of Man Internal Navigation Company." - -"An English company?" said Mr. Beck. - -"Certainly. I propose, Mr. Beck, to devote this morning to a -consideration of investments for you. I shall advise you from day to -day. I have no philanthropic aims, and financing is my profession. But -your affairs shall be treated together with mine, and I shall bring to -bear upon them the same--may I say insight?--that has carried my own -ventures to success. For this morning I shall only secure you the Isle -of Man shares." - -They presently parted, with many expressions of gratitude from Mr. -Gilead Beck. - -A country where men work for nothing? Perhaps, when men are young. Not -a country where elderly men in the City work for nothing. Mr. Cassilis -had no intention whatever of devoting his time and experience to the -furtherance of Mr. Beck's affairs. Not at all: if the thoughts in his -mind had been written down, they would have shown a joy almost boyish -in the success of his morning's visit. - -"The Isle of Man Company," we should have read, "is floated. That -£20,000 was a lucky _coup_. I nearly missed my chances with the -silver mine; I ought to have known that he was not likely to jump at -such a bait. A quarter of a million of money to dispose of, and five -hundred thousand pounds a year. And mine the handling of the whole. -Never before was such a chance known in the City." - -A thought struck him. He turned, and went back hastily to Gilead -Beck's rooms. - -"One word more. Mr. Beck, I need hardly say that I do not wish to be -known as your adviser at all. Perhaps it would be well to keep our -engagements a secret between ourselves." - -That of course was readily promised. - -"Half a million a year!" The words jangled in his brain like the -chimes of St. Clement's. "Half a million a year! And mine the -handling." - -He spent the day locked up in his inner office. He saw no one, except -the secretary, and he covered an acre or so of paper with -calculations. His clerks went away at five; his secretary left him at -six; at ten he was still at work, feverishly at work, making -combinations and calculating results. - -"What a chance!" he murmured prayerfully, putting down his pen at -length. "What a blessed chance!" - -Mr. Gilead Beck would have congratulated himself on the disinterested -assistance of his unprofessional adviser had he known that the whole -day was devoted to himself. He might have congratulated himself less -had he known the thoughts that filled the financier's brains. - -Disinterested? How could Mr. Cassilis regard any one with money in his -hand but as a subject for his skill. And here was a man coming to him, -not with his little fortune of a few thousand pounds, not with the -paltry savings of a lifetime, not for an investment for widows and -orphans, but with a purse immeasurable and bottomless, a purse which -he was going to place unreservedly in his hands. - -"Mine the handling," he murmured as he got into bed. It was his -evening hymn of praise and joy. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - "Higher she climbed, and far below her stretch'd - Hill beyond hill, with lightening slopes and glades, - And a world widening still." - - -Phillis's world widened daily, like a landscape, which stretches ever -farther the higher you mount. Every morning brought her fresh -delights, something more wonderful than she had seen the day before. -Her portfolio of drawings swelled daily; but with riches came -discontent, because the range of subjects grew too vast for her pencil -to draw, and her groups became every day more difficult and more -complicated. Life was a joy beyond all that she had ever hoped for or -expected. How should it be otherwise to her? She had no anxieties for -the future; she had no past sins to repent; she had no knowledge of -evil; she was young and in perfect health; the weight of her mortality -was as yet unfelt. - -During these early days of emancipation she was mostly silent, looking -about and making observations. She sat alone and thought; she forgot -to sing; if she played, it was as if she was communing confidentially -with a friend, and seeking counsel. She had so much to think of: -herself, and the new current of thoughts into which her mind had been -suddenly diverted; the connection between the world of Mr. Dyson's -teachings and the world of reality--this was a very hard thing; Mrs. -Cassilis, with her hard, cold manner, her kind words, and her eternal -teaching that the spring of feminine action is the desire to attract; -finally, Jack Dunquerque. And of him she thought a good deal. - -All the people she met were interesting. She tried to give each one -his own individuality, rounded and complete. But she could not. Her -experience was too small, and each figure in her mind was blurred. -Now, if you listen to the conversation of people, as I do -perpetually--in trains especially--you will find that they are always -talking about other people. The reason of that I take to be the -natural desire to have in your brain a clear idea of every man, what -he is, and how he is likely to be acted upon. Those people are called -interesting who are the most difficult to describe or imagine, and -who, perpetually breaking out in new places, disturb the image which -their friends have formed. - -None of Phillis's new friends would photograph clear and distinct in -her brain. She thought she missed the focus. It was not so, however; -it was the fault of the lens. But it troubled her, because if she -tried to draw them there was always a sense of something wanting. Even -Jack Dunquerque--and here her eyes brightened--had points about him -which she could not understand. She was quiet, therefore, and watched. - -It was pleasant only to watch and observe. She had made out clearly by -this time that the Twins were as vain and self-conscious as the old -peacock she used to feed at Highgate. She found herself bringing out -their little vanities by leading questions. She knew that Joseph -Jagenal, whom in their souls the Twins despised, was worth them both -ten times over; and she found that Joseph rated himself far beneath -his brothers. Then she gradually learned that their ĉsthetic talk was -soon exhausted, but that they loved to enunciate the same old maxims -over and over again, as children repeat a story. And it became one of -her chief pleasures to listen to them at dinner, to mark their -shallowness, and to amuse herself with their foibles. The Twins -thought the young lady was fascinated by their personal excellences. - -"Genius, brother Cornelius," said Humphrey, "always makes its way. I -see Phillis Fleming every night waiting upon your words." - -"I think the fascinations of Art are as great, brother Humphrey. At -dinner Phillis Fleming watches your every gesture." - -This was in the evening. In the morning every walk was a new delight -in itself; every fresh street was different. Brought up for thirteen -years within the same four walls, the keenest joy which the girl could -imagine was variety. She loved to see something new, even a new -disposition of London houses, even a minute difference in the aspect -of a London square. But of all the pleasures which she had yet -experienced--even a greater pleasure than the single picture-gallery -which she had visited--was the one afternoon of shopping she had had -with Mrs. Cassilis at Melton and Mowbray's in Regent Street. - -Mrs. Cassilis took her there first on the morning of her dinner-party. -It was her second drive through the streets of London, but an -incomparable superior journey to the first. The thoroughfares were -more crowded; the shops were grander; if there were fewer boys running -and whistling, there were picturesque beggars, Punch-and-Judy shows, -Italian noblemen with organs, and the other humours and diversions of -the great main arteries of London. Phillis looked at all with the -keenest delight, calling the attention of her companion to the common -things which escape our notice because we see them every day--the -ragged broken down old man without a hat, who has long grey locks, who -sells oranges from a basket, and betrays by his bibulous trembling -lips the secret history of his downfall; the omnibus full inside and -out; the tall Guardsman swaggering down the street; the ladies looking -in at the windows; the endless rows of that great and wonderful -exhibition which benevolent tradesmen show gratuitously to all; the -shopman rubbing his hands at the door; the foreigners and pilgrims in -a strange land--he with a cigarette in his mouth, lately from the Army -of Don Carlos; he with a bad cigar, a blue-black shaven chin and -cheek, and a seedy coat, who once adorned the ranks of Delescluze, -Ferrè, Flourens & Company; he with the pale face and hard cynical -smile, who hails from free and happy Prussia; the man, our brother, -from Sierra Leone, coal-black of hue, with snowy linen and a -conviction not to be shaken that all the world takes him for an -Englishman; the booted Belgian, cross between the Dutchman and the -Gaul; the young gentleman sent from Japan to study our country and its -laws--he has a cigar in his mouth, and a young lady with yellow hair -upon his arm; the Syrian, with a red cap and almond eyes; the Parsee, -with lofty superstructure, a reminiscence of the Tower of Babel, which -his ancestors were partly instrumental in building; Cretes, Arabians, -men of Cappadocia and Pontus, with all the other mingled nationalities -which make up the strollers along a London street,--Phillis marked -them every one, and only longed for a brief ten minutes with each in -order to transfer his likeness to her portfolio. - -"Phillis," said her companion, touching her hand, "can you practise -looking at people without turning your head or seeming to notice?" - -Phillis laughed, and tried to sit in the attitude of unobservant -carelessness which was the custom in other carriages. Like all first -attempts it was a failure. Then the great and crowded street reminded -her of her dream. Should she presently--for it all seemed unreal -together--begin to run, while the young men, among whom were the -Twins, ran after her? And should she at the finish of the race see the -form of dead old Abraham Dyson, clapping his hands and wagging his -head, and crying, "Well run! well won! Phillis, it is the -Coping-stone?" - -"This is Melton & Mowbray's," said Mrs. Cassilis, as the carriage drew -up in front of a shop which contained greater treasures then were ever -collected for the harem of an Assyrian king. - -She followed Mrs. Cassilis to some show rooms, in which lay about -carelessly things more beautiful than she had ever conceived; hues -more brilliant, textures more delicate then she ever knew. - -Phillis's first shopping was an event to be remembered in all her -after life. What she chose, what Mrs. Cassilis chose for her, what -Joseph Jagenal thought when the bill came in, it boots not here to -tell. Imagine only the delight of a girl of deep and artistic feeling, -which has hitherto chiefly found vent in the study of form--such form -as she could get from engravings and her own limited powers of -observation--in being let loose suddenly in a wilderness of beautiful -things. Every lady knows Messrs. Melton & Mowbray's great shop. Does -anybody ever think what it would seem were they to enter it for the -first time at the mature age of nineteen? - -In one thing only did Phillis disgrace herself. There was a young -person in attendance for the purpose of showing off all sorts of -draperies upon her own back and shoulders. Phillis watched her for -some time. She had a singularly graceful figure and a patient face, -which struck Phillis with pity. Mrs. Cassilis sat studying the effect -through her double eye-glasses. The saleswoman put on and took off the -things as if the girl were really a lay-figure, which she was, -excepting that she turned herself about, a thing not yet achieved by -any lay-figure. A patient face, but it looked pale and tired. The -"Duchess"--living lay-figures receive that title, in addition to a -whole pound a week which Messrs. Melton & Mowbray generously give -them--stood about the rooms all day, and went to bed late at night. -Some of the other girls envied her. This shows that there is no -position in life which has not something beneath it. - -Presently Phillis rose suddenly, and taking the opera-cloak which the -Duchess was about to put on, said: - -"You are tired. I will try it on myself. Pray sit down and rest." - -And she actually placed a chair for the shop-girl. - -Mrs. Cassilis gave a little jump of surprise. It had never occurred to -her that a shopwoman could be entitled to any consideration at all. -She belonged to the establishment; the shop and all that it contained -were at the service of those who bought; the _personnel_ was a matter -for Messrs. Melton & Mowbray to manage. - -But she recovered her presence of mind in a moment. - -"Perhaps it will be as well," she said, "to see how it suits you by -trying it on yourself." - -When their purchases were completed and they were coming away, Phillis -turned to the poor Duchess, and asked her if she was not very tired of -trying on dresses, and whether she would not like to take a rest, and -if she was happy, with one or two other questions; at which the -saleswoman looked a little indignant and the Duchess a little inclined -to cry. - -And then they came away. - -"It is not usual, Phillis," said Mrs. Cassilis, directly they were in -the carriage, "for ladies to speak to shop-people." - -"Is it not? The poor girl looked pale and tired." - -"Very likely she was. She is paid to work, and work is fatiguing. But -it was no concern of ours. You see, my dear, we cannot alter things; -and if you once commence to pitying people and talking to them, there -is an end of all distinctions of class." - -"Mr. Dyson used to say that the difficulty of abolishing class -distinctions was one of the most lamentable facts in human history. I -did not understand then what he meant. But I think I do now. It is a -dreadful thing, he meant, that one cannot speak or relieve a poor girl -who is ready to drop with fatigue, because she is a shop-girl. How sad -you must feel, Mrs. Cassilis, you, who have seen so much of -shop-assistants, if they are all like that poor girl!" - -Mrs. Cassilis had not felt sad, but Phillis's remark made her feel for -the moment uncomfortable. Her complacency was disturbed. But how could -she help herself? She was what her surroundings had made her. As -riches increase, particularly the riches which are unaccompanied by -territorial obligations, men and women separate themselves more and -more; the lines of demarcation become deeper and broader; English -castes are divided by ditches constantly widening; the circles into -which outsiders may enter as guests, but not as members, become more -numerous; poor people herd more together; rich people live more apart; -the latter become more like gods in their seclusion, and they grow to -hate more and more the sight and rumor of suffering. And the first -step back to the unpitying cruelty of the old civilizations is the -habit of looking on the unwashed as creatures of another world. If the -gods of Olympus had known sympathy they might have lived till now. - -This expedition occurred on the day of Phillis's first dinner-party, -and on their way home a singular thing happened. - -Mrs. Cassilis asked Phillis how long she was to stay with Mr. Jagenal. - -"Until," said Phillis, "my guardian comes home; and that will be in a -fortnight." - -"Your guardian, child? But he is dead." - -"I had two, you know. The other is Mr. Lawrence Colquhoun---- What is -the matter, Mrs. Cassilis?" - -For she became suddenly pallid, and stared blankly before her, with no -expression in her eyes, unless perhaps, a look of terror. It was the -second time that Phillis had noted a change in this cold and -passionless face. Before, the face had grown suddenly soft and tender -at a recollection; now, it was white and rigid. - -"Lawrence Colquhoun!" she turned to Phillis, and hardly seemed to know -what she was saying. "Lawrence Colquhoun! He is coming home--and he -promised me--no--he would not promise--and what will he say to me." - -Then she recovered herself with an effort. The name, or the -intelligence of Lawrence Colquhoun's return, gave her a great shock. - -"Mr. Colquhoun your guardian! I did not know. And is he coming home?" - -"You will come and see me when I am staying--if I am to stay--at his -house?" - -"I shall certainly," said Mrs. Cassilis, setting her lips together--"I -shall certainly make a point of seeing Mr. Colquhoun on his return, -whether you are staying with him or not. Here is Carnarvon Square. No, -thank you, I will not get down, even to have a cup of tea with you. -Good-bye, Phillis, till this evening. My dear, I think the white dress -that you showed me will do admirably. Home at once." - -A woman of steel? Rubbish! There is no man or woman of steel, save he -who has brooded too long over his own perfections. A metallic statue, -the enemies of Mrs. Cassilis called her. They knew nothing. A woman -who had always perfect control over herself, said her husband. He knew -nothing. A woman who turned pale at the mention of a name, and longed, -yet feared, to meet a man, thought Phillis. And she knew something, -because she knew the weak point in this woman's armour. Being neither -curious, nor malignant, nor a disciple in the school for scandal, -Phillis drew her little conclusion, kept it to herself, and thought no -more about it. - -As for the reasons which prompted Mrs. Cassilis to "take up" Phillis -Fleming, they were multiplex, like all the springs of action which -move us to act. She wanted to find out for her husband of what sort -was this system of education which Joseph Jagenal could not discover -anywhere. She was interested in, although not attracted by, the -character of the girl, unlike any she had ever seen. And she wanted to -use Phillis--an heiress, young, beautiful, piquante, strange--as an -attraction to her house. For Mrs. Cassilis was ambitious. She wished -to attract men to her evenings. She pictured herself--it is the dream -of so many cultured women--as another Madame Récamier, Madame du -Deffand, or Madame de Rambouillet. All the intellect in London was to -be gathered in her _salon_. She caught lions; she got hold of young -authors; she made beginnings with third-rate people who had written -books. They were not amusing; they were not witty; they were devoured -by envy and hatred. She let them drop, and now she wanted to begin -again. An idle and a futile game. She had not the quick sympathies, -the capacity for hero-worship, the lovableness of the Récamier. She -had no tears for others. She did not know that the woman who aspires -to lead men must first be able to be led. - -There was another fatal objection, not fully understood by ladies who -have "evenings" and sigh over their empty rooms. In these days of -clubs, what man is going to get up after dinner and find his -melancholy way from Pall Mall to Kensington Palace Gardens, in order -to stand about a drawing-room for two hours and listen to "general" -talk? It wants a Phillis, and a personal, if hopeless, devotion to a -Phillis, to tear the freshest lion from his club, after dinner, even -if it be to an altar of adulation. The evening begins properly with -dinner: and where men dine they love to stay. - -"Jack Dunquerque came to see me to-day," Phillis told Joseph. "You -remember Mr. Dunquerque. He was at Mrs. Cassilis's last night. He came -at two, to have luncheon and to tell me about Mr. Colquhoun; but he -did not tell me anything about him. We talked about ourselves." - -"Is Mr. Dunquerque a friend of yours?" - -"Yes; Jack and I are friends," Phillis replied readily. There was not -the least intention to deceive; but Joseph was deceived. He thought -they had been old friends. Somehow, perhaps, Phillis did not like to -talk very much about her friendship for Jack. - -"I want you to ask him to dinner, if you will." - -"Certainly, whenever you please. I shall be glad to make Mr. -Dunquerque's acquaintance. He is the brother of Lord Isleworth," said -Joseph, with a little satisfaction at seeing a live member of the -aristocracy at his own table. - -Jack came to dinner. He behaved extremely well; made no allusion to -that previous occasion when he had been introduced to the Twins; -listened to their conversation as if it interested him above all -things; and not once called Phillis by her Christian name. This -omission made her reflect; they were therefore, it was apparent, only -Jack and Phil when they were alone. It was her first secret, and the -possession of it became a joy. - -She had not a single word with him all the evening. Only before he -went he asked her if he might call the next day at luncheon-time. She -said to him yes. - -"After all these Bloomsbury people," said Cornelius, lighting his -first pipe, "it does one good, brother Humphrey, to come across a -gentleman. Mr. Ronald Dunquerque took the keenest interest in your Art -criticisms at dinner." - -"They were general principles only, Cornelius," said Humphrey. "He is -really a superior young man. A little modest in your presence, -brother. To be sure, it is not every day that he finds himself dining -with a Poet." - -"And an Artist, Humphrey." - -"Thank you, Cornelius. Miss Fleming had no charms for him, I think." - -"Phillis Fleming, brother, is a girl who is drawn more towards, and -more attracts, men of a maturer age--men no longer perhaps within the -_premiére jeunesse_, but still capable of love." - -"Men of our age, Cornelius. Shall we split this potash, or will you -take some Apollinaris water?" - - -Jack called, and they took luncheon together as before. Phillis, -brighter and happier, told him what things she had seen and what -remarks she had made since last they met, a week ago. Then she told -him of the things she most wished to see. - -"Jack," she said, "I want to see the Tower of London and Westminster -Abbey most." - -"And then, Phil?" - -"Then I should like to see a play." - -"Would Mr. Jagenal allow me to take you to the Tower of London? Now, -Phil--this afternoon?" - -Phillis's worldly education was as yet so incomplete that she clapped -her hands with delight. - -"Shall we go now, Jack? How delightful! Of course Mr. Jagenal will -allow me. I will be five minutes putting on my hat." - -"Now, that's wrong too," said Jack to himself. "It is as wrong as -calling her Phil. It's worse than wanting to kiss her, because the -kiss never came off. I can't help it--it's pleasant. What will -Colquhoun say when he comes home? Phil is sure to tell him everything. -Jack Dunquerque, my boy, there will be a day of reckoning for you. -Already, Phil? By Jove! how nice you look!" - -"Do I, Jack? Do you like my hat? I bought it with Mrs. Cassilis the -other day." - -"Look at yourself in the glass, Phil. What do you see?" - -She looked and laughed. It was not for her to say what she saw. - -"There was a little maid of Arcadia once, Phil, and she grew up so -beautiful that all the birds fell in love with her. There were no -other creatures except birds to fall in love with her, because her -sheep were too busy fattening themselves for the Corinthian -cattle-market to pay any attention to her. They were conscientious -sheep, you see, and wished to do credit to the Arcadian pastures." -Jack Dunquerque began to feel great freedom in the allegorical method. - -"Well, Jack?" - -"Well Phil, the birds flew about in the woods, singing to each other -how lovely she was, how prettily she played, and how sweetly she sang. -Nobody understood what they said, but it pleased this little maid. -Presently she grew a tall maid, like yourself, Phil. And then she came -out into the world. She was just like you, Phil; she had the same -bright eyes, and the same laugh, and the same identical sunlit face; -and O Phil, she had your very same charming ways!" - -"Jack, do you really mean it? Do you like my face, and are my ways -really and truly not rough and awkward?" - -Jack shook his head. - -"Your face is entrancing, Phil; and your ways are more charming than I -can tell you. Well, she came into the world and looked about her. It -was a pleasant world, she thought. And then--I think I will tell you -the rest of the story another time, Phil. - -"Jack, did other people besides birds love your maid of Arcadia?" - -"I'm afraid they did," he groaned. "A good many other people--confound -them!" - -Phil looked puzzled. Why did he groan? Why should not all the world -love the Arcadian maid if they pleased? - -Then they went out, Jack being rather silent. - -"This is a great deal better than driving with Mrs. Cassilis, Jack," -said the girl, as she made her first acquaintance with a hansom cab. -"It is like sitting in a chair, while all the people move past. Look -at the faces, Jack; how they stare straight before them! Is work so -dear to them that they cannot find time to look at each other." - -"Work is not dear to them at all, I think," said Jack. "If I were a -clergyman I should talk nonsense and say that it is the race for gold. -As a matter of fact, I believe it is a race for bread. Those hard -faces have got wives and children at home, and life is difficult, that -is all." - -Phillis was silent again. - -They drove through the crowded City, where the roll of the vehicles -thundered on the girl's astonished ears, and the hard-faced crowd sped -swiftly past her. Life was too multitudinous, too complex, for her -brain to take it in. The shops did not interest her now, nor the press -of business; it was the never-ending rush of the anxious crowd. She -tried to realise, if ever so faintly, that every one of their faces -meant a distinct and important personality. It was too much for her, -and, as it did to the Persian monarch, the multitudes brought tears -into her eyes. - -"Where are all the women?" she asked Jack at length. - -"At home. These men are working for them. They are spending the money -which their husbands and fathers fight for." - -She was silent again. - -The crowd diminished, but not much; the street grew narrower. -Presently they came to an open space, and beyond--oh, joy of -joys!--the Tower of London, which she knew from the pictures. - -Only country people go to the Tower of London. It would almost seem a -kindness to London readers were I to describe this national -gaudy-show. But it is better, perhaps, that its splendours should -remain unknown, like those of the National Gallery and the British -Museum. The solitudes of London are not too many, and its convenient -trysting places are few. The beef-eater who conducted the flock -attached himself specially to Phillis, thereby showing that good taste -has found a home among beef-eaters. Phillis asked him a thousand -questions. She was eager to see everything. She begged him to take -them slowly down the long line of armoured warriors; she did not care -for the arms, except for such as she had heard about, as bows and -arrows, pikes, battle-axes, and spears. She lingered in the room where -Sir Walter Raleigh was confined; she studied the construction of the -headsman's axe and the block; she glowed with delight at finding -herself in the old chapel of the White Tower. Jack did not understand -her enthusiasm. It was his own first visit also to the Tower, but he -was unaffected by its historical associations. Nor did he greatly care -for the arms and armour. - -Think of Phillis. Her guardian's favourite lessons to her had been in -history. He would read her passages at which her pulse would quicken -and her eyes light up. Somehow these seemed all connected with the -Tower. She constructed an imaginary Tower in her own mind, and peopled -it with the ghosts of martyred lords and suffering ladies. But the -palace of her soul was as nothing compared with the grim grey fortress -that she saw. The knights of her imagination were poor creatures -compared with these solid heroes of steel and iron on their wooden -charges; the dungeon in which Raleigh pined was far more gloomy than -any she had pictured; the ghosts of slain rebels and murdered princes -gained in her imagination a place and surroundings worthy of their -haunts. The first sight of London which an American visits is the -Tower; the first place which the boy associates with the past, and -longs to see, is that old pile beside the Thames. - -Phillis came away at length, with a sigh of infinite satisfaction. On -the way home she said nothing; but Jack saw, by her absorbed look, -that the girl was happy. She was adjusting, bit by bit, her memories -and her fancies with the reality. She was trying to fit the stories -her guardian had read her so often with the chambers and the courts -she had just seen. - -Jack watched her stealthily. A great wave of passion roiled over the -heart of this young man whenever he looked at this girl. He loved her: -there was no longer any possible doubt of that: and she only liked -him. What a difference! And to think that the French have only one -word for both emotions! She liked to be with him, to talk to him, -because he was young and she could talk to him. But love? Cold Dian -was not more free from love. - -"I can make most of it out," the girl said, turning to Jack. "All -except Lady Jane Grey. I cannot understand at all about her. You must -take me again. We will get that dear old beef-eater all by himself, -and we will spend the whole day there, you and I together, shall we -not?" - -Then, after her wont, she put the Tower out of her mind and began to -talk about what she saw. They passed a printseller's. She wanted to -look at a picture in the window, and Jack stopped the cab and took her -into the shop. - -He observed, not without dismay, that she had not the most rudimentary -ideas on the subject of purchase. She had only once been in a shop, -and then, if I remember rightly, the bill was sent to Mr. Joseph -Jagenal. Phillis turned over the engravings and photographs, and -selected half a dozen. - -Jack paid the bill next day. It was not much over fifteen pounds--a -mere trifle to a Younger Son with four hundred a year. And then he had -the pleasure of seeing the warm glow of pleasure in her eyes as she -took the "Light of the World" from the portfolio. Pictures were her -books, and she took them home to read. - -At last, and all too soon, they came back to Carnarvon Square. - -"Good-bye, Phil," said Jack, before he knocked at the door. "You have -had a pleasant day?" - -"Very pleasant, Jack; and all through you," she replied. "Oh, what a -good thing for me that we became friends!" - -He thought it might in the end be a bad thing for himself, but he did -not say so. For every hour plunged the unhappy young man deeper in the -ocean of love, and he grew more than ever conscious that the part he -at present played would not be regarded with favour by her guardian. - -"Jack," she said, while her hand rested in his, and her frank eyes -looked straight in his face with an expression in which there was no -love at all--he saw that clearly--but only free and childlike -affection,--"Jack--why do you look at me so sadly?--Jack, if I were -like--if I were meant for that maiden of Arcadia you told me of----" - -"Yes, Phil?" - -"If other people in the world loved me, you would love me a little, -wouldn't you?" - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - "Hearken what the Inner spirit sings, - 'There is no joy but calm.' - Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?" - - -Lawrence Colquhoun was coming home. Phillis, counting the days, -remembered, with a little prick of conscience, that Jack Dunquerque -had never told her a single word concerning her second guardian. He -was about forty years of age, as old as Joseph Jagenal. She pictured a -grave heavy man, with massive forehead, thick black hair, and a -responsible manner. She knew too that there was to be a change in her -life, but of what kind she could not tell. The present mode of living -was happiness enough for her: a drive with Mrs. Cassilis--odd that -Phillis could never remove from herself the impression that Mrs. -Cassilis disliked her; a walk with Joseph to his office and back in -the morning; a day of occasional delight with her best friend, Jack -the unscrupulous; her drawing for amusement and occupation; and a -widely increased area, so to speak, of dress discussion with her maid. - -Antoinette, once her fellow-prisoner, now emancipated like herself, -informed her young mistress that should the new guardian insist on a -return to captivity, she, Antoinette, would immediately resign. Her -devotion to Phillis, she explained, was unalterable; but, contrary to -the experience of the bard, stone walls, in her own case, did make a -prison. Was Mademoiselle going to resign all these pleasures?--she -pointed to the evening-dresses, the walking-dresses, the riding -habits--was Mademoiselle about to give up taking walks when and where -she pleased? was Mademoiselle ready to let the young gentleman, -Monsieur Dunquerque, waste his life in regrets--and he so brave, so -good? Antoinette, it may be observed, had, in the agreeable society of -Jane the housemaid, Clarissa the cook, and Victoria Pamela, assistant -in either department, already received enlightenment in the usages of -London courtship. She herself, a little flirt with the Norman blue -eyes and light-brown hair, was already the object of a devouring -passion on the part of a young gentleman who cut other gentlemen's -hair in a neighboring street. Further, did Mademoiselle reflect on the -wickedness of burying herself and her beautiful eyes out of -everybody's sight? - -A change was inevitable. Phillis would willingly have stayed on at -Carnarvon Square, where the Twins amused her, and the lawyer Joseph -was kind to her. But Mrs. Cassilis explained that this was impossible; -that steps would have to be taken with regard to her future; and that -the wishes of her guardian must be consulted till she was of age. - -"You are now nineteen, my dear. You have two years to wait. Then you -will come into possession of your fortune, and you will be your own -mistress, at liberty to live where and how you please." - -Phillis listened, but made no reply. It was a new thought to her that -in two years she would be personally responsible for the conduct and -management of her own life, obliged to think and decide for herself, -and undertaking all the responsibilities and consequences of her own -actions. Then she remembered Abraham Dyson's warning and maxims. They -once fell unheeded on her brain, which was under strict ward and -tutelage, just like exhortations to avoid the sins of the world on the -ears of convent girls. Now she remembered them. - -"Life is made up of meeting bills drawn on the future by the -improvidence of youth." - -This was a very mysterious maxim, and one which had often puzzled her. -Now she began to understand what was meant. - -"The consequences of our own actions are what men call fate. They -accompany us like our shadows." - -Hitherto, she thought, she had had no chance of performing any action -of her own at all. She forgot how she asked Jack Dunquerque to -luncheon and went to the Tower with him. - -"Every moment of a working life may be a decisive victory." - -That would begin in two years' time. - -"Brave men act; philosophers discuss; cowards run away. The brave are -often killed: the talkers are always left behind; the cowards are -caught and cashiered." - -Better to act and be killed than to run away and be disgraced, thought -Phillis. That was a thing to be remembered in two years' time. - -"Women see things through the haze of a foolish education. They manage -their affairs badly because they are unable to reason. You, Phillis, -who have never learned to read, are the mistress of your own mind. -Keep it clear. Get information and remember it. Learn by hearing and -watching." - -She was still learning--learning something new every day. - -"It is not in my power to complete your education, Phillis. That must -be done by somebody else. When it is finished you will understand the -whole. But do not be in a hurry." - -When would the finisher of her education come? Was it Lawrence -Colquhoun? And how would it be finished? Surely some time in the next -two years would complete the edifice, and she would step out into the -world at twenty-one, her own mistress, responsible for her actions, -equipped at all points to meet the chances and dangers of her life. - -So she waited, argued with herself, and counted the days. - -Meantime her conduct towards the Twins inspired these young men with -mingled feelings of uncertainty and pleasure. She made their -breakfast, was considerate in the morning, and did not ask them to -talk. When the little dialogue mentioned in an early chapter was -finished, she would herself pick out a flower--there were always -flowers on the table, in deference to their artistic tastes--or their -buttonholes, and despatch them with a smile. - -That was very satisfactory. - -At dinner, too, she would turn from one to the other while they -discoursed sublimely on Art in its higher aspects. They took it for -admiration. It was in reality curiosity to know what they meant. - -After dinner she would too often confine her conversation to Joseph. -On these occasions the brethren would moodily disappear, and retire to -their own den, where they lit pipes and smoked in silence. - -In point of fact they were as vain as a brace of peacocks, and as -jealous as a domestic pet, if attention were shown by the young lady -to any but themselves. - -Cĉsar, it may be observed, quickly learned to distinguish between the -habits of Phillis and those of his masters. He never now offered to -take the former into a public-house, while he ostentatiously, so to -speak, paraded his knowledge of the adjacent bars when conveying the -Twins. - -One afternoon Phillis took it into her head to carry up tea to the -Twins herself. - -Cornelius was, as usual, sound asleep in an easy-chair, his head half -resting upon one hand, and his pale cheek lit up with a sweet and -childlike smile--he was dreaming of vintage wines. He looked sweetly -poetical, and it was a thousand pities that his nose was so red. On -the table lay his blotting-pad, and on it, clean and spotless, was the -book destined to receive his epic poem. - -Phillis touched the Divine Bard lightly on the shoulder. - -He thought it was Jane; stretched, yawned, relapsed, and then awoke, -fretful, like a child of five months. - -"Give me the tea," he grumbled. "Too sweet again, I dare say, like -yesterday." - -"No sugar at all in it, Mr. Cornelius." - -He sprang into consciousness at the voice. - -"My dear Miss Fleming! Is it really you? You have condescended to -visit the Workshop, and you find the Laborer asleep. I feel like a -sentinel found slumbering at his post. Pray do not think--it is an -accident quite novel to me--the exhaustion of continuous effort, I -suppose." - -She looked about the room. - -"I see books; I see a table; I see a blotting-pad: and----" She -actually, to the Poet's horror, turned over the leaves of the stitched -book, with Humphrey's ornamental title-page. "Not a word written. -Where is your work, Mr. Cornelius?" - -"I work at Poesy. That book, Miss Fleming, is for the reception of my -great epic when it is completed. _Non omnis moriar._ There will be -found in that blank book the structure of a lifetime. I shall live by -a single work, like Homer." - -"What is it all about?" asked Phillis. She set the tea on the table -and sat down, looking up at the Poet, who rose from his easy chair and -made answer, walking up and down the room: - -"It is called the _Upheaving of Ĉlfred_. In the darkest moments of -Ĉlfred's life, while he is hiding amid the Somersetshire morasses, -comes the Spirit of his Career, and guides him in a vision, step by -step, to his crowning triumphs. Episodes are introduced. That of the -swineherd and the milkmaid is a delicate pastoral, which I hope will -stand side by side with the Daphnis and Chloe. When it is finished, -would you like me to read you a few cantos?" - -"No thank you very much," said Phillis. "I think I know all that I -want to know about Alfred. Disguised as a neatherd, he took refuge in -Athelney, where one day, being set to bake some cakes by the woman of -the cottage, he became so absorbed in his own meditations that---- I -never thought it a very interesting story." - -"The loves of the swineherd and the milkmaid----" the Poet began. - -"Yes," Phillis interrupted, unfeelingly. "But I hardly think I care -much for swineherds. And if I had been Alfred I should have liked the -stupid story about the cakes forgotten. Can't you write me some words -for music, Mr. Cornelius? Do, and I will sing them to something or -other. Or write some verses on subjects that people care to hear -about, as Wordsworth did. My guardian used to read Wordsworth to me." - -"Wordsworth could not write a real epic," said Cornelius. - -"Could he not? Perhaps he preferred writing other things. Now I must -carry Mr. Humphrey his tea. Good-by, Mr. Cornelius; and do not go to -sleep again." - -Humphrey, too, was asleep on his sofa. Raffaelle himself could not -have seemed a more ideal painter. The very lights of the afternoon -harmonised with the purple hue of his velvet coat, the soft brown -silkiness of his beard, and his high pale forehead. Like his brother, -Humphrey spoiled the artistic effect by that unlucky redness of the -nose. - -The same awakening was performed. - -"I have just found your brother," said Phillis, "at work on Poetry." - -"Noble fellow, Cornelius!" murmured the Artist. "Always at it. Always -with nose to the grindstone. He will overdo it some day." - -"I hope not," said Phillis, with a gleam in her eye. "I sincerely hope -not. Perhaps he is stronger than he looks. And what are you doing, Mr. -Humphrey?" - -"You found me asleep. The bow stretched too long must snap or be -unbent." - -"Yes," said Phillis; "you were exhausted with work." - -"My great picture--no, it is not on the canvas," for Phillis was -looking at the bare easel. - -"Where is it, then? Do show it to me." - -"When the groups are complete I will let you criticise them. It may be -that I shall learn something from an artless and unconventional nature -like your own." - -"Thank you," said Phillis. "That is a compliment, I am sure. What is -the subject of the picture?" - -"It is the 'Birth of the Renaissance.' An allegorical picture. There -will be two hundred and twenty-three figures in the composition." - -"The 'Birth of the Renaissance,'" Phillis mused. "I think I know all -about that. 'On the taking of Constantinople in the year 1433, the -dispersed Greeks made their way to the kingdoms of the West, carrying -with them Byzantine learning and culture. Italy became the chosen home -of these exiles. The almost simultaneous invention of printing, -coupled with an outburst of genius in painting and poetry, and a -new-born thirst for classical knowledge, made up what is known by the -name of the Renaissance.' That is what my guardian told me one night. -I think that I do not want to see any picture on that subject. Sit -down now and draw me a girl's face." - -He shook his head. - -"Art cannot be forced," he replied. - -"Mr. Humphrey,"--her eyes began to twinkle,--"when you have time--I -should not like to force your Art, but when you have time--paint me a -little group: yourself, Mr. Cornelius, and Cĉsar, in the morning walk. -You may choose for the moment of illustration either your going into -or coming out of the Carnarvon Arms; when you intend to have or when -you have had your little whack." - -She laughed and ran away. - -Humphrey sat upright, and gazed at the door through which she fled. -Then he looked round helplessly for his brother, who was not there. - -"Little whack!" he murmured. "Where did she learn the phrase? And how -does she know that--Cĉsar could not have told her." - -He was very sad all the evening, and opened his heart to his brother -when they sought the Studio at nine, an hour earlier than usual. - -"I wish she had not come," he said; "she makes unpleasant remarks." - -"She does; she laughed at my epic to-day." The Poet, who sat in a -dressing-gown, drew the cord tighter round his waist, and tossed up -his head with a gesture of indignation. - -"And she laughed at my picture." - -"She is dangerous, Humphrey." - -"She watches people when they go for a morning walk, Cornelius, and -makes allusion to the Carnarvon Arms and to afternoon naps." - -"If, Humphrey, we have once or twice been obliged to go to the -Carnarvon Arms----" - -"Or have been surprised into an afternoon nap, Cornelius----" - -"That is no reason why we should be ashamed to have the subjects -mentioned. I should hope that this young lady would not speak of -Us--of You, brother Humphrey, and of Myself--save with reverence." - -"She has no reverence, brother Cornelius." - -"Jane certainly tells me," said the Poet, "that a short time ago she -brought Mr. Ronald Dunquerque, then a complete stranger, to my room, -when I happened by the rarest accident to be asleep, and showed me to -him." - -"If one could hope that she was actuated only by respect! But no, I -hardly dare to think that. Then, I suppose, she brought her visitor to -the Studio." - -"Brother Humphrey, we always do the same thing at the same time." - -"_Mutatis mutandis_, my dear Cornelius. I design, you write; I group, -you clothe your conceptions in undying words. Perhaps we both shall -live. It was on the same day that she drew the sketch of me asleep." -Humphrey's mind was still running on the want of respect. "Here it -is." - -"_Forsitan hoc nomen nostrum miscebitur illis_," resumed the Poet, -looking at the sketch. "The child has a wonderful gift at catching a -likeness. If it were not for the annoyance one might feel pleased. The -girl is young and pretty. If our years are double what they should be, -our hearts are half our years." - -"They are. We cannot be angry with her." - -"Impossible." - -"Dear little Phillis!"--she was a good inch taller than either of the -Twins, who, indeed, were exactly the same height, and it was five feet -four--"she is charming in spite, perhaps on account, of her faults. -Her property is in the Funds, you said Cornelius?" - -"Three-per-cents. Fifty thousand pounds--fifteen hundred a year; which -is about half what Joseph pays income tax upon. A pleasant income, -brother Humphrey." - -"Yes, I dare say." Humphrey tossed the question of money aside. "You -and I, Cornelius, are among the few who care nothing about -three-per-cents. What is money to us? what have we to do with incomes? -Art, glorious Art, brother, is our mistress. She pays us, not in -sordid gold, but in smiles, in gleams of a haven not to be reached by -the common herd, in skies of a radiance visible only to the votary's -eye." - -Cornelius sighed response. It was thus that the brothers kept up the -sacred flame of artistic enthusiasm. Pity that they were compelled to -spend their working hours in subjection to sleep, instead of Art. Our -actions and our principles are so often at variance that their case is -not uncommon. - -Then they had their first split soda; then they lit their pipes; for -it was ten o'clock. Phillis was gone to bed; Joseph was in his own -room; the fire was bright and the hearth clean. The Twins sat at -opposite sides, with the "materials" on a chess-table between them, -and prepared to make the usual night of it. - -"Cornelius," said Humphrey, "Joseph is greatly changed since she -came." - -The Poet sat up and leaned forward, with a nod signifying concurrence. - -"He is, Humphrey; now you mention it, he is. And you think----" - -"I am afraid, Cornelius, that Joseph, a most thoughtful man in -general, and quite awake to the responsibilities of his position----" - -"It is not every younger son, brother Humphrey, who has thought of -changing his condition in life." - -Cornelius turned pale. - -"He has her to breakfast with him; she walks to the office with him; -she makes him talk at dinner; Joseph never used to talk with us. He -sits in the drawing-room after dinner. He used to go straight to his -own room." - -"This is grave," said the Poet. "You must not, my dear Humphrey, have -the gorgeous colouring and noble execution of your groups spoiled by -the sordid cares of life. If Joseph marries, you and I would be thrown -upon the streets, so to speak. What is two hundred a year?" - -"Nor must you, my dear brother, have the delicate fancies of your -brain shaken up and clouded by mean and petty anxieties." - -"Humphrey," said the Poet, "come to me in half an hour in the -Workshop. This is a time for action." - -It was only half-past ten, and the night was but just begun. He -buttoned his dressing-gown across his chest, tightened the cord, and -strode solemnly out of the room. The Painter heard his foot descend -the stairs. - -"Excellent Cornelius," he murmured, lighting his second pipe; "he -lives but for others." - -Joseph was sitting as usual before a pile of papers. It was quite true -that Phillis was brightening up the life of this hard-working lawyer. -His early breakfast was a time of pleasure; his walk to the office was -not a solitary one; he looked forward to dinner; and he found the -evenings tolerable. Somehow, Joseph Jagenal had never known any of the -little _agrèmens_ of life. From bed to desk, from desk to bed, save -when a dinner-party became a necessity, had been his life from the day -his articles were signed. - -"You, Cornelius!" He looked up from his work, and laid down his pen. -"This is unexpected." - -"I am glad to find you, as usual, at work, Joseph. We are a -hard-working family. You with law-books; poor Humphrey, and I with---- -But never mind." - -He sighed and sat down. - -"Why poor Humphrey?" - -"Joseph, we were happy before this young lady came." - -"What has Phillis done? Why, we were then old fogies, with our -bachelor ways; and she has roused us up a little. And again, why poor -Humphrey?" - -"We were settled down in a quiet stream of labour, thinking that there -would be no change. I see a great change coming over us now." - -"What change?" - -"Joseph, if it were not for Humphrey I should rejoice. I should say, -'Take her; be happy in your own way.' For me, I only sing of love. I -might perhaps sing as well in a garret and on a crust of bread, -therefore it matters nothing. It is for Humphrey that I feel. How can -that delicately-organised creature, to whom warmth, comfort and ease -are as necessary as sunshine to the flower, face the outer world? For -his sake, I ask you, Joseph, to reconsider your project, and pause -before you commit yourself." - -Joseph was accustomed to this kind of estimate which one Twin -invariably made of the other, but the reason for making it staggered -him. He actually blushed. Being forty years of age, a bachelor, and a -lawyer--on all these grounds presumably acquainted with the world and -with the sex--he blushed on being accused of nothing more than a mere -tendency in the direction of marriage. - -"This is the strangest whim!" he said. "Why, Cornelius, I am as likely -to marry Phillis Fleming as I am to send Humphrey into the cold. -Dismiss the thought at once, and let the matter be mentioned no more. -Good-night, Cornelius." - -He turned to his papers again with the look of one who wishes to be -alone. These Twins were a great pride to him, but he could not help -sometimes feeling the slightest possible annoyance that they were not -as other men. Still they were his charge, and in their future glory -his own name would play an honourable part. - -"Good-night, Cornelius. It is good of you to think of Humphrey first. -I shall not marry--either the child Phillis Fleming or any other -woman." - -"Good-night, my dear Joseph. You have relieved my mind of a great -anxiety. Good-night." - -Five minutes afterwards the door opened again. - -Joseph looked around impatiently. - -This time it was Humphrey. The light shone picturesquely on his great -brown beard, so carefully trimmed and brushed; on the velvet jacket, -in the pockets of which were his hands; and on his soft, large, limpid -eyes, so full of unutterable artistic perception, such lustrous -passion for colour and for form. - -"Well, Humphrey!" Joseph exclaimed, with more sharpness than he was -wont to display to his brothers. "Are you come here on the same wise -errand as Cornelius?" - -"Has Cornelius been with you?" asked the Painter artlessly. "What did -Cornelius come to you for? Poor fellow! he is not ill, I trust, I -thought he took very little dinner to-day." - -"Tut, tut! Don't you know why he came here?" - -"Certainly not, brother Joseph." This was of course strictly true, -because Cornelius had not told him. Guesses are not evidence. "And it -hardly matters, does it?" he asked, with a sweet smile. "For myself, I -come because I have a thing to say." - -"Well? Come, Humphrey, don't beat about the bush." - -"It is about Miss--Fleming." - -"Ah!" - -"You guess already what I have to say, my dear Joseph. It is this: I -have watched the birth and growth of your passion for this young lady. -In some respects I am not surprised. She is certainly piquante as well -as pretty. But, my dear brother Joseph, there is Cornelius." - -Joseph beat the tattoo on his chair. - -"Humphrey," he groaned, "I know all Cornelius's virtues." - -"But not the fragile nature of his beautifully subtle brain. That, -Joseph, I alone know. I tremble to think what would become of -that--that _deliciĉ musurum_, were he to be deprived of the little -luxuries which are to him necessities. A poet's brain, Joseph, is not -a thing to be lightly dealt with." - -Joseph was touched at this appeal. - -"You are really, Humphrey, the most tender-hearted pair of creatures I -ever saw. Would that all the world were like you! Take my assurance, -if that will comfort you, that I have no thought whatever of marrying -Phillis Fleming." - -"Joseph,"--Humphrey grasped his hand,--"this is, indeed, a sacrifice." - -"Not at all," returned Joseph sharply. "Sacrifice? Nonsense. And -please remember, Humphrey, that I am acting as the young lady's -guardian; that she is an heiress; that she is intrusted to me; and -that it would be an unworthy breach of trust if I were even to think -of such a thing. Besides which, I have a letter from Mr. Lawrence -Colquhoun, who is coming home immediately. It is not at all likely -that the young lady will remain longer under my charge. Good-night, -Humphrey." - -"I had a thing to say to Joseph," said Humphrey, going up to the -Workshop, "and I said it." - -"I too had a thing to say," said the Poet, "and I said it." - -"Cornelius, you are the most unselfish creature in the world." - -"Humphrey, you are--I have always maintained it--too thoughtful, much -too thoughtful, for others. Joseph will not marry." - -"I know it; and my mind is relieved. Brother, shall we split another -soda? It is only eleven." - - -Joseph took up his paper. He neither smoked nor drank brandy-and-soda, -finding in his work occupation which left him no time for either. -To-night, however, he could not bring his mind to bear upon the words -before him. - -He to marry? And to marry Phillis? The thought was new and startling. -He put it from him; but it came back. And why not? he asked himself. -Why should not he, as well as the rest of mankind, have his share of -love and beauty? To be sure, it would be a breach of confidence as he -told Humphrey. But Colquhoun was coming; he was a young man--his own -age--only forty; he would not care to have a girl to look after; he -would--again he thought behind him. - -But all night long Joseph Jagenal dreamed a strange dream, in which -soft voices whispered things in his ears, and he thrilled in his sleep -at the rustle of a woman's dress. He could not see her face,--dreams -are always so absurdly imperfect--but he recognised her figure, and it -was that of Phillis Fleming. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -"She never yet was foolish that was fair." - - -The days sped on; but each day, as it vanished, made Phillis's heart -sadder, because it brought her guardian nearer, and the second great -change in her life, she thought, was inevitable. Think of a girl, -brought up a cloistered nun, finding her liberty for a few short -weeks, and then ordered back to her whitewashed cell. Phillis's -feelings as regards Lawrence Colquhoun's return were coloured by this -fear. It seemed as if, argument and probability notwithstanding, she -might be suddenly and peremptorily carried back to prison, without the -consolations of a maid, because Antoinette, as we know, would refuse -to accompany her, or the kindly society of the poor old Abraham Dyson, -now lying in a synonymous bosom. - -A short three weeks since her departure from Highgate; a short six -weeks since Mr. Dyson's death; and the world was all so different. She -looked back on herself, with her old ideas, contemptuously. "Poor -Phillis!" she thought, "she knew so little." And as happens to every -one of us, in every successive stage of life, she seemed to herself -now to know everything. Life without the sublime conceit of being -uplifted, by reason of superior inward light and greater outward -experience, above other men, would be but a poor thing. Phillis -thought she had the Key to Universal Knowledge, and that she was on -the high-road to make that part of her life which should begin in two -years' time easy, happy, and clear of pitfalls. From the Archbishop of -Canterbury to Joe the crossing-sweeper, we all think in exactly the -same way. And when the ages bring experience, and experience does not -blot out memory, we recall our old selves with a kind of shame--wonder -that we did not drop into the snare, and perish miserably; and -presently fall to thanking God that we are rid of a Fool. - -A fortnight. Phillis counted the days, and drew a historical record of -every one. Jack came three times: once after Mrs. Cassilis's dinner; -once when he took her to the Tower of London; and once--I have been -obliged to omit this third visit--when he sat for his portrait, and -Phillis drew him full length, leaning against the mantelshelf, with -his hands in his pockets--not a graceful attitude, but an easy one, -and new to Phillis, who thought it characteristic. She caught Jack's -cheerful spirit too, and fixed it by a touch in the gleam of his eye. -Mrs. Cassilis came four times, and on each occasion took the girl for -a drive, bought something for her, and sent the bill to Joseph -Jagenal. On each occasion, also, she asked particularly for Lawrence -Colquhoun. There were the little events with the Twins which we have -recorded; and there were walks with Cĉsar about the square. Once -Joseph Jagenal took her to a picture-gallery, where she wanted to stay -and copy everything; it was her first introduction to the higher Art, -and she was half delighted, half confused. If Art critics were not -such humbugs, and did not pretend to feel what they do not, they might -help the world to a better understanding of the glories of painters. -As it is, they are the only people, except preachers, to whom unreal -gush is allowed by gods and men. After all, as no Art critic of the -modern unintelligible gush-and-conceit school can paint or draw, -perhaps if they were not to gush and pile up Alpine heaps of words -they would be found out for shallow-bags. The ideal critic in Art is -the great Master who sits above the fear of rivalry or the imputation -of envy; in Literature it is the great writer from whom praise is -honoured and dispraise the admonition of a teacher; in the Drama, a -man who himself has moved the House with his words, and can afford to -look on a new rising playwright with kindliness. - -Phillis in the Art Gallery was the next best critic to the calm and -impartial Master. She was herself artist enough to understand the -difficulties of art; she had that intense and real feeling for form -and colour which Humphrey Jagenal affected; and her taste in Art was -good enough to overmaster her sympathy with the subject. Some people -are ready to weep at a tragical subject, however coarse the daub, just -as they weep at the fustian of an Adelphi melodrama; Phillis was ready -to weep when the treatment and the subject together were worthy of her -tears. It seems as if she must have had her nature chilled; but it is -not so. - -Time, which ought to be represented as a locomotive engine, moved on, -and brought Lawrence Colquhoun at length to London. He went first to -Joseph Jagenal's office, and heard that his ward was in safe-keeping -with that very safe solicitor. - -"It was difficult," Joseph explained, "to know what to do. After the -funeral of Mr. Dyson she was left alone in the place, with no more -responsible person than a house-keeper. So, as soon as the arrangement -could be made, I brought her to my own house. Three old bachelors -might safely, I thought, be trusted with the protection of a young -lady." - -"I am much obliged to you," said Colquhoun. "You have removed a great -weight off my mind. What sort of a girl is she?" - -Joseph began to describe her. As he proceeded he warmed with his -subject, and delineated a young lady of such passing charms of person -and mind that Colquhoun was terrified. - -"My dear Jagenal, if you were not such a steady old file I should -think you were in love with her." - -"My love days are over," said the man of conveyances. "That is, I -never had any. But you will find Phillis Fleming everything that you -can desire. Except, of course," he added, "in respect to her -education. It certainly _is_ awkward that she does not know how -to read." - -"Not know how to read?" - - -"And so, you see," said the lawyer, completing the story we know -already, "Mr. Dyson's property will go into Chancery, because Phillis -Fleming has never learnt to read, and because we cannot find that -chapter on the Coping-stone." - -"Hang the Coping-stone!" ejaculated Colquhoun. "I think I will go and -see her at once. Will you let me dine with you to-night? And will you -add to my obligations by letting her stay on with you till I can -arrange something for her?" - -"What do you think of doing!" - -"I hardly know. I thought on the voyage, that I would do something in -the very-superior-lady-companion way for her. To tell the truth, I -thought it was a considerable bore--the whole thing. But she seems -very different from what I expected, and perhaps I could ask my -cousin, Mrs. L'Estrange, to take her into her own house for a time. -Poor old Dyson! It is twelve years ago since I saw him last, soon -after he took over the child. I remember her then, a solemn little -thing, with big eyes, who behaved prettily. She held up her mouth to -be kissed when she went to bed, but I suppose she won't do that now." - -"You can hardly expect it, I think," said Joseph. - -"Abraham Dyson talked all the evening about his grand principles of -Female education. I was not interested, except that I felt sorry for -the poor child who was to be an experiment. Perhaps I ought to have -interfered as one of her trustees. I left the whole thing to him, you -see, and did not even inquire after her welfare." - -"You two were, by some curious error of judgment, as I take it, left -discretionary trustees. As he is dead, you have now the care of Miss -Fleming's fifty thousand pounds. Mr. Dyson left it in the funds, where -he found it. As your legal adviser, Mr. Colquhoun, I strongly -recommend you to do the same. She will be entitled to the control and -management of it on coming of age, but it is to be settled on herself -when she marries. There is no stipulation as to trustees' consent. So -that you only have the responsibility of the young lady and her -fortune for two years." - -It was twelve o'clock in the day. Colquhoun left the office, and made -his way in the direction of Carnarvon Square. - -As he ascended the steps of Number Fifteen, the door opened and two -young men appeared. One was dressed in a short frock, with a flower in -his buttonhole: the other had on a velvet coat, and also had a flower; -one was shaven; the other wore a long and silky beard. Both had pale -faces and red noses. As they looked at the stranger and passed him -down the steps, Colquhoun saw that they were not so young and -beautiful as they seemed to be: there were crowsfeet round the eyes, -and their step had lost a little of its youthful buoyancy. He wondered -who they were, and sent in his card to Miss Fleming. - -He was come, then, this new guardian. Phillis could not read the card, -but Jane, the maid, told her his name. - -He was come; and the second revolution was about to begin. - -Instinctively Phillis's first thought was that there would be no more -walks with Jack Dunquerque. Why she felt so it would be hard to -explain, but she did. - -She stood up to welcome him. - -She saw a handsome young-looking man, with blue eyes, clear red and -white complexion, regular features, a brown beard, and a curious look -of laziness in his eyes. They were eyes which showed a repressed power -of animation. They lit up at sight of his ward, but not much. - -He saw a girl of nineteen, tall, slight, shapely; a girl of fine -physique; a girl whose eyes, like her hair, were brown; the former -were large and full, but not with the fulness of short-sight; the -latter was abundant, and was tossed up in the simplest fashion, which -is also the most graceful. Lawrence the lazy felt his pulse quicken a -little as this fair creature advanced, with perfect grace and -self-possession, to greet him. He noticed that her dress was perfect, -that her hands were small and delicate, and that her head was shaped, -save for the forehead, which was low and broad, like that of some -Greek statue. The Greeks knew the perfect shape of the head, but they -made the forehead too narrow. If you think of it, you will find that -the Venus of Milo would have been more divine still had her brows been -but a little broader. - -"My ward?" he said. "Let us make acquaintance, and try to like each -other. I am your new guardian." - -Phillis looked at him frankly and curiously, letting her hand rest in -his. - -"When I saw you last--it was twelve years ago--you were a little maid -of seven. Do you remember?" - -"I think I do; but I am not quite sure. Are you really my guardian?" - -"I am indeed. Do I not look like one? To be sure, it is my first -appearance in the character." - -She shook her head. - -"Mr. Dyson was so old," she said, "that I suppose I grew to think all -guardians old men." - -"I am only getting old," he sighed. "It is not nice to feel yourself -going to get old. Wait twenty years, and you will begin to feel the -same perhaps. But though I am thirty years younger than Mr. Dyson, I -will try to treat you exactly as he did." - -Phillis's face fell, and she drew away her hand sharply. - -"Oh!" she cried. "But I am afraid that will not do any more." - -"Why, Phillis--I may call you Phillis since I am your guardian, may I -not?--did he treat you badly? Why did you not write to me?" - -"I did not write, Mr. Colquhoun--if you call me Phillis, I ought to -call you Lawrence, ought I not, because you are not old?--I did not -write, because dear old Mr. Dyson treated me very kindly, and because -you were away and never came to see me, and because I--I never learned -to write." - -By this time Phillis had learned to feel a little shame at not being -able to write. - -"Besides," she went on, "he was a dear old man, and I loved him. But -you see, Lawrence, he had his views--Jagenal calls them crotchets--and -he never let me go outside the house. Now I am free I do not like to -think of being a prisoner again. If you try to lock me up, I am afraid -I shall break the bars and run away." - -"You shall not be a prisoner, Phillis. That is quite certain. We shall -find something better than that for you. But it cannot be very lively, -in this big house, all by yourself." - -"Not very lively; but I am quite happy here." - -"Most young ladies read novels to pass away the time." - -"I know, poor things." Phillis looked with unutterable sympathy. "Mr. -Dyson used to say that the sympathies which could not be quickened by -history were so dull that fiction was thrown away upon them." - -"Did you never--I mean, did he never read you novels?" - -She shook her head. - -"He said that my imagination was quite powerful enough to be a good -servant, and he did not wish it to become my master. And then there -was something else, about wanting the experience of life necessary to -appreciate fiction." - -"Abraham Dyson was a wise man, Phillis. But what do you do all day?" - -"I draw; I talk to my maid, Antoinette; I give the Twins their -breakfast----" - -"Those were the Twins--Mr. Jagenal's elder brothers--whom I met on the -steps, I suppose? I have heard of them. _Après_, Phillis?" - -"I play and sing to myself; I go out for a walk in the garden of the -square; I go to Mr. Jagenal's office, and walk home with him; and I -look after my wardrobe. Then I sit and think of what I have seen and -heard--put it all away in my memory, or I repeat to my self over again -some of the poetry which I learned at Highgate." - -"And you know no young ladies?" - -"No; I wish I did. I am curious to talk to young ladies--quite young -ladies, you know, of my own age. I want to compare myself with them, -and find out my faults. You will tell me my faults, Lawrence, will -you?" - -"I don't quite think I can promise that, Phillis. You see, you might -retaliate; and if you once begin telling me my faults, there would be -no end." - -"Oh, I am sorry!" Phillis looked curiously at her guardian for some -outward sign or token of the old Adam. But she saw none. "Perhaps I -shall find them out some time, and then I will tell you." - -"Heaven forbid!" he said, laughing. "Now, Phillis, I have been asked -to dine here, and I am going to be at your service all day. It is only -one o'clock. What shall we do, and where shall we go?" - -"Anywhere," she replied, "anywhere. Take me into the crowded streets, -and let me look at the people and the shops. I like that best of -anything. But stay and have luncheon here first." - -They had luncheon. Colquhoun confessed to himself that this was a -young lady calculated to do him the greatest credit. She acted hostess -with a certain dignity which sat curiously on so young a girl, and -which she had learned from presiding at many a luncheon in Mr. Dyson's -old age among his old friends, when her guardian had become too infirm -to take the head of his own table. There was, it is true, something -wanting. Colquhoun's practised eye detected that at once. Phillis was -easy, graceful, and natural. But she had not--the man of the world -noticed what Jack Dunquerque failed to observe--she had not the -unmistakable stamp of social tone which can only come by practice and -time. The elements, however, were there before him; his ward was a -diamond which wanted but a little polish to make her a gem of the -first water. - -After luncheon they talked again; this time with a little more -freedom. Colquhoun told her all he knew of the father who was but a -dim and distant memory to her. "You have his eyes," he said, "and you -have his mouth. I should know you for his daughter." He told her how -fond this straight rider, this Nimrod of the hunting-field, had been -of his little Phillis! how one evening after mess he told Colquhoun -that he had made a will, and appointed him, Lawrence, with Abraham -Dyson, the trustees of his little girl. - -"I have been a poor trustee, Phillis," Lawrence concluded. "But I was -certain you were in good hands, and I let things alone. Now that I -have to act in earnest, you must regard me as your friend and -adviser." - -They had such a long talk that it was past four when they went out for -their walk. Phillis was thoughtful and serious, thinking of the -father, whom she lost so early. Somehow she had forgotten, at -Highgate, that she once had a father. And the word mother had no -meaning for her. - -Outside the house Lawrence looked at his companion critically. - -"Am I poorly dressed?" she asked, with a smile, because she knew that -she was perfectly dressed. - -At all events, Lawrence thought he would have no occasion to be -ashamed of his companion. - -"Let me look again, Phillis. I should like to give you a little better -brooch than the one you have put on." - -"My poor old brooch! I cannot give up my old friend, Lawrence." - -She dropped quite easily into his Christian name, and hesitated no -more over it than she did with Jack Dunquerque. - -He took her into a jeweler's shop and bought her a few trinkets. - -"There, Phillis, you can add those to your jewel-box." - -"I have no jewels." - -"No jewels! Where are your mother's?" - -"I believe they are all in the Bank, locked up. Perhaps they are with -my money." - -Phillis's idea of her fifty thousand pounds was that the money was all -in sovereigns, packed away in a box and put into a bank. - -"Well, I think you ought to have your jewels out, at any rate. Did Mr. -Dyson give you any money to spend?" - -"No; and if he had I could not spend it, because I never went outside -the house. Lawrence, give me some money, and let me buy something all -by myself." - -He bought her a purse, and filled it with two or three sovereigns and -a handful of silver. - -"Now you are rich, Phillis. What will you buy?" - -"Pictures, I think." - -In all this great exhibition of glorious and beautiful objects there -was only one thing which Phillis wished to buy--pictures. - -"Well, let us buy some photographs." - -They were walking down Oxford Street, and presently they came to a -photograph shop. Proud of her newly-acquired wealth, Phillis selected -about twenty of the largest and most expensive. Colquhoun observed -that her taste was good, and that she chose the best subjects. When -she had all that she liked, together with one or two which she bought -for Jack, with a secret joy surpassing that of buying for herself, she -opened her purse and began to wonder how she was to pay. - -"Do you think your slender purse will buy all these views?" Colquhoun -asked. "Put it up, Phillis, and keep it for another time. Let me give -you these photographs." - -"But you said I should buy something." Her words and action were so -childish that Lawrence felt a sort of pity for her. Not to know how to -spend money seemed to lazy Lawrence, who had done nothing else all his -life, a state of mind really deplorable. It would mean in his own case -absolute deprivation of the power of procuring pleasure, either for -himself or for any one else. - -"Poor little nun! Not to know even the value of money." - -"But I do. A sovereign is twenty shillings, and a shilling is twelve -pence." - -"That is certainly true. Now you shall know the value of money. There -is a beggar. He is going to tell us that he is hungry; he will -probably add that he has a wife and twelve children, all under the age -of three, in his humble home, and that none of them have tasted food -for a week. What will you give him?" - -Phillis paused. How should she relieve so much distress? By this time -they were close to the beggar. He was a picturesque rogue in rags and -tatters and bare feet. Though it was a warm day he shivered. In his -hand he held a single box of lights. But the fellow was young, well -fed, and lusty. Lawrence Colquhoun halted on the pavement, and looked -at him attentively. - -"This man," he explained to Phillis, "can get for a penny a small -loaf; twopence will buy him a glass of ale; sixpence a dinner; for ten -shillings he could get a suit of working clothes--which he does not -want because he has no intention of doing any work at all; a sovereign -would lodge and feed him for a fortnight, if he did not drink." - -"I should give him a sovereign," said Phillis. "Then he would be happy -for a week." - -"Bless your ladyship," murmured the beggar. "I would get work, Gawd -knows, if I could." - -"I remember this fellow," said Colquhoun, "for six years. He is a -sturdy rogue. Best give nothing to him at all. Come on Phillis. We -must look for a more promising subject." - -"Poor fellow!" said Phillis, closing her purse. - -They passed on, and the beggar-man cursed audibly. I believe it is Mr. -Tupper, in his _Proverbial Philosophy_, who explains that what a -beggar most wants, to make him feel happier, is sympathy. Now that was -just what Phillis gave, and the beggar-man only swore. - -Colquhoun laughed. - -"You may keep your pity, Phillis, for some one who deserves it better. -Now let us take a cab and go to the Park. It is four years since I saw -the Park." - -It was five o'clock. The Park was fuller than when he saw it last. It -grows more crowded year after year, as the upward pressure of an -enriched multitude makes itself felt more and more. There was the -usual throng about the gates, of those who come to look for great -people, and like to tell whom they recognised, and who were pointed -out to them. There were the pedestrians on either side the road; -civilians after office hours; bankers and brokers from the City; men -up from Aldershot; busy men hastening home; loungers leaning on the -rails; curious colonials gazing at the carriages; Frenchmen trying to -think that Hyde Park cannot compare with the Bois de Boulogne; Germans -mindful of their mighty army, their great sprawling Berlin, the gap of -a century between English prosperity and Teutonic militarism, and as -envious as philosophy permits; Americans owning that New York, though -its women are lovelier, has nothing to show beside the Park at five on -a spring afternoon,--all the bright familiar scene which Colquhoun -remembered so well. - -"Four years since I saw it last," he repeated to the girl. "I suppose -there will be none of the faces that I used to know." - -He was wrong. The first man who greeted him was his old Colonel. Then -he came across a man he had known in India. Then one whom he had last -seen, a war correspondent, inside Metz. He shook hands with one, -nodded to another, and made appointments with all at his club. And as -each passed, he told something about him to his ward. - -"That is my old Colonel--your father's brother officer. The most -gallant fellow who ever commanded a regiment. As soon as you are -settled, I should like to bring him to see you. That is Macnamara of -the _London Herald_--a man you can't get except in England. That -is Lord Blandish; we were together up-country in India. He wrote a -book about his adventures in Cashmere. I did not." - -It was a new world to Phillis. All these carriages? these people: this -crowd--who were they? - -"They are not like the faces I see in the streets," she said. - -"No. Those are faces of men who work for bread. These are mostly of -men who work not at all, or they work for honour. There are two or -three classes of mankind, you know, Phillis." - -"Servants and masters?" - -"Not quite. You belong to the class of those who need not work--this -class. Your father knew all these people. It is a happy world in its -way--in its way," he repeated, thinking of certain shipwrecks he had -known. "Perhaps it is better to _have_ to work. I do not know. -Phillis, who----" He was going to ask her who was bowing to her, when -he turned pale, and stopped suddenly. In the carriage which was -passing within a foot of where they stood was a lady whom he -knew--Mrs. Cassilis. He took off his hat, and Mrs. Cassilis stopped -the carriage and held out her hand. - -"How do you do, Phillis dear? Mr. Colquhoun, I am glad to see you back -again. Come as soon as you can and see me. If you can spare an -afternoon as soon as you are settled, give it to me--for auld lang -syne." - -The last words were whispered. Her lips trembled, and her hand shook -as she spoke. And Lawrence's face was hard. He took off his hat and -drew back, Phillis did not hear what he said. But Mrs. Cassilis drove -on, and left the Park immediately. - -"Mrs. Cassilis trembled when she spoke to you, Lawrence." It was -exactly what a girl of six would have said. - -"Did she, Phillis? She was cold perhaps. Or perhaps she was pleased to -see old friends again. So you know her?" - -"Yes. I have dined at her house; and I have been shopping with her. -She does not like me, I know; but she is kind. She has spoken to me -about you." - -"So you know Mrs. Cassilis?" he repeated. "She does not look as if she -had any trouble on her mind, does she? The smooth brow of a clear -conscience--Phillis, if you have had enough of the Park, I think it is -almost time to drive you home." - -Lawrence Colquhoun dined at Carnarvon Square. The Twins dined at their -club; so that they had the evening to themselves and could talk. - -"I have made up my mind," Lawrence said, "to ask my cousin to take -charge of you, Phillis. Agatha L'Estrange is the kindest creature in -the world. Will you try to like her if she consents!" - -"Yes, I will try. But suppose she does not like me?" - -"Everybody likes you, Miss Fleming," said Joseph. - -"She is sure to like you," said Lawrence. "And I will come over often -and see you; we will ride together, if you like. And if you would like -to have any masters or lessons in anything----" - -"I think I should like to learn reading," Phillis remarked -meditatively. "Mr. Abraham Dyson used to say"--she held up her finger, -and imitated the manner and fidgety dogmatism of an old man--"'Reading -breeds a restless curiosity, and engenders an irreverent spirit of -carping criticism. Any jackanapes who can read thinks himself -qualified to judge the affairs of the nation. Reading, indeed!' But I -think I _should_ like, after all, to do what everybody else can do." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - "You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings - Follow such creatures." - - -Half a mile or so above Teddington Lock--where you are quite above the -low tides, which leave the mud-banks in long stretches and spoil the -beauty of the splendid river; where the stream flows on evenly between -its banks, only sometimes swifter and stronger, sometimes slower and -more sluggish; where you may lie and listen a whole summer's day to -the murmurous wash of the current among the lilies and the -reeds,--there stands a house, noticeable among other houses by reason -of its warm red brick, its many gables, and its wealth of creepers. -Its gardens and lawns slope gently down to the river's edge; the -willows hang over it, letting their long leaves, like maidens' -fingers, lie lightly on the cool surface of the water; there is a -boat-house, where a boat used to lie, but it is empty now--ivy covers -it over, dark ivy that contrasts with the lighter greens of the sweet -May foliage; the lilacs and laburnums are exulting in the transient -glory of foliage and flower; the wisteria hangs its purple clusters -like grapes upon the wall; there are greenhouses and vineries; there -are flower-beds bright with the glories of modern gardening; and there -are old-fashioned round plots of ground innocent of bedding-out, where -flourish the good old-fashioned flowers, stocks, pansies, boy's-love, -sweet-william, and the rest, which used to be cultivated for their -perfume and colour long before bedding-out was thought of; an old -brick wall runs down to the river's edge as a boundary on either side, -thick and warm, with peaches, plums, and apricots trained in formal -lines, and crowned with wall-flowers and long grasses, like the walls -of some old castle. Behind are rooms which open upon the lawn; round -the windows clamber the roses waiting for the suns of June; and if you -step into the house from the garden, you will enter a dainty -drawing-room, light and sunny, adorned with all manner of feminine -things, and you will find, besides, boudoirs, studies, all sorts of -pretty rooms into which the occupants of the house may retire, the -time they feel disposed to taste the joys of solitude. - -The house of a lady. Does any one ever consider what thousands of -these dainty homes exist in England? All about the country they -stand--houses where women live away their innocent and restful lives, -lapped from birth to death in an atmosphere of peace and warmth. Such -luxury as they desire is theirs, for they are wealthy enough to -purchase all they wish. Chiefly they love the luxury of Art, and fill -their portfolios with water-colours. But their passions even for Art -are apt to be languid, and they mostly desire to continue in the warm -air, perfumed like the wind that cometh from the sweet south, which -they have created round themselves. The echoes of the outer world fall -upon their ears like the breaking of the rough sea upon a shore so far -off that the wild dragging of the shingle, with its long-drawn cry, -sounds like a distant song. These ladies know nothing of the fiercer -joys of life, and nothing of its pains. The miseries of the world they -understand not, save that they have been made picturesque in novels. -They have no ambition, and take no part in any battles. They have not -spent their strength in action, and therefore feel no weariness. -Society is understood to mean a few dinners, with an occasional visit -to the wilder dissipations of town; and their most loved -entertainments are those gatherings known as garden parties. Duty -means following up in a steady but purposeless way some line of study -which will never be mastered. Good works mean subscription to -societies. Many a kind lady thinks in her heart of hearts that the -annual guinea to a missionary society will be of far more avail to her -future welfare than a life of purity and innocence. The Christian -virtues naturally find their home in such a house. They grow of their -own accord, like the daisies, the buttercups, and the field -convolvulus: Love, Joy, Peace, Gentleness, Goodness, Faith, Meekness, -Temperance, all the things against which there is no law--which of -them is not to be seen abundantly blossoming and luxuriant in the -cottages and homes of these English ladies? - -In this house by the river lived Mrs. L'Estrange. Her name was Agatha, -and everybody who knew her called her Agatha L'Estrange. When a woman -is always called by her Christian name, it is a sign that she is loved -and lovable. If a man, on the other hand, gets to be known, without -any reason for the distinction, by _his_ Christian name, it is -generally a sure sign that he is sympathetic, but blind to his own -interests. She was a widow, and childless. She had been a widow so -long, her husband had been so much older than herself, her married -life had been so short, and the current of her life so little -disturbed by it, that she had almost forgotten that she was once a -wife. She had an ample income; she lived in the way that she loved; -she gathered her friends about her; she sometimes, but at rare -intervals, revisited society; mostly she preferred her quiet life in -the country. Girls came from London to stay with her, and wondered how -Agatha managed to exist. When the season was over, leaving its regrets -and its fatigues, with the usual share of hollowness and Dead-Sea -fruit they came again, and envied her tranquil home. - -She was first cousin to Lawrence Colquhoun, whom she still, from force -of habit, regarded as a boy. He was very nearly the same age as -herself, and they had been brought up together. There was nothing -about his life that she did not know, except one thing--the reason of -his abrupt disappearance four years before. She was his confidante: as -a boy he told her all his dreams of greatness; as a young man all his -dreams of love and pleasure. She knew the soft and generous nature, -out of which great men cannot be formed, which was his. She saw the -lofty dreams die away; and she hoped for him that he would keep -something of the young ideal. He did. Lawrence Colquhoun was a man -about town; but he retained his good-nature. It is not usual among the -young gentlemen who pursue pleasure as a profession; it is not -expected of them, after a few years of idleness, gambling, and the -rest, to have any good-nature surviving, or any thought left at all, -except for themselves; therefore Lawrence Colquhoun's case was -unusual, and popularity proportional. He tired of garrison life; he -sold out; he remained about town; the years ran on, and he neither -married nor talked of marrying. But he used to go down to his cousin -once a week, and talk to her about his idle life. There came a day -when he left off coming, or if he came at all, his manner to his -cousin was altered. He became gloomy; and one day she heard, in a -brief and unsatisfactory letter, that he was going to travel for a -lengthened period. The letter came from Scotland, and was as brief as -a dinner invitation. - -He went; he was away for four years; during that time he never once -wrote to her; she heard nothing of him or from him. - -One day, without any notice, he appeared again. - -He was very much the same as when he left England--men alter little -between thirty and fifty--only a little graver; his beard a little -touched with the grey hairs which belong to the eighth lustrum; his -eyes a little crows-footed; his form a little filled out. The gloom -was gone, however; he was again the kindly Lawrence, the genial -Lawrence, Lawrence the sympathetic, Lawrence the lazy. - -He walked in as if he had been away a week. Agatha heard a step upon -the gravel-walk, and knew it. Her heart beat a little--although a -woman may be past forty she may have a heart still--and her eyes -sparkled. She was sitting at work--some little useless prettiness. On -the work-table lay a novel, which she read in the intervals of -stitching; the morning was bright and sunny, with only a suspicion of -east wind, and her windows were open; flowers stood upon her table; -flowers in pots and vases stood in her windows; such flowers as bloom -in May were bright in her garden, and the glass doors of her -conservatory showed a wealth of flowers within. A house full of -flowers, and herself a flower too--call her a rose fully blown, or -call her a glory of early autumn--a handsome woman still, sweet and to -be loved, with the softness of her tranquil life in every line of her -face, and her warmth of heart in every passing expression. - -She started when she heard his step, because she recognised it. Then -she sat up and smiled to herself. She knew how her cousin would come -back. - -In fact he walked in at her open window, and held out his hand without -saying a word. Then he sat down, and took a single glance at his -cousin first and the room afterwards. - -"I have not seen you lately, Lawrence," said Agatha, as if he had been -away for a month or so. - -"No; I have been in America." - -"Really! You like America?" She waited for him to tell her what he -would. - -"Yes. I came back yesterday. You are looking well, Agatha." - -"I am very well." - -"And you have got a new picture on the wall. Where did you buy this?" - -"At Agnew's, three years ago. It was in the Exhibition. Now I think of -it, you have been away for four years, Lawrence." - -"I like it. Have you anything to tell me, Agatha?" - -"Nothing that will interest you. The house is the same. We have had -several dreadful winters, and I have been in constant fear that my -shrubs would be killed. Some of them were. My dog Pheenie is dead, and -I never intend to have another. The cat that you used to tease is -well. My aviary has increased; my horses are the same you knew four -years ago; my servants are the same; and my habits, I am thankful to -say, have not deteriorated to my knowledge, although I am four years -older." - -"And your young ladies--the traps you used to set for me when I was -four years younger, Agatha--where are they?" - -"Married, Lawrence, all of them. What a pity that you could not fix -yourself! But it is never too late to mend. At one time I feared you -would be attracted by Victoria Pengelley." - -Lawrence Colquhoun visibly changed colour, but Agatha was not looking -at him. - -"That would have been a mistake. I thought so then, and I know it now. -She is a cold and bloodless woman, Lawrence. Besides, she is married, -thank goodness. We must find you some one else." - -"My love days are over," he said, with a harsh and grating voice. "I -buried them before I went abroad." - -"You will tell me all about that some day, when you feel -communicative. Meantime, stay to dinner, and enliven me with all your -adventures. You may have some tea if you like, but I do not invite -you, because you will want to go away again directly afterwards. -Lawrence, what do you intend to do, now you are home again? Are you -going to take up the old aimless life, or shall you be serious?" - -"I think the aimless life suits me best. And it certainly is the -slowest. Don't you think, Agatha, that as we have got to get old and -presently to die, we may as well go in for making the time go slow? -That is the reason why I have never done anything." - -"I never do anything myself, except listen to what other people tell -me. But I find the days slip away all too quickly." - -"Agatha, I am in a difficulty. That is one of the reasons why I have -come to see you to day." - -"Poor Lawrence! You always are in a difficulty." - -"This time it is not my fault; but it is serious. Agatha, I have -got--a----" - -I do not know why he hesitated, but his cousin caught him up with a -little cry. - -"Not a wife, Lawrence; not a wife without telling me!" - -"No, Agatha," he flushed crimson, "not a wife. That would have been a -great deal worse. What I have got is a ward." - -"A ward?" - -"Do you remember Dick Fleming, who was killed in the hunting-field -about fifteen years ago?" - -"Yes, perfectly. He was one of my swains ever so long ago, before I -married my poor dear husband." - -Agatha had used the formula of her "poor dear husband" for more than -twenty years; so long, in fact, that it was become a mere collocation -of words, and had no longer any meaning, certainly no sadness. - -"He left a daughter, then a child of four or five. And he made me one -of that child's guardians. The other was a Mr. Dyson, who took her and -brought her up. He is dead, and the young lady, now nineteen years of -age, comes to me." - -"But, Lawrence, what on earth are you going to do with a girl of -nineteen?" - -"I don't know, Agatha. I cannot have her with me in the Albany, can -I?" - -"Not very well, I think." - -"I cannot take a small house in Chester Square, and give -evening-parties for my ward and myself, can I?" - -"Not very well, Lawrence." - -"She is staying with my lawyer, Jagenal; a capital fellow, but his -house is hardly the right place for a young lady." - -"Lawrence, what will you do? This is a very serious responsibility." - -"Very." - -"What sort of a girl is she?" - -"Phillis Fleming is what you would call, I think, a beautiful girl. -She is tall, and has a good figure. Her eyes are brown, and her hair -is brown, with lots of it. Her features are small, and not too -regular. She has got a very sweet smile, and I should say a good -temper, so long as she has her own way." - -"No, doubt," said Agatha. "Pray, go on; you seem to have studied her -appearance with a really fatherly care." - -"She has a very agreeable voice; a _naivete_ in manner that you -should like; she is clever and well informed." - -"Is she strong-minded, Lawrence?" - -"NO," said Lawrence, with emphasis, "she is not. She has excellent -ideas on the subject of her sex." - -"Always in extremes, of course, though I am not certain what." - -"She wants, so far as I can see, nothing but the society of some -amiable accomplished gentlewoman----" - -"Lawrence, you are exactly the same as you always were. You begin by -flattery. Now I know what you came here for." - -"An amiable accomplished gentlewoman, who would exercise a gradual and -steady influence upon her." - -"You want her to stay with me, Lawrence. And you are keeping something -back. Tell me instantly. You say she is beautiful. It must be -something else. Are her manners in any way unusual? Does she drop -_h's_, and eat with her knife?" - -"No, her manners are, I should say, perfect.' - -"Temper good, you say; manner perfect; appearance graceful. What can -be the reserved objection? My dear cousin, you pique my curiosity. She -is sometimes, probably insane?" - -"No, Agatha, not that I know of. It is only that her guardian brought -her up in entire seclusion from the world, and would not have her -taught to read and write." - -"How very remarkable!" - -"On the other hand, she can draw. She draws everything and everybody. -She has got a book full of drawings which she calls her diary. They -are the record of her life. She will show them to you, and tell you -all her story. You will take her for a little while, Agatha, will -you?" - -Of course she said "Yes." She had never refused Lawrence Colquhoun -anything in her life. Had he been a needy man he would have been -dangerous. But Lawrence Colquhoun wanted nothing for himself. - -"My dear Agatha, it is very good of you. You will find the most -splendid material to work upon, better than you ever had. The girl is -different from any other girl you have ever known. She talks and -thinks like a boy. She is as strong and active as a young athlete. I -believe she would outrun Atalanta; and yet I think she is a thorough -woman at heart." - -"I should not at all wonder at her being a thorough woman at heart. -Most of us are. But, Lawrence, you must not fall in love with your own -ward." - -He laughed a little uneasily. - -"I am too old for a girl of nineteen," he replied. - -"At any rate, you have excited my curiosity. Let her come, Lawrence, -as soon as you please. I want to see this paragon of girls, who is -more ignorant than a charity school girl." - -"On the contrary, Agatha, she is better informed than most girls of -her age. If she is not well read she is well told." - -"But really, Lawrence, think. She cannot read, even." - -"Not if you gave her a basketful of tracts. But that is rather a -distinction now. At least she will never want to go in for what they -call the Higher Education, will she?" - -"She must learn to read; but will she ever master Spelling?" - -"Very few people do; they only pretend. I am weak myself in spelling. -Phillis does not want to be a certificated Mistress, Agatha." - -"And Arithmetic, too." - -"Well, my cousin, of course the Rule of Three is as necessary to life -as the Use of the Globes, over which the schoolmistresses used to keep -such a coil. And it has been about as accessible to poor Phillis as an -easy seat to a tombstone cherub. But she can count and multiply and -add, and tell you how much things ought to come to; and really when -you think of it, a woman does not want much more, does she?" - -"It is the mental training, Lawrence. Think of the loss of mental -training." - -"I feel that, too," he said, with a smile of sympathy. "Think of -growing up without the discipline of Vulgar Fractions or Genteel -Decimals. One is appalled at imagining what our young ladies would be -without it. But you shall teach her what you like, Agatha." - -"I am half afraid of her, Lawrence." - -"Nonsense, my cousin; she is sweetness itself. Let me bring her -to-morrow." - -"Yes; she can have the room next to mine." Agatha sighed a little. -"Suppose we don't get on together after all. It would be such a -disappointment, and such a pain to part." - -"Get on, Agatha?--and with you? Well, all the world gets on with you. -Was there ever a girl in the world that you did not get on with?" - -"Yes, there was. I never got on with Victoria Pengelley--Mrs. -Cassilis. Shall you call upon her, Lawrence?" - -"No--yes--I don't know, Agatha," he replied, hurriedly; and went away -with scant leave-taking. He neither took any tea nor stayed to dinner. - -Then Agatha remembered. - -"Of course," she said. "How stupid of me! They used to talk about -Lawrence and Victoria. Can he think of her still? Why, the woman is as -cold as ice and as hard as steel, besides being married. A man who -would fall in love with Victoria Pengelley would be capable of falling -in love with a marble statue." - -"My cousin, Lawrence Colquhoun," she told her friends in her -letters--Agatha spent as much time letter-writing as Madame du -Deffand--"has come back from his travels. He is not at all changed, -except that he has a few grey hairs in his beard. He laughs in the -same pleasant way; has the same soft voice; thinks as little seriously -about life; and is as perfectly charming as he has always been. He has -a ward, a young lady, daughter of an old friend of mine. She is named -Phillis Fleming. I am going to have her with me for a while, and I -hope you will come and make her acquaintance, but not just yet, not -until we are used to each other. I hear nothing but good of her." - -Thus did this artful woman gloss over the drawbacks of poor Phillis's -education. Her friends were to keep away till such time as Phillis had -been drilled, inspected, reviewed, manoeuvred, and taught the social -tone. No word, you see, of the little deficiencies which time alone -could be expected to fill up. Agatha L'Estrange, in her way, was a -woman of the world. She expected, in spite of her cousin's favourable -report, to find an awkward, rather pretty, wholly unpresentable -hoyden. And she half repented that she had so easily acceded to -Lawrence Colquhoun's request. - - -It was nearly six next day when Phillis arrived. Her guardian drove -her out in a dog-cart, her maid following behind with the luggage. -This mode of conveyance being rapid, open, and especially adapted for -purposes of observation, pleased Phillis mightily; she even preferred -it to a hansom cab. She said little on the road, being too busy in the -contemplation of men and manners. Also she was yet hardly at home with -her new guardian. He was pleasant; he was thoughtful of her; but she -had not yet found out how to talk with him. Now, with Jack -Dunquerque--and then she began to think how Jack would look driving a -dog-cart, and how she should look beside him. - -Lawrence Colquhoun looked at his charge with eyes of admiration. Many -a prettier girl, he thought, might be seen in a London ballroom or in -the Park, but not one brighter or fresher. Where did it come from, -this piquant way? - -Phillis asked no more questions about Mrs. L'Estrange. Having once -made up her mind that she should rebel and return to Mr. Jagenal in -case she did not approve of Mr. Colquhoun's cousin, she rested -tranquil. To be sure she was perfectly prepared to like her, being -still in the stage of credulous curiosity in which every fresh -acquaintance seemed to possess all possible virtues. Up to the present -she had made one exception; I am sorry to say it was that of the only -woman she knew--Mrs. Cassilis. Phillis could not help feeling as if -life with Mrs. Cassilis would after a time become tedious. Rather, she -thought, life with the Twins. - -They arrived at the house by the river. Agatha was in the garden. She -looked at her visitor with a little curiosity, and welcomed her with -both hands and a kiss. Mrs. Cassilis did not kiss Phillis. In fact, -nobody ever had kissed her at all since the day when she entered -Abraham Dyson's house. Jack, she remembered, had proposed to commence -their friendship with an imitation of the early Christians, but the -proposal, somehow, came to nothing. So when Agatha drew her gently -towards herself and kissed her softly on the forehead, poor Phillis -changed colour and was confused. Agatha thought it was shyness, but -Phillis was never shy. - -"You are in good time, Lawrence. We shall have time for talk before -dinner. You may lie about in the garden, if you please, till we come -to look for you. Come, my dear, and I will show you your room." - -At Highgate Phillis's room was furnished with a massive four post -bedstead and adorned with dusky hangings. Solidity, comfort, and that -touch of gloom which our grandfathers always lent to their bedrooms, -marked the Highgate apartment. At Carnarvon Square she had the "spare -room," and it was furnished in much the same manner, only that it was -larger, and the curtains were of lighter colour. - -She saw now a small room, still with the afternoon sun upon it, with a -little iron bedstead in green and gold, and white curtains. There was -a sofa, an easy-chair, a table at one of the windows, and one in the -centre of the room; there were bookshelves; and there were pictures. - -Phillis turned her bright face with a grateful cry of surprise. - -"Oh, what a beautiful room!" - -"I am glad you like it, my dear. I hope you will be comfortable in -it." - -Phillis began to look at the pictures on the wall. - -She was critical about pictures, and these did not seem very good. - -"Do you like the pictures?" - -"This one is out of drawing," she said, standing before a -water-colour. "I like this better," moving on to the next; "but the -painting is not clear." - -Agatha remembered what she had paid for these pictures, and hoped the -fair critic was wrong. But she was not; she was right. - -And then, in her journey round the room, Phillis came to the open -window, and cried aloud with surprise and astonishment. - -"O Mrs. L'Estrange! is it--it----" she asked, in an awestruck voice, -turning grave eyes upon her hostess, as if imploring that no mistake -should be made on a matter of such importance. "Is it--really--the -Thames?" - -"Why, my dear, of course it is." - -"I have never seen a river. I have so longed to see a river, and -especially the Thames. Do you know-- - - "'Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song!' - -"And again--Oh, there are swans! - - "'With that I saw two swans of goodly hue - Come softly swimming down along the lee; - Two fairer birds I never yet did see.'" - -"I am glad you read poetry, my dear." - -"But I do not. I cannot read; I only remember. Mrs. L'Estrange, can we -get close to it, quite close to the water? I want to see it flowing." - -They went back into the garden, where Lawrence was lying in the shade, -doing nothing. Phillis looked not at the flowers or the spring -blossoms; she hurried Agatha across the lawn, and stood at the edge, -gazing at the water. - -"I should like," she murmured presently, after a silence--"I should -like to be in a boat and drift slowly down between the banks, seeing -everything as we passed, until we came to the place where all the -ships come up. Jack said he would take me to see the great ships -sailing home laden with their precious things. Perhaps he will. But, O -Mrs. L'Estrange, how sweet it is! There is the reflection of the tree; -see how the swans sail up and down; there are the water-lilies; and -look, there are the light and shade chasing each other up the river -before the wind." - -Agatha let her stay a little longer, and then led her away to show her -the flowers and hothouses. Phillis knew all about these and discoursed -learnedly. But her thoughts were with the river. - -Lawrence went away soon after dinner. It was a full moon, and the -night was warm. Agatha and Phillis went into the garden again when -Lawrence left them. It was still and silent, and as they stood upon -the walk, the girl heard the low murmurous wash of the current singing -an invitation among the grasses and reeds of the bank. - -"Let us go and look at the river again," she said. - -If it was beautiful in the day, with the evening sun upon it, it was -ten times as beautiful by night, when the shadows made great -blacknesses, and the bright moon silvered all the outlines and threw a -long way of light upon the rippling water. - -Presently they came in and went to bed. - -Agatha, half an hour later, heard Phillis's window open. The girl was -looking at the river again in the moonlight. She saw the water glimmer -in the moonlight; she heard the whisper of the waves. Her -thoughts--they were the long thoughts of a child--went up the stream, -and wondered through what meadows and by what hills the stream had -flowed; then she followed the current down, and had to picture it -among the ships before it was lost in the mighty ocean. - -As she looked there passed a boat full of people. They were probably -rough and common people, but among them was a woman, and she was -singing. Phillis wondered who they were. The woman had a sweet voice. -As they rowed by the house one of the men lit a lantern, and the light -fell upon their faces, making them clear and distinct for a moment, -and then was reflected in the black water below. Two of them were -rowing, and the boat sped swiftly on its way down the stream. Phillis -longed to be with them on the river. - -When they were gone there was silence for a space, and then the night -became suddenly musical. - -"Jug, jug, jug!" It was the nightingale; but Phillis's brain was -excited, and to her it was a song with words. "Come, come, come!" sang -the bird. "Stay with us here and rest--and rest. This is better than -the town. Here are sweetness and peace; this is the home of love and -gentleness; here you shall find the Coping-stone." - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - "But if ye saw that which no eyes can see, - The inward beauty of her lively spright - Garnished with heavenly gifts of high degree, - Much more, then, would you wonder at the sight." - - -"I like her, my dear Lawrence," Agatha wrote, a fortnight after -Phillis's arrival. "I like her not only a great deal better than I -expected, but more than any girl I have ever learned to know. She is -innocent, but then innocence is very easily lost; she is fresh, but -freshness is very often a kind of electro-plating, which rubs off and -shows the base metal beneath. Still Phillis's nature is pure gold; of -that I am quite certain; and with sincere people one always feels at -ease. - -"We were a little awkward at first, though perhaps the awkwardness was -chiefly mine, because I hardly knew what to talk about. It seemed as -if, between myself and a girl who cannot read or write, there must be -such a great gulf that there would be nothing in common. How conceited -we are over our education! Lawrence, she is quite the best-informed -girl that I know; she has a perfectly wonderful memory; repeats pages -of verse which her guardian taught her by reading it to her; talks -French very well, because she has always had a French maid; plays and -sings by ear; and draws like a Royal Academician. The curious thing, -however, is the effect which her knowledge has had upon her mind. She -knows what she has been told, and nothing more. Consequently her mind -is all light and shade, like a moonlight landscape. She wants -_atmosphere_; there is no haze about her. I did not at all understand, -until I knew Phillis, what a very important part haze plays in our -everyday life. I thought we were all governed by clear and definite -views of duty, religion, and politics. My poor Lawrence, we are all in -a fog. It is only Phillis who lives in the cloudless realms of pure -conviction. In politics she is a Tory, with distinct ideas on the -necessity of hanging all Radicals. As for her religion---- But that -does not concern you, my cousin. Or, perhaps, like most of your class, -you never think about religion at all, in which case you would not be -interested in Phillis's doctrines. - -"I took her to church on Sunday. Before the service I read her the -hymns which we were to sing, and after she had criticised the words in -a manner peculiarly her own, I read them again, and she knew those -hymns. I also told her to do exactly as I did in the matter of -uprising and downsitting. - -"One or two things I forgot, and in other one or two she made little -mistakes. It is usual, Lawrence, as you may remember, for worshippers -to pray in silence before sitting down. Phillis was looking about the -church, and therefore did not notice my performance of this duty. Also -I had forgotten to tell her that loud speech is forbidden by custom -within the walls of a church. Therefore it came upon me with a shock -when Phillis, after looking round in her quick eager way, turned to me -and said quite aloud, 'This is a curious place! Some of it is pretty, -but some is hideous.' - -"It was very true, because the church has a half-a-dozen styles, but -the speech caused a little consternation in the place. I think the -beadle would have turned us out had he recovered his presence of mind -in time. This he did not, fortunately, and the service began. - -"No one could have behaved better during prayers than Phillis. She -knelt, listening to every word. I could have wished that her intensity -of attitude had not betrayed a perfect absence of familiarity with -church customs. During the psalms she began by listening with a little -pleasure in her face. Then she looked a little bored; and presently -she whispered to me, 'Dear Agatha, I really must go out if this tune -is not changed.' Fortunately the psalms were not long. - -"She liked the hymns, and made no remark upon them, except that one of -the choir-boys was singing false, and that she should like to take him -out of the choir herself, there and then. It was quite true, and I -really feared that her sense of duty might actually impel her to take -the child by the ear and lead him solemnly out of the church. - -"During the sermon, I regret to say that she burst out laughing. You -know Phillis's laugh--a pretty rippling laugh, without any malice in -it. Oh, how rare a sweet laugh is! The curate, who was in the -pulpit--a very nice young man, and a gentleman, but not, I must own, -intellectual; and I hear he was plucked repeatedly for his -degree--stopped, puzzled and indignant, and then went on with his -discourse. I looked, I suppose, so horrified that Phillis saw she had -done wrong, and blushed. There were no more _contretemps_ in the -church. - -"'My dear Agatha,' she explained, when we came out, 'I suppose I ought -not to have laughed. But I really could not help it. Did you notice -the young gentleman in the box? He was trying to act, but he spoke the -words so badly, just as if he did not understand them. And I laughed -without thinking. I am afraid it was very rude of me.' - -"I tried to explain things to her, but it is difficult, because -sometimes you do not quite know her point of view. - -"Next day the curate called. To my vexation Phillis apologised. -Without any blushes she went straight to the point. - -"'Forgive me,' she said. 'I laughed at you yesterday in church; I am -very sorry for it.' - -"He was covered with confusion, and stammered something about the -sacred building. - -"'But I never was in a church before,' she went on. - -"'That is very dreadful!' he replied. 'Mrs. L'Estrange, do you not -think it is a very dreadful state for a young lady?' - -"Then she laughed again, but without apologising. - -"'Mr. Dyson used to say,' she explained to me, 'that everybody's -church is in his own heart. He never went to church, and he did not -consider himself in a dreadful state at all, poor dear old man.' - -"If she can fall back on an axiom of Mr. Abraham Dyson's, there is no -further argument possible. - -"The curate went away. He has been here several times since, and I am -sure that I am not the attraction. We have had one or two little -afternoons on the lawn, and it is pretty to see Phillis trying to take -an interest in this young man. She listens to his remarks, but they -fail to strike her; she answers his questions, but they seem to bore -her. In fact, he is much too feeble for her; she has no respect for -the cloth at all; and I very much fear that what is sport to her is -going to be death to him. Of course, Lawrence, you may be quite sure -that I shall not allow Phillis to be compromised by the attentions of -any young man--yet. Later on we shall ask your views. - -"Her guardian must have been a man of great culture. He has taught her -very well, and everything. She astonished the curate yesterday by -giving him a little historical essay on his favourite Laud. He -understood very little of it, but he went away sorrowful. I could read -in his face a determination to get up the whole subject, come back, -and have it out with Phillis. But she shall not be dragged into an -argument, if I can prevent it, with any young man. Nothing more easily -leads to entanglements, and we must be ambitious for our Phillis. - -"'It is a beautiful thing!' she said the other day, after I had been -talking about the theory of public worship--'a beautiful thing for the -people to come together every week and pray. And the hymns are sweet, -though I cannot understand why they keep on singing the same tune, and -that such a simple thing of a few notes.' - -"The next Sunday I had a headache, and Phillis refused to go to church -without me. She spent the day drawing on the bank of the river. - -"Mrs. Cassilis has been to call upon us. Victoria was never a great -friend of mine when she was young, and I really like her less now. She -was kind to Phillis, and proposed all sorts of hospitalities, which we -escaped for the present. I quite think that Phillis should be kept out -of the social whirl for a few months longer. - -"Victoria looked pale and anxious. She asked after you in her iciest -manner; wished to know where you were; said that you were once one of -her friends; and hoped to see you before long. She is cold by nature, -but her coldness was assumed here, because she suddenly lost it. I am -quite sure, Lawrence, that Victoria Pengelley was once touched, and by -you. There must have been something in the rumours about you two, four -years ago. Lazy Lawrence! It is a good thing for you that there was -nothing more than rumour. - -"We were talking of other things--important things, such as Phillis's -wardrobe, which wants a great many additions--when Victoria _a -propos_ of nothing, asked me if you were changed at all. I said no, -except that you were more confirmed in laziness. Then Phillis opened -her portfolio, where she keeps her diary after her own fashion, and -showed the pencil sketch she has made of your countenance. It is a -good deal better than any photograph, because it has caught your -disgraceful indolence, and you stand confessed for what you are. How -the girl contrives to put the _real_ person into her portraits, I -cannot tell. Victoria took it, and her face suddenly softened. I have -seen the look on many a woman's face. I look for it when I suspect -that one of my young friends has dropped head over ears in love; it -comes into her eyes when young Orlando enters the room, and then I -know and act accordingly. Poor Victoria! I ought not to have told you, -Lawrence, but you will forget what I said. She glanced at the portrait -and changed colour. Then she asked Phillis to give it to her. 'You can -easily make another,' she said, 'and I will keep this, as a specimen -of your skill and a likeness of an old friend.' - -"She kept it, and carried it away with her. - -"I have heard all about the Coping-stone. What a curious story it is! -Phillis talks quite gravely of the irreparable injury to the science -of Female Education involved in the loss of that precious chapter. Mr. -Jagenal is of opinion that without it the Will cannot be carried out, -in which case Mr. Cassilis will get the money. I sincerely hope he -will. I am one of those who dislike, above all things, notoriety for -women, and I should not like our Phillis's education and its results -made the subject of lawyers' wit and rhetoric in the Court of -Chancery. Do you know Mr. Gabriel Cassilis? He is said to be the -cleverest man in London, and has made an immense fortune. I hope -Victoria is happy with him. She has a child, but does not talk much -about it. - -"I have been trying to teach Phillis to read. It is a slow process, -but the poor girl is very patient. How we ever managed to 'worry -through,' as the Americans say, with such a troublesome acquirement, I -cannot understand. We spend two hours a day over the task, and are -still in words of one syllable. Needless to tell you that the -lesson-book--'First Steps in Reading'--is regarded with the most -profound contempt, and is already covered with innumerable drawings in -pencil. - -"Notes in music are easier. Phillis can already read a little, but the -difficulty here is, that if she learns the air from the notes, she -knows it once for all, and further reading is superfluous. Now, little -girls have as much difficulty in playing notes as in spelling them -out, so that they have to be perpetually practising the art of -reading. I now understand why people who teach are so immeasurably -conceited. I am already so proud of my superiority to Phillis in being -able to read, that I feel my moral nature deteriorating. At least, I -can sympathise with all school-masters, from the young man who holds -his certificated nose high in the air, to Dr. Butler of Harrow, who -sews up the pockets of his young gentlemen's trousers. - -"Are you tired of my long letter? Only a few words more. - -"I have got a music and a singing master for Phillis. They are both -delighted with her taste and musical powers. Her voice is very sweet, -though not strong. She will never be tempted to rival professional -people, and will always be sure to please when she sings. - -"I have also got an artist to give her a few lessons in the management -of her colours. He is an elderly artist, with a wife and bairns of his -own, not one of the young gentlemen who wear velvet coats and want to -smoke all day. - -"You must yourself get a horse for her, and then you can come over and -ride with her. At present she is happy in the contemplation of the -river, which exercises an extraordinary power over her imagination. -She is now, while I write, sitting in the shade, singing to herself in -solitude. Beside her is the sketch-book, but she is full of thought -and happy to be alone. Lawrence, she is a great responsibility, and it -is sad to think that the Lesson she most requires to learn is the -Lesson of distrust. She trusts everybody, and when anything is done or -said which would arouse distrust in ourselves, she only gets puzzled -and thinks of her own ignorance. Why cannot we leave her in the -Paradise of the Innocent, and never let her learn that every stranger -is a possible villain? Alas, that I must teach her this lesson; and -yet one would not leave her to find it out by painful experience! My -dear Lawrence, I once read that it was the custom in savage times to -salute the stranger with clubs and stones, because he was sure to be -an enemy. How far have we advanced in all these years? You sent -Phillis to me for teaching, but it is I who learned from her. I am a -worldly woman, cousin Lawrence, and my life is full of hollow shams. -Sometimes I think that the world would be more tolerable were all the -women as illiterate as dear Phillis. - -"Do not come to see her for a few days yet, and you will find her -changed in those few things which wanted change." - - -Sitting in solitude? Gazing on the river? Singing to herself? Phillis -was quite otherwise occupied, and much more pleasantly. - -She had been doing all these things, with much contentment of soul, -while Agatha was writing her letters. She sat under the trees upon the -grass, a little straw hat upon her head, letting the beauty of the -season fill her soul with happiness. The sunlit river rippled at her -feet; on its broad surface the white swans lazily floated! the soft -air of early summer fanned her cheek: the birds darted across the -water as if in ecstasy of joy at the return of the sun--as a matter of -fact they had their mouths wide open and were catching flies; a lark -was singing in the sky; there were a blackbird and a thrush somewhere -in the wood across the river: away up the stream there was a fat old -gentleman sitting in a punt; he held an umbrella over his head, -because the sun was hot, and he supported a fishing-rod in his other -hand. Presently he had a nibble, and in his anxiety he stood up the -better to manoeuvre his float; it was only a nibble, and he sat down -again. Unfortunately he miscalculated the position of the chair, and -sat upon space, so that he fell backwards all along the punt. Phillis -heard the bump against the bottom of the boat, and saw a pair of fat -little legs sticking up in the most comical manner; she laughed, and -resolved upon drawing the fat old gentleman's accident as soon as she -could find time. - -The afternoon was very still; the blackbird carolled in the trees, and -the "wise thrush" repeated his cheerful philosophy; the river ran with -soft whispers along the bank; and Phillis began to look before her -with eyes that saw not, and from eyelids that, in a little, would -close in sleep. - -Then something else happened. - -A boat came suddenly up the river, close to her own bank. She saw the -bows first, naturally; and then she saw the back of the man in it. -Then the boat revealed itself in full, and Phillis saw that the crew -consisted of Jack Dunquerque. Her heart gave a great leap, and she -started from the Sleepy Hollow of her thoughts into life. - -Jack Dunquerque was not an ideal oar, such as one dreams of and reads -about. He did not "grasp his sculls with the precision of a machine, -and row with a grand long sweep which made the boat spring under his -arms like a thing of life"--I quote from an author whose name I have -forgotten. Quite the contrary; Jack was rather unskilful than -otherwise; the ship in which he was embarked was one of those crank -craft consisting of a cedar lath with crossbars of iron; it was a boat -without outriggers, and he had hired it at Richmond. He was not so -straight in the back as an Oxford stroke! and he bucketed about a good -deal, but he got along. - -Just as he was nearing Phillis he fell into difficulties, in -consequence of one oar catching tight in the weeds. The effect of this -was, as may be imagined, to bring her bows on straight into the bank. -In fact, Jack ran the ship ashore, and sat with the bows high on the -grass just a few inches off Phillis's feet. Then he drew himself -upright, tried to disentangle the oar, and began to think what he -should do next. - -"I wish I hadn't come," he said aloud. - -Phillis laughed silently. - -Then she noticed the painter in the bows though she did not know it by -that name. Painters in London boats are sometimes longish ropes, for -convenience of mooring. Phillis noiselessly lifted the cord and tied -it fast round the trunk of a small elder-tree beside her. Then she sat -down again and waited. This was much better fun than watching an -elderly gentleman tumbling backwards in a punt. - -Jack, having extricated the scull and rested a little, looked at his -palms, which were blistering under the rough exercise of rowing, and -muttered something inaudible. Then he seized the oars again and began -to back out vigorously. - -The boat's bows descended a few inches, and then, the painter being -taut, moved no more. - -Phillis leaned forward, watching Jack with a look of rapturous -delight. - -"Damn the ship!" said Jack softly, after three or four minutes' -strenuous backing. - -"Don't swear at the boat, Jack," Phillis broke in, with her low laugh -and musical voice. - -Jack looked round. There was his goddess standing on the bank, -clapping her hands with delight. He gave a vigorous pull, which drove -the boat half-way up to shore and sprang out. - -"Jack, you must not use words that sound bad. Oh, how glad I am to see -you! I think you look best in flannels, Jack." - -"You here, Phil? I thought it was a mile higher up." - -"Did you know where I was gone to?" - -"Yes, I found out. I asked Colquhoun, and he told me. But he did not -offer to introduce me to Mrs. L'Estrange; and so I thought I would--I -thought that perhaps if I rowed up the river, you know, I might -perhaps see you." - -"O Jack," she replied, touched by this act of friendship, "did you -really row up in the hope of seeing me? I am so glad. Will you come in -and be introduced to Agatha,--that is, Mrs. L'Estrange? I have not yet -told her about you, because we had so many things to say." - -"Let us sit down and talk a little first. Phil, you look even better -than when you were at Carnarvon Square. Tell me what you are doing." - -"I am learning to read for one thing; and, Jack, a much more important -thing, I am taking lessons in water-colour drawing. I have learned a -great deal already, quite enough to show me how ignorant I have been. -But, Jack, Mr. Stencil cannot draw so well as I can, and I am glad to -think so." - -"When shall we be able to go out again for another visit somewhere, -Phil?" - -"Ah, I do not know. We shall stay here all the summer, I am sure; and -Agatha talks of going to the seaside in the autumn. I do not think I -shall like the sea so much as I like the river, but I want to see it. -Jack, how is Mr. Gilead Beck? have you seen him lately?" - -"Yes, I very often see him. We are great friends. But never mind him, -Phil; go on telling me about yourself. It is a whole fortnight since I -saw you." - -"Is it really? O Jack! and we two promised to be friends. There is -pretty friendship for you! I am very happy, Jack. Agatha L'Estrange is -so kind that I cannot tell you how I love her. Lawrence Colquhoun is -her first cousin. I like my guardian, too, very much; but I have not -yet found out how to talk to him. I am to have a horse as soon as he -can find me one; and then we shall be able to ride together, Jack, if -it is not too far for you to come out here." - -"Too far, Phil?" - -"Agatha is writing letters. Certainly it must be pleasant to talk to -your friends when they are away from you. I shall learn to write as -fast as I can, and then we will send letters to each other. I wonder -if she would mind being disturbed. Perhaps I had better not take you -in just yet." - -"Will you come for a row with me, Phil?" - -"In the boat, Jack? on the river? Oh, if you will only take me!" - -Jack untied the painter, pulled the ship's head round, and laid her -alongside the bank. - -"You will promise to sit perfectly still, and not move?" - -"Yes, I will not move. Are you afraid for me Jack?" - -"A little, Phil. You see, if we were to upset, perhaps you would not -trust yourself entirely to me." - -"Yes, I would, Jack. I am sure you would bring me safe to the bank." - -"But we must not upset. Now, Phil." - -He rowed her upstream. She sat in the stern, and enjoyed the -situation. As in every fresh experience, she was silent, drinking in -the details. She watched the transparent water beneath her, and saw -the yellow-green weeds sloping gently downwards with the current; she -noticed the swans, which looked so tranquil from the bank, and which -now followed the boat, gobbling angrily. They passed the old gentleman -in the punt. He had recovered his chair by this time, and was sitting -in it, still fishing. But Phillis could not see that he had caught -many fish. He looked from under his umbrella and saw them. "Youth and -beauty!" he sighed. - -"I like to _feel_ the river," said Phillis, softly. "It is pleasant on -the bank, but it is so much sweeter here. Can there be anything in the -world," she murmured half to herself, "more pleasant than to be rowed -along the river on such a day as this?" - -There was no one on the river except themselves and the old angler. -Jack rowed up stream for half a mile or so, and then turned her head -and let her drift gently down with the current, occasionally dipping -the oars to keep way on. But he left the girl to her own thoughts. - -"It is all like a dream to me, this river," said Phillis, in a low -voice. "It comes from some unknown place, and goes to some unknown -place." - -"It is like life, Phil." - -"Yes; we come like the river, trailing long glories behind us--you -know what Wordsworth says--but we do not go to be swallowed up in the -ocean, and we are not alone. We have those that love us to be with us, -and prevent us from getting sad with thought. I have you, Jack." - -"Yes, Phil." He could not meet her face, which was so full of -unselfish and passionless affection, because his own eyes were -brimming over with passion. - -"Take me in, Jack," she said, when they reached Agatha's lawn. "It is -enough for one day." - -She led him to the morning-room, cool and sheltered, where Agatha was -writing the letter we have already read. And she introduced him as -Jack Dunquerque, her friend. - -Jack explained that he was rowing up the river, that he saw Miss -Fleming by accident, that he had taken her for a row up the stream, -and so on--all in due form. - -"Jack and I are old friends," said Phillis. - -Agatha did not ask how old, which was fortunate. But she put aside her -letters and sent for tea into the garden. Jack became more amiable and -more sympathetic than any young man Mrs. L'Estrange had ever known. So -much did he win upon her that, having ascertained that he was a friend -of Lawrence Colquhoun, she asked him to dinner. - -Jack's voyage homeward was a joyful one. Many is the journey begun in -joy that ends in sorrow; few are those which begin, as Jack's -bucketing up the river, in uncertainty, and end in unexpected -happiness. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - "Souvent femme varie, - Bien foi qui s'y fie." - - -Lawrence Colquhoun was not, in point of fact, devoting much time to -his ward at this time. She was pretty; she was fresh; she was -unconventional; but then he was forty. For twenty years he had been -moving through a panorama of pretty girls. It was hardly to be -expected that a girl whom he had seen but once or twice should move a -tough old heart of forty. Phillis pleased him, but lazy Lawrence -wanted girls, if that could be managed, to come to him, and she -necessarily stayed at Twickenham. Anyhow, she was in good and safe -hands. It was enough to know that Agatha had her in safe charge and -custody, and when he could find time he would go down and see her -again. As he had been thirteen years trying to find time to visit -Phillis at Highgate, it was possible that he might be in the same way -prevented by adverse circumstances from going to Twickenham. - -He was troubled also by other and graver matters. - -Victoria Cassilis asked him in the Park to call upon her--for auld -lang syne. What he replied is not on record, because, if anybody -heard, it could only have been the lady. But he did not call upon her. -After a day or two there came a letter from her. Of this he took no -notice. It is not usual for a man to ignore the receipt from a lady, -but Lawrence Colquhoun did do so. Then there came another. This also -he tore in small pieces. And then another. "Hang the woman," said -Lawrence; "I believe she wants to have a row. I begin to be sorry I -came home at all." - -His chambers were on the second floor in the Albany, and any one -who knows Lawrence Colquhoun will understand that they were furnished -in considerable comfort, and even luxury. He did not pretend to a -knowledge of Art, but his pictures were good; nor was he a dilettante -about furniture, but his was in good style. China he abhorred, -like many other persons of sound and healthy taste. Let us leave a -loophole of escape; there may be some occult reason, unknown to the -uninitiated, for finding beauty, loveliness, and desirability in -hideous china monsters and porcelain. After all we are but a flock, -and follow the leader. Why should we not go mad for china? It is -as sensible as going mad over rinking. Why should we not buy -water-colours at fabulous prices? At least these can be sold again -for something, whereas books--an extinct form of madness--cannot; -and besides, present their backs in a mute appeal to be read. - -The rooms of a man with whom comfort is the first thing aimed at. The -chairs are low, deep, and comfortable; there are brackets, tiny -tables, and all sorts of appliances for saving trouble and exertion; -the curtains are of the right shade for softening the light; the -pictures are of subjects which soothe the mind; the books, if you look -at them, are books of travel and novels. The place is exactly such a -home as lazy Lawrence would choose. - -And yet when we saw his laziness in the Prologue, he was living alone -in a deserted city, among the bare wooden walls of a half-ruined -hotel. But Lawrence was not then at home. He took what comfort he -could get, even there; and while he indulged his whim for solitude, -impressed into his own service for his own comfort the two Chinamen -who constituted with him the population of Empire City. - -But at Empire City he was all day shooting. That makes a difference to -the laziest of men. And he would not have stayed there so long had he -not been too lazy to go away. If a man does not mind lonely evenings, -the air on the lower slope of the Sierra Nevada is pleasant and the -game is abundant. Now, however, he was back in London, where the -laziest men live beside the busiest. The sun streamed in at his -windows, which were bright with flowers; and he sat in the shade doing -nothing. Restless men take cigars; men who find their own thoughts -insufficient for the passing hour take books; men who cannot sit still -walk about, Lawrence Colquhoun simply lay back in an easy-chair, -watching the sunlight upon the flowers with lazy eyes. He had the gift -of passive and happy idleness. - -To him there came a visitor--a woman whom he did not know. - -She was a woman about thirty years of age, a hard-featured, -sallow-faced woman. She looked in Lawrence's face with a grim -curiosity as she walked across the room and handed him a letter. - -"From Mrs. Cassilis, sir." - -"Oh!" said Lawrence. "And you are----" - -"I am her maid, sir." - -"Where is Janet, then?" - -"Janet is dead. She died three years ago, before Mrs. Cassilis -married." - -"Oh, Janet is dead, is she? Ah, that accounts--I mean, where did Janet -die?" - -"In lodgings at Ventnor, sir. Mrs. Cassilis--Miss Pengelley she was -then, as you know, sir,"--Lawrence looked up sharply, but there was no -change in the woman's impassive face as she spoke,--"Miss Pengelley -sent me with her, and Janet died in my arms, sir, of consumption." - -"Ah, I am sorry! And so Mrs. Cassilis has sent you to me with this -letter, has she?" He did not open it. "Will you tell Mrs. Cassilis -that I will send an answer by post, if there is any answer required?" - -"I beg your pardon, sir; but Mrs. Cassilis told me expressly that if -you were in town I was to wait for an answer, if I had to wait all -day." - -"In that case I suppose I had better read the letter." - -He opened it, and it seemed as if the contents were not pleasant, -because he rose from his chair and began to walk about. The -sallow-faced woman watched him all the time, as one who has fired a -shot, and wishes to know whether it has struck, and where. - -He held the letter in his left hand, and with his right moved and -altered the position of things on the mantel-shelf, a sign of mental -agitation. Then he turned round brusquely and said: - -"Tell your mistress that I will call upon her in the afternoon." - -"Will you write that, sir?" - -"No, I will not," he replied fiercely. "Take your answer and begone." - -She went without a word. - -"There will be trouble," she said to herself. "Janet said it would all -come up again some day. He's a handsome chap, and missus is a fool. -She's worse than a fool; she's a hard-hearted creature, with no more -blood than a stone statue. If there's to be trouble, it won't fall on -_his_ head, but on hern. And if I was him, I'd go away again quiet, -and then maybe no one wouldn't find it out. As for her, she'll blow on -it herself." - -Lawrence's thoughts assumed a form something like the following: - -"Three notes from her in rapid succession, each one more vehement than -the first. She must see me; she insists on my calling on her; she will -see me; she has something important to tell me. It's a marvellous -thing, and great proof of the absence of the inventive faculty in all -of them, that when they want to see you they invariably pretend that -they have something important to tell you. From the duchess to the -nursemaid, by Jove, they are all alike! And now she is coming here -unless I call upon her to-day. - -"It won't do to let her come here. I might go down to the seaside, go -into the country, go anywhere, back to America; but what would be the -good of that? Besides, I have not done anything to be afraid of or -ashamed of, unless a knowledge of a thing is guilt. I have nothing to -fear for myself. Remains the question, Ought I not to screen her? - -"But screen her from whom? No one knows except Janet, and Janet is -dead. Perhaps that woman with a face like a horse knows; that would be -awkward for Victoria if she were to offend her, for a more damned -unforgiving countenance I never set eyes upon. But Janet was faithful; -I am sure Janet would not split even when she was dying. And then -there was very little to split about when she died. Victoria hadn't -married Mr. Cassilis. - -"What the deuce does she want to rake up old things for? Why can't she -let things be? It's the way of women. They can't forget; and hang me -if I don't think she can't forgive me because she has done me a wrong! -Why did I come back from Empire City! There, at all events, one could -be safe from annoyance. - -"On a day like this, too, the first really fine day of the season; and -it's spoiled. I might have dined with cousin Agatha and talked to -Phillis--the pretty little Phillis! I might have mooned away the -afternoon in the Park and dined at the Club. I might have gone to -half-a-dozen places in the evening. I might have gone to Greenwich and -renewed my youth at the Ship. I might have gone to Richmond with old -Evergreen and his party. But Phillis for choice. But now I must have -it out with Victoria Cassilis. There's a fate in it: We can't be -allowed to rest and be happy. Like the schoolboy's scrag-end of the -rolly-polly pudding, it is helped, and must be eaten." - -Philosophy brings resignation, but it does not bring ease of mind. -Those unfortunate gentlemen who used to be laid upon the wheel and -have their limbs broken might have contemplated the approach of -inevitable suffering with resignation, but never with happiness. In -Colquhoun's mind, Victoria Cassilis was associated with a disagreeable -and painful chapter in his life. He saw her marriage in the fragment -of Ladds's paper, and thought the chapter closed. He came home and -found her waiting for him ready to open it again. - -"I _did_ think," he said, turning over her letter in his fingers, -"that for her own sake, she would have let things be forgotten. It's -ruin for her if the truth comes out, and not pleasant for me, A pretty -fool I should look explaining matters in a witness-box. But I must see -her, if only to bring her to reason. Reason? When was a woman -reasonable?" - -"I am here," he said, standing before Mrs. Cassilis at her own house a -few hours later. "I am here." - -Athos, Parthos, Arimis, and D'Artagnan would have said exactly the -same thing. - -"_Me voici!_" - -And they would have folded their arms and thrown back their heads with -a preliminary tap at the sword-hilt, to make sure that the trusty -blade was loose in the scabbard and easy to draw, in case M. le -Mari--whom the old French allegorists called _Danger_--should suddenly -appear. - -But Lawrence Colquhoun said it quite meekly, to a woman who neither -held out her hand nor rose to meet him, nor looked him in the face, -but sat in her chair with bowed head and weeping eyes. - -A woman of steel? There are no women of steel. - -It was in Mrs. Cassilis's morning-room, an apartment sacred to -herself; she used it for letter-writing, for interviews with -dressmakers, for tea with ladies, for all sorts of things. And now she -received her old friend in it. But why was she crying, and why did she -not look up? - -"I _did_ want to see you, Lawrence," she murmured. "Can you not -understand why?" - -"My name is Colquhoun, Mrs. Cassilis. And I cannot understand why----" - -"My name, Lawrence, is Victoria. Have you forgotten that?" - -"I have forgotten everything, Mrs. Cassilis. It is best to forget -everything." - -"But if you cannot! O Lawrence!" she looked up in his face--"O -Lawrence, if you cannot!" - -Her weeping eyes, her tear-clouded face, her piteous gesture, moved -the man not one whit. The power which she might once have had over him -was gone. - -"This is mere foolishness, Mrs. Cassilis. As a stranger, a perfect -stranger, may I ask why you call me by my Christian name, and why -these tears?" - -"Strangers! it is ridiculous!" she cried, starting up and standing -before him. "It is ridiculous, when all the world knows that we were -once friends, and half the world thought that we were going to be -something--nearer." - -"Nearer--and dearer, Mrs. Cassilis? What a foolish world it was! -Suppose we had become nearer, and therefore very much less dear." - -"Be kind to me, Lawrence." - -"I will be whatever you like, Mrs. Cassilis--except what I -was--provided you do not call me Lawrence any more. Come, let us be -reasonable. The past is gone; in deference to your wishes I removed -myself from the scene; I went abroad; I transported myself for four -years; then I saw the announcement of your marriage in the paper by -accident. And I came home again, because of your own free will and -accord you had given me my release. Is this true?" - -"Yes," she replied. - -"Then, in the name of Heaven, why seek to revive the past? Believe me, -I have forgotten the few days of madness and repentance. They are -gone. Some ghosts of the past come to me, but they do not take the -shape of Victoria Pengelley." - -"Suppose we cannot forget?" - -"Then we _must_ forget. Victoria--Mrs. Cassilis, rouse yourself. Think -of what you are--what you have made yourself." - -"I do think. I think every day." - -"You have a husband and a child; you have your position in the world. -Mrs. Cassilis, you have your honour." - -"My honour!" she echoed. "What honour? And if all were known! -Lawrence, don't you even pity me?" - -"What is the good of pity?" he asked rudely. "Pity cannot alter -things. Pity cannot make things which are as if they are not. You seem -to me to have done what you have done knowing well what you were -doing, and knowing what you were going to get by it. You have got one -of the very best houses in London; you have got a rich husband; you -have got an excellent position; and you have got--Mrs. Cassilis, you -have got a child, whose future happiness depends upon your reticence." - -"I will tell you what I have besides," she burst in, with passion. "I -have the most intolerable husband, the most maddening and exasperating -man in all the world!" - -"Is he cruel to you?" - -"No; he is kind to me. If he were cruel I should know how to treat -him. But he is kind." - -"Heroics, Mrs. Cassilis. Most women could very well endure a kind -husband. Are you not overdoing it? You almost make me remember a -scene--call it a dream--which took place in a certain Glasgow hotel -about four years and a half ago." - -"In the City he is the greatest financier living, I am told. In the -house he is the King of Littleness." - -"I think there was--or is--a bishop," said Lawrence meditatively, "who -gave his gigantic intellect to a Treatise on the Sinfulness of Little -Sins. Perhaps you had better buy that work and study it. Or present it -to your husband." - -"Very well, Lawrence. I suppose you think you have a right to laugh at -me?" - -"Right! Good God, Mrs. Cassilis," he cried, in the greatest alarm, "do -you think I claim any right--the smallest--over you? If I ever had a -right it is gone now--gone, by your own act, and my silence." - -"Yes, Lawrence," she repeated, with a hard smile on her lips, "your -silence." - -He understood what she meant. He turned from her and leaned against -the window, looking into the shrubs and laurels. She had dealt him a -blow which took effect. - -"My silence!" he murmured; "my silence! What have I to do with your -life since that day--that day which even you would find it difficult -to forget? Do what you like, marry if you like, be as happy as you -like, or as miserable--what does it matter to me? My silence! Am I, -then, going to proclaim to the world my folly and your shame?" - -"Let us not quarrel," she went on, pleased with the effect of her -words. There are women who would rather stab a man in the heart, and -so make some impression on him, than to see him cold and callous to -what they say or think. "It is foolish to quarrel after four years and -more of absence." - -"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," said Lawrence. "Yes, Mrs. -Cassilis, it is foolish to quarrel. Still I suppose it is old habit. -And besides----" - -"When a man has nothing else to say, he sneers." - -"When a woman has nothing else to say, she makes a general statement." - -"At all events, Lawrence, you are unchanged since I left you at that -hotel to which you refer so often. Are its memories pleasing to you?" - -"No; they are not. Are they to you? Come, Mrs. Cassilis, this is -foolish. You told me you had something to say to me. What is it?" - -"I wanted to say this. When we parted----" - -"Oh, hang it!" cried the man, "why go back to that?" - -"When we two parted"--she set her thin lips together as if she was -determined to let him off no single word--"you used bitter words. You -told me that I was heartless, cold, and bad-tempered. Those were the -words you used." - -"By Gad, I believe they were!" said Lawrence. "We had a blazing row; -and Janet stood by with her calm Scotch face, and, 'Eh, sir! Eh, -madam!' I remember." - -"I might retaliate on you." - -"You did then, Mrs. Cassilis. You let me have it in a very superior -style. No need to retaliate any more." - -"I might tell you now that you are heartless and cold. I might tell -you----" - -"It seems that you are telling me all this without any use of the -potential mood." - -"That if you have any lingering kindness for me, even if you have any -resentment for my conduct, you would pity the lonely and companionless -life I lead." - -"Your son is nearly a year old, I believe?" - -"What is a baby?" - -Lawrence thought the remark wanting in maternal feeling; but he said -nothing. - -"Come, Mrs. Cassilis, it is all no use. I cannot help you. I would not -if I could. Hang it! it would be too ridiculous for me to interfere. -Think of the situation. Here we are, we three; I first, you in the -middle, and Mr. Cassilis third. You and I know, and he does not -suspect. On the stage, the man who does not suspect always looks a -fool. No French novel comes anywhere near this position of things. -Make yourself miserable if you like, and make me uncomfortable; but -for Heaven's sake, don't make us all ridiculous! As things are, so you -made them. Tell me--what did you do it for?" - -"Speak to me kindly, Lawrence, and I will tell you all. After that -dreadful day I went back to the old life. Janet and I made up -something--never mind what. Janet was as secret as the grave. The old -life--Oh, how stupid and dull it was! Two years passed away. You were -gone, never to return, as you said. Janet died. And Mr. Cassilis -came." - -"Well?" - -"Well, I was poor. With my little income I had to live with friends, -and be polite to people I detested. I saw a chance for freedom; Mr. -Cassilis offered me that, at least. And I accepted him. Say you -forgive me, Lawrence." - -"Forgive! What a thing to ask or to say!" - -"It was a grievous mistake. I wanted a man who could feel with me and -appreciate me." - -"Yes," he said. "I know. Appreciation--appreciation. Perhaps you got -it, and at a truer estimate than you thought. I have sometimes found, -Mrs. Cassilis, in the course of my travels, people who make themselves -miserable because others do not understand their own ideals. If these -people could only label themselves with a few simple descriptive -sentences,--such as 'I am good; I am great; I am full of lofty -thoughts; I am noble; I am wise; I am too holy for this world;' and so -on,--a good deal of unhappiness might be saved. Perhaps you might even -now try on this method with Mr. Cassilis." - -"Cold and sneering," she said to herself, folding her hands, and -laying her arms straight out before her in her lap. If you think of -it, this is a most effective attitude, provided that the head be held -well back and a little to the side. - -"What astonishes me," he said, taking no notice of her remark, "is -that you do not at all seem to realise the Thing you have done. Do -you?" - -"It is no use realising what cannot be found out. Janet is in her -grave. Lawrence Colquhoun, the most selfish and heartless of men, is -quite certain to hold his tongue." - -He laughed good-naturedly. - -"Very well, Mrs. Cassilis, very well. If you are satisfied, of course -no one has the right to say a word. After all, no one has any cause to -fear except yourself. For me, I certainly hold my tongue. It would be -all so beautifully explained by Serjeant Smoothtongue: 'Six years ago, -gentlemen of the jury, a man no longer in the bloom of early youth was -angled for and hooked by a lady who employed a kind of tackle -comparatively rare in English society. She was a _femme incomprise_. -She despised the little ways of women; she was full of infinite -possibilities; she was going to lead the world if only she could get -the chance. And then, gentlemen of the jury'----" - -Here the door opened, and Mr. Gabriel Cassilis appeared. His wife was -sitting in the window, cold, calm, and impassive. Some four or five -feet from her stood Lawrence Colquhoun; he was performing his -imaginary speech with great rhetorical power, but stopped short at -sight of M. le Mari, whom he knew instinctively. This would have been -a little awkward, had not Mrs. Cassilis proved herself equal to the -occasion. - -"My dear!" She rose and greeted her husband with the tips of her -fingers. "You are early to-day. Let me introduce Mr. Colquhoun, a very -old friend of mine." - -"I am very glad, Mr. Colquhoun, to know you. I have heard of you." - -"Pray sit down, Mr. Colquhoun, unless you will go on with your -description. Mr. Colquhoun, who has just arrived from America, my -dear, was giving me a vivid account of some American trial-scene which -he witnessed." - -Her manner was perfectly cold, clear, and calm. She was an admirable -actress, and there was not a trace left of the weeping, shamefaced -woman who received Lawrence Colquhoun. - -Gabriel Cassilis looked at his visitor with a little pang of jealousy. -This, then, was the man with whom his wife's name had been coupled. To -be sure, it was a censorious world; but then he was a handsome fellow, -and a quarter of a century younger than himself. However, he put away -the thought, and tapped his knuckles with his double glasses while he -talked. - -To-day, whether from fatigue or from care, he was not quite himself; -not the self-possessed man of clear business mind that he wished to -appear. Perhaps something had gone wrong. - -Lawrence and Mrs. Cassilis, or rather the latter, began talking about -days of very long ago, so that her husband found himself out of the -conversation. This made him uneasy, and less useful when the talk came -within his reach. But his wife was considerate--made allowances, so to -speak, for age and fatigue; and Lawrence noted that he was fond and -proud of her. - -He came away in a melancholy mood. - -"I can't help it," he said. "I wish I couldn't feel anything about it, -one way or the other. Victoria has gone off, and I wonder how in the -world---- And now she has made a fool of herself. It is not my fault. -Some day it will all come out. And I am an accessory after the fact. -If it were not for that Phillis girl--I must see after her--and she is -pretty enough to keep any man in town--I would go back to America -again, if it were to Empire City." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - "Now you set your foot on shore - In Novo Orbe; here's the rich Peru; - And there, within, sir, are the golden mines, - Great Solomon's Ophir." - - -Unlimited credit! Wealth without bound! Power to gratify any -desire--all desires! That was the luck of the Golden Butterfly. No -wish within the reach of man that Gilead Beck could not gratify. No -project or plan within limits far, far beyond what are generally -supposed reasonable, that he could not carry out. Take your own case, -brother of mine, struggling to realise the modest ambitions common to -cultured humanity, and to force them within the bounds of a slender -income. Think of the thousand and one things you want; think of the -conditions of your life you would wished changed; think of the -generous aspirations you would gratify: think of the revenges, -malices, envies, hatreds, which you would be able to satiate--_had -you the wealth which gives the power_. Then suppose yourself suddenly -possessed of that wealth, and think what you would do with it. - -Your brain is feeble; it falters at a few thousands; a hundred -thousand a year is too much for it--it was as much, if I remember -rightly, as even the imagination of the elder Dumas attained to. -Beyond a paltry twenty thousand or so, one feels oppressed in -imagination with a weight of income. Let us suppose you stick at -twenty thousand. What would you do with it? What could you not do with -it? Your ideal Society--the one thing wanting, only rich men cannot be -brought to see it, to regenerate the world--that could instantly be -put on a sound footing. Your works--those works which you keep locked -up in a desk at home--you could publish, and at once step into your -right position as a leader of thought, an [Greek: hanax andrôn]. Your -projects, educational, moral, theatrical, literary, musical, could all -together, for they are modest, be launched upon the ocean of public -opinion. You could gratify your taste for travel. Like Charles -Kingsley, you could stand in the shadow of a tropical forest (it would -not be one quarter so beautiful as a hundred glades ten miles from -Southampton) and exclaim, "At last!" You are an archĉologist, and have -as yet seen little. You could make that long-desired trip to Naples -and see Pompeii; you could visit the cities of the Midi, and explore -the Roman remains you have as yet only read of; you could take that -journey to Asia Minor, your dream of twenty years, and sketch the -temples still standing, roofed and perfect, unvisited since the last -stragglers of the last crusading army died of famine on the steps, -scoffing with their latest breath at the desecrated altar. Their bones -lay mouldering in front of the marble columns--silent monuments of a -wasted enthusiasm--while the fleshless fingers pointed as if in scorn -in the direction of Jerusalem. They have been dust this many a year. -Dust blown about the fields; manure for the crops which the peasant -raises in luxuriance by scratching the soil. But the temples stand -still, sacred yet to the memory of Mother Earth, the many-breasted -goddess of the Ephesians. Why, if you had that £20,000 a year, you -would go there, sketch, photograph, and dig. - -What could not one do if one had money? And then one takes to thinking -what is done by those who actually have it. Well, they subscribe--they -give to hospitals and institutions--and they save the rest. Happy for -this country that Honduras, Turkey, and a few other places exist to -plunder the British capitalists, or we should indeed perish of -wealth-plethora. Thousands of things all round us wait to be done; -things which must be done by rich men, and cannot be done by trading -men, because they would not pay. - -_Exempli gratia_; here are a few out of the many. - -1. They are always talking of endowment of research; all the men who -think they ought to be endowed are clamouring for it. But think of the -luxury of giving a man a thousand a year, and telling him to work for -the rest of his days with no necessity for doing pot-boilers. Yet no -rich man does it. There was a man in Scotland, the other day, gave -half a million to the Kirk. For all the luxury to be got out of that -impersonal gift, one might just as well drop a threepenny-bit into the -crimson bag. - -2. This is a country in which the dramatic instinct is so strong as to -be second only to that of France. We want a National Theatre, where -such a thing as a 300 nights' run would be possible, and which should -be a school for dramatists as well as actors. A paltry £10,000 a year -would pay the annual deficit in such a theatre. Perhaps, taking year -with year, less than half that sum would do. No rich man has yet -proposed to found, endow, or subsidise such a theatre. - -3. In this City of London thousands of boys run about the streets -ragged and hungry. Presently they become habitual criminals. Then they -cost the country huge sums in goals, policemen, and the like. -Philanthropic people catch a few of these boys and send them to places -where they are made excellent sailors. Yet the number does not -diminish. A small £15 a year pays for a single boy. A rich man might -support a thousand of them. Yet no rich man does. - -4. In this country millions of women have to work for their living. -Everybody who employs those women under-pays them and cheats them. -Women cannot form trade-unions--they are without the organ of -government; therefore they are downtrodden in the race. They do men's -work at a quarter of men's wages. No trade so flourishing as that -which is worked by women--witness the prosperity of dress-making -masters. The workwomen have longer hours, as well as lower pay, than -the men. At the best, they get enough to keep body and soul together; -not enough for self-respect; not enough, if they are young and -good-looking, to keep them out of mischief. To give them a central -office and a central protecting power might cost a thousand pounds a -year No rich man, so far as I know, has yet come forward with any such -scheme for the improvement of women's labour. - -5. This is a country where people read a great deal. More books are -printed in England than in any other country in the world. Reading -forms the amusement of half our hours, the delight of our leisure -time. For the whole of its reading Society agrees to pay Mundie & -Smith from three to ten guineas a house. Here is a sum in arithmetic: -house-bills, £1,500 a year; wine-bill, £300; horses, £500; rent, £400; -travelling, £400; dress--Lord knows what; reading--say £5; also, spent -at Smith's stalls in two-shilling novels, say thirty shillings. That -is the patronage of Literature. Successful authors make a few hundreds -a year--successful grocers make a few thousands--and people say, "How -well is Literature rewarded!" - -Mr. Gilead Beck once told me of a party gathered together in Virginia -City to mourn the decease of a dear friend cut off prematurely. The -gentleman intrusted with the conduct of the evening's entertainment -had one-and-forty dollars put into his hands to be laid out to the -best advantage. He expended it as follows:-- - - Whisky Forty dollars, (40$) - Bread One dollar, ( 1$) - ------------------------ - Total Forty-one dollars. (41$) - -"What, in thunder," asked the chairman, "made you waste all that money -in bread?" - -Note.--He had never read _Henry IV_. - -The modern patronage of Literature is exactly like the proportion of -bread observed by the gentleman of Virginia City. - -Five pounds a year for the mental food of all the household. - -Enough; social reform is a troublesome and an expensive thing. Let it -be done by the societies; there are plenty of people anxious to be -seen on platforms, and plenty of men who are rejoiced to take the -salary of secretary. - -Think again of Mr. Gilead Beck's Luck and what it meant. The wildest -flights of your fancy never reach to a fourth part of his income. The -yearly revenues of a Grosvenor fall far short of this amazing good -fortune, Out of the bowels of the earth was flowing for him a -continuous stream of wealth that seemed inexhaustible. Not one well, -but fifty, were his, and all yielding. When he told Jack Dunquerque -that his income was a thousand pounds a day, he was far within the -limit. In these weeks he was clearing fifteen hundred pounds in every -twenty-four hours. That makes forty-five thousand pounds a month; five -hundred and forty thousand pounds a year. Can a Grosvenor or a Dudley -reach to that? - -The first well was still the best, and it showed no signs of giving -out; and as Mr. Beck attributed its finding to the direct personal -instigation of the Golden Butterfly, he firmly believed that it never -would give out. Other shafts had been sunk round it, but with varying -success; the ground covered with derricks and machinery erected for -boring fresh wells and working the old, an army of men were engaged in -these operations; a new town had sprung up in the place of Limerick -City; and Gilead P. Beck, its King, was in London, trying to learn how -his money might best be spent. - -It weighed heavily upon his mind; the fact that he was by no effort of -his own, through no merit of his own, earning a small fortune every -week made him thoughtful. In his rough way he took the wealth as so -much trust-money. He was entitled, he thought, to live upon it -according to his inclination; he was to have what his soul craved for -he was to use it first for his own purposes; but he was to devote what -he could not spend--that is, the great bulk of it--somehow to the -general good. Such was the will of the Golden Butterfly. - -I do not know how the idea came into Gilead Beck's head that he was to -regard himself a trustee. The man's antecedents would seem against -such a conception of Fortune and her responsibilities. Born in a New -England village, educated till the age of twelve in a village school, -he had been turned upon the world to make his livelihood in it as best -he could. He was everything by turns; there was hardly a trade that he -did not attempt, not a calling which he did not for a while follow. -Ill luck attended him for thirty years; yet his courage did not flag. -Every fresh attempt to escape from poverty only seemed to throw him -back deeper in the slough. Yet he never despaired. His time would -surely come. He preserved his independence of soul, and he preserved -his hope. - -But all the time he longed for wealth. The desire for riches is an -instinct with the Englishman, a despairing dream with the German, a -stimulus for hoarding with the Frenchman, but it is a consuming fire -with the American. Gilead P. Beck breathed an atmosphere charged with -the contagion of restless ambition. How many great men--presidents, -vice-presidents, judges, orators, merchants--have sprung from the -obscure villages of the older States? Gilead Beck started on his -career with a vague idea that he was going to be something great. As -the years went on he retained the belief, but it ceased to take a -concrete form. He did not see himself in the chair of Ulysses Grant; -he did not dream of becoming a statesman or an orator But he was going -to be a man of mark. Somehow he was bound to be great. - -And then came the Golden Butterfly. - -See Mr. Beck now. It is ten in the morning. He has left the pile of -letters, most of them begging letters, unopened opened at his elbow. -He has got the case of glass and gold containing the Butterfly on the -table. The sunlight pouring in at the opened window strikes upon the -yellow metal, and lights up the delicately chased wings of this freak -of Nature. Poised on the wire, the Golden Butterfly seems to hover of -its own accord upon the petals of the rose. It is alive. As its owner -sits before it, the creature seems endowed with life and motion. This -is nonsense, but Mr. Beck thinks so at the moment. - -On the table is a map of his Canadian oil-fields. - -He sits like this nearly every morning, the gilded box before him. It -is his way of consulting the oracle. After his interview with the -Butterfly he rises refreshed and clear of vision. This morning, if his -thoughts could be written down, they might take this form: - -"I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice. I have more than I can spend -upon the indulgence of every whim that ever entered the head of sane -man. When I have bought all the luxuries that the world has to sell, -there still remains to be saved more than any other living man has to -spend. - -"What am I to do with it? - -"Shall I lay it up in the Bank? The Bank might break. That is -possible. Or the well might stop. No; that is impossible. Other wells -have stopped, but no well has run like mine, or will again; for I have -struck through the crust of the earth into the almighty reservoir. - -"How to work out this trust? Who will help me to spend the money -aright? How is such a mighty pile to be spent? - -"Even if the Butterfly were to fall and break, who can deprive me of -my wealth?" - -His servant threw open the door: "Mr. Cassilis, sir." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - "Doubtfully it stood, - As two spent swimmers that do cling together - And choke their art." - - -One of Gilead Beck's difficulties--perhaps his greatest--was his want -of an adviser. People in England who have large incomes pay private -secretaries to advise them. The post is onerous, but carries with it -considerable influence. To be a Great Man's whisperer is a position -coveted by many. At present the only confidential adviser of the -American Croesus was Jack Dunquerque, and he was unsalaried and -therefore careless. Ladds and Colquhoun were less ready to listen, and -Gabriel Cassilis showed a want of sympathy with Mr. Beck's Trusteeship -which was disheartening. As for Jack, he treated the sacred Voice, -which was to Gilead Beck what his demon was to Socrates, with profound -contempt. But he enjoyed the prospect of boundless spending in which -he was likely to have a disinterested share. Next to unlimited -"chucking" of his own money, the youthful Englishman would like--what -he never gets--the unlimited chucking of other people's. So Jack -brought ideas, and communicated them as they occurred. - -"Here is one," he said. "It will get rid of thousands; it will be a -Blessing and a Boon for you; it will make a real hole in the Pile; and -it's Philanthropy itself. Start a new daily." - -Mr. Beck was looking straight before him with his hands in his -pockets. His face was clouded with the anxiety of his wealth. Who -would wish to be a rich man? - -"I have been already thinking of it, Mr. Dunquerque," he said. "Let us -talk it over." - -He sat down in his largest easy-chair, and chewed the end of an -unlighted cigar. - -"I have thought of it," he went on. "I want a paper that shall have no -advertisements and no leading articles. If a man can't say what he -wants to say in half a column, that man may go to some other paper. I -shall get only live men to write for me. I will have no long reports -of speeches, and the bunkum of life shall be cut out of the paper." - -"Then it will be a very little paper." - -"No, sir. There is a great deal to say, once you get the right man to -say it. I've been an editor myself, and I know." - -"You will not expect the paper to pay you?" - -"No, sir; I shall pay for that paper. And there shall be no cutting up -of bad books to show smart writing. I shall teach some of your reviews -good manners." - -"But we pride ourselves on the tone of our reviews." - -"Perhaps you do, sir. I have remarked, that Englishmen pride -themselves on a good many things. I will back a first-class British -subject for bubbling around against all humanity. See, Mr. Dunquerque, -last week I read one of your high-toned reviews. There was an article -in it on a novel. The novel was a young lady's novel. When I was -editing the _Clearville Roarer_ I couldn't have laid it on in finer -style for the rough back of a Ward Politician. And a young lady!" - -"People like it, I suppose," said Jack. - -"I dare say they do, sir. They used to like to see a woman flogged at -the cart-tail. I am not much of a company man, Mr. Dunquerque, but I -believe that when a young lady sings out of tune it is not considered -good manners to get up and say so. And it isn't thought polite to -snigger and grin. And in my country, if a man was to invite the -company to make game of that young lady he would perhaps be requested -to take a header through the window. Let things alone, and presently -that young lady discovers that she is not likely to get cracked up as -a vocaller. I shall conduct my paper on the same polite principles. If -a man thinks he can sing and can't sing, let him be for a bit. Perhaps -he will find out his mistake. If he doesn't, tell him gently. And if -that won't do, get your liveliest writer to lay it on once for all. -But to go sneakin' and pryin' around, pickin' out the poor trash, and -cutting it up to make the people grin--it's mean, Mr. Dunquerque, it's -mean. The cart-tail and the cat-o'-nine was no worse than this -exhibition. I'm told it's done regularly, and paid for handsomely." - -"Shall you be your own editor?" - -"I don't know, sir. Perhaps if I stay long enough in this city to get -to the core of things, I shall scatter my own observations around. But -that's uncertain." - -He rose slowly--it took him a long time to rise--and extended his long -arms, bringing them together in a comprehensive way, as if he was -embracing the universe. - -"I shall have central offices in New York and London. But I shall -drive the English team first. I shall have correspondents all over the -world, and I shall have information of every dodge goin,' from an -emperor's ambition to a tin-pot company bubble." - -He brought his fingers together with a clasp. Jack noticed how strong -and bony those fingers were, with hands whose muscles seemed of steel. - -The countenance of the man was earnest and solemn. Suddenly it changed -expression, and that curious smile of his, unlike the smile of any -other man, crossed his face. - -"Did I ever tell you my press experiences?" he asked. "Let us have -some champagne, and you shall hear them." - -The champagne having been brought he told his story, walking slowly up -and down with his hands in his pockets, and jerking out the sentences -as if he was feeling for the most telling way of putting them. - -Mr. Gilead Beck had two distinct styles of conversation. Generally, -but for his American tone, the length of his sentences, and a certain -florid wealth of illustration, you might take him for an Englishman of -eccentric habits of thought. When he went back to his old experiences -he employed the vernacular--rich, metaphoric, and full--which belongs -to the Western States in the rougher period of their development. And -this he used now. - -"I was in Chicago. Fifteen years ago. I wanted employment. Nobody -wanted me. I spent most of the dollars, and thought I had better dig -out for a new location, when I met one day an old schoolfellow named -Rayner. He told me he was part proprietor of a morning paper. I asked -him to take me on. He said he was only publisher, but he would take me -to see the Editor, Mr. John B. Van Cott, and perhaps he would set me -grinding at the locals. We found the Editor. He was a short active man -of fifty, and he looked as cute as he was. Because, you see, Mr. -Dunquerque, unless you are pretty sharp on a Western paper, you won't -earn your mush. He was keeled back, I remember, in a strong chair, -with his feet on the front of the table, and a clip full of paper on -his knee. And in this position he used to write his leading articles. -Squelchers, some of them; made gentlemen of opposite politics cry, and -drove rival editors to polishing shooting-irons. The floor was covered -with exchanges. And there was nothing else in the place but a cracked -stove, half a dozen chairs standing around loose, and a spittoon. - -"I mention these facts, Mr. Dunquerque, to show that there was good -standing-room for a free fight of not more than two. - -"Mr. Van Cott shook hands, and passed me the tobacco pouch, while -Rayner chanted my praises. When he wound up and went away, the Editor -began. - -"'Wal, sir,' he said, 'you look as if you knew enough to go indoors -when it rains, and Rayner seems powerful anxious to get you on the -paper. A good fellow is Rayner; as white a man as I ever knew; and he -has as many old friends as would make a good-sized city. He brings -them all here, Mr. Beck, and wants to put every one on the paper. To -hear him hold forth would make a camp-meeting exhorter feel small. But -he's disinterested, is Rayner. It's all pure goodness.' - -"I tried to feel as if I wasn't down-hearted. But I was. - -"'Any way,' I said, 'if I can't get on here, I must dig out for a -place nearer sundown. Once let me get a fair chance on a paper, and I -can keep my end of the stick.' - -"The Editor went on to tell me what I knew already, that they wanted -live men on the paper, fellows that would do a murder right up to the -handle. Then he came to business; offered me a triple execution just -to show my style; and got up to introduce me to the other boys. - -"Just then there was a knock at the door. - -"'That's Poulter, our local Editor,' he said. 'Come in, Poulter. He -will take you down for me.' - -"The door opened, but it wasn't Poulter. I knew that by instinct. It -was a rough-looking customer, with a black-dyed moustache, a diamond -pin in his shirt front, and a great gold chain across his vest; and he -carried a heavy stick in his hand. - -"'Which is the one of you two that runs this machine?' he asked, -looking from one to the other. - -"'I am the Editor,' said Mr. Van Cott, 'if you mean that.' - -"'Then you air the Rooster I'm after,' he went on. 'I am John Halkett -of Tenth Ward. I want to know what in thunder you mean by printing -infernal lies about me and my party in your miserable one-hoss paper.' - -"He drew a copy of the paper from his pocket, and held it before the -Editor's eyes. - -"'You know your remedy, sir,' said Mr. Van Cott, quietly edging in the -direction of the table, where there was a drawer. - -"'That's what I do know. That's what I'm here for. There's two -remedies. One is that you retract all the lies you have printed, the -other'---- - -"'You need not tell me what the other is, Mr. Halkett.' As he spoke he -drew open the drawer; but he hadn't time to take the pistol from it -when the ward politician sprang upon him, and in a flash of lightning -they were rolling over each other among the exchanges on the floor. - -"If they had been evenly matched, I should have stood around to see -fair. But it wasn't equal. Van Cott, you could see at first snap, was -grit all through, and as full of fight as a game-rooster. But it was -bulldog and terrier. So I hitched on to the stranger, and pulled him -off by main force. - -"'You will allow me, Mr. Van Cott,' I said, 'to take this contract off -your hands. Choose a back seat sir, and see fair.' - -"'Sail in,' cried Mr. Halkett, as cheerful as a coot, 'and send for -the coroner, because he'll be wanted. I don't care which it is.' - -"That was the toughest job I ever had. The strength of ward -politicians' opinions lies in their powers of bruising, and John -Halkett, as I learned afterwards, could light his weight in wild cats. -Fortunately I was no slouch in those days. - -"He met my advances halfway. In ten minutes you couldn't tell Halkett -from me, nor me from Halkett. The furniture moved around cheerfully, -and there was a lovely racket. The sub-editors, printers, and -reporters came running in. It was a new scene for them, poor fellows, -and they enjoyed it accordingly. The Editor they had often watched in -a fight before, but here were two strangers worrying each other on the -floor, with Mr. Van Cott out of it himself, dodging around cheering us -on. That gave novelty. - -"The sharpest of the reporters had his flimsy up in a minute, and took -notes of the proceedings. - -"We fought that worry through. It lasted fifteen minutes. We fought -out of the office; we fought down the stairs; and we fought on the -pavement. - -"When it was over, I found myself arrayed in the tattered remnants of -my grey coat, and nothing else. John Halkett hadn't so much as that. -He was bruised and bleeding, and he was deeply moved. Tears stood in -his eyes as he grasped me by the hand. - -"'Stranger,' he said, 'will you tell me where you hail from?' - -"'Air you satisfied, Mr. Halkett,' I replied, 'with the editorial -management of this newspaper?' - -"'I am,' he answered. 'You bet. This is the very best edited paper -that ever ran. Good morning, sir. You have took the starch out of John -Halkett in a way that no starch ever was took out of that man before. -And if ever you get into a tight place, you come to me.' - -"They put him in a cab, and sent him home for repairs. I went back to -the Editor's room. He was going on again with his usual occupation of -manufacturing squelchers. The fragments of the chairs lay around him, -but he wrote on unmoved. - -"'Consider yourself permanently engaged,' he said. 'The firm will pay -for a new suit of clothes. Why couldn't you say at once that you were -fond of fighting? I never saw a visitor tackled in a more lovable -style. Why, you must have been brought up to it. And just to think -that one might never have discovered your points if it hadn't been for -the fortunate accident of John Halkett's call!' - -"I said I was too modest to mention my tastes. - -"'Most fortunate it is. Blevins, who used to do our fighting--a whole -team he was at it--was killed three months ago on this very floor; -there's the mark of his fluid still on the wall. We gave Blevins a -first-class funeral, and ordered a two-hundred-dollar monument to -commemorate his virtues. We were not ungrateful to Blevins. - -"'Birkett came next,' he went on, making corrections with a pencil -stump. 'But he was licked like a cur three times in a fortnight. -People used to step in on purpose to wallop Birkett, it was such an -easy amusement. The paper was falling into disgrace, so we shunted -him. He drives a cab now, which suits him better, because he was -always gentlemanly in his ways. - -"'Carter, who followed, was very good in some respects, but he wanted -judgment. He's in hospital with a bullet in the shoulder, which comes -of his own carelessness. We can't take him on again any more, even if -he was our style, which he never was.' - -"'And who does the work now?' I ventured to ask. - -"'We have had no regular man since Carter was carried off on a -shutter. Each one does a little, just as it happens to turn up. But I -don't like the irregular system. It's quite unprofessional.' - -"I asked if there was much of that sort of thing. - -"'Depends on the time of year. It is the dull season just now, but we -are lively enough when the fall elections come on. We sometimes have a -couple a day then. You won't find yourself rusting. And if you want -work, we can stir up a few editors by judicious writing. I'm powerful -glad we made your acquaintance, Mr. Beck.' - -"That, Mr. Dunquerque, is how I became connected with the press." - -"And did you like the position?" - -"It had its good points. It was a situation of great responsibility. -People were continually turning up who disliked our method of -depicting character, and so the credit of the paper mainly rested on -my shoulders. No, sir; I got to like it, except when I had to go into -hospital for repairs. And even that had its charms, for I went there -so often that it became a sort of home, and the surgeons and nurses -were like brothers and sisters." - -"But you gave up the post?" said Jack. - -"Well, sir, I did. The occupation, after all, wasn't healthy, and was -a little too lively. The staff took a pride in me too, and delighted -to promote freedom of discussion. If things grew dull for a week or -two, they would scarify some ward ruffian just to bring on a fight. -They would hang around there to see that ward ruffian approach the -office, and they would struggle who should be the man to point me out -as the gentleman he wished to interview. They were fond of me to such -an extent that they could not bear to see a week pass without a fight. -And I will say this of them, that they were as level a lot of boys as -ever destroyed a man's character. - -"Most of the business was easy. They came to see Mr. Van Cott, and -they were shown up to me. What there is of me, takes up a good deal of -the room. And when they'd put their case I used to open the door and -point. 'Git,' I would say. 'You bet,' was the general reply; and they -would go away quite satisfied with the Editorial reception. But one a -week or so there would be a put-up thing, and I knew by the look of my -men which would take their persuasion fighting. - -"It gradually became clear to me that if I remained much longer there -would be a first class funeral, with me taking a prominent part in the -procesh; and I began to think of digging out while I still had my hair -on. - -"One morning I read an advertisement of a paper to be sold. It was in -the city of Clearville, Illinois, and it seemed to suit. I resolved to -go and look at it, and apprised Mr. Van Cott of my intention. - -"'I'm powerful sorry,' he said; 'but of course we can't keep you if -you will go. You've hoed your row like a square man ever since you -came, and I had hoped to have your valuable services till the end.' - -"I attempted to thank him, but he held up his hand, and went on -thoughtfully. - -"'There's room in our plat at Rose Hill Cemetery for one or two more; -and I had made up my mind to let you have one side of the monument all -to yourself. The sunny side, too--quite the nicest nest in the plat. -And we'd have given you eight lines of poetry--Blevins only got four, -and none of the other fellows any. I assure you, Beck, though you may -not think it, I have often turned this over in my mind when you have -been in hospital, and I got to look on it as a settled thing. And now -this is how it ends. Life is made up of disappointments.' - -"I said it was very good of him to take such an interest in my -funeral, but that I had no yearning at present for Rose Hill Cemetery, -and I thought it would be a pity to disturb Blevins. As I had never -known him and the other boys, they mightn't be pleased if a total -stranger were sent to join their little circle. - -"Mr. Van Cott was good enough to say that they wouldn't mind it for -the sake of the paper: but I had my prejudices, and I resigned. - -"I don't know whether you visited Illinois when you were in America, -Mr. Dunquerque; but if you did, perhaps you went to Clearville. It is -in that part of the State which goes by the name of Egypt, and is so -named on account of the benighted condition of the natives. It wasn't -a lively place to go to, but still---- - -"The _Clearville Roarer_ was the property of a Mrs. Scrimmager, -widow of the lately defunct editor. She was a fresh buxom widow of -thirty-five, with a flow of language that would down a town council or -a vestry. I inferred from this that the late Mr. Scrimmager was not -probably very sorry when the time came for him to pass in his checks. - -"She occupied the upper flats of a large square building, in the lower -part of which were the offices of the paper. I inspected the premises, -and having found that the books and plant were pretty well what the -advertisement pretended, I closed the bargain at once, and entered -into possession. - -"The first evening I took tea with Mrs. Scrimmager. - -"'It must be more than a mite lonely for you,' she said, as we sat -over her dough-nuts and flipflaps, 'up at the tavern. But you'll soon -get to know all the leading people. They're a two-cent lot, the best -of them. Scrimmy (we always called him Scrimmy for short) never -cottoned to them. He used to say they were too low and common, mean -enough to shoot a man without giving him a chance--a thing which -Scrimmy, who was honourable from his boots up, would have scorned to -do.' - -"I asked if it was long since her husband had taken his departure. - -"'He started,' she said, 'for kingdom come two months ago, if that's -what you mean.' - -"'Long ill?' - -"'Ill?' she replied, as if surprised at the question. 'Scrimmy never -was ill in his life. He was quite the wrong man for that. Scrimmy was -killed.' - -"'Was he,' I asked. 'Railway accident, I suppose?' - -"Mrs. Scrimmager looked at me resentfully, as if she thought I really -ought to have known better. Then she curved her upper lip in disdain. - -"'Railway accident! Not much. Scrimmy was shot.' - -"'Terrible!' I ejaculated, with a nervous sensation, because I guessed -what was coming. - -"'Well, it was rough on him,' she said. 'Scrimmy and Huggins of the -_Scalper_--do you know Huggins? Well, you'll meet him soon enough -for your health. They hadn't been friends for a long while, and each -man was waiting to draw a bead on the other. How they did go for one -another! As an ink-slinger, Huggins wasn't a patch on my husband; but -Huggins was a trifle handier with his irons. In fact, Huggins has shot -enough men to make a small graveyard of his own; and his special -weakness is editors of your paper.' - -"'I began to think that Clearville was not altogether the place for -peace and rest. But it was too late now. - -"The lady went on: - -"'Finally, Scrimmy wrote something that riled Huggins awful. So he -sent him a civil note, saying that he'd bore a hole in him first -chance. I've got the note in my desk there. That was gentlemanlike, so -far; but he spoiled it all by the mean sneaking way he carried it -through. Scrimmy, who was wonderful careless and never would take my -advice, was writing in his office when Huggins crept in quiet, and -dropped a bullet through his neck before he had time to turn. Scrimmy -knew it was all up; but he was game to the last, and finished his -article, giving the _Scalper_ thunder. When he'd done it he came -upstairs and died.' - -"'And Mr. Huggins?' - -"'They tried him; but, Lord, the jury were all his friends, and they -brought it in justifiable homicide. After the funeral Huggins behaved -handsome; he put the _Scalper_ into deep mourning, and wrote a -beautiful send-off notice, saying what a loss the community had -suffered in Scrimmy's untimely end. I've got the article in my desk, -and I'll show it to you; but somehow I never could bring myself to be -friends with Huggins after it.' - -"'Mr. Scrimmager was perhaps not the only editor who has fallen a -victim in Clearville.' - -"'The only one? Not by a long chalk,' she replied. 'The _Roarer_ -has had six editors in five years; they've all been shot except one, -and he died of consumption. His was a very sad case. A deputation of -leading citizens called to interview him one evening; he took refuge -on the roof of the office, and they kept him there all night in a -storm. He died in two months after it. But he was a poor nervous -critter, quite unfit for his position.' - -"'And this,' I thought, 'this is the place I have chosen for a quiet -life.' - -"I debated that night with myself whether it would be better to blow -the roof off my head at once, instead of waiting for Huggins or some -other citizen to do it for me. But I resolved on waiting a little. - -"Next day I examined the files of the _Roarer_, and found that it -had been edited with great vigor and force; there was gunpowder in -every article, fire and brimstone in every paragraph. No wonder, I -thought, that the men who wrote those things were chopped up into -sausage-meat. I read more, and it seemed as if they might as well have -set themselves up as targets at once. I determined on changing the -tone of the paper; I would no longer call people midnight assassins -and highway robbers, nor would I hint that political opponents were -all related to suspended criminals. I would make the _Roarer_ -something pure, noble, and good; I would take Washington Irving for my -model; it should be my mission to elevate the people. - -"Wal, sir, I begun. I wrote for my first number articles as elevating -as Kentucky whisky. Every sentence was richly turned; every paragraph -was as gentle as if from the pen of Goldsmith. There was a mutiny -among the compositors; they were unaccustomed to such language, and it -made them feel small. One man, after swearing till the atmosphere was -blue, laid down his stick in despair and went and got drunk. And the -two apprentices fought over the meaning of a sentence in the backyard. -One of those boys is now a cripple for life. - -"It would have been better for me, a thousand times better, if I had -stuck to the old lines of writing. The people were accustomed to that. -They looked for it, and they didn't want any elevating. If you think -of it, Mr. Dunquerque, people never do. The Clearville roughs liked to -be abused, too, because it gave them prominence and importance. But my -pure style didn't suit them, and as it turned out, didn't suit me -either. - -"The City Marshal was the earliest visitor after the issue of my first -number. He came to say that, as the chief executive officer of the -town, he would not be responsible for the public peace if I persevered -in that inflammatory style. I told him I wouldn't change it for him or -anybody else. Then he said it would cause a riot, and he washed his -hands of it, and he'd done his duty. - -"Next came the Mayor with two town-councillors. - -"'What in thunder, do you think you mean, young man,' his honour -began, pointing to my last editorial, 'by bringing everlasting -disgrace on our town with such mush as that?' - -"He called it mush. - -"I asked him what was wrong in it. - -"'Wrong? It is all wrong. Of all the mean and miserable twaddle'---- - -"He called it miserable twaddle. - -"'Hold on, Mr. Mayor,' I said; 'we must discuss this article in a -different way. Which member of your august body does the heavy -business?' - -"'We all take a hand when it's serious,' he replied; 'but in ordinary -cases it's generally understood that I do the municipal fighting -myself.' - -"'We'll consider this an ordinary case, Mr. Mayor,' I said; and I went -for that chief magistrate. He presently passed through the window--the -fight had no details of interest--and then the town-councillors shook -hands with me, congratulated me on my editorial, and walked out quiet -through the door. - -"Nearly a dozen Egyptians dropped in during the afternoon to -remonstrate. I disposed of them in as gentlemanlike a manner as -possible. Towards evening I was growing a little tired, and thinking -of shutting up for the day, when my foreman, whom the day's -proceedings had made young again--such is the effect of joy--informed -me that Mr. Huggins of the _Scalper_ was coming down the street. -A moment later Mr. Huggins entered. He was a medium-sized man, with -sharp, piercing eyes and a well-bronzed face, active as a terrier and -tough as a hickory knot. I was sitting in the wreck of the -office-desk, but I rose as he came in. - -"'Don't stir,' he said pleasantly. 'My name is Huggins; but I am not -going to kill you to-day.' - -"I said I was much obliged to him. - -"'I see you've been receiving visitors,' he went on, looking at the -fragments of the chairs. 'Ours, Mr. Beck, is an active and a -responsible profession.' - -"I said I thought it was. - -"'These people have been pressing their arguments home with unseemly -haste,' he said. 'It is unkind to treat a stranger thus. Now as for -me, I wouldn't draw on you for your first article, not to be made -Governor of Illinois. It would be most unprofessional. Give a man a -fair show, I say.' - -"'Very good, Mr. Huggins.' - -"'At the same time, Mr. Beck, I _do_ think you've laid yourself open. -You are reckless, not to say insulting. Take my case. You never saw me -before, and you've had the weakness to speak of me as the gentlemanly -editor of the _Scalper_.' - -"'I'm sure, Mr. Huggins, if the term is offensive'---- - -"'Offensive? Of course it is offensive. But as this is our first -interview, I must not let my dander rise.' - -"'Let it rise by all means, and stay as high as it likes. We may find -a way of bringing it down again.' - -"'No, no,' he answered, smiling; 'it would be unprofessional. Still, I -must say that your sneaking, snivelling city way of speaking will not -go down, and I have looked in to tell you that it must not be -repeated.' - -"'It shall not be repeated, Mr. Huggins. I shall never again make the -mistake of calling you a gentleman.' - -"He started up like a flash, and moved his hand to his breast-pocket. - -"'What do mean by that?' - -"I was just in time, as I sprang upon and seized him by both arms -before he could draw his pistol. - -"'I mean this,' I said; 'you've waked up the wrong passenger this -time, Mr. Huggins. You needn't wriggle. I've been chucking people -through the window all day, and you shall end the lot. But first I -want that shooting-iron; it might go off by accident and hurt some one -badly.' - -"It was a long and mighty heavy contract, for he was as supple as an -eel and as wicked as a cat. But I got the best holt at last, relieved -him of his pistol, and tossed him through the window. - -"'Jim,' I said to the foreman, as I stretched myself in a corner, -panting and bleeding, 'You can shut up. We shan't do any more business -to-day.' - -"I issued two more numbers of the _Roarer_ on the same refined and -gentlemanly principle, and I fought half the county. But all to no -purpose. Neither fighting nor writing could reform those Egyptians. - -"Huggins shot me through the arm one evening as I was going home from -the office. I shall carry his mark to the grave. Three nights later I -was waited on by about thirty leading citizens, headed by the Mayor. -They said they thought Clearville wasn't agreeing with me, and they -were come to remove me. I was removed on a plank, escorted by a -torch-light procesh of the local fire brigade. On the platform of the -railway station the Mayor delivered a short address. He said, with -tears, that the interests of party were above those of individuals, -and that a change of residence was necessary for me. Then he put into -my hands a purse of two hundred dollars, and we parted with every -expression of mutual esteem. - -"That is how I came out of the land of Egypt, Mr. Dunquerque; and that -is the whole history of my connection with the press." - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - "We do not know - How she may soften at the sight o' the child." - - -If life was pleasant at Carnarvon Square, it was far more pleasant by -the banks of the river. Phillis expanded like a rose in June under the -sweet and gracious influences with which Agatha L'Estrange surrounded -her. Her straightforward way of speaking remained--the way that -reminded one of a very superior schoolboy who had _not_ been made -a prig at Rugby--but it was rounded off by something more of what we -call maidenly reserve. It should not be called reserve at all; it is -an atmosphere with which women have learned to surround themselves, so -that they show to the outward world like unto the haloed moon. Its -presence was manifested in a hundred little ways--she did not answer -quite so readily; she did not look into the face of a stranger quite -so frankly; she seemed to be putting herself more upon her -guard--strange that the chief charm of women should be a relic of -barbarous times, when the stronger sex were to be feared for their -strength and the way in which they often used it. Only with Jack -Dunquerque there was no change. With him she was still the frank, -free-hearted girl, the friend who opened all her heart, the maiden -who, alone of womankind, knew not the meaning of love. - -Phillis was perfectly at home with Agatha L'Estrange. She carolled -about the house like a bird; she played and sang at her sweet will; -she made sketches by thousands; and she worked hard at the elements of -all knowledge. Heavens, by what arid and thirsty slopes do we climb -the hills of Learning! Other young ladies had made the house by the -river their temporary home, but none so clever, none so bright, none -so entirely lovable as this emancipated cloister-child. She was not -subdued, as most young women somehow contrive to become; she dared to -have an opinion and to assert it; she did not tremble and hesitate -about acting before it had been ascertained that action was correct; -she had not the least fear of compromising herself; she hardly knew -the meaning of proper and improper; and she who had been a close -prisoner all her life was suddenly transformed into a girl as free as -any of Diana's nymphs. Her freedom was the result of her ignorance; -her courage was the result of her special training, which had not -taught her the subjection of the sex; her liberty was not license, -because she did not, and could not, use it for those purposes which -schoolgirls learn in religious boarding-houses. She could walk with a -curate, and often did, without flirting with the holy young man; she -could make Jack Dunquerque take her for a row upon the river, and -think of nothing but the beauty of the scene, her own exceeding -pleasure, and the amiable qualities of her companion. - -Of course, Agatha's friends called upon her. Among them were several -specimens of the British young lady. Phillis watched them with much -curiosity, but she could not get on with them. They seemed mostly to -be suffering from feeble circulation of the pulse; they spoke as if -they enjoyed nothing; those who were very young kindled into -enthusiasm in talking over things which Phillis knew nothing about, -such as dancing--Phillis was learning to dance, but did not yet -comprehend its fiercer joys--and sports in which the other sex took an -equal part. Their interest was small in painting; they cared for -nothing very strongly; their minds seemed for the most part as languid -as their bodies. This life at low ebb seemed to the girl whose blood -coursed freely, and tingled in her veins as it ran, a poor thing; and -she mentally rejoiced that her own education was not such as theirs. -On the other hand, there were points in which these ladies were -clearly in advance of herself. Phillis felt the cold ease of their -manner; that was beyond her efforts; a formal and mannered calm was -all she could assume to veil the intensity of her interest in things -and persons. - -"But what do they like, Agatha?" she asked one day, after the -departure of two young ladies of the highest type. - -"Well, dear, I hardly know. I should say that they have no strong -likings in any direction. After all, Phillis dear, those who have the -fewest desires enjoy the greatest happiness." - -"No, Agatha, I cannot think that. Those who want most things can enjoy -the most. Oh, that level line! What can shake them off it?" - -"They are happier as they are, dear. You have been brought up so -differently that you cannot understand. Some day they will marry. Then -the equable temperament in which they have been educated will stand -them in good stead with their husbands and their sons." - -Phillis was silent, but she was not defeated. - -Of course the young ladies did not like her at all. - -They were unequal to the exertion of talking to a girl who thought -differently from all other girls. Phil to them, as to all people who -are weak in the imaginative faculty, was _impossible_. - -But bit by bit the social education was being filled in, and Phillis -was rapidly becoming ready for the _début_ to which Agatha looked -forward with so much interest and pride. - -There remained another kind of education. - -Brought up alone, with only her maid of her own age, and only an old -man on whom to pour out her wealth of affection, this girl would, but -for her generous nature, have grown up cold and unsympathetic. She did -not. The first touch of womanly love which met her in her escape from -prison was the kiss which Agatha L'Estrange dropped unthinkingly upon -her cheek. It was the first of many kisses, not formal and unmeaning, -which were interchanged between these two. It is difficult to explain -the great and rapid change the simple caresses of another woman worked -in Phillis's mind. She became softer, more careful of what she said, -more thoughtful of others. She tried harder to understand people; she -wanted to be to them all what Agatha L'Estrange was to her. - -One day, Agatha, returning from early church, whither Phillis would -not accompany her, heard her voice in the kitchen. She was singing and -laughing. Agatha opened the door and looked in. - -Phillis was standing in the middle of a group. Her eyes were bright -with a sort of rapture; her lips were parted; her long hair was -tossing behind her; she was singing, talking, and laughing, all in a -breath. - -In her arms she held the most wonderful thing to a woman which can be -seen on this earth. - -A BABY. - -The child of the butter-woman. The mother stood before Phillis, her -pleased red face beaming with an honest pride. Phillis's maid, -Antoinette, and Agatha's three servants, surrounded these two, the -principal figures. In the corner, grinning, stood the coachman. And -the baby crowed and laughed. - -"Oh, the pretty thing! Oh, the pretty thing!" cried Phillis, tossing -the little one-year-old, who kicked and laughed and pulled at her -hair. "Was there ever such a lovely child? Agatha, come and see, come -and see! He talks, he laughs, he dances!" - -"Ah, madame!" said Antoinette, wiping away a sympathetic tear. "Dire -que ma'amsell n'en a jamais vu? Mais non, mais non--pas memes des -poupees!" - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - "Go seek your fortune farther than at home." - - -Lawrence Colquhoun returned home to find himself famous. Do you -remember a certain book of travels written four or five years ago by -Lord Milton and Dr. Cheadle, in which frequent mention was made of -_un nomme_ Harris, an inquiring and doubting Christian, who wore -a pair of one-eyed spectacles and carried a volume of Paley? If that -Harris, thus made illustrious, had suddenly presented himself in a -London drawing-room while the book was enjoying his first run, he -would have met with much the same success which awaited Lawrence -Colquhoun. Harris let his opportunity go, and never showed up; perhaps -he is still wandering in the Rocky Mountains and pondering over Paley. -But Colquhoun appeared while the work of the Dragoon and the Younger -Son was still in the mouths of men and women. The liveliest thing in -that book is the account of Empire City and its Solitary. Everybody -whose memory can carry him back to last year's reading will remember -so much. And everybody who knew Colquhoun knew also that he was the -Solitary. - -The Hermit; the man with the Golden Butterfly, now a millionaire; the -Golden Butterfly, now in a golden cage--all these actually present, so -to speak, in the flesh, and ready to witness if the authors lied. Why, -each was an advertisement of the book, and if the two Chinamen had -been added, probably people might be reading the work still. But they, -poor fellows, were defunct. - -It annoyed Lawrence at first to find himself, like Cambuscan, with his -tale half told; and it was monotonous to be always asked whether it -was really true, and if he was the original Hermit. But everything -wears off; people in a week or two began to talk of something else, -and when Colquhoun met a man for the first time after his return he -would startle and confuse that man by anticipating his question. He -knew the outward signs of its approach. He would watch for the smile, -the look of curiosity, and the parting of the lips before they framed -the usual words: - -"By the way, Colquhoun, is it actually true that you are the Hermit in -Jack Dunquerque's book?" - -And while the questioner was forming the sentence, thinking it a -perfectly original one, never asked before, Lawrence would answer it -for him. - -"It is perfectly true that I was the Hermit. Now talk of something -else." - -For the rest he dropped into his old place. Time, matrimony, good and -evil hap, had made havoc among his set; but there was still some left. -Club-men come and club-men go; but the club goes on for ever. - -Colquhoun had the character of being at once the laziest and the most -good-natured of men. A dangerous reputation, because gratitude is a -heavy burden to bear. If you do a man a good turn he generally finds -it too irksome to be grateful, and so becomes your enemy. But -Colquhoun cared little about his reputation. - -When he disappeared, his friends for a day or two wondered where he -was. Then they ceased to talk of him. Now he was come back they were -glad to have him among them again. He was a pleasant addition. He was -not altered in the least--his eyes as clear from crows-feet, his beard -as silky, and his face as cheerful as ever. Some men's faces have got -no sun in them; they only light up with secret joy at a friend's -misfortunes; but this is an artificial fire, so to speak; it burns -with a baleful and lurid light. There are others whose faces are like -the weather in May, being uncertain and generally disagreeable. But -Lawrence Colquhoun's face always had a cheerful brightness. It came -from an easy temper, a good digestion, a comfortable income, and a -kindly heart. - -Of course he made haste to find Gilead P. Beck. Jack Dunquerque, who -forgot at the time to make any mention of Phillis Fleming, informed -him of the Golden Butterfly's wonderful Luck. And they all dined -together--the Hermit, the Miner, the Dragoon, and the Younger Son. - -They ran the Bear Hunt over again; they talked of Empire City, and -speculated on the two Chinamen; had they known the fate of the two, -their speculations might have taken a wider range. - -"It was rough on me that time," said Gilead. "It had never been so -rough before, since I began bumming around." - -They waited for more, and presently he began to tell them more. It was -the way of the man. He never intruded his personal experiences, being -for the most part a humble and even a retiring man; but when he was -among men he knew, he delighted in his recollections. - -"Thirty-three years ago since I began. Twelve years old; the youngest -of the lot. And I wonder where the rest are. Hiram, I know, sat down -beside a rattle one morning. He remembered he had an appointment -somewhere else, and got up in a hurry. But too late, and his -constitution broke up suddenly. But for the rest I never did know what -became of them. When I go back with that almighty Pile of mine, they -will find me out, I dare say. Then they will bring along all their -friends and the rest of the poor relations. The poorer the relations -in our country, the more affectionate and self-denying they are." - -"What did you do first?" asked Ladds. - -"Ran messages; swept out stores; picked up trades; went handy boy to a -railway engineer; read what I could and when I could. When I was -twenty I kept a village school at a dollar a day. That was in Ohio. -I've been many things in my pilgrimage and tried to like them all, but -that was most too much for me. Boys _was_ gells, Captain Ladds. Boys -themselves are bad; but boys and gells mixed, they air--wal, it's a -curious and interestin' thing that, ever since that time, when I see -the gells snoopin' around with their eyes as soft as velvet, and their -sweet cheeks the colour of peach, I say to myself, 'Shoddy. It is -shoddy. I've seen you at school, and I know you better than you -think.' As the poet says, 'Let gells delight to bark and bite, for -'tis their nature to.' You believe, Mr. Dunquerque, because you are -young and inexperienced, that gells air soft. Air they? Soft as the -shell of a clam. And tender? Tender as hickory-nut. Air they gentle, -unselfish, and yieldin'? As rattlesnakes. The child is mother to the -woman, as the poet says; and school-gells grow up mostly into women. -They're sweet to look at; but when you've tended school, you feel to -know them. And then you don't yearn after them so much. - -"There was once a boy I liked. He was eighteen, stood six foot high in -his stocking-boots, and his name was Pete Conkling. The lessons that -boy taught me were useful in my after life. We began it every morning -at five minutes past nine. Any little thing set us off. He might heave -a desk, or a row of books, or the slates of the whole class at my -head. I might go for him first. It was uncertain how it began, but the -fight was bound to be fought. The boys expected it, and it pleased the -gells. Sometimes it took me half an hour, and sometimes the whole -morning, to wallop that boy. When it was done, Pete would take his -place among the little gells, for he never could learn anything, and -school would begin. To see him after it was over sitting alongside of -little Hepzibah and Keziah, as meek as if he'd never heard of a black -eye, and never seen the human fist, was one of my few joys. I was fond -of Pete, and he was fond of me. Ways like his, gentlemen, kinder creep -round the heart of the lonely teacher. Very fond of him I grew. But I -got restless and dug out for another place; it was when I went on the -boards and became an actor, I think; and it was close on fifteen years -afterwards that I met him. Then he was lying on the slopes of -Gettysburg--it was after the last battle--and his eyes were turned up -to the sky; one of them, I noticed, was black; so that he had kept up -his fighting to the end. For he was stark dead, with a Confed. bullet -in his heart. Poor Pete!" - -"You fought for the North?" asked one of his audience. - -"I _was_ a Northerner," he replied simply. How could he help taking -his part in maintaining undivided that fair realm of America, which -every one of his countrymen love as Queen Elizabeth's yeoman loved the -realm of England? We have no yeomen now, which is perhaps one of the -reasons why we could not understand the cause of the North. - -"I worried through that war without a scratch. We got wary towards the -end, and let the bullets drop into trunks of trees for choice. And -when it was over, I was five-and-thirty, and had to begin the world -again. But I was used to it." - -"And you enjoyed a wandering life?" - -"Yes, I believe I did enjoy barking up a new tree. There's a breed of -Americans who can't keep still. I belong to that breed. We do not like -to sit by a river and watch the water flow; we get tired livin' in the -village lookin' in each other's faces while the seasons come round -like the hands of a clock. There's a mixture among us of Dutch and -German and English to sit quiet and till the ground. They get their -heels well grounded in the clay, and there they stick." - -"Where do you get it from, the wandering blood?" asked Colquhoun. - -Gilead P. Beck became solemn. - -"There air folk among us," he whispered, "Who hold that we are -descended from the Ten Tribes. I don't say those folk are right, but I -do say that it sometimes looks powerful like as if they were. -Descended from the Ten Tribes, they say, and miraculously kept -separate from the English among whom they lived. Lost their own -language--which, if it was Hebrew, I take it was rather a good thing -to be quit of--and speakin' English, like the rest. What were the -tribes? Wanderers, mostly. Father Abraham went drivin' his cows and -his camels up and down the country. Isaac went around on the rove, and -Jacob couldn't sit still. Very well, then. Didn't their children walk -about, tryin' one location after another, for forty years, and always -feelin' after a bit as if there must be a softer plank farther on? And -when they'd be settled down for a few hundred years, didn't they get -up and disappear altogether? Mark you, they _didn't want_ to settle. -And where are the Ten Tribes now? For they never went back; you may -look Palesteen through and through, and nary a tribe." - -He looked round asking the question generally, but no one ventured to -answer it. - -"Our folk, who have mostly gut religion, point to themselves. They -say; 'Look at us; we air the real original Wanderers.' Look at us all -over the world. What are the hotels full of? Full of Americans. We are -everywhere. We eat up the milk and the honey, and we tramp off on -ramble again. But there's more points of gen'ral resemblance. We like -bounce and bunkum; so did those people down in Syria; we like to pile -up the dollars; so did the Jews; they liked to set up their kings and -pull them down again; we pursue the same generous and confiding policy -with our presidents; and if they were stiff-necked and backsliding, we -are as stiff-necked and backsliding as any generation among all the -lot." - -"A very good case, indeed," said Colquhoun. - -"I did not think so, sir, till lately. But it's been borne in upon me -with the weight and force that can't be resisted, and I believe it -now. The lost Ten Tribes, gentlemen, air now located in the United -States. I am certain of it from my own case. Do any of you think--I -put it to you seriously--that such an inseck as the Golden Butterfly -would have been thrown away upon an outsider? It is likely that such -all-fired Luck as mine would have been wasted on a man who didn't -belong to the Chosen People? No, sir; I am of the children of Israel; -and I freeze to that." - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - "Animum pictura pascit inani." - - -When Panurge was in that dreadful difficulty of his about marrying he -took counsel of all his friends. Pantagruel, as we know, advised him -alternately for and against, according to the view taken at the moment -by his versatile dependent. Gilead Beck was so far in Panurge's -position that he asked advice of all his friends. Mr. Cassilis -recommended him to wait and look about him; meantime, he took his -money for investment; and, as practice makes perfect, and twice or -thrice makes a habit, he found now no difficulty in making Mr. Beck -give him cheques without asking their amount or their object, while -the American Fortunatus easily fell into the habit of signing them -without question. He was a Fool? No doubt. The race is a common one; -especially common is that kind of Fool which is suspicious from long -experience, but which, having found, as he thinks, a fellow-creature -worthy of trust, places entire and perfect trust in him, and so, like -a ship riding at anchor with a single stout cable, laughs at danger -even while the wind is blowing, beam on, to a lee shore. Perfect faith -is so beautiful a thing that neither religionists who love to -contemplate it, nor sharpers who profit by it, would willingly let it -die out. - -Lawrence Colquhoun recommended pictures. - -"You may as well spend your money on Artists as on any other people. -They are on the whole a pampered folk, and get much too well paid. But -a good picture is generally a good investment. And then you will -become a patron and form a gallery of your own, the Beck collection, -to hand down to posterity." - -"I can't say, Colonel--not with truth--that I know a good picture from -a bad one. I once tried sign painting. But the figures didn't come out -right, somehow. Looked easy to do, too. Seems I didn't know about -Perspective, and besides, the colours got mixed. Sign-painting is not -a walk in life that I should recommend from personal experience." - -But the idea took root in his brain. - -Jack Dunquerque encouraged it. - -"You see, Beck," he said, "you may as well form a gallery of paintings -as anything else. Buy modern pictures; don't buy Old Masters, because -you will be cheated. The modern pictures will be old in a hundred -years, and then your collection will be famous." - -"I want to do my work in my own lifetime," said the millionaire. He -was a man of many ideas but few convictions, the strongest being that -man ought to do what he has to do in his own lifetime, and not to -devise and bequeath for posthumous reputation. - -"Why, and so you would. You buy the pictures while you are living; -when you go off, the pictures remain." - -A patron of Art. The very name flattered his vanity, being a thing he -had read of, and his imagination leaped up to the possibilities of the -thing. Why should he not collect for his own country? He saw himself, -like Stewart, returning to New York with a shipload of precious Art -treasures bought in London; he saw his agent ransacking the studios -and shops of Florence, Naples, Rome, Dresden--wherever painters -congregate and pictures are sold; he imagined rich argosies coming to -him across the ocean--the American looks across the ocean for the -luxuries and graces of life, his wines, his Art, and his literature. -Then he saw a great building, grander than the Capitol at Washington, -erected by a grateful nation for the reception of the Gilead P. Beck -Collection of Ancient and Modern Paintings. - -Now one of the earliest callers upon Mr. Beck was a certain -picture-dealer named Burls. Mr. Burls and his fraternity regard rich -Americans with peculiar favour. It is said to have been Bartholomew -Burls who invented especially for American use the now well-known -"multiplication" dodge. The method is this. You buy a work by a rising -artist, one whose pictures may be at some future time, but are not -yet, sufficiently known to make their early wanderings matter of -notoriety. One of your young men--he must be a safe hand and a -secret--make two, three, or four copies, the number depending on the -area, rather than the number, of your _clientele_. You keep the -Artist's receipt, a proof of the genuineness of the picture. The -copies, name and all, are so well done that even the painter himself -would be puzzled to know his own. You then proceed to place your -pictures at good distances from each other, representing each as -genuine. It is a simple, beautiful, and lucrative method. Not so -profitable, perhaps, as cleaning oil-paintings, which takes half an -hour apiece and is charged from ten shillings to ten pounds, according -to the dealer's belief in your power to pay. Nor is it more profitable -than the manufacture of a Correggio or a Cuyp for a guileless cotton -manufacturer, and there is certainly a glow of pride to be obtained by -the successful conversion of a new into an old picture by the aid of -mastic varnish, mixed with red and yellow lake to tone it down, and -the simple shaking of a door-mat over it. But then people have grown -wary, and it is difficult to catch a purchaser of a Correggio, for -which a large sum has to be asked. The multiplication dodge is the -simpler and the safer. - -Mr. Beck, as has been already shown, was by no means deficient in a -certain kind of culture. He had read such books as fell in his way -during his wandering and adventurous life. His reading was thus -miscellaneous. He had been for a short time an actor, and thus -acquired a little information concerning dramatic literature. He had -been on a newspaper, one of the rank and file as well as an editor. He -knew a good deal about many things, arts, customs, and trades. But of -one thing he was profoundly ignorant, and that was of painting. - -He looked at Burls' card, however--"Bartholomew Burls and Co., Church -Street, City, Inventors of the only safe and perfect Method of -Cleaning Oil Paintings"--and, accompanied by Jack Dunquerque, who knew -about as much of pictures as himself, hunted up the shop, and entered -it with the meekness of a pigeon about to be plucked. - -They stood amid a mass of pictures, the like of which Gilead Beck had -never before conceived. They were hanging on the walls; they were -piled on the floor; they were stretched across the ceiling; they -climbed the stairs; they were hiding away in dark corners; a gaping -doorway lit with gas showed a cellar below where they were stacked in -hundreds. Pictures of all kinds. The shop was rather dark, though the -sun of May was pouring a flood of light even upon the narrow City -streets. But you could make out something. There were portraits in -hundreds. The effigies of dead men and women stared at you from every -second frame. Your ancestor--Mr. Burls was very particular in -ascertaining beyond a doubt that it was your own ancestor, and nobody -else's--frowned at you in bright steel armour with a Vandyke beard; or -he presented a shaven face with full cheeks and a Ramillies wig; or he -smirked upon you from a voluminous white scarf and a coat-collar which -rose to the top of his head. The ladies of your family--Mr. Burls was -very particular, before selling you one, in ascertaining beyond a -doubt that she belonged to your own branch of the house, and none -other--smiled upon you with half-closed lids, like the consort of -Potiphar, the Egyptian, or they frisked as shepherdesses in airy -robes, conscious of their charms; or they brandished full-blown -petticoats, compared with which crinolines were graceful, or they -blushed in robes which fell tightly about the figure, and left the -waist beneath the arms. Name any knight, or mayor, or court beauty, or -famous toast among your ancestry whose portrait is wanting to your -gallery, and Burls, the great genealogical collector, will find you -before many weeks that missing link in the family history. Besides the -portraits, there were landscapes, nymphs bathing, Venuses asleep, -Venuses with a looking-glass, Venuses of all sorts; scenes from _Don -Quixote_; Actĉons surprising Dianas; battle-pieces, sea-pieces, -river-pieces; "bits" of Hampstead Heath, and boats on the Thames. - -Mr. Beck looked round him, stroked his chin, and addressed the -guardian of this treasure-house: - -"I am going to buy pictures," he began comprehensively. "You air the -Boss?" - -"This gentleman means," Jack explained, "that he wants to look at your -pictures with a view to buying some if he approves of them." - -The man in the shop was used to people who would buy one picture after -a whole mornings haggling, but he was not accustomed to people who -wanted to buy pictures generally. He looked astonished, and then, with -a circular sweep of his right hand, indicated that here were pictures, -and all Mr. Beck had to do was to go in and buy them. - -"Look round you, gentlemen," he said; "pray look round you; and the -more you buy, the better we shall like it." - -Then he became aware that the elder speaker was an American, and he -suddenly changed his front. - -"Our chicer pictures," he explained, "are up stairs. I should like you -to look at them first. Will you step up, gentlemen?" - -On the stairs, more pictures. On the landing, more pictures. On the -stairs mounting higher, more pictures. But they stopped on the first -floor. Mr. Burls and his assistants never invited any visitors to the -second and third floors, because these rooms were sacred to the -manufacture of old pictures, the multiplication of new, and the sacred -processes of cleaning, lining, and restoring. In the first-floor rooms -were fewer pictures but more light. - -One large composition immediately caught Mr. Beck's eye. A noble -picture; a grand picture; a picture whose greatness of conception was -equalled by its boldness of treatment. It occupied the whole of one -side of the wall, and might have measured twenty feet in length by -fourteen in height. The subject was scriptural--the slaying of Sisera -by Jael, Heber the Kenite's wife. The defeated general lay stretched -on the couch, occupying a good ten feet of the available space. Beside -him stood the woman, a majestic figure, with a tent-peg and a mallet, -about to commit that famous breach of hospitality. The handle of the -mallet was rendered most conscientiously, and had evidently been -copied from a model. Through the open hangings of the tent were -visible portions of the army chasing the fugitives and lopping off -their heads. - -"That seems a striking picture," said Mr. Beck. "I take that picture, -sir, to represent George Washington after the news of the surrender at -Saratoga, or General Jackson after the battle of New Orleans." - -"Grant after Gettysburg," suggested Jack. - -"No, sir. I was at Gettysburg myself; and the hero asleep on the bed, -making every allowance for his fancy dress, which I take to be -allegorical, is not at all like General Ulysses Grant, nor is he like -General Sherman. The young female, I s'pose, is Liberty, with a hammer -in one hand, and a dagger in the other. Too much limb for an American -gell, and the flesh is redder than one could wish. But on the hull a -striking picture. What may be the value of this composition, mister?" - -"I beg your pardon, sir. Not Washington, sir, nor General Jackson, -though we can procure you in a very short time fine portraits of both -these 'eroes. This, gentlemen, is a biblical subject. Cicero, -overtaken, by sleep while in jail, about to be slain by 'Eber the wife -of the Kenite. That is 'Eber, with the 'eavy 'ammer in 'er 'and. The -Kenite belonged, as I have always understood--for I don't remember the -incident myself--to the opposite faction. That splendid masterpiece, -gentlemen, has been valued at five 'undred. For a town'all, or for an -altar-piece, it would be priceless. To let it go at anything under -five 'undred would be a sin and a shame, besides a-throwing away of -money. Look at the light and shade. Look at 'Eber's arm and Cicero's -leg. That leg alone has been judged by connisseers worth all the -money." - -Mr. Beck was greatly disappointed in the subject and in the price; -even had it been the allegorical picture which he thought, he was not -yet sufficiently educated in the prices of pictures to offer five -hundred for it; and when Mr. Burls's assistant spoke of pounds, Mr. -Beck thought dollars. So he replied: - -"Five hundred dollars? I will give you five-and-twenty." - -"That," interposed Jack Dunquerque, "is a five-pound note." - -"Then, by gad, sir," said the man, with alacrity, "it's yours! It's -been hangin' there for ten years, and never an offer yet. It's yours!" - -This splendid painting, thus purchased at the rate of rather more than -threepence a square foot, was the acquisition made by Mr. Beck towards -his great Gallery of Ancient and Modern Masters. - -He paid for it on the spot calling Jack to witness the transaction. - -"We will send it up to the hotel to-morrow," said the man. - -"I shall have it fixed right away along the side of my room," said Mr. -Beck. "Should it be framed?" - -"I should certainly have it framed," said Jack. - -"Yes, sir; we shall be happy to frame it for you." - -"I dare say you would," Jack went on. "This is a job for a -house-carpenter, Mr. Beck. You will have to build the frame for this -gigantic picture. Have it sent over, and consider the frame -afterwards." - -This course was approved; but, for reasons which will subsequently -appear, the picture never was framed. - -The dealer proceeded to show other pictures. - -"A beautiful Nicolas Pushing--'Nymphs and Satyrs in a Bacchanalian -Dance'--a genuine thing." - -"I don't think much of that, Mr. Dunquerque; do you? The Nymphs -haven't finished dressing; and the gentlemen with the goats' legs may -be satires on human nature, but they are not pretty. Let us go on to -the next show in the caravan, mister." - -"This is Hetty. In the master's best style. 'Graces surprised while -Bathing in the River.' Much admired by connisseers." - -"No, sir; not at all," said Mr. Beck severely. "_My_ gallery is -going to elevate the morals of our gells and boys. It's a pretty -thing, too, Mr. Dunquerque, and I sometimes think it's a pity morality -was ever invented. Now, Boss." - -"Quite so, sir. Hetty is, as you say--rayther--What do you think of -this, now--a lovely Grooze?" - -"Grooze," said Mr. Beck, "is French, I suppose, for gell. Yes, now -that's a real pretty picture; I call that a picture you ain't ashamed -to admire; there's lips you can kiss; there's a chin you can -chuck----" - -"How about the morals?" asked Jack. - -"Wal, Mr. Dunquerque, we'll buy the picture first, and we'll see how -it rhymes with morals afterwards. There's eyes to look into a man's. -Any more heads of pretty Groozes, mister? I'll buy the lot." - -"This is a Courage-oh!" the exhibitor went on, after expressing his -sorrow that he had no more Groozes, and bringing out a Madonna. -"Thought to be genuine by the best judges. History of the picture -unknown redooces the value." - -"I can't go fooling around with copies in _my_ gallery," said Mr. -Beck. "I must have genuine pictures, or none." - -"Then we will not offer you that Madonna, sir. I think I have -something here to suit you. Come this way. A Teniers, gentlemen--a -real undoubted gem of Teniers. This is a picture now for any -gentleman's collection. It came from the gallery of a nobleman lately -deceased, and was bought at the sale by Mr. Burls himself, who knows a -picture when he sees one. Mr. Bartholomew Burls, our senior partner, -gentlemen. 'The Bagpipe-player.'" - -It was an excellent imitation, but of a well-known picture, and it -required consummate impudence to pretend that it was original. - -"Oh," said Jack, "but I have seen this somewhere else. In the Louvre, -I believe." - -"Very likely, sir," replied the unabashed vendor. "Teniers painted six -hundred pictures. There was a good many 'Bagpipe-players' among them. -One is in the Louvre. This is another." - -On the advice of Jack Dunquerque Mr. Beck refrained from buying, and -contented himself with selecting, with the option of purchase. When -they left the shop, some twenty pictures were thus selected. - -The seller, who had a small interest or commission on sales, as soon -as their steps were fairly out of the shop, executed a short dance -indicative of joy. Then he called up the stairs, and a man came slowly -down. - -A red-nosed bibulous person, by name Critchett. He was manufacturer of -old masters in ordinary to Bartholomew Burls and Co.; cleaned and -restored pictures when other orders were slack, and was excellent at -"multiplication." He had worked for Burls for a quarter of a century, -save for a few weeks, when one Frank Melliship, a young gentleman then -down on his luck, worked in his stead. A trustworthy and faithful -creature, though given to drink; he could lie like an echo; was as -incapable of blushing as the rock on which the echo plays; and bore -cross-examination like a Claimant. - -"Come down, Critchett--come down. We've sold 'Cicero and 'Eber.'" - -"'Sisera and Jael.'" - -"Well, it don't matter--and I said 'Cicero in Jail.' They've gone for -five pounds. The governor he always said I could take whatever was -offered, and keep it for myself. Five pounds in my pocket! Your last -Teniers--that old bagpipe-party--I tried him, but it was no go. But -I've sold the only one left of your Groozes, and you had better make a -few more, out of hand. Look here, Critchett: it isn't right to drink -in hours, and the guv'nor out and all; but this is an occasion. This -ain't a common day, because I've sold the Cicero. I won't ask you to -torse, nor yet to pay; but I says, 'Critchett, come across the way, my -boy, and put your lips to what you like best.' Lord, Lord! on'y give -me an American, and give him to me green! Never mind your hat, -Critchett. 'It's limp in the brim and it's gone in the rim,' as the -poet says; and you look more respectable without it, Critchett." - -"That's a good beginning," Beck observed, after luncheon. They were in -Jack Dunquerque's club, in the smoking room. "That's a first-rate -beginning. How many pictures go to a gallery?" - -"It depends on the size of it. About five hundred for a moderate sized -one." - -Mr. Beck whistled. - -"Never mind. The Ile pays for all. A Patron of Art. Yes, sir, that -seems the right end of the stick for a rich man to keep up. But I've -been thinking it over. It isn't enough to go to shops and buy -pictures. We must go in for sculpting too, and a Patron ought to get -hold of a struggling artist, and lend him a helping hand; he should -advance unknown talent. That's my idea." - -"I think I can help you there," said Jack, his eyes twinkling. "I know -just such a man; an artist unknown, without friends, with slender -means, of great genius, who has long languished in obscurity." - -"Bring him to me, Mr. Dunquerque. Bring that young man to me. Let me -be the means of pushing the young gentleman. Holy thunder! What is -money if it isn't used. Tell me his name." - -"I think I ought to have spoken to him first," said Jack, in some -confusion, and a little taken aback by Mr. Beck's determination. "But, -however, you can only try. His name is Humphrey Jagenal. I will, if -you please, go and see him to-day. And I will ask him to call upon you -to-morrow morning." - -"I would rather call upon _him_," said Mr. Beck. "It might look like -the pride of patronage asking him to call at the Langham. I don't want -him to start with a feeling of shame." - -"Not at all; at least, of course, it will be patronage, and I believe -he will prefer it. There is no shame in taking a commission to execute -a picture." - -"Mr. Dunquerque, every day you confer fresh obligations upon me. And I -can do nothing for you--nothing at all." - -At this time it was Gilead Beck's worst misfortune that he was not -taken seriously by any one except Gabriel Cassilis, who literally and -liberally interpreted his permission to receive all his money for safe -investment. But as for his schemes, vague and shadowy as they were, -for using his vast income for some practically philanthropic and -benevolent objects, none of his friends sympathised with him, because -none of them understood him. Yet the man was deeply in earnest. He -meant what he said, and more, when he told Gabriel Cassilis that a -voice urged him by day and by night not to save his money, but to use -for others what he could not use himself. He had been two months in -England on purpose to learn a way, but saw no way yet. And every way -seemed barred. He would not give money to societies, because they were -societies; he wanted to strike out something new for himself. Nor -would he elaborate a scheme to be carried out after his death. Let -every man, he repeated every day, do what he has to do in his -lifetime. How was he to spend his great revenues? A Patron of Art? It -was the first tangible method that he had struck upon. He would be -that to begin with. Art has the great advantage, too, of swallowing up -any conceivable quantity of money. - -And on the way from the Burls's Depot of Real and Genuine Art, he hit -upon the idea of advancing artists as well as Art. He was in thorough -earnest when he raised his grave and now solemn eyes to Jack -Dunquerque, and thanked him for his kindness. And Jack's conscience -smote him. - -"I must tell you," Jack explained, "that I have never seen any of Mr. -Humphrey Jagenal's pictures. Miss Fleming, the young lady whom you met -at Mrs. Cassilis's, told me once that he was a great artist." - -"Bring him to me, bring him to me, and we will talk. I hope that I may -be able to speak clearly to him without hurting his feelin's. If I -brag about my Pile, Mr. Dunquerque, you just whisper 'Shoddy,' and -I'll sing small." - -"There will be no hurting of feelings. When you come to a question of -buying and selling, an artist is about the same as everybody else. -Give him a big commission; let him have time to work it out; and send -him a cheque in advance. I believe that would be the method employed -by patrons whom artists love. At least, I should love such a patron. - -"Beck," he went on after a pause: both were seated in the long deep -easy-chairs of the club smoking-room, with the chairs pretty close -together, so that they could talk in low tones,--"Beck, if you talk -about artists, there's Phil--I mean Miss Fleming. By Jove! she only -wants a little training to knock the heads off half the R.A.s. Come -out with me and call upon her. She will show us her sketches." - -"I remember her," said Gilead Beck slowly; "a tall young lady; a -lovely Grooze, as the man who grinds that picture-mill would say; she -had large brown eyes that looked as if they could be nothing but -tender and true, and a rosebud mouth all sweetness and smiles, and -lips that trembled when she thought. I remember her--a head like a -queen's piled up with her own brown hair and flowers, an' a figure -like--like a Mexican half-caste at fourteen." - -"You talk of her as if you were in love with her," said Jack -jealously. - -"No, Mr. Dunquerque; no, sir. That is, I may be. But it won't come -between you and her, what I feel. You air a most fortunate man. Go -down on your knees when you get home, and say so. For or'nary -blessin's you may use the plan of Joshua Mixer, the man who had the -biggest claim in Empire City before it busted up. He got his Petitions -and his Thanksgivin's printed out neat on a card together, and then he -hung that card over his bed. 'My sentiments,' he used to say, jerkin' -his thumb to the card when he got in at night. Never omitted his -prayers; never forgot that jerk, drunk or sober. Joshua Mixer was the -most religious man in all that camp. But for special Providences; for -Ile; for a lucky shot; for a sweet, pure, heavenly, gracious creature -like Miss Fleming,--I say, go on your knees and own to it, as a man -should. Well, Mr. Dunquerque," he continued, "I wish you success; and -if there's anything I can do to promote your success, let me know. Now -there's another thing. What I want to do is to unlock the door which -keeps me from the society of men of genius. I can get into good -houses; they all seem open to me because I've got money. London is the -most hospitable city in this wide world for those who have the stamps. -Republican? Republican ain't the word for it. Do they ask who a man -is? Not they. They ask about his dollars, and they welcome him with -smiles. It's a beautiful thing to look at, and it makes an Amer'can -sigh when he thinks of his own country, where they inquire into a -stranger's antecedents. But there's exceptions, and artists and -authors I cannot get to. And I want to meet your great men. Not to -interview them, sir. Not at all. They may talk a donkey's hind leg -off, and I wouldn't send a single line to the New York papers to tell -them what was said nor what they wore. But I should like, just for one -evening, to meet and talk with the great writers whom we respect -across the water." - -Again Jack Dunquerque's eyes began to twinkle. He _could_ not enter -into the earnestness of this man. And an idea occurred to him at which -his face lit up with smiles. - -"It requires thinking over. Suppose I was to be able to get -half-a-dozen or so of our greatest writers, how should we manage to -entertain them?" - -"I should like, if they would only come--I should like to give them a -dinner at the Langham. A square meal; the very best dinner that the -hotel can serve. I should like to make them feel like being at the -Guildhall." - -"I will think about it," said Jack, "and let you know in a day or two -what I can do for you." - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - "Ambition should be made of sterner stuff." - - -"A patron at last, Cornelius," said Humphrey Jagenal, partly -recovering from the shock of Jack Dunquerque's communication. "A -Patron. Patronage is, after all, the breath of life in Art. Let others -pander to the vitiated public taste and cater for a gaping crowd round -the walls of the Royal Academy. I would paint for a Lorenzo only, and -so work for the highest interests of Art. We will call, brother, upon -this Mr. Beck to-morrow." - -"We will!" said Cornelius, with enthusiasm. - -It was in the Studio. Both brothers, simultaneously fired with ardour, -started to their feet and threw back their heads with a gesture of -confidence and determination. The light of high resolve flashed from -their eyes, which were exactly alike. The half-opened lips expressed -their delight in the contemplation of immortal fame. Their chance had -arrived; their youth was come back to them. - -True, that Gilead Beck at present only proposed to become a Patron to -the Artist; but while it did not enter into Humphrey's head for one -moment that he could make that visit unsupported by his brother, so -the thought lay in either's brain that a Poet wanted patronage as much -as an Artist. - -They were both excited. To Humphrey it was clear that the -contemplation of his great work, in which he had basked so many years, -was to be changed for days of active labour. No longer could he -resolve to carry it into execution the "day after to-morrow," as the -Arabs say. This was difficult to realise, but as yet the thought was -like the first shock of ice-cold water, for it set his veins tingling -and braced his nerves. He felt within him once more the strength felt -by every young man at first, which is the strength of Michael Angelo. -He saw in imagination his great work, the first of many great works, -finished, a glorious canvas glowing with the realization of a -painter's dream of colour, crowded with graceful figures, warm with -the thought of genius, and rich with the fancy of an Artist-scholar--a -work for all time. And he gasped. But for his beard he might have been -a boy waiting for the morrow, when he should receive the highest prize -in the school; or an undergraduate, the favourite of his year, after -the examination, looking confidently to the Senior Wranglership. - -In the morning they took no walk, but retired silently each to his own -room. In the Studio the Artist opened his portfolios, and spread out -the drawings made years ago when he was studying in Rome. They were -good drawings; there was feeling in every line; but they were copies. -There was not one scrap of original work, and his Conscience began to -whisper--only he refused at first to listen--that the skill of hand -and touch was gone. Then Conscience, which gets angry if disregarded, -took to whispering more loudly, and presently he heard. He took crayon -and paper, and began, feverishly and in haste, to copy one of his old -drawings. He worked for a quarter of an hour, and then, looking at the -thing he had once done beside the thing he was then doing, he dashed -the pencil from him, and tore up the miserable replica in disgust. His -spirit, which had flown so high, sank dull and heavy as lead; he threw -himself back in his chair and began to think, gazing hopelessly into -space. - -It was the opportunity of Conscience, who presently began to sing as -loudly as any skylark, but not so cheerfully. "You are fifty," said -that voice which seldom lies, "you have wasted the last twenty years -of your life; you have become a wind-bag and a shallow humbug; you -cannot now paint or draw at all; what little power was in you has -departed. Your brother, the Poet, has been steadily working while you -have slept"--and it will be perceived that Conscience spoke from -imperfect information. "He will produce a great book, and live. You -will die. The grave will close over you, and you will be forgotten." - -It was a hard saying, and the Artist groaned as he listened to it. - -In the workshop, Cornelius also, startled into action, spread out upon -the table a bundle of papers which had been lying undisturbed in his -desk for a dozen years or more. They were poems he had written in his -youth, unpublished verses, thoughts in rhyme such as an imaginative -young man easily pours forth, reproducing the fashion of the time and -the thoughts of others. He began to read these over again with mingled -pleasure and pain. For the thoughts seemed strange to him. He felt -that they were good and lofty thoughts, but the conviction forced -itself upon him that the brain which had produced them was changed. No -more of such good matter was left within it. The lines of thought were -changed. The poetic faculty, a delicate plant, which droops unless it -is watered and carefully tended, was dead within him. - -And the whole of the Epic to be written. - -Not a line done, not a single episode on paper, though to Phillis he -claimed to have done so much. - -He seized a pen, and with trembling fingers and agitated brain forced -himself to write. - -In half an hour he tore the paper into shreds, and, with a groan, -threw down the pen. The result was too feeble. - -Then he too began to meditate, like his brother in the Studio. -Presently his guardian angel, who very seldom got such a chance, began -to admonish him, even as the dean admonishes an erring undergraduate. - -"You are fifty," said the invisible Censor. "What have you done with -yourself for twenty years and more. Your best thoughts have passed -away; the poetical eye is dim; you will write no more. Your brother, -the Artist, is busy with pencil and brain. He will produce a great -work, and live for ever. You will do nothing; you will go down into -the pit and be forgotten." - -It was too much for the Poet. His lips trembled, his hand shook. He -could no more rest in his chair. - -He walked backwards and forwards, the voice pursuing him. - -"Wasted years; wasted energies; wasted gifts; your chance is gone. You -cannot write now." - -Poets are more susceptible than artists. That is the reason why -Cornelius rushed out of the Workshop to escape this torture and sought -his brother Humphrey. - -Humphrey started like a guilty person. His face was pale, his eye was -restless. - -"Cornelius?" - -"Do not me disturb you, my dear brother. You are happy; you are at -work; your soul is at peace." - -"And you, Cornelius?" - -"I am not at peace. I am restless this morning. I am nervous and -agitated." - -"So am I, Cornelius. I cannot work. My pencil refuses to obey my -brain." - -"My own case. My pen will not write what I wish. The link between the -brain and the nerves is for the moment severed." - -"Let us go out, brother. It is now three. We will walk slowly in the -direction of the Langham Hotel." - -As they put on their hats Cornelius stopped, and said reflectively-- - -"The nervous system is a little shaken with both of us. Can you -suggest anything, brother Humphrey?" - -"The best thing for a shaken nervous system," replied Humphrey -promptly, "is a glass of champagne. I will get some champagne for you, -brother Cornelius." - -He returned presently with a modest pint bottle, which they drank -together, Humphrey remarking (in italics) that in such a case it is -not a question of what a man _wants_, so much as of what he _needs_. - -A pint of champagne is not much between two men, but it produced an -excellent effect upon the Twins. Before it they were downcast; they -looked around with the furtive eyes of conscious imposture; their -hands trembled. After it they raised their heads, laughed, and looked -boldly in each other's eyes, assumed a gay and confident air, and -presently marched off arm-in-arm to call upon the Patron. - -Gilead Beck, unprepared to see both brethren, welcomed them with a -respect almost overwhelming. It was his first interview with Genius. - -They introduced each other. - -"Mr. Beck," said Cornelius, "allow me to introduce my brother, -Humphrey Jagenal. In his case the world is satisfied with the -Christian name alone, without the ceremonial prefix. He is, as you -know, the Artist." - -If his brother had been Titian or Correggio he could not have said -more. - -"Sir," said Mr. Beck, shaking Humphrey's hand warmly, "I am proud -indeed to make your acquaintance. I am but a rough man myself, sir, -but I respect genius." - -"Then," said Humphrey, with admirable presence of mind, "allow me to -introduce my brother. Cornelius Jagenal, as you doubtless know, Mr. -Beck, is the Poet." - -Mr. Beck did not know it, and said so. But he shook hands with -Cornelius none the less cordially. - -"Sir, I have been knocking about the world, and have not read any -poetry since I was a boy. Then I read Alexander Pope. You know Pope, -Mr. Jagenal?" - -Cornelius smiled, as if he might allow some merit to Pope, though -small in comparison with his own. - -"I have never met with your poem, Mr. Cornelius Jagenal or your -pictures, Mr. Humphrey, but I hope you will now enable me to do so." - -"My brother is engaged"--said Cornelius. - -"My brother is engaged"--began Humphrey. "Pardon, brother." - -"Sit down, gentlemen. Will you take anything? In California, up -country, we always begin with a drink. Call for what you please, -gentlemen. Sail in, as we say." - -They took champagne, for the second time that day, and then their eyes -began to glisten. - -Mr. Beck observed that they were both alike--small and fragile-looking -men, with bright eyes and delicate features; he made a mental note to -the effect that they would never advance their own fortunes. He also -concluded from their red noses, and from the way in which they -straightened their backs after placing themselves outside the -champagne, that they loved the goblet, and habitually handled it too -often. - -"Now, gentlemen," he began, after making these observations, "may I be -allowed to talk business?" - -They both bowed. - -"Genius, gentlemen, is apt to be careless of the main chance. It don't -care for the almighty dollar; it lets fellows like me heap up the -stamps. What can we do but ask Genius to dig into our Pile?" - -Humphrey poured out another glass of champagne for his brother, and -one for himself. Then he turned to Cornelius and nodded gravely. - -"Cornelius, so far as I understand him, Mr. Beck speaks the strongest -common sense." - -"We agree with you so far, Mr. Beck," said Cornelius critically, -because he was there to give moral support to his brother. - -"Why should I have any delicacy in saying to a young man, or a man of -any age," he added doubtfully, for the years of the Twins seemed -uncertain, "'You, sir, are an Artist and a Genius. Take a cheque, and -carry out your ideas.'?" - -"What reason indeed?" asked Cornelius. "The offer does honour to -both." - -"Or to another man, 'You, sir, are a Poet. Why should the cares of the -world interfere with your thoughts? Take a cheque, and make the world -rejoice'!" - -Humphrey clapped his hands. - -"The world lies in travail for such a patron of poetry," he said. - -"Why, then, we are agreed," said Mr. Beck. "Gentlemen, I say to you -both, collectively, let me usher into the world those works of genius -which you are bound to produce. You, sir, are painting a picture. When -can you finish me that picture?" - -"In six months," said Humphrey, his brain suffused with a rosy warmth -of colour which made him see things in an impossibly favourable light. - -"I buy that picture, sir, at your own price," said the patron. "I -shall exhibit it in London, and it shall then go to New York with me. -And you, Mr. Cornelius Jagenal, are engaged upon poems. When would you -wish to publish your verses?" - -"My Epic, the _Upheaval of Ĉlfred_, will be ready for publication -about the end of November," said Cornelius. - -Humphrey felt a passing pang of jealousy as he perceived that his -brother would be before the world a month in advance of himself. But -what is a month compared with immortality? - -"I charge myself, sir, if you will allow me," said the American, "with -the production of that work. It shall be printed in the best style -possible, on the thickest paper made, and illustrated by the best -artist that can be found--you, perhaps, Mr. Humphrey Jagenal. It shall -be bound in Russian leather; its exterior shall be worthy of its -contents. And as for business arrangements, gentlemen, you will please -consider them at your leisure, and let me know what you think. We -shall be sure to agree, because, if you will not think it shoddy in me -to say so, I have my Pile to dig into. And I shall send you, if you -will allow me, gentlemen, a small cheque each in advance." - -They murmured assent and rose to go. - -"If you would favor me further, gentlemen, by dining with me--say this -day week--I should take it as a great distinction. I hope, with the -assistance of Mr. Dunquerque, to have a few prominent men of letters -to meet you. I want to have my table full of genius." - -"Can we, brother Humphrey, accept Mr. Beck's invitation?" - -Cornelius asked as if they were weeks deep in engagements. As it was, -nobody ever asked them anywhere, and they had no engagements at all. - -Humphrey consulted a pocket-book with grave face. - -"We can, Mr. Beck." - -"And if you know any one else, gentlemen, any men of Literature and -Art who will come too, bring them along with you, and I shall feel it -an honour." - -They knew no one connected with Literature and Art, not even a -printer's devil, but they did not say so. - - -At twelve o'clock, toward the close of this fatiguing day, Cornelius -asked Humphrey, with a little hesitation, if he really thought he -should have finished his great work in six months. - -"Art cannot be forced, Cornelius," said the Painter airily. "If I am -not ready, I shall not hesitate to consider the pledge conditional. My -work must be perfect ere it leaves my hands." - -"And mine, too," said the Poet. "I will never consent to let a poem of -mine go forth unfinished to the world. The work must be polished _ad -unguem_." - -"This is a memorable day, brother. The tumblers are empty. Allow me. -And, Cornelius, I really do think that, considering the way in which -we have been treated by Phillis Fleming, and her remarks about -afternoon work, we ought to call and let her understand the reality of -our reputation." - -"We will, Humphrey. But it is not enough to recover lost ground; we -must advance farther. The fortress shall be made to surrender." - -"Let us drink to your success, brother, and couple with the toast the -name of Phillis--Phillis--Phillis Jagenal, brother?" - -They drank that toast, smiling unutterable things. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - "Call me not fool till Heaven hath sent me fortune." - - -When Jack Dunquerque communicated to Lawrence Colquhoun the fact of -having made the acquaintance of Miss Fleming, and subsequently that of -Mrs. L'Estrange, Lawrence expressed no surprise and felt no -suspicions. Probably, had he felt any, they would have been at once -set aside, because Colquhoun was not a man given to calculate the -future chances, and to disquiet himself about possible events. Also at -this time he was taking little interest in Phillis. A pretty piquante -girl; he devoted a whole day to her; drove her to Twickenham, and -placed her in perfect safety under the charge of his cousin. What more -was wanted? Agatha wrote to him twice a week or so, and when he had -time he read the letters. They were all about Phillis, and most of -them contained the assurance that he had no entanglements to fear. - -"Entanglements!" he murmured impatiently. "As if a man cannot dine -with a girl without falling in love with her. Women are always -thinking that men want to be married." - -He was forgetting, after the fashion of men who have gone through the -battle, how hot is the fight for those who are just beginning it. Jack -Dunquerque was four-and-twenty; he was therefore, so to speak, in the -thick of it. Phillis's eyes were like two quivers filled with darts, -and when she turned them innocently upon her friend the enemy, the -darts flew straight at him, and transfixed him as if he were another -Sebastian. Colquhoun's time was past; he was clothed in the armour of -indifference which comes with the years, and he was forgetting the -past. - -Still, had he known of the visit to the Tower of London, the rowing on -the river, the luncheons in Carnarvon Square, it is possible that even -he might have seen the propriety of requesting Jack Dunquerque to keep -out of danger for the future. - -He had no plans for Phillis, except of the simplest kind. She was to -remain in charge of Agatha for a year, and then she would come out. He -hoped that she would marry well, because her father, had he lived, -would have wished it. And that was all he hoped about her. - -He had his private worries at this time--those already -indicated--connected with Victoria Cassilis. The ice once broken, that -lady allowed him no rest. She wrote to him on some pretence nearly -every day; she sent her maid, the unlovely one, with three-cornered -notes all about nothing; she made him meet her in society, she made -him dine with her; it seemed as if she was spreading a sort of net -about him, through the meshes of which he could not escape. - -With the knowledge of what had been, it was an unrighteous thing for -Colquhoun to go to the house of Gabriel Cassilis; he ought not to be -there, he felt, it was the one house in all London in which he had no -business. And yet--how to avoid it? - -And Gabriel Cassilis seemed to like him; evidently liked to talk to -him; singled him out, this great financier, and talked with him as if -Colquhoun too was interested in stock; called upon him at his -chambers, and told him, in a dry but convincing way, something of his -successes and his projects. - -It was after many talks of this kind that Lawrence Colquhoun, -forgetful of the past, and not remembering that of all men in the -world Gabriel Cassilis was the last who should have charge of his -money, put it all in his hands, with power-of-attorney to sell out and -reinvest for him. But that was nothing. Colquhoun was not the man to -trouble about money. He was safe in the hands of this great and -successful capitalist: he gave no thought to any risk; he -congratulated himself on his cleverness in persuading the financier to -take the money for him; and he continued to see Victoria Cassilis -nearly every day. - -They quarrelled when they did meet; there was not a conversation -between them in which she did not say something bitter, and he -something savage. And yet he did not have the courage to refuse the -invitations which were almost commands. Nor could she resign the sweet -joys of making him feel her power. - -A secret, you see, has a fatal fascination about it. Schoolgirls, I am -told, are given to invent little secrets which mean nothing, and to -whisper them in the ears of their dearest friends to the exclusion of -the rest. The possession of this unknown and invaluable fact brings -them together, whispering and conspiring, at every possible moment. -Freemasons again--how are they kept together; except by the possession -of secrets which are said to have been published over and over again? -And when two people have a secret which means--all that the secret -between Colquhoun and Mrs. Cassilis meant, they can no more help being -drawn together than the waters can cease to find their own level. To -be together, to feel that the only other person in the world who knows -that secret is with you, is a kind of safety. Yet what did it matter -to Colquhoun? Simply nothing. The secret was his as well as hers, but -the reasons for keeping it a secret were not his at all, but hers -entirely. - -So Phillis was neglected by her guardian and left to Agatha and Jack -Dunquerque, with such results as we shall see. - -So Lawrence Colquhoun fell into the power of this man of stocks, about -the mouth of whose City den the footsteps pointed all one way. He -congratulated himself; he found out Gilead Beck, and they -congratulated each other. - -"I don't see," said Colquhoun, who had already enough for four -bachelors, "why one's income should not be doubled." - -"With Mr. Cassilis," said Gilead Beck, "you sign cheques, and he gives -you dividends. It's like Ile, because you can go on pumping." - -"He understands more than any other living man," said Lawrence. - -"He is in the inner track, sir," said Mr. Beck. - -"And a man," said Lawrence, "ready to take in his friends with -himself." - -"A high-toned and a whole-souled man," said Gilead Beck, with -enthusiasm. "That man, sir, I do believe would take in the hull -world." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - "I had rather hear a brazen candlestick turn'd, - Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree; - And that would set my teeth nothing on edge. - Nothing so much as mincing poetry." - - -Jack Dunquerque repaired to the Langham, the day after the call on the -Twins, with a face in which cheerful anticipation and anxiety were -curiously blended. He was serious with his lips, but he laughed with -his eyes. And he spoke with a little hesitation not often observed in -him. - -"I think your dinner will come off next Wednesday," he said. "And I -have been getting together your party for you." - -"That is so, Mr. Dunquerque?" asked Gilead Beck, with a solemnity -which hardly disguised his pride and joy. "That is so? And those great -men, your friends, are actually coming?" - -"I have seen them all, personally. And I put the case before each of -them. I said, 'Here is an American gentleman most anxious to make your -acquaintance; he has no letters of introduction to you, but he is a -sincere admirer of your genius; he appreciates you better than any -other living man.'" - -"Heap it up, Mr. Dunquerque," said the Man of Oil. "Heap it up. Tell -them I am Death on appreciation." - -"That is in substance what I did tell them. Then I explained that you -deputed me, or gave me permission to ask them to dinner. 'The honour,' -I said, 'is mutual. On the one hand, my friend, Mr. Gilead P. Beck'--I -ventured to say, 'my friend, Mr. Gilead P. Beck'----" - -"If you hadn't said that you should have been scalped and gouged. Go -on, Mr. Dunquerque; go on, sir." - -"'On the one hand, my friend, Mr. Gilead P. Beck'----" - -"That is so--that is so." - -"'Will feel himself honoured by your company; on the other hand, it -will be a genuine source of pleasure for you to know that you are as -well known and as thoroughly appreciated on the other side of the -water as you are here.' I am not much of a speechmaker, and I assure -you that little effort cost me a good deal of thought. However, the -end of it is all you care about. Most of the writing swells will come, -either on Wednesday next or on any other day you please." - -"Mr. Dunquerque, not a day passes but you load me with obligations. -Tell me, if you please, who they are." - -"Well, you will say I have done pretty well, I think." Jack pulled out -a paper. "And you will know most of the names. First of all, you would -like to see the old Philosopher of Cheyne Walk, Thomas Carlyle, as -your guest?" - -"Carlyle, sir, is a name to conjure with in the States. When I was -Editor of the _Clearville Roarer_ I had an odd volume of Carlyle, and -I used to quote him as long as the book lasted. It perished in a -fight. And to think that I shall meet the man who wrote that work! An -account of the dinner must be written for the _Rockoleaville Gazette_. -We'll have a special reporter, Mr. Dunquerque. We'll get a man who'll -do it up to the handle." - -Jack looked at his list again. - -"What do you say of Professor Huxley and Mr. Darwin?" - -Mr. Beck shook his head. These two writers began to flourish--that is, -to be read--in the States after his editorial days, and he knew them -not. - -"I should say they were prominent citizens, likely, if I knew what -they'd written. Is Professor Huxley a professing Christian? There was -a Professor Habukkuk Huckster once down Empire City way in the Moody -and Sankey business, with an interest in the organs and a percentage -on the hymn-books; but they're not relations, I suppose? Not probable. -And the other genius--what is his name--Darwin? Grinds novels -perhaps?" - -"Historical works of fiction. Great in genealogy is Darwin." - -"Never mind my ignorance, Mr. Dunquerque. And go on, sir. I'm powerful -interested." - -"Ruskin is coming; and I had thought of Robert Browning, the poet, but -I am afraid he may not be able to be present. You see, Browning is so -much sought after by the younger men of the day. They used to play -polo and billiards and other frivolous things till he came into -fashion with his light and graceful verse, so simple that all may -understand it. His last poem, I believe, is now sung about the -streets. However, there are Tennyson and Swinburne--they are both -coming. Buchanan I would ask, if I knew him, but I don't. George -Eliot, of course, I could not invite to a stag party. Trollope we -might get, perhaps----" - -"Give me Charles Reade, sir," said Gilead Beck. "He is the novelist -they like on our side." - -"I am afraid I could not persuade him to come; though he might be -pleased to see you if you would call at his house, perhaps. However, -Beck, the great thing is"--he folded up his list and placed it in his -pocket-book--"that you shall have a dinner of authors as good as any -that sat down to the Lord Mayor's spread last year. Authors of all -sorts, and the very best. None of your unknown little hungry anonymous -beggars who write novels in instalments for weekly papers. Big men, -sir, with big names. Men you'll be proud to know. And they shall be -asked for next Wednesday." - -"That gives only four days. It's terrible sudden," said Gilead Beck. -He shook his head with as much gravity as if he was going to be hanged -in four days. Then he sat down and began to write the names of his -guests. - -"Professor Huxley," he said, looking up. "I suppose I can buy that -clergyman's sermons? And the Universal Genius who reels out the -historical romances, Mr. Darwin? I shall get his works, too. And -there's Mr. Ruskin, Mr. Robert Browning----" - -"What are you going to do?" - -"Well, Mr. Dunquerque, I am going to devote the next four days, from -morning till night, to solid preparation for that evening. I shall go -out right away, and I shall buy every darned book those great men have -written; and if I sit up every night over the job, I'm bound to read -every word." - -"Oh!" said Jack. "Then I advise you to begin with Robert Browning." - -"The light and graceful verse that everybody can understand? I will," -said Gilead Beck. "They shall not find me unacquainted with their -poems. Mr. Dunquerque, for the Lord's sake don't tell them it was all -crammed up in four days." - -"Not I. But--I say--you know, authors don't like to talk about their -own books." - -"That's the modesty of real genius," said the American, with -admiration. - -It will be perceived that Jack spoke with a certain rashness. Most -authors I have myself known do love very much to talk about their own -books. - -"That is their modesty. But they will talk about each other's books. -And it is as well to be prepared. What I'm bound to make them feel, -somehow, is that they have a man before them who has gone in for the -hull lot and survived. A tough contract, Mr. Dunquerque, but you trust -me." - -"Very well," said Jack, putting on his hat, "only don't ask them -questions. Authors don't like being questioned. Why, I shouldn't -wonder if next Wednesday some of them pretended not to know the names -of their own books. Don't you know that Shakespeare, when he went down -to Stratford, to live like a retired grocer at Leytonstone, used to -pretend not to know what a play meant? And when a strolling company -came round, and the manager asked permission to play _Hamlet_, he -was the first to sign a petition to the mayor not to allow immoral -exhibitions in the borough." - -"Is that so, sir?" - -"It may be so," said Jack, "because I never heard it contradicted." - -As soon he was gone, Gilead Beck sought the nearest bookseller's shop -and gave an extensive order. He requested to be furnished with all the -works of Carlyle, Ruskin, Tennyson, Swinburne, Browning, Buchanan, -Huxley, Darwin, and a few more. Then he returned to the Langham, gave -orders that he was at home to no one except Mr. Dunquerque, took off -his coat, lit a cigar, ordered more champagne, and began the first of -the three most awful days he ever spent in all his life. - -The books presently came in a great box, and he spread them on the -table with a heart that sank at the mere contemplation of their -numbers. About three hundred volumes in all. And only four days to get -through them. Seventy-five volumes a day, say, at the rate of fifteen -hours' daily work; five an hour, one every twelve minutes. He laid his -watch upon the table, took the first volume of Robert Browning that -was uppermost, sat down in his long chair with his feet up, and began. - -The book was _Fifine at the Fair_. Gilead Beck read cheerfully and -with great ease the first eight or ten pages. Then he discovered with -a little annoyance that he understood nothing whatever of the author's -meaning. "That comes of too rapid reading," he said. So he turned back -to the beginning and began with more deliberation. Ten minutes clean -wasted, and not even half a volume got through. When he had got to -tenth page for the second time, he questioned himself once more, and -found that he understood less than ever. Were things right? Could it -be Browning, or some impostor? Yes, the name of Robert Browning was on -the title-page; also, it was English. And the words held together, and -were not sprinkled out of a pepper-pot. He began a third time. Same -result. He threw away his cigar and wiped his brow, on which the cold -dews of trouble were gathering thickly. - -"This is the beginning of the end, Gilead P. Beck," he murmured. "The -Lord, to try you, sent His blessed Ile, and you've received it with a -proud stomach. Now you air going off your head. Plain English, and you -can't take in a single sentence." - -It was in grievous distress of mind that he sprang to his feet and -began to walk about the room. - -"There was no softenin' yesterday," he murmured, trying to reassure -himself. "Why should there be to-day? Softenin' comes by degrees. Let -us try again. Great Jehoshaphat!" - -He stood up to his work, leaning against a window-post, and took two -pages first, which he read very slowly. And then he dropped the volume -in dismay, because he understood less than nothing. - -It was the most disheartening thing he had ever attempted. - -"I'd rather fight John Halkett over again," he said. "I'd rather sit -with my finger on a trigger for a week, expecting Mr. Huggins to call -upon me." - -Then he began to construe it line by line, thinking every now and then -that he saw daylight. - -It is considered rather a mark of distinction, a separating seal upon -the brow, by that poet's admirers, to reverence his later works. Their -creed is that because a poem is rough, harsh, ungrammatical, and dark, -it must have a meaning as deep as its black obscurity. - -"It's like the texts of a copybook," said Gilead. "Pretty things, all -of them, separate. Put them together and where are they? I guess this -book would read better upsy down." - -He poured cold water on his head for a quarter of an hour or so, and -then tried reading it aloud. - -This was worse than any previous method, because he comprehended no -more of the poet's meaning, and the rough hard words made his front -teeth crack and fly about the room in splinters. - -"Cĉsar's ghost!" he exclaimed, thinking what he should do if Robert -Browning talked as he wrote. "The human jaw isn't built that could -stand it." - -Two hours were gone. There ought to have been ten volumes got through, -and not ten pages finished of a single one. - -He hurled _Fifine_ to the other end of the room, and took another -work by the same poet. It was _Red Cotton Nightcap Country_, and -the title looked promising. No doubt a light and pretty fairy story. -Also the beginning reeled itself off with a fatal facility which -allured the reader onwards. - - -When the clock struck six he was sitting among the volumes on the -table, with _Red Cotton Nightcap Country_ still in his hand. His -eyes were bloodshot, his hair was pushed in disorder about his head, -his cheeks were flushed, his hands were trembling, the nerves in his -face were twitching. - -He looked about him wildly, and tried to collect his faculties. Then -he arose and cursed Robert Browning. He cursed him eating, drinking, -and sleeping. And then he took all his volumes, and disposing them -carefully in the fire-place, he set light to them. - -"I wish," he said, "that I could put the Poet there, too." I think he -would have done it, this mild and gentle-hearted stranger, so strongly -was his spirit moved to wrath. - -He could not stay any longer in the room. It seemed to be haunted with -ghosts of unintelligible sentences; things in familiar garb, which -floated before his eyes and presented faces of inscrutable mystery. He -seized his hat and fled. - -He went straight to Jack Dunquerque's club, and found that hero in the -reading-room. - -"I have a favour to ask you," he began in a hurried and nervous -manner. "If you have not yet asked Mr. Robert Browning to the little -spread next week, don't." - -"Certainly not, if you wish it. Why?" - -"Because, sir, I have spent eight hours over his works." - -Jack laughed. - -"And you think you have gone off your head? I'll tell you a secret. -Everybody does at first; and then we all fall into the dodge, and go -about pretending to understand him." - -"But the meaning, Mr. Dunquerque, the meaning?" - -"Hush! he _hasn't got any_. Only no one dares to say so, and it's -intellectual to admire him." - -"Well, Mr. Dunquerque, I guess I don't want to see that writer at my -dinner, anyhow." - -"Very well, then. He shall not be asked." - -"Another day like this, and you may bury me with my boots on. Come -with me somewhere, and have dinner as far away from those volumes of -Mr. Browning as we can get in the time." - -They dined at Greenwich. In the course of the next three days Gilead -Beck read diligently. He did not master the three hundred volumes, but -he got through some of the works of every writer, taking them in turn. - -The result was a glorious and inextricable mess. Carlyle, Swinburne, -Huxley, Darwin, Tennyson, and all of them, were hopelessly jumbled in -his brains. He mixed up the _Sartor Resartus_ with the _Missing Link_, -confounded the history of _Frederick the Great_ with that of _Queen -Elizabeth_, and thought that _Maud_ and _Atalanta in Calydon_ were -written by the same poet. But time went on, and the Wednesday evening, -to which he looked forward with so much anxiety and pride, rapidly -drew near. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - "Why, she is cold to all the world." - - -And while Gilead Beck was setting himself to repair in a week the -defects of his early education, Jack Dunquerque was spending his days -hovering round the light of Phillis's eyes. The infatuated youth -frequented the house as if it was his own. He liked it, Mrs. -L'Estrange liked it, and Phillis liked it. Agatha looked with matronly -suspicion for indications and proofs of love in her ward's face. She -saw none, because Phillis was not in love at all. Jack to her was the -first friend she made on coming out of her shell. Very far, indeed, -from being in love. Jack looked too for any of those signs of mental -agitation which accompany, or are supposed to accompany, the birth of -love. There were none. Her face lit up when she saw him; she treated -him with the frankness of a girl who tells her brother everything; but -she did not blush when she saw him, nor was she ever otherwise than -the sweetest and lightest-hearted of sisters. He knew it, and he -groaned to think of it. The slightest sign would have encouraged him -to speak; the smallest indication that Phillis felt something for him -of what he felt for her would have been to him a command to tell what -was in his heart. But she made no sign. It was Jack's experience, -perhaps, which taught him that he is a fool who gives his happiness to -a woman before he has learned to divine her heart. Those ever make the -most foolish marriages who are most ignorant of the sex. Hooker, the -Judicious is a case in point, and many a ghostly man could, from his -country parsonage, tell the same tale. - -Jack was not like the Judicious Divine; he was wary, though -susceptible; he had his share of craft and subtlety; and yet he was in -love, in spite of all that craft, with a girl who only liked him in -return. - -Had he possessed greater power of imagination he would have understood -that he was expecting what was impossible. You cannot get wine out of -an empty bottle, nor reap corn without first sowing the seed; and he -forgot that Phillis, who was unable to read novels, knew nothing, -positively nothing, of that great passion of Love which makes its -victims half divine. It was always necessary, in thinking of this -girl, to remember her thirteen years of captivity. Jack, more than any -other person, not excepting Agatha L'Estrange, knew what she would say -and think on most things. Only in this matter of love he was at fault. -Here he did not know because here he was selfish. To all the world -except Jack and Agatha she was an _impossible_ girl; she said things -that no other girl would have said; she thought as no one else -thought. To all those who live in a tight little island of their own, -fortified by triple batteries of dogma, she was impossible. But to -those who accepted and comprehended the conditions of Phillis's -education she was possible, real, charming, and full of interest. - -Jack continually thought what Phillis would say and what she would -think. For her sake he noticed the little things around him, the -things among which we grow up unobservant. We see so little for the -most part. Things to eat and drink interest us; things that please the -eye; fair women and rare wine. We are like cattle grazing on the -slopes of the Alps. Around us rise the mountains, with their -ever-changing marvels of light and colour; the sunlight flashes from -their peaks; the snow-slopes stretch away and upwards to the deep -blues beyond in curves as graceful as the line of woman's beauty; at -our feet is the belt of pines perfumed and warmed by the summer air; -the mountain stream leaps, bubbles, and laughs, rushing from the -prison of its glacier cave; high overhead soars the Alpine eagle; the -shepherds yodel in the valleys; the rapid echoes roll the song up into -the immeasurable silence of the hills,--and amid all this we browse -and feed, eyes downward turned. - -So this young man, awakened by the quick sympathies of the girl he -loved, lifted his head, taught by her, and tried to catch, he too, -something of the childlike wonder, the appreciative admiration, the -curious enthusiasm, with which she saw everything. Most men's thoughts -are bound by the limits of their club at night, and their chambers or -their offices by day; the suns rise and set, and the outward world is -unregarded. Jack learned from Phillis to look at these unregarded -things. Such simple pleasures as a sunset, the light upon the river, -the wild flowers on the bank, he actually tasted with delight, -provided that she was beside him. And after a day of such Arcadian -joys he would return to town, and find the club a thirsty desert. - -If Phillis had known anything about love, she would have fallen in -love with Jack long before; but she did not. Yet he made headway with -her, because he became almost necessary to her life. She looked for -his coming; he brought her things he had collected in his "globe -trotting;" he told her stories of adventure; he ruined himself in -pictures; and then he looked for the love softening of her eyes, and -it came not at all. - -Yet Jack was a lovable sort of young man in maidens' eyes. Everybody -liked him to begin with. He was, like David, a youth of a cheerful, if -not of a ruddy countenance. Agatha L'Estrange remarked of him that it -did her good to meet cheerful young men--they were so scarce. "I know -quantities of young men, Phillis my dear; and I assure you that most -of them are enough to break a woman's heart even to think of. There is -the athletic young man--he is dreadful indeed, only his time soon goes -by; and there is the young man who talks about getting more brain -power. To be sure, he generally looks as if he wants it. There is the -young man who ought to turn red and hot when the word Prig is used. -There is the bad young man who keeps betting-books; and the miserable -young man who grovels and flops in a Ritualist church. I know young -men who are envious and backbite their friends; and young men who -aspire to be somebody else; and young men who pose as infidels, and -would rather be held up to execration in a paper than not to be -mentioned at all. But, my dear, I don't know anybody who is so -cheerful and contented as Jack. He isn't clever and learned, but he -doesn't want to be; he isn't sharp, and will never make money, but he -is better without it; and he is true, I am sure." - -Agatha unconsciously used the word in the sense which most women mean -when they speak of a man's truth. Phillis understood it to mean that -Jack Dunquerque did not habitually tell fibs, and thought the remark -superfluous, But it will be observed that Agatha was fighting Jack's -battle for him. - -After all, Jack might have taken heart had he thought that all these -visits and all this interest in himself were but the laying of the -seed, which might grow into a goodly tree. - -"If only she would look as if she cared for me, Tommy," he bemoaned to -Ladds. - -"Hang it! can't expect a girl to begin making eyes at you." - -"Eyes! Phillis make eyes! Tommy, as you grow older you grow coarser. -It's a great pity. That comes of this club life. Always smoking and -playing cards." - -Tommy grinned. Virtue was as yet a flower new to Jack Dunquerque's -buttonhole, and he wore it with a pride difficult to dissemble. - -"Better go and have it out with Colquhoun," Tommy advised. "He won't -care. He's taken up with his old flame, Mrs. Cassilis, again. Always -dangling at her heels, I'm told. Got no time to think of Miss Fleming. -Great fool, Colquhoun. Always was a fool, I believe. Might have gone -after flesh and blood instead of a marble statue. Wonder how Cassilis -likes it." - -"There you go," cried Jack impatiently. "Men are worse than women. At -Twickenham one never hears this foolish sort of gossip." - -"Suppose not. Flowers and music, muffins, tea, and spoons. Well, the -girl's worth it, Jack; the more flowers and music you get the better -it will be for you. But go on and square it with Colquhoun." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - "A right royal banquet." - - -At seven o'clock on the great Wednesday Gilead Beck was pacing -restlessly in his inner room, the small apartment which formed his -sanctum, waiting to receive his guests. All the preparations were -complete: a quartette of singers was in readiness, with a piano, to -discourse sweet music after the dinner; the noblest bouquet ever -ordered at the Langham was timed for a quarter to eight punctually; -the wine was in ice; the waiters were adding the last touches to the -artistic decorations of a table which, laid for thirteen only, might -have been prepared for the Prince of Wales. In fact, when the bill -came up a few days later, even Gilead Beck, man of millions, quailed -for a moment before its total. Think of the biggest bill you ever had -at Vèfour's--for francs read pounds, and then multiply by ten; think -of the famous Lord Warden bill for the Emperor Napoleon when he landed -in all his glory, and then consider that the management of the Langham -is in no way behind that of the Dover hostelry. But this was to come, -and when it did come, was received lightly. - -Gilead Beck took a last look at the dinner-table. The few special -injunctions he had given were carried out; they were not many, only -that the shutters should be partly closed and the curtains drawn, so -that they might dine by artificial light; that the table and the room -should be entirely illuminated by wax-candles, save for one central -light, in which should be burning, like the sacred flame of Vesta, his -own rock-oil. He also stipulated that the flowers on the table should -be disposed in shallow vessels, so as to lie low, and not interfere -with the freedom of the eyes across the table. Thus there was no -central tower of flowers and fruit. To compensate for this he allowed -a whole bower of exotics to be erected round the room. - -The long wall opposite the window was decorated with his famous piece -by an unknown master, bought of Bartholomew Burls, known as "Sisera -and Jael." As the frame had not yet been made it was wreathed about -for its whole length and breadth with flowers. The other pictures, -also wreathed with flowers, were genuine originals, bought of the same -famous collector. For the end of the room Gilead Beck had himself -designed, and partly erected with his own hands, an allegorical -trophy. From a pile of books neatly worked in cork, there sprang a jet -of water illuminated on either side by a hidden lamp burning rock-oil. -He had wished to have the fountain itself of oil, but was overruled by -Jack Dunquerque. Above, by an invisible wire, hovered a golden -butterfly in gilded paper. And on either side hung a flag--that on the -right displaying the Stars and Stripes, that on the left the equally -illustrious Union Jack. - -At every man's place lay a copy of the _menu_, in green and gold, -elaborately decorated, a masterpiece of illumination. Gilead Beck, -after making quite sure that nothing was neglected, took his own, and, -retiring to the inner room, read it for the fiftieth time with a -pleasure as intense as that of the young author who reads his first -proof-sheet. It consisted of a large double card. On the top of the -left-hand side was painted in colours and gold a butterfly. And that -side read as follows (I regret that the splendours of the original -cannot be here reproduced): - - +-----------------------------------------------------+ - | _LANGHAM HOTEL_, | - | MAY 20, 1875. | - | | - | _Dinner in Honour of Literature, Science, and Art_, | - | | - | GIVEN BY | - | | - | GILEAD P. BECK, | - | | - | AN OBSCURE AMERICAN CITIZEN RAISED AT LEXINGTON, | - | WHO STRUCK ILE IN A MOST SURPRISING MANNER | - | BY THE HELP OF | - | | - | THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY, | - | | - | BUT WHO DESPISES SHODDY AND RESPECTS GENIUS. | - | | - | | - | _Representatives of Literature, Art, and Science._ | - | | - | THOMAS CARLYLE, | - | ALFRED TENNYSON, | - | JOHN RUSKIN, | - | ALGERNON SWINBURNE, | - | GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA, | - | CHARLES DARWIN, | - | PROFESSOR HUXLEY, | - | FREDERICK LEIGHTON, R.A., | - | CORNELIUS JAGENAL, AND | - | HUMPHREY JAGENAL, | - | | - | WITH CAPTAIN LADDS, THE HON. RONALD DUNQUERQUE, | - | AND GILEAD P. BECK. | - +-----------------------------------------------------+ - -After this preamble, which occupied a whole side of the double card, -followed the _menu_ itself. - -I unwillingly suppress this. There are weaker brethren who might on -reading it feel dissatisfied with the plain lamb and rhubarb-tart of -the sweet spring season. As a present dignitary of the Church, now a -colonial bishop, once a curate, observed to me many years ago, _à -propos_ of thirst, university reminiscences, a neighbouring -public-house, a craving for tobacco, and the fear of being observed, -"These weaker brethren are a great nuisance." - -Let it suffice that at the Langham they still speak of Gilead Beck's -great dinner with tears in their eyes. I believe a copy of the green -and gold card is framed, and hung in the office so as to catch the eye -of poorer men when they are ordering dinners. It makes those of lower -nature feel envious, and even takes the conceit out of the nobler -kind. - -Gilead Beck, dressed for the banquet, was nervous and restless. It -seemed as if, for the first time, his wealth was about to bring him -something worth having. His face, always grave, was as solemn as if he -were fixing it for his own funeral. From time to time he drew a paper -from his pocket and read it over. Then he replaced it, and with lips -and arms went through the action of speaking. It was his speech of the -evening, which he had carefully written and imperfectly committed to -memory. Like a famous American lawyer, the attitude he assumed was to -stand bent a little forward, the feet together, the left hand hanging -loosely at his side, while he brandished the right above his head. - -In this attitude he was surprised by the Twins, who came a quarter of -an hour before the time. They were dressed with great care, having -each the sweetest little eighteenpenny bouquet, bought from the little -shop at the right hand of the Market as you go in, where the young -lady makes it up before your eyes, sticks the wire into it, and pins -it at your buttonhole with her own fair hands. Each brother in turn -winked at her during the operation. A harmless wink, but it suggested -no end of possible devilries should these two young gentlemen of fifty -find themselves loose upon the town. Those who saw it thought of -Mohocks, and praised the Lord for the new police. - -They both looked very nice; they entered with a jaunty step, a -careless backward toss of the head, parted lips, and bright eyes which -faced fearlessly a critical but reverent world. Nothing but the -crow's-feet showed that the first glow of youth was over; nothing but -a few streaks of grey in Humphrey's beard and in Cornelius's hair -showed that they were nearing the Indian summer of life. Mr. Beck, -seeing them enter so fresh, so bright, and so beaming, was more than -ever puzzled at their age. He was waiting for them in a nervous and -rather excitable state of mind, as becomes one who is about to find -himself face to face with the greatest men of his time. - -"You, gentlemen," he said, "will sit near me, one each side, if you -will be so kind, just to lend a helping-hand to the talk when it -flags. Phew! it will be a rasper, the talk of to-day. I've read all -their works, if I can only remember them, and I bought the _History -of English Literature_ yesterday to get a grip of the hull subject. -No use. I haven't got farther than Chaucer. Do you think they can talk -about Chaucer? He wrote the _Canterbury Tales_." - -"Cornelius," said Humphrey, "you will be able to lead the conversation -to the Anglo-Saxon period." - -"That period is too early, brother Humphrey," said Cornelius. "We -shall trust to you to turn the steam in the direction of the -Renaissance." - -Humphrey shifted in his seat uneasily. Why this unwillingness in -either Twin to assume the lead on a topic which had engaged his -attention for twenty years? - -Mr. Beck shook his head. - -"I most wish now," he said, "that I hadn't asked them. But it's a -thundering great honour. Mr. Dunquerque did it all for me. That young -gentleman met these great writers, I suppose, in the baronial halls of -his brother, the Earl of Isleworth." - -"Do we know Lord Isleworth?" asked Cornelius of Humphrey. - -"Lord Isleworth, Cornelius? No; I rather think we have never met him," -said Humphrey to Cornelius. - -"None of your small names to-night," said Gilead Beck, with serious -and even pious joy. "The Lord Mayor may have them at Guildhall. Mine -are the big guns. I did want to get a special report for my own -_Gazette_, but Mr. Dunquerque thought it better not to have it. -P'r'aps 'twould have seemed kind o' shoddy. I ought to be satisfied -with the private honour, and not want the public glory of it. What -would they say in Boston if they knew, or even in New York?" - -"You should have a dinner for poets alone," said Humphrey, anxious for -his brother. - -"Or for Artists only," said Cornelius. - -"Wal, gentlemen, we shall get on. As there's five minutes to spare, -would you like to give an opinion on the wine-list, and oblige me by -your advice?" - -The Twins perused the latter document with sparkling eyes. It was a -noble list. Gilead Beck's plan was simple. He just ordered the best of -everything. For Sauterne, he read Château Iquem: for Burgundy, he took -Chambertin; for Claret, Château Lafite; for Champagne, Heidsieck; for -Sherry, Montilla; a Box Boutel wine for Hock; and for Port the '34. -Never before, in all its experiences of Americans, Russians, and -returned colonials, had the management of the Langham so "thorough" a -wine-bill to make out as for this dinner. - -"Is that satisfactory, gentlemen?" - -"Cornelius, what do you think?" - -"Humphrey, I think as you do; and that is, that this princely -selection shows Mr. Beck's true appreciation of Literature and Art." - -"It is kind of you, gentlemen, to say so. I talked over the dinner -with the _chef_, and I have had the menou printed, as you see it, -in gilt and colours, which I am given to understand is the correct -thing at the Guildhall. Would you like to look at that?" - -They showed the greatest desire to look at it. Humphrey read it aloud -with emphasis. While he read and while his brother listened, Mr. Beck -thought they seemed a good deal older than before. Perhaps that was -before their faces were turned to the light, and the reflection -through an open window of the sinking sun showed up the crow's-feet -round their eyes. - -"Humph! Plovers' eggs. Clear mulligatawny; clear, Cornelius. -Turtle-fins. Salmon--I translate the French. Turbot. Lochleven -trout----" - -"Very good indeed, so far," said Cornelius, with a palpable smack of -his lips. - -"Lamb-cutlets with peas--a simple but excellent dish; aspic of _foie -gras_--ah, two or three things which I cannot translate; a preparation -of pigeon; haunch of venison; yes----" - -"An excellent dinner, indeed," said Cornelius. "Pray go on, Humphrey." - -He began to feel like Sancho in Barataria. So good a dinner seemed -really impossible. - -"Duckling; cabob curry of chicken-liver with Bombay ducks--really, Mr. -Beck, this dinner is worth a dukedom." - -"It is indeed," said Cornelius feelingly. - -"Canvas-back--ah!--from Baltimore--Cornelius, this is almost too much; -apricots in jelly, ice-pudding, grated Parmesan, strawberries, melons, -peaches, nectarines, (and only May, Cornelius!), pines, West India -bananas, custard apples from Jamaica, and dried litchis from China, -Cornelius." - -Humphrey handed the document to his brother with a look of appeal -which said volumes. One sentence in the volumes was clearly, "Say -something appropriate." - -Quoth Cornelius deeply moved-- - -"This new Mĉcenas ransacks the corners of the earth to find a fitting -entertainment for men of genius. Humphrey, you shall paint him." - -"Cornelius, you shall sing his praises." - -By a simultaneous impulse the Twins turned to their patron, and -presented each a right hand. Gilead Beck had only one right hand to -give. He gave that to Cornelius, and the left to Humphrey. - -While this sacrament of friendship was proceeding was heard a sound as -of many men simultaneously stifling much laughter. The door opened, -and the other guests arrived in a body. They were preceded by Jack -Dunquerque, and on entering the room dropped, as if by word of -command, into line, like soldiers on parade. Eight of them were -strangers, but Captain Ladds brought up the rear. - -They were, as might be expected of such great men, a remarkable -assemblage. At the extreme right stood a tall well-set-up old man, -with tangled grey locks, long grey eye-brows, and an immense grey -beard. His vigorous bearing belied the look of age, and what part of -his face could be seen had a remarkably youthful appearance. - -Next to him were other two aged men, one of whom was bent and bowed by -the weight of years. They also had large eyebrows and long grey -beards; and Mr. Beck remarked at once that so far as could be judged -from the brightness of their eyes they had wonderfully preserved their -mental strength. The others were younger men, one of them being -apparently a boy of eighteen or so. - -Then followed a ceremony like a _levée_. Gilead Beck stood in the -centre of the room, the table having been pushed back into the corner. -He was supported, right and left, by the Twins, who formed a kind of -Court, and above whom he towered grandly with his height of -six-feet-two. He held himself as erect, and looked as solemn as if he -were the President of the United States. The Twins, for their part, -looked a little as if they were his sons. - -Jack Dunquerque acted as Lord Chamberlain or Master of the Ceremonies. -He wore an anxious face, and looked round among the great men whom he -preceded, as soon as they had all filed in, with a glance which might -have meant admonition, had that been possible. And, indeed, a broad -smile, which was hovering like the sunlight upon their venerable -faces, disappeared at the frown of this young gentleman. It was very -curious. - -It was in the Grand Manner--that peculiar to Courts--in which Jack -Dunquerque presented the first of the distinguished guests to Mr. -Beck. - -"Sir," he said, with low and awe-struck voice, "before you stands -Thomas Carlyle." - -A thrill ran through the American's veins as he grasped the hand which -had written so many splendid things, and looked into the eyes which -harboured such splendid thought. Then he said, in softened tones, -because his soul was moved; "This is a proud moment, sir, for Gilead -P. Beck. I never thought to have shaken by the hand the author of the -_French Revolution_ and the _Stones of Venice_." - -(It really was unfortunate that his reading had been so miscellaneous -during the four days preceding the dinner.) - -The venerable Philosopher opened his mouth and spake. His tones were -deep and his utterance slow. - -"You are proud, Mr. Beck? The only Pride should be the pride of work. -Beautiful the meanest thing that works; even the rusty and unmusical -Meatjack. All else belongs to the outlook of him whom men call -Beelzebub. The brief Day passes with its poor paper crowns in tinsel -gilt; Night is at hand with her silences and her veracities. What hast -thou done? All the rest is phantasmal. Work only remains. Say, -brother, what is thy work?" - -"I have struck Ile," replied Gilead proudly, feeling that his Work -(with a capital W) had been well and thoroughly done. - -The Philosopher stepped aside. - -Jack Dunquerque brought up the next. - -"Mr. Beck, Alfred Tennyson, the Poet Laureate." - -This time it was a man with robust frame and strongly-marked features. -He wore a long black beard, streaked with grey and rather ragged, with -a ragged mass of black hair, looking as he did at Oxford when they -made him an honorary D.C.L., and an undergraduate from the gallery -asked him politely, "_Did_ they wake and call you early?" - -"Mr. Tennyson," said Mr. Beck, "I do assure you, sir, that this is the -kindest thing that has been done to me since I came to England. I hope -I see you well, sir. I read your _Fifine at the Fair_, sir--no, that -was the other man's--I mean, sir, your _Songs before Sunrise_; and I -congratulate you. We've got some poets on our side of the water, sir. -I've written poetry myself for the papers. We've got Longfellow and -Lowell, and take out you and Mr. Swinburne, with them we'll meet your -lot." - -Mr. Tennyson opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again in silence, -and looking at Jack mournfully as if he had forgotten something, he -stepped aside. - -Jack presented another. - -"Mr. John Ruskin." - -A sharp-featured, clever-looking man, with grey locks and shaven face. -He seized Mr. Beck by the hand and spoke first, not giving his host -time to utter his little set speech. - -"I welcome," he said, "one of our fellow-workers from the other side of -the Atlantic. I cannot utter to you what I would. We all see too dimly -as yet what are our great world-duties, for we try and outline their -enlarging shadows. You in America do not seek peace as Menahem sought -it, when he gave the King of Assyria a thousand pieces of silver. You -fight for your peace and have it. You do not buy what you want; you -take it. That is strength; that is harmony. You do not sit at home -lisping comfortable prayers; you go out and work. For many a year to -come, sir, the sword of your nation shall be whetted to save and to -subdue." - -He stopped suddenly, and closed his lips with a snap. - -Mr. Beck turned rather helplessly to the Twins. He wanted a diversion -to this utterly unintelligible harangue. They stared straight before -them, and pretended to be absorbed in meditation. - -"Mr. Beck, Mr. Swinburne. Deaf people think Mr. Browning is musical, -sir; but all people allow Mr. Swinburne to be the most musical of -poets." - -It was the very young man. He stood before his host and laughed aloud. - -"Sir," said Mr. Beck, "I have read some of your verses. I can't say -what they were about, but I took to singin' them softly as I read -them, and I seemed to be in a green field, lyin' out among the -flowers, while the bees were bummin' around, and the larks were -liftin' their hymns in the sky." - -Mr. Swinburne laughed again and made way for the next comer. - -"Mr. Beck, let me introduce Mr. George Augustus Sala." - -"This," said the Man of Oil, "is indeed a pleasure. Mr. Sala, when I -say that I am an old and personal friend of Colonel Quagg, you will be -glad to meet me." - -Contrary to reasonable expectation, the face of Mr. Sala showed no -sign of joy at the reminiscence. He only looked rather helplessly at -Jack Dunquerque, who turned red, and brought up the rest of his men -together, as if to get the introductions over quickly. - -"Mr. Beck, these gentlemen are Mr. Darwin, Professor Huxley, and Mr. -Frederick Leighton. Ladds you know well enough already. Step up, -Tommy." - -Gilead Beck shook hands with each, and then, drawing himself up to his -full height, laid his left hand within his waistcoat, brandished his -right above his head with a preliminary flourish, and began his -speech. - -"Gentlemen all," he said, "I am more than proud to make your -acquaintance. Across the foaming waves of the mighty Atlantic there is -a land whose institootions--known to Mr. Sala--air not unlike your -own, whose literature is your own up to a hundred years ago ["Hear, -hear!" from Cornelius], whose language is the same as yours. We say -hard things of each other, gentlemen; but the hard things are said on -the low levels, not on the heights where you and your kindred spirits -dwell. No, gentlemen,"--here he raised both arms and prepared for a -rhetorical burst,--"when the American eagle, proudly bearing the stars -and stripes----" - -"Dinner on the table, sir!" bawled the head waiter, throwing open the -doors with the grandest flourish and standing in the open doorway. - -"Hear, hear!" cried Humphrey a little late, because he meant the cheer -for the speech, and it sounded like a joy bell ringing for the -announcement of dinner. Mr. Beck thought it rather rude, but he did -not say so, and vented his wrath upon the waiter. - -"Great Jehoshaphat!" he cried, "can't you see when a gentleman is on -the stump? Who the devil asked you to shove in?" - -"Never mind," said Jack irreverently. "Spout the rest after dinner." - -A sigh of relief escaped the lips of all, and the party, headed, after -some demur, by the host, who was escorted, one on each side, like a -great man with his private secretary, by the Twins, passed into the -dining-room. - -Oddly enough, when their host passed on before them, the guests turned -to each other, and the same extraordinary smile which Jack Dunquerque -checked on their first appearance passed from one to the other. Why -should Alfred Tennyson look in the face of Thomas Carlyle and laugh? -What secret relationship is there between John Ruskin, Swinburne, and -George Augustus Sala, that they should snigger and grin on catching -each other's eyes? And, if one is to go on asking questions, why did -Jack Dunquerque whisper in an agitated tone, "For Heaven's sake, Tom, -and you fellows, keep it up?" - -There was some little difficulty in seating the guests, because they -all showed a bashful reluctance to sitting near their host, and -crowded together to the lower end. At last, however, they were settled -down. Mr. Carlyle, who, with a modesty worthy of his great name, -seized the lowest chair of all--on the left of Jack Dunquerque, who -was to occupy the end of the table--was promptly dragged out and -forcibly led to the right of the host. Facing him was Alfred Tennyson. -The Twins, one on each side, came next. Mr. Sala faced John Ruskin. -The others disposed themselves as they pleased. - -A little awkwardness was caused at the outset by the host, who, firm -in the belief that Professor Huxley was in the Moody and Sankey line, -called upon him to say Grace. The invitation was warmly seconded by -all the rest, but the Professor, greatly confused, blushed, and after -a few moments of reflection was fain to own that he knew no Grace. It -was a strange confession, Gilead Beck thought, for a clergyman. The -singers, however--Miss Claribelle, Signors Altotenoro, Bassoprofondo, -and Mr. Plantagenet Simpkins--performed _Non nobis_ with great -feeling and power, and dinner began. - -It was then that Gilead Beck first conceived, against his will, -suspicion of the Twins. So far from being the backbone and stay of the -whole party, so far from giving a lead to the conversation, and -leading up to the topics loved by the guests, they gave themselves -unreservedly and from the very first to "tucking in." They went at the -dinner with the go of a Rugby boy--a young gentleman of Eton very soon -teaches himself that the stomach is not to be trifled with. So did the -rest. Considering the overwhelming amount of genius at the table, and -the number of years represented by the guests collectively, it was -really wonderful to contemplate the vigour with which all, including -the octogenarian, attacked the courses, sparing none. Could it have -been believed by an outsider that the author of _Maud_ was so -passionately critical over the wine? It is sad to be disillusioned, -but pleasant, on the other hand, to think that you are no longer an -outsider. Individually the party would have disappointed their host, -but he did not allow himself to be disappointed. Mr. Beck expected a -battery of wit. He heard nothing but laudation of the wine and remarks -upon the cookery. No anecdotes, no criticism, no literary talk, no -poetical enthusiasm. - -"In my country, sir," he began, glancing reproachfully at the Twins, -whose noses were over their plates, and feeling his way feebly to a -conversation with Carlyle,--"in my country, sir, I hope we know how to -appreciate what we cannot do ourselves." - -Mr. Carlyle stared for a moment. Then he replied-- - -"Hope you do, Mr. Beck, I'm sure. Didn't know you'd got so good a -_chef_ at the Langham." - -This was disheartening, and for a space no one spoke. - -Presently Mr. Carlyle looked round the table as if he was about to -make an utterance. - -Humphrey Jagenal, who happened at the moment to have nothing before -him, raised his hand and said solemnly, "Hush!" Cornelius bent forward -in an attitude of respectful attention. - -Said the Teacher-- - -"Clear mulligatawny's about the best thing I know to begin a dinner -upon. Some fellows like Palestine soup. That's a mistake." - -"The greatest minds," said Cornelius to the Poet Laureate, "condescend -to the meanest things----" - -"'Gad!" said Tennyson, "if you call such a dinner as this mean, I -wonder what you'd call respectable." - -Cornelius felt snubbed. But he presently rallied and went on again. It -was between the courses. - -"Pray, Mr. Carlyle," he asked, with the sweetest smile, "what was the -favourite soup of Herr Teufelsdröckh?" - -"Who?" asked the Philosopher. "Beg your pardon, Herr how much?" - -"From your own work, Mr. Carlyle," Jack sang out from his end. It was -remarkable to notice how anxiously he followed the conversation. - -"Oh, ah! quite so," said Mr. Carlyle. "Well, you see, the fact is -that--Jack Dunquerque knows." - -This was disconcerting too, and the more because everybody began to -laugh. What did they laugh at? - -The dinner went on. Gilead Beck, silent and grave, sat at the head of -the table, watching his guests. He ought, he said to himself, to be a -proud man that day. But there were one or two crumpled rose-leaves in -his bed. One thing was that he could not for the life of him remember -each man's works, so as to address him in honeyed tones of adulation. -And he also rightly judged that the higher a man's position in the -world of letters, the more you must pile up the praise. No doubt the -lamented George the Fourth, the Fourteenth Louis, and John Stuart -Mill, grew at last to believe in the worth of the praise-painting -which surrounded their names. - -And then the Twins were provoking. Only one attempt on the part of -Cornelius, at which everybody laughed. And nothing at all from -Humphrey. - -Carlyle and Tennyson, for their part, sat perfectly silent. Lower -down--below the Twins, that is--Sala, Huxley, and the others were -conversing freely, but in a low tone. And when Gilead Beck caught a -few words it seemed to him as if they talked of horse-racing. - -Presently, to his relief, John Ruskin leaned forward and spoke to him. - -"I have been studying lately, Mr. Beck, the Art growth of America." - -"Is that so, sir? And perhaps you have got something to tell my -countrymen?" - -"Perhaps, Mr. Beck. You doubtless know my principle, that Art should -interpret, not create. You also know that I have preached all my life -the doctrine that where Art is followed for Art's own sake, there -infallibly ensues a distinction of intellectual and moral principles, -while, devoted honestly and self-forgetfully to the clear statement -and record of the facts of the universe, Art is always helpful and -beneficial to mankind. So much you know, Mr. Beck, I'm sure." - -"Well, sir, if you would not mind saying that over again--slow--I -might be able to say I know it." - -"I have sometimes gone on to say," pursued Mr. Ruskin, "that a time -has always hitherto come when, having reached a singular perfection, -Art begins to contemplate that perfection and to deduce rules from it. -Now all this has nothing to do with the relations between Art and -mental development in the United States of America." - -"I am glad to hear that, sir," said Gilead Beck, a little relieved. - -He looked for help to the Twins, but he leaned upon a slender reed, -for they were both engaged upon the duckling, and proffered no help at -all. They did not even seem to listen. The dinner was far advanced, -their cheeks were red, and their eyes were sparkling. - -"What is it all about?" Mr. Carlyle murmured across the table to -Tennyson. - -"Don't know," replied the Maker. "Didn't think he had it in him." - -Could these two great men be jealous of Mr. Ruskin's fame? - -"Your remarks, Mr. Ruskin," said the host, "sound very pretty. But I -should like to have them before me in black and white, so I could -tackle them quietly for an hour. Then I'd tell you what I think. I was -reading, last week, all your works." - -"All my works in a week!" cried Ruskin. "Sir, my works require loving -thought and lingering tender care. You must get up early in the -morning with them, you must watch the drapery of the clouds at sunrise -when you read them, you must take them into the fields at spring-time -and mark, as you meditate on the words of the printed page, the young -leaflets breathing low in the sunshine. Then, as the thoughts grow and -glow in the pure ether of your mind--hock, if you please--you will -rise above the things of the earth, your wings will expand, you will -care for nothing of the mean and practical--I will take a little more -duckling--your faculties will be woven into a cunning subordination -with the wondrous works of Nature, and all will be beautiful alike, -from a blade of grass to a South American forest." - -"There are very good forests in the Sierra Nevada," said Mr. Beck, who -had just understood the last words; "we needn't go to South America -for forests, I guess." - -"That, Mr. Beck, is what you will get from a study of my works. But a -week--a week, Mr. Beck!" - -He shook his head with a whole library of reproach. - -"My time was limited, Mr. Ruskin, and I hope to go through your books -with more study, now I have had the pleasure of meeting you. What I -was going to say was, that I am sorry not to be able to talk with you -gentlemen on the subjects you like best, because things have got -mixed, and I find I can't rightly remember who wrote what." - -"Thank goodness!" murmured Mr. Tennyson, under his breath. - -Presently the diners began to thaw, and something like general -conversation set in. - -About the grated Parmesan period, Mr. Beck observed with satisfaction -that they were all talking together. The Twins were the loudest. With -flushed faces and bright eyes they were laying down the law to their -neighbours in Poetry and Art. Cornelius gave Mr. Tennyson some home -truths on his later style, which the Poet Laureate received without so -much as an attempt to defend himself. Humphrey, from the depth of his -Roman experiences, treated Mr. Ruskin to a brief treatise on his -imperfections as a critic, and Mr. Leighton to some remarks on his -paintings, which those great men heard with a polite stare. Gilead -Beck observed also that Jack Dunquerque was trying hard to keep the -talk in literary grooves, though with small measure of success. For as -the dinner went on the conversation resolved itself into a general -discussion on horses, events, Aldershot, Prince's, polo, the drama -from its lightest point of view, and such topics as might perhaps be -looked for at a regimental mess, but hardly at a dinner of Literature. -It was strange that the two greatest men among them all, Carlyle and -Tennyson, appeared as interested as any in this light talk. - -The Twins were out of it altogether. If there was one thing about -which they were absolutely ignorant, it was the Turf. Probably they -had never seen a race in their lives. They talked fast and a little at -random, but chiefly to each other, because no one, Mr. Beck observed, -took any notice of what they said. Also, they drank continuously, and -their host remarked that to the flushed cheeks and the bright eyes was -rapidly being added thickness of speech. - -Mr. Beck rose solemnly, at the right moment, and asked his guests to -allow him two or three toasts only. The first, he said, was England -and America. Ile, he said briefly, had not yet been found in the old -country, and so far she was behind America. But she did her best; she -bought what she could not dig. - -By special request of the host Mademoiselle Claribelle sang "Old John -Brown lies a-mouldering in his grave." - -The next toast, Mr. Beck said, was one due to the peculiar position of -himself. He would not waste their time in telling his own story, but -he would only say that until the Golden Butterfly brought him to -Limerick City and showed him Ile, he was but a poor galoot. Therefore, -he asked them to join him in a sentiment. He would give them, "More -Ile." - -Signor Altotenoro, an Englishman who had adopted an Italian name, sang -"The Light of other Days." - -Then Mr. Beck rose for the third time and begged the indulgence of his -friends. He spoke slowly and with a certain sadness. - -"I am not," he said, "going to orate. You did not come here, I guess, -to hear me pay out chin music. Not at all. You came to do honour to an -American. Gentlemen, I am an obscure American; I am half educated; I -am a man lifted out of the ranks. In our country--and I think in yours -as well, though some of you have got handles to your names--that is -not a thing to apologise for. No, gentlemen. I only mention it because -it does me the greater honour to have received you. But I can read and -I can think. I see here to-night some of the most honoured names in -England and I can tell you all what I was goin' to say before dinner, -only the misbegotten cuss of a waiter took the words out of my mouth: -that I feel this kindness greatly, and I shall never forget it. I did -think, gentlemen, that you would have been too many for me in the -matter of tall talk, but exceptin' Mr. Ruskin, to whom I am grateful -for his beautiful language, though it didn't all get in, not one of -you has made me feel my own uneducated ignorance. That is kind of you, -and I thank you for it. It was true feeling, Mr. Carlyle, which -prompted you, sir, to give the conversation such a turn that I might -join in without bein' ashamed or makin' myself feel or'nary. -Gentlemen, what a man like me has to guard against is shoddy. If I -talk Literature, it's shoddy. If I talk Art, it's shoddy. Because I -know neither Literature nor Art. If I pretend to be what I am not, -it's shoddy. Therefore, gentlemen, I thank you for leavin' the tall -talk at home, and tellin' me about your races and your amusements. And -I'll not ask you, either, to make any speeches; but if you'll allow -me, I will drink your healths. Mr. Carlyle, sir, the English-speaking -race is proud of you. Mr. Tennyson, our gells, I'm told, love your -poems more than any others in this wide world. What an American gell -loves is generally worth lovin', because she's no fool. Mr. Ruskin, if -you'd come across the water you might learn a wrinkle yet in the -matter of plain speech. Mr. Sala, we know you already over thar, and I -shall be glad to tell the Reverend Colonel Quagg of your welfare when -I see him. Mr. Swinburne, you air young, but you air getting on. -Professor Huxley and Mr. Darwin, I shall read your sermons and your -novels, and I shall be proud to have seen you at my table. Mr. -Cornelius and Mr. Humphrey Jagenal, I would drink your healths, too, -if you were not sound asleep." This was unfortunately the case; the -Twins, having succumbed to the mixture and quantity of the drinks -almost before the wine went round once, were now leaning back in their -chairs, slumbering with the sweetest of smiles. "Captain Ladds, you -know, sir, that you are always welcome. Mr. Dunquerque, you have done -me another favour. Gentlemen all, I drink your health." - -"Jack," whispered Mr. Swinburne, "I call this a burning shame. He's a -rattling good fellow, this, and you must tell him." - -"I will, some time; not now," said Jack, looking remorseful. "I -haven't the heart. I thought he would have found us out long ago. I -wonder how he'll take it." - -They had coffee and cigars, and presently Gilead Beck began telling -about American trotting matches, which was interesting to everybody. - -It was nearly twelve when Mr. Beck's guests departed. - -Mr. Carlyle, in right of his seniority, solemnly "up and spake." - -"Mr. Beck," he said, "you are a trump. Come down to the Derby with me, -and we will show you a race worth twenty of your trotting. Good night, -sir, you've treated us like a prince." - -He grasped his hand with a grip which had all its youthful vigour, and -strode out of the room with the step of early manhood. - -"A wonderful man!" said Mr. Beck. "Who would have thought it?" - -The rest shook hands in silence, except Mr. Ruskin. - -"I am sorry, Mr. Beck," he said meekly, "that the nonsense I talked at -dinner annoyed you. It's always the way if a fellow tries to be -clever; he overdoes it, and makes himself an ass. Good night, sir, and -I hope we shall meet on the racecourse next Wednesday." - -Mr. Beck was left alone with Jack Dunquerque, the waiter, and the -Twins still sleeping. - -"What am I to do with these gentlemen, sir?" asked the waiter. - -Mr. Beck looked at them with a little disdain. - -"Get John, and yank them both to bed, and leave a brandy-and-soda at -their elbows in case they're thirsty in the night. Mr. Dunquerque and -Captain Ladds, don't go yet. Let us have a cigar together in the -little room." - -They sat in silence for a while. Then Jack said, with a good deal of -hesitation: - -"I've got something to tell you, Beck." - -"Then don't tell it to-night," replied the American. "I'm thinking -over the evening, and I can't get out of my mind that I might have -made a better speech. Seems as if I wasn't nigh grateful enough. Wal, -it's done. Mr. Dunquerque, there is one thing which pleases me. Great -authors are like the rest of us. They are powerful fond of racing; -they shoot, they ride, and they hunt; they know how to tackle a -dinner; and all of 'em, from Carlyle to young Mr. Swinburne, seem to -love the gells alike. That's a healthy sign, sir. It shows that their -hearts air in the right place. The world's bound to go on well, -somehow, so long as its leaders like to talk of a pretty woman's eyes; -because it's human. And then for me to hear these great men actually -doing it! Why, Captain Ladds, it adds six inches to my stature to feel -sure that they like what I like, and that, after all said and done, -Alfred Tennyson and Gilead P. Beck are men and brothers." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - - "Greater humanity." - - -The world, largely as it had unfolded itself to Phillis, consisted as -yet to her wholly of the easy classes. That there were poor people in -the country was a matter of hearsay. That is, she had caught a glimpse -during a certain walk with Cĉsar of a class whose ways were clearly -not her ways, nor their manner of thought hers. She had now to -learn--as a step to that wider sympathy first awakened by the -butter-woman's baby--that there is a kind of folk who are more -dangerous than picturesque, to be pitied rather than to be painted, to -be schooled and disciplined rather than to be looked at. - -She learned this lesson through Mrs. L'Estrange, whose laudable custom -it was to pay periodical visits to a certain row of cottages. They -were not nice cottages, but nasty. They faced an unrelenting ditch, -noisome, green, and putrid. They were slatternly and out at elbows. -The people who lived in them were unpleasant to look at or to think -of; the men belonged to the riverside--they were boat-cads and touts; -and if there is any one pursuit more demoralising than another, it is -that of launching boats into the river, handing the oars, and helping -out the crew. - -In the daytime the cottages were in the hands of the wives. Towards -nightfall the men returned: those who had money enough were drunk; -those who were sober envied those who were drunk. Both drunk and sober -found scolding wives, squalid homes, and crying children. Both drunk -and sober lay down with curses, and slept till the morning, when they -awoke, and went forth again with the jocund curse of dawn. - -Nothing so beautiful as the civilisation of the period. Half a mile -from Agatha L'Estrange and Phillis Fleming were these cottages. Almost -within earshot of a house where vice was unknown, or only dimly seen -like a ghost at twilight, stood the hovels where virtue was -impossible, and goodness a dream of an unknown land. What notion do -they have of the gentle life, these dwellers in misery and squalor? -What fond ideas of wealth's power to procure unlimited gratification -for the throat do they conceive, these men and women whose only -pleasure is to drink beer till they drop? - -One day Phillis went there with Agatha. - -It was such a bright warm morning, the river was so sparkling, the -skies were so blue, the gardens were so sunny, the song of the birds -so loud, the laburnums so golden, and the lilacs so glorious to -behold, that the girl's heart was full of all the sweet thoughts which -she had learned of others or framed for herself--thoughts of poets, -which echoed in her brain and flowed down the current of her thoughts -like the swans upon the river; happy thoughts of youth and innocence. - -She walked beside her companion with light and elastic tread; she -looked about her with the fresh unconscious grace that belongs to -childhood; it was her greatest charm. But the contentment of her soul -was rudely shaken--the beauty went out of the day--when Mrs. -L'Estrange only led her away from the leafy road and took her into her -"Row." There the long arms of the green trees were changed into -protruding sticks, on which linen was hanging out to dry; the songs of -the birds became the cry of children and the scolding of women; for -flowers there was the iridescence on the puddles of soap-suds; for -greenhouse were dirty windows and open doors which looked into squalid -interiors. - -"I am going to see old Mr. Medlicott," said Mrs. L'Estrange -cheerfully, picking her accustomed way among the cabbage-stalks, -wash-tubs, and other evidences of human habitation. - -The women looked out of their houses and retired hastily. Presently -they came out again, and stood every one at her door with a clean -apron on, each prepared to lie like an ambassador for the good of the -family. - -In a great chair by a fire there sat an old woman--a malignant old -woman. She looked up and scowled at the ladies; then she looked at the -fire and scowled; then she pointed to the corner and scowled again. - -"Look at him," she growled in a hoarse crescendo. "Look at him, lying -like a pig--like a pig. Do you hear?" - -"I hear." - -The voice came from what Phillis took at first to be a heap of rags. -She was right, because she could not see beneath the rags the supine -form of a man. - -Mrs. L'Estrange took no notice of the old woman's introduction to the -human pig. That phenomenon repeated his answer: - -"I hear. I'm her beloved grandson, ladies. I'm Jack-in-the-Water." - -"Get up and work. Go down to your river. Comes home and lies down, he -does--yah! ye lazy pig; says he's goin' to have the horrors, he -does--yah! ye drunken pig; prigs my money for drink--yah! ye thievin' -pig. Get up and go out of the place. Leave me and the ladies to talk. -Go, I say!" - -Jack-in-the-Water arose slowly. He was a long-legged creature with -shaky limbs, and when he stood upright his head nearly touched the -rafters of the low unceiled room. And he had a face at sight of which -Phillis shuddered--an animal face with no forehead; a cruel, bad, -selfish face, all jowl and no front. His eyes were bloodshot and his -lips were thick. He twitched and trembled all over--his legs trembled; -his hands trembled; his cheeks twitched. - -"'Orrors!" he said in a husky voice. "And should ha' had the 'orrors -if I hadn't a took the money. Two-and-tuppence." - -He pushed past Phillis, who shrank in alarm, and disappeared. - -"Well, Mrs. Medlicott, and how are we?" asked Mrs. L'Estrange in a -cheerful voice--she took no manner of notice of the man. - -"Worse. What have you got for me? Money? I want money. Flannel? I want -flannel. Physic? I want physic. Brandy? I want brandy very bad; I -never wanted it so bad. What have you got? Gimme brandy and you shall -read me a tract." - -"You forget," said Agatha, "that I never read to you." - -"Let the young lady read, then. Come here, missy. Lord, Lord! Don'tee -be afraid of an old woman as has got no teeth. Come now. Gimme your -hand. Ay, ay, ay! Eh, eh, eh! Here's a pretty little hand." - -"Now, Mrs. Medlicott, you said you would not do that any more. You -know it is all foolish wickedness. - -"Foolish wickedness," echoed the Witch of Endor. "Never after to-day, -my lady. Come, my pretty lass, take off the glove and gimme the hand." - -Without knowing what she did, Phillis drew off the glove from her left -hand. The old woman leaned forward in her chair and looked at the -lines. She was a fierce and eager old woman. Life was strong in her -yet, despite her fourscore years; her eyes were bright and fiery; her -toothless gums chattered without speaking; her long lean fingers shook -as they seized on the girl's dainty palm. - -"Ay, ah! Eh, eh! The line of life is long. A silent childhood! a -love-knot hindered; go, on, girl--go on, wife and mother; happy life -and happy age, but far away--not here--far away; a lucky lot with him -you love; to sleep by his side for fifty years and more; to see your -children and your grandchildren; to watch the sun rise and set from -your door--a happy life, but far away." - -She dropped the girl's hand as quickly as she had seized it, and fell -back in her chair mumbling and moaning. - -"Gimme brandy, Mrs. L'Estrange--you are a charitable woman--gimme -brandy. And port-wine!--ah! lemme have some port-wine. Tea? Don't -forget the tea. And Jack-in-the-Water drinks awful, he does. Worse -than his father; worse than his grandfather--and they all went off at -five-and-thirty." - -"I will send you up a basket, Mrs. Medlicott. Come, Phillis, I have -got to go to the next cottage." - -But Phillis stayed behind a moment. - -She touched the old woman on the forehead with her fingers and said -softly-- - -"Tell me, are you happy? Do you suffer?" - -"Happy? only the rich are happy. Suffer? of course I suffer. All the -pore suffers." - -"Poor thing! May I come and see you and bring you things?" - -"Of course you may." - -"And you will tell me about yourself?" - -"Child, child!" cried the old woman impatiently. "Tell you about -myself? There, there, you're one of them the Lord loves--wife and -mother; happy life and happy death; childer and grandchilder; but far -away, far away." - -Mrs. Medlicott gave Phillis her first insight into that life so near -and yet so distant from us. She should have been introduced to the -ideal cottage, where the stalwart husband supports the smiling wife, -and both do honour to the intellectual curate with the long coat and -the lofty brow. Where are they--lofty brow of priest and stalwart form -of virtuous peasant? Remark that Phillis was a child; the first effect -of the years upon a child is to sadden it. Philemon and Baucis in -their cot would have rejoiced her; that of old Mrs. Medlicott set her -thinking. - -And while she drew from memory the old fortune-teller in her cottage, -certain words of Abraham Dyson's came back to her: - -"Life is a joy to one and a burden to ninety-nine. Remember in your -joy as many as you can of the ninety-nine. - -"Learn that you cannot be entirely happy, because of the ninety-nine -who are entirely wretched. - -"When you reach this knowledge, Phillis, be sure that the Coping-stone -is not far-off." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - "Non possidentem multa vocaveris - Recte beatum." - - -The manner in which Mr. Cassilis conveyed his advice, or rather -instructions, to Gilead Beck inspired the American with a blind -confidence. He spoke slowly, grimly, and with deliberation. He spoke -as one who knew. Most men speak as those who only half know, like the -Frenchman who said, "Ce que je sais, je le sais mal; ce que j'ignore, -je l'ignore parfaitement." - -Mr. Cassilis weighed each word. While he spoke his eyes sought those -of his friend, and looked straight in them, not defiantly, but -meditatively. He brought Mr. Beck bills, which he made him accept; and -he brought prospectuses, in which the American, finding they were -English schemes, invested money at his adviser's suggestion. - -"You have now," said Mr. Cassilis, "a very large sum invested in -different companies; you must consider now how long to hold the -shares--when to sell out in fact." - -"Can't I sell my shares at once, if I please?" - -"You certainly can, and so ruin the companies. Consider my undertaking -to my friends on the allotment committees." - -"Yes, sir." - -"You forget, Mr. Beck, that you are a wealthy man. We do not manage -matters in a hole and corner. The bears have sold on expectation of an -allotment. Now as they have not got an allotment, and we have, they -must buy. When such men as you buy largely, the effect is to run -shares up; when you sell largely, you run them down." - -Mr. Cassilis did not explain that he had himself greatly profited by -this tidal influence, and proposed to profit still more. - -"Many companies, perfectly sound in principle, may be ruined by a -sudden decrease in the price of shares; a panic sets in, and in a few -hours the shareholders may lose all. And if you bring this about by -selling without concert with the other favoured allottees, you'll be -called a black sheep." - -Mr. Beck hesitated. "It's a hard thing----" he began. - -His adviser went on: - -"You have thus two things to think of--not to lose your own profit, -and not to spread disaster over a number of other people by the very -magnitude of your transactions." - -This was a new light to Gilead. - -"Then why sell at all? Why not keep the shares and secure the -dividend? It's a hard hank, all this money." - -And this was a new light for the financier. - -Hold the shares? When they were, scores of them, at 16 premium? "You -can certainly do that, if you please," he said slowly. "That, however, -puts you in the simple position of investor." - -"I thought I was that, Mr. Cassilis?" - -"Not at all, Mr. Beck. The wise man distrusts all companies, but puts -his hope in a rise or fall. You are not conversant with the way -business is done. A company is formed--the A B C let us say. Before -any allotment of shares is made, influential brokers, acting in the -interest of the promoters, go on to the Stock Exchange, and make a -market." - -"How is that, sir?" - -"They purchase as many shares as they can get. Persons technically -called 'bears' in London or in New York sell these shares on the -chance of allotment." - -"Well?" - -"To their astonishment they don't get any shares allotted. Millions of -money in a year are allotted to clerks, Mr. Beck--to anybody, in -fact--a market is established, and our shares figure at a pretty -premium. Then begins the game of backing and filling--to and fro, -backward and forward--and all this time we are gradually unloading the -shares on the public, the real holders of every thing." - -"I begin to see," said Mr. Beck slowly. - -"By this time you will perceive," Mr. Cassilis continued, "the bears -are at the mercy of the favoured allottees. Then up go the shares; the -public have come in. I recollect an old friend of mine who made a -fortune on 'Change--small compared with yours, Mr. Beck, but a great -fortune--used to say, talking of shares in his rather homely style, -'When they rise, the people buys; when they fa's, they lets 'em goes.' -Ha, ha! it's so true. I have but a very poor opinion of the Isle of -Holyhead Inland Navigation Company; but I thought their shares would -go up, and I bought for you. You hold twenty out of fifty thousand. -Wait till 'the people buys,' and then unload cautiously." - -"And leave the rest in the lurch? No, sir, I can't do that." - -"Then, Mr. Beck, I can advise you no more." - -"I hold twenty thousand shares; and if I sell out, that company will -bust up." - -"I do not say so much. I say that if you sell out gradually you take -advantage of the premium, and the company is left exactly where it was -before you joined, to stand or fall upon its merits. But if you will -sell your shares without concert with our colleagues in these -companies you are in, we shall be very properly called black sheep." - -"Then, Mr. Cassilis," said Gilead, "in God's name, let us have done -with companies." - -"Very well; as you please. You have only to give me a power of -attorney, and I will dispose of all your shares in the best way -possible for your interests. Will you give me that power of attorney?" - -"Sir, I am deeply obliged to you for all the trouble you are taking." - -"A power of attorney conveys large powers. It will put into my hands -the management of your great revenues. This is not a thing to be done -in a moment. Think well, Mr. Beck, before you sign such a document." - -"I have thought, sir," said Gilead, "and I will sign it with -gratitude." - -"In that case, I will have the document--it is only a printed form, -filled up and sent on to you for signature immediately." - -"Thank you, Mr. Cassilis." - -"And as for the shares in the various companies which you have -acquired by my advice, I will, if you please, take them all over one -with another at the price you gave for them, without considering which -have gone up and which down." - -They had all gone up, a fact which Mr. Cassilis might have remembered -had he given the thing a moment's thought. The companies on paper were -doing extremely well. - -"Sir," said Mr. Beck, starting to his feet "you heap coals of fire on -my head. When a gentleman like you advises me, I ought to be thankful, -and not go worrying around like a hen in a farmyard. The English -nation are the only people who can raise a man like you, sir. Honour is -your birthright. Duty is your instinct. Truth is your nature. We, -Americans, sir, come next to you English in that respect. The rest of -the world are nowhere." He was walking backwards and forwards, with -his hands in his pockets, while Mr. Cassilis looked at him through his -gold eyeglasses as if he was a little amused at the outburst. -"Nowhere, sir. Truth lives only among us. The French lie to please -you. The Germans lie to get something for themselves. The Russians lie -because they imitate the French and have caught the bad tricks of the -Germans. Sir, no one but an Englishman would have made me the generous -offer you have just made, and I respect you for it, Mr. Cassilis, I -respect you, sir." - -Gabriel Cassilis looked a little, a very little, confused at all these -compliments. Then he held out his hand. - -"My dear friend, the respect is mutual," he said, with a forced smile. -"Do not, however, act always upon your belief in the honesty of -Englishmen. It may lead you into mischief." - -"As for the shares," said Beck, "they will stay as they are, if you -please, or they will be sold, as you will. And no more companies, Mr. -Cassilis, for me." - -"You shall have no more," said his adviser. - -In his pocket was a beautiful prospectus, brand new, of a company -about to be formed for the purpose of lighting the town of La -Concepcion Immaculata on the Amazon River in Brazil with gas. A -concession of land had been obtained, engineers had been out to survey -the place, and their prospects were most bright. - -Now, he felt, that project must be released. He turned the paper in -his fingers nervously round and round, and the muscles of his cheek -twitched. Then he looked up and smiled, but in a joyless way. Mr. Beck -did not smile. He was growing more serious. - -"You shall have no more shares," said the adviser. "Those that you -have already shall be disposed of as soon as possible. Remains the -question, what am I to do with the money?" - -"You have placed yourself," he went on, "in my hands by means of that -promised power of attorney. I advised, first of all, certain shares my -influence enabled me to get allotted to you. You have scruples about -selling shares at a profit. Let us respect your scruples, Mr. Beck. -Instead of shares, you will invest your money in Government stocks." - -"That, sir," said Mr. Beck, "would meet my wishes." - -"I am glad of it. There are two or three ways of investing money in -stocks. The first, your way, is to buy in and take the interest. The -next, my way, is to buy in when they are low and sell out when they go -up." - -"You may buy in low and sell out lower," said the astute Beck. - -"Not if you can afford to wait. This game, Mr. Beck, as played by the -few who understand it, is one which calls into play all the really -valuable qualities of the human intellect." - -Mr. Cassilis rose as he spoke and drew himself up to his full height. -Then he began to walk backwards and forwards, turning occasionally to -jerk a word straight in the face of his client, who was now leaning -against the window with an unlighted cigar between his lips, listening -gravely. - -"Foolish people think it a game of gambling. So it is--for them. What -is it to us? It is the forecasting of events. It is the pitting of our -experience, our sagacity, against what some outsiders call chance and -some Providence. We anticipate events; we read the future by the light -of the present." - -"Then it isn't true about Malachi," said Mr. Beck. "And he wasn't the -last prophet." - -Mr. Cassilis went on without regarding this observation: - -"There is no game in the world so well worth playing. Politics? You -stake your reputation on the breath of the mob. War? You throw away -your life at the stockade of savages before you can learn it. Trade? -It is the lower branch of the game of speculation. In this game those -who have cool heads and iron nerve win. To lose your head for a moment -is to lose the results of a lifetime--unless," he murmured, as if to -himself--"unless you can wait." - -"Well, sir," said Gilead, "I am a scholar, and I learn something new -every day. Do you wish me to learn this game? It seems to me----" - -"You?" Contempt that could not be repressed flashed for a moment -across the thin features of the speculator. "You? No. Perhaps, Mr. -Beck, I do not interest you." He resumed his habitually cold manner, -and went on: "I propose, however, to give you my assistance in -investing your money, to such advantage as I can, in English and -foreign stocks, including railway companies, but not in the shares of -newly-formed trading companies." - -"Sir, that is very kind." - -"You trust me, then, Mr. Beck?" - -Again the joyless smile, which gleamed for a moment on his lips and -disappeared. - -"That is satisfactory to both of us," he said. "And I will send up the -power of attorney to-day." - -Mr. Cassilis departed. By the morning's work he had acquired absolute -control over a quarter of a million of money. Before this he had -influence, but he required persuasion for each separate transaction. -Now he had this great fortune entirely in his own control. It was to -be the same as his own. And by its means he had the power which every -financier wants--that of waiting. He could wait. And Gilead Beck, this -man of unparalleled sharpness and unequalled experience, was a Fool. -We have been Christians for nearly two thousand years, and yet he who -trusts another man is a Fool. It seems odd. - -Mr. Cassilis felt young again. He held his head erect as he walked -down the steps of the Langham Hotel. He lost his likeness to old -Father Time, or at least resembled that potentate in his younger days, -when he used to accommodate himself to people, moving slowly for the -happy, sometimes sitting down for a few weeks in the case of young -lovers, and galloping for the miserable. He strode across the hall -with the gait of a Field-Marshal Commanding-in-Chief, and drove off to -the City with the courage of five-and-twenty and the wisdom of sixty. - -Before him stretched an endless row of successes, bigger than anything -he had ever yet tried. For him the glory of the _coup_ and the profit; -for Gilead Beck the interest on his money. - -In his inner room, after glancing at the pile of letters and -telegrams, noting instructions, and reserving a few for private reply, -he rang his bell. - -The private secretary of Mr. Gabriel Cassilis did not disdain -personally to answer that bell. He was a middle-aged man, with a sleek -appearance, and a face which, being fat, shiny, and graced only with a -slight fringe of whisker lying well behind, somehow conveyed the -impression of a Particular Baptist who was also in the oil-trade. That -was not the case, because Mr. Mowll was a member of the Church of -England and a sidesman. He lived at Tulse Hill, and was a -highly-respectable man. Mr. Cassilis gave him a fair salary, and a -small amount--a very small amount--of his confidence. He also, when -anything good in a humble way offered, tossed the information to his -secretary, who was thus enabled to add materially to his salary. - -In the outer world Mr. Mowll was the right-hand man of Gabriel -Cassilis, his factotum, and the man, according to some, by whose -advice he walked. Gabriel Cassilis walked by no man's advice save his -own. - -"For you, Mowll," said his employer briefly. "These I will attend to. -Telegraph to--wherever his address is--to the man Wylie--the writing -man"--newspaper people and writers of articles were "writing men" to -Gabriel Cassilis--"I want him at once." - -Then he absorbed himself again in his papers. - -When he was left alone he pulled some printed documents out of a -drawer, and compared them with letters which had the New York -post-mark upon them. He read carefully, and made notes at various -points with a stump of a blue crayon pencil. And he was still engaged -on them when, half an hour later, his secretary asked him through a -tube whether he would see Mr. Wylie. - -Mr. Wylie was an elderly man--a man of sixty--and he was a man on -whose face many years of rum-and-water were beginning to tell. He was -a man of letters, as he said himself; he had some kind of name, in -virtue of certain good things he had written, in his early manhood, -before the rum-and-water period set in. Now he went up and down, doing -odd jobs of literary work, such as are always wanting some one to do -them in this great city. He was a kind of literary cab. - -"You are free to-day, Mr. Wylie?" - -"I am, Mr. Cassilis." - -"Good. Do you remember last year writing a short political pamphlet--I -think at my suggestion--on the prospects of Patagonian bond-holders?" - -"You gave me all the information, you know." - -"That is, you found the papers in my outer office, to which all the -world has access, and on them you based your opinion." - -"Quite so," said the pamphleteer. "I also found five-and-twenty pounds -in gold on your secretary's table the day after the pamphlet -appeared." - -"Ah! Possibly--perhaps my secretary had private reasons of his own -for----" - -"Let us talk business, Mr. Cassilis," said the author a little -roughly. "You want me to do something. What is it?" - -"Do you know the affairs of Eldorado?" - -"I have heard of Eldorado bonds. Of course, I have no bonds either of -Eldorado or any other stock." - -"I have here certain papers--published papers--on the resources of the -country," said Mr. Cassilis. "I think it might pay a clever man to -read them. He would probably arrive at the conclusion that the -Republic, with its present income, cannot hope to pay its -dividends----" - -"Must smash up, in short." - -"Do not interrupt. But with any assurance of activity and honesty in -the application of its borrowed money, there seems, if this paper is -correct--it is published in New York--no doubt that the internal -resources would be more than sufficient to carry the State -triumphantly through any difficulty." - -"Is it a quick job, or a job that may wait?" - -"I dislike calling things jobs, Mr. Wylie. I give you a suggestion -which may or may not be useful. If it is useful--it is now half-past -twelve o'clock--the pamphlet should be advertised in to-morrow's -papers, in the printer's hand by four, and ready on every counter by -ten o'clock in the morning. Make your own arrangements with printers, -and call on me to-morrow with the pamphlet. On me, mind, not Mr. -Mowll." - -"Yes--and--and----" - -"And, perhaps, if the pamphlet is clever, and expresses a just view of -Eldorado and its obligations, there may be double the sum that you -once found on my secretary's table." - -Mr. Wylie grasped the papers and departed. - -The country of Eldorado is one of the many free, happy, virtuous, and -enlightened republics of Central America. It was constituted in the -year 1839, after the Confederation broke up. During the thirty years -which form its history, it has enjoyed the rule of fifteen Presidents. -Don Rufiano Grechyto, its present able administrator, a half-blood -Indian by birth, has sat upon the chair of state for nearly a year and -a half, and approaches the period of two years, beyond which no -previous President has reigned. He is accordingly ill at ease. Those -who survive of his fourteen predecessors await his deposition, and -expect him shortly in their own happy circle, where they sit like -Richard II., and talk of royal misfortunes. Eldorado is a -richly-endowed country to look at. It has mountains where a few inches -of soil separate the feet of the rare wayfarer from rich lodes of -silver; forests of mahogany cover its plains; indigo and tobacco -flourish in its valleys; everywhere roam cattle waiting to be caught -and sent to the London market. Palms and giant tree-ferns rise in its -woods; creepers of surpassing beauty hang from tree to tree; in its -silent recesses stand, covered with inscriptions which no man can -read, the ruins of a perished civilization. Among these ruins roam the -half-savage Indians who form nine-tenths of the population. And in the -hot seaboard towns loll and lie the languid whites and half-castes who -form the governing class. They never do govern at all; they never -improve; they never work; they are a worthless hopeless race; they -hoard their energies for the excitement of a pronunciamiento; their -favourite occupation is a game of monte; they consider thought a -wicked waste of energy, save for purposes of cheating. They ought all, -and without exception, to be rubbed out. And it is most unfortunate, -in the interests of humanity, that their only strong feeling is an -objection to be rubbed out. Otherwise we could plant in Eldorado a -colony of Germans; kill the pythons, alligators, jaguars, and other -impediments to free civilisation; open up the mines, and make it a -country green with sugar-canes and as sweet as Rimmel's shop by reason -of its spicy breezes. There are about five thousand of the dominant -class; they possess altogether a revenue of about £60,000 a year, a -good deal less than a first-class fortune in England. As every man of -the five thousand likes to have his share of the £60,000 there is not -much saved in the year. Consequently, when one reads that the Republic -of Eldorado owes the people of Great Britain and France, the only two -European States which have money to lend, the sum of six millions, one -feels sorry for the people of Eldorado. It must be a dreadful thing -for a high-minded republican to have so little and to owe so much. -Fancy a man with £600 a year in debt to the tune of £60,000. - -It all grew by degrees. Formerly the Eldoradians owed nothing. In -those days champagne was unknown, claret never seen, and the native -drink was rum. Nothing can be better for the natives than their rum, -because it kills them quickly, and so rids the earth of a pestilent -race. In an evil moment it came into the head of an enterprising -Eldoradian President to get up a loan. He asked for a million, which -is, of course, a trifle to a nation which has nothing, does nothing, -and saves nothing. They got so much of their million as enabled them -to raise everybody's salary and the pay of the standing army, also to -make the dividend certain for a few years. After this satisfactory -transaction, somebody boldly ordered the importation of a few cases of -brandy. The descent of Avernus is easy and pleasant. Next year they -asked for two millions and a half. They got this small trifle conceded -to them on advantageous terms--10 per cent., which is nothing to a -Republic with £60,000 a year, and the stock at 60. The pay of every -official was doubled, the army had new shirts issued, and there were -fireworks at San Mercurio, the principal town. They promised to build -railways leading from nowhere into continental space, to carry -passengers who did not exist, and goods not yet invented. The same -innovator who had introduced the brandy now went farther, and sent for -claret and champagne. Then they asked for more loans, and went ahead -quite like a First-class Power. - -When there was no more money to pay the dividends with, and no more -loans to be raised, Eldorado busted up. - -The gallant officers who commanded the standing army are now shirtless -and bootless; the men of the standing army have disappeared; grass -grows around the house of the importer of European luxuries; but -content has not returned to San Mercurio. The empty bottles remain to -remind the populace of lost luxuries; the national taste in drink is -hopelessly perverted; San Mercurio is ill at ease; and Don Rufiano -trembles in his marble palace. - -But a year ago the country was not quite played out. There seemed a -chance yet to those who had not the materials at hand for a simple sum -in Arithmetic. - -The next morning saw the appearance of the pamphlet--a short but -telling pamphlet of thirty-two pages--called "Eldorado and her -Resources. Addressed to the Holders of Eldorado Stock, by Oliver St. -George Wylie." - -The author took a gloomy but not a despairing view. He mentioned that -where there was no revenue there could be no dividends. Therefore, he -said, it behooved Eldorado stock-holders to be sure that something was -being done with their money. Then he gave pages of facts and figures -which proved the utter insolvency of the State unless something could -be done. And he then proceeded to point out the amazing resources of -the country, could only a little energy be introduced into the -Council. He drew a lively picture of millions of acres, the finest -ground in the world, planted with sugar-cane; forests of mahogany; -silver mines worked by contented and laborious Indians; ports crowded -with merchant fleets, each returning home with rich argosies; and a -luxurious capital of marble made beautiful by countless palaces. - -At eleven Mr. Wylie called on Gabriel Cassilis again. He brought with -him his pamphlet. - -"I have read it already," said Mr. Cassilis. "It is on the whole well -done, and expresses my own view, in part. But I think you have piled -it up too much towards the end." - -"Why did you not give me clearer instructions, then?" - -"I dare say it will have a success. Meantime," said the financier, -pushing over a little bag, "you can count that. There ought to be -fifty sovereigns. Good-morning, Mr. Wylie." - -"Good-morning, Mr. Cassilis. I don't know"--he turned the bag of gold -over in his hands--"I don't know; thirty years ago I should have -looked with suspicion on such a job as this; thirty years ago----" - -"Good-morning, Mr. Wylie." - -"Thirty years ago I should have thought that a man who could afford -fifty pounds for a pamphlet----" - -"Well?" - -"Well--that he had his little game. And I should have left that man to -play it by himself. Good-morning again, Mr. Cassilis. You know my -address, I believe, in case of any other little job turning up." - -That afternoon Eldorado stock went down. It was lucky for Mr. Gabriel -Cassilis, because he wished to buy--and did--largely. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - - "It is my lady! Oh, it is my love-- - Would that she knew she were!" - - -"Jack is late," said Phillis. - -She was making the prettiest picture that painter ever drew, standing -in the sunlight, with the laburnums and lilacs behind her in their -fresh spring glory. Her slender and shapely figure, clad in its black -riding habit, stood out in relief against the light and shade of the -newly-born foliage; she wore one of the pretty hats of last year's -fashion, and in her hand she carried the flowers she had just been -gathering. Her face was in repose, and in its clear straight lines -might have served for a model Diana, chaste and fair. It was -habitually rather a grave face; that came of much solitude and long -companionship with an old man. And the contrast was all the greater -when she lit up with a smile that was like a touch of tender sunshine -upon her face and gave the statue a soul. But now she stood waiting, -and her eyes were grave. - -Agatha L'Estrange watched her from her shady garden seat. The girl's -mind was full of the hidden possibilities of things--for herself; the -elder lady--to whom life had given, as she thought, all it had to -give--was thinking of these possibilities too--for her charge. Only -they approached the subject from different points of view. To the -girl, an eager looking forward to new joys which were yet not the -ordinary joys of London maidenhood. Each successive day was to reveal -to her more secrets of life; she was born for happiness and sunshine; -the future was brighter in some dim and misty fashion, far brighter -than the present; it was like a picture by Claude, where the untrained -eye sees nothing but mist and vapour, rich with gorgeous colour, -blurring the outlines which lie behind. But the elder lady saw the -present and feared the future. Every man thinks he will succeed till -he finds out his own weakness; every woman thinks she is born for the -best of this world's gifts--to happiness, to be lapped in warmth and -comfort, to be clothed with the love of husband and children as with a -garment. Some women get it. Agatha had not received this great -happiness. A short two years of colourless wedded life with a man old -enough to be her father, and twenty years of widowhood. It was not the -lot she might have chosen; not the lot she wished for Phillis. And -then she thought of Jack Dunquerque. Oddly enough, the future, in -whatever shape it was present to the brain of Phillis, was never -without the figure of Jack Dunquerque. - -"Jack is late," said Phillis. - -"Come here, dear, out of the sun; we must take a little care of our -complexion. Sit down and let us talk." - -Agatha took Phillis's hand in hers, as the girl sat upon the grass at -her feet. - -"Let us talk. Tell me, dear Phillis, don't you think a little too much -about Mr. Dunquerque?" - -"About Jack? How can I, Agatha? Is he not my first friend?" - -She did not blush; she did not hesitate; she looked frankly in -Agatha's face. The light of love which the elder lady expected was not -there yet. - -"Changed as you are, my dear, in some things, you are only a child -still," said Agatha. - -"Am I only a child?" asked Phillis. "Tell me why you say so now, dear -Agatha. Is it because I am fond of Jack?" - -"No, dear," Mrs. L'Estrange laughed. What was to be said to this -_jeune ingénue_? "Not quite that." - -"I have learned a great deal--oh, a great deal--since I came here. How -ignorant I was! How foolish!" - -"What have you learned, Phillis?" - -"Well, about people. They are not all so interesting as they seemed at -first. Agatha, it seems like a loss not to think so much of people as -I did. Some are foolish, like the poor curate--are all curates -foolish, I wonder?--some seem to say one thing and mean another, like -Mr. Cassilis; some do not seem to care for anything in the world -except dancing; some talk as if china was the only thing worth living -for; but some are altogether lovely and charming, like yourself, my -dear." - -"Go on, Phillis, and tell me more." - -"Shall I? I am foolish, perhaps, but most of our visitors have -disappointed me. How _can_ people talk about china as if the thing -could be _felt_, like a picture? What is it they like so much in -dancing and skating-rinks, and they prefer them to music and painting, -and--and--the beautiful river?" - -"Wait till you come out, dear Phillis," said Agatha. - -For all the things in which young ladies do most delight were to her a -vanity and foolishness. She heard them talk and she could not -understand. She was to wait till she came out. And was her coming out -to be the putting on of the Coping-stone? - -"Jack is late," said Phillis. - -It was a little expedition. Mrs. L'Estrange and Gilead Beck were to -drive to Hampton Court, while Jack and Phillis rode. It was the first -of such expeditions. In late May and early June the Greater London, as -the Registrar calls it, is a marvel and a miracle of loveliness; in -all the world there are no such meadows of buttercups, with fragrant -hedges of thorn; there are no such generous and luxuriant growths -of wisteria, with purple clusters; there are no such woods of -horse-chestnuts, with massive pyramids of white blossom; there are no -such apple-orchards and snow-clad forests of white blossomed -plum-trees as are to be seen around this great city of ours. Colonials -returned from exile shed tears when they see them, and think of arid -Aden and thirsty Indian plains; the American owns that though Lake -George with its hundred islets is lovely, and the Hudson River a thing -to dream of, there is nothing in the States to place beside the -incomparable result of wealth and loving care which the outlying -suburbs of south and western London show. - -If it was new to Phillis--if every new journey made her pulses bound, -and every new place seen was another revelation--it was also new to -the American, who looked so grave and smiled so kindly, and sometimes -made such funny observations. - -Gilead Beck was more silent with the ladies than with Jack, which was -natural, because his only experience of the sex was that uncomfortable -episode in his life when he taught school and fought poor Pete -Conkling. And to this adventurer, this man who had been at all -trades--who had roamed about the world for thirty years; who had -habitually consorted with miners and adventurers, whom the comic -American books have taught us to regard as a compound of drunkard, -gambler, buccaneer, blasphemer, and weeping sentimentalist--his manner -of life had not been able to destroy the chivalrous respect for women -with which an American begins life. Only he had never known a lady at -all until now; never any lady in America. - -In spite of his life, this man was neither coarse nor vulgar. He was -modest, knowing his defects, and he was humble. Nevertheless, he had -the self-respect which none of his countrymen are without. He was an -undeniable "ranker," a fact of which he was proud, because, if he had -a weakness, it was to regard himself as another Cromwell, singled out -and chosen. He had two languages, of one of which he made sparing use, -save when he narrated his American experiences. This, as we have seen, -was a highly ornamental tongue, a gallery of imagery, a painted -chamber of decorated metaphor--the language of wild California, an -_argot_ which, on occasions, he handled with astounding vigour. The -other was the tongue of the cultivated American. In England we bark; -in the States they speak. We fling out our conversation in jerks; the -man of the States shapes his carefully in his brain before he speaks. -Gilead Beck spoke like a gentleman of Boston, save that his defective -education did not allow him to speak so well. - -His great terror was the word Shoddy. He looked at Shoddy full in the -face; he made up his mind what Shoddy was--the thing which pretends to -be what it is not, a branch of the great family which has the Prig at -one end and the Snob at the other--and he was resolute in avoiding the -slightest suspicion of Shoddy. - -If he was of obscure birth, with antecedents which left him nothing to -boast of but honesty, he was also soft-hearted as a girl, quick in -sympathy, which Adam Smith teaches us is the groundwork of all morals, -and refined in thought. After many years, a man's habitual thoughts -are stamped upon his face. The face of Gilead Beck was a record of -purity and integrity. Such a man in England would, by the power of -circumstances, have been forced into taprooms, and slowly dragged -downwards into that beery morass in which, as in another Malebolge, -the British workman lies stupefied and helpless. Some wicked -cynic--was it Thackeray?--said that below a certain class no English -woman knows the meaning of virtue. He might have said, with greater -truth, that below a certain class no Englishman knows the meaning of -self-respect. - -To go into that orderly house at Twickenham, where the higher uses of -wealth were practically illustrated by a refinement new to the good -ex-miner, was to this American in itself an education, and none the -less useful because it came late in life. To be with the ladies, to -see the tender graces of the elder and the sweetness of the younger, -filled his heart with emotion. - -"The Luck of the Golden Butterfly, Mrs. L'Estrange," he said, "is more -than what the old squaw thought. It began in dollars, but it has -brought me--this." - -They were sitting in the garden, Agatha and Gilead Beck, while Jack -Dunquerque and Phillis were watering flowers, or gathering them, or -always doing something which would keep Jack close to the girl. - -"If by 'this' you mean friendship, Mr. Beck," said Agatha, "I am very -glad of it. Dollars, as you call money, may take to themselves wings -and fly away, but friends do not." - -It will be observed that Agatha L'Estrange had never seen reason to -abandon the old-fashioned rules invented by those philosophers who -lived before Rochefoucauld. - -"I sometimes think I should like to try," said Gilead Beck. "Poor men -have no friends; they have mates on our side of the water, and pals on -yours." - -"Mates and pals?" cried Phillis, laughing. "Jack, do you know mates -and pals?" - -"I ought to," said Jack, "because I'm poor enough." - -"Friends come to rich folk naturally, like the fruit to the tree, -or--or--the flower to the rose," Gilead added poetically. - -"Or the mud to the wheel," said Jack. - -"Suppose all my dollars were suddenly to vamose--I mean, to vanish -away," Gilead Beck went on solemnly; "would the friends vanish away -too?" - -"Jack would not," said Phillis promptly, "and Agatha would not. Nor -should I." - -She held out her hand in the free frank manner which was her greatest -charm. Gilead Beck took the little fingers in his big rough hand the -bones of which seemed to stick out all over it, so rugged and hard it -was, and looked in her face with the solemn smile which made Phillis -trust in him, and raised her fingers to his lips. - -Then she blushed with a pretty confusion which drove poor Jack to the -verge of madness. Indeed, the ardour of his passion and the necessity -for keeping silence were together making the young man thin and pale. - -They were gradually exploring, this party of four, the outside -gardens, parks, castles, and views of London. Of course, they were as -new to Jack and Mrs. L'Estrange as they were to Phillis and the -American. Jack knew Greenwich, where he had dined; and Richmond, where -he had dined; and the Crystal Palace, where he had also dined, -revealed to him one summer evening an unknown stretch of fair country; -more than that he knew not. - -Perhaps more exciting pleasures might have been found, but this simple -party found their own unsophisticated delight in driving and riding -through green lanes. - -"Phillis will have to come out next year," said Agatha, half -apologising to herself for enjoying such things. "We must amuse her -while we can." - -They went to Virginia Water, where Mr. Beck made some excellent -observations on the ruins and on the flight of time, insomuch that it -was really sad to discover that they were only, so to speak, new -ruins. - -They went to Hampton Court, where they strolled through the picture -galleries and looked at the Lely beauties; walked up the long avenues, -and saw that quaint old mediĉval garden which lies hidden away at the -side of the Palace, marked by few. Gilead Beck said that if he was the -Queen and had such a place he should sometimes live in it, if only for -the sake of giving a dinner in the great Hall. But Phillis liked best -the gardens, with their old-fashioned flowers, and the peace which -reigns perpetually in the quaint old courts. And Gilead Beck asked -Jack privately if he thought the Palace might be bought, and if so, -for how much. - -They visited Windsor. Mr. Beck said that if he had such a location he -should always live there; he speculated on the probable cost of -erecting such a fortress on the banks of the Hudson River; and then he -cast his imagination backwards up the stream of time and plunged into -history. - -Phillis allowed him to go on, while he jumbled kings, mixed up -cardinals, and tried, by the recovery of old associations, to connect -the venerable pile with the past. - -"From one of those windows, I guess," he said, pointing his long arm -vaguely round the narrow lattices, "Charles came out to be beheaded, -while Oliver Cromwell spurted ink in his face. It was rough on the -poor king. Seems to me, kings very often do have a rough time. And -perhaps, too, that Cardinal Thomas à Beckett, when he told Henry IV. -that he wished he'd served his country as well as he'd loved his God, -it was on this very terrace. Perhaps----" - -"O Mr. Beck! when _did_ you learn English history," cried Phillis. - -Then, like a little pedant as she was, she began to unfold all that -she knew about the old fortress and its history. Its history is not so -grim as that of the Tower of London, which she had once narrated to -Jack Dunquerque; but it has a picturesque story of its own, which the -girl somehow made out from the bare facts of English history--all she -knew. But these her imagination converted into living and indisputable -truths, pictures whose only fault was that the lights were too bright -and the shadows too intense. - -Alas, this is the way with posterity! The dead are to be judged as -they seem from such acts as have remained on record. The force of -circumstances, the mixture of motives, the general muddle of good and -bad together, are lost in the summing-up; and history, which after all -only does what Phillis did, but takes longer to do it, paints Nero -black and Titus white, with the clear and hard outline of an etching. - -Gilead Beck, after the lecture, looked round the place with renewed -interest. - -"I am more ignorant than I thought," he said humbly. "But I am trying -to read, Miss Fleming." - -"Are you!" she cried, with a real delight in finding, as she thought, -one other person in the world as ignorant of that art as herself. "And -how far have you got?" - -"I've got so far," he said, "that I've lost my way, and shall have to -go back again. It was all through Robert Browning. My dear young -lady,--" he said this in his most impressive tones,--"if you should -chance upon one of his books with a pretty title, such as _Red -Cotton Nightcap Country_, or _Fifine at the Fair_, don't read it, -don't try it. It isn't a fairy story, nor a love story. It's a story -without an end, it's a story told upsy-down; it's like wandering in a -forest without a path. It gets into your brain and makes it go round; -it gets into your eyes and makes you see ghosts. Don't you look at -that book. - -"Reading in a general way, and if you don't take too much of it, is a -fine thing," he continued. "The difficulty is to keep the volumes -separate in your head. Anybody can write a book. I've written columns -enough in the _Clearville Roarer_ for a dozen books; but it takes -a man to read one." - -"Ah, but it is different with you," said Phillis. "I am only in words -of two syllables. I've just got through the first reading-book. 'The -cat has drunk up all the milk.' I suppose I must go on with it, but I -think it is better to have some one to read for you. I am sure Jack -would read for me whenever I asked him." - -"I never thought of that," said Gilead Beck. "Why not keep a clerk to -read for you, and pay out the information in small chunks? I should -like to tackle Mr. Carlyle that way." - -"Agatha is reading a novel to me now," Phillis went on. "There is a -girl in it; but somehow I think my own life is more interesting than -hers. She belongs to a part of the country where the common people say -clever things!--Oh, very clever things!--and she herself says all -sorts of clever things." - -"Mr. Dunquerque," interrupted Gilead Beck, who was not listening, -"would read to you all the days of his life, I think, if you would let -him." - -Phillis made no reply. As she neither blushed, nor smiled, nor gave -any of the ordinary signs of apprehension with which most young ladies -would have received this speech, it is to be presumed that she did not -take in the full meaning of it. - -"There is one thing about Mr. Dunquerque," Gilead Beck went on, "that -belongs, I reckon, to you English people only. He is not a young -man----" - -"Jack not a young man? Why, Mr. Beck----" - -"Not what we call a young man. Our young men are sixteen and -seventeen. Mr. Dunquerque is five-and-twenty. Our men of -five-and-twenty are grave and full of care. Mr. Dunquerque is -light-hearted and laughs. That is what I like him for." - -"Yes; Jack laughs. I should not like to see Jack grave." - -She spoke of him as if he were her own property. To be sure, he was -her first and principal friend. She could talk to him as she could -talk to no one else. And she loved him with the deep and passionless -love, as yet, of a sister. - -"Yes," said Gilead Beck, looking round him, "England is a great -country. Its young men are not all mad for dollars; they can laugh and -be happy; and the land is one great garden. Miss Fleming, that is the -happiest country, I guess, whose people the longest keep their youth." - -She only half understood him, but she looked in his face with her -sweet smile. - -"It is like a dream. That I should be walking here with you, such as -you, in this grand place--I, Gilead P. Beck. To be with you and Mr. -Dunquerque is like getting back the youth I never had: youth that -isn't always thinkin' about the next day; youth that isn't always -plannin' for the future; youth that has time to enjoy the sunshine, to -look into a sweet gell's eyes and fall in love--like you, my pretty, -and Mr. Dunquerque--who saved my life." - -He added these last words as an after-thought, and as if he was -reminded of some duty forgotten. - -Phillis was silent, because his words fell upon her heart and made her -think. It was not her youth that was prolonged; it was her childhood. -And that was dropping from her now like the shell of the chrysalis. -She thought how, somewhere in the world, there were people born to be -unhappy, and she felt humiliated when she was selfishly enjoying what -they could not. Somewhere in the world--and where? Close to her, in -the cottages where Mrs. L'Estrange had taken her. - -For until then the poor, who are always with us, were not unhappy, to -Phillis, nor hungry, nor deserving of pity and sympathy; they were -only picturesque. - -They went to St. George's Chapel, after over-ruling Gilead Beck's -objections to attending divine service--for he said he hadn't been to -meetin' for more than thirty years; also, that he had not yet "got -religion"--and when he stood in the stall under the banner of its -rightful owner he looked on from an outsider's point of view. - -The ceremonial of the ancient Church of England was to him a pageant -and a scenic display. The picture, however, was very fine; the grand -chapel with its splendor of ornamentation; the banners and heraldry; -the surpliced sweet-voiced boys; the dignified white-robed clergy-men; -the roll of the organ; the sunlight through the painted glass; even -the young subaltern who came clanking into the chapel as the service -began,--there was nothing, he said, in America which could be reckoned -a patch upon it. Church in avenue 39, New York, was painted and gilded -in imitation of the Alhambra; that was considered fine, but could not -be compared with St. George's, Windsor. And the performance of the -service, he said, was so good as to have merited a larger audience. - -Jack Dunquerque, I grieve to say, did not attend to the service. He -was standing beside Phillis, and he watched her with hungry eyes. For -she was looking before her in a sort of trance. The beauty of the -place intoxicated her. She listened with soft eyes and parted lips. -All was artistic and beautiful. The chapel was peopled again with -mailed knights; the voices of the anthem sang the greatness and the -glory of England; the sunshine through the painted glass gave colour -to the picture in her brain; and when the service was over she came -out with dazed look, as one who is snatched too suddenly from a dream -of heaven. - -This too, like everything else, was part of her education. She had -learned the beauty of the world and its splendours. She was to see the -things she had only dreamed of, but by dreaming had wrapped in a cloud -of coloured mist. - -When was it to be completed, her education? Phillis waited for that -Coping-stone for which Joseph Jagenal was vainly searching. She -laughed when she thought of it, the mysterious completion of Abraham -Dyson's great fabric. What was it? - -She had not long to wait. - -"I love her, Mrs. L'Estrange," said Jack Dunquerque passionately, on -the evening of the last of their expeditions: "I love her!" - -"I have seen it for some time," Agatha replied. "And I wanted to speak -to you before, but I did not like to. I am afraid I have been very -wrong in encouraging you to come here so often." - -"Who could help loving her?" he cried "Tell me, Mrs. L'Estrange, you -who have known so many, was there ever a girl like Phillis--so sweet, -so fresh, so pretty, and so good?" - -"Indeed, she is all that you say," Agatha acknowledged. - -"And will you be my friend with Colquhoun? I am going to see him -to-morrow about it, because I cannot stand it any longer." - -"He knows that you visit me; he will be prepared in a way. And--Oh, -Mr. Dunquerque, why are you in such a hurry? Phillis is so nice and -you are so young." - -"I am five-and-twenty, and Phillis is nineteen." - -"Then Phillis is so inexperienced." - -"Yes; she is inexperienced," Jack repeated. "And if experience comes, -she may learn to love another man." - -"That is what all the men say. Why, you silly boy, if Phillis were to -love you first, do you think a thousand men could make her give you -up?" - -"You are right: but she does not love me; she only likes me; she does -not know what love means. That is bad enough to think of. But even -that isn't the worst." - -"What more is there?" - -"I am so horribly, so abominably poor. My brother Isleworth is the -poorest peer in the kingdom, and I am about the poorest younger son. -And Colquhoun will think I am coming after Phillis's money." - -"As you are poor, it will be a great comfort for everybody concerned," -said Agatha, with good sense, "to think that, should you marry -Phillis, she has some money to help you with. Go and see Lawrence -Colquhoun, Mr. Dunquerque, and--and if I can help your cause, I will. -There! Now let us have no more." - -"They will make a pretty pair," said Mr. Gilead Beck presently to Mrs. -L'Estrange. - -"O Mr. Beck, you are all in a plot! And perhaps after all--and Mr. -Dunquerque is so poor." - -"Is that so?" Mr. Beck asked eagerly. "Will the young lady's guardian -refuse the best man in the world because he is poor? No, Mrs. -L'Estrange, there's only one way out of this muss, and perhaps you -will take that way for me." - -"What is it, Mr. Beck?" - -"I can't say myself to Mr. Dunquerque, 'What is mine is yours.' And I -can't say to Mr. Colquhoun--not with the delicacy that you would put -into it--that Mr. Dunquerque shall have all I've got to make him -happy. I want you to say that for me. Tell him there is no two ways -about it--that Jack Dunquerque _must_ marry Miss Fleming. Lord, Lord! -why, they are made for each other! Look at him now, Mrs. L'Estrange, -leanin' towards her, with a look half respectful and half hungry. And -look at her, with her sweet innocent eyes; she doesn't understand it, -she doesn't know what he's beatin' down with all his might: the strong -honest love of a man--the best thing he's got to give. Wait till you -give the word, and she feels his arms about her waist, and his lips -close to hers. It's a beautiful thing, love. I've never been in love -myself, but I've watched those that were; and I venture to tell you, -Mrs. L'Estrange, that from the Queen down to the kitchen-maid, there -isn't a woman among them all that isn't the better for being loved. -And they know it, too, all of them, except that pretty creature." - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - - "Pictoribus atque Poetis - Quidlibet audendi semper fuit ĉqua potestas." - - -"With commissions"--Cornelius Jagenal spoke as if Gilead Beck was a -man of multitude, signifying many, and as if one commission was a -thousand--"with commissions pouring in as they should, Brother -Humphrey----" - -"And the great Epic, the masterpiece of the century about to be -published in the Grand Style, brother Cornelius, the only style which -is worthy of its merits----" - -"Something definite should be attempted, Humphrey----" - -"You mean, brother----" - -"With regard to----" - -"With regard to Phillis Fleming." - -They looked at each other meaningly and firmly. The little table was -between them; it was past twelve o'clock; already two or three -soda-water bottles were lying on it empty; and the world looked rosy -to the poetic pair. - -Humphrey was the first to speak after the young lady's name was -mentioned. He removed the pipe from his mouth, threw back his head, -stroked his long brown beard, and addressed the ceiling. - -"She is," he said, "she is indeed a charming girl. Her outlines finely -but firmly drawn; her colouring delicate, but strongly accentuated; -the grouping to which she lends herself always differentiated -artistically; her single attitudes designed naturally and with -freedom; her flesh-tints remarkably pure and sweet; her draperies -falling in artistic folds; her atmosphere softened as by the perfumed -mists of morning; her hair tied in the simple knot which is the -admiration and despair of many painters;--you agree with my rendering, -brother Cornelius"--he turned his reflective gaze from the ceiling, -and fixed his lustrous eyes, perhaps with the least little look of -triumph, upon his brother--"my rendering of this incomparable Work?" - -He spoke of the young lady as if she were a picture. This was because, -immediately after receiving his commission, he bethought him of -reading a little modern criticism, and so bought the _Academy_ for a -few weeks. In that clear bubbling fount of modern English undefiled, -the Art criticisms are done with such entire freedom from cant and -affectation that they are a pleasure to read; and from its pages every -Prig is so jealously kept out, that the paper is as widely circulated -and as popular as _Punch_; thus Humphrey Jagenal acquired a new -jargon of Art criticism, which he developed and made his own. - -Cornelius had been profiting by the same delightful and genial enemy -to Mutual Admiration Societies. He was a little taken aback for a -moment by the eloquence and fidelity of his brother's word-picture, -but stimulated to rivalry. He made answer, gazing into the black and -hollow depths of the empty fireplace, and speaking slowly as if he -enjoyed his words too much to let them slip out too fast-- - -"She is all that you say, Humphrey. From your standpoint nothing could -be better. I judge her, however, from my own platform. I look on her -as one of Nature's sweetest poems; such a poem as defies the highest -effort of the greatest creative genius; where the cadenced lines are -sunlit, and as they ripple on make music in your soul. You are rapt -with their beauty; you are saddened with the unapproachable magic of -their charm; you feel the deepest emotions of the heart awakened and -beating in responsive harmony. And when, after long and patient -watching, the Searcher after the Truth of Beauty feels each verse sink -deeper and deeper within him, till it becomes a part of his own -nature, there arises before him, clad in mystic and transparent Coan -robe, the spirit of subtle wisdom, long lying perdu in those magic -utterances. She is a lyric; she is a sonnet; she is an epigram----" - -"At least," interrupted Humphrey unkindly, cutting short his brother's -freest flow, "at least she doesn't carry a sting." - -"Then let us say an Idyl----" - -"Cornelius, make an Idyl yourself for her," Humphrey interrupted -again, because really his brother was taking an unfair advantage of a -paltry verbal superiority. "Now that we have both described her--and I -am sure, brother," he added out of the kindness of his heart, "no -description could be more poetically true than your own--it would make -even a stranger see Phillis standing in a vision before his eyes. But -let us see what had better be done." - -"We must act at once, Humphrey. We must call upon her at her -guardian's, Mrs. L'Estrange, at Twickenham. Perhaps that lady does not -know so many men of genius as to render the accession of two more to -her circle anything but a pleasure and an honour. And as for our next -steps, they must be guided by our finesse, by our knowledge of the -world, our insight into a woman's heart, our--shall I say our power of -intrigue, Humphrey?" - -Then the Artist positively winked. It is not a gesture to be commended -from an artistic point of view, but he did it. Then he chuckled and -wagged his head. - -Then the Poet in his turn also winked, chuckled, and wagged his head -too. - -"We understand each other, Humphrey. We always do." - -"We must make our own opportunity," said the Artist thoughtfully. "Not -together, but separately." - -"Surely separately. Together would never do." - -"We will go to bed early to-night, in order to be fresh to-morrow. -Have you--did you--can you give me any of your own experiences in this -way, Cornelius?" - -The Poet shook his head. - -"I may have been wooed," he said. "Men of genius are always run after. -But as I am a bachelor, you see it is clear that I never proposed." - -Humphrey had much the same idea in his own mind, and felt as if the -wind was a little taken out of his sails. This often happens when two -sister craft cruise so very close alongside of each other. - -"Do not let us be nervous, Humphrey," the elder brother went on -kindly. "It is the simplest thing in the world, I dare say, when you -come to do it. Love finds out a way." - -"When I was in Rome----" Humphrey said, casting his thoughts backwards -thirty years. - -"When I was in Heidelberg----" said Cornelius, in the same mood of -retrospective meditation. - -"There was a model--a young artist's model----" - -"There was a little country girl----" - -"With the darkest eyes, and hair of a deep blue-black, the kind of -colour one seems only to read of or to see in a picture." - -"With blue eyes as limpid as the waters of the Neckar, and light-brown -hair which caught the sunshine in a way that one seldom seems to see, -but which we poets sometimes sing of." - -Then they both started and looked at each other guiltily. - -"Cornelius," said Humphrey, "I think that Phillis would not like these -reminiscences. We must offer virgin hearts." - -"True, brother," said Cornelius with a sigh, "We must. Yet the -recollection is not unpleasant." - -They went to bed early, only concentrating into two hours the -brandy-and-soda of four. It was a wonderful thing that neither gave -the other the least hint of a separate and individual preference for -Phillis. They were running together, as usual, in double harness, and -so far as might be gathered from their conversation they were -proposing to themselves that both should marry Phillis. - -They dressed with more than usual care in the morning, and, without -taking their customary walk, sat each in his own room till two -o'clock, when Humphrey sought Cornelius in the Workshop. - -They surveyed each other with admiration. They were certainly a -remarkable pair, and, save for that little redness of the nose already -alluded to, they were more youthful than one could conceive possible -at the age of fifty. Their step was elastic; their eyes were bright; -Humphrey's beard was as brown and silky, Cornelius's cheek as smooth, -as twenty years before. This it is to lead a life unclouded and -devoted to contemplation of Art. This it is to have a younger brother, -successful, and never tired of working for his seniors. - -"We are not nervous, brother?" asked Cornelius with a little -hesitation. - -"Not at all," said Humphrey sturdily, "not at all. Still, to steady -the system, perhaps----" - -"Yes," said Cornelius; "you are quite right, brother. We will." - -There was no need of words. The reader knows already what was implied. - -Humphrey led the way to the dining-room, where he speedily found a -pint of champagne. With this modest pick-me-up, which no one surely -will grudge the brethren, they started on their way. - -"What we need, Cornelius," said Humphrey, putting himself outside the -last drop--"What we need. Not what we wish for." - -Then he straightened his back, smote his chest, stamped lustily with -his right foot, and looked like a war-horse before the battle. - -Unconscious of the approaching attack of these two conquering heroes, -Phillis and Agatha L'Estrange were sitting in the shade and on the -grass: the elder lady with some work, the younger doing nothing. It -was a special characteristic with her that she could sit for hours -doing nothing. So the modern Arabs, the gipsies, niggerdom in general, -and all that large section of humanity which has never learned to read -and write, are contented to fold their hands, lie down, and think away -the golden hours. What they think about, these untutored tribes, the -Lord only knows. Whether by degrees, and as they grow old, some faint -intelligence of the divine order sinks into their souls, or whether -they become slowly enwrapped in the beauty of the world, or whether -their thoughts, always turned in the bacon-and-cabbage direction, are -wholly gross and earthly, I cannot tell. Phillis's thoughts were still -as the thoughts of a child, but as those of a child passing into -womanhood: partly selfish, inasmuch as she consciously placed her own -individuality, as every child does, in the centre of the universe, and -made the sun, the moon, the planets, and all the minor stars revolve -around her; partly unselfish, because they hovered about the forms of -two or three people she loved, and took the shape of devising means of -pleasing these people; partly artistic, because the beauty of the June -afternoon cried aloud for admiration, while the sunshine lay on the -lawns and the flower-beds, threw up the light leaves and blossoms of -the passion-flower on the house-side, and made darker shadows in the -gables, while the glorious river ran swiftly at her feet. The river of -which she never tired. Other things lost their novelty, but the river -never. - -"I wish Jack Dunquerque were here," she said at last. - -"I wish so, too," said Agatha. "Why did we not invite him, Phillis?" - -Then they were silent again. - -"I wish Mr. Beck would call," remarked Phillis. - -"My dear, we do nothing but wish. But here is somebody--two young -gentlemen. Who are they, I wonder?" - -"O Agatha, they are the Twins!" - -Phillis sprang from her seat, and ran to meet them with a most -unaffected pleasure. - -"This is Mr. Cornelius Jagenal," she said, introducing them to Agatha. -"The Poet, you know." And here she laughed, because Agatha did not -know, and Cornelius perked up his head and tried to look unconscious -of his fame. "And this is Mr. Humphrey, the Artist." And then she -laughed again, because Humphrey did exactly the same as Cornelius, -only with an air of deprecation, as one who would say, "Never mind my -fame for the present." - -It was embarrassing for Mrs. L'Estrange, because she could not for her -life recollect any Poet or Artist named Jagenal. The men and their -work were alike unknown to her. And why did Phillis laugh? And what -did the pair before her look so solemn about? - -They were solemn partly from vanity, which is the cause of most of the -grave solemnity we so much admire in the world, and partly because, -finding themselves face to face with Phillis, they became suddenly and -painfully aware that they had come on a delicate errand. Cornelius -looked furtively at Humphrey, and the Artist glanced at the Poet, but -neither found any help from his brother. Their courage, as evanescent -as that of Mr. Robert Acres, was rapidly oozing out at their boots. - -Phillis noted their embarrassment, and tried to put them at their -ease. This was difficult; they were so inordinately vain, so -self-conscious, so unused to anything beyond their daily experience, -that they were as awkward as a pair of fantoccini. People who live -alone get into the habit of thinking and talking about themselves; the -Twins were literally unable to think or speak on any other subject. - -Phillis, they saw, to begin with, was altered. Somehow she looked -older. Certainly more formidable. And it was awkward to feel that she -was taking them in a manner under her own protection before a -stranger. And why did she laugh? The task which they discussed with -such an airy confidence over the brandy-and-soda assumed, in the -presence of the young lady herself, dimensions quite out of proportion -to their midnight estimate. All these considerations made them feel -and look ill at ease. - -Also it was vexatious that neither of the ladies turned the -conversation upon the subject nearest to each man's heart--his own -Work. On the contrary, Phillis asked after Joseph, and sent him an -invitation to come and see her; Mrs. L'Estrange talked timidly about -the weather, and tried them on the Opera, on the Academy, and on the -last volume of Browning. It was odd in so great an Artist as Humphrey -that he had not yet seen the Academy, and in so great a Poet as -Cornelius that he had not read any recent poetry. Then they tried to -talk about flowers. The two city-bred artists knew a wall-flower from -a cabbage and a rose from a sprig of asparagus, and that was all. - -Phillis would not help either the Twins or Agatha, so that the former -grew more helpless every moment. In fact, the girl was staring at -them, and wondering to feel how differently she regarded men and -manners since that first evening in Carnarvon Square, when they -produced champagne in her honour, and drank it all up themselves. - -She remembered how she had looked at them with awe; how, after a day -or two, this reverence vanished; how she found them to be mere shallow -wind-bags and humbugs, and regarded them with contempt; how she made -fun of them with Jack Dunquerque; and how she drew their portraits. - -And now--it was a mark of her advanced education--she looked at them -with pity. They were so dependent on each other for admiration; they -were so childishly vain; they were so full of themselves; and their -daily life of sleep, drink, and boastful pretension showed itself to -her experienced head as so mean and sordid a thing. - -She came to the help of the whole party, and took the Twins for a walk -among the flowers, flattering them, asking how Work got on, -congratulating them on their good looks, and generally making things -comfortable for them. - -Presently she found herself on the sloping bank of the river, where -she was wont to sit with Jack. Cornelius Jagenal alone was by her -side. She looked round, and saw Humphrey standing before Mrs. -L'Estrange, and occasionally glancing over his shoulder. And she -noticed, then, a curiously nervous motion of her companion's hand; -also that his cheek was twitching with some secret emotion. He looked -older, too, she thought; perhaps that was the bright sunlight, which -brought out the dells and valleys and the crow's-feet round his eyes. - -He cleared his voice with an effort, and opened his mouth to speak, -but shut it again, silent. - -"You were going to say, Mr. Cornelius?" - -"Yes. Will you sit down, Miss Fleming?" - -"He is going to tell me about the _Upheaving of Ĉlfred_" thought -Phillis. "And how does the Workshop get on?" she asked. - -"Fairly well," he replied modestly. "We publish in the autumn. The -work is to be brought out, you will be glad to learn, with all the -luxury of the best illustrations, paper, print, and binding that money -can procure." - -"So that all you want is the poem itself," said Phillis, with a -mischievous light in her eyes. - -"Ye-es----" he winced a little. "As you say, the Epic itself alone is -wanting, and that advances with mighty strides. My brother Humphrey--a -noble creature is Humphrey, Miss Fleming----" - -She bowed and smiled. - -"Is he still hard at work? Always hard at work?" She laughed as she -asked the question. - -"His work is crushing him, Miss Fleming--may I call you Phillis?" He -spoke very solemnly--"His work is crushing him." - -"Of course you may, Mr. Cornelius. We are quite old friends. But I am -sorry to hear that your brother is being crushed." - -"Yesterday, Phillis--I feel to you already like a brother," pursued -the Poet--"yesterday I discovered the secret of Humphrey's life. May I -tell it to you?" - -"If you please." She began to be a little bored. Also she noticed that -Agatha wore a look of mute suffering, as if the Artist was getting -altogether too much for her. "If you please; but be quick, because I -think Mrs. L'Estrange wants me." - -"I will tell you the secret in a few words. My brother Humphrey adores -you with all the simplicity and strength of a noble artistic nature." - -"Does he? You mean he likes me very much. How good he his! I am glad -to hear it, Mr. Cornelius, though why it need be a secret I do not -know." - -"Then my poor brother--he is all loyalty, and brings you a virgin -heart," (O Cornelius! and the model with the blue black hair!) "an -unsullied name, and the bright prospects of requited genius--my -brother may hope?" - -Phillis did not understand one word. - -"Certainly," she said; "I am sure I would like to see him hoping." - -"I will tell him, sister Phillis," said Cornelius, nodding with a -sunny smile. "You have made two men happy, and one at least grateful." - -His mission was accomplished, his task done. It will hardly be -believed that this treacherous bard, growing more and more nervous as -he reflected on the uncertainty of the wedded life, actually came to a -sudden resolution to plead his brother's cause. Humphrey was the -younger. Let him bear off the winsome bride. - -"It will be a change in our lives," he said. "You will allow me to -have my share in his happiness?" - -Phillis made no reply. Decidedly the Poet was gone distraught with -overmuch reading and thought. - -Cornelius, smiling, crowing, and laughing almost like a child, pressed -her hand and left her, stepping with a youthful elasticity across the -lawn. Humphrey, sitting beside Mrs. L'Estrange, was bewildering that -good lady with a dissertation on colour _à propos_ of a flower which -he held in his hand. Agatha could not understand this strange pair, -who looked so youthful until you came to see them closely, and then -they seemed to be of any age you pleased to name. Nor could she -understand their talk, which was pedantic, affected, and continually -involved the theory that the speaker was, next to his brother, the -greatest of living men. - -If it was awkward and stupid sitting with Humphrey on a bench while he -discoursed on Colour, it was still more awkward when the other one -appeared with a countenance wreathed with smiles, and sat on the other -side. Nor did there appear any reason why the one with the beard -should suddenly break off his oration, turn very red in the face, get -up, and walk slowly across the lawn to take his brother's place. But -that is what he did, and Cornelius took up the running. - -Humphrey sat down beside Phillis without speaking. She noticed in him -the same characteristics of nervousness as in his brother. Twice he -attempted to speak, and twice his tongue clave to the roof of his -mouth. - -"He is going to tell me that Cornelius adores me," she thought. - -It was instinct. That was exactly what Humphrey--the treacherous -Humphrey--had determined on doing. Matrimony, contemplated at close -quarters and in the presence of the enemy, so to speak, lost all its -charms. Humphrey thought of the pleasant life in Carnarvon Square, and -determined, at the very last moment, that if either of them was to -marry it should not be himself. Cornelius was the elder. Let him be -married first. - -"You are peaceful and happy here, Miss Fleming--may I call you -Phillis?" - -"Certainly, Mr. Humphrey. We are old friends, you know. And I am very -happy here." - -"I am glad"--he sighed heavily--"I am very glad indeed to hear that." - -"Are you not happy, Mr. Humphrey? Why do you look so gloomy? And how -is the Great Picture getting on?" - -"The 'Birth of the Renaissance' is advancing rapidly--rapidly," he -said. "It will occupy a canvas fourteen feet long by six high." - -"If you have got the canvas, and the frame, and the purchaser, all you -want now is the Picture." - -"True, as you say, the Picture. It is all that I want. And that is -striding--literally striding, _I_ am happy, dear Miss Fleming, dear -Phillis, since I may call you by your pretty Christian name. It is of -my brother that I think. It is on his account that I feel unhappy." - -"What is the matter with him?" - -She tried very hard not to laugh, but would not trust herself to look -in his face. So that he thought she was modestly guessing his secret. - -"He is a great, a noble fellow, His life is made up of sacrifices and -devoted to hard work. No one works so conscientiously as Cornelius. -Now, at length the prospect opens up, and he will take immediately his -true position among English poets." - -"Indeed, I am glad of it." - -"Thank you. Yet he is not happy. There is a secret sorrow in his -life." - -"Oh, dear!" Phillis cried impatiently, "do let me know it, and at -once. Was there ever such a pair of devoted brothers?" - -Humphrey was disconcerted for the moment, but went on again: - -"A secret which no one has guessed but myself." - -"I know what it is." She laughed and clapped her hands. - -"Has he told you, Phillis? The secret of his life is that my brother -Cornelius is attached to you with all the devotion of his grand poetic -soul." - -"Why, that was what I thought you were going to say!" - -"You knew it?" Humphrey was as solemn as an eight-day clock, while -Phillis's eyes danced with mirth. "And you feel the response of a -passionate nature? He shall be your Petrarch. You shall read his very -soul. But Cornelius brings you a virgin heart, a virgin heart, -Phillis" (O Humphrey! and after what you know about Gretchen!). "May -he hope that----" - -"Certainly he may hope, and so may you. And now we have had quite -enough of devotion and secrets and great poetic souls. Come, Mr. -Humphrey." - -She rose from the grass and looked him in the face, laughing. For a -moment the thought crossed the Artist's brain that he had made a mess -of it somehow. - -"Now," she said, joining the other two, "let us have some tea, and be -real." - -Neither of them understood her desire to be real, and the Twins -declined tea. That beverage they considered worthy only of late -breakfast, and to be taken as a morning pick-me-up. So they departed, -taking leave with a multitudinous smile and many tender -hand-pressures. As they left the garden together arm-in-arm they -straightened their backs, held up their heads, and stuck out their -legs like the Knave of Spades. And they looked so exactly like a pair -of triumphant cocks that Phillis almost expected them to crow. - -"_Au revoir_," said Cornelius, taking off his hat, with a whole wreath -of smiles, for a final parting at the gate. - -"_Sans dire adieu_," said Humphrey, doing the same, with a light in -his eyes which played upon his beard like sunshine. - -"Phillis, my dear," said Agatha, "they really are the most wonderful -pair I ever saw." - -"They _are_ so funny," said Phillis, laughing. "They sleep all day, -and when they wake up they pretend to have been working. And they sit -up all night. And, O Agatha! each one came to me just now, and told me -he had a secret to impart to me." - -"What was that, my dear?" - -"That the other one adored me, and might he hope?" - -"But, Phillis, this is beyond a joke. And actually here, before my -very eyes!" - -"I said they might both hope. Though I don't know what they are to -hope. It seems to me that if those two lazy men, who never do anything -but pretend to be exhausted with work, were only to hope for anything -at all it might wake them up a little. And they each said that the -other would bring me a virgin heart, Agatha. What did they mean?" - -Agatha laughed. - -"Well, my dear, it is a most uncommon thing to find in a man of fifty, -and I should say, if it were true, which I don't believe, that it -argued extreme insensibility. Such an offering is desirable at -five-and-twenty, but very, very rare, my dear at any age. And at their -time of life I should think that it was like an apple in May--kept too -long, Phillis, and tasting of the straw. But then you don't -understand." - -Phillis thought that a virgin heart might be one of the things to be -understood when the Coping-stone was achieved, and asked no more. - -At the Richmond railway-station the brothers, who had not spoken a -word to each other since leaving the house, turned into the -refreshment-room by common consent and without consultation. They had, -as usual, a brandy-and-soda, and on taking the glasses in their hands -they looked at each other and smiled. - -"Cornelius." - -"Humphrey." - -"Shall we"--the Artist dropped his voice, so that the attendant damsel -might not hear--"shall we drink the health and happiness of Phillis?" - -"We will, Humphrey," replied the Poet, with enthusiasm. - -When they got into the train and found themselves alone in the -carriage they dug each other in the ribs once, with great meaning. - -"She knows," said the Poet, with a grin worthy of Mephistopheles, -"that she has found a virgin heart." - -"She does," said Humphrey. "O Cornelius, and the little Gretchen and -the milkpails? Byronic Rover!" - -"Ah, Humphrey, shall I tell her of the contadina, the black-eyed -model, and the old wild days in Rome, eh? Don Giovanni!" - -Then they both laughed, and then they fell asleep in the carriage, -because it was long past their regular hour for the afternoon nap, and -slept till the guard took their tickets at Vauxhall. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - - "This fellow's of exceeding honesty, - And knows all qualities." - - -It was the night of the Derby of 1875. The great race had been run, -and the partisans of Galopin were triumphant. Those who had set their -affections on other names had finished their weeping, because by this -time lamentation, especially among those of the baser sort was changed -for a cheerful resignation begotten of much beer. The busy road was -deserted, save for the tramps who plodded their weary way homeward; -the moon, now in its third quarter, looked with sympathetic eye upon -the sleeping forms which dotted the silent downs. These lay strewn -like unto the bodies on a battle-field--they lay in rows, they lay -singly; they were protected from the night-dews by canvas tents, or -they were exposed to the moon-light and the wind. All day long these -people had plied the weary trade of amusing a mob; the Derby, when -most hearts are open, is the harvest-day of those who play -instruments, those who dance, those who tumble, those who tell -fortunes. Among these honest artists sleeps the 'prentice who is going -to rob the till to pay his debt of honour; the seedy betting-man in a -drunken stupor; the boy who has tramped all the way from town to pick -up a sixpence somehow; the rustic who loves a race; and the -sharp-fingered lad with the restless eye and a pocketful of -handkerchiefs. The holiday is over, and few are the heads which will -awake in the morning clear and untroubled with regrets, remorse, or -hot coppers. It is two in the morning, and most of the revellers are -asleep. A few, still awake, are at the Burleigh Club; and among these -are Gilead Beck, Ladds, and Jack Dunquerque. - -They have been to Epsom. On the course the two Englishmen seemed, not -unnaturally, to know a good many men. Some, whose voices were, oddly -enough, familiar to Gilead Beck, shook hands with him and laughed. One -voice--it belonged to a man in a light coat and a white hat--reminded -him of Thomas Carlyle. The owner of the voice laughed cheerfully when -Beck told him so. Another made him mindful of John Ruskin. And the -owner of that voice, too, laughed and changed the subject. They were -all cheerful, these friends of Jack Dunquerque; they partook with -affability of the luncheon and drank freely of the champagne. Also -there was a good deal of quiet betting. Jack Dunquerque, Gilead Beck -observed, was the least adventurous. Betting and gambling were -luxuries which Jack's income would not allow him. Most other things he -could share in, but betting was beyond him. Gilead Beck plunged and -won. It was a part of his Luck that he should win; but, nevertheless, -when Galopin carried his owner's colours past the winning-post, Gilead -gave a great shout of triumph, and felt for once the pleasures of the -Turf. - -Now it was all over. Jack and he were together in the smoking-room, -where half a dozen lingered. Ladds was somewhere in the club, but not -with them. - -"It was a fine sight," said Gilead Beck, on the subject of the race -generally; "a fine sight. In the matter of crowds you beat us: that I -allow. And the horses were good: that I allow too. But let me show you -a trotting-race, where the sweet little winner goes his measured mile -in two minutes and a half. That seems to me better sport. But the -Derby is a fine race, and I admit it. When I go back to America," he -went on, "I shall institute races of my own--with a great National -Dunquerque Cup--and we will have an American Derby, with trotting -thrown in. There's room for both sports. What do you think, Mr. -Dunquerque, of having sports from all countries?" - -"Seems a bright idea. Take your bull-fights from Spain; your fencing -from France; your racing from England--what will you have from -Germany?" - -"Playing at soldiers, I guess. They don't seem to care for any other -game." - -"And Russia?" - -"A great green table with a pack of cards and a roulette. We can get a -few Egyptian bonds for the Greeks to exhibit their favourite game -with. We may import a band of brigands for the Italian sports. -Imitation murder will represent Turkish Delights, and the performers -shall camp in Central Park. It wouldn't be bad fun to go out at night -and hunt them. Say, Mr. Dunquerque, we'll do it. A permanent -Exhibition of the Amusements of all Nations. You shall come over if -you like, and show them English fox-hunting. Where is Captain Ladds?" - -"I left him hovering round the card-tables. I will bring him up." - -Presently Jack returned. - -"Ladds is hard at work at _écarté_ with a villainous-looking stranger. -And I should think, from the way Tommy is sticking at it, that Tommy -is dropping pretty heavily." - -"It's an American he's playing with," said one of the other men in the -room. "Don't know who brought him; not a member; a Major Hamilton -Ruggles--don't know what service." - -Mr. Beck looked up quietly, and reflected a moment. Then he said -softly to Jack-- - -"Mr. Dunquerque, I think we can have a little amusement out of this. -If you were to go now to Captain Ladds, and if you were to bring him -up to this same identical room with Major Hamilton Ruggles, I think, -sir,--I do think you would see something pleasant." - -There was a sweet and winning smile on the face of Mr. Beck when he -spoke these words. Jack immediately understood that there was going to -be a row, and went at once on his errand, in order to promote it to -the best of his power. - -"You know Major Ruggles?" asked the first speaker. - -"No, sir, no--I can hardly say that I know Major Ruggles. But I think -he knows me." - -In ten minutes Ladds and his adversary at _écarté_ came upstairs. -Ladds wore the heavy impenetrable look in which, as in a mask, he -always played; the other, who had a limp in one leg and a heavy scar -across his face, came with him. He was laughing in a high-pitched -voice. After them came Jack. - -At sight of Mr. Beck, Major Ruggles stopped suddenly. - -"I beg your pardon, Captain Ladds," he said. "I find I have forgotten -my handkerchief." - -He turned to go. But, Jack, the awkward, was in his way. - -"Handkerchief sticking out of your pocket," said Ladds. - -"So it is, so it is!" - -By a sort of instinct the half-dozen men in the smoking-room seemed to -draw their chairs and to close in together. There was evidently -something going to happen. - -Mr. Beck rose solemnly--surely nobody ever had so grave a face as -Gilead P. Beck--and advanced to Major Ruggles. - -"Major Ruggles," he said, "I gave you to understand, two days ago, -that I didn't remember you. I found out afterwards that I was wrong. I -remember you perfectly well." - -"You used words, Mr. Beck, which----" - -"Ay, ay--I know. You want satisfaction, Major. You shall have it. Sit -down now, sit down, sir. We are all among gentlemen here, and this is -a happy meeting for both of us. What will you drink?--I beg your -pardon, Mr. Dunquerque, but I thought we were at the Langham. Perhaps -you would yourself ask Major Ruggles what he will put himself outside -of?" - -The Major, who did not seem quite at his ease, took a -seltzer-and-brandy and a cigarette. Then he looked furtively at Gilead -Beck. He understood what the man was going to say and why he was going -to say it. - -"Satisfaction, Major? Wal, these gentlemen shall be witnesses. -Yesterday mornin', as I was walkin' down the steps of the Langham -Hotel, this gentleman, this high-toned, whole-souled pride of the -American army, met me and offered his hand. 'Hope you are well, Mr. -Beck,' were his affable words. 'Hope you are quite well. Met you last -at Delmonico's, in with Boss Calderon.' Now, gentlemen, you'll hardly -believe me when I tell you I answered this politeness by askin' the -Major if he had ever heard of a Banco Steerer, and if he knew the -meanin' of a Roper. He did not reply, doubtless because he was wounded -in his feelin's--being above all things a man of honour _and_ the -boast of his native country. I then left him with a Scriptural -reference, which p'r'aps he's overhauled since, and now understands -what I meant when I said that, if I was to meet him goin' around -arm-in-arm with Ananias and Sapphira, I'd say he was in good company." - -Here the Major jumped in his chair, and put his right hand to his -shirt-front. - -"No, sir," said Beck, unmoved. "I can tackle more'n one wild cat at -once, if you mean fightin,' which you do not. And it's no use, no -manner o' use, feelin' in that breast-pocket of yours, because the -shootin' irons in this country are always left at home. You sit still, -Major, and take it quiet. I'm goin' to be more improvin' presently." - -"Perhaps, Beck," said Jack, "you would explain what a Banco Steerer -and a Roper are." - -"I was comin' to that, sir. They air one and the same animal. The -Roper or the Banco Steerer, gentlemen, will find you out the morning -after you land in Chicago or Saint Louis. He will accost you--very -friendly, wonderful friendly--when you come out of your hotel, by your -name, and he will remind you--which is most surprising, considerin' -you never set eyes on his face before--how you have dined together in -Cincinnati, or it may be Orleans, or perhaps Francisco, because he -finds out where you came from last. And he will shake hands with you: -and he will propose a drink; and he will pay for that drink. And -presently he will take you somewhere else, among his pals, and he will -strip you so clean that there won't be left the price of a four cent -paper to throw around your face and hide your blushes. In London, -gentlemen, they do, I believe, the confidence trick. Perhaps Major -Ruggles will explain his own method presently." - -But Major Ruggles preserved silence. - -"So, gentlemen, after I'd shown my familiarity with the Ax of the -Apostles, I went down town, thinkin' how mighty clever I was--that's a -way of mine, gentlemen, which generally takes me after I've made a -durned fool of myself. All of a sudden I recollected the face of Major -Ruggles, and where I'd seen him last. Yes, Major, you _did_ know -me--you were quite right, and I ought to have kept Ananias out of the -muss--you _did_ know me, and I'd forgotten it. Those words of mine, -Major, required explanation, as you said just now." - -"Satisfaction, I said," objected the Major, trying to recover himself -a little. - -"Sir, you air a whole-souled gentleman; and your sense of honour is as -keen as a quarter-dollar razor. Satisfaction you shall have; and if -you are not satisfied when I have done with you, ask these gentlemen -around what an American nobleman--one of the noblemen like yourself -that we do sometimes show the world--wants more, and the more you -shall git. - -"You did know me, Major; but you made a little mistake. It was not -with Boss Calderon that you met me, because I do not know Boss -Calderon; nor was it at Delmonico's. And where it was I am about to -tell this company." - -He hesitated a moment. - -"Gentlemen, I believe it is a rule that strangers in your clubs must -be introduced by members. I was introduced by my friend Mr. -Dunquerque, and I hope I shall not disgrace that introduction. May I -ask who introduced Major Ruggles?" - -Nobody knew. In fact, he had passed in with an acquaintance picked up -somehow, and stayed there. - -The Major tried again to get away. "This is fooling," he said. -"Captain Ladds, do you wish me to be insulted? If you do, sir, say so. -You will find that an American officer----" - -"Silence, sir!" said Mr. Beck. "An American officer! Say that again, -and I will teach you to respect the name of an American officer. I've -been a private soldier myself in that army," he added, by way of -explanation. "Now, Major Ruggles, I am going to invite you to remain -while I tell these gentlemen a little story--a very little story--but -it concerns you. And if Captain Ladds likes when that story is -finished, I will apologise to you, and to him, and to all this -honourable company." - -"Let us hear the story," said Jack. "Nothing could be fairer." - -"Nothing!" echoed the little circle of listeners. - -Beck addressed the room in general, occasionally pointing the finger -of emphasis at the unfortunate Major. His victim showed every sign of -bodily discomfort and mental agitation. First he fidgeted in the -chair; then he threw away his cigarette; then he folded his arms and -stared defiantly at the speaker. Then he got up again. - -"What have I to do with you and your story? Let me go. Captain Ladds, -you have my address. And as for you, sir, you shall hear from me -to-morrow." - -"Sit down, Major." Gilead Beck invited him to resume his chair with a -sweet smile. "Sit down. The night's young. May be Captain Ladds wants -his revenge." - -"Not I," said Ladds. "Had enough. Go to bed. Not a revengeful man." - -"Then," said Gilead Beck, his face darkening and his manner suddenly -changing, "I will take your revenge for you. Sit down, sir!" - -It was an order he gave this time, not an invitation, and the stranger -obeyed with an uneasy smile. - -"It is not gambling, Major Ruggles," Beck went on. "Captain Ladds' -revenge is going to be of another sort, I reckon." - -He drew close to Major Ruggles, and sitting on the table, placed one -foot on a chair which was between the stranger and the door. - -"Delmonico's, was it, where we met last? And with Joe Calderon--Boss -Calderon? Really, Major Ruggles, I was a great fool not to remember -that at once. But I always am weak over faces, even such a striking -face as yours. So we met last when you were dining with Boss Calderon, -eh?" - -Then Mr. Beck began his little story. - -"Six years ago, gentlemen,--long before I found my Butterfly, of which -you may have heard,--I ran up and down the Great Pacific Railway -between Chicago and Francisco for close upon six months. I did not -choose that way of spendin' the golden hours, because, if one had a -choice at all, a Pullman's sleeping-car on the Pacific Railway would -be just one of the last places you would choose to pass your life in. -I should class it, as a permanent home, with a first-class saloon in a -Cunard steamer. No, gentlemen, I was on board those cars in an -official capacity. I was conductor. It is not a proud position, not an -office which you care to magnify; it doesn't lift your chin in the air -and stick out your toes like the proud title of Major does for our -friend squirmin' in the chair before us. Squirm on, Major; but listen, -because this is interestin'. On those cars and on that railway there -is a deal of time to be got through. I am bound to say that time kind -of hangs heavy on the hands. You can't be always outside smokin'; you -can't sleep more'n a certain time, because the nigger turns you out -and folds up the beds; and you oughtn't to drink more'n your proper -whack. Also, you get tired watchin' the scenery. You may make notes if -you like, but you get tired o' that. And you get mortal tired of -settin' on end. Mostly, therefore, you stand around the conductor, and -you listen to his talk. - -"But six years ago the dullness of that long journey was enlivened by -the presence of a few sportsmen like our friend the Major here. They -were so fond of the beauties of Nature, they were so wrapped up in the -pride of bein' American citizens and ownin' the biggest railway in the -world, that they would travel all the way from New York to San -Francisco, stay there a day, and then travel all the way back again. -And the most remarkable thing was, that when they got to New York -again they would take a through ticket all the way back to San Fran. -This attachment to the line pleased the company at first. It did seem -as if good deeds was going to meet their recompense at last, even in -this world, and the spirited conduct of the gentlemen, when it first -became known, filled everybody with admiration.--You remember, Major, -the very handsome remarks made by you yourself on the New York -platform. - -"Lord, is it six years ago? Why, it seems to me but yesterday, Major -Ruggles, that I saw you standin' erect and bold--lookin' like a -senator in a stove pipe hat, store boots, and go-to-meetin' -coat--shakin' hands with the chairman. 'Sir,' you said, with tears in -your eyes, 'you represent the advance of civilisation. We air now, -indeed, ahead of the hull creation. You have united the Pacific and -the Atlantic. And, sir, by the iron road the West and the East may -jine hands and defy the tyranny of Europe.' Those, gentlemen, were the -noble sentiments of Major Hamilton Ruggles.--Did I say, Major, that I -would give you satisfaction? Wait till I have done, and you shall bust -with satisfaction." - -The Major did not look, at all events, like being satisfied so far. - -"One day an ugly rumor got about--you know how rumours spread--that -the Great Pacific Railroad was a big gamblin' shop. The enthusiastic -travellers up and down that line were one mighty confederated gang. -They were up to every dodge: they travelled together, and they -travelled separate; they had dice, and those dice were loaded; they -had cards, and those cards were marked; they played on the square, but -behind every man's hand was a confederate, and he gave signs, so that -the honest sportsman knew how to play. And by these simple -contrivances, gentlemen, they always won. So much did they win, that I -have conducted a through train in which, when we got to Chicago, there -wasn't a five-dollar piece left among the lot. And all the time -strangers to each other. The gang never, by so much as a wink, let out -that they had met before. And no one could tell them from ordinary -passengers. But I knew; and I had a long conversation with the -Directors one day, the result of which--Major Ruggles, perhaps you can -tell these gentlemen what was the result of that conversation." - -The man was sallow. His sharp eyes gleamed with an angry light as -he looked from one to the other, as if in the hope of finding an -associate. There was none. Only Ladds, his adversary, moved quietly -around the room and sat near to Gilead Beck, on the table, but _nearer -the door_. The Major saw this manoeuvre with a sinking heart, because -his pockets were heavy with the proceeds of the evening game. - -"Well, gentlemen, a general order came for all the conductors. It was -'No play.' We were to stop that. And another general order was--an -imperative order, Major, so that I am sure you will not bear -malice--'If they won't leave off, chuck 'em out.' That was the order, -Major, 'Chuck 'em out.' - -"It was on the journey back from San Francisco that the first trouble -began. You were an upright man to look at then, Major; you hadn't got -the limp you've got now, and you hadn't received that unfort'nate scar -across your handsome face. You were a most charmin' companion for a -long railway journey, but you had that little weakness--that you -_would_ play. I warned you at the time. I said, 'Cap'en, this must -stop.' You were only a Cap'en then. But you would go on. 'Cap'en,' I -said, 'if you will not stop, you will be chucked out.' You will -acknowledge, Major, that I gave you fair warnin'. You laughed. That -was all you did. You laughed and you shuffled the cards. But the man -who was playing with you got up. He saw reason. Then you drew out a -revolver and used bad language. So I made for you. - -"Gentlemen, it was not a fair fight. But orders had to be observed. In -half a minute I had his pistol from him, and in two minutes more he -was flyin' from the end of the train. We were goin' twenty miles an -hour, and we hadn't time to stop to see if he was likely to get along -somehow. And the last I saw of Captain Ruggles--I beg your pardon, -Major--was his two heels in the air as he left the end of the train. I -s'pose, Major, it was stoppin' so sudden gave you that limp and -ornamented your face with that beautiful scar. The ground was gritty, -I believe?" - -Everybody's eyes were turned on the Major, whose face was livid. - -"Gentlemen," Mr. Beck continued, "that ĉrial flight of Captain Ruggles -improved the moral tone of the Pacific Railroad to a degree that you -would hardly believe. I don't think there has been a single sportsman -chucked out since. Major Ruggles, sir, you were the blessed means, -under Providence and Gilead P. Beck conjointly, of commencing a new -and moral era for the Great Pacific Railroad. - -"And now, Major, that my little story is told, may I ask if you are -satisfied? Because if there is any other satisfaction in my power you -shall have that too. Have I done enough for honour, gentlemen all?" - -The men laughed. - -"Now for a word with me," Ladds began. - -"Cap'en," said Gilead Beck, "let me work through this contract, if you -have no objection--Major Ruggles, you will clear out all your -pockets." - -The miserable man made no reply. - -"Clear out every one, and turn them inside out, right away." - -He neither moved nor spoke. - -"Gentlemen," Mr. Beck said calmly, "you will be kind enough not to -interfere." - -He pulled a penknife out of his pocket and laid it on a chair open. He -then seized Major Ruggles by the collar and arm. The man fought like a -wild cat, but Beck's grasp was like a vice. It seemed incredible to -the bystanders that a man should be so strong, so active, and so -skilled. He tossed, rather than laid, his victim on the table, and -then, holding both his hands in one grip of his own enormous fist, he -deliberately ripped open the Major's trousers, waistcoat, and coat -pockets, and took out the contents. When he was satisfied that nothing -more was left in them he dragged him to the ground. - -On the table lay the things which he had taken possession of. - -"Take up those dice," he said to Ladds; "Try them; if they are not -loaded, I will ask the Major's pardon." - -They were loaded. - -"Look at these cards," he went on. "They are the cards you have been -playing with, when you thought you had a new pack of club-cards. If -they are not marked, I will ask the Major to change places with me." - -They were marked. - -"And now, gentlemen, I think I may ask Captain Ladds what he has lost, -and invite him to take it out of that heap." - -There was a murmur of assent. - -"I lost twenty pounds in notes and gold," said Ladds. "And I gave an I -O U for sixty more." - -There were other I O U's in the heap, and more gold when Ladds had -recovered his own. The paper was solemnly torn up, but the coin -restored to the Major, who now stood, abject, white, and trembling, -but with the look of a devil in his eyes. - -"Such men as you, Major," said Gilead the Moralist, "are the curse of -our country. You see, gentlemen, we travel about, we make money fast; -we are sometimes a reckless lot; the miners have got pockets full; -there's everything to encourage such a crew as Major Ruggles belonged -to. And when we find them out, we lynch them.--Lynch is the word, -isn't it, Major?--do you want to know the end of this man, gentlemen? -I am not much in the prophetic line, but I think I see a crowd of men -in a minin' city, and I see a thick branch with a rope over it. And at -the end of that rope is Major Ruggles's neck, tightened in a most -unpleasant and ungentlemanly manner.--It's inhospitable, but what can -you expect, Major? We like play, but we like playin' on the square. -Now, Major, you may go. And you may thank the Lord on your knees -before you go to sleep that this providential interference has taken -place in London instead of the States. For had I told my interestin' -anecdote at a bar in any city of the Western States, run up you would -have been. You may go, Major Ruggles; and I daresay Cap'en Ladds, in -consideration of the damage done to those bright and shinin' store -clothes of yours, will forego the British kicking which I see -tremblin' at the point of his toes." - -Ladds did forego that revenge, and the Major slunk away. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - - "Nulla fere causa est in qua non femina litem - Moverit." - - -When Mr. Wylie, the pamphleteer, left Gabriel Cassilis, the latter -resumed with undisturbed countenance his previous occupation of -reading the letters and telegrams he had laid aside. Among them was -one which he took up gingerly, as if it were a torpedo. - -"Pshaw!" he cried impatiently, tossing it from him. "Another of those -anonymous letters. The third." He looked at it with disgust, and then -half involuntarily his hand reached out and took it up again. "The -third, and all in the same handwriting. 'I have written you two -letters, and you have taken no notice. This is the third. Beware! Your -wife was with Mr. Colquhoun yesterday; she will be with him again -to-day and to-morrow. Ask her, if you dare, what is her secret with -him. Ask him what hold he has over her. Watch her, and caution her -lest something evil befall you.--Your well-wisher.' - -"I am a fool," he said, "to be disquieted about an anonymous slander. -What does it matter to me? As if Victoria--she did know Colquhoun -before her marriage--their names were mentioned--I remember hearing -that there had been flirtation--flirtation! As if Victoria could ever -flirt! She was no frivolous silly girl. No one who knows Victoria -could for a moment suspect--suspect! The word is intolerable. One -would say I was jealous." - -He pushed forward his papers and leaned back in his chair, casting his -thoughts behind him to the days of his stiff and formal wooing. He -remembered how he said, sitting opposite to her in her cousin's -drawing-room--there was no wandering by the river-bank or in pleasant -gardens on summer evenings for those two lovers-- - -"You bring me fewer springs than I can offer you, Victoria;" which was -his pretty poetical way of telling her that he was nearly forty years -older than herself: "but we shall begin life with no trammels of -previous attachments on either hand." - -He called it--and thought it--at sixty-five, beginning life; and it -was quite true that he had never before conceived an attachment for -any woman. - -"No, Mr. Cassilis," she replied; "we are both free, quite free; and -the disparity of age is only a disadvantage on my side, which a few -years will remedy." - -This cold stately woman conducting a flirtation before her marriage? -This Juno among young matrons causing a scandal after her marriage? It -was ridiculous. - -He said to himself that it was ridiculous so often, that he succeeded -at last in persuading himself that it really was. And when he had -quite done that, he folded up the anonymous document, docketed it, and -placed it in one of the numerous pigeon-holes of his desk, which was -one of those which shut up completely, covering over papers, -pigeon-holes, and everything. - -Then he addressed himself again to business, and, but for an -occasional twinge of uneasiness, like the first throb which presages -the coming gout, he got through an important day's work with his -accustomed ease and power. - - -The situation, as Lawrence Colquhoun told Victoria, was strained. -There they were, as he put it, all three--himself, for some reason of -his own, put first; the lady; and Gabriel Cassilis. The last was the -one who did not know. There was no reason, none in the world, why -things should not remain as they were, only that the lady would not -let sleeping dangers sleep, and Lawrence was too indolent to resist. -In other words, Victoria Cassilis, having once succeeded in making him -visit her, spared no pains to bring him constantly to her house, and -to make it seem as if he was that innocent sort of _cicisbeo_ whom -English society allows. - -Why? - -The investigation of motives is a delicate thing at the best, and apt -to lead the analyst into strange paths. It may be discovered that the -philanthropist acts for love of notoriety; that the preacher does not -believe in the truths he proclaims; that the woman of self-sacrifice -and good works is consciously posing before an admiring world. This is -disheartening, because it makes the cynic and the worldly-minded man -to chuckle and chortle with an open joy. St. Paul, who was versed in -the ways of the world, knew this perfectly when he proclaimed the -insufficiency of good works. It is at all times best to accept the -deed, and never ask the motive. And, after all, good deeds are -something practical. And as for a foolish or a bad deed, the -difficulty of ascertaining an adequate motive only becomes more -complicated with its folly or its villainy. Mrs. Cassilis had -everything to gain by keeping her old friend on the respectful level -of a former acquaintance; she had everything to lose by treating him -as a friend. And yet she forced her friendship upon him. - -Kindly people who find in the affairs of other people sufficient -occupation for themselves, and whose activity of intellect obtains a -useful vent in observation and comment, watched them. The man was -always the same; indolent, careless, unmoved by any kind of passion -for any other man's wife or for any maid. That was a just conclusion. -Lawrence Colquhoun was not in love with this lady. And yet he suffered -himself to obey orders; dropped easily in the position; allowed -himself to be led by her invitations; went where she told him to go; -and all the time half laughed at himself and was half angry to think -that he was thus enthralled by a siren who charmed him not. To have -once loved a woman; to love her no longer; to go about the town -behaving as if you did: this, it was evident to him, was not a -position to be envied or desired. Few false positions are. Perhaps he -did not know that Mrs. Grundy talked; perhaps he was only amused when -he heard of remarks that had been made by Sir Benjamin Backbite; and -although the brief sunshine of passion which he only felt for this -woman was long since past and gone, nipped in its very bud by the lady -herself perhaps, he still liked her cold and cynical talk. Colquhoun -habitually chose the most pleasant paths for his lounge through life. -From eighteen to forty there had been but one disagreeable episode, -which he would fain have forgotten. Mrs. Cassilis revived it; but, in -her presence, the memory was robbed somehow of half its sting. - -Sir Benjamin Backbite remarked that though the gentleman was languid, -the lady was shaken out of her habitual coldness. She was changed. -What could change her, asked the Baronet, but passion for this old -friend of her youth? Why, it was only four years since he had followed -her, after a London season, down to Scotland, and everybody said it -would be a match. She received his attentions coldly then, as she -received the attentions of every man. Now the tables were turned; it -was the man who was cold. - -These social observers are always right. But they never rise out of -themselves; therefore their conclusions are generally wrong. Victoria -Cassilis was not, as they charitably thought, running after Colquhoun -through the fancy of a wayward heart. Not at all. She was simply -wondering where it had gone--that old power of hers, by which she once -twisted him round her finger--and why it was gone. A woman cannot -believe that she has lost her power over a man. It is an intolerable -thought. Her power is born of her beauty and her grace; these may -vanish, but the old attractiveness remains, she thinks, if only as a -tradition. When she is no longer beautiful she loves to believe that -her lovers are faithful still. Now Victoria Cassilis remembered this -man as a lover and a slave; his was the only pleading she had ever -heard which could make her understand the meaning of man's passion; he -was the only suitor whom a word could make wretched or a look happy. -For he had once loved her with all his power and all his might. -Between them there was the knowledge of a thing which, if any -knowledge could, should have crushed out and beaten down the memory of -this love. She had made it, by her own act and deed, a crime to -remember it. And yet, in spite of all, she could not bring herself to -remember that the old power was dead. She tried to bring him again -under influence. She failed, but she succeeded in making him come back -to her as if nothing had ever happened. And then she said to herself -that there must be another woman, and she set herself to find out who -that woman was. - -Formerly many men had hovered--marriageable men, excellent -_partis_--round the cold and statuesque beauty of Victoria Pengelley. -She was an acknowledged beauty; she brought an atmosphere of perfect -taste and grace into a room with her; men looked at her and wondered; -foolish girls, who knew no better, envied her. Presently the foolish -girls, who had soft faces and eyes, which could melt in love or -sorrow, envied her no longer, because they got engaged and married. -And of all the men who came and went, there was but one who loved her -so that his pulse beat quicker when she came; who trembled when he -took her hand; whose nerves tingled and whose blood ran swifter -through his veins when he asked her, down in that quiet Scotch -village, with no one to know it but her maid, to be his wife. - -The man was Lawrence Colquhoun. The passion had been his. Now love and -passion were buried in the ashes of the past. The man was impassable, -and the woman, madly kicking against the fetters which she had bound -around herself, was angry and jealous. - -It is by some mistake of Nature that women who cannot love can yet be -jealous. Victoria Pengelley's pulse never once moved the faster for -all the impetuosity of her lover. She liked to watch it, this curious -yearning after her beauty, this eminently masculine weakness, because -it was a tribute to her power; it is always pleasant for a woman to -feel that she is loved as women are loved in novels--men's novels, not -the pseudo-passionate school-girls' novels, or the calmly respectable -feminine tales where the young gentlemen and the young ladies are -superior to the instincts of common humanity. Victoria played with -this giant as an engineer will play with the wheels of a mighty -engine. She could do what she liked with it. Samson was not more -pliable to Delilah; and Delilah was not more unresponsive to that -guileless strong man. She soon got tired of her toy, however. Scarcely -were the morning and the evening of the fifth day, when by pressing -some unknown spring she smashed it altogether. - -Now, when it was quite too late, when the thing was utterly smashed, -when she had a husband and child, she was actually trying to -reconstruct it. Some philosopher, probing more deeply than usual the -mysteries of mankind, once discovered that it was at all times -impossible to know what a woman wants. He laid that down as a general -axiom, and presented it as an irrefragable truth for the universal use -of humanity. One may sometimes, however, guess what a woman does not -want. Victoria Cassilis, one may be sure, did not want to sacrifice -her honour, her social standing, or her future. She was not intending -to go off, for instance, with her old lover, even if he should propose -the step, which seemed unlikely. And yet she would have liked him to -propose it, because then she would have felt the recovery of her -power. Now her sex, as Chaucer and others before him pointed out, love -power beyond all other earthly things. And the history of queens, from -Semiramis to Isabella, shows what a mess they always make of it when -they do get power. - -A curious problem. Given a woman, no longer in the first bloom of -youth, married well, and clinging with the instincts of her class to -her reputation and social position. She has everything to lose and -nothing to gain. She cannot hope even for the love of the man for whom -she is incurring the suspicions of the world, and exciting the -jealousy of her husband. Yet it is true, in her case, what the race of -evil-speakers, liars, and slanderers say of her. She is running after -Lawrence Colquhoun. He is too much with her. She has given the enemy -occasion to blaspheme. - -As for Colquhoun, when he thought seriously over the situation, he -laughed when it was a fine day, and swore if it was raining. The -English generally take a sombre view of things because it is so -constantly raining. We proclaim our impotence, the lack of national -spirit, and our poverty, until other nations actually begin to believe -us. But Colquhoun, though he might swear, made no effort to release -himself, when a word would have done it. - -"You may use harsh language to me, Lawrence," said Mrs. Cassilis--he -never had used harsh language to any woman--"you may sneer at me, and -laugh in your cold and cruelly impassive manner. But one thing I can -say for you, that you understand me." - -"I have seen all your moods, Mrs. Cassilis, and I have a good memory. -If you will show your husband that the surface of the ocean may be -stormy sometimes, he will understand you a good deal better. Get up a -little breeze for him." - -"I am certainly not going to have a vulgar quarrel with Mr. Cassilis." - -"A vulgar quarrel? Vulgar? Ah, vulgarity changes every five years or -so. What a pity that vulgar quarrels were in fashion six years ago, -Mrs. Cassilis!" - -"Some men are not worth losing your temper about." - -"Thank you. I was, I suppose. It was very kind of you, indeed, to -remind me of it, as you then did, in a manner at once forcible and not -to be forgotten. Mr. Cassilis gets nothing, I suppose, but east wind, -with a cloudless sky which has the sun in it, but only the semblance -of warmth. I got a good sou'-wester. But take care, take care, Mrs. -Cassilis! You have wantonly thrown away once what most women would -have kept--kept, Mrs. Cassilis! I remember when I was kneeling at your -feet years ago, talking the usual nonsense about being unworthy of -you. Rubbish! I was more than worthy of you, because I could give -myself to you loyally, and you--you could only pretend!" - -"Go on, Lawrence. It is something that you regret the past, and -something to see that you _can_ feel, after all." - -She stopped and laughed carelessly. - -"Prick me and I sing out. That is natural. But we will have no -heroics. What I mean is, that I am well out of it; and that you, -Victoria Cassilis, are--forgive the plain speaking--a foolish woman." - -"Lawrence Colquhoun has the right to insult me as he pleases, and I -must bear it." - -It was in her own room. Colquhoun was leaning on the window; she was -sitting on a chair before him. She was agitated and excited. He, save -for the brief moments when he spoke as if with emotion, was languid -and calm. - -"I have no right," he replied, "and you know it. Let us finish. Mrs. -Cassilis, keep what you have, and be thankful." - -"What I have! What have I?" - -"One of the best houses in London. An excellent social position. A -husband said to be the ablest man in the City. An income which gives -you all that a woman can ask for. The confidence and esteem of your -husband--and a child. Do these things mean nothing?" - -"My husband--Oh, my husband! He is insufferable sometimes, when I -remember, Lawrence." - -"He is a man who gives his trust after a great deal of doubt and -hesitation. Then he gives it wholly. To take it back would be a -greater blow, a far greater blow, than it would ever be to a younger -man--to such a man as myself." - -"Gabriel Cassilis only suffers when he loses money." - -"That is not the case. You cannot afford to make another great -mistake. Success isn't on the cards after two such blunders, Mrs. -Cassilis." - -"What do I want with success? Let me have happiness." - -"Take it; it is at your feet," said Lawrence. "It is in this house. It -is the commonest secret. Every simple country woman knows it." - -"No one will ever understand me," she sighed. "No one." - -"It is simply to give up for ever thinking about yourself. Go and look -after your baby, and find happiness there." - -Why superior women are always so angry if they are asked to look after -their babies, I cannot understand. There is no blinking the fact that -they have them. The maternal instinct makes women who cannot write or -talk fine language about the domestic affections, take to the tiny -creatures with a passion of devotion which is the loveliest thing to -look upon in all this earth. The _femme incomprise_ alone feels no -anguish if her baby cries, no joy if he laughs, and flies into a -divine rage if you remind her that she is a mother. - -"My baby!" cried Victoria, springing to her feet. "You see me yearning -for sympathy, looking to you as my oldest--once my dearest--friend, -for a little--only a little--interest and pity, and you send me to my -baby! The world is all selfish and cold-hearted, but the most selfish -man in it is Lawrence Colquhoun!" - -He laughed again. After all, he had said his say. - -"I am glad you think so, because it simplifies matters. Now, Mrs. -Cassilis, we have had our little confidential talk, and I think, under -the circumstances, that it had better be the last. So, for a time, we -will not meet, if you please. I do take a certain amount of interest -in you--that is, I am always curious to see what line you will take -next. And if you are at all concerned to have my opinion and counsel, -it is this: that you've got your chance; and if you give that man who -loves you and trusts you any unhappiness through your folly, you will -be a much more heartless and wicked woman than even I have ever -thought you. And, by Gad! I ought to know." - -He left her. Mrs. Cassilis heard his step in the hall and the door -close behind him. Then she ran to the window, and watched him -strolling in his leisurely, careless way down the road. It made her -mad to think that she could not make him unhappy, and made her jealous -to think that she could no longer touch his heart. Not in love with -him at all--she never had been; but jealous because her old power was -gone. - -Jealous! There must be another girl. Doubtless Phillis Fleming. She -ordered her carriage and drove straight to Twickenham. Agatha was -having one of her little garden-parties. Jack Dunquerque was there -with Gilead Beck. Also Captain Ladds. But Lawrence Colquhoun was not. -She stayed an hour; she ascertained from Phillis that her guardian -seldom came to see her, and went home again in a worse temper than -before, because she felt herself on the wrong track. - -Tomlinson, her maid, had a very bad time of it while she was dressing -her mistress for dinner. Nothing went right, somehow. Tomlinson, the -hard-featured, was long suffering and patient. She made no reply to -the torrent which flowed from her superior's angry lips. But when -respite came with the dinner-bell, and her mistress was safely -downstairs, the maid sat down to the table and wrote a letter very -carefully. This she read and re-read, and, being finally satisfied -with it, she took it out to the post herself. After that, as she would -not be wanted till midnight at least, she took a cab and went to the -Marylebone Theatre, where she wept over the distresses of a lady, -ruined by the secret voice of calumny. - -It was at the end of May, and the season was at its height. Mrs. -Cassilis had two or three engagements, but she came home early, and -was even sharper with the unfortunate Tomlinson than before dinner. -But Tomlinson was very good, and bore all in patience. It is Christian -to endure. - -Next morning Gabriel Cassilis found among his letters another in the -same handwriting as that of the three anonymous communications he had -already received. - -He tore it open with a groan. - -"This is the fourth letter. You will have to take notice of my -communications, and to act upon them, sooner or later. All this -morning Mr. Colquhoun was locked up with your wife in her boudoir. He -came at eleven and went away at half-past one. No one was admitted. -They talked of many things--of their Scotch secret especially, and how -to hide it from you. I shall keep you informed of what they do. At -half past two Mrs. Cassilis ordered the carriage and drove to -Twickenham. Mr. Colquhoun has got his ward there, Miss Fleming. So -that doubtless she went to meet him again. In the evening she came -home in a very bad temper, because she had failed to meet him. She had -hoped to see him three times at least this very day. Surely, surely -even your blind confidence cannot stand a continuation of this kind of -thing. All the world knows it except yourself. You may be rich and -generous to her, but she doesn't love you. And she doesn't care for -her child. She hasn't asked to see it for three days--think of that! -There is a pretty mother for you! She ill-treats her maid, who is _a -most faithful person, and devoted to your interests_. She is hated -by every servant in the house. She is a cold-hearted, cruel woman. And -even if she loves Mr. Colquhoun, it can only be through jealousy, and -because she won't let him marry anybody else, even if he wanted to. -But things are coming to a crisis. Wait!" - -Mr. Mowll came in with a packet of papers, and found his master -staring straight before him into space. He spoke to him but received -no answer. Then he touched him gently on the arm. Mr. Cassilis -started, and looked round hastily. His first movement was to lay his -hand upon a letter on the desk. - -"What is it, Mowll--what is it? I was thinking--I was thinking. I am -not very well to-day, Mowll." - -"You have been working too hard, sir," said his secretary. - -"Yes--yes. It is nothing. Now, then, let us look at what you have -brought." - -For two hours Mr. Cassilis worked with his secretary. He had the -faculty of rapid and decisive work. And he had the eye of a hawk. They -were two hours of good work, and the secretary's notes were -voluminous. Suddenly the financier stopped--the work half done. It was -as if the machinery of a clock were to go wrong without warning. - -"So," he said, with an effort, "I think we will stop for to-day. Put -all these matters at work, Mowll. I shall go home and rest." - -A thing he had never done before in all his life. - -He went back to his house. His wife was at home and alone. They had -luncheon together, and drove out in the afternoon. Her calm and -stately pride drove the jealous doubts from his troubled mind as the -sun chases away the mists of morning. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - - "An excellent play." - - -Such things as dinners to Literature were the relaxations of Gilead -Beck's serious life. His real business was to find an object worthy of -that enormous income of which he found himself the trustee. The most -sympathetic man of his acquaintance, although it was difficult to make -him regard any subject seriously, was Jack Dunquerque, and to him he -confided his anxieties and difficulties. - -"I can't fix it," he groaned. "I can't fix it anyhow." - -Jack knew what he meant, but waited for further light, like him who -readeth an acrostic. - -"The more I look at that growin' pile--there's enough now to build the -White House over again--the more I misdoubt myself." - -"Where have you got it all?" - -"In Government Stocks--by the help of Mr. Cassilis. No more of the -unholy traffic in shares which you buy to sell again. No, sir. That -means makin' the widow weep and the minister swear; an' I don't know -which spectacle of those two is the more melancholy for a Christian -man. All in stocks--Government Stocks, safe and easy to draw out, with -the interest comin' in regular as the chant of the cuckoo-clock." - -"Well, can't you let it stay there?" - -"No, Mr. Dunquerque, I can't. There's the voice of that blessed Inseck -in the box there, night and day in my ears. And it says, plain as -speech can make it, 'Do something with the money.'" - -"You have bought a few pictures." - -"Yes, sir: I have begun the great Gilead P. Beck collection. And when -that is finished, I guess there'll be no collection on this airth to -show a candle to it. But that's personal vanity. That's not what the -Golden Butterfly wants." - -"Would he like you to have a yacht? A good deal may be chucked over a -yacht. That is, a good deal for what we Englishmen call a rich man." - -"When I go home again I mean to build a yacht, and sail her over here -and race you people at Cowes--all the same as the America, twenty -years ago. But not yet." - -"There are a few trifles going about which run away with money. Polo, -now. If you play polo hard enough, you may knock up a pony every game. -But I suppose that would not be expensive enough for you. You couldn't -ride two ponies at once, I suppose, like a circus fellow." - -"Selfish luxury, Mr. Dunquerque," said Gilead, with an almost -prayerful twang, "is not the platform of the Golden Butterfly. I -should like to ride two ponies at once, but it's not to be thought of. -And my legs are too long for any but a Kentucky pony." - -"Is the Turf selfish luxury, I wonder?" asked Jack. "A good deal of -money can be got through on the Turf. Nothing, of course, compared -with your pile; but still, you might make a sensible hole in it by -judicious backing." - -Gilead Beck was as free from ostentation, vanity, and the desire to -have his ears tickled as any man. But still he did like to feel that -by the act of Providence, he was separated from other men. An income -of fifteen hundred pounds a day, which does not depend upon harvests, -or on coal, or on iron, or anything to eat and drink, but only on the -demand for rock-oil, which increases, as he often said, with the march -of civilisation, does certainly separate a man from his fellows. This -feeling of division saddened him; it imparted something of the -greatness of soul which belongs even to the most unworthy emperors; he -felt himself bound to do something for the good of mankind while life -and strength were in him. And it was not unpleasant to know that -others recognised the vastness of his Luck. Therefore, when Jack -Dunquerque spoke as if the Turf were a gulf which might be filled up -with his fortune, while it swallowed, without growing sensibly more -shallow, all the smaller fortunes yearly shot into it like the rubbish -on the future site of a suburban villa, Gilead Beck smiled. Such -recognition from this young man was doubly pleasant to him on account -of his unbounded affection for him. Jack Dunquerque had saved his -life. Jack Dunquerque treated him as an equal and a friend. Jack -Dunquerque wanted nothing of him, and, poor as he was, would accept -nothing of him. Jack Dunquerque was the first, as he was also the most -favourable, specimen he had met of the class which may be poor, but -does not seem to care for more money; the class which no longer works -for increase of fortune. - -"No, sir," said Gilead. "I do not understand the Turf. When I go home -I shall rear horses and improve the breed. Maybe I may run a horse in -a trotting-match at Saratoga." - -In the mornings this American, in search of a Worthy Object, devoted -his time to making the round of hospitals, London societies, and -charities of all kinds. He asked what they did, and why they did it. -He made remarks which were generally unpleasant to the employés of the -societies; he went away without offering the smallest donation; and he -returned moodily to the Langham Hotel. - -"The English," he said, after a fortnight of these investigations, -"air the most kind-hearted people in the hull world. We are -charitable, and I believe the Germans, when they are not officers in -their own army, are a well-disposed folk. But in America, when a man -tumbles down the ladder, he falls hard. Here there's every contrivance -for makin' him fall soft. A man don't feel handsome when he's on the -broad of his back, but it must be a comfort for him to feel that his -backbone isn't broke. Lord, Mr. Dunquerque! to look at the hospitals -and refuges, one would think the hull Bible had got nothin' but the -story of the Prodigal Son, and that every other Englishman was that -misbehaved boy. I reckon if the young man had lived in London, he'd -have gone home very slow--most as slow as ever he could travel. -There'd be the hospitals, comfortable and warm, when his constitootion -had broke down with too many drinks: there'd have been the -convalescent home for him to enjoy six months of happy meditation by -the seaside when he was pickin' up again; and when he got well, would -he take to the swine-herdin', or would he tramp it home to the old -man? Not he, sir; he would go back to the old courses and become a -Roper. Then more hospitals. P'r'aps when he'd got quite tired, and -seen the inside of a State prison, and been without his little -comforts for a spell, he'd have gone home at last--just as I did, for -I was the prodigal son without the riotous livin'--and found the old -man gone, leavin' him his blessin'. The elder one would hand him the -blessin' cheerfully, and stick to the old man's farm. Then the poor -broken down sportsman--he'd tramp it back to London, get into an -almshouse, with an allowance from a City charity, and die happy. - -"There's another kind o' prodigal," Mr. Beck went on, being in a mood -for moralising. "She's of the other sex. Formerly she used to repent -when she thought of what was before her. There's a refuge before her -now, and kind women to take her by the hand and cry over her. She -isn't in any hurry for the cryin' to begin, but it's comfortable to -look forward to; and so she goes on until she's ready. Twenty years -fling, maybe, with nothing to do for her daily bread; and then to -start fair on the same level as the woman who has kept her -self-respect and worked. - -"I can't see my way clear, Mr. Dunquerque; I can't. It wouldn't do any -kind of honour to the Golden Butterfly to lay out all of these dollars -in helpin' up them who are bound to fall--bound to fall. There's only -two classes of people in this world--those who are goin' up, and those -who are goin' down. It's no use tryin' to stop those who are on their -way down. Let them go; let them slide; give them a shove down, if you -like, and all the better, because they will the sooner get to the -bottom, and then go up again till they find their own level." - -It was in the evening, at nine o'clock, when Gilead Beck made the -oration. He was in his smaller room, which was lit only by the -twilight of the May evening and by the gas-lamp in the street below. -He walked up and down, talking with his hands in his pockets, and -silencing Jack Dunquerque, who had never thought seriously about these -or any other things, by his earnestness. Every now and then he went to -the window and looked into the street below. The cabs rattled up and -down, and on the pavement the customary sight of a West-end street -after dark perhaps gave him inspiration. - -"Their own level," he repeated it. "Yes, sir, there's a proper level -for every one of us somewhere, if only we can find it. At the lowest -depth of all, there's the airth to be ploughed, the hogs to be drove, -and the corn to be reaped. I read the other day, when I was studying -for the great dinner, that formerly, if a man took refuge in a town, -he might stay there for a year and a day. If then he could not keep -himself, they opened the gates and they ran him out on a plank; same -way as I left Clearville City. Back to the soil he went--back to the -plough. Let those who are going down hill get down as fast as they -can, and go back to the soil. - -"I've sometimes thought," he went on, "that there's a kind of work -lower than agriculture. It is to wear a black coat and do copying. You -take a boy and you make him a machine; tell him to copy, that is all. -Why, sir, the rustic who feeds the pigs is a Solomon beside that poor -critter. Make your poor helpless paupers into clerks, and make the men -who've got arms and legs and no brains into farm labourers. Perhaps I -shall build a city and conduct it on those principles." - -Then he stopped because he had run himself down, and they began to -talk of Phillis. - -But it seemed to Jack a new and singular idea. The weak must go to the -wall; but they might be helped to find their level. He was glad for -once that he had that small four hundred a year of his own, because, -as he reflected, his own level might be somewhere on the stage where -the manufacture by hand, say, of upper leathers, represents the proper -occupation of the class. A good many other fellows, he thought, among -his own acquaintance, might find themselves accommodated with boards -for the cobbling business near himself. And he looked at Gilead Beck -with increased admiration as a man who had struck all this, as well as -Ile, out of his own head. - -Jack Dunquerque suggested educational endowments. Mr. Beck made -deliberate inquiries into the endowments of Oxford and Cambridge, with -a view of founding a grand National American University on the old -lines, to be endowed in perpetuity with the proceeds of his perennial -oil-fountains. But there were things about these ancient seats of -learning which did not commend themselves to him. In his unscholastic -ignorance he asked what was the good of pitting young men against each -other, like the gladiators in the arena, to fight, like them, with -weapons of no earthly modern use. And when he was told of fellowships -given to men for life as a prize for a single battle, he laughed -aloud. - -He went down to Eton. He was mean enough to say of the masters that -they made their incomes by over-charging the butchers' and the -grocers' bills, and he said that ministers, as he called them, ought -not to be grocers; and of the boys he said that he thought it -unwholesome for them that some should have unlimited pocket-money, and -all should have unlimited tick. Also some one told him that Eton boys -no longer fight, because they funk one another. So that he came home -sorrowful and scornful. - -"In my country," he said, "we have got no scholarships, and if the -young men can't pay their professors they do without them and educate -themselves. And in my country the boys fight. Yes, Mr. Dunquerque, you -bet they do fight." - -It was after an evening at the Lyceum that Gilead Beck hit upon the -grand idea of his life. - -The idea struck him as they walked home. It fell upon him like an -inspiration, and for the moment stunned him. He was silent until he -reached the hotel. Then he called a waiter. - -"Get Mr. Dunquerque a key," he said. "He will sleep here. That means, -Mr. Dunquerque, that we can talk all night if you please. I want -advice." - -Jack laughed. He always did laugh. - -"It is a great privilege," he said, "advising Fortunatus." - -"It is a great privilege, Mr. Dunquerque," returned Fortunatus, -"having an adviser who wants nothing for himself. See that pile of -letters. Every one a begging-letter, except that blue one on the top, -which is from a clergyman. He's a powerful generous man, sir. He -offers to conduct my charities at a salary of three hundred pounds a -year." - -Mr. Beck then proceeded to unfold the great idea which had sprung up, -full grown, in his brain. - -"That man, sir," he said, meaning Henry Irving, "is a grand actor. And -they are using him up. He wants rest." - -"I was an actor myself once, and I've loved the boards ever since. I -was not a great actor. I am bound to say that I did not act like Mr. -Henry Irving. Quite the contrary. Once I was the hind legs of an -elephant. Perhaps Mr. Irving himself, when he was a 'prentice, was the -fore legs. I was on the boards for a month, when the company busted -up. Most things did bust up that I had to do with in those days. I was -the lawyer in _Flowers of the Forest_. I was the demon with the keg to -Mr. Jefferson's Rip Van Winkle. Once I played Horatio. That was when -the Mayor of Constantinople City inaugurated his year of office by -playin' Hamlet. He'd always been fond of the stage, that Mayor, but -through bein' in the soft-goods line never could find time to go on. -So when he got the chance, bein' then a matter of four-and-fifty, of -course he took it. And he elected to play Hamlet, just to show the -citizens what a whole-souled Mayor they'd got, and the people in -general what good play-actin' meant. The corporation attended in a -body, and sat in the front row of what you would call the dress -circle. All in store clothes and go-to-meetin' gloves. It was a -majestic and an imposing spectacle. Behind them was the fire brigade -in uniform. The citizens of Constantinople and their wives and -daughters crowded out the house. - -"Wal, sir, we began. Whether it was they felt jealous or whether they -felt envious, that corporation laughed. They laughed at the sentinels, -and they laughed at the moon. They laughed at the Ghost, and they -laughed at me--Horatio. And then they laughed at Hamlet. - -"I watched the Mayor gettin' gradually riz. Any man's dander would. -Presently he rose to that height that he went to the footlights, and -stood there facin' his own town council like a bull behind a gate. - -"They left off laughing for a minute, and then they began again. We -are a grave people, Mr. Dunquerque, I am told, and the sight of those -town councillors all laughin' together like so many free niggers -before the war was most too much for any one. - -"The Mayor made a speech that wasn't in the play. - -"'Hyar,' he said, lookin' solemn. 'You jest gether up your traps and -skin out of this. I've got the say about this house, and I arn't a -goin' to have the folks incited to make game of their Mayor. -So--you--kin--jist--light.' - -"They hesitated. - -"The Mayor pointed to the back of the theatre. - -"'Git,' he said again. - -"One of the town councillors rose and spoke. - -"'Mr. Mayor,' he began, 'or Hamlet, Prince of Denmark'---- - -"'Wal, sir,' said the Mayor, 'didn't Nero play in his own theaytre?' - -"'Mr. Mayor, or Hamlet, or Nero,' e went on, 'we came here on the -presumption that we were paying for our places, and bound to laugh if -we were amused at the performance. Now, sir, this performance does -amuse us considerable.' - -"'You may presump,' said the Mayor, 'what you dam please. But git. Git -at once, or I'll turn on the pumps.' - -"It was the Ghost who came to the front with the hose in his hands -ready to begin. - -"The town council disappeared before he had time to play on them and -we went on with the tragedy. - -"But it was spoiled, sir, completely spoiled. And I have never acted -since then. - -"So you see Mr. Dunquerque, I know somethin' about actin. 'Tisn't as -if I was a raw youngster starting a theatrical idea all at once. I -thought of it to-night, while I saw a man actin who has the real stuff -in him, and only wants rest. I mean to try an experiment in London, -and if it succeeds I shall take it to New York, and make the American -Drama the greatest in all the world." - -"What will you do?" - -"I said to myself in that theatre: 'We want a place where we can have -a different piece acted every week; we want to give time for -rehearsals and for alteration; we want to bring up the level of the -second-rate actors; we want more intelligence; and we want more care.' -Now, Mr. Dunquerque, how would you tackle that problem?" - -"I cannot say." - -"Then I will tell you, sir. You must have three full companies. You -must give up expecting that Theatre to pay its expenses; you must find -a rich man to pay for that Theatre; and he must pay up pretty -handsome." - -"Lord de Molleteste took the Royal Hemisphere last year." - -"Had he three companies, sir?" - -"No; he only had one; and that was a bad one. Wanted to bring out a -new actress, and no one went to see her. Cost him a hundred pounds a -week till he shut it up." - -"Well, we will bring along new actresses too, but in a different -fashion. They will have to work their way up from the bottom of the -ladder. My Theatre will cost me a good deal more than a hundred pounds -a week, I expect. But I am bound to run it. The idea's in my head -strong. It's the thing to do. A year or two in London, and then for -the States. We shall have a Grand National Drama, and the Ile shall -pay for it." - -He took paper and pen, and began to write. - -"Three companies, all complete, for tragedy and comedy. I've been to -every theatre in London, and I'm ready with my list. Now, Mr. -Dunquerque, you listen while I write them down. - -"I say first company; not that there's any better or worse, but -because one must begin with something. - -"In the first I will have Mr. Irving, Mr. Henry Neville, Mr. William -Farren, Mr. Toole, Mr. Emery, Miss Bateman, and Miss Nelly Farren. - -"In the second, Mr. George Rignold--I saw him in _Henry V._ last -winter in the States--Mr. Hare, Mr. Kendal, Mr. Lionel Brough, Mrs. -Kendal, and that clever little lady, Miss Angelina Claude. - -"In the third I will have Mr. Phelps, Mr. Charles Matthews, Mr. W. J. -Hill, Mr. Arthur Cecil, Mr. Kelly, Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft, and Mrs. -Scott-Siddons, if you could only get her. - -"I should ask Mr. Alfred Wigan to be a stage-manager and general -director, and I would give him absolute power. - -"Every company will play for a week and rehearse for a fortnight. The -principal parts shall not always be played by the best actors. And I -will not have any piece run for more than a week at a time." - -"And how do you think your teams would run together?" - -"Sir, it would be a distinction to belong to that Theatre. And they -would be well paid. They will run together just for the very same -reason as everybody runs together--for their own interest." - -"I believe," said Jack, "that you have at last hit upon a plan for -getting rid even of your superfluous cash." - -"It will cost a powerful lot, I believe. But Lord, Mr. Dunquerque! -what better object can there be than to improve the Stage? Think what -it would mean. The House properly managed; no loafin' around behind -the scenes; every actor doing his darn best, and taking time for study -and rehearsal; people comin' down to a quiet evening, with the best -artists to entertain them, and the best pieces to play. The Stage -would revive, sir. We should hear no more about the decay of the -Drama. The Drama decay! That's bunkum, sir. That's the invention of -the priests and the ministers, who go about down-cryin' what they -can't have their own fingers in." - -"But I don't see how your scheme will encourage authors." - -"I shall pay them too, sir. I should say to Mr. Byron: 'Sir, you air a -clever and a witty man. Go right away, sir. Sit down for a -twelvemonth, and do nothin' at all. Then write me a play; put your own -situations in it, not old jokes; put your own situations in it, not -old ones. Give me somethin' better.' Then I should say to Mr. Gilbert: -'Your pieces have got the real grit, young gentleman; but you write -too fast. Go away too for six months and do nothin'. Then sit down for -six months more, and write a piece that will be pretty and sweet, and -won't be thin.' And there's more dramatists behind--only give them a -chance. They shall have it at my house." - -"And what will the other houses do?" - -"The other houses, sir, may go on playing pieces for four hundred -nights if they like. I leave them plenty of men to stump their boards, -and my Theatre won't hold more than a certain number. I shall only -take a small house to begin with, such a house as the Lyceum, and we -shall gradually get along. But no profit can be made by such a Stage, -and I am ready to give half my Ile to keep it goin'. Of course," he -added, "when it is a success in London I shall carry it away, company -and all, to New York." - -He rose in a burst of enthusiasm. - -"Gilead P. Beck shall be known for his collection of pictures. He -shall be known for his Golden Butterfly, and the Luck it brought him. -But he shall be best known, Mr. Dunquerque, because he will be the -first man to take the Stage out of the mud of commercial enterprise, -and raise it to be the great educator of the people. He shall be known -as the founder of the Grand National American Drama. And his bust -shall be planted on the top of every American stage." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - - "In such a cause who would not give? What heart - But leaps at such a name?" - - -People of rank and position are apt to complain of begging-letters. -Surely England must be a happy country since its rich people complain -mostly of begging-letters; for they are so easily dropped into the -waste-paper basket. A country squire--any man with a handle to his -name and place for a permanent address--is the natural prey and victim -of the beggars. The lithographed letter comes with every post, trying -in vain to look like a written letter. And though in fervid sentences -it shows the danger to your immortal soul if you refuse the pleading, -most men have the courage to resist. The fact is that the letter is -not a nuisance at all, because it is never read. On the other hand, a -new and very tangible nuisance is springing up. It is that of the -people who go round and call. Sir Roger de Coverly in his secluded -village is free from the women who give you the alternative of a day -with Moody and Sankey or an eternity of repentance; he never sees the -pair of Sisters got up like Roman Catholic nuns, who stand meekly -before you, arms crossed, mutely refusing to go without five shillings -at least for their Ritualist hot-house. But he who lives in chambers, -he who puts up at a great hotel and becomes known, he who has a house -in any address from Chester Square to Notting Hill, understands this -trouble. - -In some mysterious way Gilead Beck had become known. Perhaps this was -partly in consequence of his habit of going to institutions, -charities, and the like, and wanting to find out everything. In some -vague and misty way it became known that there was at the Langham -Hotel an American named Gilead P. Beck, who was asking questions -philanthropically. Then all the people who live on philanthropists, -with all those who work for their pleasure among philanthropists, -began to tackle Gilead P. Beck. Letters came in the morning, which he -read but did not answer. Circulars were sent to him, of which he -perhaps made a note. Telegrams were even delivered to him--people -somehow _must_ read telegrams--asking him for money. Those wonderful -people who address the Affluent in the _Times_ and ask for £300 on the -security of an honest man's word; those unhappy ladies whose father -was a gentleman and an officer, on the strength of which fact they ask -the Benevolent to help them in their undeserved distress, poor things; -those disinterested advertisers who want a few hundreds, and who will -give fifteen per cent. on the security of a splendid piano, a small -gallery of undoubted pictures, and some unique china; those tradesmen -who try to stave off bankruptcy by asking the world generally for a -loan on the strength of a simple reference to the clergyman of St. -Tinpot, Hammersmith; those artful dodgers, Mr. Ally Sloper and his -friends, when they have devised a new and ingenious method of screwing -money out of the rich,--all these people got hold of our Gilead, and -pelted him with letters. Did they know, the ingenious and the needy, -how the business is overdone, they would change their tactics and go -round calling. - -It requires a front of brass, entire absence of self-respect, and an -epidermis like that of the rhinoceros for toughness, to undertake this -work. Yet ladies do it. You want a temperament off which insults, -gibes, sneers, and blank refusals fall like water off a -nasturtium-leaf to go the begging-round. Yet women do it. They do it -not only for themselves, but also for their cause. From Ritualism down -to Atheism, from the fashionable enthusiasm to the nihilism which the -British workman is being taught to regard as the hidden knowledge, -there are women who will brave anything, dare anything, say anything, -and endure anything. They love to be martyred, so long especially as -it does not hurt; they are angry with the lukewarm zeal of their male -supporters, forgetting that a man sees the two sides of a question, -while a woman never sees more than one; they mistake notoriety for -fame, and contempt for jealous admiration. - -And here, in the very heart of London, was a man who seemed simply -born for the Polite Beggar. A man restless because he could not part -with his money. Not seeking profitable investments, not asking for ten -and twenty per cent.; but anxious to use his money for the best -purposes; a man who was a philanthropist in the abstract, who -considered himself the trustee of a gigantic gift to the human race, -and was desirous of exercising that trust to the best advantage. - -In London; and at the same time, in the same city, thousands of people -not only representing their individual distresses or their society's -wants, but also plans, schemes, and ideas for the promotion of -civilisation in the abstract. Do we not all know the projectors? I -myself know at this moment six men who want each to establish a daily -paper; at least a dozen who would like a weekly; fifty who see a way, -by the formation of a new society, to check immorality, kill -infidelity once for all, make men sober and women clean, prevent -strikes and destroy Republicanism. There is one man who would "save" -the Church of England by establishing the preaching order; one who -knows how to restore England to her place among the nations without a -single additional soldier; one who burns to abolish bishops' aprons, -and would make it penal to preach in a black gown. The land teems with -idea'd men. They yearn, pray, and sigh daily for the capitalist who -will reduce their idea to practice. - -And besides the projectors, there are the inventors. I once knew a man -who claimed to have invented a means for embarking and setting down -passengers and goods on a railway without stopping the trains. Think -of the convenience. Why no railways have taken up the invention, I -cannot explain. Then there are men who have inventions which will -reform the whole system of domestic appliances; there are others who -are prepared on encouragement to reform the whole conduct of life by -new inventions. There are men by thousands brooding over experiments -which they have no money to carry out; there are men longing to carry -on experiments whose previous failure they can now account for. All -these men are looking for a capitalist as for a Messiah. Had they -known--had they but dimly suspected--that such a capitalist was in -June of last year staying at the Langham Hotel, they would have sought -that hotel with one consent, and besieged its portals. The world in -general did not know Mr. Beck's resources. But they were beginning to -find him out. The voice of rumour was spreading abroad his reputation. -And the people wrote letters, sent circulars, and called. - -"Twenty-three of them came yesterday morning," Gilead Beck complained -to Jack Dunquerque. "Three-and-twenty, and all with a tale to tell. -No, sir,"--his voice rose in indignation--"I did not give one of them -so much as a quarter-dollar. The Luck of the Golden Butterfly is not -to be squandered among the well-dressed beggars of Great Britain. -Three-and-twenty, counting one little boy, who came by himself. His -mother was a widow, he said, and he sat on the chair and sniffed. And -they all wanted money. There was one man in a white choker who had -found out a new channel for doing good--and one man who wished to -recommend a list of orphans. The rest were women. And talk? There's no -name for it. With little books, and pencils, and bundles of tracts." - -While he spoke there was a gentle tap at the door. - -"There's another of them," he groaned. "Stand by me, Mr. Dunquerque. -See me through with it. Come in, come in! Good Lord!" he whispered, "a -brace this time. Will you tackle the young one, Mr. Dunquerque?" - -A pair of ladies. One of them a lady tall and thin, stern of aspect, -sharp of feature, eager of expression. She wore spectacles: she was -apparently careless of her dress, which was of black silk a little -rusty. With her was a girl of about eighteen, perhaps her daughter, -perhaps her niece; a girl of rather sharp but pretty features, marked -by a look of determination, as if she meant to see the bottom of this -business, or know the reason why. - -"You are Mr. Beck, sir?" the elder lady began. - -"I am Gilead P. Beck, madam," he replied. - -He was standing before the fireplace, with his long hands thrust into -his pocket, one foot on an adjacent chair, and his head thrown a -little back--defiantly. - -"You have received two letters from me, Mr. Beck, written by my own -hand, and--how many circulars, child?' - -"Twenty," said the girl. - -"And I have had no answer. I am come for your answer, Mr. Beck. We -will sit down, if you please, while you consider your answer." - -Mr. Beck took up a waste paper basket which stood at his feet, and -tossed out the whole contents upon the table. - -"Those are the letters of yesterday and to-day," he said. "What was -yours, madam? Was it a letter asking for money?" - -"It was." - -"Yesterday there were seventy-four letters asking for money. To-day -there are only fifty-two. May I ask, madam, if you air the widow who -wants money to run a mangle?" - -"Sir, I am unmarried. A mangle!" - -He dug his hand into the pile, and took out one at random. - -"You air, perhaps, the young lady who writes to know if I want a -housekeeper, and encloses her carte-de-visite? No; that won't do. Is -it possible you are the daughter of the Confederate general who lost -his life in the cause?" - -"Really, sir!" - -"Then, madam, we come to the lady who"--here he read from another -letter--"who was once a governess, and now is reduced to sell her last -remaining garments." - -"Sir!" - -There was a withering scorn on the lady's lips. - -"I represent a Cause, Mr. Beck. I am not a beggar for myself. My cause -is the sacred one of Womanhood. You, sir, in your free and happy -Republic----" - -Mr. Beck bowed. - -"Have seen woman partially restored to her proper place--on a level -with man." - -"A higher level," murmured the girl, who had far-off eyes and a sweet -voice. "The higher level reached by the purer heart." - -"Only partially restored at present. But the good work goes on. Here -we are only beginning. Mr. Beck, the Cause wants help--your help." - -He said nothing and she went on. - -"We want our rights; we want suffrage; we want to be elected for the -Houses of Parliament; we insist on equality in following the -professions and in enjoying the endowments of Education. We shall -prove that we are no whit inferior to men. We want no privileges. Let -us stand by ourselves." - -"Wal, madam, their air helpers who shove up, and I guess there air -helpers who shove down." - -She did not understand him, and went on with increasing volubility. - -"The subjection of the Sex is the most monstrous injustice of all -those which blot the fair fame of manhood. What is there in man's -physical strength that he should use it to lord over the weaker half -of humanity? Why has not our sex produced a Shakespeare?" - -"It has, madam," said Mr. Beck gravely. "It has produced all our -greatest men." - -She was staggered. - -"Your answer, if you please, Mr. Beck." - -"I have no answer, madam." - -"I have written you two letters, and sent you twenty circulars, urging -upon you the claims of the Woman's Rights Association. I have the -right to ask for a reply. I expect one. You will be kind enough sir, -to give categorically your answer to the several heads. This you will -do of your courtesy to a lady. We can wait here while you write it. I -shall probably, I ought to tell you, publish it." - -"We can wait," said the young lady. - -They sat with folded hands in silence. - -Mr. Beck shifted his foot from the chair to the carpet. Then he took -his hands out of his pockets and stroked his chin. Then he gazed at -the ladies steadily. - -Jack Dunquerque sat in the background, and rendered no help whatever. - -"Did you ever, ladies," asked Mr. Beck, after a few moments of -reflection, "hear of Paul Deroon of Memphis? He was the wickedest man -in that city. Which was allowed. He kept a bar where the whisky was -straight and the language was free, and where Paul would tell stories, -once you set him on, calculated to raise on end the hair of your best -sofa. When the Crusade began--I mean the Whisky Crusade--the ladies -naturally began with Paul Deroon's saloon." - -"This is very tedious, my dear," said the elder lady in a loud -whisper. - -"How did Paul Deroon behave? Some barkeepers came out and cursed while -the Whisky War went on; some gave in and poured away the Bourbon: some -shut up shop and took to preachin.' Paul just did nothing. You -couldn't tell from Paul's face that he even knew of the forty women -around him prayin' all together. If he stepped outside he walked -through as if they weren't there, and they made a lane for him. If -he'd been blind and deaf and dumb, Paul Deroon couldn't have taken -less notice." - -"We shall not keep our appointment, I fear," the younger lady -remarked. - -"They prayed, preached, and sang hymns for a whole week. On Sunday -they sang eighty strong. And on the seventh day Paul took no more -notice than on the first. Once they asked him if he heard the singin.' -He said he did: and it was very soothin' and pleasant. Said, too, that -he liked music to his drink. Then they asked him if he heard the -prayers. He said he did; said, too, that it was cool work sittin' in -the shade and listenin'; also that it kinder seemed as if it was bound -to do somebody or other good some day. Then they told him that the -ladies were waitin' to see him converted. He said it was very kind of -them, and, for his own part, he didn't mind meetin' their wishes half -way, and would wait as long as they did." - -The ladies rose. Said the elder lady viciously: "You are unworthy, -sir, to represent your great country. You are a common scoffer." - -"General Schenck represents my country, madam." - -"You are unworthy of being associated with a great Cause. We have -wasted our time upon you." - -Their departure was less dignified than their entry. - -As they left the room another visitor arrived. It was a tall and -handsome man, with a full flowing beard and a genial presence. - -He had a loud voice and a commanding manner. - -"Mr. Beck? I thought so. I wrote to you yesterday, Mr. Beck. And I am -come in person--in person, sir--for your reply." - -"You air the gentleman, sir, interested in the orphan children of a -colonial bishop?" - -"No, sir, I am not. Nothing of the kind." - -"Then you air perhaps the gentleman who wrote to say that unless I -sent him a ten-pound note by return of post he would blow out his -brains?" - -"I am Major Borington. I wrote to you, sir, on behalf of the Grand -National Movement for erecting International Statues." - -"What is that movement, sir?" - -"A series of monuments to all our great men, Mr. Beck. America and -England, have ancestors in common. We have our Shakespeare, sir, our -Milton." - -"Yes, sir, so I have heard. I did not know those ancestors myself, -having been born too late, and therefore I do not take that interest -in their stone figures you do." - -"Positively, Mr. Beck, you must join us." - -"It is your idea, Colonel, is it?" - -"Mine, Mr. Beck. I am proud to say it is my own." - -"I knew a man once, Colonel, in my country, who wanted to be a great -man. He had that ambition, sir. He wasn't particular how he got his -greatness. But he scorned to die and be forgotten, and he yearned to -go down to posterity. His name, sir, was Hiram Turtle. First of all, -he ambitioned military greatness. We went into Bull's Run together. -And we came out of it together. We came away from that field side by -side. We left our guns there, too. If we had had shields, we should -have left them as well. Hiram concluded, sir, after that experience, -to leave military greatness to others." - -Major Borington interposed a gesture. - -"One moment, Brigadier. The connection is coming. Hiram Turtle thought -the ministry opened up a field. So he became a preacher. Yes; he -preached once. But he forgot that a preacher must have something to -say, and so the elders concluded not to ask Hiram Turtle any more. -Then he became clerk in a store while he looked about him. For a year -or two he wrote poetry. But the papers in America, he found, were in a -league against genius. So he gave up that lay. Politics was his next -move; and he went for stump-orating with the Presidency in his eye. -Stumpin' offers amusement as well as gentle exercise, but it doesn't -pay unless you get more than one brace of niggers and a bubbly-jock to -listen. Wal, sir, how do you think Hiram Turtle made his greatness? He -figured around, sir, with a List, and his own name a-top, for a Grand -National Monument to the memory of the great men who fell in the Civil -War. They air still subscribing, and Hiram Turtle is the great -Patriot. Now, General, you see the connection." - -"If you mean, sir," cried Major Borington, "to imply that my motives -are interested----" - -"Not at all, sir," said Mr. Beck; "I have told you a little story. -Hiram Turtle's was a remarkable case. Perhaps you might ponder on it." - -"Your language is insulting, sir!" - -"Colonel, this is not a country where men have to take care what they -say. But if you should ever pay a visit out West, and if you should -happen to be about where tar and feathers are cheap, you would really -be astonished at the consideration you would receive. No, sir, I shall -not subscribe to your Grand National Association. But go on, Captain, -go on. This is a charitable country, and the people haven't all heard -the story of Hiram Turtle. And what'll you take, Major?" - -But Major Borington, clapping on his hat, stalked out of the room. - -The visits of the strong-minded female and Major Borington which were -typical, took place on the day which was the first and only occasion -on which Phillis went to the theatre. Gilead Beck took the box, and -they went--Jack Dunquerque being himself the fourth, as they say in -Greek exercise-books--to the Lyceum, and saw Henry Irving play Hamlet. - -Phillis brought to the play none of the reverence with which English -people habitually approach Shakespeare, insomuch that while we make -superhuman efforts to understand him we have lost the power of -criticism. To her, George III.'s remark that there was a great deal of -rubbish in Shakspeare would have seemed a perfectly legitimate -conclusion. But she knew nothing about the great dramatist. - -The house, with its decorations, lights, and crowd, pleased her. She -liked the overture, and she waited with patience for the first scene. -She was going to see a representation of life done in show. So much -she understood. Instead of telling a story the players would act the -story. - -The Ghost--perhaps because the Lyceum Ghost was so palpably flesh and -blood--inspired her with no terror at all. But gradually the story -grew into her, and she watched the unfortunate Prince of Denmark torn -by his conflicting emotions, distraught with the horror of the deed -that had been done and the deed that was to do, with a beating heart -and trembling lip. When Hamlet with that wild cry threw himself upon -his uncle's throne, she gasped and caught Agatha by the hand. When the -play upon the stage showed the King how much of the truth was known, -she trembled, and looked to see him immediately confess his crime and -go out to be hanged. She was indignant with Hamlet for the slaughter -of Polonius; she was contemptuous of Ophelia, whom she did not -understand; and she was impatient when the two Gravediggers came to -the front, resolute to spare the audience none of their somewhat musty -old jokes and to abate nothing of the stage-business. - -When they left the theatre Phillis moved and spoke as in a dream. War, -battle, conspiracy, murder, crime--all these things, of which her -guardian had told her, she saw presented before her on the stage. She -had too much to think of; she had to fit all these new surroundings in -her mind with the stories of the past. As for the actors, she had no -power whatever of distinguishing between them and the parts they -played. Irving was Hamlet; Miss Bateman was Ophelia; and they were all -like the figures of a dream, because she did not understand how they -could be anything but Hamlet, Ophelia, and the Court of Denmark. - -And this, too, was part of her education. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - - "Love in her eyes lay hiding, - His time in patience biding." - - -"Square it with Colquhoun before you go any farther," said Ladds. - -Square it with the guardian--speak to the young lady's father--make it -all right with the authorities; what excellent advice to give, and how -easy to follow it up! Who does not look forward with pleasure, or -backward as to an agreeable reminiscence, to that half hour spent in a -confidential talk with dear papa? How calmly critical, how severely -judicial, was his summing up! With what a determined air did he follow -up the trail, elicited in cross-examination, of former sins! With how -keen a scent did he disinter forgotten follies, call attention to -bygone extravagances, or place the finger of censure upon debts which -never ought to have been incurred, and economies which ought to have -been made! - -Remember his "finally"--a word which from childhood has been -associated with sweet memories, because it brings the sermon to an -end, but which henceforth will awake in your brain the ghost of that -_mauvais quart d'heure_. In that brief peroration he tore the veil -from the last cherished morsel of self-illusion; he showed you that -the furnishing of a house was a costly business, that he was not going -to do it for you, that servants require an annual income of -considerable extent, that his daughter had been brought up a lady, -that lady's dress is a serious affair, that wedlock in due season -brings babies, and that he was not so rich as he seemed. - -Well, perhaps he said "Yes" reluctantly, in spite of drawbacks. Then -you felt that you were regarded by the rest of the family as the means -of preventing dear Annabella from making a brilliant match. That -humbled you for life. Or perhaps he said "No." In that case you went -away sadly and meditated suicide. And whether you got over the fit, or -whether you didn't--though of course you did--the chances were that -Annabella never married at all, and you are still regarded by the -family as the cause of that sweet creature not making the -exceptionally splendid alliance which, but for you, the disturbing -influence, would have been her lot. - -However, the thing is necessary, unless people run away, a good old -fashion by which such interviews, together with wedding-breakfasts, -wedding-garments, and wedding-presents were avoided. - -Running away is out of fashion. It would have been the worst form -possible in Jack Dunquerque even to propose such a thing to Phillis, -and I am not at all certain that he would ever have made her -understand either the necessity or the romance of the thing. And I am -quite sure that she would never understand that Jack Dunquerque was -asking her to do a wrong thing. - -Certainly it was not likely that this young man would proceed further -in the path of irregularity--which leads to repentance--than he had -hitherto done. He had now to confess before the young lady's guardian -something of the part he played. - -Looked at dispassionately, and unsoftened by the haze of illusion, -this part had, as he acknowledged with groans, an appearance far from -pleasing to the Christian moralist. - -He had taken advantage of the girl's total ignorance to introduce -himself at the house where she was practically alone for the whole -day; he found her like a child in the absence of the reserve which -girls are trained to; he stepped at once into the position of a -confidential friend; he took her about for walks and drives, a thing -which might have compromised her seriously; he allowed Joseph Jagenal, -without, it is true, stating it in so many words, to believe him an -old friend of Phillis's; he followed her to Twickenham and installed -himself at Mrs. L'Estrange's as an _ami de famille_; he had done -so much to make the girl's life bright and happy, he was so dear to -her, that he felt there was but one step to be taken to pass from a -brother to a lover. - -It was a black record to look at, and it was poor consolation to think -that any other man would have done the same. - -Jack Dunquerque, like Phillis herself, was changed within a month. -Somehow the fun and carelessness which struck Gilead Beck as so -remarkable in a man of five-and-twenty were a good deal damped. For -the first time in his life he was serious; for the first time he had a -serious and definite object before him. He was perfectly serious in an -unbounded love for Phillis. Day by day the sweet beauty of the girl, -her grace, her simple faith, her child-like affection, sank into his -heart and softened him. Day after day, as he rowed along the meadows -of the Thames, or lazied under the hanging willows by the shore, or -sat with her in the garden, or rode along the leafy roads by her side, -the sincerity of her nature, as clear and cloudless as the blue depths -of heaven; its purity, like the bright water that leaps and bubbles -and flows beneath the shade of Lebanon; its perfect truthfulness, like -the midday sunshine in June; the innocence with which, even as another -Eve, she bared her very soul for him to read--these things, when he -thought of them, brought the unaccustomed tears to his eyes, and made -his spirit rise and bound within him as to unheard of heights. For -love, to an honest man, is like Nature to a poet or colour to an -artist--it makes him see great depths, and gives him, if only for once -in his life, a Pisgah view of a Land far, far holier, a life far, far -higher, a condition far, far sweeter and nobler than anything in this -world can give us--except the love of a good woman. In such a vision -the ordinary course of our life is suspended; we move on air; we see -men as trees walking, and regard them not. Happy the man who once in -his life has been so lifted out of the present, and knows not -afterwards whether he was in the flesh or out of the flesh. - -Jack, with the influence of this great passion upon him, was -transformed. Fortunately for us this emotion had its ebb and flow. -Else that great dinner to Literature had never come off. But at all -times he was under its sobering influence. And it was in a penitent -and humble mood that he sought Lawrence Colquhoun, in the hope of -"squaring it" with him as Ladds advised. Good fellow, Tommy; none -better; but wanting in the higher delicacy. Somehow the common words -and phrases of every-day use applied to Phillis jarred upon him. After -all, one feels a difficulty in offering a princess the change for a -shilling in coppers. If I had to do it, I should fall back on a -draught upon the Cheque Bank. - -Lawrence was full of his own annoyances--most of us always are, and it -is one of the less understood ills of life that one can never get, -even for five minutes, a Monopoly of Complaint. But he listened -patiently while Jack--Jack of the Rueful Countenance--poured out his -tale of repentance, woe, and prayer. - -"You see," he said, winding up, "I never thought what it would come -to. I dropped into it by accident and then--then----" - -"When people come to flirt they stay to spoon," said Lawrence. "In -other words, my dear fellow, you are in love. Ah!" - -Jack wondered what was meant by the interjection. In all the list of -interjections given by Lindley Murray, or the new light Dr. Morris, -such as Pish! Phaw! Alas! Humph! and the rest which are in everybody's -mouth, there is none which blows with such an uncertain sound as this. -Impossible to tell whether it means encouragement, sympathy, or cold -distrust. - -"Ah!" said Lawrence. "Sit down and be comfortable, Jack. When one is -really worried, nothing like a perfect chair. Take my own. Now, then, -let us talk it over." - -"It doesn't look well," thought Jack. - -"Always face the situation," said Lawrence (he had got an uncommonly -awkward situation of his own to face, and it was a little relief to -turn to some one else's). "Nothing done by blinking facts. Here we -are. Young lady of eighteen or so--just released from a convent; -ignorant of the world; pretty; attractive ways; rich, as girls go--on -the one hand. On the other, you: good-looking, as my cousin Agatha -L'Estrange says, though I can't see it; of a cheerful disposition--_aptus -ludere_, fit to play, _cum puellâ_, all the day----" - -"Don't chaff, Colquhoun; it's too serious." - -But Colquhoun went on: - -"An inflammable young man. Well, with any other girl the danger would -have been seen at once; poor Phillis is so innocent that she is -supposed to be quite safe. So you go on calling. My cousin Agatha -writes me word that she has been looking for the light of love, as she -calls it, in Phillis's eyes; and it isn't there. She is a -sentimentalist, and therefore silly. Why didn't she look in your eyes, -Jack? That would have been very much more to the purpose." - -"She has, now. I told her yesterday that I--I--loved Phillis." - -"Did she ask you to take the young lady's hand and a blessing at once? -Come, Jack, look at the thing sensibly. There are two or three very -strong reasons why it can't be." - -"Why it can't be!" echoed Jack dolefully. - -"First, the girl hasn't come out. Now, I ask you, would it not be -simply sinful not to give her a fair run? In any case you could not be -engaged till after she has had one season. Then her father, who did -not forget that he was grandson of a Peer, wanted his daughter to make -a good match, and always spoke of the fortune he was to leave her as a -guarantee that she would marry well. He never thought he was going to -die, of course; but all events I know so much of his wishes. Lastly, -my dear Jack Dunquerque, you are the best fellow in the world, but, -you know--but----" - -"But I am not Lord Isleworth." - -"That is just it. You are his lordship's younger brother, with one or -two between you and the title. Now don't you see? Need we talk about -it any more?" - -"I suppose Phil--I mean Miss Fleming--will be allowed to choose for -herself. You are not going to make her marry a man because he happens -to have a title and an estate, and offers himself?" - -"I suppose," said Lawrence, laughing, "that I am going to lock Phillis -up in a tower until the right man comes. No, no, Jack; there shall be -no compulsion. If she sets her heart upon marrying you--she is a -downright young lady--why, she must do it; but after she has had her -run among the ball-rooms, not before. Let her take a look round first; -there will be other Jack Dunquerques ready to look at, be sure of -that. Perhaps she will think them fairer to outward view than you. If -she does, you will have to give her up in the end, you know." - -"I have said no word of love to her, Colquhoun, I give you my honour," -said Jack hotly, "I don't think she would understand it if I did." - -"I am glad of that at least." - -"If I am to give her up and go away, I dare say," the poor youth went -on, with a little choking in his throat, "that she will regret me at -first and for a day or two. But she will get over that; and--as you -say, there are plenty of fellows in the world better than -myself--and----" - -"My dear Jack, there will be no going away. You tell me you have not -told her all the effect that her _beaux yeux_ have produced upon -you. Well, then--and there has been nothing to compromise her at all?" - -"Nothing; that is, once we went to the Tower in a hansom cab." - -"Oh, that is all, is it? Jack Dunquerque--Jack Dunquerque!" - -"And we have been up the river a good many times in a boat." - -"I see. The river is pleasant at this time of the year." - -"And we have been riding together a good deal. Phil rides very well, -you know." - -"Does she? It seems to me, Jack, that my cousin Agatha is a fool, and -that you have been having rather a high time in consequence. Surely -you can't complain if I ask you to consider the innings over for the -present?" - -"No; I can't complain, if one may hope----" - -"Let us hope nothing. Sufficient for the day. He who hopes nothing -gets everything. Come out of it at once, Jack, before you get hit too -hard." - -"I think no one was ever hit so hard before," said Jack. "Colquhoun, -you don't know your ward. It is impossible for any one to be with her -without falling in love with her. She is----" Here he stopped, because -he could not go any farther. Anybody who did not know the manly nature -of Jack Dunquerque might have thought he was stopped by emotion. - -"We all get the fever some time or other. But we worry through. Look -at me, Jack. I am forty, and, as you see, a comparatively hale and -hearty man, despite my years. It doesn't shorten life, that kind of -fever; it doesn't take away appetite; it doesn't interfere with your -powers of enjoyment. There is even a luxury about it. You can't -remember Geraldine Arundale, now Lady Newladegge, when she came out, -of course. You were getting ready for Eton about that time. Well, she -and I carried on for a whole season. People talked. Then she got -engaged to her present husband, after seeing him twice. She wanted a -Title, you see. I was very bad, that journey; and I remember that -Agatha, who was in my confidence, had a hot time of it over the -faithlessness of shallow hearts. But I got over the attack, and I have -not been dangerously ill, so to speak since. That is, I have made a -contemptible ass of myself on several occasions, and I dare say I -shall go on making an ass of myself as long as I live. Because the -older you grow, somehow, the sweeter do the flowers smell." - -Jack only groaned. It really is no kind of consolation to tell a -suffering man that you have gone through it yourself. Gilead Beck told -me once of a man who lived in one of the Southern States of America: -he was a mild, and placid creature, inoffensive as a canary bird, -quiet as a mongoose, and much esteemed for his unusual meekness. This -harmless being once got ear-ache--very bad ear-ache. Boyhood's -ear-aches are awful things to remember; but those of manhood, when -they do come, which is seldom, are the Devil. To him in agony came a -friend, who sat down beside him, like Eliphaz the Temanite, and -sighed. This the harmless being who had the ear-ache put up with, -though it was irritating. Presently the friend began to relate how he -once had the ear-ache himself. Then the harmless creature rose up -suddenly, and, seizing an adjacent chunk of wood, gave that friend a -token of friendship on the head with such effect that he ceased the -telling of that and all other stories, and has remained quite dumb -ever since. The jury acquitted that inoffensive and meek creature, who -wept when the ear-ache was gone, and often laid flowers on the grave -of his departed friend. - -Jack did not heave chunks of wood at Colquhoun. He only looked at him -with ineffable contempt. - -"Lady Newladegge! why, she's five-and-thirty! and she's fat!" - -"She wasn't always five-and-thirty, nor was she always fat. On the -contrary, when she was twenty, and I was in love with her, she was -slender, and, if one may so speak of a Peeress, she was cuddlesome!" - -"Cuddlesome!" Jack cried, his deepest feelings outraged. "Good -Heavens! to think of comparing Phil with a woman who was once -cuddlesome!" - -Lawrence Colquhoun laughed. - -"In fifteen years, or thereabouts, perhaps you will take much the same -view of things as I do. Meantime Jack, let things remain as they are. -You shall have a fair chance with the rest; and you must remember that -you have had a much better chance than anybody else, because you have -had the first running. Leave off going to Twickenham quite so much; -but don't stop going altogether, or Phillis may be led to suspect. -Can't you contrive to slack off by degrees?" - -Jack breathed a little more freely. The house, then, was not shut to -him. - -"The young lady will have her first season next year. I don't say I -hope she will marry anybody else, Jack, but I am bound to give her the -chance. As soon as she really understands a little more of life she -will find out for herself what is best for her, perhaps. Now we've -talked enough about it." - -Jack Dunquerque went away sorrowful. He expected some such result of -this endeavour to "square" it with Colquhoun, but yet he was -disappointed. - -"Hang it all, Jack," said Ladds, "what can you want more? You are told -to wait a year. No one will step in between you and the young lady -till she comes out. You are not told to discontinue your visits--only -not to go too often, and not to compromise her. What more does the man -want?" - -"You are a very good fellow, Tommy," sighed the lover; "a very good -fellow in the main. But you see, you don't know Phil. Let me call her -Phil to you, old man. There's not another man in the world that I -_could_ talk about her to--not one, by Jove; it would seem a -desecration." - -"Go on, Jack--talk away; and I'll give you good advice." - -He did talk away! What says Solomon? "Ointment and perfume rejoice the -soul; so doth the sweetness of a man's friend by hearty counsel." The -Wise Man might have expressed himself more clearly, but his meaning -can be made out. - -Meantime Lawrence Colquhoun, pulling himself together after Jack went -away, remembered that he had not once gone near his ward since he -drove her to Twickenham. - -"It is too bad," said Conscience; "a whole month." - -"It is all that woman's fault," he pleaded. "I have been dangling -about, in obedience to her, like a fool." - -"Like a fool!" echoed Conscience. - -He went that very day, and was easily persuaded to stay and dine with -the two ladies. - -He said very little, but Agatha observed him watching his ward -closely. - -After dinner she got a chance. - -It was a pleasant evening, early in June. They had strawberries on a -garden table. Phillis presently grew tired of sitting under the shade, -and strolled down to the river-side, where she sat on the grass and -threw biscuits to the swans. - -"What do you think, Lawrence?" - -He was watching her in silence. - -"I don't understand it, Agatha. What have you done to her?" - -"Nothing. Are you pleased?" - -"You are a witch; I believe you must have a familiar somewhere. She is -wonderful--wonderful!" - -"Is she a ward to be proud of and to love, Lawrence? Is she the -sweetest and prettiest girl you ever saw? My dear cousin, I declare to -you that I think her faultless. At least, her very faults are -attractive. She is impetuous and self-willed, but she is full of -sympathy. And that seems to have grown up in her altogether in the -last few months." - -"Her manner appears to be more perfect than anything I have ever -seen." - -"It is because she has no self-consciousness. She is like a child -still, my dear Phillis, so far." - -"I wonder if it is because she cannot read? Why should we not prohibit -the whole sex from learning to read?" - -"Nonsense, Lawrence. What would the novelists do? Besides, she is -learning to read fast. I put her this morning into the Third Lesson -Book--two syllables. And it is not as if she were ignorant, because -she knows a great deal." - -"Then why is it?" - -"I think her sweet nature has something to do with it; and, besides, -she has been shielded from many bad influences. We send girls to -school, and--and--well, Lawrence, we cannot all be angels, any more -than men. If girls learn about love, and establishments, and -flirtations, and the rest of it, why, they naturally want their share -of these good things. Then they get self-conscious." - -"What about Jack Dunquerque?" asked Lawrence abruptly. "He has been to -me about her." - -Agatha blushed as prettily as any self-conscious young girl. - -"He loves Phillis," she said; "but Phillis only regards him as a -brother." - -"Agatha, you are no wiser than little Red Riding Hood. Jack Dunquerque -is a wolf." - -"I am sure he is a most honourable, good young man." - -"As for good, goodness knows. Honourable no doubt, and a wolf. You are -a matchmaker, you bad, bad woman. I believe you want him to marry that -young Princess over there." - -"And what did you tell poor Jack?" - -"Told him to wait. Acted the stern guardian. Won't have an engagement. -Must let Phillis have her run. Mustn't come here perpetually trying to -gobble up my dainty heiress. Think upon that now, Cousin Agatha." - -"She could not marry into a better family." - -"Very true. The Dunquerques had an Ark of their own, I believe, at the -Deluge. But then Jack is not Lord Isleworth; and he isn't ambitious, -and he isn't clever, and he isn't rich." - -"Go on, Lawrence; it is charming to see you in a new -character--Lawrence the Prudent!" - -"Charmed to charm _la belle cousine_. He is in love, and he is hit as -hard as any man I ever saw. But Phillis shall not be snapped up in -this hasty and inconsiderate manner. There are lots of better _partis_ -in the field." - -Then Phillis came back, dangling her hat by its ribbons. The setting -sun made a glory of her hair, lit up the splendour of her eyes, and -made a clear outline of her delicate features and tall shapely figure. - -"Come and sit by me, Phillis," said her guardian. "I have neglected -you. Agatha will tell you that I am a worthless youth of forty, who -neglects all his duties. You are so much improved, my child, that I -hardly knew you. Prettier and--and--everything. How goes on the -education?" - -"Reading and writing," said Phillis, "do not make education. Really, -Lawrence, you ought to know better. A year or two with Mr. Dyson would -have done you much good. I am in words of two syllables; and Agatha -thinks I am getting on very nicely. I am in despair about my painting -since we have been to picture-galleries. And to think how conceited I -was once over it! But I _can_ draw, Lawrence; I shall not give up my -drawing." - -"And you liked your galleries?" - -"Some of them. The Academy was tiring. Why don't they put all the -portraits in one room together, so that we need not waste time over -them?" - -"What did you look at?" - -"I looked at what all the other people pressed to see, first of all. -There was a picture of Waterloo, with the French and English crowded -together so that they could shake hands. It was drawn beautifully; but -somehow it made me feel as if War was a little thing. Mr. Dyson used -to say that women take the grandeur and strength out of Art. Then -there was a brown man with a sling on a platform. The platform rested -on stalks of corn; and if the man were to throw the stone he would -topple over, and tumble off his platform. And there was another one, -of a row of women going to be sold for slaves; a curious picture, and -beautifully painted, but I did not like it." - -"What did you like?" - -"I liked some that told their own story, and made me think. There was -a picture of a moor--take me to see a moor, Lawrence--with a windy -sky, and a wooden fence, and a light upon. Oh, I liked all the -landscapes. I think our artists feel trees and sunshine. But what is -my opinion worth?" - -"Come with me to-morrow, Phillis; we will go through the pictures -together, and you shall teach me what to like. Your opinion worth? -Why, child, all the opinions of all the critics together are not worth -yours." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - - "What is it that has been done?" - - -These anonymous letters and this fit of jealousy, the more dangerous -because it was a new thing, came at an awkward time for Gabriel -Cassilis. He had got "big" things in hand, and the eyes of the City, -he felt, were on him. It was all-important that he should keep his -clearness of vision and unclouded activity of brain. For the first -time in his life his operations equalled, or nearly approached, his -ambition. For the first time he had what he called a considerable sum -in his hands. That is to say, there was his own money--he was reported -to be worth three hundred thousand pounds--Gilead Beck's little pile, -with his unlimited credit, and smaller sums placed in his hands for -investment by private friends, such as Colquhoun, Ladds, and others. A -total which enabled him to wait. And the share-market oscillating. And -telegrams in cipher reaching him from all quarters. And Gabriel -Cassilis unable to work, tormented by the one thought, like Io by her -gad-fly, attacked by fits of giddiness which made him cling to the -arms of his chair, and relying on a brain which was active, indeed, -because it was filled with a never-ending succession of pictures, in -which his wife and Colquhoun always formed the principal figures, but -which refused steady work. - -Gabriel Cassilis was a gamester who played to win. His game was not -the roulette-table, where the bank holds one chance out of thirty, and -must win in the long run; it was a game in which he staked his -foresight, knowledge of events, financial connections, and calm -judgment against greed, panic, enthusiasm, and ignorance. It was his -business to be prepared against any turn of the tide. He would have -stood calmly in the Rue Quincampoix, buying in and selling out up to -an hour before the smash. And that would have found him without a -single share in Law's great scheme. A great game, but a difficult one. -It requires many qualities, and when you have got these, it requires a -steady watchfulness and attention to the smallest cloud appearing on -the horizon. - -There were many clouds on the horizon. His grand _coup_ was to be in -Eldorado Stock. Thanks to Mr. Wylie's pamphlet they went down, and -Gabriel Cassilis bought in--bought all he could; and the Stock went -up. There was a fortnight before settling day. - -They went up higher, and yet higher. El Señor Don Bellaco de la -Carambola, Minister of the Eldorado Republic at St. James's, wrote a -strong letter to the daily papers in reply to Mr. Wylie's pamphlet. He -called attention to the rapid--the enormous--advance made in the -State. As no one had seen the place, it was quite safe to speak of -buildings, banks, commercial prosperity, and "openings up." It -appeared, indeed from his letter that the time of universal wealth, -long looked for by mankind, was actually arrived for Eldorado. - -The Stock went higher. Half the country clergy who had a few hundreds -in the bank wanted to put them in Eldorado Stock. Still Gabriel -Cassilis made no move, but held on. - -And every day to get another of those accursed letters, with some new -fact; every day to groan under fresh torture of suspicion; every day -to go home and dine with the calm cold creature whose beauty had been -his pride, and try to think that this impassive woman could be -faithless. - -This torture lasted for weeks; it began when Colquhoun first went to -his house, and continued through May into June. His mental sufferings -were so great that his speech became affected. He found himself saying -wrong words, or not being able to hit upon the right word at all. So -he grew silent. When he returned home, which was now early, he hovered -about the house. Or he crept up to his nursery, and played with his -year-old child. And the nurses noticed how, while he laughed and -crowed to please the baby, the tears came into his eyes. - -The letters grew more savage. - -He would take them out and look at them. Some of the sentences burned -into his brain like fire. - -"As Mr. Lawrence Colquhoun is the only man she ever loved. Ask her for -the secret. They think no one knows it. - -"Does she care for the child--your child? Ask Tomlinson how often she -sees it. - -"When you go to your office, Mr. Colquhoun comes to your house. When -you come home, he goes out of it. Then they meet somewhere else. - -"Ask him for the secret. Then ask her, and compare what they say. - -"Five years ago Mr. Lawrence Colquhoun and Miss Pengelley were going -to be married. Everybody said so. She went to Scotland. He went after -her. Ask him why. - -"You are an old fool with a young wife. She loves your money, not you; -she despises you because you are a City man; and she loves Mr. -Colquhoun." - -He sat alone in his study after dinner, reading these wretched things, -in misery of soul. And a thought came across him. - -"I will go and see Colquhoun," he said. "I will talk to him, and ask -him what is this secret." - -It was about ten o'clock. He put on his hat and took a cab to -Colquhoun's chambers. - -On that day Lawrence Colquhoun was ill at ease. It was borne in upon -him with especial force--probably because it was one of the sultry and -thunderous days when Conscience has it all her own disagreeable -way--that he was and had been an enormous Ass. By some accident he was -acquainted with the fact that he had given rise to talk by his -frequent visits to Victoria Cassilis. - -"And to think," he said to himself, "that I only went there at her own -special request, and because she likes quarrelling!" - -He began to think of possible dangers, not to himself, but to her and -to her husband, even old stories revived and things forgotten and -brought to light. And the thing which she had done came before him in -its real shape and ghastliness--a bad and ugly thing; a thing for -whose sake he should have fled from her presence and avoided her; a -thing which he was guilty in hiding. No possible danger to himself? -Well, in some sense none; in every other sense all dangers. He had -known of this thing, and yet he sat at her table; he was conscious of -the crime, and yet he was seen with her in public places; he was -almost _particeps criminis_, because he did not tell what he knew; and -yet he went day after day to her house--for the pleasure of -quarrelling with her. - -He sat down and wrote to her. He told her that perhaps she did not -wholly understand him when he told her that the renewed acquaintance -between them must cease; that, considering the past and with an eye to -the future, he was going to put it out of her power to compromise -herself by seeing her no more. He reminded her that she had a great -secret to keep unknown, and a great position to lose; and then he -begged her to give up her wild attempts at renewing the old ties of -friendship. - -The letter, considering what the secret really was, seemed a wretched -mockery to the writer, but he signed it and sent it by his servant. - -Then he strolled to his club, and read the papers before dinner. But -he was not easy. There was upon him the weight of impending -misfortune. He dined, and tried to drown care in claret, but with poor -success, Then he issued forth--it was nine o'clock and still -light--and walked gently homewards. - -He walked so slowly that it was half-past nine when he let himself -into his chambers in the Albany. His servant was out, and the rooms -looked dismal and lonely. They were not dismal, being on the second -floor, where it is light and airy, and being furnished as mediĉval -bachelorhood with plenty of money alone understands furniture. But he -was nervous to-night, and grim stories came into his mind of spectres -and strange visitors to lonely men in chambers. Such things happen -mostly, he remembered, on twilight evenings in midsummer. He was quite -right. The only ghost I ever saw myself was in one of the Inns of -Court, in chambers, at nine o'clock on a June evening. - -He made haste to light a lamp--no such abomination as gas was -permitted in Lawrence Colquhoun's chambers: it was one of the silver -reading-lamps, good for small tables, and provided with a green shade, -so that the light might fall in a bright circle, which was Cimmertian -blackness shading off into the sepia of twilight. It was his habit, -too, to have lighted candles on the mantelshelf and on a table; but -to-night he forgot them, so that, except for the light cast upwards by -the gas in the court and an opposite window illuminated, and for the -half-darkness of the June evening, the room was dark. It was very -quiet, too. There was no footsteps in the court below, and no voices -or steps in the room near him. His nearest neighbour, young Lord -Orlebar, would certainly not be home, much before one or two, when he -might return with a few friends connected with the twin services of -the army and the ballet for a little cheerful supper. Below him was -old Sir Richard de Counterpane, who was by this time certainly in bed, -and perhaps sound asleep. Very quiet--he had never known it more -quiet; and he began to feel as if it would be a relief to his nerves -were something or somebody to make a little noise. - -He took a novel, one that he had begun a week ago. Whether the novel -of the day is inferior to the novel of Colquhoun's youth, or whether -he was a bad reader of fiction, certainly he had been more than a week -over the first volume alone. - -Now it interested him less than ever. - -He threw it away and lit a cigar. And then his thoughts went back to -Victoria. What was the devil which possessed the woman that she could -not rest quiet? What was the meaning of this madness upon her? - -"A cold--an Arctic woman," Lawrence murmured. "Cold when I told her -how much I loved her; cold when she engaged herself to me; cold in her -crime; and yet she follows me about as if she was devoured by the -ardour of love, like another Sappho." - -It was not that, Lawrence Colquhoun; it was the _spretĉ injuria -formĉ_, the jealousy and hatred caused by the lost power. - -"I wish," he said, starting to his feet, and walking like the Polar -bear across his den and back again, "I wish to heaven I had gone on -living in the Empire City with my pair of villainous Chinamen. At -least I was free from her over there. And when I saw her marriage, by -Gad! I thought it was a finisher. Then I came home again." - -He stopped in his retrospection, because he heard a foot upon the -stairs. - -A woman's foot; a light step and a quick step. - -"May be De Counterpane's nurse. Too early for one of young Orlebar's -friends. Can't be anybody for me." - -But it was; and a woman stopped at his doorway, and seeing him alone, -stepped in. - -She had a hooded cloak thrown about an evening-dress; the hood was -drawn completely over her face, so that you could see nothing of it in -the dim light. And she came in without a word. - -Then Colquhoun, who was no coward, felt his blood run cold, because he -knew by her figure and by her step that it was Victoria Cassilis. - -She threw back the hood with a gesture almost theatrical, and stood -before him with parted lips and flashing eyes. - -His spirits rallied a little then, because he saw that her face was -white, and that she was in a royal rage. Lawrence Colquhoun could -tackle a woman in a rage. That is indeed elementary, and nothing at -all to be proud of. The really difficult thing is to tackle a woman in -tears and distress. The stoutest heart quails before such an -enterprise. - -"What is this?" she began, with a rush as of the liberated whirlwind. -"What does this letter mean, Lawrence?" - -"Exactly what it says, Mrs. Cassilis. May I ask, is it customary for -married ladies to visit single gentlemen in their chambers, and at -night?" - -"It is not usual for--married--ladies--to visit--single--gentlemen, -Lawrence. Do not ask foolish questions. Tell me what this means, I -say." - -"It means that my visits to your house have been too frequent, and -that they will be discontinued. In other words, Mrs. Cassilis, the -thing has gone too far, and I shall cease to be seen with you. I -suppose you know that people will talk." - -"Let them talk. What do I care how people talk? Lawrence, if you think -that I am going to let you go like this, you are mistaken." - -"I believe this poor lady has gone mad," said Lawrence quietly. It was -not the best way to quiet and soothe her, but he could not help -himself. - -"You think you are going to play fast and loose with me twice in my -life, and you are mistaken. You shall not. Years ago you showed me -what you are--cold, treacherous, and crafty----" - -"Go on, Victoria; I like that kind of thing, because now I know that -you are not mad. Quite in your best style." - -"And I forgave you when you returned, and allowed you once more to -visit me. What other woman would have acted so to such a man?" - -"Yet she must be mad," said Lawrence. "How else could she talk such -frightful rubbish?" - -"Once more we have been friends. Again you have drawn me on, until I -have learned to look to you, for the second time, for the appreciation -denied to me by my--Mr. Cassilis. No, sir; this second desertion must -not and shall not be." - -"One would think," said Lawrence helplessly, "that we had not -quarrelled every time we met. Now, Mrs. Cassilis, you have my -resolution. What you please, in your sweet romantic way, to call -second desertion must be and shall be." - -"Then I will know the reason why?" - -"I have told you the reason why. Don't be a fool, Mrs. Cassilis. Ask -yourself what you want. Do you want me to run away with you? I am a -lazy man, I know, and I generally do what people ask me to do; but as -for that thing, I am damned if I do it!" - -"Insult me, Lawrence!" she cried, sinking into a chair. "Swear at me, -as you will." - -"Do you wish me to philander about your house like a ridiculous tame -cat, till all the world cries out?" - -She started to her feet. - -"No!" she cried. "I care nothing about your coming and going. But I -know why--Oh, I know why!--you make up this lame excuse about my good -name--_my_ good name! As if you cared about that!" - -"More than you cared about it yourself," he retorted, "But pray go -on." - -"It is Phillis Fleming; I saw it from the very first. You began by -taking her away from me and placing her with your cousin, where you -could have her completely under your own influence. You let Jack -Dunquerque hang about her at first, just to show the ignorant creature -what was meant by flirtation, and then you send him about his -business. Lawrence, you are more wicked than I thought you." - -"Jealousy, by Gad!" he cried. "Did ever mortal man hear of such a -thing? Jealousy! And after all that she has done----" - -"I warn you. You may do a good many things. You may deceive and insult -me in any way except one. But you shall never, never marry Phillis -Fleming!" - -Colquhoun was about to reply that he never thought of marrying Phillis -Fleming, but it occurred to him that there was no reason for making -that assertion. So he replied nothing. - -"I escaped," she said, "under pretence of being ill. And I made them -fetch me a cab to come away in. My cab is at the Burlington Gardens -end of the court now. Before I go you shall make me a promise, -Lawrence--you used to keep your promises--to act as if this miserable -letter had not been written." - -"I shall promise nothing of the kind." - -"Then remember, Lawrence--you _shall never marry Phillis Fleming_! Not -if I have to stop it by proclaiming my own disgrace--you shall not -marry that girl, or any other girl. I have that power over you, at any -rate. Now I shall go." - -"There is some one on the stairs," said Lawrence quietly. - -"Perhaps he is coming here. You had better not be seen. Best go into -the other room and wait." - -There was only one objection to her waiting in the other room, and -that was that the door was on the opposite side; that the outer oak -was wide open; that the step upon the stairs was already the step upon -the landing; and that the owner of the step was already entering the -room. - -Mrs. Cassilis instinctively shrank back into the darkest corner--that -near the window. The curtains were of some light-coloured stuff. She -drew them closely round her and cowered down, covering her head with -the hood, like Guinevere before her injured lord. For the late caller -was no other than her own husband, Gabriel Cassilis. - -As he stood in the doorway the light of the reading-lamp--Mrs. -Cassilis in one of her gestures had tilted up the shade--fell upon his -pale face and stooping form. Colquhoun noticed that he stooped more -than usual, and that his grave face bore an anxious look--such a look -as one sees sometimes in the faces of men who have long suffered -grievous bodily pain. He hesitated for a moment, tapping his knuckles -with his double eyeglasses, his habitual gesture. - -"I came up this evening, Colquhoun. Are you quite alone?" - -"As you see, Mr. Cassilis," said Colquhoun. He looked hastily round -the room. In the corner he saw the dim outline of the crouching form. -He adjusted the shade, and turned the lamp a little lower. The gas in -the chambers on the other side of the narrow court was put out, and -the room was almost dark. "As you see, Mr. Cassilis. And what gives me -the pleasure of this late call from you?" - -"I thought I would come--I came to say----" he stopped helplessly, and -threw himself into a chair. It was a chair standing near the corner in -which his wife was crouching; and he pushed it back until he might -have heard her breathing close to his ear, and, if he had put forth -his hand, might have touched her. - -"Glad to see you always, Mr. Cassilis. You came to speak about some -money matters? I have an engagement in five minutes; but we shall have -time, I dare say." - -"An engagement? Ah! a lady, perhaps." This with a forced laugh, -because he was thinking of his wife. - -"A lady? Yes--yes, a lady." - -"Young men--young men----" said Gabriel Cassilis. "Well, I will not -keep you. I came here to speak to you about--about my wife." - -"O Lord!" cried Lawrence. "I beg your pardon--about Mrs. Cassilis?" - -"Yes; it is a very stupid business. You have known her for a long -time." - -"I have, Mr. Cassilis; for nearly eight years." - -"Ah, old friends; and once, I believe, people thought----" - -"Once, Mr. Cassilis, I myself thought--I cannot tell you what I -thought Victoria Pengelley might be to me. But that is over long -since." - -"One for her," thought Lawrence, whose nerves were steady in danger. -His two listeners trembled and shook, but from different causes. - -"Over long since," repeated Gabriel Cassilis. "There was nothing in -it, then?" - -"We were two persons entirely dissimilar in disposition, Mr. -Cassilis," Lawrence replied evasively. "Perhaps I was not worthy of -her--her calm, clear judgment." - -"Another for her," he thought, with a chuckle. The situation would -have pleased him but that he felt sorry for the poor man. - -"Victoria is outwardly cold, yet capable of the deepest emotions. It -is on her account, Colquhoun, that I come here. Foolish gossip has -been at work, connecting your names. I think it the best thing, -without saying anything to Victoria, who must never suspect----" - -"Never suspect," echoed Colquhoun. - -"That I ever heard this absurdity. But we must guard her from calumny, -Colquhoun. Cĉsar's wife, you know; and--and--I think that, perhaps, if -you were to be a little less frequent in your calls--and----" - -"I quite understand, Mr. Cassilis; and I am not in the least offended. -I assure you most sincerely--I wish Mrs. Cassilis were here to -listen--that I am deeply sorry for having innocently put you to the -pain of saying this. However, the world shall have no further cause of -gossip." - -No motion or sign from the dark corner where the hiding woman -crouched. - -Mr. Cassilis rose and tapped his knuckles with his glasses. "Thank -you, Colquhoun. It is good of you to take this most unusual request so -kindly. With such a wife as mine jealousy would be absurd. But I have -to keep her name from even a breath--even a breath." - -"Quite right, Mr. Cassilis." - -He looked round the room. - -"Snug quarters for a bachelor--ah! I lived in lodgings always myself. -I thought I heard a woman's voice as I came up-stairs." - -"From Sir Richard de Counterpane's rooms down stairs, perhaps. His -nurses, I suppose. The poor old man is getting infirm." - -"Ay--ay; and your bedroom is there, I suppose?" - -Lawrence took the lamp and opened the door. It was a bare, badly -furnished room, with a little camp-bedstead, and nothing else hardly. -For Lawrence kept his luxurious habits for the day. - -Was it pure curiosity that made Gabriel Cassilis look all round the -room? - -"Ah, hermit-like. Now, I like a large bed. However, I am very glad I -came. One word, Colquhoun, is better than a thousand letters; and you -are sure you do not misunderstand me?" - -"Quite," said Lawrence, taking his hat. "I am going out, too." - -"No jealousy at all," said Gabriel Cassilis, going down the stairs. - -"Certainly not." - -"Nothing but a desire to--to----" - -"I understand perfectly," said Lawrence. - -As they descended, Lawrence heard steps on the stairs behind them. -They were not yet, then, out of danger. - -"Very odd," said Mr. Cassilis. "Coming up I heard a woman's voice. Now -it seems as if there were a woman's feet." - -"Nerves, perhaps," said Colquhoun. The steps above them stopped. "I -hear nothing." - -"Nor do I. Nerves--ah, yes--nerves." - -Mr. Cassilis turned to the left, Colquhoun with him. Behind them he -saw the cloaked and hooded figure of Victoria Cassilis. At the -Burlington Gardens end a cab was waiting. Near the horse's head stood -a woman's figure which Lawrence thought he knew. As they passed her -this woman, whoever she was, covered her face with a handkerchief. And -at the same moment the cab drove by rapidly. Gabriel Cassilis saw -neither woman nor cab. He was too happy to notice anything. There was -nothing in it; nothing at all except mischievous gossip. And he had -laid the Ghost. - -"Dear me!" he said to himself presently, "I forgot to ask about the -Secret. But of course there is none. How should there be?" - -Next morning there came another letter. - - "You have been fooled worse than ever," it said. "Your wife was in - Mr. Colquhoun's chambers the whole time that you were there. She - came down the stairs after you; she passed through the gate, - almost touching you, and she drove past you in a hansom cab. _I - know the number_, and will give it to you when the time comes. - Mr. Colquhoun lied to you. How long? How long?" - -It should have been a busy day in the City. To begin with, it only -wanted four days to settling-day. Telegrams and letters poured in, and -they lay unopened on the desk at which Gabriel Cassilis sat, with this -letter before him, mad with jealousy and rage. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - - "'Come now,' the Master Builder cried, - 'The twenty years of work are done; - Flaunt forth the Flag, and crown with pride - The Glory of the Coping-Stone.'" - - -Jack Dunquerque was to "slack off" his visits to Twickenham. That is -to say, as he interpreted the injunction, he was not wholly to -discontinue them, in order not to excite suspicion. But he was not to -haunt the house; he was to make less frequent voyages up the silver -Thames; he was not to ride in leafy lanes side by side with -Phillis--without having Phillis by his side he cared little about -leafy lanes, and would rather be at the club; further, by these -absences he was to leave off being necessary to the brightness of her -life. - -It was a hard saying. Nevertheless, the young man felt that he had -little reason for complaint. Other fellows he knew, going after other -heiresses, had been quite peremptorily sent about their business for -good, particularly needy young men like himself. All that Colquhoun -extorted of him was that he should "slack off." He felt, in a manner, -grateful, although had he been a youth of quicker perception, he would -have remembered that the lover who "slacks off" can be no other than -the lover who wishes he had not begun. But nobody ever called Jack a -clever young man. - -He was not to give her up altogether. He was not even to give up -hoping. He was to have his chance with the rest. But he was warned -that no chance was to be open to him until the young lady should enter -upon her first season. - -Not to give up seeing her. That was everything. Jack Dunquerque had -hitherto lived the life of all young men, careless and _insouciant_, -with its little round of daily pleasures. He was only different from -other young men that he had learned, partly from a sympathetic nature -and partly by travel, not to put all his pleasure in that life about -town and in country houses which seems to so many the one thing which -the world has to offer. He who has lived out on the Prairies for weeks -has found that there are other pleasures besides the gas-light joys of -Town. But his life had been without thought and purposeless--a very -chaos of a life. And now he felt vaguely that his whole being was -changed. To be with Phillis day after day, to listen to the -outpourings of her freshness and innocence, brought to him the same -sort of refreshment as sitting under the little cataract of a mountain -stream brings to one who rambles in a hot West Indian island. Things -for which he once cared greatly he now cared for no more; the -club-life, the cards, and the billiards ceased to interest him; he -took no delight in them. Perhaps it was a proof of a certain weakness -of nature in Jack Dunquerque that he could not at the same time love -things in which Phillis took no part and the things which made the -simple pleasures of her every-day life. - -He might have been weak, and yet, whether he was weak or strong, he -knew that she leaned upon him. He was so sympathetic; he seemed to -know so much; he decided so quickly; he was in his way so masterful, -that the girl looked up to him as a paragon of wisdom and strength. - -I think she will always so regard him, because the knowledge of her -respect raises Jack daily in moral and spiritual strength, and so her -hero approaches daily to her ideal. What is the highest love worth if -it have not the power of lifting man and woman together up to the -higher levels, where the air is purer, the sunshine brighter, the -vision clearer? - -But Colquhoun's commands had wrought a further change in him; that -ugly good-looking face of his, which Agatha L'Estrange admired so -much, and which was wont to be wreathed with a multitudinous smile, -was now doleful. To the world of mankind--male mankind--the chief -charm of Jack Dunquerque, the main cause of his popularity--his -unvarying cheerfulness--was vanished. - -"You ought to be called Doleful Jack," said Ladds. "Jack of Rueful -Countenance." - -"You don't know, Tommy," replied the lover, sorrowfully wagging his -head. "I've seen Colquhoun; and he won't have it. Says I must wait." - -"He's waited till forty. I've waited to five and thirty, and we're -both pretty jolly. Come, young un, you may take courage by our -examples." - -"You never met Phil when you were five and twenty," said Jack. "Nobody -ever saw a girl like Phillis." - -Five and thirty seems so great an age to five and twenty. And at five -and thirty one feels so young, that it comes upon the possessor of so -many years like a shock of cold water to be reminded that he is really -no longer young. - -One good thing--Lawrence Colquhoun did not reproach him. Partly -perhaps because, as a guardian, he did not thoroughly realize Jack's -flagitious conduct; partly because he was an easy-going man, with a -notion in his head that he had nothing to do with the work of Duennas -and Keepers of the Gynĉceum. He treated the confessions of the -remorseful lover with a cheery contempt--passed them by; no great harm -had been done; and the girl was but a child. - -His own conscience it was which bullied Jack so tremendously. One day -he rounded on his accuser like the poor worm in the proverb, who might -perhaps have got safe back to its hole but for that ill-advised -turning. He met the charges like a man. He pleaded that, criminal as -he had been, nefarious and inexcusable as his action was, this action -had given him a very high time; and that, if it was all to do over -again, he should probably alter his conduct only in degree, but not in -kind; that is to say, he would see Phillis oftener and stay with her -longer. Conscience knocked him out of time in a couple of rounds; but -still he did have the satisfaction of showing fight. - -Of course he would do the same thing again. There has never been found -by duenna, by guardian, by despotic parent, or by interested relation, -any law of restraint strong enough to keep apart two young people of -the opposite sex and like age, after they have once become attracted -towards each other. Prudence and prudery, jealousy and interest, never -have much chance. The ancient dames of duennadom may purse their -withered lips and wrinkle their crow's-footed eyes; Love, the -unconquered, laughs and conquers again. - -It is of no use to repeat long explanations about Phillis. Such as she -was, we know her--a law unto herself; careless of prohibitions and -unsuspicious of danger. Like Una, she wandered unprotected and -fearless among whatever two-legged wolves, bears, eagles, lions, -vultures and other beasts and birds of prey might be anxiously waiting -to snap her up. Jack was the great-hearted lion who was to bear her -safely through the wistful growls of the meaner beasts. The lion is -not clever like the fox or the beaver, but one always conceives of him -as a gentleman, and therefore fit to be entrusted with such a -beautiful maiden as Una or Phillis. And if Jack was quietly allowed to -carry off his treasure it was Agatha L'Estrange who was chiefly to -blame; and she, falling in love with Jack herself, quite in a motherly -way, allowed the wooing to go on under her very nose. "A bad, bad -woman," as Lawrence Colquhoun called her. - -But such a wooing! Miss Ethel Citybredde, when she sees Amandus making -a steady but not an eagerly impetuous advance in her direction at a -ball, feels her languid pulses beat a little faster. "He is coming -after Me," she says to herself, with pride. They snatch a few moments -to sit together in a conservatory. He offers no remark worthy of -repetition, nor does she; yet she thinks to herself, "He is going to -ask me to marry him; he will kiss me; there will be a grand wedding; -everybody will be pleased; other girls will be envious; and I shall be -delighted. Papa knows that he is well off and well connected. How -charming!" - -Now Phillis allowed her lover to woo her without one thought of love -or marriage, of which, indeed, she knew nothing. But if the passion -was all on one side, the affection was equally divided. And when Jack -truly said that Phillis did not love him, he forgot that she had given -him already all that she knew of love; in that her thoughts, which on -her first emancipation leaped forth, bounding and running in all -directions with a wild yearning to behold the Great Unknown, were now -returning to herself, and mostly flowed steadily, like streams of -electric influence, in the direction of Jack; inasmuch as she referred -unconsciously everything to Jack, as she dressed for him, drew for -him, pored diligently over hated reading-books for him, and told him -all her thoughts. - -I have not told, nor can I tell, of the many walks and talks these two -young people had together. Day after day Jack's boat--that comfortable -old tub, in which he could, and often did, cut a crab without spilling -the contents into the river--lay moored off Agatha's lawn, or rolled -slowly up and down the river, Jack rowing, while Phillis steered, -sang, talked, and laughed. This was pleasant in the morning; but it -was far more pleasant in the evening, when the river was so quiet, so -still and so black, and when thoughts crowded into the girl's brain, -which fled like spirits when she tried to put them into words. - -Or they rode together along the leafy roads through Richmond Park, and -down by that unknown region, far away from the world, where heron rise -up from the water's edge, where the wild fowl fly above the lake in -figures which remind one of Euclid's definitions, and the deer collect -in herds among great ferns half as high as themselves. There they -would let the horses walk, while Phillis, with the slender curving -lines of her figure, her dainty dress which fitted it so well, and her -sweet face, made the heart of her lover hungry; and when she turned to -speak to him, and he saw in the clear depths of her eyes his own face -reflected, his passion grew almost too much for him to bear. - -A delicate dainty maiden, who was yet of strong and healthy -_physique_; one who did not disdain to own a love for cake and -strawberries, cream and ices, and other pleasant things; who had no -young-ladyish affectations; who took life eagerly, not languidly. And -not a coward, as many maidens boast to be; she ruled her horse with a -rein as firm as Jack Dunquerque, and sat him as steadily; she clinched -her little fingers and set her lips hard when she heard a tale of -wrong; her eyes lit up and her bosom heaved when she heard of heroic -gest; she was strong to endure and to do. Not every girl would, as -Phillis did, rise in the morning at five to train her untaught eyes -and hand over those little symbols by which we read and write; not -every girl would patiently begin at nineteen the mechanical drudgery -of the music-lesson. And she did this in confidence, because Jack -asked her every day about her lessons, and Agatha L'Estrange was -pleased. - -The emotion which is the next after, and worse than that of love, is -sympathy. Phillis passed through the stages of curiosity and knowledge -before she arrived at the stage of sympathy. Perhaps she was not far -from the highest stage of all. - -She learned something every day, and told Jack what it was. Sometimes -it was an increase in her knowledge of evil. Jack, who was by no means -so clever as his biographer, thought that a pity. His idea was the -common one--that a maiden should be kept innocent of the knowledge of -evil. I think Jack took a prejudiced, even a Philistine, view of the -case. He put himself on the same level as the Frenchman who keeps his -daughter out of mischief by locking her up in a convent. It is not the -knowledge of evil that hurts, any more than the knowledge of -black-beetles, earwigs, slugs, and other crawling things; the pure in -spirit cast it off, just as the gardener who digs and delves among his -plants washes his hands and is clean. The thing that hurts is the -suspicion and constant thought of evil; the loveliest and most divine -creature in the world is she who neither commits any ill, nor thinks -any, nor suspects others of ill--who has a perfect pity for -backsliders, and a perfect trust in the people around her. Unfortunate -it is that experience of life turns pity to anger, and trust into -hesitation. - -Or they would be out upon Agatha's lawn, playing croquet, to which -that good lady still adhered, or lawn-tennis, which she tolerated. -There would be the curate--he had abandoned that design of getting up -_all_ about Laud, but was madly, ecclesiastically madly, in love -with Phillis; there would be occasionally Ladds, who, in his heavy, -kindly way, pleased this young May Queen. Besides, Ladds was fond of -Jack. There would be Gilead Beck in the straightest of frock coats, -and on the most careful behaviour; there would be also two or three -young ladies, compared with whom Phillis was as Rosalind at the court -of her uncle, or as Esther among the damsels of the Persian king's -seraglio, so fresh and so incomparably fair. - -"Mrs. L'Estrange," Jack whispered one day, "I am going to say a rude -thing. Did you pick out the other girls on purpose to set off -Phillis?" - -"What a shame, Jack!" said Agatha, who like the rest of the world -called him by what was not his Christian name. "The girls are very -nice--not so pretty as Phillis, but good-looking, all of them. I call -them as pretty a set of girls as you would be likely to see on any -lawn this season." - -"Yes," said Jack; "only you see they are all alike, and Phillis is -different." - -That was it--Phillis was different. The girls were graceful, pleasant, -and well bred. But Phillis was all this, and more. The others followed -the beaten track, in which the strength of life is subdued and its -intensity forbidden. Phillis was in earnest about everything, quietly -in earnest; not openly bent on enjoyment, like the young ladies who -run down Greenwich Hill, for instance, but in her way making others -feel something of what she felt herself. Her intensity was visible in -the eager face, the mobile flashes of her sensitive lips, and her -brightening eyes. And, most unlike her neighbours, she even forgot her -own dress, much as she loved the theory and practice of dress, when -once she was interested, and was careless about theirs. - -It was not pleasant for the minor stars. They felt in a vague -uncomfortable way that Phillis was far more attractive; they said to -each other that she was strange; one who pretended to know more French -than the others said that she was _farouche_. - -She was not in the least _farouche_, and the young lady her -calumniator did not understand the adjective; but _farouche_ she -continued to be among the maidens of Twickenham and Richmond. - -Jack Dunquerque heard the epithet applied on one occasion, and burst -out laughing. - -Phillis _farouche_! Phillis, without fear and without suspicion! - -But then they do teach French so badly at girls' schools. And so poor -Phillis remained ticketed with the adjective which least of any -belonged to her. - -A pleasant six weeks from April to June, while the late spring -blossomed and flowered into summer; a time to remember all his life -afterwards with the saddened joy which, despite Dante's observation, -does still belong to the memory of past pleasures. - -But every pleasant time passes, and the six weeks were over. - -Jack was to "slack off." The phrase struck him, applied to himself and -Phillis, as simply in bad taste; but the meaning was plain. He was to -present himself at Twickenham with less frequency. - -Accordingly he began well by going there the very next day. The new -_régime_ has to be commenced somehow, and Jack began his at once. -He pulled up in his tub. It was a cloudy and windy day; drops of rain -fell from time to time; the river was swept by sudden gusts which came -driving down the stream, marked by broad black patches; there were no -other boats out, and Jack struggled upwards against the current; the -exercise at least was a relief to the oppression of his thoughts. - -What was he to do with himself after the "slacking off" had -begun--after that day, in fact? The visits might drop to twice a week, -then once a week, and then? But surely Colquhoun would be satisfied -with such a measure of self-denial. In the intervals--say from -Saturday to Saturday--he could occupy himself in thinking about her. -He might write to her--would that be against the letter of the law? It -was clearly against the spirit. And--another consideration--it was no -use writing unless he wrote in printed characters, and in words of not -more than two syllables. He thought of such a love-letter, and of -Phillis gravely spelling it out word by word to Mrs. L'Estrange. For -poor Phillis had not as yet accustomed herself to look on the printed -page as a vehicle for thought, although Agatha read to her every day. -She regarded it as the means of conveying to the reader facts such as -the elementary reading-book delights to set forth; so dry that the -adult reader, if a woman, presently feels the dust in her eyes, and if -a man, is fain to get up and call wildly for quarts of bitter beer. -No; Phillis was not educated up to the reception of a letter. - -He would, he thought, sit in the least-frequented room of his -club--the drawing-room--and with a book of some kind before him, just -for a pretence, would pass the leaden hours in thinking of Phillis's -perfections. Heavens! when was there a moment, by day or by night, -that he did not think of them? - -Bump! It was the bow of the ship, which knew by experience very well -when to stop, and grounded herself without any conscious volition on -his part at the accustomed spot. - -Jack jumped out, and fastened the painter to the tree to which Phillis -had once tied him. Then he strode across the lawns and flower-beds, -and made for the little morning-room, where he hoped to find the -ladies. - -He found one of them. Fortune sometimes favors lovers. It was the -younger one--Phillis herself. - -She was bending over her work with brush and colour-box, looking as -serious as if all her future depended on the success of that -particular picture; beside her, tossed contemptuously aside, lay the -much-despised Lesson-Book in Reading; for she had done her daily task. -She did not hear Jack step in at the open window, and went on with her -painting. - -She wore a dress made of that stuff which looks like brown holland -till you come close to it, and then you think it is silk, but are not -quite certain, and I believe they call it Indian tussore. Round her -dainty waist was a leathern belt set in silver with a châtelaine, like -a small armoury of deadly weapons; and for colour she had a crimson -ribbon about her neck. To show that the ribbon was not entirely meant -for vanity, but had its uses, Phillis had slung upon it a cross of -Maltese silver-work, which I fear Jack had given her himself. And -below the cross, where her rounded figure showed it off, she had -placed a little bunch of sweet peas. Such a dainty damsel! Not content -with the flower in her dress, she had stuck a white jasamine-blossom -in her hair. All these things Jack noted with speechless admiration. - -Then she began to sing in a low voice, all to herself, a little French -ballad which Mrs. L'Estrange had taught her--one of the sweet old -French songs. - -She was painting in the other window, at a table drawn up to face it. -The curtains were partly pulled together, and the blind was half drawn -down, so that she sat in a subdued light, in which only her face was -lit up, like the faces in a certain kind of photograph, while her hair -and figure lay in shadow. The hangings were of some light-rose hue, -which tinted the whole room, and threw a warm colouring over the -old-fashioned furniture, the pictures, the books, the flowers on the -tables, and the ferns in their glasses. Mrs. L'Estrange was no -follower after the new school. Neutral tints had small charms for her; -she liked the warmth and glow of the older fashion in which she had -been brought up. - -It looked to Jack Dunquerque like some shrine dedicated to peace and -love, with Phillis for its priestess--or even its goddess. Outside the -skies were grey; the wind swept down the river with driving rain; here -was warmth, colour, and brightness. So he stood still and watched. - -And as he waited an overwhelming passion of love seized him. If the -world was well lost for Antony when he threw it all away for a queen -no longer young, and the mother of one son at least almost grown up, -what would it have been had his Cleopatra welcomed him in all the -splendour of her white Greek beauty at sweet seventeen? There was no -world to be lost for this obscure cadet of a noble house, but all the -world to be won. His world was before his eyes; it was an unconscious -maid, ignorant of her own surpassing worth, and of the power of her -beauty. To win her was to be the lord of all the world he cared for. - -Presently she laid down her brush, and raised her head. Then she -pushed aside the curtains, and looked out upon the gardens. The rain -drove against the windows, and the wind beat about the branches of the -lilacs on the lawn. She shivered, and pulled the curtains together -again. - -"I wish Jack were here," she said to herself. - -"He is here, Phil," Jack replied. - -She looked round, and darted across the room, catching him by both -hands. - -"Jack! Oh, I am glad! There is nobody at home. Agatha has gone up to -town, and I am quite alone. What shall we do this afternoon?" - -Clearly the right thing for him to propose was that he should -instantly leave the young lady, and row himself back to Richmond. -This, however, was not what he did propose. On the contrary, he kept -Phillis's hands in his, and held them tight, looking in her upturned -face, where he saw nothing but undisguised joy at his appearance. - -"Shall we talk? Shall I play to you? Shall I draw you a picture? What -shall we do, Jack?" - -"Well, Phil, I think--perhaps--we had better talk." - -Something in his voice struck her; she looked at him sharply. - -"What has happened, Jack? You do not look happy." - -"Nothing, Phil--nothing but what I might have expected." But he looked -so dismal that it was quite certain he had not expected it. - -"Tell me, Jack." - -He shook his head. - -"Jack, what _is_ the good of being friends if you won't tell me -what makes you unhappy?" - -"I don't know how to tell you, Phil. I don't see a way to begin." - -"Sit down, and begin somehow." She placed him comfortably in the -largest chair in the room, and then she stood in front of him, and -looked in his face with compassionate eyes. The sight of those -deep-brown orbs, so full of light and pity, smote her lover with a -kind of madness. "What is it makes people unhappy? Are you ill?" - -He shook his head, and laughed. - -"No, Phil; I am never ill. You see, I am not exactly unhappy----" - -"But Jack, you look so dismal." - -"Yes, that is it; I am a little dismal. No. Phil--no. I am really -unhappy, and you are the cause." - -"I the cause? But, Jack, why?" - -"I had a talk with your guardian, Lawrence Colquhoun, yesterday. It -was all about you. And he wants me--not to come here so often, in -fact. And I musn't come." - -"But why not? What does Lawrence mean?" - -"That is just what I cannot explain to you. You must try to forgive -me." - -"Forgive you, Jack?" - -"You see, Phil, I have behaved badly from the beginning. I ought not -to have called upon you as I did in Carnarvon Square; I ought not to -have let you call me Jack, nor should I have called you Phil. It is -altogether improper in the eyes of the world." - -She was silent for a while. - -"Perhaps I have known, Jack, that it was a little unusual. Other girls -haven't got a Jack Dunquerque, have they? Poor things! That is all you -mean, isn't it, Jack?" - -"Phil, don't look at me like that! You don't know--you can't -understand--No; it is more than unusual; it is quite wrong." - -"I have done nothing wrong," the girl said proudly. "If I had, my -conscience would make me unhappy. But I do begin to understand what -you mean. Last week Agatha asked me if I was not thinking too much -about you. And the curate made me laugh because he said, quite by -himself in a corner, you know, that Mr. Dunquerque was a happy man; -and when I asked him, why he turned very red, and said it was because -I had given to him what all the world would long to have. He meant, -Jack----" - -"I wish he was here," Jack cried hotly, "for me to wring his neck!" - -"And one day Laura Herries----" - -"That's the girl who said you were _farouche_, Phil. Go on." - -"Was talking to Agatha about some young lady who had got compromised -by a gentleman's attentions. I asked why, and she replied quite -sharply that if I did not know, no one could know. Then she got up and -went away. Agatha was angry about it, I could see; but she only said -something about understanding when I come out." - -"Miss Herries ought to have her neck wrung, too, as well as the -curate," said Jack. - -"Compromise--improper." Phil beat her little foot on the floor. "What -does it all mean? Jack, tell me--what is this wrong thing that you and -I have done?" - -"Not you, Phil; a thousand times not you." - -"Then I do not care much what other people say," she replied simply. -"Do you know, Jack, it seems to me as if we never ought to care for -what people, besides people we love, say about us." - -"But it is I who have done wrong," said Jack. - -"Have you, Jack? Oh, then I forgive you. I think I know you. You -should have come to me with an unreal smile on your face, and -pretended the greatest deference to my opinion, even when you knew it -wasn't worth having. That is what the curate does to young ladies. I -saw him yesterday taking Miss Herries's opinion on Holman Hunt's -picture. She said it was 'sweetly pretty.' He said, 'Do you really -think so?' in such a solemn voice, as if he wasn't quite sure that the -phrase summed up the whole picture, but was going to think it over -quietly. Don't laugh, Jack, because I cannot read like other people, -and all I have to go by is what Mr. Dyson told me, and Agatha tells -me, and what I see--and--and what you tell me, Jack, which is worth -all the rest to me." - -The tears came into her eyes, but only for a moment, and she brushed -them aside. - -"And I forgive you, Jack, all the more because you did not treat me as -you would have treated the girls who seem to me so lifeless and -languid, and--Jack, it may be wrong to say it, but Oh, so small! What -compliment could you have paid me better than to single me out for -your friend--you who have seen so much and done so much--my -friend--mine? We were friends from the first, were we not? And I have -never since hidden anything from you, Jack, and never will." - -He kept it down still, this mighty yearning that filled his heart, but -he could not bear to look her in the face. Every word that she said -stabbed him like a knife, because it showed her childish innocence and -her utter unconsciousness of what her words might mean. - -And then she laid her little hand in his. - -"And now you have compromised me, as they would say? What does it -matter Jack? We can go on always just the same as we have been doing, -can we not?" - -He shook his head and answered huskily, "No, Phil. Your guardian will -not allow it. You must obey him. He says that I am to come here less -frequently; that I must not do you--he is quite right, Phil--any more -mischief; and that you are to have your first season in London without -any ties or entanglements." - -"My guardian leaves me alone here with Agatha. It is you who have been -my real guardian, Jack. I shall do what you tell me to do." - -"I want to do what is best for you, Phil--but--Child"--he caught her -by the hands, and she half fell, half knelt at his feet, and looked up -in his eyes with her face full of trouble and emotion--"child, must I -tell you? Could not Agatha L'Estrange tell you that there is something -in the world very different from friendship? Is it left for me to -teach you? They call it Love, Phil." - -He whispered the last words. - -"Love? But I know all about it, Jack." - -"No, Phil, you know nothing. It isn't the love that you bear to Agatha -that I mean." - -"Is it the love I have for you, Jack?" she asked in all innocence. - -"It may be, Phil. Tell me only"--he was reckless now, and spoke fast -and fiercely--"tell me if you love me as I love you. Try to tell me. I -love you so much that I cannot sleep for thinking of you; and I think -of you all day long. It seems as if my life must have been a long -blank before I saw you; all my happiness is to be with you; to think -of going on without you maddens me." - -"Poor Jack!" she said softly. She did not offer to withdraw her hands, -but let them lie in his warm and tender grasp. - -"My dear, my darling--my queen and pearl of girls--who can help loving -you? And even to be with you, to have you close to me, to hold your -hands in mine, that isn't enough." - -"What more--O Jack, Jack! what more?" - -She began to tremble, and she tried to take back her hands. He let -them go, but before she could change her position he bent down, threw -his arms about her, and held her face close to his while he kissed it -a thousand times. - -"What more? My darling, my angel, this--and this! Phil, Phil! wake at -last from your long childhood; leave the Garden of Eden where you have -wandered so many years, and come out into the other world--the world -of love. My dear, my dear! can you love me a little, only a little, in -return? We are all so different from what you thought us; you will -find out some day that I am not clever and good at all; that I have -only one thing to give you--my love. Phil, Phil, answer me--speak to -me--forgive me!" - -He let her go, for she tore herself from him and sprang to her feet, -burying her face in her hands and sobbing aloud. - -"Forgive me--forgive me!" It was all that he could say. - -"Jack, what is it? what does it mean? O Jack!"--she lifted her face -and looked about her, with hands outstretched as one who feels in the -darkness; her cheeks were white and her eyes wild--"what does it mean? -what is it you have said? what is it you have done?" - -"Phil!" - -"Yes! Hush! don't speak to me--not yet, Jack. Wait a moment. My brain -is full of strange thoughts"--she put out trembling hands before her, -like one who wakes suddenly in a dream, and spoke with short, quick -breath. "Something seems to have come upon me. Help me, Jack! Oh, help -me! I am frightened." - -He took her in his arms and soothed and caressed her like a child, -while she sobbed and cried. - -"Look at me, Jack," she said presently. "Tell me, am I the same? Is -there any change in me?" - -"Yes, Phil; yes, my darling. You are changed. Your sweet eyes are full -of tears, like the skies in April; and your cheeks are pale and white. -Let me kiss them till they get their own colour again." - -He did kiss them, and she stood unresisting. But she trembled. - -"I know, Jack, now," she said softly. "It all came upon me in a -moment, when your lips touched mine. O Jack, Jack! it was as if -something snapped; as if a veil fell from my eyes. I know now what you -meant when you said just now that you loved me." - -"Do you, Phil? And can you love me, too?" - -"Yes, Jack. I will tell you when I am able to talk again. Let me sit -down. Sit with me, Jack." - -She drew him beside her on the sofa and murmured low, while he held -her hands. - -"Do you like to sit just so, holding my hands? Are you better now, -Jack? - -"Do you think, Jack, that I can have always loved you--without knowing -it all--just as you love me? O my poor Jack! - -"My heart beats so fast. And I am so happy. What have you said to me, -Jack, that I should be so happy? - -"See, the sun has come out--and the showers are over and gone--and the -birds are singing--all the sweet birds--they are singing for me, Jack, -for you and me--Oh, for you and me!" - -Her voice broke down again, and she hid her face upon her lover's -shoulder, crying happy tears. - -He called her a thousand endearing names; he told her that they would -be always together; that she had made him the happiest man in all the -world; that he loved her more than any girl ever had been loved in the -history of mankind; that she was the crown and pearl and queen of all -the women who ever lived; and then she looked up, smiling through her -tears. - -Ah, happy, happy day! Ah, day for ever to be remembered even when, if -ever, the years shall bring its fiftieth anniversary to an aged pair, -whose children and grandchildren stand around their trembling feet? -Ah, moments that live for ever in the memory of a life! They die, but -are immortal. They perish all too quickly, but they bring forth the -precious fruits of love and constancy, of trust, affection, good -works, peace, and joy, which never perish. - -"Take me on the river, Jack," she said presently. "I want to think it -all over again, and try to understand it better." - -He fetched cushion and wrapper, for the boat was wet, and placed her -tenderly in the boat. And then he began to pull gently up the stream. - -The day had suddenly changed. The morning had been gloomy and dull, -but the afternoon was bright; the strong wind was dropped for a light -cool breeze; the swans were cruising about with their lordly pretence -of not caring for things external; and the river ran clear and bright. - -They were very silent now; the girl sat in her place, looking with -full soft eyes on the wet and dripping branches or in the cool depths -of the stream. - -Presently they passed an old gentleman fishing in a punt; he was the -same old gentleman whom Phillis saw one morning--now so long ago--when -he had that little misfortune we have narrated, and tumbled backwards -in his ark. He saw them coming, and adjusted his spectacles. - -"Youth and Beauty again," he murmured. "And she's been crying. That -young fellow has said something cruel to her. Wish I could break his -head for him. The pretty creature! He'll come to a bad end, that young -man." Then he impaled an immense worm savagely and went on fishing. - -A very foolish old gentleman this. - -"I am trying to make it all out quite clearly, Jack," Phillis -presently began. "And it is so difficult." Her eyes were still bright -with tears, but she did not tremble now, and the smile was back upon -her lips. - -"My darling, let it remain difficult. Only tell me now, if you can, -that you love me." - -"Yes, Jack," she said, not in the frank and childish unconsciousness -of yesterday, but with the soft blush of a woman who is wooed. "Yes, -Jack, I know now that I do love you, as you love me, because my heart -beat when you kissed me, and I felt all of a sudden that you were all -the world to me." - -"Phil, I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you." - -"Not deserve me? O Jack, you make me feel humble when you say that! -And I am so proud. - -"So proud and so happy," she went on, after a pause. "And the girls -who know all along--how do they find it out?--want every one for -herself this great happiness, too. I have heard them talk and never -understood till now. Poor girls! I wish they had their--their own -Jack, not my Jack." - -Her lover had no words to reply. - -"Poor boy! And you went about with your secret so long. Tell me how -long, Jack?" - -"Since the very first day I saw you in Carnarvon Square, Phil." - -"All that time? Did you love me on that day--not the first day of all, -Jack? Oh, surely not the very first day?" - -"Yes; not as I love you now--now that I know you so well, my -Phillis--mine--but only then because you were so pretty." - -"Do men always fall in love with a girl because she is pretty?" - -"Yes, Phil. They begin because she is pretty, and they love her more -every day when she is so sweet and so good as my darling Phil." - -All this time Jack had been leaning on his oars, and the boat was -drifting slowly down the current. It was now close to the punt where -the old gentleman sat watching them. - -"They have made it up," he said. "That's right." And he chuckled. - -She looked dreamy and contented; the tears were gone out of her eyes, -and a sweet softness lay there, like the sunshine on a field of grass. - -"She is a rose of Sharon and a lily of the valley," said this old -gentleman. "That young fellow ought to be banished from the State for -making other people envious of his luck. Looks a good-tempered rogue, -too." - -He observed with delight that they were thinking of each other while -the boat drifted nearer to his punt. Presently--bump--bump! - -Jack seized his sculls and looked up guiltily. The old gentleman was -nodding and smiling to Phillis. - -"Made it up?" he asked most impertinently. "That is right, that is -right. Give you joy, sir, give you joy. Wish you both happiness. Wish -I had it to do all over again. God bless you, my dear!" - -His jolly red face beamed like the setting sun under his big straw -hat, and he wagged his head and laughed. - -Jack laughed too; at other times he would have thought the old angler -an extremely impertinent person. Now he only laughed. - -Then he turned the boat's head, and rowed his bride swiftly homewards. - -"Phil, I am like Jason bringing home Medea," he said, with a faint -reminiscence of classical tradition. I have explained that Jack was -not clever. - -"I hope not," said Phil; "Medea was a dreadful person." - -"Then Paris bringing home Helen--No, Phil; only your lover bringing -home the sweetest girl that ever was. And worth five and thirty -Helens." - -When they landed, Agatha L'Estrange was on the lawn waiting for them. -To her surprise, Phillis, on disembarking, took Jack by the arm, and -his hand closed over hers. Mrs. L'Estrange gasped. And in Phillis's -tear-bright eyes, she saw at last the light and glow of love; and in -Phillis's blushing face she saw the happy pride of the celestial Venus -who has met her only love. - -"Children--children!" she said, "what is this?" - -Phillis made answer, in words which Abraham Dyson used to read to her -from a certain Book, but which she never understood till now--made -answer with her face upturned to her lover-- - -"I am my beloved's, and his desire is toward me." - - -They were a quiet party that evening. Jack did not want to talk. He -asked Phillis to sing; he sat by in a sort of rapture while her voice, -in the songs she most affected, whispered and sang to his soul not -words, but suggestions of every innocent delight. She recovered -something of her gaiety, but their usual laughter was hushed as if by -some unexpressed thought. It will never come back to her again, that -old mirth and light heart of childhood. She felt while she played as -if she was in some great cathedral; the fancies of her brain built -over her head a pile more mystic and wonderful than any she had seen. -Its arches towered to the sky; its aisles led far away into dim space. -She was walking slowly up the church hand-in-hand with Jack, towards a -great rose light in the east. An anthem of praise and thanksgiving -echoed along the corridors, and pealed like thunder among the million -rafters of the roof. Round them floated faces which looked and smiled. -And she heard the voice of Abraham Dyson in her ear-- - -"Life should be two-fold, not single. That, Phillis, is the great -secret of the world. Every man is a priest; every woman is a -priestess; it is a sacrament which you have learned of Jack this day. -Go on with him in faith and hope. Love is the Universal Church and -Heaven is everywhere. Live in it; die in it; and dying begin your life -of love again." - -"Phil," cried Jack, "what is it? You look as if you had seen a -vision." - -"I have heard the voice of Abraham Dyson," she said solemnly. "He is -satisfied and pleased with us, Jack." - -That was nothing to what followed, for presently there occurred a -really wonderful thing. - -On Phillis's table--they were all three sitting in the pleasant -morning-room--lay among her lesson-books and drawing materials a -portfolio. Jack turned it over carelessly. There was nothing at all in -it except a single sheet of white paper, partly written over. But -there had been other sheets, and these were torn off. - -"It is an old book full of writing," said Phillis carelessly. "I have -torn out all the leaves to make rough sketches at the back. There is -only one left now." - -Jack took it up and read the scanty remnant. - -"Good heavens!" he cried. "Have you really destroyed all these pages, -Phil?" - -Then he laughed. - -"What is it, Jack? Yes I have torn them all out, drawn rough things on -them, and then burnt them, every one." - -"Is it anything important?" asked Mrs. L'Estrange. - -"I should think it was important!" said Jack. "Ho, ho! Phillis has -destroyed the whole of Mr. Dyson's lost chapter on the Coping-stone. -And now his will is not worth the paper it is written on." - -It was actually so. Bit by bit, while Joseph Jagenal was leaving no -corner unturned in the old house at Highgate in search of the precious -document, without which Mr. Dyson's will was so much waste paper, this -young lady was contentedly cutting out the sheets one by one and using -them up for her first unfinished groups. Of course she could not read -one word of what was written. It was a fitting Nemesis to the old -man's plans that they were frustrated through the very means by which -he wished to regenerate the world. - -And now nothing at all left but a tag end, a bit of the peroration, -the last words of the final summing-up. And this was what Jack read -aloud-- - -"... these provisions and no other. Thus will I have my College for -the better Education of Women founded and maintained. Thus shall it -grow and develop till the land is full of the gracious influence of -womankind at her best and noblest. The Coping-stone of a girl's -Education should be, and must be, Love. When Phillis Fleming, my ward, -whose example shall be taken as the model for my college, feels the -passion of Love, her education is finally completed. She will have -much afterwards to learn. But self-denial, sympathy, and faith come -best through Love. Woman is born to be loved; that woman only -approaches the higher state who has been wooed and who has loved. When -Phillis loves, she will give herself without distrust and wholly to -the man who wins her. It is my prayer, my last prayer for her, that he -may be worthy of her." Here Jack's voice faltered for a moment. "Her -education has occupied my whole thoughts for thirteen years. It has -been the business of my later years. Now I send her out into the world -prepared for all, except treachery, neglect, and ill treatment. -Perhaps her character would pass through these and come out the -brighter. But we do not know; we cannot tell beforehand. Lord, lead -her not into temptation; and so deal with her lover as he shall deal -with her." - -"Amen," said Agatha L'Estrange. - -But Phillis sprang to her feet and threw up her arms. - -"I have found it!" she cried. "Oh, how often did he talk to me about -the Coping-stone. Now I have nothing more to learn. O Jack, Jack!" she -fell into his arms, and lay there as if it was her proper place. "We -have found the Coping-stone--you and I between us--and it is here, it -is here!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - - "'Tis well to be off with the old love, - Though you never get on with a new." - - -During the two of three weeks following their success with Gilead Beck -the Twins were conspicuous, had any one noticed them, for a -recklessness of expenditure quite without parallel in their previous -history. They plunged as regarded hansoms, paying whatever was asked -with an airy prodigality; they dined at the club every day, and drank -champagne at all hours; they took half-guinea stalls at theatres: they -went down to Greenwich and had fish-dinners; they appeared with new -chains and rings; they even changed their regular hours of sleep, and -sometimes passed the whole day broad awake, in the pursuit of youthful -pleasures. They winked and nodded at each other in a way which -suggested all kinds of delirious delights; and Cornelius even talked -of adding an episode to the Epic, based on his own later experiences, -which he would call, he said, the Jubilee of Joy. - -The funds for this fling, all too short, were provided by their -American patron. Gilead Beck had no objection to advance them -something on account; the young gentlemen found it so pleasant to -spend money, that they quickly overcame scruples about asking for -more; perhaps they would have gone on getting more, but for a word of -caution spoken by Jack Dunquerque. In consequence of this unkindness -they met each other one evening in the Studio with melancholy faces. - -"I had a letter to-day from Mr. Gilead Beck," said Cornelius to -Humphrey. - -"So had I," said Humphrey to Cornelius. - -"In answer to a note from me," said Cornelius. - -"In reply to a letter of mine," said Humphrey. - -"It is sometimes a little awkward, brother Humphrey," Cornelius -remarked with a little temper, "that our inclinations so often prompt -us to do the same thing at the same time." - -Said Humphrey, "I suppose then, Cornelius, that you asked him for -money?" - -"I did, Humphrey. How much has the Patron advanced you already on the -great Picture?" - -"Two hundred only. A mere trifle. And now he refuses to advance any -more until the Picture is completed. Some enemy, some jealous brother -artist, must have corrupted his mind." - -"My case, too. I asked for a simple fifty pounds. It is the end of -May, and the country would be delightful if one could go there. I have -already drawn four or five cheques of fifty each, on account of the -Epic. He says, this mercenary and mechanical patron, that he will not -lend me any more until the Poem is brought to him finished. Some -carping critic has been talking to him." - -"How much of the Poem is finished?" - -"How much of the Picture is done?" - -The questions were asked simultaneously, but no answer was returned by -either. - -Then each sat for a few moments in gloomy silence. - -"The end of May," murmured Humphrey. "We have to be ready by the -beginning of October. June--July--only four months. My painting is -designed for many hundreds of figures. Your poem for--how many lines, -brother?" - -"Twenty cantos of about five hundred lines each." - -"Twenty times five hundred is ten thousand." - -Then they relapsed into silence again. - -"Brother Cornelius," the Artist went on, "this has been a most -eventful year for us. We have been rudely disturbed from the artistic -life of contemplation and patient work into which we had gradually -dropped. We have been hurried--hurried, I say, brother--into Action, -perhaps prematurely----" - -Cornelius grasped his brother's hand, but said nothing. - -"You, Cornelius, have engaged yourself to be married." - -Cornelius dropped his brother's hand. "Pardon me, Humphrey; it is you -that is engaged to Phillis Fleming." - -"I am nothing of the sort, Cornelius," the other returned sharply. "I -am astonished that you should make such a statement." - -"One of us certainly is engaged to the young lady. And as certainly it -is not I. 'Let your brother Humphrey hope,' she said. Those were her -very words. I do think, brother, that it is a little ungenerous, a -little ungenerous of you, after all the trouble I took on your behalf, -to try to force this young lady on me." - -Humphrey's cheek turned pallid. He plunged his hands into his silky -beard, and walked up and down the room gesticulating. - -"I went down on purpose to tell Phillis about him. I spoke to her of -his ardour. She said she appreciated--said she appreciated it, -Cornelius. I even went so far as to say that you offered her a virgin -heart--perilling my own soul by those very words--a virgin heart"--he -laughed melodramatically. "And after that German milkmaid! Ha, ha! The -Poet and the milkmaid!" - -Cornelius by this time was red with anger. The brothers, alike in so -many things, differed in this, that, when roused to passion, while -Humphrey grew white Cornelius grew crimson. - -"And what did I do for you?" he cried out. The brothers were now on -opposite sides of the table, walking backwards and forwards with -agitated strides. "I told her that you brought her a heart which had -never beat for another--that, after your miserable little Roman model! -An artist not able to resist the charms of his own model!" - -"Cornelius!" cried Humphrey, suddenly stopping and bringing his fist -with a bang upon the table. - -"Humphrey!" cried his brother, exactly imitating his gesture. - -Their faces glared into each other's; Cornelius, as usual, wrapped in -his long dressing-gown, his shaven cheeks purple with passion; -Humphrey in his loose velvet jacket, his white lips and cheeks, and -his long silken beard trembling to every hair. - -It was the first time the brothers had ever quarrelled in all their -lives. And like a tempest on Lake Windermere, it sprang up without the -slightest warning. - -They glared in a steady way for a few minutes, and then drew back and -renewed their quick and angry walk side by side, with the table -between them. - -"To bring up the old German business!" said Cornelius. - -"To taunt me with the Roman girl!" said Humphrey. - -"Will you keep your engagement like a gentleman, and marry the girl?" -cried the Poet. - -"Will you behave as a man of honour, and go to the Altar with Phillis -Fleming?" asked the Artist. - -"I will not," said Cornelius. "Nothing shall induce me to get -married." - -"Nor will I," said Humphrey. "I will see myself drawn and quartered -first." - -"Then," said Cornelius, "go and break it to her yourself, for I will -not." - -"Break what?" asked Humphrey passionately. "Break her heart, when I -tell her, if I must, that my brother repudiates his most sacred -promises?" - -Cornelius was touched. He relented. He softened. - -"Can it be that she loves us both?" - -They were at the end of the table, near the chairs, which as usual -were side by side. - -"Can that be so, Cornelius?" - -They drew nearer the chairs; they sat down; they turned, by force of -habit, lovingly towards each other; and their faces cleared. - -"Brother Humphrey," said Cornelius, "I see that we have mismanaged -this affair. It will be a wrench to the poor girl, but it will have to -be done. I thought you _wanted_ to marry her." - -"I thought _you_ did." - -"And so we each pleaded the other's cause. And the poor girl loves us -both. Good heavens! What a dreadful thing for her." - -"I remember nothing in fiction so startling. To be sure, there is some -excuse for her." - -"But she can't marry us both?" - -"N--n--no. I suppose not. No--certainly not. Heaven forbid! And as you -will not marry her----" - -Humphrey shook his head in a decided manner. - -"And I will not----" - -"Marry?" interrupted Humphrey. "What! And give up this? Have to get up -early; to take breakfast at nine; to be chained to work; to be -inspected and interfered with while at work--Phillis drew me once, and -pinned the portrait on my easel; to be restricted in the matter of -port; to have to go to bed at eleven; perhaps, Cornelius, to have -babies; and beside, if they should be Twins! Fancy being shaken out of -your poetic dream by the cries of Twins!" - -"No sitting up at night with pipes and brandy-and-water," echoed the -Poet. "And, Humphrey"--here he chuckled, and his face quite returned -to its brotherly form--"should we go abroad, no flirting with Roman -models--eh, eh, eh?" - -"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed the Artist melodiously. "And no carrying -milk-pails up the Heidelberg hills--eh, eh, eh?" - -"Marriage be hanged!" cried the Poet, starting up again. "We will -preserve our independence, Humphrey. We will be free to woo, but not -to wed." - -Was there ever a more unprincipled Bard? It is sad to relate that the -Artist echoed his brother. - -"We will, Cornelius--we will. _Vive la liberté!_" He snapped his -fingers, and began to sing: - - "Quand on est a Paris - On ecrit a son pere, - Qui fait reponse, 'Brigand, - Tu n'en as----'" - -He broke short off, and clapped his hands like a school-boy. "We will -go to Paris next week, brother." - -"We will, Humphrey, if we can get any more money. And now--how to get -out of the mess?" - -"Do you think Mrs. L'Estrange will interfere?" - -"Or Colquhoun?" - -"Or Joseph?" - -"The best way would be to pretend it was all a mistake. Let us go -to-morrow, and cry off as well as we can." - -"We will, Cornelius." - -The quarrel and its settlement made them thirsty, and they drank a -whole potash-and-brandy each before proceeding with the interrupted -conversation. - -"Poor little Phillis!" said the Artist, filling his pipe. "I hope she -won't pine much." - -"Ariadne, you know," said the Poet; and then he forgot what Ariadne -did, and broke off short. - -"It isn't our fault, after all. Men of genius are always run after. -Women are made to love men, and men are made to break their hearts. -Law of nature, dear Cornelius--law of Nature. Perhaps the man is a fool -who binds himself to one. Art alone should be our mistress--glorious -Art!" - -"Yes," said Cornelius; "you are quite right. And what about Mr. Gilead -Beck?" - -This was a delicate question, and the Artist's face grew grave. - -"What are we to do, Cornelius?" - -"I don't know, Humphrey." - -"Will the Poem be finished?" - -"No. Will the Picture?" - -"Not a chance." - -"Had we not better, Humphrey, considering all the circumstances, make -up our minds to throw over the engagement?" - -"Tell me, Cornelius--how much of your Poem remains to be done?" - -"Well, you see, there is not much actually written." - -"Will you show it to me--what there is of it?" - -"It is all in my head, Humphrey. Nothing is written." - -He blushed prettily as he made the confession. But the Artist met him -half-way with a frank smile. - -"It is curious, Cornelius, that up to the present I have not actually -drawn any of the groups. My figures are still in my head." - -Both were surprised. Each, spending his own afternoons in sleep, had -given the other credit for working during that part of the day. But -they were too much accustomed to keep up appearances to make any -remark upon this curious coincidence. - -"Then, brother," said the Poet, with a sigh of relief, "there really -is not the slightest use in leading Mr. Beck to believe that the works -will be finished by October, and we had better ask for a longer term. -A year longer would do for me." - -"A year longer would, I think, do for me," said Humphrey, stroking his -beard, as if he was calculating how long each figure would take to put -in. "We will go and see Mr. Beck to-morrow." - -"Better not," said the sagacious Poet. - -"Why not?" - -"He might ask for the money back." - -"True, brother. He must be capable of that meanness, or he would have -given us that cheque we asked for. Very true. We will write." - -"What excuse shall we make?" - -"We will state the exact truth, Brother. No excuse need be invented. -We will tell our Patron that Art cannot--must not--be forced." - -This settled, Cornelius declared that a weight was off his mind, which -had oppressed him since the engagement with Mr. Beck was first entered -into. Nothing, he said, so much obstructed the avenues of fancy, -checked the flow of ideas, and destroyed grasp of language, as a -slavish time-engagement. Now, he went on to explain, he felt free; -already his mind, like a garden in May, was blossoming in a thousand -sweet flowers. Now he was at peace with mankind. Before this relief he -had been--Humphrey would bear him out--inclined to lose his temper -over trifles; and the feeling of thraldom caused him only that very -evening to use harsh words even to his twin brother. Here he held out -his hand, which Humphrey grasped with effusion. - -They wrote their letters next day--not early in the day, because they -prolonged their evening parliament till late, and it was one o'clock -when they took breakfast But they wrote the letters after breakfast, -and at two they took the train to Twickenham. - -Phillis received them in her morning-room. They appeared almost as -nervous and agitated as when they called a week before. So shaky were -their hands that Phillis began by prescribing for them a glass of wine -each, which they took, and said they felt better. - -"We come for a few words of serious explanation," said the Poet. - -"Yes," said Phillis. "Will Mrs. L'Estrange do?" - -"On the contrary, it is with you that we would speak." - -"Very well," she replied. "Pray go on." - -They were sitting side by side on the sofa, looking as grave as a pair -of owls. There was something Gog and Magogish, too, in their -proximity. - -Phillis found herself smiling when she looked at them. So, to prevent -laughing in their very faces, she changed her place, and went to the -open window. - -"Now," she said. - -Cornelius, with the gravest face in the world, began again. - -"It is a delicate and, I fear, a painful business," he said. "Miss -Fleming, you doubtless remember a conversation I had with you last -week on your lawn?" - -"Certainly. You told me that your brother, Mr. Humphrey, adored me. -You also said that he brought me a virgin heart. I remember perfectly. -I did not understand your meaning then. But I do now. I understand it -now." She spoke the last words with softened voice, because she was -thinking of the Coping-stone and Jack Dunquerque. - -Humphrey looked indignantly at his brother. Here was a position to be -placed in! But Cornelius lifted his hand, with a gesture which meant, -"Patience; I will see you through this affair," and went on-- - -"You see, Miss Fleming, I was under a mistake. My brother, who has the -highest respect, in the abstract, for womanhood, which is the -incarnation and embodiment of all that is graceful and beautiful in -this fair world of ours, does not--does not--after all----" - -Phillis looked at Humphrey. He sat by his brother, trembling with a -mixture of shame and terror. They were not brave men, these Twins, and -they certainly drank habitually more than is good for the nervous -system. - -She began to laugh, not loudly, but with a little ripple of mirth -which terrified them both, because in their vanity they thought it the -first symptoms of hysterical grief. Then she stepped to the sofa, and -placed both her hands on the unfortunate Artist's shoulder. - -He thought that she was going to shake him, and his soul sank into his -boots. - -"You mean that he does not, after all, adore me. O Mr. Humphrey, Mr. -Humphrey! was it for this that you offered me a virgin heart? Is this -your gratitude to me for drawing your likeness when you were hard at -work in the Studio? What shall I say to your brother Joseph, and what -will he say to you?" - -"My dear young lady," Cornelius interposed hastily, "there is not the -slightest reason to bring Joseph into the business at all. He must not -be told of this unfortunate mistake. Humphrey does adore you--speak, -brother--do you not adore Miss Fleming?" - -Humphrey was gasping and panting. - -"I do," he ejaculated, "I do--Oh, most certainly." - -Then Phillis left him and turned to his brother. - -"But there is yourself, Mr. Cornelius. You are not an artist; you are -a poet; you spend your days in the Workshop, where Jack Dunquerque and -I found you rapt in so poetic a dream that your eyes were closed and -your mouth open. If you made a mistake about Humphrey, it is -impossible that he could have made a mistake about you." - -"This is terrible," said Cornelius. "Explain, brother Humphrey. Miss -Fleming, we--no, you as well--are victims of a dreadful error." - -He wiped his brow and appealed to his brother. - -Released from the terror of Phillis's hands upon his shoulder, the -Artist recovered some of his courage and spoke. But his voice was -faltering. "I, too," he said, "mistook the respectful admiration of my -brother for something dearer. Miss Fleming, he is already wedded." - -"Wedded? Are you a married man, Mr. Cornelius? Oh, and where is the -virgin heart?" - -"Wedded to his art," Humphrey explained. Then he went a little off his -head, I suppose, in the excitement of this crisis, because he -continued in broken words, "Wedded--long ago--object of his life's -love--with milk-pails on the hills of Heidelberg, and light blue -eyes--the Muse of Song. But he regards you with respectful -admiration." - -"Most respectful," said Cornelius. "As Petrarch regarded the wife of -the Count de Sade. Will you forgive us, Miss Fleming, and--and--try to -forget us?" - -"So, gentlemen," the young lady said, with sparkling eyes, "you come -to say that you would rather not marry me. I wonder if that is usual -with men?" - -"No, no!" they both cried together. "Happy is the man----" - -"You may be the happy man, Humphrey," said Cornelius. - -"No; you, brother--you." - -Never had wedlock seemed so dreadful a thing as it did now, with a -possible bride standing before them, apparently only waiting for the -groom to make up his mind. - -"I will forgive you both," she said; "so go away happy. But I am -afraid I shall never, never be able to forget you. And if I send you a -sketch of yourselves just as you look now, so ashamed and so foolish, -perhaps you will hang it up in the Workshop or the Studio, to be -looked at when you are awake; that is, when you are not at work." - -They looked guiltily at each other and drew a little apart. It was the -most cruel speech that Phillis had ever made; but she was a little -angry with this vain and conceited pair of windbags. - -"I shall not tell Mr. Joseph Jagenal, because he is a sensible man and -would take it ill, I am sure. And I shall not tell my guardian, -Lawrence Colquhoun, because I do not know what he might say or do. And -I shall not tell Mrs. L'Estrange; that is, I shall not tell her the -whole of it, for your sakes. But I must tell Jack Dunquerque, because -I am engaged to be married to Jack, and because I love him and must -tell him everything." - -They cowered before her as they thought of the possible consequences -of this information. - -"You need not be frightened," she went on; "Jack will not call to see -you and disturb you at your work." - -Her eyes, that began by dancing with fun, now flashed indignation. It -was not that she felt angry at what most girls would have regarded as -a deliberate insult, but the unmanliness of the two filled her with -contempt. They looked so small and so mean. - -"Go," she said, pointing to the door. "I forgive you. But never again -dare to offer a girl each other's virgin heart." - -They literally slunk away like a pair of beaten hounds. Then Phillis -suddenly felt sorry for them as they crept out of the door, one after -the other. She ran after them and called them back. - -"Stop," she cried; "we must not part like that. Shake hands, -Cornelius. Shake hands, Humphrey. Come back and take another glass of -wine. Indeed you want it; you are shaking all over; come." - -She led them back, one in each hand, and poured out a glass of sherry -for each. - -"You could not have married me, you know," she said, laughing, -"because I am going to marry Jack. There--forgive me for speaking -unkindly, and we will remain friends." - -They took her hand, but they did not speak, and something like a tear -stood in their eyes. When they left her Phillis observed that they did -not take each other's arm as usual, but walked separate. And they -looked older. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - - "What is it you see? - A nameless thing--a creeping snake in the grass." - - -Who was the writer of the letters? They were all in one hand, and that -a feigned hand. Gabriel Cassilis sat with these anonymous accusations -against his wife spread out upon the table before him. He compared one -with another; he held them up to the light; he looked for chance -indications which a careless moment might leave behind; there were -none--not a stroke of the pen; not even the name of the shop where the -paper was sold. They were all posted at the same place; but that was -nothing. - -The handwriting was large, upright, and perhaps designedly ill-formed; -it appeared to be the writing of a woman, but of this Mr. Cassilis was -not sure. - -Always the same tale; always reference to a secret between Colquhoun -and his wife. What was that secret? - -In Colquhoun's room--alone with him--almost under his hand. But where? -He went into the bedroom, which was lighted by the gas of the court; -an open room, furnished without curtains; there was certainly no one -concealed, because concealment was impossible. And in the -sitting-room--then he remembered that the room was dimly lighted; -curtains kept out the gas-light of the court; Colquhoun had on his -entrance lowered the silver lamp; there was a heavy green shade on -this; it was possible that she might have been in the room while he -was there, and listening to every word. - -The thought was maddening. He tried to put it all before himself in -logical sequence, but could not; he tried to fence with the question, -but it would not be evaded; he tried to persuade himself that -suspicions resting on an anonymous slander were baseless, but every -time his mind fell back upon the voice which proclaimed his wife's -dishonour. - -A man on the rack might as well try to dream of soft beds and -luxurious dreamless sleep; a man being flogged at the cart-tail might -as well try to transport his thoughts to boyhood's games upon a -village green; a man at the stake might as well try to think of deep -delicious draughts of ice-cold water from a shady brook. The agony and -shame of the present are too much for any imagination. - -It was so to Gabriel Cassilis. The one thing which he trusted in, -after all the villainies and rogueries he had learned during -sixty-five years mostly spent among men trying to make money, was his -wife's fidelity. It was like the Gospel--a thing to be accepted and -acted upon with unquestioning belief. Good heavens! if a man cannot -believe in his wife's honesty, in what is he to believe? - -Gabriel Cassilis was not a violent man; he could not find relief in -angry words and desperate deeds like a Moor of Venice; his jealousy -was a smouldering fire; a flame which burned with a dull fierce heat; -a disease which crept over body and mind alike, crushing energy, -vitality, and life out of both. - -Everything might go to ruin round him; he was no longer capable of -thought and action. Telegrams and letters lay piled before him on the -table, and he left them unopened. - -Outside, his secretary was in dismay. His employer would receive no -one, and would attend to nothing. He signed mechanically such papers -as were brought him to sign, and then he motioned the secretary to the -door. - -This apathy lasted for four days--the four days most important of any -in the lives of himself, of Gilead Beck, and of Lawrence Colquhoun. -For the fortunes of all hung upon his shaking it off, and he did not -shake it off. - -On the second day, the day when he got the letter telling him that his -wife had been in Colquhoun's chambers while he was there, he sent for -a private detective. - -He put into his hands all the letters. - -"Written by a woman," said the officer. "Have you any clue, sir?" - -"None--none whatever. I want you to watch. You will watch my wife and -you will watch Mr. Colquhoun. Get every movement watched, and report -to me every morning. Can you do this? Good. Then go, and spare neither -pains nor money." - -The next morning's report was unsatisfactory. Colquhoun had gone to -the Park in the afternoon, dined at his club, and gone home to his -chambers at eleven. Mrs. Cassilis, after dining at home, went out at -ten, and returned early--at half-past eleven. - -But there came a letter from the anonymous correspondent. - -"You are having a watch set on them. Good. But that won't find out the -Scotch secret. She _was_ in his room while you were there--hidden -somewhere, but I do not know where." - -He went home to watch his wife with his own eyes. He might as well -have watched a marble statue. She met his eyes with the calm cold look -to which he was accustomed. There was nothing in her manner to show -that she was other than she had always been. He tried in her presence -to realise the fact, if it was a fact. "This woman," he said to -himself, "has been lying hidden in Colquhoun's chambers listening -while I talked to him. She was there before I went; she was there when -I came away. What is her secret?" - -What, indeed! She seemed a woman who could have no secrets, a woman -whose life from her cradle might have been exposed to the whole world, -who would have found nothing but cause of admiration and respect. - -In her presence, under her influence, his jealousy lost something of -its fierceness. He feared her too much to suspect her while in his -sight. It was at night, in his office, away from her, that he gave -full swing to the bitterness of his thoughts. In the hours when he -should have been sleeping he paced his room, wrapped in his -dressing-gown--a long lean figure, with eyes aflame, and thoughts that -tore him asunder; and in the hours when he should have been waking he -sat with bent shoulders, glowering at the letters of her accuser, -gazing into a future which seemed as black as ink. - -His life, he knew, was drawing to its close. Yet a few more brief -years, and the summons would come for him to cross the River. Of that -he had no fear; but it was dreadful to think that his age was to be -dishonoured. Success was his; the respect which men give to success -was his; no one inquired very curiously into the means by which -success was commanded; he was a name and a power. Now that name was to -be tarnished; by no act of his own, by no fault of his; by the -treachery of the only creature in the world, except his infant child, -in whom he trusted. - -He would have, perhaps, to face the publicity of an open court; to -hear his wrongs set forth to a jury; to read his "case" in the daily -papers. - -And he would have to alter his will. - -Oddly enough, of all the evil things which seemed about to fall on -him, not one troubled him more than the last. - -His detective brought him no news on the next day. But his unknown -correspondent did. - -"She is tired," the letter said, "of not seeing Mr. Colquhoun for -three whole days. She will see him to-morrow. There is to be a -garden-party at Mrs. L'Estrange's Twickenham villa. Mr. Colquhoun will -be there, and she is going, too, to meet him. If you dared, if you had -the heart of a mouse, you would be there too. You would arrive late; -you would watch and see for yourself, unseen, if possible, how they -meet, and what they say to each other. An invitation lies for you, as -well as your wife upon the table. Go!" - -While he was reading this document his secretary came in, uncalled. - -"The Eldorado Stock," he said, in his usual whisper. "Have you decided -what to do? Settling day on Friday. Have you forgotten what you hold, -sir?" - -"I have forgotten nothing," Gabriel Cassilis replied. "Eldorado stock? -I never forget anything. Leave me. I shall see no one to-day; no one -is to be admitted. I am very busy." - -"I don't understand it," the secretary said to himself. "Has he got -information that he keeps to himself? Has he got a deeper game on than -I ever gave him credit for? What does it mean? Is he going off his -head?" - -More letters and more telegrams came. They were sent in to the inner -office; but nothing came out of it. - -That night Gabriel Cassilis left his chair at ten o'clock. He had -eaten nothing all day. He was faint and weak; he took something at a -City railway station, and drove home in a cab. His wife was out. - -In the hall he saw her woman, the tall woman with the unprepossessing -face. - -"You are Mrs. Cassilis's maid?" he asked. - -"I am, sir." - -"Come with me." - -He took her to his own study, and sat down. Now he had the woman with -him he did not know what to ask her. - -"You called me, sir," she said. "Do you want to know anything?" - -"How long have you been with your mistress?" - -"I came to her when her former maid, Janet, died, sir. Janet was with -her for many years before she married." - -"Janet--Janet--a Scotch name." - -"Janet was with my mistress in Scotland." - -"Yes--Mrs. Cassilis was in Scotland--yes. And--and--Janet was in your -confidence?" - -"We had no secrets from each other, sir. Janet told me everything. - -"What was there to tell?" - -"Nothing, sir. What should there be?" - -This was idle fencing. - -"You may go," he said. "Stay. Let them send me up something--a cup of -tea, a slice of meat--anything." - -Then he recommenced his dreary walk up and down the room. - -Later on a curious feeling came over him--quite a strange and novel -feeling. It was as if, while he thought, or rather while his fancies -like so many devils played riot in his brain, he could not find the -right words in which to clothe his thoughts. He struggled against the -feeling. He tried to talk. But the wrong words came from his lips. -Then he took a book; yes--he could read. It was nonsense; he shook off -the feeling. But he shrank from speaking to any servant, and went to -bed. - -That night he slept better, and in the morning was less agitated. He -breakfasted in his study, and then he went down to his office. - -It was the fourth day since he had opened no letters and attended to -no business. He remembered this, and tried to shake off the gloomy -fit. And then he thought of the coming _coup_, and tried to bring -his thoughts back to their usual channel. How much did he hold of -Eldorado Stock? Rising higher day by day. But three days, three short -days, before settling-day. - -The largest stake he had ever ventured; a stake so large that when he -thought of it his spirit and nerve came back to him. - -For once--for the last time--he entered his office, holding himself -erect, and looking brighter than he had done for days; and he sat down -to his letters with an air of resolution. - -Unfortunately, the first letter was from the anonymous correspondent. - -"She wrote to him to-day; she told him that she could bear her life no -longer; she threatened to tell the secret right out; she will have an -explanation with him to-morrow at Mrs. L'Estrange's. Do you go down -and you will hear the explanation. Be quiet, and the secret." - -He started from his chair, the letter in his hand, and looked straight -before him. Was it, then, all true? Would that very day give him a -chance of finding out the secret between Lawrence Colquhoun and his -wife? - -He put up his glasses and read the letter--the last of a long series, -every one of which had been a fresh arrow in his heart--again and -again. - -Then he sat down and burst into tears. - -A young man's tears may be forced from him by many a passing sorrow, -but an old man's only by the reality of a sorrow which cannot be put -aside. The deaths of those who are dear to the old man fall on him as -so many reminders that his own time will soon arrive; but it is not -for such things as death that he laments. - -"I loved her," moaned Gabriel Cassilis. "I loved her, and I trusted -her; and this the end!" - -He did not curse her, nor Colquhoun, nor himself. It was all the hand -of Fate. It was hard upon him, harder than he expected or knew, but he -bore it in silence. - -He sat so, still and quiet, a long while. - -Then he put together all the letters, which the detective had brought -back, and placed them in his pocket. Then he dallied and played with -the paper and pencils before him, just as one who is restless and -uncertain in his mind. Then he looked at his watch--it was past three; -the garden party was for four; and then he rose suddenly, put on his -hat, and passed out. His secretary asked him as he went through his -office, if he would return, and at what time. - -Mr. Cassilis made a motion with his hand, as if to put the matter off -for a few moments, and replied nothing. When he got into the street it -occurred to him that he could not answer the secretary because that -same curious feeling was upon him again, and he had lost the power of -speech. It was strange, and he laughed. Then the power of speech as -suddenly returned to him. He called a cab and told the driver where to -go. It is a long drive to Twickenham. He was absorbed in his thoughts, -and as he sat back, gazing straight before him, the sensation of not -being able to speak kept coming and going in his brain. This made him -uneasy, but not much, because he had graver things to think about. - -At half-past four he arrived within a few yards of Mrs. L'Estrange's -house, where he alighted and dismissed his cab. The cabman touched his -hat and said it was a fine day, and seasonable weather for the time of -the year. - -"Ay," replied Gabriel Cassilis mechanically. "A fine day, and -seasonable weather for the time of the year." - -And as he walked along under the lime-trees he found himself saying -over again, as if it was the burden of a song: - -"A fine day, and seasonable weather for the time of the year." - - - - -CHAPTER XL. - - "How green are you and fresh in this old world!" - - -On the morning of the garden party Joseph Jagenal called on Lawrence -Colquhoun. - -"I have two or three things to say," he began, "if you can give me -five minutes." - -"Twenty," said Lawrence. "Now then." - -He threw himself back in his easiest chair and prepared to listen. - -"I am in the way of hearing things sometimes," Joseph said. "And I -heard a good deal yesterday about Mr. Gabriel Cassilis." - -"What?" said Lawrence, aghast, "he surely has not been telling all the -world about it!" - -"I think we are talking of different things," Joseph answered after a -pause. "Don't tell me what you mean, but what I mean is that there is -an uneasy feeling about Gabriel Cassilis." - -"Ay? In what way?" - -"Well, they say he is strange; does not see people; does not open -letters; and is evidently suffering from some mental distress." - -"Yes." - -"And when such a man as Gabriel Cassilis is in mental distress, money -is at the bottom of it." - -"Generally. Not always." - -"It was against my advice that you invested any of your money by his -direction." - -"I invested the whole of it; and all Phillis's too. Mr. Cassilis has -the investment of our little all," Lawrence added, laughing. - -But the lawyer looked grave. - -"Don't do it," he said; "get it in your own hands again; let it lie -safely in the three per cents. What has a pigeon like you to do among -the City hawks? And Miss Fleming's money, too. Let it be put away -safely, and give her what she wants, a modest and sufficient income -without risk." - -"I believe you are right, Jagenal. In fact, I am sure you are right. -But Cassilis would have it. He talked me into an ambition for good -investments which I never felt before. I will ask him to sell out for -me, and go back to the old three per cents. and railway shares--which -is what I have been brought up to. On the other hand, you are quite -wrong about his mental distress. That is--I happen to know--you are a -lawyer and will not talk--it is not due to money matters; and Gabriel -Cassilis is, for what I know, as keen a hand as ever at piling up the -dollars. The money is all safe; of that I am quite certain." - -"Well, if you think so--But don't let him keep it," said Joseph the -Doubter. - -"After all, why not get eight and nine per cent. if you can?" - -"Because it isn't safe, and because you ought not to expect it. What -do you want with more money than you have got? However, I have told -you what men say. There is another thing. I am sorry to say that my -brothers have made fools of themselves, and I am come to apologise for -them." - -"Don't if it is disagreeable, my dear fellow." - -"It is not very disagreeable, and I would rather. They are fifty, but -they are not wise. In fact, they have lived so much out of the world -that they do not understand things. And so they went down and proposed -for the hand of your ward, Phillis Fleming." - -"Oh! Both of them? And did she accept?" - -"The absurd thing is that I cannot discover which of them wished to be -the bridegroom, nor which Phillis thought it was. She is quite -confused about the whole matter. However, they went away and thought -one of them was accepted, which explains a great deal of innuendo and -reference to some unknown subject of mirth which I have observed -lately. I say one of them, because I find it impossible to ascertain -which of them was the man. Well, whether they were conscience-stricken -or whether they repented, I do not know, but they went back to -Twickenham and solemnly repudiated the engagement." - -"And Phillis?" - -"She laughed at them, of course. Do not fear; she wasn't in the least -annoyed. I shall speak to my brothers this evening." - -Colquhoun thought of the small, fragile-looking pair, and inwardly -hoped that their brother would be gentle with them. - -"And there is another thing, Colquhoun. Do you want to see your ward -married?" - -"To Jack Dunquerque?" - -"Yes." - -"Not yet. I want her to have her little fling first. Why the poor -child is only just out of the nursery, and he wants to marry her -off-hand--it's cruel. Let her see the world for a year, and then we -will consider it. Jagenal, I wish I could marry the girl myself." - -"So do I," said Joseph, with a sigh. - -"I fell in love with her," said Lawrence, "at first sight. That is -why," he added, in his laziest tones, "I suppose that is why I told -Jack Dunquerque not to go there any more. But he has gone there again, -and he has proposed to her, I hear, and she has accepted him. So that -I can't marry her, and you can't, and we are a brace of fogies." - -"And what have you said to Mr. Dunquerque?" - -"I acted the jealous guardian, and I ordered him not to call on my -ward any more for the present. I shall see how Phillis takes it, and -give in, of course, if she makes a fuss. Then Beck has been here -offering to hand over all his money to Jack, because he loves the -young man." - -"Quixotic," said the lawyer. - -"Yes. The end of it will be a wedding, of course. You and I may shake -a leg at it if we like. As for me, I never can marry any one; and as -for you----" - -"As for me, I never thought of marrying her. I only remarked that I -had fallen in love, as you say, with her. That's no matter to -anybody." - -"Well, things go on as they like, not as we like. What nonsense it is -to say that man is master of his fate! Now, what I should like would -be to get rid of the reason that prevents my marrying; to put Jack -Dunquerque into the water-butt and sit on the lid; and then for -Phillis to fall in love with me. After that, strawberries and cream -with a little champagne for the rest of my Methuselah-like career. And -I can't get any of these things. Master of his fate?" - -"Have you heard of the Coping-stone chapter? It is found." - -"Agatha told me something, in a disjointed way. What is the effect of -it?" - -Joseph laughed. - -"It is all torn up but the last page. A righteous retribution, because -if Phillis had been taught to read this would not have happened. Now, -I suspect the will must be set aside, and the money will mostly go to -Gabriel Cassilis, the nearest of kin, who doesn't want it." - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. - - "La langue des femmes est leur epee, - et elles ne la laissent pas rouiller." - - -The grounds of the house formed a parallelogram, of which the longer -sides were parallel with the river. In the north-east corner stood the -house itself, its front facing west. It was not a large house, as has -been explained. A conservatory was built against nearly the whole -length of the front. The lawns and flower-beds spread to west and -south, sloping down to the river's edge. The opposite angle was -occupied by stables, kitchen-garden, and boat-house. Gabriel Cassilis -approached it from the east. An iron railing and a low hedge, along -which were planted limes, laburnums, and lilacs, separated the place -from the road. But before reaching the gate--in fact, at the corner of -the kitchen-garden--he could, himself, unseen, look through the trees -and observe the party. They were all there. He saw Mrs. L'Estrange, -Phillis, his own wife--Heavens! how calm and cold she looked, and how -beautiful he thought her!--with half a dozen other ladies. The men -were few. There was the curate. He was dangling round Phillis, and -wore an expression of holiness-out-for-a-holiday, which is always so -charming in these young men. Gabriel Cassilis also noticed that he was -casting eyes of longing at the young lady. There was Lawrence -Colquhoun. Gabriel Cassilis looked everywhere for him, till he saw -him, lying beneath a tree, his head on his hand. He was not talking to -Victoria, nor was he looking at her. On the contrary, he was watching -Phillis. There was Captain Ladds. He was talking to one of the young -ladies, and he was looking at Phillis. The young lady evidently did -not like this. And there was Gilead Beck. He was standing apart, -talking to Mrs. L'Estrange, with his hands in his pockets, leaning -against a tree. But he, too, was casting furtive glances at Phillis. - -They all seemed, somehow, looking at the girl. There was no special -reason why they should look at her, except that she was so bright, so -fresh, and so charming for the eye to rest upon. The other girls were -as well dressed, but they were nowhere compared with Phillis. The -lines of their figures, perhaps, were not so fine; the shape of their -heads more commonplace; their features not so delicate; their pose -less graceful. There are some girls who go well together. Helena and -Hermia are a foil to each other; but when Desdemona shows all other -beauties pale like lesser lights. And the other beauties do not like -it. - -Said one of the fair guests to another-- - -"What do they see in her?" - -"I cannot tell," replied her friend. "She seems to me more -_farouche_ than ever." - -For, having decided that _farouche_ was the word to express poor -Phillis's distinguishing quality, there was no longer any room for -question, and _farouche_ she continued to be. If there is anything -that Phillis never was, it is that quality of fierce shy wildness -which requires the adjective _farouche_. But the word stuck, because -it sounded well. To this day--to be sure, it is only a twelvemonth -since--the girls say still, "Oh, yes! Phillis Fleming. She was pretty, -but extremely _farouche_." - - -Gabriel Cassilis stood by the hedge and looked through the trees. He -has come all the way from town to attend this party, and now he -hesitated at the very gates. For he became conscious of two things: -first, that the old feeling of not finding his words was upon him -again; and secondly, that he was not exactly dressed for a festive -occasion. Like most City men who have long remained bachelors, Gabriel -Cassilis was careful of his personal appearance. He considered a -garden-party as an occasion demanding something special. Now he not -only wore his habitual pepper-and-salt suit, but the coat in which he -wrote at his office--a comfortable easy old frock, a little baggy at -the elbows. His mind was strung to such an intense pitch, that such a -trifling objection as his dress--because Gabriel Cassilis never looked -other than a gentleman--appeared to him insuperable. He withdrew from -the hedge, and retraced his steps. Presently he came to a lane. He -left the road, and turned down the path. He found himself by the -river. He sat down under a tree, and began to think. - -He thought of the time when his lonely life was wearisome to him, when -he longed for a wife and a house of his own. He remembered how he -pictured a girl who would be his darling, who would return his -caresses and love him for his own sake. And how, when he met Victoria -Pengelley, his thoughts changed, and he pictured that girl, stately -and statuesque, at the head of the table. There would be no pettings -and caressings from her, that was quite certain. On the other hand, -there would be a woman of whom he would be proud--one who would wear -his wealth properly. And a woman of good family, well connected all -round. There were no caresses, he remembered now; there was the -coldest acceptance of him; and there had been no caresses since. But -he had been proud of her; and as for her honour--how was it possible -that the doubt should arise? That man must be himself distinctly of -the lower order of men who would begin by doubting or suspecting his -wife. - -To end in this: doubt so strong as to be almost certainty: suspicion -like a knife cutting at his heart; his brain clouded; and he himself -driven to creep down clandestinely to watch his wife. - -He sat there till the June sun began to sink in the west. The river -was covered with the evening craft. They were manned by the young City -men but just beginning the worship of Mammon, who would have looked -with envy upon the figure sitting motionless in the shade by the -river's edge had they known who he was. Presently he roused himself, -and looked at his watch. It was past seven. Perhaps the party would be -over by this time; he could go home with his wife; it would be -something, at least, to be with her, to keep her from that other man. -He rose,--his brain in a tumult--and repaired once more to his point -of vantage at the hedge. The lawn was empty; there was no one there. -But he saw his own carriage in the yard, and therefore his wife was -not yet gone. - -In the garden, no one. He crept in softly, and looked round him. No -one saw him enter the place; and he felt something like a burglar as -he walked, with a stealthy step which he vainly tried to make -confident, across the lawn. - -Two ways of entrance stood open before him. One was the porch of the -house, covered with creepers and hung with flowers. The door stood -open, and beyond it was the hall, looking dark from the bright light -outside. He heard voices within. Another way was by the conservatory, -the door of which was also open. He looked in. Among the flowers and -vines there stood a figure he knew--his wife's. But she was alone. And -she was listening. On her face was an expression which he had never -seen there, and never dreamed of. Her features were distorted; her -hands were closed in a tight clutch; her arms were stiffened--but she -was trembling. What was she doing. To whom was she listening? - -He hesitated a moment, and then he stepped through the porch into the -hall. The voices came from the right, in fact, from the morning -room,--Phillis's room,--which opened by its single window upon the -lawn, and by its two doors into the hall on one side and the -conservatory on the other. - -And Gabriel Cassilis, like his wife, listened. He put off his hat, -placed his umbrella in the stand, and stood in attitude, in case he -should be observed, to push open the door and step in. He was so -abject in his jealousy that he actually did not feel the disgrace and -degradation of the act. He was so keen and eager to lose no word, that -he leaned his head to the half-open door, and stood, his long thin -figure trembling with excitement, like some listener in a melodrama of -the transpontine stage. - -There were two persons in the room, and one was a woman; and they were -talking together. One was Lawrence Colquhoun and the other was Phillis -Fleming. - -Colquhoun was not, according to his wont, lying on a sofa, nor sitting -in the easiest of the chairs. He was standing, and he was speaking in -an earnest voice. - -"When I saw you first," he said, "you were little Phillis--a wee -toddler of six or seven. I went away and forgot all about you--almost -forgot your very existence, Phillis,--till the news of Mr. Dyson's -death met me on my way home again. I fear that I have neglected you -since I came home; but I have been worried." - -"What has worried you, Lawrence?" asked the girl. - -She was sitting on the music-stool before the piano; and as she spoke -she turned from the piano, her fingers resting silently on the notes. -She was dressed for the party,--which was over now, and the guests -departed,--in a simple muslin costume, light and airy, which became -her well. And in her hair she had placed a flower. There were flowers -all about the room, flowers at the open window, flowers in the -conservatory beyond, flowers on the bright green lawns beyond. - -"How pretty you are, Phillis!" answered her guardian. - -He touched her cheek with his finger as she sat. - -"I am your guardian," he said, as if in apology. - -"And you have been worried about things?" she persisted. "Agatha says -you never care what happens." - -"Agatha is right, as a rule. In one case, of which she knows nothing, -she is wrong. Tell me, Phillis, is there anything you want in the -world that I can get for you?" - -"I think I have everything," she said, laughing. "And what you will -not give me I shall wait for till I am twenty-one." - -"You mean----" - -"I mean--Jack Dunquerque, Lawrence." - -Only a short month ago, and Jack Dunquerque was her friend. She could -speak of him openly and friendly, without change of voice or face. Now -she blushed, and her voice trembled as she uttered his name. That is -one of the outward and visible signs of an inward and spiritual state -known to the most elementary observers. - -"I wanted to speak about him. Phillis, you are very young, you have -seen nothing of the world; you know no other men. All I ask you is to -wait. Do not give your promise to this man till you have at least had -an opportunity of--of comparing--of learning your own mind." - -She shook her head. - -"I have already given my promise," she said. - -"But it is a promise that may be recalled," he urged. "Dunquerque is a -gentleman; he will not hold you to your word when he feels that he -ought not to have taken it from you. Phillis, you do not know -yourself. You have no idea of what it is that you have given, or its -value. How can I tell you the truth?" - -"I think you mean the best for me, Lawrence," she said. "But the best -is--Jack." - -Then she began to speak quite low, so that the listeners heard -nothing. - -"See, Lawrence, you are kind, and I can tell you all without being -ashamed. I think of Jack all day long and all night. I pray for him in -the morning and in the evening. When he comes near me I tremble; I -feel that I must obey him if he were to order me in anything. I have -no more command of myself when he is with me----" - -"Stop, Phillis," Lawrence interposed; "you must not tell me any more. -I was trying to act for the best; but I will make no further -opposition. See, my dear"--he took her hand in his in a tender and -kindly way--"if I write to Jack Dunquerque to-day, and tell the -villain he may come and see you whenever he likes, and that he shall -marry you whenever you like, will that do for you?" - -She started to her feet, and threw her left hand--Lawrence still -holding the right--upon his shoulder, looking him full in the face. - -"Will it do? O Lawrence! Agatha always said you were the kindest man -in the world; and I--forgive me!--I did not believe it, I could not -understand it. O Jack, Jack, we shall be so happy, so happy! He loves -me, Lawrence, as much as I love him." - -The listeners in the greenhouse and the hall craned their necks, but -they could hear little, because the girl spoke low. - -"Does he love you as much as you love him, Phillis? Does he love you a -thousand times better than you can understand? Why, child, you do not -know what love means. Perhaps women never do quite realise what it -means. Only go on believing that he loves you, and love him in return, -and all will be well with you." - -"I do believe it, Lawrence! and I love him, too." - -Looking through the flowers and the leaves of the conservatory glared -a face upon the pair strangely out of harmony with the peace which -breathed in the atmosphere of the place--a face violently distorted by -passion, a face in which every evil feeling was at work, a face dark -with rage. Phillis might have seen the face had she looked in that -direction, but she did not; she held Lawrence's hand, and she was -shyly pressing it in gratitude. - -"Phillis," said Lawrence hoarsely, "Jack Dunquerque is a lucky man. We -all love you, my dear; and I almost as much as Jack. But I am too old -for you; and besides, besides----" He cleared his throat, and spoke -more distinctly. "I do love you, however, Phillis; a man could not be -long beside you without loving you." - -There was a movement and a rustle in the leaves. - -The man at the door stood bewildered. What was it all about? Colquhoun -and a woman--not his wife--talking of love. What love? what woman? And -his wife in the conservatory, looking as he never saw her look before, -and listening. What did it all mean? what thing was coming over him? -He pressed his hand to his forehead, trying to make out what it all -meant, for he seemed to be in a dream; and, as before, while he tried -to shape the words in his mind for some sort of an excuse, or a -reassurance to himself, he found that no words came, or, if any, then -the wrong words. - -The house was very quiet; no sounds came from any part of it,--the -servants were resting in the kitchen, the mistress of the house was -resting in her room, after the party,--no voices but the gentle talk -of the girl and her guardian. - -"Kiss me, Phillis," said Lawrence. "Then let me hold you in my arms -for once, because you are so sweet, and--and I am your guardian, you -know, and we all love you." - -He drew her gently by the hands. She made no resistance; it seemed to -her right that her guardian should kiss her if he wished. She did not -know how the touch of her hand, the light in her eyes, the sound of -her voice, were stirring in the man before her depths that he thought -long ago buried and put away, awakening once more the possibilities, -at forty, of a youthful love. - -His lips were touching her forehead, her face was close to his, he -held her two hands tight, when the crash of a falling flower-pot -startled him, and Victoria Cassilis stood before him. - -Panting, gasping for breath, with hands clenched and eyes distended--a -living statue of the _femina demens_. For a moment she paused to take -breath, and then, with a wave of her hand which was grand because it -was natural and worthy of Rachel--because you may see it any day among -the untutored beauties of Whitechapel, among the gipsy camps, or in -the villages where Hindoo women live and quarrel--Victoria Cassilis -for once in her life was herself, and acted superbly, because she did -not act at all. - -"Victoria!" The word came from Lawrence. - -Phillis, with a little cry of terror, clung tightly to her guardian's -arm. - -"Leave him!" cried the angry woman. "Do you hear?--leave him!" - -"Better go, Phillis," said Lawrence. - -At the prospect of battle the real nature of the man asserted itself. -He drew himself erect, and met her wild eyes with a steady gaze, which -had neither terror nor surprise in it--a gaze such as a mad doctor -might practise upon his patients, a look which calms the wildest -outbreaks, because it sees in them nothing but what it expected to -find, and is only sorry. - -"No! she shall not go," said Victoria, sweeping her skirts behind her -with a splendid movement from her feet; "she shall not go until she -has heard me first. You dare to make love to this girl, this -schoolgirl, before my very eyes. She shall know, she shall know our -secret!" - -"Victoria," said Lawrence calmly, "you do not understand what you are -saying. _Our_ secret? Say your secret, and be careful." - -The door moved an inch or two; the man standing behind it was shaking -in every limb. "Their secret? her secret?" He was going to learn at -last; he was going to find the truth; he was going---- And here a -sudden thought struck him that he had neglected his affairs of late, -and that, this business once got through, he must look into things -again; a thought without words, because, somehow, just then he had no -words--he had forgotten them all. - -The writer of the anonymous letters had done much mischief, as she -hoped to do. People who write anonymous letters generally contrive so -much. Unhappily, the beginning of mischief is like the boring of a -hole in a dam or dyke, because very soon, instead of a trickling -rivulet of water, you get a gigantic inundation. Nothing is easier -than to have your revenge; only it is so very difficult to calculate -the after consequences of revenge. If the writer of the letters had -known what was going to happen in consequence, most likely they would -never have been written. - -"Their secret? her secret?" He listened with all his might. But -Victoria, his wife Victoria, spoke out clearly; he could hear without -straining his ears. - -"Be careful," repeated Lawrence. - -"I shall not be careful; the time is past for care. You have sneered -and scoffed at me; you have insulted me; you have refused almost to -know me,--all that I have borne, but this I will not bear." - -"Phillis Fleming." She turned to the girl. Phillis did not shrink or -cower before her; on the contrary, she stood like Lawrence, calm and -quiet, to face the storm, whatever storm might be brewing. "This man -takes you in his arms and kisses you. He says he loves you; he dares -to tell you he loves you. No doubt you are flattered. You have had the -men round you all day long, and now you have the best of them at your -feet, alone, when they are gone. Well, the man you want to catch, the -excellent _parti_ you and Agatha would like to trap, the man who -stands there----" - -"Victoria, there is still time to stop," said Lawrence calmly. - -"That man is my husband!" - -Phillis looked from one to the other, understanding nothing. The man -stood quietly stroking his great beard with his fingers, and looking -straight at Mrs. Cassilis. - -"My husband. We were married six years ago and more. We were married -in Scotland, privately; but he is my husband, and five days after our -wedding he left me. Is that true?" - -"Perfectly. You have forgotten nothing, except the reason of my -departure. If you think it worth while troubling Phillis with that, -why----" - -"We quarrelled; that was the reason. He used cruel and bitter -language. He gave me back my liberty." - -"We separated, Phillis, after a row, the like of which you may -conceive by remembering that Mrs. Cassilis was then six years younger, -and even more ready for such encounters than at present. We separated; -we agreed that things should go on as if the marriage, which was no -marriage, had never taken place. Janet, the maid, was to be trusted. -She stayed with her mistress; I went abroad. And then I heard by -accident that my wife had taken the liberty I gave her, in its fullest -sense, by marrying again. Then I came home, because I thought that -chapter was closed; but it was not, you see; and for her sake I wish I -had stayed in America." - -Mrs. Cassilis listened as if she did not hear a word; then she went -on-- - -"He is my husband still. I can claim him when I want him; and I claim -him now. I say, Lawrence, so long as I live you shall marry no other -woman. You are mine; whatever happens, you are mine." - -The sight of the man, callous, immovable, suddenly seemed to terrify -her. She sank weeping at his knees. - -"Lawrence, forgive me, forgive me! Take me away. I never loved any one -but you. Forgive me!" - -He made no answer or any sign. - -"Let me go with you, somewhere, out of this place; let us go away -together, we two. I have never loved any one but you--never any one -but you, but you!" - -She broke into a passion of sobs. When she looked up, it was to meet -the white face of Gabriel Cassilis. He was stooping over her, his -hands spread out helplessly, his form quivering, his lips trying to -utter something; but no sound came through them. Beyond stood -Lawrence, still with the look of watchful determination which had -broken down her rage. Then she sprang to her feet. - -"You here? Then you know all. It is true; that is my legal husband. -For two years and more my life has been a lie. Stand back, and let me -go to my husband!" - -But he stood between Colquhoun and herself. Lawrence saw with a sudden -terror that something had happened to the man. He expected an outburst -of wrath, but no wrath came. Gabriel Cassilis turned his head from one -to the other, and presently said, in a trembling voice-- - -"A fine day, and seasonable weather for the time of year." - -"Good God!" cried Lawrence, "you have destroyed his reason!" - -Gabriel Cassilis shook his head, and began again-- - -"A fine day, and seasonable----" - -Here he threw himself upon the nearest chair, and buried his face in -his hands. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. - - "Then a babbled of green fields." - - -And then there was silence. Which of them was to speak! Not the woman -who had wrought this mischief; not the man who knew of the wickedness -but had not spoken; not the innocent girl who only perceived that -something dreadful--something beyond the ordinary run of dreadful -events--had happened, and that Victoria Cassilis looked out of her -senses. Lawrence Colquhoun stood unmoved by her tears; his face was -hardened; it bore a look beneath which the guilty woman cowered. Yet -she looked at him and not at her husband. - -Presently Colquhoun spoke. His voice was harsh, and his words were a -command. - -"Go home!" he said to Victoria. "There is no more mischief for you to -do--go!" - -She obeyed without a word. She threw the light wrapper which she -carried on her arm round her slender neck, and walked away, restored, -to outward seeming, to all her calm and stately coldness. The coachman -and the footman noticed nothing. If any of her acquaintances passed -her on the road, they saw no change in her. The woman was impassive -and impenetrable. - -Did she love Colquhoun? No one knows. She loved to feel that she had -him in her power; she was driven to a mad jealousy when that power -slipped quite away; and although she had broken the vows which both -once swore to keep, she could not bear even to think that he should do -the same. And she did despise her husband, the man of shares, -companies, and stocks. But could she love Colquhoun? Such a woman may -feel the passion of jealousy; she may rejoice in the admiration which -gratifies her vanity; but she is far too cold and selfish for love. It -is an artful fable of the ancients which makes Narcissus pine away and -die for the loss of his own image, for thereby they teach the great -lesson that he who loves himself destroys himself. - -The carriage wheels crunched over the gravel, and Gabriel Cassilis -raised a pale and trembling face--a face with so much desolation and -horror, such a piteous gaze of questioning reproach at Colquhoun, that -the man's heart melted within him. He seemed to have grown old -suddenly; his hair looked whiter; he trembled as one who has the -palsy; and his eyes mutely asked the question, "Is this thing true?" - -Lawrence Colquhoun made answer. His voice was low and gentle; his eyes -were filled with tears. - -"It is true, Mr. Cassilis. God knows I would have spared you the -knowledge. But it is true." - -Gabriel Cassilis opened his lips as if to speak. But he refrained, -stopping suddenly, because he recollected that he could no longer -utter what he wished to say. Then he touched his mouth with his -fingers like a dumb man. He was worse than a dumb man, who cannot -speak at all, because his tongue, if he allowed it, uttered words -which had no connection with his thoughts. Men that have been called -possessed of the devil have knelt at altars, uttering blasphemous -impieties when their souls were full of prayer. - -"Do you understand me, Mr. Cassilis? Do you comprehend what I am -saying?" - -He nodded his head. - -Colquhoun took a piece of notepaper from the writing-table, and laid -it before him with a pencil. Mr. Cassilis grasped the pencil eagerly, -and began to write. From his fingers, as from his tongue, came the -sentence which he did _not_ wish to write-- - -"A fine day, and seasonable weather for the time of year." - -He looked at this result with sorrowful heart, and showed it to -Colquhoun, shaking his head. - -"Good heavens?" cried Colquhoun, "his mind is gone." - -Gabriel Cassilis touched him on the arm and shook his head. - -"He understands you, Lawrence," said Phillis; "but he cannot explain -himself. Something has gone wrong with him which we do not know." - -Gabriel Cassilis nodded gratefully to Phillis. - -"Then Mr. Cassilis," Colquhoun began, "it is right that you should -know all. Six years ago I followed Victoria Pengelley into Scotland. -We were married privately at a registrar's office under assumed names. -If you ever want to know where and by what names, you have only to ask -me, and I will tell you. There were reasons, she said,--I never quite -understood what they were, but she chose to be a _fille romanesque_ at -the time,--why the marriage should be kept secret. After the wedding -ceremony--such as it was--she left the office with her maid, who was -the only witness, and returned to the friends with whom she was -staying. I met her every day; but always in that house and among other -people. A few days passed. She would not, for some whim of her own, -allow the marriage to be disclosed. We quarrelled for that, and other -reasons--my fault, possibly. Good God! what a honeymoon! To meet the -woman you love--your bride--in society; if for half an hour alone, -then in the solitude of open observation; to quarrel like people who -have been married for forty years---- Well, perhaps it was my fault. -On the fifth day we agreed to let things be as if they had never been. -I left my bride, who was not my wife, in anger. We used bitter -words--perhaps I the bitterest. And when we parted, I bade her go back -to her old life as if nothing had been promised on either side. I said -she should be free; that I would never claim the power and the rights -given me by a form of words; that she might marry again; that, to -leave her the more free, I would go away and never return till she was -married, or till she gave me leave. I was away for four years; and -then I saw the announcement of her marriage in the paper, and I -returned. That is the bare history, Mr. Cassilis. Since my return, on -my honour as a gentleman, you have had no cause for jealousy in my own -behaviour towards--your wife, not mine. Remember, Mr. Cassilis, -whatever else may be said, she never was my wife. And yet, in the eye -of the law, I suppose she is my wife still. And with all my heart I -pity you." - -He stopped, and looked at the victim of the crime. Gabriel Cassilis -was staring helplessly from him to Phillis. Did he understand? Not -entirely, I think. Yet the words which he had heard fell upon his -heart softly, and soothed him in his trouble. At last his eyes rested -on Phillis, as if asking, as men do in times of trouble, for the quick -comprehension of a woman. - -"What can I do, Mr. Cassilis?" asked the girl. "If you cannot speak, -will you make some sign? Any little sign that I can understand?" - -She remembered that among her lesson-books was a dictionary. She put -that into his hand, and asked him to show her in the dictionary what -he wished to say. - -He took the book in his trembling hands, turned over the leaves, and -presently, finding the page he wanted, ran his fingers down the lines -till they rested on a word. - -Phillis read it, spelling it out in her pretty little school-girl -fashion. - -"S, I, si; L, E, N, C, LAME DUCK, lence--silence. Is that what you -wish to say, Mr. Cassilis?" - -He nodded. - -"Silence," repeated Lawrence. "For all our sakes it is the best--the -only thing. Phillis, tell no one what you have heard; not even Agatha; -not even Jack Dunquerque. Or, if you tell Jack Dunquerque, send him to -me directly afterwards. Do you promise, child?" - -"I promise, Lawrence. I will tell no one but Jack; and I shall ask him -first if he thinks I ought to tell him another person's secret." - -"Thank you, Phillis. Mr. Cassilis, there are only we three and--and -one more. You may trust Phillis when she promises a thing; you may -trust me, for my own sake; you may, I hope, trust that other person. -And as for me, it is my intention to leave England in a week. I deeply -regret that I ever came back to this country." - -A week was too far ahead for Mr. Cassilis to look forward to in his -agitation. Clearly the one thing in his mind at the moment--the one -possible thing--was concealment. He took the dictionary again, and -found the word "Home." - -"Will you let me take you home, sir?" Lawrence asked. - -He nodded again. There was no resentment in his face, and none in his -feeble confiding manner when he took Lawrence's arm and leaned upon it -as he crawled out to the carriage. - -Only one sign of feeling. He took Phillis by the hand and kissed her. -When he had kissed her, he laid his finger on her lips. And she -understood his wish that no one should learn this thing. - -"Not even Agatha, Phillis," said Lawrence. "Forget, if you can. And if -you cannot, keep silence." - -They drove into town together, these men with a secret between them. -Lawrence made no further explanations. What was there to explain? The -one who suffered the most sat upright, looking straight before him in -mute suffering. - -It is a long drive from Twickenham to Kensington Palace Gardens. When -they arrived, Mr. Cassilis was too weak to step out of the carriage. -They helped him--Lawrence Colquhoun and a footman--into the hall. He -was feeble with long fasting as much as from the effects of this -dreadful shock. - -They carried him to his study. Among the servants who looked on was -Tomlinson, the middle-aged maid with the harsh face. She knew that her -bolt had fallen at last; and she saw, too, that it had fallen upon the -wrong person, for up-stairs sat her mistress, calm, cold and -collected. She came home looking pale and a little worn; fatigued, -perhaps, with the constant round of engagements, though the season was -little more than half over. She dressed in gentle silence, which -Tomlinson could not understand. She went down to dinner alone, and -presently went to her drawing-room, where she sat in a window, and -thought. - -There Colquhoun found her. - -"I have told him all," he said. "Your words told him only half, and -yet too much. You were never my wife, as you know, and never will be, -though the Law may make you take my name. Cruel and heartless woman! -to gratify an insensate jealousy you have destroyed your husband." - -"Is he--is he--dead?" she cried, almost as if she wished he were. - -"No; he is not dead; he is struck with some fit. He cannot speak. -Learn, now, that your jealousy was without foundation. Phillis will -marry Dunquerque. As for me, I can never marry, as you know." - -"He is not dead!" she echoed, taking no notice of the last words. -Indeed, Phillis was quite out of her thoughts now. "Does he wish to -see me?" - -"No; you must not, at present, attempt to see him." - -"What will they do to me, Lawrence?" she asked again. "What can they -do? I did not mean him to hear. It was all to frighten you." - -"To frighten me! What they can do, Mrs. Cassilis, is to put you in the -prisoner's box and me in the witness box. What he wants to do, so far -as we can yet understand, is to keep silence." - -"What is the good of that? He will cry his wrongs all over the town, -and Phillis will tell everybody." - -"Phillis will tell no one, no one--not even Agatha. It was lucky that -Agatha heard nothing; she was upstairs, lying down after her party. -Will you keep silence?" - -"Of course I shall. What else is there for me to do?" - -"For the sake of your husband; for the sake of your boy----" - -"It is for my own sake, Lawrence," she interrupted coldly. - -"I beg your pardon. I ought to have known by this time that you would -have acted for your own sake only. Victoria, it was an evil day for me -when I met you; it was a worse day when I consented to a secret -marriage, which was no marriage, when there was no reason for any -secrecy; it was the worst day of all when I answered your letter, and -came here to see you. Every day we have met has produced more -recrimination. That would not have mattered, but for the mischief our -meeting has wrought upon your husband. I pray that we may never in -this world meet again." - -He was gone, and Victoria Cassilis has not met him since, nor do I -think now that she ever will meet him again. - -The summer night closed in; the moonlight came up and shone upon the -Park before her, laying silvery patches of light in ten of thousands -upon the young leaves of the trees, and darkening the shadows a deeper -black by way of contrast. They brought her tea and lights; then they -came for orders. There were none; she would not go out that night. At -eleven Tomlinson came. - -"I want nothing, Tomlinson. You need not wait up; I shall not want you -this evening." - -"Yes, madam; no, madam. Mr. Cassilis is asleep, madam." - -"Let some one sit up with him. See to that, Tomlinson; and don't let -him be disturbed." - -"I will sit up with him myself, madam." Tomlinson was anxious to get -to the bottom of the thing. What mischief had been done, and how far -was it her own doing? To persons who want revenge these are very -important questions, when mischief has actually been perpetrated. - -Then Victoria was left alone. In that great house, with its troop of -servants and nurses, with her husband and child, there was no one who -cared to know what she was doing. The master was not popular, because -he simply regarded every servant as a machine; but at least he was -just, and he paid well, and the house, from the point of view likely -to be taken by Mr. Plush and Miss Hairpin, was a comfortable one. The -mistress of the house was unpopular. Her temper at times was -intolerable, her treatment of servants showed no consideration; and -the women-folk regarded the neglect of her own child with the horror -of such neglect in which the Englishwoman of all ranks is trained. So -she was alone, and remained alone. The hands of the clock went round -and round; the moon went down, and over the garden lay the soft sepia -twilight of June; the lamp on the little table at her elbow went out; -but she sat still, hands crossed in her lap, looking out of window, -and thinking. - -She saw, but she did not feel the wickedness of it, a cold and selfish -girl ripening into a cold and selfish woman--one to whom the outer -world was as a panorama of moving objects, meaning nothing, and having -no connection with herself. Like one blind, deaf, and dumb, she moved -among the mobs who danced and sang, or who grovelled and wept. She had -no tears to help the sufferers, and no smiles to encourage the happy; -she had never been able to sympathise with the acting of a theatre or -the puppets of a novel; she was so cold that she was not even -critical. It seems odd, but it is really true, that a critic may be -actually too cold. She saw a mind that, like the Indian devotee, was -occupied for ever in contemplating itself; she saw beauty which would -have been irresistible had there been one gleam, just one gleam of -womanly tenderness; she saw one man after the other first attracted -and then repelled; and then she came to the one man who was not -repelled. There was once an unfortunate creature who dared to make -love to Diana. His fate is recorded in Lempriére's Dictionary; also in -Dr. Smith's later and more expensive work. Lawrence Colquhoun -resembled that swain, and his fate was not unlike the classical -punishment. She went through the form of marriage with him, and then -she drove him from her by the cold wind of her own intense -selfishness--a very Mistral. When he was gone she began to regret a -slave of such uncomplaining slavishness. Well, no one knew except -Janet. Janet did not talk. It was rather a struggle, she remembered, -to take Gabriel Cassilis--rather a struggle, because Lawrence -Colquhoun might come home and tell the story, not because there was -anything morally wrong. She was most anxious to see him when he did -come home--out of curiosity, out of jealousy, out of a desire to know -whether her old power was gone; out of fear, out of that reason which -makes a criminal seek out from time to time the scene and accomplices -of his crime, and for the thousand reasons which make up a selfish -woman's code of conduct. It was three o'clock and daylight when she -discovered that she had really thought the whole thing over from the -beginning, and that there was nothing more to think about, except the -future--a distasteful subject to all sinners. - -"After all," she summed up, as she rose to go to bed, "it is as well. -Lawrence and I should never have got along. He is too selfish, much -too selfish." - -Down-stairs they were watching over the stricken man. The doctor came -and felt his pulse; he also looked wise, and wrote things in Latin on -a paper, which he gave to a servant. Then he went away, and said he -would come in the morning again. He was a great doctor, with a title, -and quite believed to know everything; but he did not know what had -befallen this patient. - -When Gabriel Cassilis awoke there was some confusion in his mind, and -his brain was wandering--at least it appeared so, because what he said -had nothing to do with any possible wish or thought. He rambled at -large and at length; and then he grew angry, and then he became -suddenly sorrowful, and sighed; then he became perfectly silent. The -confused babble of speech ceased as suddenly as it had come; and since -that morning Gabriel Cassilis has not spoken. - -It was at half-past nine that his secretary called, simultaneously -with the doctor. - -He heard something from the servants, and pushed into the room where -his chief was lying. The eyes of the sick man opened languidly and -fell upon his first officer, but they expressed no interest and asked -no question. - -"Ah!" sighed Mr. Mowll, in the impatience of a sympathy which has but -little time to spare. "Will he recover, doctor?" - -"No doubt, no doubt. This way, my dear sir." He led the secretary out -of the room. "Hush! he understands what is said. This is no ordinary -seizure. Has he received any shock?" - -"Shock enough to kill thirty men," said the secretary. "Where was he -yesterday? Why did he not say something--do something--to avert the -disaster?" - -"Oh! Then the shock has been of a financial kind? I gathered from Mr. -Colquhoun that it was of a family nature--something sudden and -distressing." - -"Family nature!" echoed the secretary. "Who ever heard of Mr. Cassilis -worrying himself about family matters? No, sir; when a man is ruined -he has no time to bother about family matters." - -"Ruined? The great Mr. Gabriel Cassilis ruined?" - -"I should say so, and I ought to know. They say so in the City; they -will say so to-night in the papers. If he were well, and able to face -things, there might be--no, even then there could be no hope. -Settling-day this very morning; and a pretty settling it is." - -"Whatever day it is," said the doctor, "I cannot have him disturbed. -You may return in three or four hours, if you like, and then perhaps -he may be able to speak to you. Just now, leave him in peace." - -What had happened was this: - -When Mr. Cassilis caused to be circulated a certain pamphlet which we -have heard of, impugning the resources of the Republic of Eldorado, he -wished the stock to go down. It did go down, and he bought in--bought -in so largely that he held two millions of the stock. Men in his -position do not buy large quantities of stock without affecting the -price--Stock Exchange transactions are not secret--and Eldorado Stock -went up. This was what Gabriel Cassilis naturally desired. Also the -letter of El Señor Don Bellaco de la Carambola to the _Times_, -showing the admirable way in which Eldorado loans were received and -administered, helped. The stock went up from 64, at which price -Gabriel Cassilis bought in, to 75, at which he should have sold. Had -he done so at the right moment, he would have realised the very -handsome sum of two hundred and sixty thousand pounds; but the trouble -of the letters came, and prevented him from acting. - -While his mind was agitated by these--agitated, as we have seen, to -such an extent that he could no longer think or work, or attend to any -kind of business--there arrived for him telegram after telegram, in -his own cipher, from America. These lay unopened. It was disastrous, -because they announced beforehand the fact which only his -correspondent knew--the Eldorado bonds were no longer to be paid. - -That fact was now public. It was made known by all the papers that -Eldorado, having paid the interest out of the money borrowed, had no -further resources whatever, and could pay no more. It was stated in -leading articles that England should have known all along what a -miserable country Eldorado is. The British public were warned too late -not to trust in Eldorado promises any more; and the unfortunates who -held Eldorado Stock were actuated by one common impulse to sell, and -no one would buy. It was absurd to quote Eldorado bonds at anything; -and the great financier had to meet his engagements by finding the -difference between stock at 64 and stock at next to nothing for two -millions. - -Gabriel Cassilis was consequently ruined. When it became known that he -had some sort of stroke, people said that it was the shock of the -fatal news. He made the one mistake of an otherwise faultless career, -they said to each other, in trusting Eldorado, and his brain could not -stand the blow. When the secretary, who understood the cipher, came to -open the letters and telegrams, he left off talking about the fatal -shock of the news. It must have been something else--something he knew -nothing of, because he saw the blow might have been averted; and the -man's mind, clear enough when he went in for a great coup, had become -unhinged during the few days before the smash. - -Ruined! Gabriel Cassilis knew nothing about the wreck of his life, as -he lay upon his bed afraid to speak because he would only babble -incoherently. All was gone from him--money, reputation, wife. He had -no longer anything. The anonymous correspondent had taken all away. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII. - - "This comes of airy visions and the whispers - Of demons like to angels. Brother, weep." - - -Gilead Beck, returning from the Twickenham party before the explosion, -found Jack Dunquerque waiting for him. As we have seen, he was not -invited. - -"Tell me how she was looking!" he cried. "Did she ask after me?" - -"Wal, Mr. Dunquerque, I reckon you the most fortunate individual in -the hull world. She looked like an angel, and she talked like a--like -a woman, with pretty blushes; and yet she wasn't ashamed neither. -Seems as if bein' ashamed isn't her strong point. And what has she got -to be ashamed of?" - -"Did Colquhoun say anything?" - -"We had already got upon the subject, and I had ventured to make him a -proposition. You see, Mr. Dunquerque"--he grew confused, and -hesitated--"fact is, I want you to look at things just exactly as I -do. I'm rich. I have struck Ile; that Ile is the mightiest Special -Providence ever given to a single man. But it's given for purposes. -And one of those purposes is that some of it's got to go to you." - -"To me?" - -"To you, Mr. Dunquerque. Who fired that shot? Who delivered me from -the Grisly?" - -"Why, Ladds did as much as I." - -Mr. Beck shook his head. - -"Captain Ladds is a fine fellow," he said. "Steady as a rock is -Captain Ladds. There's nobody I'd rather march under if we'd the war -to do all over again. But the Ile isn't for Captain Ladds. It isn't -for him that the Golden Butterfly fills me with yearnin's. No sir. I -owe it all to you. You've saved my life; you've sought me out, and -gone about this city with me; you've put me up to ropes; you've taken -me to that sweet creature's house and made her my friend. And Mrs. -L'Estrange my friend, too. If I was to turn away and forget you, I -should deserve to lose that precious Inseck." - -He paused for a minute. - -"I said to Mr. Colquhoun, 'Mr. Dunquerque shall have half of my pile, -and more if he wants it. Only you let him come back again to Miss -Fleming.' And he laughed in his easy way; there's no kind of man in -the States like that Mr. Colquhoun--seems as if he never wants to get -anything. He laughed and lay back on the grass. And then he said, 'My -dear fellow, let Jack come back if he likes; there's no fighting -against fate; only let him have the decency not to announce his -engagement till Phillis has had her first season.' Then he drank some -cider-cup, and lay back again. Mrs. Cassilis--she's a very superior -woman that, but a trifle cold, I should say--watched him whenever he -spoke. She's got a game of her own, unless I am mistaken." - -"But, Beck," Jack gasped, "I can't do this thing; I can't take your -money." - -"I guess, sir, you can, and I guess you will. Come, Mr. Dunquerque, -say you won't go against Providence. There's a sweet young lady -waiting for you, and a little mountain of dollars." - -But Jack shook his head. - -"I thank you all the same," he said. "I shall never forget your -generosity--never. But that cannot be." - -"We will leave it to Miss Fleming," said Gilead. "What Miss Fleming -says is to be, shall be----" - -He was interrupted by the arrival of two letters. - -The first was from Joseph Jagenal. It informed him that he had learned -from his brothers that they had received money from him on account of -work which he thought would never be done. He enclosed a cheque for -the full amount, with many thanks for his kindness, and the earnest -hope that he would advance nothing more. - -In the letter was his cheque for £400, the amount which the Twins had -borrowed during the four weeks of their acquaintance. - -Mr. Beck put the cheque in his pocket and opened the other letter. It -was from Cornelius, and informed him that the Poem could not possibly -be finished in the time; that it was rapidly advancing; but that he -could not pledge himself to completing the work by October. Also, that -his brother Humphrey found himself in the same position as regarded -the Picture. He ended by the original statement that Art cannot be -forced. - -Mr. Beck laughed. - -"Not straight men, Mr. Dunquerque. I suspected it first when they -backed out at the dinner, and left me to do the talk. Wal, they may be -high-toned, whole-souled, and talented; but give me the man who works. -Now Mr. Dunquerque, if you please, we'll go and have some dinner, and -you shall talk about Miss Fleming. And the day after to-morrow--you -note that down--I've asked Mrs. L'Estrange and Miss Phillis to -breakfast. Captain Ladds is coming, and Mr. Colquhoun. And you shall -sit next to her. Mrs. Cassilis is coming too. When I asked her she -wanted to know if Mr. Colquhoun was to be there. I said yes. Then she -wanted to know if Phillis was to be there. I said yes. Then she set -her lips hard, and said, 'I will come, Mr. Beck.' She isn't happy, -that lady; she's got somethin' on her mind." - - -That evening Joseph Jagenal had an unpleasant duty to perform. It was -at dinner that he spoke. The Twins were just taking their first glass -of port. He had been quite silent through dinner, eating little. Now -he looked from one to the other without a word. - -They changed colour. Instinctively they knew what was coming. He said -with a gulp: - -"I am sorry to find that my brothers have not been acting honourably." - -"What is this, brother Humphrey," asked Cornelius. - -"I do not know, brother Cornelius," said the Artist. - -"I will tell you," said Joseph, "what they have done. They made a -disingenuous attempt to engage the affections of a rich young lady for -the sake of her money." - -"If Humphrey loved the girl----" began Cornelius. - -"If Cornelius was devoted to Phillis Fleming----" began Humphrey. - -"I was not, Humphrey," said Cornelius. "No such thing. And I told you -so." - -"I never did love her," said Humphrey. "I always said it was you." - -This was undignified. - -"I do not care which it was. It belongs to both. Then you went down to -her again, under the belief that she was engaged to--to--the Lord -knows which of you--and solemnly broke it off." - -Neither spoke this time. - -"Another thing. I regret to find that my brothers, having made a -contract for certain work with Mr. Gilead Beck, and having been partly -paid in advance, are not executing the work." - -"There, Joseph," said Humphrey, waving his hand as if this was a -matter on quite another footing, "you must excuse us. We know what is -right in Art, if we know nothing else. Art, Joseph, cannot be forced." - -Cornelius murmured assent. - -"We have our dignity to stand upon; we retreat with dignity. We say, -'We will not be forced; we will give the world our best.'" - -"Good," said Joseph. "That is very well; but where is the money?" - -Neither answered. - -"I have returned that money; but it is a large sum, and you must repay -me in part. Understand me, brothers. You may stay here as long as I -live: I shall never ask more of you than to respect the family name. -There was a time when you promised great things, and I believed in -you. It is only quite lately that I have learned to my sorrow that all -this promise has been for years a pretence. You sleep all day--you -call it work. You habitually drink too much at night. You, -Cornelius"--the Poet started--"have not put pen to paper for years. -You, Humphrey"--the Artist hung his head--"have neither drawn nor -painted anything since you came to live with me. I cannot make either -of you work. I cannot retrieve the past. I cannot restore lost habits -of industry. I cannot even make you feel your fall from the promise of -your youth, or remember the hopes of our father. What I can do is to -check your intemperate habits by such means as are in my power." - -He stopped; they were trembling violently. - -"Half of the £400 which you have drawn from Mr. Beck will be paid by -household saving. Wine will disappear from my table; brandy-and-soda -will have to be bought at your own expense. I shall order the dinners, -and I shall keep the key of the wine-cellar." - - -A year has passed. The Twins have had a sad time; they look forward -with undisguised eagerness to the return of the years of fatness; they -have exhausted their own little income in purchasing the means for -their midnight _séances_; and they have run up a frightful score -at the Carnarvon Arms. - -But they still keep up bravely the pretence about their work. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV. - - "So, on the ruins he himself had made. - Sat Marius reft of all his former glory." - - -"Can you understand me, sir?" - -Gabriel Cassilis sat in his own study. It was the day after the -garden-party. He slept through the night, and in the morning rose -and dressed as usual. Then he took his seat in his customary chair -at his table. Before him lay papers, but he did not read them. He -sat upright, his frock-coat tightly buttoned across his chest, and -rapped his knuckles with his gold eyeglasses as if he was thinking. - -They brought him breakfast, and he took a cup of tea. Then he motioned -them to take the things away. They gave him the _Times_, and he laid -it mechanically at his elbow. But he did not speak, nor did he seem to -attend to what was done around him. And his eyes had a far-off look in -them. - -"Can you understand me, sir?" - -The speaker was his secretary. He came in a cab, panting, eager to see -if there was still any hope. Somehow or other it was whispered already -in the City that Gabriel Cassilis had had some sort of stroke. And -there was terrible news besides. - -Mr. Mowll asked because there was something in his patron's face which -frightened him. His eyes were changed. They had lost the keen sharp -look which in a soldier means victory; in a scholar, clearness of -purpose; in a priest, knowledge of human nature and ability to use -that knowledge in a financier, the power and the intuition of success. -That was gone. In its place an expression almost of childish softness. -And another thing--the lips, once set firm and close, were parted now -and mobile. - -The other things were nothing. That a man of sixty-five should in a -single night become a man of eighty; that the iron grey hair should -become white; that a steady hand should shake, and straight shoulders -be bent. It was the look in his face, the far-off look, which made the -secretary ask that question before he went on. - -Mr. Cassilis nodded his head gently. He could understand. - -"You left the telegrams unopened for a week and more!" cried the -impatient clerk. "Why--Oh, why!--did you not let me open them?" - -There was no reply. - -"If I had known, I could have acted. Even the day before yesterday I -could have acted. The news came yesterday morning. It was all over the -City by three. And Eldorado's down to nothing in a moment." - -Mr. Cassilis looked a mild inquiry. No anxiety in that look at all. - -"Eldorado won't pay up her interest. It's due next week. Nothing to -pay it with. Your agent in New York telegraphed this a week ago. He's -been confirming the secret every day since. O Lord! O Lord! And you -the only man who had the knowledge, and all that stake in it! Can you -speak, sir?" - -For his master's silence was terrible to him. - -"Listen, then. Ten days ago Eldorados went down after Wylie's -pamphlet. You told him what to write and you paid him, just as you did -last year. But you tried to hide it from me. That was wrong, sir. I've -served you faithfully for twenty years. But never mind that. You -bought in at 64. Then the Eldorado minister wrote to the paper. Stock -went up to 75. You stood to win, only the day before yesterday, -£260,000; more than a quarter of a million. Yesterday, by three, they -were down to 16. This morning they are down to 8. And it's -settling-day, and you lose--you lose--your all. Oh, what a day, what a -day!" - -Still no complaint, not even a sigh from the patient man in the -Windsor chair. Only that gentle tapping of the knuckles, and that -far-off look. - -"The great name of Gabriel Cassilis dragged in the dust! All your -reputation gone--the whole work of your life--O sir! can't you feel -even that? Can't you feel the dreadful end of it all--Gabriel -Cassilis, the great Gabriel Cassilis, a LAME DUCK!" - -Not even that. The work of his life was forgotten with all its hopes, -and the great financier, listening to his clerk with the polite -impatience of one who listens to a wearisome sermon, was trying to -understand what was the meaning of that black shadow which lay upon -his mind and made him uneasy. For the rest a perfect calm in his -brain. - -"People will say it was the shock of the Eldorado smash. Well, sir, it -wasn't that; I know so much; but it's best to let people think so. If -you haven't a penny left in the world you have your character, and -that's as high as ever. - -"Fortunately," Mr. Mowll went on, "my own little savings were not in -Eldorado Stock. But my employment is gone, I suppose. You will -recommend me, I hope, sir. And I do think that I've got some little -reputation in the City." - -It was not for want of asserting himself that this worthy man failed, -at any rate, of achieving his reputation. For twenty years he had -magnified his office as confidential adviser of a great City light; -among his friends and in his usual haunts he successfully posed as one -burdened with the weight of affairs, laden with responsibility, and at -all times oppressed by the importance of his thoughts. He carried a -pocket-book which shut with a clasp; in the midst of a conversation he -would stop, become abstracted, rush at the pocket-book, so to speak, -confide a jotting to its care, shut it with a snap, and then go on -with a smile and an excuse. Some said that he stood in with Gabriel -Cassilis; all thought that he shared his secrets, and gave advice when -asked for it. - -As a matter of fact, he was a clerk, and had always been a clerk; but -he was a clerk who knew a few things which might have been awkward if -told generally. He had a fair salary, but no confidence, no advice, -and not much more real knowledge of what his chief was doing than any -outsider. And in this tremendous smash it was a great consolation to -him to reflect that the liabilities represented an amount for which it -was really a credit to fail. - -Mr. Mowll has since got another place where the transactions are not -so large, but perhaps his personal emoluments greater. In the evenings -he will talk of the great failure. - -"We stood to win," he will say, leaning back with a superior -smile,--"we stood to win £260,000. We lost a million and a quarter. I -told him not to hang on too long. Against my advice he did. I -remember--ah, only four days before it happened--he said to me, -'Mowll, my boy,' he said, 'I've never known you wrong yet. But for -once I fancy my own opinion. We've worked together for twenty years,' -he said, 'and you've the clearest head of any man I ever saw,' he -said. 'But here I think you're wrong. And I shall hold on for another -day or two,' he said. Ah, little he knew what a day or two would bring -forth! And he hasn't spoken since. Plays with his little boy, and goes -about in a Bath-chair. What a man he was! and what a pair--if I may -say so--we made between us among the bulls and the bears! Dear me, -dear me!" - -It may be mentioned here that everything was at once given up; the -house in Kensington Palace Gardens, with its costly furniture, its -carriages, plate, library, and pictures. Mr. Cassilis signed whatever -documents were brought for signature without hesitation, provided a -copy of his own signature was placed before him. Otherwise he could -not write his name. - -And never a single word of lamentation, reproach, or sorrow. The past -was, and is still, dead to him; all the past except one thing, and -that is ever with him. - -For sixty years of his life, this man of the City, whose whole desire -was to make money, to win in the game which he played with rare -success and skill, regarded bankruptcy as the one thing to be dreaded, -or at least to be looked upon, because it was absurd to dread it, as a -thing bringing with it the whole of dishonour. Not to meet your -engagements was to be in some sort a criminal. And now he was -proclaimed as one who could not meet his engagements. - -If he understood what had befallen him he did not care about it. The -trouble was slight indeed in comparison with the other disaster. The -honour of his wife and the legitimacy of his child--these were gone; -and the man felt what it is that is greater than money gained or money -lost. - -The blow which fell upon him left his brain clear while it changed the -whole course of his thoughts and deprived him partially of memory. But -it destroyed his power of speech. That rare and wonderful disease -which seems to attack none but the strongest, which separates the -brain from the tongue, takes away the knowledge and the sense of -language, and kills the power of connecting words with things, while -it leaves that of understanding what is said--the disease which -doctors call Aphasia--was upon Mr. Gabriel Cassilis. - -In old men this is an incurable disease. Gabriel Cassilis will never -speak again. He can read, listen, and understand, but he can frame no -words with his lips nor write them with his hand. He is a prisoner who -has free use of his limbs. He is separated from the world by a greater -gulf than that which divides the blind and the deaf from the rest of -us, because he cannot make known his thoughts, his wants, or his -wishes. - -It took some time to discover what was the matter with him. Patients -are not often found suffering from aphasia, and paralysis was the -first name given to his disease. - -But it was very early found out that Mr. Cassilis understood all that -was said to him, and by degrees they learned what he liked and what he -disliked. - -Victoria Cassilis sat up-stairs, waiting for something--she knew not -what--to happen. Her maid told her that Mr. Cassilis was ill; she made -no reply; she did not ask to see him; she did not ask for any further -news of him. She sat in her own room for two days, waiting. - -Then Joseph Jagenal asked if he might see her. - -She refused at first; but on hearing that he proposed to stay in the -house till she could receive him, she gave way. - -He came from Lawrence, perhaps. He would bring her a message of some -kind; probably a menace. - -"You have something to say to me, Mr. Jagenal?" Her face was set hard, -but her eyes were wistful. He saw that she was afraid. When a woman is -afraid, you may make her do pretty well what you please. - -"I have a good deal to tell you, Mrs. Cassilis; and I am sorry to say -it is of an unpleasant nature. - -"I have heard," he went on, "from Mr. Colquhoun that you made a -remarkable statement in the presence of Miss Fleming, and in the -hearing of Mr. Cassilis." - -"Lawrence informed you correctly, I have no doubt," she replied -coldly. - -"That statement of course was untrue," said Joseph, knowing that no -record ever was more true. "And therefore I venture to advise----" - -"On the part of Lawrence?" - -"In the name of Mr. Colquhoun, partly; partly in your own -interest----" - -"Go on, if you please, Mr. Jagenal." - -"Believing that statement to be untrue," he repeated, "for -otherwise I could not give this advice, I recommend to all parties -concerned--silence. Your husband's paralysis is attributed to the -shock of his bankruptcy----" - -"His what?" cried Victoria, who had heard as yet nothing of the City -disaster. - -"His bankruptcy. Mr. Cassilis is ruined." - -"Ruined! Mr. Cassilis!" - -She was startled out of herself. - -Ruined! The thought of such disaster had never once crossed her -brains. Ruined! That Colossus of wealth--the man whom she married for -his money, while secretly she despised his power of accumulating -money! - -"He is ruined, Mrs. Cassilis, and hopelessly. I have read certain -papers which he put into my hands this morning. It is clear to me that -his mind has been for some weeks agitated by certain anonymous letters -which came to him every day, and accused you--pardon me, Mrs. -Cassilis--accused you of--infidelity. The letters state that there is -a secret of some kind connected with your former acquaintance with Mr. -Colquhoun; that you have been lately in the habit of receiving him or -meeting him every day; that you were in his chambers one evening when -Mr. Cassilis called; with other particulars extremely calculated to -excite jealousy and suspicion. Lastly, he was sent by the writer to -Twickenham. The rest, I believe you know." - -She made no reply. - -"There can be no doubt, not the least doubt, that had your husband's -mind been untroubled, this would never have happened. The disaster is -due to his jealousy." - -"I could kill her!" said Mrs. Cassilis, clenching her fist. "I could -kill her!" - -"Kill whom?" - -"The woman who wrote those letters. It was a woman. No man could have -done such a thing. A woman's trick. Go on." - -"There is nothing more to say. How far other people are involved with -your husband, I cannot tell. I am going now into the City to find out -if I can. Your wild words, Mrs. Cassilis, and your unguarded conduct, -have brought about misfortunes on which you little calculated. But I -am not here to reproach you." - -"You are my husband's man of business, I suppose," she replied -coldly--"a paid servant of his. What you say has no importance, nor -what you think. What did Lawrence bid you tell me?" - -Joseph Jagenal's face clouded for a moment. But what was the good of -feeling resentment with such a woman, and in such a miserable -business? - -"You have two courses open to you," he went on. "You may, by repeating -the confession you made in the hearing of Mr. Cassilis, draw upon -yourself such punishment as the Law, provided the confession be true, -can inflict. That will be a grievous thing to you. It will drive you -out of society, and brand you as a criminal; it will lock you up for -two years in prison; it will leave a stigma never to be forgotten or -obliterated; it means ruin far, far worse than what you have brought -on Mr. Cassilis. On the other hand, you may keep silence. This at -least will secure the legitimacy of your boy, and will keep for you -the amount settled on you at your marriage. But you may choose. If the -statement you made is true, of course I can be no party to compounding -a felony----" - -"And Lawrence?" she interposed. "What does Lawrence say?" - -"In any case Mr. Colquhoun will leave England at once." - -"He will marry that Phillis girl? You may tell him," she hissed out, -"that I will do anything and suffer anything rather than consent to -his marrying her, or any one else." - -"Mr. Colquhoun informs me further," pursued the crafty lawyer, "that, -for some reason only known to himself, he will never marry during the -life of a certain person. Phillis Fleming will probably marry the -Honourable Mr. Ronald Dunquerque." - -She buried her head in her hands, not to hide any emotion, for there -was none to hide, but to think. Presently she rose, and said, "Take me -to--my husband, if you please." - -Joseph Jagenal, as a lawyer, is tolerably well versed in such -wickedness and deceptions as the human heart is capable of. At the -same time, he acknowledges to himself that the speech made by Victoria -Cassilis to her husband, and the manner in which it was delivered, -surpassed anything he had ever experienced or conceived. - -Gabriel Cassilis was sitting in an arm-chair near his table. In his -arms was his infant son, a child of a year old, for whose amusement he -was dangling a bunch of keys. The nurse was standing beside him. - -When his wife opened the door he looked up, and there crossed his face -a sudden expression of such repulsion, indignation, and horror, that -the lawyer fairly expected the lady to give way altogether. But she -did not. Then Mrs. Cassilis motioned the nurse to leave them, and -Victoria said what she had come to say. She stood at the table, in the -attitude of one who commands respect rather than one who entreats -pardon. Her accentuation was precise, and her words as carefully -chosen as if she had written them down first. But her husband held his -eyes down, as if afraid of meeting her gaze. You would have called him -a culprit waiting for reproof and punishment. - -"I learn to-day for the first time that you have suffered from certain -attacks made upon me by an anonymous writer; I learn also for the -first time, and to my great regret, that you have suffered in fortune -as well as in health. I have myself been too ill in mind and body to -be told anything. I am come to say at once that I am sorry if any rash -words of mine have given you pain, or any foolish actions of mine have -given you reason for jealousy. The exact truth is that Lawrence -Colquhoun and I were once engaged. The breaking off of that engagement -caused me at the time the greatest unhappiness. I resolved then that -he should never be engaged to any other girl if I could prevent it by -any means in my power. My whole action of late, which appeared to you -as if I was running after an old lover, was the prevention of his -engagement, which I determined to break off, with Phillis Fleming. In -the heat of my passion I used words which were not true. They occurred -to me at the moment. I said he was my husband. I meant to have said my -promised husband. You now know, Mr. Cassilis, the whole secret. I am -deeply humiliated in having to confess my revengeful spirit. I am -punished in your affliction." - -Always herself; always her own punishment. - -"We can henceforth, I presume, Mr. Cassilis, resume our old manner of -life." - -Mr. Cassilis made no answer, but he patted the head of his child, and -Joseph Jagenal saw the tears running down his cheeks. For he knew that -the woman lied to him. - -"For the sake of the boy, Mr. Cassilis," the lawyer pleaded, "let -things go on as before." - -He made no sign. - -"Will you let me say something for you in the interests of the child?" - -He nodded. - -"Then, Mrs. Cassilis, your husband consents that there shall be no -separation and no scandal. But it will be advisable for you both that -there shall be as little intercourse as possible. Your husband will -breakfast and dine by himself, and occupy his own apartments. You are -free, provided you live in the same house, and keep up appearances, to -do whatever you please. But you will not obtrude your presence upon -your husband." - -Mr. Cassilis nodded again. Then he sought his dictionary, and hunted -for a word. It was the word he had first found, and was "Silence." - -"Yes; you will also observe strict silence on what has passed at -Twickenham, here or elsewhere. Should that silence not be observed, -the advisers of Mr. Cassilis will recommend such legal measures as may -be necessary." - -Again Gabriel Cassilis nodded. He had not once looked up at his wife -since that first gaze, in which he concentrated the hatred and -loathing of his speechless soul. - -"Is that all?" asked Victoria Cassilis. "Or have we more -arrangements?" - -"That is all, madam," said Joseph, opening the door with great -ceremony. - -She went away as she had come, with cold haughtiness. Nothing seemed -to touch her; not her husband's misery; not his ruin; not the sight of -her child. One thing only pleased her. Lawrence Colquhoun would not -marry during her lifetime. Bah! she would live a hundred years, and he -should never marry at all. - -In her own room was her maid. - -"Tomlinson," said Mrs. Cassilis--in spite of her outward calm, her -nerves were strung to the utmost, and she felt that she must speak to -some one--"Tomlinson, if a woman wrote anonymous letters about you, if -those letters brought misery and misfortune, what would you do to that -woman?" - -"I do not know, ma'am," said Tomlinson, whose cheeks grew white. - -"I will kill her, Tomlinson! I will kill her! I will get those letters -and prove the handwriting, and find that woman out. I will devote my -life to it, and I will have no mercy on her when I have found her. I -will kill her--somehow--by poison--by stabbing--somehow. Don't -tremble, woman; I don't mean you. And Tomlinson, forget what I have -said." - -Tomlinson could not forget. She tottered from the room, trembling in -every limb. - -The wretched maid had her revenge. In full and overflowing measure. -And yet she was not satisfied. The exasperating thing about revenge is -that it never does satisfy, but leaves you at the end as angry as at -the beginning. Your enemy is crushed; you have seen him tied to a -stake, as is the pleasant wont of the Red Indian, and stick arrows, -knives, and red-hot things into him. These hurt so much that he is -glad to die. But he is dead, and you can do no more to him. And it -seems a pity, because if you had kept him alive, you might have -thought of other and more dreadful ways of revenge. These doubts will -occur to the most revenge-satiated Christian, and they lead to -self-reproach. After all, one might just as well forgive a fellow at -once. - -Mrs. Cassilis was a selfish and heartless woman. All the harm that was -done to her was the loss of her great wealth. And what had her husband -done to Tomlinson that he should be stricken? And what had others done -who were involved with him in the great disaster? - -Tomlinson was so terrified, however, by the look which crossed her -mistress's face, that she went away that very evening; pretended to -have received a telegram from Liverpool; when she got there wrote for -boxes and wages, with a letter in somebody else's writing, _for a -reason_, to her mistress, and then went to America, where she had -relations. She lives now in a city of the Western States, where her -brother keeps a store. She is a leader in her religious circle; and I -think that if she were to see Victoria Cassilis by any accident in the -streets of that city, she would fly again, and to the farthest corners -of the earth. - -So much for revenge; and I do hope that Tomlinson's example will be -laid to heart, and pondered by other ladies'-maids whose mistresses -are selfish and sharp-tempered. - - - - -CHAPTER XLV. - - "Farewell to all my greatness." - - -The last day of Gilead Beck's wealth. He rose as unconscious of his -doom as that frolicsome kid whose destiny brought the tear to Delia's -eye. Had he looked at the papers he would at least have ascertained -that Gabriel Cassilis was ruined. But he had a rooted dislike to -newspapers, and never looked at them. He classed the editor of the -_Times_ with Mr. Huggins of Clearville or Mr. Van Cott of Chicago, but -supposed that he had a larger influence. Politics he despised; -criticism was beyond him; with social matters he had no concern; and -it would wound the national self-respect were he to explain how -carelessly he regarded matters which to Londoners seem of world-wide -importance. - -On this day Gilead rose early because there was a good deal to look -after. His breakfast was fixed for eleven--a real breakfast. At six he -was dressed, and making, in his mind's eye, the arrangements for -seating his guests. Mr. and Mrs. Cassilis, Mrs. L'Estrange and -Phillis, Lawrence Colquhoun, Ladds, and Jack Dunquerque--all his most -intimate friends were coming. He had also invited the Twins, but a -guilty conscience made them send an excuse. They were now sitting at -home, sober by compulsion and in great wretchedness, as has been seen. - -The breakfast was to be held in the same room in which he once -entertained the men of genius, but the appointments were different. -Gilead Beck now went in for flowers, to please the ladies: flowers in -June do not savour of ostentation. Also for fruit: strawberries, -apricots, cherries and grapes in early June are not things quite -beyond precedent, and his conscience acquitted him of display which -might seem shoddy. And when the table was laid, with its flowers and -fruit and dainty cold dishes garnished with all sorts of pretty -things, it was, he felt, a work of art which reflected the highest -credit on himself and everybody concerned. - -Gilead Beck was at great peace with himself that morning. He was -resolved on putting into practice at once some of those schemes which -the Golden Butterfly demanded as loudly as it could whisper. He would -start that daily paper which should be independent of commercial -success; have no advertisements; boil down the news; do without long -leaders; and always speak the truth, without evasion, equivocation, -suppression, or exaggeration. A miracle in journalism. He would run -the great National Drama which should revive the ancient glories of -the stage. And for the rest he would be guided by circumstances, and -when a big thing had to be done he would step in with his Pile, and do -that big thing by himself. - -There was in all this perhaps a little over-rating the power of the -Pile; but Gilead Beck was, after all, only human. Think what an -inflation of dignity, brother De Pauper-et-egens, would follow in your -own case on the acquisition of fifteen hundred pounds a day. - -Another thing pleased our Gilead. He knew that in his own country the -difficulty of getting into what he felt to be the best society would -be insuperable. The society of shoddy, the companionship with the -quickly grown rich, and the friendship of the gilded bladder are in -the reach of every wealthy man. But Gilead was a man of finer -feelings; he wanted more than this; he wanted the friendship of those -who were born in the purple of good breeding. In New York he could not -have got this. In London he did get it. His friends were ladies and -gentlemen; they not only tolerated him, but they liked him; they were -people to whom he could give nothing, but they courted his society, -and this pleased him more than any other part of his grand Luck. There -was no great merit in their liking the man. Rude as his life had been, -he was gifted with the tenderest and kindest heart; lowly born and -roughly bred, he was yet a man of boundless sympathies. And because he -had kept his self-respect throughout, and was ashamed of nothing, he -slipt easily and naturally into the new circle, picking up without -difficulty what was lacking of external things. Yet he was just the -same as when he landed in England; with the same earnest, almost -solemn, way of looking at things; the same gravity; the same twang -which marked his nationality. He affected nothing and pretended -nothing; he hid nothing and was ashamed of nothing; he paraded nothing -and wanted to be thought no other than the man he was--the ex-miner, -ex-adventurer, ex-everything, who by a lucky stroke hit upon Ile, and -was living on the profits. And perhaps in all the world there was no -happier man than Gilead Beck on that bright June morning, which was to -be the last day of his grandeur. A purling stream of content murmured -and babbled hymns of praise in his heart. He had no fears; his nerves -were strong; he expected nothing but a continuous flow of prosperity -and happiness. - -The first to arrive was Jack Dunquerque. Now, if this youth had read -the papers he would have been able to communicate some of the fatal -news. But he had not, because he was full of Phillis. And if any -rumour of the Eldorado collapse smote his ears, it smote them -unnoticed, because he did not connect Eldorado with Gilead Beck. What -did it matter to this intolerably selfish young man how many British -speculators lost their money by the Eldorado smash when he was going -to meet Phillis. After all, the round world and all that is therein do -really rotate about a pole--of course invisible--which goes through -every man's own centre of gravity, and sticks out in a manner which -may be felt by him. And the reason why men have so many different -opinions is, I am persuaded, this extraordinary, miraculous, -multitudinous, simultaneous revolution of the earth upon her million -axes. Enough for Jack that Phillis was coming--Phillis, whom he had -not seen since the discovery--more memorable to him than any made by -Traveller or Physicist--of the Coping-stone. - -Jack came smiling and bounding up the stairs with agile spring--a -good-half hour before the time. Perhaps Phillis might be before him. -But she was not. - -Then came Ladds. Gilead Beck saw that there was some trouble upon him, -but forbore to ask him what it was. He bore his heavy inscrutable -look, such as that with which he had been wont to meet gambling -losses, untoward telegrams from Newmarket, and other buffetings of -Fate. - -Then came a letter from Mrs. Cassilis. Her husband was ill, and -therefore she could not come. - -Then came a letter from Lawrence Colquhoun. He had most important -business in the City, and therefore he could not come. - -"Seems like the Wedding-feast," said Gilead irreverently. He was a -little disconcerted by the defection of so many guests; but he had a -leaf taken out of the table, and cheerfully waited for the remaining -two. - -They came at last, and I think the hearts of all three leaped within -them at sight of Phillis's happy face. If it was sweet before, when -Jack first met her, with the mysterious look of childhood on it, it -was far sweeter now with the bloom and blush of conscious womanhood, -the modest light of maidenly joy with which she met her lover. Jack -rushed, so to speak, at her hand, and held it with a ridiculous -shamelessness only excusable on the ground that they were almost in a -family circle. Then Phillis shook hands with Gilead Beck, with a smile -of gratitude which meant a good deal more than preliminary thanks for -the coming breakfast. Then it came to Ladds's turn. He turned very -red--I do not know why--and whispered in his deepest bass-- - -"Know all about it. Lucky beggar, Jack! Wish you happiness!" - -"Thank you, Captain Ladds," Phillis replied, in her fearless fashion. -"I am very happy already. And so is Jack." - -"Wanted yesterday," Ladds went on, in the same deep whisper--"wanted -yesterday to offer some slight token of regard--found I couldn't--no -more money--Eldorado smash--all gone--locked in boxes--found -ring--once my mother's. Will you accept it?" - -Phillis understood the ring, but she did not understand the rest of -the speech. It was one of those old-fashioned rings set in pearls and -brilliants. She was not by any means above admiring rings, and she -accepted it with a cheerful alacrity. - -"Sell up," Ladds growled,--"go away--do something--earn the daily -crust----" - -"But I don't understand----" she interrupted. - -"Never mind. Tell you after breakfast. Tell you all presently." - -And then they went to breakfast. - -It was rather a silent party. Ladds was, as might have been expected -of a man who had lost his all, disposed to taciturnity. Jack and -Phillis were too happy to talk much. Agatha L'Estrange and the host -had all the conversation to themselves. - -Agatha asked him if the dainty spread before them was the usual method -of breakfast in America. Gilead Beck replied that of late years he had -been accustomed to call a chunk of cold pork with a piece of bread a -substantial breakfast, and that the same luxuries furnished him, as a -rule, with dinner. - -"The old life," he said, "had its points, I confess. For those who -love cold pork it was one long round of delirious joy. And there was -always the future to look forward to. Now the future has come I like -it better. My experience, Mrs. L'Estrange, is that you may divide men -into two classes--those who've got a future, and those who haven't. I -belonged to the class who had a future. Sometimes we miss it. And I -feel like to cry whenever I think of the boys with a bright future -before them, who fell in the War at my side, not in tens, but in -hundreds. Sometimes we find it. I found it when I struck Ile. And -always, for those men, whether the future come early or whether it -come late, it lies bright and shinin' before them, and so they never -lose hope." - -"And have women no future as well as men, Mr. Beck?" asked Phillis. - -"I don't know, Miss Fleming. But I hope you have. Before my Golden -Butterfly came to me I was lookin' forward for my future, and I knew -it was bound to come in some form or other. I looked forward for -thirty years; my youth was gone when it came, and half my manhood. But -it is here." - -"Perhaps, Mr. Beck," said Mrs. L'Estrange, who was a little _rococo_ -in her morality, "it is well that this great fortune did not come to -you when you were younger." - -"You think that, madam? Perhaps it is so. To fool around New York -would be a poor return for the Luck of the Butterfly. Yes; better as -it is. Providence knows very well what to be about; it don't need -promptin' from us. And impatience is no manner of use, not the least -use in the world. At the right time the Luck comes; at the right time -the Luck will go. Yes,"--he looked solemnly round the table,--"some -day the Luck is bound to go. When it goes, I hope I shall be prepared -for the change. But if it goes to-morrow, it cannot take away, Mrs. -L'Estrange, the memory of these few months, your friendship, and -yours, Miss Fleming. There's things which do not depend upon Ile; more -things than I thought formerly; things which money cannot do. More -than once I thought my pile ought to find it easy to do somethin' -useful before the time comes. But the world is a more tangled web than -I used to think." - -"There are always the poor among us," said the good Agatha. - -"Yes, madam, that is true. And there always will be. More you give to -the poor, more you make them poor. There's folks goin' up and folks -goin' down. You in England help the folks goin' down. You make them -fall easy. I want to help the folks goin' up." - -At this moment a telegram was brought for him. - -It was from his London bankers. They informed him that a cheque for a -small sum had been presented, but that his balance was already -overdrawn; and that they had received a telegram from New York on -which they would be glad to see him. - -Gilead Beck read it, and could not understand it. The cheque was for -his own weekly account at the hotel. - -He laid the letter aside, and went on with his exposition of the -duties and responsibilities of wealth. He pointed out to Mrs. -L'Estrange, who alone listened to him--Jack was whispering to Phillis, -and Ladds was absorbed in thoughts of his own--that when he arrived in -London he was possessed with the idea that all he had to do, in order -to protect, benefit, and advance humanity, was to found a series of -institutions; that, in the pursuit of this idea, he had visited and -examined all the British institutions he could hear of; and that his -conclusions were that they were all a failure. - -"For," he concluded, "what have you done? Your citizens need not save -money, because a hospital, a church, an almshouse, a dispensary, and a -workhouse stand in every parish; they need not be moral, because -there's homes for the repentant in every other street. All around they -are protected by charity and the State. Even if they get knocked down -in the street, they need not fight, because there's a policeman within -easy hail. You breed your poor, Mrs. L'Estrange, and you take almighty -care to keep them always with you. In my country he who can work and -won't work goes to the wall; he starves, and a good thing too. Here he -gets fat. - -"Every way," he went on, "you encourage your people to do nothing. -Your clever young men get a handsome income for life, I am told, at -Oxford and Cambridge, if they pass one good examination. For us the -examination is only the beginning. Your clergymen get a handsome -income for life, whether they do their work or not. Ours have got to -go on preachin' well and livin' well; else we want to know the reason -why. You give your subalterns as much as other nations give their -colonels; you set them down to a grand mess every day as if they were -all born lords. You keep four times as many naval officers as you -want, and ten times as many generals. It's all waste and lavishin' -from end to end. And as for your Royal Family, I reckon that I'd find -a dozen families in Massachusetts alone who'd run the Royal Mill for a -tenth of the money. I own they wouldn't have the same gracious -manners," he added. "And your Princess is--wal, if Miss Fleming were -Princess, she couldn't do the part better. Perhaps gracious manners -are worth paying for." - -Here another telegram was brought him. - -It was from New York. It informed him in plain and intelligible terms -that his wells had all run dry, that his credit was exhausted, and -that no more bills would be honoured. - -He read this aloud with a firm voice and unfaltering eye. Then he -looked round him, and said solemnly---- - -"The time has come. It's come a little sooner than I expected. But it -has come at last." - -He was staggered, but he remembered something which consoled him. - -"At least," he said, "if the income is gone, the Pile remains. That's -close upon half a million of English money. We can do something with -that. Mr. Cassilis has got it all for me." - -"Who?" cried Ladds eagerly. - -"Mr. Gabriel Cassilis, the great English financier." - -"He is ruined," said Ladds. "He has failed for two millions sterling. -If your money is in his hands----" - -"Part of it, I believe, was in Eldorado Stock." - -"The Eldoradians cannot pay their interest. And the stock has sunk to -nothing. Gabriel Cassilis has lost all my money in it--at least, I -have lost it on his recommendation." - -"Your money all gone, Tommy?" cried Jack. - -"All, Jack--Ladds' Aromatic Cocoa--Fragrant--Nutritious--no use -now--business sold twenty years ago. Proceeds sunk in Eldorado Stock. -Nothing but the smell left." - -And while they were gazing in each other's face with mute -bewilderment, a third messenger arrived with a letter. - -It was from Mr. Mowll the secretary. It informed poor Gilead that Mr. -Gabriel Cassilis had drawn, in accordance with his power of attorney, -upon him to the following extent. A bewildering mass of figures -followed, at the bottom of which was the total--Gilead Beck's two -million dollars. That, further, Gabriel Cassilis, always, it appeared, -acting on the wishes of Mr. Beck, had invested the whole sum in -Eldorado Stock. That, &c. He threw the letter on the table half -unread. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he rose solemnly, and -sought the corner of the room in which stood the safe containing the -Emblem of his Luck. He opened it, and took out the box of glass and -gold which held it. This was covered with a case of green leather. He -carried it to the table. They all crowded round while he raised the -leathern cover and displayed the Butterfly. - -"Has any one," he lifted his head and looked helplessly round,--"has -any one felt an airthquake?" - -For a strange thing had happened The wings of the insect were lying -on the floor of the box; the white quartz which formed its body had -slipped from the gold wire which held it up, and the Golden Butterfly -was in pieces. - -He opened the box with a little gold key and took out the fragments of -the two wings and the body. - -"Gone!" he said. "Broken! - - "'If this golden Butterfly fall and break, - Farewell the Luck of Gilead P. Beck.' - -"Your own lines, Mr. Dunquerque. Broken into little bits it is. The -Ile run dry, the credit exhausted, and the Pile fooled away." - -No one spoke. - -"I am sorry for you most, Mr. Dunquerque. I am powerful sorry, sir. I -had hoped, with the assistance of Miss Fleming, to divide that Pile -with you. Now, sir, I've got nothing. Not a red cent left to divide -with a beggar. - -"Mrs. L'Estrange," he went on, "those last words of mine were -prophetic. When I am gone back to America--I suppose the odds and ends -here will pay my passage--you'll remember that I said the Luck would -some day go." - -It was all so sudden, so incomprehensible, that no one present had a -word to say, either of sympathy or of sorrow. - -Gilead Beck proceeded with his soliloquy: - -"I've had a real high time for three months; the best three months of -my life. Whatever happens more can't touch the memory of the last -three months. I've met English ladies and made friends of English -gentlemen. There's Amer'can ladies and Amer'can gentlemen, but I can't -speak of them, because I never went into their society You don't find -ladies and gentlemen in Empire City. And in all the trades I've turned -my attention to, from school-keepin' to editing, there's not been one -where Amer'can ladies cared to show their hand. That means that the -Stars and Stripes may be as good as the Union Jack--come to know -them." - -He stopped and pulled himself together with a laugh. - -"I can't make it out,--somehow. Seems as if I'm in a dream. Is it -real? Is the story of the Golden Butterfly a true story, or is it made -up out of some man's brain?" - -"It is real, Mr. Beck," said Phillis, softly putting her hand in his. -"It is real. No one could have invented such a story. See, dear Mr. -Beck, you that we all love so much, there is you in it, and I am in -it--and--and the Twins. Why, if people saw us all in a book they would -say it was impossible. I am the only girl in all the civilised world -who can neither read nor write--and Jack doesn't mind it--and you are -the only man who ever found the Golden Butterfly. Indeed it is all -real." - -"It is all real, Beck," Jack echoed. "You have had the high time, and -sorry indeed we are that it is over. But perhaps it is not all over. -Surely something out of the two million dollars must have remained." - -Mr. Beck pointed sorrowfully to the three pieces which were the -fragments of the Butterfly. - -"Nothing is left," he said. "Nothing except the solid gold that made -his cage. And that will go to pay the hotel-bill." - -Mrs. L'Estrange looked on in silence. What was this quiet lady, this -woman of even and uneventful life, to say in the presence of such -misfortune? - -Ladds held out his hand. - -"Worth twenty of any of us," he said. "We are in the same boat." - -"And you, too, Captain Ladds!" Gilead cried. "It is worse than my own -misfortune, because I am a rough man and can go back to the rough -life. No, Mrs. L'Estrange--no, my dear young lady--I can't--not with -the same light heart as before--you've spoiled me. I must strike out -something new--away from Empire City and Ile and gold. I'm spoiled. -It's not the cold chunk of pork that I am afraid of; it is the -beautiful life and the sweetness that I'm going to lose. I said I -hoped I should be prepared to meet the fall of my Luck--when it came. -But I never thought it would come like this." - -"Stay with us, Mr. Beck," said Phillis. "Don't go back to the old -life." - -"Stay with us," said Jack. "We will all live together." - -"Do not leave us, Mr. Beck," said Mrs. L'Estrange. (Women can blush, -although they may be past forty.) "Stay here with your friends." - -He looked from one to the other, and something like a tear glittered -in his eye. But he shook his head. - -Then he took up the wings of the Butterfly, the pretty golden -_laminĉ_ cut in the perfect shape of a wing, marked and veined by -Nature as if, for once she was determined to show that she too could -be an Artist and imitate her self. They lay in her hands, and he -looked fondly at them. - -"What shall I do with these?" he said softly. "They have been very -good to me. They have given me the pleasantest hours of my life. They -have made me dream of power as if I was Autocrat of All the Russians. -Say, Mrs. L'Estrange--since my chief pleasure has come through Mr. -Dunquerque--may I offer the broken Butterfly to Miss Fleming?" - -He laid the wings before her with a sweet sad smile. Jack took them up -and looked at them. In the white quartz were the little holes where -the wings had fitted. He put them back in their old place--the wings -in the quartz. They fitted exactly, and in a moment the butterfly was -as it had always been. - -Jack deftly bent round it again the golden wire which held it to the -golden flower. Singular to relate, the wire fitted like the wings just -the same as before, and the Butterfly vibrated on its perch again. - -"It's wonderful!" cried Gilead Beck. "It's the Luck I've given away. -It's gone to you, Miss Fleming. But it won't take the form of Ile." - -"Then take it back, Mr. Beck," cried Phillis. - -"No, young lady. The Luck left me of its own accord. That was shown -when the Butterfly fell off the wires. It is yours now, yours; and you -will make a better use of it. - -"I think," he went on, with his hand upon the golden case,--"I think -there's a Luck in the world which I never dreamed of, a better Luck -than Ile. Mrs. L'Estrange, you know what sort of Luck I mean?" - -"Yes, Mr. Beck, I know," she replied. - -Phillis laid her hands on Jack's shoulder, while his arm stole round -her waist. - -"It is Love. Mr. Beck," said the girl. "Yes; that is the best Luck in -all the world, and I am sure of it." - -Jack stooped and kissed her. The simplicity and innocence of this -maiden went to Gilead Beck's heart. They were a religion to him, an -education. In the presence of that guileless heart all earthly -thoughts dropped from his soul, and he was, like the girl before him, -pure in heart and clean in memory. That is indeed the sweet -enchantment of innocence; a bewitchment out of which we need never -awake unless we like. - -"Take the case and all, Miss Fleming," said Gilead Beck. - -But she would not have the splendid case with its thick plate glass -and solid gold pillars. - -Then Gilead Beck brought out the little wooden box, the same in which -the Golden Butterfly lay when he ran from the Bear on the slopes of -the Sierra Nevada. And Phillis laid her new treasure in the -cotton-wool and slung the box by its steel chain round his neck, -laughing in a solemn fashion. - -While they talked thus sadly, the door opened, and Lawrence Colquhoun -stood before them. - -Agatha cried out when she saw him, because he was transformed. The -lazy insouciant look was gone; a troubled look was in its place. Worse -than a troubled look--a look of misery; a look of self-reproach; a -look as of a criminal brought to the bar and convicted. - -"Lawrence!" cried Mrs. L'Estrange. - -He came into the room in a helpless sort of way, his hands shaking -before him like those of some half-blind old man. - -"Phillis," he said, in hoarse voice, "forgive me!" - -"What have I to forgive, Lawrence?" - -"Forgive me!" he repeated humbly. "Nay, you do not understand. -Dunquerque, it is for you to speak--for all of you--you all love -Phillis. Agatha--you love her--you used to love me too. How shall I -tell you?" - -"I think we guess," said Gilead. - -"I did it for the best, Phillis. I thought to double your fortune. -Cassilis said I should double it. I thought to double my own. I put -all your money, child, every farthing of your money, in Eldorado Stock -by his advice, and all my own too. And it is all gone--every penny of -it gone." - -Jack Dunquerque clasped Phillis tighter by the hand. - -She only laughed. - -"Why, Lawrence," she said, "what if you have lost all my money? Jack -doesn't care. Do you Jack?" - -"No, darling, no," said Jack. And at the moment--such was the -infatuation of this young man--he really did not care. - -"Lawrence," said Agatha, "you acted for the best. Don't dear Lawrence, -don't trouble too much. Captain Ladds has lost all his fortune, -too--and Mr. Beck has lost all his--and we are all ruined together." - -"All ruined together!" echoed Gilead Beck, looking at Mrs. L'Estrange. -"Gabriel Cassilis is a wonderful man. I always said he was a wonderful -man." - - -In the evening the three ruined men sat together in Gilead's room. - -"Nothing saved, Colquhoun?" asked Ladds, after a long pause. - -"Nothing, The stock was 70 when I bought in: 70 at 10 percent. It is -now anything you like--4, 6, 8, 16--what you please--because no one -will buy it." - -"Wal," said Gilead Beck, "it does seem rough on us all, and perhaps -it's rougher on you two than it is on me. But to think, only to think, -that such an almighty Pile should be fooled away on a darned -half-caste State like Eldorado! And for all of us to believe Mr. -Gabriel Cassilis a whole-souled, high toned speculator. - -"Once I thought," he continued, "that we Amer'cans must be the Ten -Tribes; because, I said, nobody but one out of the Ten Tribes would -get such a providential lift as the Golden Butterfly. Gentlemen, my -opinions are changed since this morning. I believe we're nothing -better, not a single cent better, than one of the kicked-out Tribes. I -may be an Amalekite, or I may be a Hivite; but I'm darned if I ever -call myself again one of the children of Abraham." - - - - -CHAPTER THE LAST. - - "Whisper Love, ye breezes; sigh - In Love's content, soft air of morn; - Let eve in brighter sunsets die, - And day with brighter dawn be born." - - -It is a week since the disastrous day. Gilead Beck has sold the works -of art with which he intended to found his Grand National Collection; -he has torn up his great schemes for a National Theatre, a Grand -National Paper; he has ceased to think, for the delectation of the -Golden Butterfly, about improving the human race. His gratitude to -that prodigy of Nature has so far cooled that he now considers it more -in the light of a capricious sprite, a sort of Robin Good-fellow, than -as a benefactor. He has also changed his views as to the construction -of the round earth, and all that is therein. Ile, he says, may be -found by other lucky adventures; but Ile is not to be depended on for -a permanence. He would now recommend those who strike Ile to make -their Pile as quickly as may be, and devote all their energies to the -safety of that pile. And as to the human race, it may slide. - -"What's the good," he says to Jack Dunquerque, "of helpin' up those -that are bound to climb? Let them climb. And what's the good of tryin' -to save those that are bound to fall? Let them fall. I'm down myself; -but I mean to get up again." - -It is sad to record that Mr. Burls, the picture-dealer, refused to buy -back again the great picture of "Sisera and Jael." No one would -purchase the work at all. Mr. Beck offered it to the Langham Hotel as -a gift. The directors firmly declined to accept it. When it was -evident that this remarkable effort of genius was appreciated by no -one, Gilead Beck resolved on leaving it where it was. It is rumoured -that the manager of the hotel bribed the owner of a certain Regent -Street restaurant to take it away; and I have heard that it now hangs, -having been greatly cut down, on the wall of that establishment, -getting its tones mellowed day by day with the steam of roast and -boiled. As for the other pictures, Mr. Burls expressed his extreme -sorrow that temporary embarrassment prevented him purchasing them back -at the price given for them. He afterwards told Mr. Beck that the -unprincipled picture-dealer who did ultimately buy them, at the price -of so much a square foot, and as second-rate copies, was a disgrace to -his honourable profession. He, he said, stood high in public -estimation for truth, generosity, and fair dealing. None but genuine -works came from his own establishment; and what he called a Grooze was -a Grooze, and nothing but a Grooze. - -As for the Pile, Gilead's power of attorney had effectually destroyed -that. There was not a cent left; not one single coin to rub against -another. All was gone in that great crash. - -He called upon Gabriel Cassilis. The financier smiled upon him with -his newly-born air of sweetness and trust; but, as we have seen, he -could no longer speak, and there was nothing in his face to express -sorrow or repentance. - -Gilead found himself, when all was wound up, the possessor of that -single cheque which Joseph Jagenal had placed in his hands, and which, -most fortunately for himself, he had not paid into the bank. - -Four hundred pounds. With that, at forty-five, he was to begin the -world again. After all, the majority of mankind at forty five have -much less than four hundred pounds. - -He heard from Canada that the town he had built, the whole of which -belonged to him, was deserted again. There was a quicker rush out of -it than into it. It stands there now, more lonely than Empire -City--its derricks and machinery rusting and dropping to pieces, the -houses empty and neglected, the land relapsing into its old condition -of bog and marsh. But Gilead Beck will never see it again. - -He kept away from Twickenham during this winding-up and settlement of -affairs. It was a week later when, his mind at rest and his conscience -clear of bills and doubts, because now there was nothing more to lose, -he called at the house where he had spent so many pleasant hours. - -Mrs. L'Estrange received him. She was troubled in look, and the traces -of tears were on her face. - -"It is a most onfortunate time," Gilead said sympathetically; "a most -onfortunate time." - -"Blow after blow, Mr. Beck," Agatha sobbed. "Stroke upon stroke." - -"That is so, madam. They've got the knife well in, this time, and when -they give it a twist we're bound to cry out. You've thought me -selfish, I know, not to inquire before." - -"No, Mr. Beck; no. It is only too kind of you to think of us in your -overwhelming disaster. I have never spent so wretched a week. Poor -Lawrence has literally not a penny left, except what he gets from the -sale of his horses, pictures and things. Captain Ladds is the same; -Phillis has no longer a farthing; and now, Oh dear, Oh dear. I am -going to lose her altogether!" - -"But when she marries Mr. Dunquerque you will see her often." - -"No, no. Haven't they told you? Jack has got almost nothing--only ten -thousand pounds altogether; and they have made up their minds to -emigrate. They are going to Virginia, where Jack will buy a small -estate." - -"Is that so?" asked Gilead meditatively. - -"Lawrence says that he and Captain Ladds will go away together -somewhere; perhaps back to Empire City." - -"And you will be left alone--you, Mrs. L'Estrange--all alone in this -country, and ruined. It mustn't be." He straightened himself up, and -looked round the room. "It must not be, Mrs. L'Estrange. You know me -partly--that is you know the manner of man I wish to seem and try to -be; you know what I have been. You do not know, because you cannot -guess, the things which you have put into my head." - -Mrs. L'Estrange blushed and began to tremble. Could it be possible -that he was actually going to-- - -He was. - -"You and I together, Mrs. L'Estrange, are gone to wreck in this -almighty hurricane. I've got one or two thousand dollars left; perhaps -you will have as much, perhaps _not_. Mrs. L'Estrange, you will think -it presumptuous in a rough American--not an American gentleman by -birth and raising--to offer you such protection and care as he can -give to the best of women? We, too, will go to Virginia with Mr. -Dunquerque and his wife; we will settle near them, and watch their -happiness. The Virginians are a kindly folk, and love the English -people, especially if they are of gentle birth. Say, Mrs. L'Estrange." - -"O Mr. Beck! I am forty years of age!" - -"And I am five and forty." - -Just then Phillis and Jack burst into the room. They did not look at -all like being ruined; they were wild with joy and good spirits. - -"And you are going to Virginia, Mr. Dunquerque?" said Gilead. "I am -thinking of going, too, if I can persuade this lady to go with me." - -"O Agatha! come with us!" - -"Come with me," corrected Gilead. - -Then Phillis saw how things lay--what a change in Phillis, to see so -much?--and half laughing, but more in seriousness than in mirth, threw -her arms round Agatha's neck. - -"Will you come, dear Agatha? He is a good man, and he loves you; and -we will all live near together and be happy." - - -Three short scenes to conclude my story. - -It is little more than a year since Agatha L'Estrange, as shy and -blushing as any maiden--much more shy than Phillis--laid her hand in -Gilead's, with the confession, half sobbed out, "And it isn't a -mistake you are making, because I am not ruined at all. It is only you -and these poor children and Lawrence." - -We are back again to Empire City. It is the early fall, September. The -yellow leaves clothe all the forests with brown and gold; the sunlight -strikes upon the peaks and ridges of the great Sierra, lights up the -broad belt of wood making shadows blacker than night, and lies along -the grass grown streets of the deserted Empire City. Two men in -hunting-dress are making their way slowly through the grass and weeds -that choke the pathway. - -"Don't like it, Colquhoun," says one; "more ghostly than ever." - -They push on, and presently the foremost, Ladds, starts back with a -cry. - -"What is it?" asks Colquhoun. - -They push aside the brambles, and behold a skeleton. The body has been -on its knees, but now only the bones are left. They are clothed in the -garb of the celestial, and one side of the skull is broken in, as if -with a shot. - -"It must be my old friend Achow," said Colquhoun calmly. "See, he's -been murdered." - -In the dead of night Ladds awakened Colquhoun. - -"Can't help it," he said; "very sorry. Ghosts walking about the -stairs. Says the ghost of Achow to the shade Leeching, 'No your piecy -pidgin makee shootee me.' Don't like ghosts, Colquhoun." - -Next morning they left Empire City. Ladds was firm in the conviction -that he had heard and seen a Chinaman's ghost, and was resolute -against stopping another night in the place. - -Just outside the town they made another discovery. - -"Good Lord!" cried Ladds, frightened out of sobriety of speech. "It -rains skeletons. Look there; he's beckoning!" - -And, to be sure, before them was raised, with finger as of invitation, -a skeleton hand. - -This, too, belonged to a complete assortment of human bones clad in -Chinese dress. By its side lay a rusty pistol. Lawrence picked it up. - -"By Gad!" he said, "it's the same pistol I gave to Leeching. How do -you read this story, Ladds?" - -Ladds sat down and replied slowly. He said that he never did like -reading ghost stories, and since the apparition of the murdered Achow, -the night before, he should like them still less. Ghost stories, he -said, are all very well until you come to see and hear a ghost. Now -that he had a ghost story of his own--an original one in pigeon -English--he did not intend ever to read another. Therefore Colquhoun -must excuse him if he gave up the story of Leeching's skeleton -entirely to his own reading. He then went on to say that he never had -liked skeletons, and that he believed Empire City was nothing but a -mouldy old churchyard without the church, while, as a cemetery, it -wasn't a patch upon Highgate. And the mention of Highgate, he said, -reminded him of Phillis; and he proposed they should both get to -Virginia, and call upon Jack and his wife. - -All this took time to explain; and meanwhile Lawrence was poking the -butt end of his gun about in the grass to see if there was anything -more. There was something more. It was a bag of coarse yellow canvas, -tied by a string round what had been the waist of a man. Lawrence cut -the string, and opened the bag. - -"We're in luck, Tommy. Look at this." - -It was the gold so laboriously scraped together by the two Chinamen, -which had caused, in a manner, the death of both. - -"Lift it, Tommy." Colquhoun grew excited at his find. "Lift it--there -must be a hundred and fifty ounces, I should think. It will be worth -four or five hundred pounds. Here's a find!" - -To this pair, who had only a year ago chucked away their thousands, -the luck of picking up a bag of gold appeared something wonderful. - -"Tommy," said Colquhoun, "I tell you what we will do. We will add this -little windfall to what Beck would call your little pile and my little -pile. And we'll go and buy a little farm in Virginia, too; and we will -live there close to Jack and Phillis. Agatha will like it too. And -there's capital shooting." - - -Gabriel Cassilis and his wife reside at Brighton. The whole of the -great fortune being lost, they have nothing but Victoria's settlement. -That gives them a small income. "Enough to subsist upon," Victoria -tells her friends. The old man--he looks very old and fragile now--is -wheeled about in a chair on sunny days. When he is not being wheeled -about he plays with his child, to whom he talks; that is, pours out a -stream of meaningless words, because he will never again talk -coherently. Victoria is exactly the same as ever--cold, calm, and -proud. Nor is there anything whatever in her manner to her husband, if -she accidentally meets him, to show that she has the slightest sorrow, -shame, or repentance for the catastrophe she brought about. Joseph -Jagenal is working the great Dyson will case for them, and is -confident that he will get the testator's intentions, which can now be -only imperfectly understood, set aside, when Gabriel Cassilis will -once more become comparatively wealthy. - - -On a verandah in sunny Virginia, Agatha Beck sits quietly working, and -crooning some old song in sheer content and peace of heart. Presently -she lifts her head as she hears a step. That smile with which she -greets her husband shows that she is happy in her new life. Gilead -Beck is in white, with a broad straw hat, because it is in hot -September. In his hand he has a letter. - -"Good news, wife; good news," he says. "Jack and Phillis are coming -here to-day, and will stay till Monday. Will be here almost as soon as -the note. Baby coming, too." - -"Of course, Gilead," says Agatha, smiling superior. "As if the dear -girl would go anywhere without her little Philip. And six weeks old -to-morrow." - -(Everybody who has appreciated how very far from clever Jack -Dunquerque was will be prepared to hear that he committed an enormous -etymological blunder in the baptism of his boy, whom he named Philip, -in the firm belief that Philip was the masculine form of Phillis.) - -"Here they come! Here they are!" - -Jack comes rattling up to the house in his American trap, jumps out, -throws the reins to the boy, and hands out his wife with the child. -Kisses and greetings. - -Phillis seems at first, unchanged, except perhaps that the air of -Virginia has made her sweet delicacy of features more delicate. Yet -look again, and you find that she is changed. She was a child when we -saw her first; then we saw her grow into a maiden; she is a wife and a -mother now. - -She whispers her husband. - -"All right, Phil, dear.--Beck, you've got to shut your eyes for just -one minute. No, turn your back so. Now you may look." - -Phillis has hung round the neck of her unconscious baby, by a golden -chain, the Golden Butterfly. It seems as strong and vigorous as ever; -and as it lies upon the child's white dress, it looks as if it were -poised for a moment's rest, but ready for flight. - -"That Inseck!" said Gilead sentimentally. "Wal, it's given me the best -thing that a man can get"--he took the hand of his wife--"love and -friendship. You are welcome, Phillis, to all the rest, provided that -all the rest does not take away these." - -"Nay," she said, her eyes filling with the gentle dew of happiness and -content; "I have all that I want for myself. I have my husband and my -boy--my little, little Philip! I am more than happy; and so I give to -tiny Phil all the remaining Luck of the Golden Butterfly." - - -THE END. - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Golden Butterfly, by -Walter Besant and James Rice - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY *** - -***** This file should be named 43442-8.txt or 43442-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/4/4/43442/ - -Produced by sp1nd and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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