diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-06 03:59:43 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-06 03:59:43 -0800 |
| commit | bf2672e96b241dd38bebcde799c6040c876e5e54 (patch) | |
| tree | 7aac6474cff2082d9351cc347752e9a9798def15 | |
| parent | 9d3b945af184c57c5e2cc6f63209ccb1dedac958 (diff) | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/52756-0.txt | 8384 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/52756-0.zip | bin | 173625 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/52756-h.zip | bin | 250952 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/52756-h/52756-h.htm | 8430 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/52756-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 68738 -> 0 bytes |
8 files changed, 17 insertions, 16814 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4efd7b8 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #52756 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52756) diff --git a/old/52756-0.txt b/old/52756-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index dca9343..0000000 --- a/old/52756-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8384 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Cuckoo in the Nest, v. 2/2, by Margaret Oliphant - -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/license - - -Title: The Cuckoo in the Nest, v. 2/2 - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: August 8, 2016 [EBook #52756] -[Last updated: September 16, 2016] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CUCKOO IN THE NEST, V. 2/2 *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - The English Library - - The Cuckoo - in the Nest - - BY - - MRS. OLIPHANT - - AUTHOR OF - - _“THE RAILWAY MAN AND HIS CHILDREN,” - “KIRSTEEN,” “DIANA,” ETC. ETC._ - - VOLUME II. - - _LEIPZIG_ - HEINEMANN AND BALESTIER - (_Ltd. London_) - - _PARIS_ - HACHETTE ET CIE - - _The Volumes of the English Library are published by arrangement - with the Authors, and enjoy Copyright in all Continental countries, - but may not be introduced into Great Britain, Ireland, or - the British Colonies_ - - COMPLETE IN TWO VOLUMES - - - - - The English Library - - No. 157 - - THE CUCKOO IN THE NEST - - BY MRS. OLIPHANT - - _IN TWO VOLUMES_ - - - _OTHER VOLUMES BY THE SAME AUTHOR - PUBLISHED IN_ - The English Library - - 77. 78. THE RAILWAY MAN AND HIS CHILDREN 2 Vols. - 95. 96. THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR 2 Vols. - - (_In the Press_) - - THE VICTORIAN AGE OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. - - DIANA. - - _Copyright Edition_ - - - - - THE CUCKOO - IN THE NEST - - BY - MRS. OLIPHANT - - AUTHOR OF - “_WITHIN THE PRECINCTS_,” “_THE RAILWAY MAN AND HIS CHILDREN_,” - “_AT HIS GATES_,” “_THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR_,” _ETC._ - - _IN TWO VOLUMES_ - - VOLUME II. - - LEIPZIG - HEINEMANN AND BALESTIER - _LIMITED_, _LONDON_ - 1892 - - - - - THE CUCKOO IN THE NEST - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - -Colonel Piercey had been walking up and down somewhat impatiently for -some time, at the corner of the rose-garden where Osy had left him. The -child had not then seen the lady at the window who asked who was that -little boy; and this incident and the account of it, which Osy had -hastened to give to his mother, had naturally occupied some time. He was -not much accustomed to wait, and did not like it. And when he saw -Margaret come slowly along, some half-hour after he had sent, what he -felt was a very respectful message to her, asking her to allow him a few -minutes’ conversation, the curious opposition and sense of inevitable -hostility which he felt towards his cousin, was sharpened into a keen -feeling of resentment. She had held him at bay all along, never treated -him with confidence or friendliness; and if she chose to affect -fine-lady airs of coyness and pride _now_! It was quite unconsciously to -himself, and he was by nature a man full of generosity, who would have -been more astonished than words could say, had he been charged with -presuming upon adverse circumstances; and yet he was far more angry with -Margaret in her dependent position than he would have been with any -woman more happily situated. He felt that she, as women he believed -generally did, was disposed to stand upon the superiority of being at so -great a disadvantage, and to claim consideration from the very fact that -she got it from no one. Why should she bear the spurns of all the -unworthy, and mount upon that pedestal of patient merit to him? It was -not that he felt it natural to treat her badly because other people did, -but because the fact that other people did, gave her the opportunity of -assuming that it would be the same with him. He would have liked to take -her by the shoulders and shake out of her that aspect of injury, without -knowing that he dared not have entertained that fierce intention towards -any one who was not injured. Finally, he watched her coming towards him -slowly, showing her reluctance in every step, with an impatience and -disinclination to put up with it, which was almost stronger than any -feeling of personal opposition he had ever felt in his life. She said, -before she had quite come up to him: “I am sorry I have kept you -waiting. Osy has only given me your message now.” - -It was on his lips to say: “You are not sorry to have kept me waiting!” -but he subdued that impulse. A man like Colonel Piercey cannot give a -woman the lie direct, unless in very serious circumstances indeed. He -replied stiffly: “I fear I have taken a great liberty in asking you to -meet me here at all.” - -Margaret answered only with a faint smile and wave of her hand, which -seemed to Colonel Piercey to say as plainly as words: “Everybody offers -me indignity; why not you, too?” which, perhaps, was not very far from -the fact; though she was a great deal too proud to have ever said, or -even implied, anything of the kind. He answered his own supposition -hotly, by saying: “I know no other place where we should be safe from -interruption, and I thought it my duty to---- speak to you about the new -condition of affairs.” - -“Yes?” said Margaret. “I am afraid I have very little light to throw on -the position; but I shall be glad to hear what you have to say.” - -All that he said in the meantime was, with some resentment: “You don’t -seem so much startled by what has happened as I should have supposed.” - -“I was much startled to see Patty--I mean the person whom we must now -call Mrs. Gervase--at the funeral. But of course, after that, one was -prepared for all the rest. I don’t know that I had much reason to be -startled even at that. From the moment we found that she was absent -while he was absent, I ought to have, and indeed I did, divine what must -have occurred. However sure one is of such a thing, it is startling, all -the same, when one comes to see it actually accomplished; but I ought -not to say more than that.” - -“You take it with much philosophy,” Colonel Piercey said. - -“Do you think so? I should be glad to think I was so strong-minded; for -there is probably no one to whom it will make so much difference as to -me.” - -“That is why I felt that I must speak to you. Can nothing be done to -prevent this?” - -“To prevent what?” she said, with some surprise. - -“The reign of this woman over Uncle Giles’ house, in Aunt Piercey’s -place! It is too intolerable; it is enough to make the old lady rise -from her grave.” - -“Poor old Aunt Piercey! She has been taken away from the evil to come. I -am glad that she is dead, and has not had this to bear.” - -“I suppose women have tears at their will,” cried Colonel Piercey, -bursting forth in an impatience which he could restrain no longer. “She -was not so kind to you that you should feel so tenderly for her.” - -“How do you know she was not kind to me? She was natural, at all -events,” cried Margaret. “It has all been quite natural up to this time; -I went away and I came back, and whatever happened to me, I was at home. -But you, Colonel Piercey, you are not natural. I have no right to accept -contumely at your hands. You came here with a suspicion of Heaven knows -what in your mind; you thought I had some design: what was the design -which you suspected me of having against the happiness of this -household? I warned you that you should have some time or other to -explain what you meant--to me.” - -Colonel Piercey stood confronting her among the roses which formed so -inappropriate a background, and did not know what reply to make. He had -not expected that assault. Answer to a man for whatever you have said or -seemed to say, and whatever may lie behind, that is simple enough; but -to explain your injurious thoughts to a woman, who does not even soften -the situation by saying that she has no one to protect her--that is a -different matter. He grew red, and then grew grey. He had no more notion -what to answer to her than he had what it was, actually and as a matter -of fact, that he had suspected. He had not suspected anything. He had -felt that a woman like this could never have accepted the position of -dependence, unless---- That such a person must be a dangerous and -hostile force--that she had wrongs to redress, a position to make--how -could he tell? It had been instinctive, he had never known what he -thought. - -“Cousin Meg----” he said, hesitating. - -“From the moment,” she said indignantly, “in which you set me up as a -schemer and designing person in the home that sheltered me, these terms -of relationship have been worse than out of place.” - -Poor Colonel Piercey! He was as far from being a coward as a man could -be. If he did not write V.C. after his name, it was, perhaps, because -the opportunity had not come to him of acquiring that distinction; he -was the kind of man of which V.C.'s are made. But now, no expedient, -save that of utter cowardice, occurred to him; for the first time in -his life he ran away. - -“I am very sorry you will not accord me these terms,” he said, meekly; -“I don’t understand what you accuse me of. _I_ think you a schemer and -designing person! how could I? If you will excuse me, there is no sense -in such a suggestion. Unless I had been a fool--and I hope, at least, -that you don’t consider me a fool--how could I have thought anything of -the kind? You must think me either mad or an idiot,” he went on, gaining -a little courage. “I came here with no suspicions. I have been angry,” -he added, turning his head away, “to see my cousin, Meg Piercey, at -everybody’s beck and call, and to see how careless they were of you, and -how exacting, and how----” - -“All this,” said Margaret, with surprise, “should have made you look -upon me with compassion instead of something like insult.” - -“Oh, compassion,” he cried, “to you! I should have thought that the -worst insult of all. You are not a person to be pitied. However I may -have offended, I have always felt that----” - -The end of this statement was part of the process of running away. -Indeed, he was very much frightened, and felt the falseness of his -position extremely. He had not a word to say for himself. To upbraid -her--at a moment when her home, her last shelter, was probably about to -be taken from her, and herself thrown upon the world with her helpless -child--he, perhaps, being the only person who had any right to help -her--was the most impossible thing in the world. And though his opinion -had no time or occasion to have changed, it had always been an opinion -founded upon nothing. A more curious state of mind could scarcely be. He -was dislodged from his position at the point of Margaret’s sword, so to -speak. And he had never had any ground for that position, or right to -have assumed it; and yet he was still there in mind, though in word and -profession he had run away. Margaret did not understand this complicated -state of mind. She was half amused by the dismay in his face, by his too -swift and complete change of front. The _amende_ which he had made was -as complete as any apology and confession could be, though it was an -apology by implication, rather than a direct denial of blame. “How could -I?” is different from “I did not.” But she did not dwell upon this. - -“Of course,” she said, “I have no right not to accept what you say, -though it is, perhaps, strangely expressed. And I scarcely know what -there is I can explain to you. My aunt feared this that has taken place, -before I did: she naturally thought less of her son’s deficiencies. She -was so imprudent, as I thought it, as to warn the girl of things she -would do to prevent it. I believe there was really nothing that could -have been done to prevent it. And then she was equally imprudent in -letting him go to town, and thus giving him the opportunity. She thought -she could secure him by putting him in the hands of the clergyman, who -never saw him at all. I feared very much how it would be, and poor -Gervase was several times on the point of betraying himself. Perhaps, if -I had sought his confidence---- But his mother would not have paid any -attention to what I could say. And I don’t know what could have been -done to prevent it.” - -“Why, he is next to an idiot!” - -“Oh no,” cried Margaret, half offended. “Gervase is not an idiot. He has -gleams of understanding, quite--almost, as clear as any one. He knows -what he wants, and though you may think his mind has no steadiness, you -will find he always comes back to his point. He has a kind of -cleverness, even, at times. Oh no; Aunt Piercey examined into all that. -They could not make him out incapable of managing his own affairs. To be -sure, he has not had any to manage up to this time. And now that he has -this sharp Patty behind him,” said Margaret, with a half smile---- - -“Then you think nothing can be done?” - -“What could be done? You could not do anything in Uncle Giles’ lifetime -to turn his only child out of his inheritance.” - -“It is you,” said Colonel Piercey, “who are imputing intentions now. I -had no such idea. I think my business as next-of-kin is to defend the -poor fellow. But the woman; that is a different thing.” - -“The woman is his wife. I don’t want to assume any unnatural -impartiality. But, after all, is he likely ever to have had a better -wife? I believe she will be an excellent wife to Gervase. One of his -own class, I hope, would not have married him.” - -“Why do you say, ‘I hope?’ Is that not worse than anything that could be -said?” - -“Perhaps,” said Margaret. “Poor Gervase is not an idiot, but neither is -he just like other people. And a girl might have been driven into it, -and then might have found----” She added, with a little shiver, “It is -the best thing that could have happened for him to marry Patty. I hate -it, of course. How could I do otherwise? But as far as he himself is -concerned----” - -“You are a great philosopher, Cousin Meg.” - -“Do you think so?” Half resentful as she was, and not more than half -satisfied with Colonel Piercey’s explanations, he was yet the only -person in the world to whom she could speak with freedom; and it was a -relief to her. “She will look after Uncle Giles’ comfort, and he will -get to like her,” she continued. “She will rule the household with a rod -of iron.” Margaret laughed, though her face settled down the next moment -into a settled gravity. “They will have no society, but they will not -want it. She will keep them amused. Perhaps it is the best thing that -could have happened,” she said. - -“And you? and the boy?” He stopped and looked at her standing among the -roses, which were very luxuriant in the last climax of maturity, full -blown, shedding their leaves, just about to topple over from that height -of life into the beginning of decay. Margaret had no trace of decay -about her, but she, too, was in the full height of life, the fulfilment -of promise, standing at the _mezzo di cammin_, and full of all -capabilities. She did not look up at him, but answered with a -half-smile,-- - -“I--and the boy? We are not destitute. Perhaps it will be better for us -both to set out together, and live our own life.” - -“You are not destitute? I hope you will pardon me. After what you think -my conduct has been, you may say I have no right----” - -Margaret smiled in spite of herself. - -“But you say that your conduct has been--not what I thought.” - -“Yes, yes, that is so: I have not been such a fool. Cousin Meg, we were -great friends in the old days.” - -“Not such very great friends--no more than girls and boys are when they -are not specially attached to each other.” - -He thought that she intended to give him a little prick with one of -those thorns which the matured rose still keeps upon its stalk; and he -felt the prick, which, being still more mature than she, he ought not to -have done. - -“I think it was a little more than that,” he said, in a slight tone of -pique; “but anyhow--we are cousins.” - -“Very distant cousins.” - -“Distant cousins,” he cried, impatiently, “are near when there are no -nearer between. We are of the same blood, at least. You want to push me -away, to make me feel I have nothing to do with it; but that can’t be -so long as you are Meg Piercey----” - -“Margaret Osborne at your service,” she said, gravely. “Forgive me, -Cousin Gerald. It is true, we have had enough of this tilting. I don’t -doubt for a moment that you would give me a helping hand if you could; -that you wish me well, and especially,” she added, lifting her eyes with -a half reproach, half gratitude in them, “the boy--as you call him.” - -“What could I call him but the boy?” said Colonel Piercey, with a sort -of exasperation. “Yes, I don’t deny it, it was of him I wanted to speak. -He is a delightful boy--he is full of faculty and capacity, and one -could make anything of him. Let me say quite sincerely what I think. You -are not destitute; but you are not rich enough to give him the best of -everything in the way of education, as--as--don’t slay me with a flash -of lightning--as I could. Now I have said it! If you would trust him to -me!” - -She had looked, indeed, for a moment as if her eyes could give forth -lightning enough to have slain any man standing defenceless before her; -but then these eyes softened with hot tears. She kept looking at the -man, explaining himself with such difficulty, putting forth his offer of -kindness as if it were some dreadful proposition, with a gradual melting -of the lines in her face. When he threw a hasty glance at her at the end -of his speech, she seemed to him a woman made of fire, shedding light -about her in an astonishing transfiguration such as he had never seen -before. - -“This,” she said, in a low voice, “is the most terrible demonstration of -my poverty and helplessness that has ever been made to me--and the most -awful suggestion, as of suicide and destruction.” - -“Meg!” - -“Don’t, don’t interrupt me! It is: I have never known how little good I -was before. I don’t know now if it will kill me, or sting me to life; -but all the same,” she cried, her lip quivering, “you are kind, and I -thank you with all my heart! and I will promise you this: If I find, as -you think, that, whatever I may do, I cannot give my Osy the education -he ought to have, I will send and remind you of your offer. I hope you -will have children of your own by that time, and perhaps you will have -forgotten it.” - -“I shall not forget it; and I am very unlikely to have children of my -own.” - -“Anyhow, I will trust you,” she said, “and I thank you with all my -heart, though you are my enemy. And that is a bargain,” she said, -holding out her hand. - -Her enemy! Was he her enemy? And yet it seemed something else beside. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - - -While these scenes were going on, Mr. and Mrs. Gervase Piercey were very -differently employed upstairs. When Patty had finished her tea, and when -she had made the survey of the library, concerning which her conclusion -was that these horrid bookcases must be cleared away, and that a -full-length portrait of herself in the white satin which had not, yet -ought to have been, her wedding-dress, would do a great deal for the -cheerfulness of the room, she took her husband’s arm, and desired him to -conduct her over the house. When Patty saw the drawing-room, which was -very large, cold, and light in colour, with chairs and chandeliers in -brown holland, she changed her mind about the library. She had not been -aware of the existence of this drawing-room. - -“This is where we shall sit, of course,” she said. - -“Father can’t abide it,” said Gervase. - -“Oh, your father is a very nice old gentleman. He will have to put up -with it,” said the new lady of the house. - -In imagination she saw herself seated there, receiving the county, and -the spirit of Patty was uplifted. She felt, for the first time, without -any admixture of disappointment, that here was her sphere. When she was -taken upstairs, however, to Gervase’s room, she regarded it by no means -with the same satisfaction. It was a large room, but sparsely furnished, -in no respect like the luxurious bower she had imagined for herself. - -“Take off my bonnet here!” she said: “no, indeed I sha’n’t. Why, there -is not even a drapery to the toilet table. I have not come to Greyshott, -I hope, to have less comfort than I had at home. There must be spare -rooms. Take me to the best of the spare rooms.” - -“There’s the prince’s room,” said Gervase, “but nobody sleeps there -since some fellow of a prince--I can’t tell you what prince---- And I -haven’t got the keys; it’s Parsons that has got the keys.” - -“You can call Parsons, I suppose. Ring the bell,” said Patty, seizing -the opportunity to look at herself in the glass, though she surveyed the -room with contempt. - -“Lord!” cried Gervase. “Parsons, mother’s own woman----.” Then he threw -himself down in his favourite chair with his hands in his pockets. “You -can do it yourself. I’m not going to catch a scolding for you.” - -“A scolding!” said Patty; “and who is going to scold you, you silly -fellow, except me? I should like to see them try--Mrs. Parsons or Sir -Giles, or any one. You can just say, ‘Speak to my wife.’” - -“There’s mother, that you daren’t set up your face to. I say,” said -Gervase; “Patty, what’s all this about mother? Mother’s--dead? She’ll -never have a word to say about anything any more?” - -“Dear mother!” said Patty. “You must always say dear mother, Gervase, -now: I’m sure I should have loved her--but, you see, Providence never -gave me the opportunity. No, she’ll never have a word to say: it’s me -that will have everything to say.--Oh, you have answered the bell at -last! Send Mrs. Parsons here.” - -“Mrs. Parsons, ma’am--my lady?” the frightened little under-housemaid, -who had been made to answer, said. - -Patty gave her a gracious smile, feeling that at last she had found some -one who understood what her claims were. - -“What’s your name?” she said. - -“Ellen.” - -“Well, Ellen, I like your looks, and I’ve no doubt we shall get on; but -you needn’t call me my lady, not now,--for the present I am only Mrs. -Gervase. Now, go and send Parsons here.” - -“Oh, my lady, Mrs. Parsons! she’s in my old lady’s room. I daren’t -disturb her, not for anything in the world; it would be as much as my -place was worth.” - -“I see you are only a little fool after all,” said Patty, with a frown. -“Your place is just worth this much--whether you please me or not. Mrs. -Parsons has as much power as--as that table. Goodness,” cried Patty, -“what a state this house has been in, to be sure, when one servant is -afraid of another! but I shall soon put an end to that. Call Parsons! -let her come at once.” - -The little housemaid came back while Patty still stood before the glass -straightening the edge of her bonnet and arranging her veil. - -“If you please, my lady, Mrs. Parsons is doing out my old lady’s -drawers--and she has her head bent down, and I can’t make her hear.” - -“I’ll make her hear,” cried Patty, with an impulse which belonged rather -to her previous condition than to her present dignity; and she rushed -along the corridor like a whirlwind, with her draperies flying. It was, -doubtless, instinct or inspiration that directed her to the right door, -while Gervase followed on her steps to see the fun, with a grin upon his -face. He remembered only now and then, when something recalled it to -him, that his mother was gone. He was not thinking of her now; -nevertheless, when Patty burst into that room, he stood in the doorway -dumb, the grin dying out from his face, and gave a scared look round as -if looking for the familiar presence he had so often encountered there. - -“You perhaps have not heard, Mrs. Parsons,” said Patty, with her sharp, -decisive voice, “that I sent for you?” - -Parsons had her head bent over the drawers. She said, without turning -round, “That gaby, Ellen, said something about somebody wanting me”; and -then began to count,--“Eight, nine, ten. Three dozen here and three -dozen in the walnut wardrobe,” said Parsons; “that makes it just right.” - -Patty’s curiosity overcame her resentment. She came forward and looked -over Parsons’ shoulder. “Six dozen silk stockings,” she cried; “is that -what you are counting? What a number for an old lady! and fine, too, and -in good condition,” she said, putting her hand over the woman’s shoulder -and bringing forth a handful. They were mingled white and black, and -Patty looked upon them with covetous eyes. - -“Who are you as takes such a liberty?” cried Parsons, springing to her -feet. She found herself confronted by Patty’s very alert, firm figure -and resolute countenance. Patty drew Lady Piercey’s silk stockings -through her hands, looking at the size of them. She held them up by the -toes to mark her sense of their enormous dimensions. - -“I could put both my feet into one of them,” she said, reflectively, “so -that they are no use to me. Oh, you are Parsons! Open the door, please, -at once, of the best rooms. I want to settle down.” - -The woman looked at the intruder with a mixture of defiance and fear. -She turned to Gervase, appealing against the stranger. Many a time had -Parsons put the Softy out of his mother’s room, bidding him be off and -not aggravate my lady. But my lady was gone, and Gervase was the -master, to do what he would; or, what was worse, it was Patty who was -the mistress. Patty of the ale-house! Parsons looked at Gervase with an -agonised appeal. “They’re your mother’s things,” she said; “Mr. Gervase, -will you see them knock about your mother’s things?” - -Patty’s eyes were in the drawer remarking everything, and those eyes -sparkled and shone. What treasures were there! Not only silk stockings -too big for her, but linen, and lace, and embroidered handkerchiefs, and -silks, such as Patty had never seen before. She went to the drawers and -closed them one after another. - -“I see there are some nice things here,” she said. “We can’t have them -turned over like this by a servant. Some servants expect their -mistress’s things as their perquisites, but we can’t allow that in this -house. Lock them up, lock them up at once, and I’ll take the keys.” - -“The keys--my keys!” cried Parsons almost beside herself. - -“The late Lady Piercey’s keys. I’ll take them, please, all of them. -There’s a time for everything; and to go over my mother-in-law’s things -the very day of her funeral is indecent--that is what it is, indecent; I -can find no other word.” - -“I’ll never give up my keys!” cried Parsons, “that my dear lady trusted -me with--never, never!” And then she burst into tears, and flung them -down on the floor at Gervase’s feet. “Take them all, then! all!” she -cried; “I’ll not keep one of them! Oh, my dear old lady, what a good -thing she has not lived to see this day! But it never would have -happened had she been here. You never, never would have dared to lift up -your little impudent face.--Oh, Mr. Gervase! oh, Mr. Gervase, save me -from her! She’ll tear me to pieces!” Parsons cried. No doubt Patty’s -look was fierce. The woman seized hold upon Gervase and swung herself -out by him, keeping his limp person between her and his wife. “Don’t let -her!” she cried, “don’t let her! in your own mother’s room.” - -“Mrs. Parsons,” said Patty, over Gervase’s body as it were, “do you -think I would soil my fingers by touching you? You thought you would rob -the poor lady that’s dead, and that nobody would notice; but you did not -know that _I_ was here. Instead of rummaging Lady Piercey’s drawers, you -had better empty your own, and get ready for leaving. Have all your -accounts ready and your keys ready; you shall leave this house by twelve -to-morrow,” Patty cried. - -“Mr. Gervase, Mr. Gervase!” cried the unfortunate woman. - -“I say, don’t you go and touch me, Parsons. I don’t mind your talking, -but you sha’n’t go and finger me as if I was clothes from the wash,” -said Gervase. He laughed at his own joke with enjoyment. “As if I was a -basket of clothes from the wash,” he said. - -“Shut the door upon her, Gervase. I don’t condescend to bandy words.--At -twelve to-morrow,” Patty said. - -Parsons went downstairs mad with fury, and was told the tale of the tea, -and how John Simpson had got his dismissal, and was never to appear -before that upstart more. “We had better all give warning afore she -comes to the rest of us,” said cook. But it was a good place, with many -perquisites, and as she spoke she exchanged with the butler a look of -some anxiety. Perhaps they did not wish to present their accounts at a -moment’s notice. Perhaps they only thought regretfully of their good -place. Parsons had carried things with a high hand over the younger -servants for years. She had not always even respected the -susceptibilities of cook. She had been her mistress’s favourite and -companion, doing, they all thought, very much what she liked with the -internal economy of the house. No one had ventured to contradict, or -even oppose, Lady Piercey’s factotum. It was not in human nature not to -be pleased, more or less, that she had found some one to repay to her in -a certain degree the little tyrannies of the past. “What would Mr. -Dunning say?” was what everybody asked. - -The house was, however, in great agitation as the hour of dinner -approached, and the drama of the family was about to be exposed to the -searching observation of that keen audience which waits at table, and -which had all its faculties sharpened for this, its chief moment of -spectatorship. To have this mode and period of watching the crisis of -life in other human creatures, must be a great _dédommagement_ for any -ills that may pertain to domestic service in these days. It is as good -as a play, nay, better, seeing that there is no simulation in the -history that is worked out under our servants’ eyes. It was exciting to -think, even, how many places should be laid at table; whether Patty, -whose new dignity had not been formally announced to any one, and, who, -for anything they knew, might shrink from appearing in the midst of the -family, unsupported--might not withdraw from the ordeal of the common -meal, or be too much overcome with grief to come downstairs. Patty’s -mind was greatly exercised on the same subject. She had chosen from -among the unoccupied rooms those which pleased her best, which were not, -however, the prince’s rooms, but a suite adjoining which took her fancy, -the size and the fittings of which, however, suggested innumerable new -ideas to a mind open and eager to receive every indication of what was -suitable to her new state. For one thing, they were lined with -prodigious wardrobes: _miles_, Patty said to herself with awe, of old -dark, gleaming, mahogany doors, behind which were pegs and shelves -innumerable, to contain the dresses of the inhabitant. Patty could count -hers--and only two, or at most, three of these were fit for the use of -Mrs. Gervase Piercey--on one hand; and the long range of empty space at -once depressed and excited her--a vacancy that must be filled. In like -manner, the large dressing-table had drawers for jewellery, of which -Patty had none. And in this great space, where her little figure was -visible in glimpses in two or three tall mirrors, there was such evident -need of a maid, that her alert spirit was overawed by the necessity. -Then she had nothing that was needful for the toilet: no shoes, not even -a fresh handkerchief to dry those tears, which were ready to come at the -mention of her dear mother-in-law’s name. The temptation to return to -that dear mother-in-law’s room, and equip herself with those articles -which lay there in such abundance, and which certainly, it would harm no -one to make use of, was very strong. But Patty was half-afraid, -half-conscious, that on this evening, at least, it would be unwise so to -compromise herself. It was not an evening, she reflected, for full -dress, and her mourning would be an excuse for everything. What a wise -inspiration that had been, to cover her old dress with crape! Patty -undid a hook or two, and folded in the corners of her bodice at the -neck. It showed the whiteness of that throat, and gave an indication -that she knew what was required in polite society. And she drew on again -with some difficulty, over hands which were not quite so presentable, -the black gloves, which had not borne the strain of the morning, the -heat, and the affliction, so well as might have been desired. Before -doing this, however, she had written, by a sudden inspiration, a note to -Sally Fletcher, requesting her to come to Greyshott at once with Mrs. -Gervase Piercey’s “things,” and to remain as her maid till further -orders. And then she took her husband’s arm, and went solemnly -downstairs. - -Colonel Piercey was lingering in the hall, much at a loss what to do. -Margaret had not yet appeared. The butler stood at the door of the -dining-room, with Robert, not John Simpson, at his side. Patty knew that -it was correct and proper for the party to assemble first in the -drawing-room, but she waived that ceremony for to-night. She came -downstairs very audibly, describing to Gervase what she intended to do. - -“I can’t bear the gloomy library,” she said. “I don’t mean to sit in it. -We must have the real drawing-room made fit to live in. But all that -will want a little time, and, of course, your dear papa must be -consulted. I would not for the world interfere with his little ways.” - -“Where’s father? ain’t he coming to dinner?” said Gervase, breaking into -this speech, which the audience for which it was intended had already -heard, noted, and inwardly digested. - -“No, Mr. Gervase. Mr. Dunning things as Sir Giles ’as ’ad enough -excitement for to-day.” - -“Well,” said Patty, “I don’t think much of Dunning after his neglect, -but he’s right in that. I should have said so myself had it been -referred to me. Early to bed and kept quite quiet--that is the only -thing for your poor dear papa. Are we waiting for any one?” she said, -looking round with majesty. _J’ai failli attendre_. Patty had never -heard these words, but they were written on her face. - -There was silence in the hall. Colonel Piercey had turned round from the -engraving which he had been examining with quite unnecessary minuteness; -but as he did not know either of the strange couple who by a sudden -transformation had become his hosts, it was not possible that he could -give any explanations; and the butler, who had not the training of a -master of the ceremonies, and who had begun to shake in his shoes before -that personage who, in her day, had drawn beer for him at the Seven -Thorns--who had dismissed the great Parsons, and accused the greater -Dunning of neglect--remained dumb, shifting from one foot to another, -looking helplessly in front of him. He ventured at last to say, with -trepidation, that “Mrs. Osborne, if you please, is just coming -downstairs.” - -“Oh, Mrs. Osborne!” said Patty, and swept into the room. She stood -looking for a moment at the expanse of the table laid with five -places--one of them unnecessary. “I suppose I had better take my own -proper place at once without ceremony,” she said, with an airy gesture, -half to Colonel Piercey, half to the butler. “And, Gervase, as your -father isn’t here, you had better sit in his place. We must make another -arrangement when Sir Giles is able to come to table. Oh, Margaret -Osborne! Is that where she sits? And here she is! I don’t say anything, -for we are a little unpunctual ourselves to-night. But I must warn you -all that I am generally exact to the minute, and I never wait for -anybody,” Patty said. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - -It may easily be supposed that there was not much conversation at the -table thus surrounded. Colonel Piercey and Margaret Osborne sat opposite -to each other, but concealed from each other by the huge bouquet of -flowers which occupied the central place; and neither of them, in the -shock and strangeness of the occasion, found a word to say. They were -both paralysed, so to speak, by the unimaginable circumstances in which -they found themselves, overwhelmed with an amazement which grew as the -meal went on. Gervase, in his father’s seat, ate voraciously, and -laughed a good deal, but said little. Patty was mistress of the -occasion. One glance of keen observation had shown her that Mrs. -Osborne’s dress was not even open at the throat; it was not covered with -crape. It was the simplest of black gowns, with no special sign of -“deep” mourning, such as on the evening of a funeral ought to have been -indispensable. If Patty had ever entertained any doubt of herself it now -vanished. It was she who was fulfilling all the duties necessary. The -others were but outsiders. She had secured triumphantly her proper seat -and sphere. - -“It is unfortunate for us, Gervase,” she said, “to come home on such a -sad day; and to think we knew nothing of all the dreadful things that -were going on till we learned it all with a shock when we arrived! It is -true, we were moving about on our wedding-tour; but still, if the house -hadn’t been filled with those as--that--didn’t wish us well, we might -have been called back; and you, dear, might have had the mournful -satisfaction----” - -“You always said, Patty,” said Gervase, “that you would stay a week -away.” - -“And to think of my poor dear mother-in-law looking for us, holding out -her poor arms to us--and us knowing nothing,” said Patty, drying her -eyes--“as if there were no telegraphs nor railways! Which makes it very -sad for us to come home now; but I hope your dear father, Gervase, if -he’s rightly watched and done for, won’t be any the worse. Oh, I hope -not! it would be too sad. That Dunning, who has been thought so much of, -does not seem to me at all fit for his place. To think of him to-day, -such an agitating day, with nothing to give his master! I shall take the -liberty of superintending Mr. Dunning in future,” Patty said. - -Gerald Piercey and Margaret Osborne ate what was set before them humbly, -without raising their eyes. They were ridiculously silenced and reduced -to subjection; even if they could have encouraged each other with a -glance it would have been something, but they had not even that -alleviation. What to say! They were ignored as completely as if they -had been two naughty children. Gervase, more naughty still, but in -favour, took advantage by behaving himself as badly as possible. He made -signs to the butler to pour him out wine with a liberal hand, and -gobbled his food in great mouthfuls. “I say, Meg,” he whispered, putting -his hand before his mouth, “don’t tell! she can’t see me!” while his -wife’s monologue ran on; and then he interrupted it with one of those -boisterous laughs by which the Softy was known. - -“What is it?” Patty cried sharply from the head of the table. - -“Meg knows--Meg and me knows,” cried Gervase from the other end. - -“I must request,” said Patty, “Margaret Osborne, that you will not make -my husband forget, with your jokes, what day it is. You mayn’t think it, -perhaps, for my poor dear mother-in-law was not very kind to me--but I -feel it to be a very solemn day. And you may be very witty and very -clever, though you don’t show it to me--but I won’t have laughing and -nonsense at my table on poor dear Lady Piercey’s funeral day.” - -What was Margaret to do? She could not defend herself from so grotesque -an accusation. She looked up with some quick words on her lips, but did -not say them. It was intolerable, but it was at the same time ludicrous; -a ridiculous jest, and yet the most horribly, absurdly serious -catastrophe in the world. - -“The laughing seems all on your husband’s side,” said Colonel Piercey, -unable to refrain. - -“Oh!” said Patty, fixing upon him a broad stare: and then she, too, -permitted herself a little laugh. “It’s the strangest thing,” she said, -“and I can’t help seeing it’s ridiculous--though laughing is not in my -mind, however it may be in other people’s, on such a day--here’s a -gentleman sitting at my table, and everybody knows him but me.” - -“I don’t know him,” cried Gervase, “not from Adam; unless it’s Gerald -Piercey, the soldier fellow that mother was so full of before I went off -to get married: though nobody knew I was going to get married,” he said, -with a chuckle, “except little Osy, that gave me---- I say, where’s -little Osy, Meg?” - -“I hope,” said Patty severely, “that children are not in the habit of -being brought down here after dinner as they are in some places. It’s -such bad style, and, I’m thankful to say, it’s going out of fashion. -It’s a thing as I could not put up with here.” - -“Send some one upstairs,” said Margaret, in a low voice to the footman -who was standing by her, “to say that Master Osy is not to come down.” - -“What are you saying to the servant? I don’t want to be disagreeable,” -said Patty, “but I object to a servant being sent away from his -business. Oh, if the child comes usually, let him come, but it must be -for the last time.” - -“If I may go myself,” said Margaret, half rising, “that will be the most -expeditious way.” - -“Not before you have finished your dinner,” cried Patty; “oh, don’t, -pray. I should be quite distressed if you didn’t have your dinner. And -you had no tea. I know some ladies have trays sent upstairs. But I can’t -tolerate such a habit as having trays upstairs: so for goodness’ sake, -Margaret Osborne, sit still and finish your dinner here.” - -Colonel Piercey moved his chair a little; he managed to look beyond the -bouquet at Margaret, sitting flushed and indignant, yet incapable of -completing the absurdity of the situation by a scene at table before the -servants. Colonel Piercey had run through all the gamut of astonishment, -anger, and confusion; he had arrived at pure amusement now. The -momentary interchange of glances made the situation possible, and it was -immediately and unexpectedly ameliorated by the melodramatic appearance -of Dunning behind in the half-darkness at the door. - -“Mr. Gervase, if you please, Sir Giles is calling for you,” the man -said. - -Patty sprang up from her seat. “Sir Giles? the dear old gentleman! Oh, I -foresaw this! He is ill, he is ill! Come, Gervase!” she cried. - -“Not a bit,” said Gervase; “it’s only Dunning’s way. He likes to stop -you in the middle of your dinner. There’s nothing the matter with the -governor, Dunning, eh?” - -“There’s just this, that he’s a-calling for Mr. Gervase, and not no -other person,” Dunning said, with slow precision. - -“Well, I’m Mrs. Gervase; I’m the same as Mr. Gervase. Come, come, don’t -let’s lose a moment! Moments are precious!” cried Patty, rushing to her -husband and snatching him out of his chair, “in his state of health and -at his age.” - -Margaret and the Colonel were left alone, but the fear of the servants -was upon them. They did not venture to say anything to each other. They -were helped solemnly to the dish which had begun to go round, and for a -moment sat in silence like two mutes, with the inexorable bouquet -between them. Then Colonel Piercey said, in very bad French, “This is -worse than I feared. What are we to do?” - -“I shall go to my room to Osy before she comes back.” - -“I have no Osy to go to,” he said with a short laugh. “What a strange -scene! stranger than any in a book. I am glad to have seen it once in a -way.” - -“Not glad, I hope,” said Margaret. “Sorry for Uncle Giles and all the -rest. But she is not so bad as that. No, no, she is not. You don’t -see--she wants to assert all her rights, to show you and me how strong -she is, and how she scorns us. On ordinary occasions she is not like -this.” - -“You are either absurdly charitable in your thoughts, or else you want -to throw dust in my eyes, Cousin Meg.” - -“Nothing of the kind; I do neither. It is quite true. She is not bad in -character at all. She will be kind to Uncle Giles, and probably improve -his condition. We have all had a blind confidence in Dunning, and -perhaps he doesn’t deserve it. She wants to get Uncle Giles into her -own hands, and she will do so. But he will not suffer; I am sure of it.” - -“Poor old gentleman! It is hard to be old, to be handed from one to -another. And will he accept it?” Colonel Piercey said. - -“She will be very nice and kind, and she is young and pretty.” - -“Oh, not--not that!” - -“You are prejudiced, Cousin Gerald. She is pretty when you see her in -her proper aspect, and there can be no doubt she is young. Her voice is -nice and soft. It is almost like a lady’s voice. Hush! I think I hear -her coming back!” Margaret rose hurriedly. “Please say to Mrs. Piercey, -Robert, that I am tired, and have gone to my room.” - -“Let me come too,” said Gerald Piercey, following her into the hall. “I -shall go away to-morrow, of course--and you, what are you going to do?” - -“I cannot go to-morrow. I shall have to wait--until I am turned out, or -till I can go.” - -“I wish you would come with me to my father’s, where you would be most -welcome: and he is a nearer relative than I am.” - -“Thank you; you go too far,” said Margaret. “To think me a scheming -woman only this morning, and at night to offer me a new home, where I -might scheme and plot at my leisure? No, I will do that no more: I will -go to nobody. We are not destitute.” - -“Meg! will you remember that you have nobody nearer to you than my -father and me?” - -“But I have,” she said, “on my mother’s side, and on my husband’s side. -We shall find relations wherever we go.” - -He answered by an impatient exclamation. “There is one thing, at least, -on which we made a bargain a few hours since,” he said. - -The lamp in the hall did not give a good light. It was one of the things -which Patty changed in the first week of her residence at Greyshott. It -threw a very faint illumination on Margaret Osborne’s face. And she did -not say anything to make her meaning clear. She did nothing but hold out -her hand. - -Patty, meanwhile, had made her way, pushing her husband before her, to -Sir Giles’ door. She pushed him inside with an earnest whisper. “Go in, -and talk to him nicely. Be very nice to him, as nice as ever you can be. -Mind, I’m listening to you, and presently I’ll come in, too.” - -The room was closely shut up, though it was a warm night, and scarcely -dark as yet, and Sir Giles sat in his chair with a tray upon the table -beside him. But he had pushed away his soup. His large old face was -excited and feverish, his hands performing a kind of tattoo upon his -chair. “Are you there, my boy? are you there, Gervase?” he said. “Come -in, come in and talk to me a little. I’m left all alone. I have nobody -with me but servants. Where’s--where’s all the family? Your poor -mother’s gone, I know, and we’ll never see her any more. But where’s -everybody? Where’s--where’s everybody?” the old gentleman said with his -unsteady voice. - -“I’m here, father, all right,” Gervase said. - -“Sir Giles, sir, he’s fretting for company, and his game, and all that; -but he ain’t fit for it, Mr. Gervase, he ain’t fit for it. He have gone -through a deal to-day.” - -“I’ll play your game, father. I’m here all right,” Gervase repeated. -“Come, get out the table, you old humbug, and we’ll throw the men and -the dice about. I’m ready, father; I’m always ready,” he said. - -“No, no,” said Sir Giles, pushing the table away; “I don’t want any -game. I’m a sad, lonely old man, and I want somebody to talk to. -Gervase, sit down there and talk to me. Where have you been all this -long time, and your mother, your poor mother, wanting you? What have you -been doing? You can go, Dunning; I don’t want you now. I want to talk to -my boy. Gervase, what have you been doing, and why didn’t you come -home?” - -“I’ve been--getting married, father,” said Gervase, grinning from ear to -ear. “I would have told you, but she wouldn’t let me tell you. She -thought you might have put a stop to it. A fellow wants to be married, -father, when he’s my age.” - -“And who has married you?” said the father, going on beating with his -tremulous fingers as though keeping time to some music. “Who has married -you, my poor boy? It can’t be any great match, but we couldn’t expect -any great match. I saw--a young woman: I thought she was--that I had -somehow seen her before.” - -“Well, she’s--why, she’s just married to me, father. She’s awful proud -of her new name. She signed her letter--for I saw it--Mrs. Gervase -Piercey, as if she hadn’t got any other name.” - -“She shouldn’t do that, though,” said the old man, “she’s Mrs. Piercey, -being the son’s wife, the next heir. If Gerald had a wife, now, she’d be -Mrs. Gerald, but not yours. I’m afraid she can’t know much about it. -Gervase, your poor mother was struck very suddenly. She always feared -you were going to do something like that, and she had somebody in her -mind, but she was never able to tell me who it was. Gervase, I hope it -is somebody decent you have married, now your poor mother isn’t here.” - -“Oh, yes, father; awfully decent,” said Gervase, with his great laugh. -“She would have given it to any one that wasn’t civil. She was one that -kept you on and kept you off, and as clever as Old Boots himself, and up -to----” - -Patty had listened to this discussion till her patience was quite worn -out. She had waited for a favourable moment to introduce herself, but -she could not stand and hear this description, so far beneath her merits -as she felt it to be. She came in with a little rush of her skirts, not -disagreeable to the old man, who looked up vaguely expectant, to see her -sweep round the corner of the large screen that shielded him from the -draught. “I must come and tell you myself who I am, Sir Giles,” she -said. “I’m Patience; and though, perhaps, I shouldn’t say it, I’m one -that will take care of _that_, and take care of the house, and see that -you are not put upon by your servants, nor made to wait for anything, -but have whatever you wish. And I’ll be a very good daughter to you, if -you’ll let me, Sir Giles,” she said. - -The old gentleman had passed a miserable week. First his wife’s illness, -so dreadful and beyond all human commiseration, and then her death, and -the gloom of the house, and the excitement of the funeral, and the -neglect of everything that made life bearable to him. It is true, that -his soup and his wine and whatever food was allowed to him were supplied -regularly, and no actual breach of his comforts had occurred. But his -room had been darkened, and his backgammon had been stopped, and there -had been no cheerful faces round him. Even little Osy’s company had been -taken away. The child had been stated to be “too much” for him. Parsons -and Dunning had held him in their hands and administered him, and they -were both determined that he should do and say nothing that was not -appropriate to his bereaved condition. The old man was not insensible to -his wife’s death. It brought into his mind that sense of utter -desolation, that chill sensation of an approaching end, which is, alas! -not more palatable in many cases to an old man than to a young one. And -Parsons and Dunning both thought it the most appropriate thing for him -to sit alone and think of his latter end. But Sir Giles was not of that -opinion. His old life was strong in him, though it was hampered with so -many troubles. He wanted, rather, to forget that death was waiting for -him, too, round the next corner. Who could tell how far off that next -corner might be? He wanted to forget, not to be shut up helplessly with -that thought alone. And Mrs. Osborne, with all the prejudices and bonds -of the household upon her, had not had courage to break through the -lines which had been formed around her uncle. She had believed, as it -was the law of the family to believe, that Sir Giles’ faithful attendant -knew best. And thus it was, that when the young woman who was Gervase’s -wife came boldly in--a young person who was not afraid of Dunning, a -stranger bringing a little novelty, a little stir of something -unaccustomed into his life--he looked up with a kind of light in his -dull eye, and relief in his mind. “Oh! you are Patience, are you?” he -said. “Patience! it is a queer sort of a name, and I think I remember to -have heard it before.” - -Oh, poor Miss Hewitt, in her red and yellow bonnet! If she had but known -that this faint deposit of recollection was all that remained in her old -lover’s mind! - -“But I should like you to call me Patty, Sir Giles.” She went down on -her knees at his feet, while the old gentleman looked on in wonder, not -knowing what was going to happen. “You have not got that bandage quite -straight,” she said, “and I’m sure you’re not so comfortable as you -ought to be. I can put it on better than that. Look you here, Gervase, -hold the candle, and in a minute I’ll settle it all right.” - -Sir Giles was so much taken by surprise that he made no opposition; and -he was amused and pleased by her silent movements, her soft touch and -manipulation. The novelty pleased him, and the young head bent over his -suffering foot, the pretty hair, the pleasant shape, were all much more -gratifying than Dunning. He thought he was relieved, whether he was -really so or not. And he was contented, and the spell of the gloom was -broken. “But I’m not to be settled so easy as my foot,” he said. “How -dared you to take and marry my boy here, Mrs. Patty, or whatever your -name is, without saying a word to me?” - -Mrs. Gervase Piercey, or Mrs. Piercey, as she henceforward called -herself, walked that night into the great state-room in Greyshott--where -Sally Fletcher awaited her, trembling, bringing Patty Hewitt’s small -wardrobe roughly packed in one small box--with the air of a conqueror, -victorious along all the line. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - - -Colonel Piercey left Greyshott the next morning after these incidents. -There was no reason why he should stay. Even old Sir Giles had changed -his note when his kinsman took leave of him. Mental trouble does not -keep its hold long on a mind which has grown weak with bodily disease -and much nursing, that prevailing invalidism and necessity for taking -care of one’s self which absorbs every thought; and though the old -gentleman was still ready enough to mourn for the loss of his life-long -companion, yet he was easily soothed and diverted by the needs of that -older companion still, himself. Besides, now that the funeral was over, -there was no alarming prospect before him, no terror of being compelled -to act for himself. He took leave of the Colonel not uncheerfully. -“Going?” he said, when Gerald appeared in his room to say good-bye. “I’m -glad you could stay so long; but it’s been a sad visit. Another time, -now there’s young people in the house, they’ll make it more cheerful for -you, eh? Don’t be long of coming again.” - -Colonel Piercey, somewhat stiffly--which was his nature, for he had not -the understanding of human weakness which brings indulgence, and he -could not forget that a few days before the old man had begged him with -tears to stay--answered that he was glad to leave his uncle so much -better and more satisfied about his son. - -“Oh,” said Sir Giles, “about satisfied I don’t know, I don’t know; I -can’t tell you at this moment, Gerald. She speaks fair, but then she’s -on her promotion, don’t you see? Anyhow, she’s young, and perhaps she’ll -learn; and she’s nice-looking--and speaks not so badly for a girl -without education; not so badly, does she, Gerald? We’ll do; oh, I think -we’ll do. She’ll look after Gervase, and keep him off me. And that’s a -great thing, don’t you see? Though when I think what his mother would -have said--Lord bless me, I tremble when I think what his mother would -have said. She never would have borne it. She would have turned the -house upside down and made everybody miserable; which makes me feel that -being as it had to be, it’s perhaps better--better, Gerald, though it’s -a hard thing to say, that his mother went first, went without knowing. -You will say she suspected; and I believe she did suspect; she was a -penetrating woman; but suspecting’s not so bad as knowing; and I’m--I’m -almost glad, poor soul, that she’s gone. She would never have put up -with it. And now this one may make something of Gervase--who knows? It -is a kind of anxiety off my mind. Time for your train?” the old -gentleman added cheerfully. “Well, thank you for your visit, my boy; -I’ve enjoyed it--and come again, come soon again.” - -Sir Giles was as much delighted to be free of his visitor as he had been -to welcome him to Greyshott. And it was evident that he was conforming -his mind to the new state of affairs. Gerald had meant to appeal to his -kindness for Margaret, but he had not patience or self-command enough to -say anything. He had no thought of the anxieties that dwelt in the old -man’s mind--the dreariness of his conclusion that it was better his old -wife was gone: the forlorn endurance of a state of affairs which he had -no power to prevent. A little more sympathy might have made Sir Giles’ -endurance take a tragic aspect, the last refuge of a sanguine and simple -spirit trying to be content with the hope that something might still be -made of his only child. But Gerald Piercey only thought with mingled -contempt and pity of the facile mind, and the drivel of old age, things -entirely beyond his sympathy or thoughts. - -He had an interview of a more interesting kind with Margaret before he -went away. “I wish you could leave as easily as I do,” he said. - -“So do I--but that would be impossible in any case. I have Osy to think -of. I must not allow myself to be carried away by any sudden -impulse--even if it were for nothing else, for my poor old uncle’s sake. -He is fond of Osy. It might chill his poor old clouded life still more -to miss the child.” - -“Oh, Uncle Giles! I think you may make your mind easy on that point. -It’s age, I suppose, and illness. One thing is just as good as another -to him.” - -“I am not quite of your opinion,” she said. - -“I think you are never quite of any one’s opinion except your own,” he -retorted, quickly. - -“Well, that’s best for me, don’t you think?” she replied, with something -of the same flash of spirit, “seeing that I have, as people say, nobody -to think of but myself.” - -“And the boy? Meg, you have promised me that you will think of what I -said about the boy. He should want for nothing. He should have all the -advantages education could give, if you would trust him to me--or to my -father, if that would give you more confidence.” - -“It is not confidence that is wanting,” she said. - -“Then, what is it? It cannot be that you think I speak without warrant. -My father will write to you. I will pledge myself to you--as if he were -my very own. His future should be my care; his education, his outset in -the world----” - -Margaret stood looking at him for some time in silence, a faint smile -about her lips, which began to quiver, the colour forsaking her cheeks. -What she said was so perfectly irrelevant, so idiotic, to the -straight-forward mind of the man who was offering her the most -unquestionable advantage, and asking nothing but a direct answer--yes, -or no--that he could almost have struck her in his impatience. He did -metaphorically, with the severity of that flash in his eyes. - - “And how there looked him in the face - An angel, beautiful and bright; - And how he knew it was a fiend, - That miserable knight.” - ---This was what Margaret said. - -“What do you mean?” he cried; “is it I that am the fiend, offering the -best I can think of?” - -“Oh, the angel,” said Margaret; “and is it my own heart that is the -fiend, that makes the other picture? Oh, God help me! I don’t know. My -child is my life. But there are things better than life, and that might -be given up. Yet, he is my duty, too, and not yours, Gerald. Prosperity -and comfort, and your great warm-hearted, honourable kindness; or -poverty and nature, and a poor mother--and love? Which would be the best -for him? We cannot see a step before us; and the issues are of life and -death.” - -“It is better not to exaggerate,” he said, with an almost angry -impatience. “There need be no cutting off. You should, of course, see -the child when you liked, for his holidays and that sort of thing. -There’s no question of life or death, but of a man’s career for the boy, -under men’s influence, or---- I know, I know! You would teach him -everything that is good, and put the best principles into him, and -sacrifice yourself, and all that. In short, you would make a perfect -woman of him, had Osy been a girl; but, as he is a boy----!” - -“Don’t you think you’re a little sharp, Gerald,” she cried, “bidding me -cut out my heart and give it you, and showing me all the advantages!” -She laughed, with her lips quivering, holding her hands clasped, -fiercely determined, whatever she did, not to cry, which is a woman’s -weakness. - -“Meg, you are a sensible woman: not a girl, to know no better.” - -This was his honest thought: a girl, young and tender, is to be spared, -though her youth has the elasticity of a flower, and springs up again -to-morrow; but the woman who has passed that chapter, whose first -susceptibilities are over, is a different matter. He was honestly -bewildered when Margaret left him hurriedly with a choked “Thank you. -Good-bye. I shall write”; and thus broke off the conversation, leaving -him there astonished in the hall, with his coat over his arm, and his -travelling bag in his hand: for this was how they had held their last -consultation, the library and dining-room being both full of Patty, -whose presence seemed to occupy the whole house, and who now came forth, -with all the airs of the mistress of the house, to take leave of her -guest. - -“Well, Colonel Piercey, so you are going? I hope it is not because of -the circumstances, though, of course, with a death and a marriage both -in the house, it isn’t very suitable for strangers, is it? But I’m not -one that would ever wish to be rude to my husband’s friends. I’m told -you were going, anyhow, and I hope that’s the case. And I’m sure you -must feel I’m very thoughtful,” said Patty, with a little laugh, “never -to disturb you in your tender good-byes! Oh, I can sympathise with that -sort of thing! I told Gervase, ‘Don’t disturb those poor things; there -isn’t a place where they can have a word quiet before they part.’ But I -hope you’ll soon come and fetch her, Colonel Piercey. You and her, you -are not like Gervase and me: you haven’t any time to lose.” - -“I have not the honour of understanding you, Mrs. Piercey,” said the -Colonel, very stiffly. “I must leave with you my farewells to my cousin -Gervase.” - -“Oh, you needn’t; he’s here, he’s coming--he wouldn’t be so wanting as -not to see you off himself, though you’re only a third or fourth cousin, -I hear. But as for not understanding me, Colonel Piercey, I hope you -understand Meg Osborne, which is more to the purpose, and that you’ve -named the day. Marriage is catching, I’ve always heard, and you ain’t -going to treat a relation badly, I hope, in my house. I’m sure, after -all the philandering and talking in corners, and----” - -“I wish you good-day, Mrs. Piercey,” the Colonel said. He jumped into -the dog-cart with an energy which even the quiet fat horse of Greyshott -training could scarcely withstand, and, seizing the reins from the -groom’s hands, drove that comfortable animal down the avenue at a pace -to which it was entirely unaccustomed. To describe the ferment of mind -into which he was thrown by Patty’s last words would be impossible. He -heard the loud, vacant laugh of Gervase, and a cry of “Hi! Hallo! Where -are you off to?” sounding after him, but took no notice. He was a man of -considerable temper, as has not been concealed, and there could be no -doubt that it would have afforded him considerable satisfaction to take -Patty by the arms and shake her, had that been a possible way of -expressing his sentiments. He was furious, first, he said to himself, at -the insult to Meg; but it is doubtful whether this really was so much -the cause of his indignation as he believed. The causes were -complicated, but chiefly had reference to himself, who was more -interesting to him at present than Meg or any one else in the world. -That he should be accused of philandering and talking in corners, or of -treating a woman “badly,” even by the most vulgar voice in the world, -had something so exasperatingly inappropriate and unlikely in it that he -said to himself it was laughable. Laughable, and nothing else! Yet he -did not laugh; he felt himself possessed by the most furious gravity -instead--ready to kill anybody who should so much as smile. -Philandering--and with a middle-aged woman! This, no doubt, gave it a -double sting. It had never occurred to Colonel Piercey, though he was -forty, to think of himself as on an elderly level, or to imagine any -connection of his name with that of any woman who was not young and -fair, and in the first chapter of life. I have always been of opinion -that men and women about the same age, when that age has passed the -boundaries of youth, are each other’s natural enemies rather than -friends. They have fully learned that they are on opposite sides. There -is a natural hostility between them. If some chance has not made them -friends, and inclined to forget or pardon the difference of their -sides, they are instinctively in opposition. To marry each other is the -last thing that would occur to them. Of course, I am considering natural -tendencies only, and not those of the fortune-hunter of either sex, or -persons in quest of an establishment. The man of forty seeks a young -bride; the woman of that age, or near it, finds devotion in a young man. -(I don’t say seeks it--for all women feel this question of age to be -fantastically important.) Gerald Piercey had reached the Greyshott -station, and flung himself and his bags and wraps into a carriage, -before he had begun to get over the sting of the suggestion that he had -been philandering (Heavens, what a word!), and that not with a girl--an -imputation which he might have smiled at and pardoned--but with a widow, -a mother, a middle-aged woman! Indignity could not go further. The -little barmaid, the wretched little tavern flirt who had seized -possession of the home of the Pierceys, had caught him full in the -centre of his shield. - -It was not till long after, when that heat had died away, that he -recurred to what he had at first tried to persuade himself was the -occasion of his wrath--the insult to Meg. Poor Meg! whose growing old he -had himself so deeply and absurdly resented, as if it had been her own -fault--how would she fare, left in the power of that little demon? She -could not go off at a moment’s notice, as he could. She would have to -wait, he remembered with a horrified realisation, perhaps for her -quarter-day, for the payment of her pension, before she would be able -to budge at all. And, then, where would she go?--a woman who had been -accustomed to Greyshott, which, though it was not very luxurious or -refined, was still, in its way, a great house. Where would she go, with -her hundred or two hundred, or some such nominal sum, a year? And, -perhaps, not money enough in the meantime even to pay her journey, even -to carry her away! She was a hot-headed, self-willed, argumentative -woman; determined in her own opinions, caring not a straw for other -people’s; refusing, in the most unaccountable way, an advantageous -suggestion--a proposal that would have left her free, without -encumbrance, to get as much comfort as possible for herself out of her -very small income; an entirely impracticable, unmanageable woman! but -yet--to think of that little barmaid flouting her, insulting her, was -too much for the Colonel. His wrath rose again, not so hot, but full of -indignation--a creature not worthy to tie her shoe! He seemed to see her -standing there, against the dark panelling of the wall, in her black -dress. And, somehow, it occurred to him all at once that the slim, tall -figure did not present the usual signs which distinguish middle age. How -old was Meg Piercey, after all? A dozen years ago, when he had been at -Greyshott last, she was a girl in her teens. Twelve years do not make a -girl of nineteen middle-aged. She had married at four or -five-and-twenty--not earlier; and Osy was seven or thereabouts. Gerald -found himself unconsciously calculating like an old woman. If she had -married at twenty-four, and if Osy were seven, that did not make her -more than two-and-thirty at the outside. At thirty-two one is not -middle-aged; the Colonel did not feel himself so at forty. To be sure, a -woman is different; but even for a woman, though it may not be so -romantic as eighteen, it is not a great age--thirty-two. And to be -turned out of her home; and to be left with next to nothing to live on; -and to be insulted by that vulgar little village girl; and to be set -down, even by a man, a relation, one bound to make the best of her, as -almost an old woman--at thirty-two! Poor Meg Piercey! Poor Margaret -Osborne! The home of her childhood gone, and the protection of her -married life gone. And her child! What was the difficulty about her -child? Something more, perhaps, when one came to think of it, than -merely being left without encumbrance, freed from responsibility! When -one came to think of it, and to think how other women were, with their -children about them, perhaps, after all, it meant more than that. Poor -Meg! poor Meg! - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - - -Mrs. Osborne realised very fully all the weight of the trouble which had -fallen upon her, but it is to be doubted whether she would have liked -that compassionate apostrophe to “poor Meg!” any more than other things -which had fallen from Gerald Piercey’s lips; or, indeed, whether she -felt herself so much to be pitied as he did. Nobody knows like ourselves -how hard and how heavy our troubles are; and yet, at the same time, our -own case is generally less miserable to us than it is to the benevolent -onlooker. The moment it becomes our own case it somehow becomes natural, -and finds alleviations, or, if not alleviations, circumstances which -prove it to be no such extraordinary thing. We change our position -according to our lot, and even in the self-consciousness of crime become -immediately aware of a whole world of people who are as badly off, or -perhaps worse, than we are, without the same explanations of their -conduct which exist in our case. Margaret, seeing what had befallen her, -and what was about to befall her, instinctively changed her own point of -view, and felt, along with the necessity, a new rising of life and -courage. The long consideration of what she was to do, though perhaps a -painful and discouraging deliberation, yet roused all her faculties and -occupied her mind. At thirty-two (since we have arrived through Gerald -Piercey’s calculations at something like her exact age), the thought of -a new beginning can never be wholly painful. None of the possibilities -of life are exhausted; the world is still before us where to choose. -Nevertheless it was a confusing and not encouraging subject of thought. -Margaret’s education, such as it was, had been completed before any new -views about the education of women were prevalent; indeed, it would not -have mattered much whether these ideas had been prevalent or not, for -certainly it never would have entered into the minds of Sir Giles or -Lady Piercey to send their niece to Girton, or even to any humbler place -preparatory to Girton. They gave Margaret as little education as was -indispensable, entertained reluctantly a governess for her for some -years, and had her taught to play the piano a little, and to draw a -little, and to have an awkward, not speaking acquaintance with the -French verbs, which was all they knew or thought of as needful. What -could she do with that amount of knowledge, even now, when she had -supplemented it with a great deal of reading, and much thinking of her -own? Nothing. No school would have her as a teacher, no sensible parent -would trust her, all unaware of the technique of teaching as she was, -with the education of their children. And what was there else that a -woman, a lady, with all her wits about her, and the use of all her -faculties, could do? That was the dreadful question. Margaret did not -fall back with indignation on the thought that its chief difficulty -arose from the fact that she was a woman; for she knew enough of life to -be aware that a man of her own class in the same position, trained to -nothing in particular, would be almost as badly off. There were -“appointments” to be had, she knew, for men certainly, for woman too, -occasionally, but she was perfectly vague about them, what they were. -And the idea of going out to an office daily, which was her sole -conception, and on the whole a just one, of what an “appointment” might -mean, filled Margaret with a bewildering sense of inappropriateness and -impossibility. It would not be she who could fill any such place. -It would be something different from herself, a shadow or -outward appearance of her, impossible for herself to realise. -Impossible--impossible! She knew nothing but how to read, to think, to -discharge the duties of a mother to her child, to live as English ladies -live, concerned with small domestic offices, keeping life more or less -in harmony, giving orders to the servants, and smoothing over the -tempests and troubles which arose from the imperfect execution of these -orders--and looking after the poor. To do all these things is to be a -not unimportant servant to the commonwealth. Life would go far more -roughly, with less advantage on both sides, were it not for -functionaries of this kind: but then their services are generally to be -had for nothing, and are not worth money; besides--which makes the -matter more difficult still--these services lose a great part of their -real value when they are done, not for love but for money, in which case -the house lady of nature changes her place altogether and goes over to -another and far less pleasing kind. - -These thoughts had passed through Margaret’s mind vaguely, and without -any pressure of an immediate emergency, many times already in the course -of her speculations as to the future for Osy and for herself. She had -often said to herself that she could not remain at Greyshott for ever; -that the time must come when she would have to decide upon something; -that the old couple who were her protectors could not live for ever; and -that the house of Gervase, poor Gervase, however it might turn out, -would probably be no home for her. She had gone over all those -suggestions of what she could do to increase her small income, and to -educate her child, with a ceaseless interest, but yet without any -sharpness or urgency, as of a thing that might happen at any moment. And -there was always a vague ground of probability behind--that either one -or other of the old people, who were so fond of Osy, might leave him -something to make his first steps easier, that they would not go out of -the world without making some provision even for herself, who had served -them like their own child, and knew no home but under their wing. There -would be that, whatever it was, to make everything more possible. She -had not calculated on it, and yet she had felt assured that some such -thing would be. But now all those prospects had come to an end in a -moment. Lady Piercey had left no will at all, and Sir Giles was no -longer a free agent, or would not be so any longer. The prospect was cut -off before her eyes, all that shadowy margin gone, nothing left but the -bare certainty. Two hundred a year! There are very different ways of -looking at two hundred pounds a year. It is not very long since the -papers were full of letters demonstrating the impossibility of -supporting life with honesty and gentility on seven hundred a year. The -calculations looked so very convincing, that one rubbed one’s bewildered -eyes if one had been accustomed to believe (as I confess I had) that -there was a great deal of pleasant spending for two young people in -seven hundred a year. On the other hand, I have just read a novel, and a -very clever novel, in which it is considered quite justifiable for a -young man to marry and take upon him the charge of his wife’s mother and -sister on a hundred and fifty pounds a year. Clearly there is a very -great difference between these estimates, and I think it very likely -that the author of the latter is more practically instructed as to what -she is speaking of than the gentleman who made the other calculations. -Who shall decide upon the fact that lies between these two statements? I -can only say that Margaret Osborne’s conclusion was not to waste her -time in efforts to get work which she probably could not do well, and -which would be quite inappropriate to her, but to try what could be done -upon her two hundred pounds a year. Ah! how many, many millions of -people would be thankful to have two hundred a year! How many honest, -good, well-conditioned families, “buirdly chiels and clever hizzies,” -have been brought up on the half of it! But yet there are differences -which cannot be ignored. The working man has many advantages over the -gentleman, with his host of artificial wants--but, alas! we cannot go -back easily to the rule of nature. Margaret was not so utterly -unprovided for as her cousin Gerald had remorsefully imagined. She was -not destitute, as she said. She had laid a little money aside for this -always-threatening emergency; and she had spoken to Sarah, Osy’s maid, -who, though reluctantly and on a very distant and far-off possibility, -had declared it possible that she might undertake to do the work of a -small house. “But, oh! I wouldn’t, ma’am,” Sarah had said, “not if I was -you; you would miss Greyshott and the nice big rooms, and nothing to do -but ring the bell.” Margaret had laughed at this conception of life, and -laughed now as she recalled it. But no doubt it was true. She was not -very apt at ringing of bells, nor did she require much personal -service--still it would not be without a regret, a sense of the -difference--but that was of too little real importance to be thought of -now. - -Indeed, all these thoughts were as nothing to the other which Gerald -Piercey, in his desire to help her, had flung into her mind like an -arrow of fire. To carry Osy away to that cottage, to deprive him of all -those “advantages” which, even at his age, a child can understand--Osy -would know very well what that sacrifice meant when he had no pony to -ride on, no great rooms to run about in, no obsequious court of -flatterers ready to carry him on their shoulders, to give him drives and -rides on nobler animals, to bring him dainties, and all kinds of -indulgences. Osy had been the favourite of the house, as well as of old -Sir Giles and my lady. He had been as free of the housekeeper’s room as -of the library. There was nobody who had not bowed down before him and -sought to please him. The child, though he was only a child, would -understand what it was to relinquish all these, to have a small cottage, -a little garden, nothing outside of them, and only a mother within. At -seven years old to have this brought home to him, was early, very early. -He would not understand how it was. If he heard, even at that early age, -that he might have had another pony, another household to conquer by his -pretty ways, and all the usual indulgences and pleasant things, but for -his mother, would Osy’s childish affection bear that test? Would he like -her better than his pony? And, oh! still deeper, more penetrating -question, was she better than the pony, better than the larger -upbringing, the position of one who is born to command, the freedom of -life, the influence of men, the “every advantage” of which Gerald -Piercey had spoken? Would she, a woman not very cheerful, and who must -in future be very full of cares and calculations how to make both ends -meet, would she be better for him than all that? She? What question -could be more penetrating? “It would be better for the child.” Would it -be better for him? Sometimes it comes about that in the very midst of -the happiness of life, with every sail full, and the sun shining, and -the horizon clear, there comes a sudden catastrophe, and some young -woman whose life has been that of the group of children at her knee, has -suddenly to stop and stand by with dumb anguish, and see one and another -taken away from her by kind friends, kindest friends! benefactors only -to be blessed and praised! while all around her other friends -congratulate her, bid her feel that she must not stand in the way of the -children, of their real advantage! Is it to their real advantage? Is it -better to be the children of kindness or the children of love? to be -brought up in your own home or in another’s? Oh, poor little mother; -often you have to smile out of your broken heart and bear it! Margaret -Osborne had but one thing in the world; but she would have done like the -others, and smiled and endured even to be severed from that only -possession, had she been sure. Who can be sure? She said to herself that -love, and his own home, and the ties of nature were best. And then -Gerald Piercey’s words came back and stung her like fiery serpents: “A -man’s career, under men’s influence, or----” Or what? A poor woman’s -influence, a woman who was herself a failure, whom nobody cared much for -under the sun. Which--which would be the best for Osy? This is the kind -of argument that tears the heart in two. It is full of anguish while it -is going on: and after the decision is made, it lays up poignant and -dreadful recollections. If I had not done that, but the other--if I had -not sent away my child into the careless hands of strangers; or, on the -other hand, if I had not been so confident of myself; if I could but -have seen how much better for him would have been the man’s influence, -the man’s career! - -This was the war that Margaret was waging with herself while she had to -meet the immediate troubles of the day. It was inconceivable how soon -the great house was filled with Patty’s presence, how soon it became -hers, from roof to basement, how she pervaded it in all the rooms at -once, so to speak, so that nothing was out of her sharp sight for more -than two minutes. Mrs. Osborne had retired upstairs with her heart full -when she left Colonel Piercey in the hall; but in the restlessness of a -disturbed mind she came down again about an hour afterwards, partly to -put a stop, for a time, to that endless argument, partly to write a -letter which she had promised, to inform Lady Hartmore of what had -happened, and partly, perhaps, out of that curiosity and painful -inclination to hasten a catastrophe which comes to the mind in the -storms of existence. It is true that she had made up her mind to leave -Greyshott, but she could not do so as Gerald, a visitor, did, nor was -she sure how she could best arrange her retirement with dignity and -composure. She felt that there must be no semblance of a quarrel, nor -would she make matters worse for Gervase’s wife by allowing it to appear -to the county that her first act had been to drive Gervase’s cousin out -of the house. She had decided to wait a little, to endure the new -_régime_ until she could quietly detach herself without any shock to her -old uncle or commotion in the house. Yet it cannot be denied that -Margaret’s nerves were very much disturbed, and that she was conscious -of Patty’s entrance while she sat writing her letter, and felt her heart -jump when that active, bustling little step became again and again -audible. Margaret was seated with her back to the door, but the sound of -this step, returning and returning, betrayed to her very clearly the -impatience with which her presence was regarded. And her letter did not -make much progress. She foresaw the coming attack, and she did not -forestall it as she might have done by going away. At last a voice as -sharp as the step broke the listening silence of the room. - -“Margaret Osborne! how long are you going to be writing that letter? The -housemaids are waiting, and I must have this room thoroughly done out. -It wants it, I am sure! Oh, take your time! but if you will let me know -about when you are likely to be done----” - -“I can finish my letter upstairs, if it is necessary,” Margaret said, -turning round. - -“Well, I think generally that is the best way. The library’s generally -supposed to be the gentlemen’s room in a house. I mean to have the -drawing-room put in order, and to use that, as it ought to be used. But -not just this week, and poor mother so lately buried. I don’t know what -your feelings may be, but I can’t sit in a dingy place like this,” Patty -said. “Oh, take your time,” she added, with fine irony; “but if you -could tell me within half an hour or so when you are likely to have -done----” - -“I will finish my letter in my own room.” - -“If I was you,” said Patty, “I’d write them all there in future. New -folks make new ways. I am very particular about my house. I like -everything kept in its proper place--and every person,” she added -significantly. “The servants can’t serve two masters. That is in the -Bible, you know, so it must be true.” - -“I do not think,” said Margaret, with a faint smile, “that you will be -troubled by their devotion to me.” - -“No; I suppose you have let yourself be put upon,” said Patty; “because, -though you think yourself one of the family, you ain’t exactly one of -the family, and, of course, they see that. It’s not good for a houseful -of servants to have a sort of a lady, neither one thing nor another, -neither a mistress nor a servant, in the house. It teaches them to be -disrespectful to their betters, because they know you can’t do anything -to them. I would rather pension poor relations off than have them about -the house putting everything out.” - -“It will not be necessary in my case,” cried Margaret, with a sudden -flame of anger and shame enveloping her all over. “I had fully intended -to leave Greyshott, but wished to avoid any appearance of---- any shock -to my uncle.” - -“Oh, take your time!” cried Patty, with a toss of her head; and she -called to the housemaids, who appeared timorous and undecided at the -door. “Come here, and I’ll show how I wish you to settle all this in -future,” she said. “Oh, Mrs. Osborne’s going! You needn’t mind for -her.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - - -It was not worth while to be angry. She had known, of course, all along, -how it must be. There had been no thought in her mind of resistance, of -remaining in Greyshott as Patty’s companion, of appealing to her uncle -against the new mistress of the house. It had not been a very happy home -for Margaret at any time; though, while Lady Piercey lived, it was a -sure one, as well as habitual,--the only place that seemed natural to -her, and to which she belonged. Perhaps, she said to herself, as she -went hurriedly upstairs, with that sense of the intolerable which a -little insult brings almost more keenly than a great sorrow, it was -better that the knot should thus be cut for her by an alert and decisive -hand, and no uncertainty left on the subject. She went into her room -quickly, with a “wind in her going,” a sweep of her skirts, an action -and movement about her which was unlike her usual composure. Sarah was -alone in her room, not seated quietly at work as was her wont, but -standing at the window looking out upon some scene below. There was a -corner of the stable yard visible from one window of Margaret’s rooms, -which were far from being the best rooms in the house. - -“Where is Master Osy?” Mrs. Osborne said. - -“He is with Sir Giles, ma’am. I--I was just taking a glance from the -window before I began my work----” - -“Sarah,” said Margaret, “we shall have to begin our packing immediately. -We are going away.” How difficult it was not to say a little more--not -to relieve the burden of her indignation with a word or two! for, -indeed, there was nobody whom she could speak to except this round-faced -girl, who looked up half frightened, half sympathetic, into her face. - -“Oh, ma’am, to leave Greyshott! Where are you a-going to?” Sarah said; -and her open mouth and eyes repeated with dismay the same question, -fixed upon Margaret’s face. - -“Shall you be so sorry to leave Greyshott?” said Mrs. Osborne. - -Sarah hung her head. She took her handkerchief from her pocket, and -twisted it into a knot; finally the quick-coming tears rolled over her -round cheeks. “Oh, ma’am!” she cried, and could say no more. A -nurserymaid’s tears do not seem a very tragic addition to any trouble, -and yet they came upon Margaret with all the force of a new misfortune. - -“What is it, Sarah? Is it leaving Jim? is that why you cry?” - -“Oh, we was to be married at Christmas,” the girl cried, in a passion of -tears. - -“Then you meant to leave me, Sarah? Why didn’t you tell me so? Well, of -course, I should not hinder your marriage, my good girl; but Christmas -is six months off, and you will stay with Master Osy, won’t you, till -that time comes?” - -Sarah became inarticulate with crying, but shook her head, though she -could not speak. - -“No!--do you mean no? I thought you were fond of us,” said poor -Margaret, quite broken down by this unexpected desertion. It was of no -importance, no importance! she said to herself; but, nevertheless, it -gave her a sting. - -“Oh, don’t ask me, ma’am, don’t ask me! So I am, fond: there never was a -nicer lady. But how do I know as Jim---- they changes so, they changes -so, does men!” Sarah cried, among her tears. - -“Well, well; you will pack for me, at least,” said Margaret, with a -faint laugh, “if that is how we are to part, Sarah,--but you must begin -at once; no more looking out of the window, for a little while, at -least. But Jim is a good fellow. He will be faithful--till Christmas.” -She laughed again; was it as the usual alternative to crying? or was it -because there are junctures of utter forlornness and solitude to which a -laugh responds better than any crying? not less sadly, one may be sure. - -Sarah dried her streaming eyes, but continued to shake her head. “It’s -out o’ sight out of mind with most of ’em,” she said. “I’ll have to go -and get the boxes, ma’am, and I don’t know who there is to fetch ’em -up, unless I might call Jim--and the others, they don’t like to see a -groom a-coming into the house.” - -“Then let the others do it, Sarah.” - -“Oh, Mrs. Osborne! they won’t go agin the---- the new lady, as they -calls her. Oh, they calls her just Patty and nasty names among -themselves, but if you asks them to do a thing, they says, ‘We wasn’t -hired to work for the likes of you and your Missus, Sal.’ Not a better -word from one o’ them men,” cried Sarah, “not one of ’em! They’re as -frightened of her already as if she was the devil, and she isn’t far -short. I’ll call him, ma’am, when they’re at their dinners; and, -perhaps, you’d give him a word, just a word, to say as how you think -he’s a lucky fellow to have got me, and that kind of thing--as a true -friend.” - -“Is that the office of a true friend?” said Margaret. It is a great -thing in this life, which has so many hard passages, when you are able -to be amused. Sarah’s petition and the words which she kindly put into -her mistress’s mouth, did Margaret more good than a great deal of -philosophy. She went away after a time to look for her boy and to tell -her uncle of the decision she had come to. They were out, as usual, in -the avenue, Sir Giles being wheeled along by a very glum Dunning, and -Osy babbling and making his little excursions round and about the old -gentleman’s chair. - -“When I am a man,” Osy was saying, “I s’all be far, far away from here. -I s’all be a soldier leading my tompany. I s’an’t do what nobody tells -me--not you, Uncle Giles, nor Movver, nobody but the Queen.” - -“And I sha’n’t be here at all, Osy,” said the old man. “When you come -back a great Captain like your cousin Gerald, there will be no old Uncle -Giles to tell you what you said when you were a little boy.” - -“Why?” said the child, coming up close to the chair. “Will they put you -down in the black hole with Aunt Piercey, Uncle Giles?” - -“Master Osy, don’t you speak of no such drefful things,” said Dunning. - -“But Parsons said, ‘She have don to heaven,’” said the child. “I like -Parsons’ way the best, for heaven’s a beau’ful place. I’d like to go and -see you there, Uncle Giles. You wouldn’t want Dunning, you’d have an -angel to dwive you about.” - -“Oh, my little man!” said Sir Giles, “I don’t think I am worthy of an -angel. I’m more frightened for the angel than for the black hole, Osy. I -don’t think I want any better angel than you are, my nice little boy. I -hope God will let me go on a little just quietly with Dunning, and you -to talk to your old uncle. Tell me a little more about what you will do -when you are a man. That amuses me most.” - -“Uncle Giles, Cousin Gervase doesn’t do very much though he’s a man. -He’s only don and dot marrwed. I’m glad he’s dot marrwed. I dave him my -big silver penny for a marrwage present. If he hadn’t been marrwed he -would have tooked it, and a gemplemans s’ouldn’t never do that. So I’m -glad. Are you glad, Uncle Giles?” - -“Never mind, never mind, my boy. Are you sure you’ll go to India, Osy, -and fight all the Queen’s battles? She doesn’t know what a great, grand -champion she’s going to have, like Goliath,” said the old man with his -rumbling laugh. - -“Goliaf,” said Osy, gravely, “wasn’t a nice soldier. He was more big nor -anybody and he bragged of it. It’s grander to be the littlest and win. I -am not very big, Uncle Giles, not at pwesent.” - -“No, Osy. That’s true, my dear,” said the old gentleman. - -“But I’ll twy!” cried the boy. “I’m not fwightened of big men. They’re -generwally,” he added, half apologetically and with a struggle over the -word, “nice to little boys. Cousin Colonel, he is wather like Goliaf. He -dave me a wide upon his s’oulder; but when he sawed Movver tomin, he---- -Are big men ever fwightened of ladies, Uncle Giles?” - -“Sometimes, Osy,” said Sir Giles, with a delighted laugh. - -“Then it was that!” cried Osy. “I touldn’t understand. Oh, wait, Uncle -Giles; just wait till I tatch that butterfly. I’ll tatch him; I’ll tatch -him in a moment! I’m a great one,” the child sang, running off--“for -tatching butterflies, for tatching---- Movver, movver, you sended it -away.” - -“What did the little shaver mean by giving a wedding present?” said Sir -Giles. “Where’s my money, Dunning? have I got any money? If he gave my -boy a wedding present, it was the--the only one. They’ll come in now, -perhaps, when it gets known; but I’ll not forget Osy for that, I’ll not -forget Osy for that. Did you ever see a child like him, Dunning? I never -saw a child like him, except our first one that we lost,” said the old -man with a sob. “Did I ever tell you of our first that we lost? Just -such a child; just such a child! And my poor Gervase was the dearest -little thing when he was a baby, before----. Children are very different -from men--very different, very different, Dunning. You never know how -the most promising is to grow up. Sometimes they’re a---- a great -disappointment. They’re always a disappointment, I should say from what -I’ve seen, comparing the little thing with the big man, as Osy says. -But, please God, we’ll make a man of that boy, whatever happens. Ah, -Meg! is it you? I was just saying we must make a man of Osy--we must -make a man of him--whatever happens.” - -“I hope he will turn out a good man, Uncle Giles.” - -“Oh, we shall make a man of him, Meg! not but what, as I was saying, -they’re always disappointments more or less. Your poor aunt would never -let me say that, when she was breaking her poor heart for our first boy -that we lost. I used to say he might have grown up to rend our -hearts--but she would never hear me, never let me speak. It broke her -heart, that baby’s going, Meg.” This had happened a quarter of a century -before, but the old gentleman spoke as if it had been yesterday. “You -may think she did not show it, and looked as if she had forgotten; but -she never forgot. I saw it in her eyes when she saw Gerald Piercey -first. She gave me a look as if to say, this might be him coming home, a -distinguished man. For he was a delightful child--he might have grown to -be anything, that boy!” - -“Dear Uncle Giles! You must try to look to the future--to think that -there may be perhaps other children to love.” Margaret laid her hand -tenderly upon the old man’s shoulder, which was heaving with those -harmless sobs--which meant so little, and yet were so pitiful to the -beholder. “I wanted to speak to you--about Osy, Uncle Giles.” - -“Yes, yes,” said the old man, cheering up. “Did you hear that he gave my -poor Gervase a wedding present? that little chap! and the only one--the -only one! I’ll never forget that, Meg, if I should live to be a hundred. -And, please God, we’ll pay it back to him, and make a man of him, Meg.” - -“It was precisely of that, Uncle, I wanted to speak.” But how was she to -speak? What was she to say to this old man so full of affection and of -generous purpose? Margaret went on patting the old gentleman on the -shoulder unconsciously, soothing him as if he had been a child. “Dear -Uncle Giles, you know that now Gervase is married, they--he will want to -live, perhaps, rather a different way.” - -“What different way?” said Sir Giles, aroused and holding up his head. - -“I mean, they are young people, you know, and will want to, perhaps--see -more company, have visitors, enjoy their life.” - -Sir Giles gave her an anxious, deprecating look. - -“Do you think then, Meg, that--that she will do? that she will know how -to manage? that she will be able to keep Gervase up to the mark?” - -“I think,” said Margaret, pausing to find the best words, “I think--that -she is really clever, and very, very quick, and will adapt herself and -learn, and--yes--I believe she will keep him up to the mark.” - -“God bless you for saying so, my dear! that is what I began to hope. We -could not have expected him to make a great match, Meg.” - -“No, Uncle.” - -“His poor mother, you know, always had hopes. She thought some nice girl -might have taken a fancy to him. But it was not to be expected, Meg.” - -“No, Uncle. I don’t think it was to be expected.” - -“In that case,” said Sir Giles--he was so much aroused and interested -that there was a certain clearness in his thoughts--“in that case, it is -perhaps the best thing that could have happened after all.” - -“Dear Uncle, yes, perhaps. But to give them every chance, to make them -feel quite at ease and unhampered, I think they should be left to -themselves.” - -“I will not interfere with them,” he cried; “I will not meddle between -them. Once I have accepted a thing, Meg, I accept it fully. You might -know me enough for that.” - -“I never doubted you, Uncle; but there is more: I think, dear Uncle -Giles, I must go away.” - -“You--go away!” he said, looking up at her, his loose lips beginning to -quiver; “you--go away! Why, Meg, you can be of more use here than ever. -You can show her how to--how to--why, bless us, we all know, after all, -that though she’s Mrs. Piercey, she was only, only--well, nobody, Meg! -you know--don’t bother me with names. She is nobody. She can’t know how -to--to behave herself even. I looked to you to---- Dunning, be off with -you: look after Master Osy. I know it’s wrong to speak before servants, -Meg, but Dunning’s not exactly a servant, he knows everything; he has -heard everything discussed.” - -“Too much, I fear,” said Margaret half to herself. “Dear Uncle, perhaps -you have not considered that mine has always been rather a doubtful -position. I am your niece, and you have always been like my father, but -Gervase’s wife thinks me only a dependant. One can’t wonder at -it--neither mistress nor servant. She thinks a little as the servants -do. I am only here as a dependant. She will not take a hint from me. She -will be better without me here. For one thing, she would think I was -watching her, and making unkind remarks, however innocent I might be. It -is best, indeed it is best, dear Uncle, that I should go.” - -“Go! away from Greyshott, Meg!--why, why! Greyshott--you have always -been at Greyshott.” - -“Yes, Uncle Giles, thanks to you; dear Uncle Giles, when I was an -orphan, and had no one, you have done everything for me; but now the -best thing I can do for you is to go away. Oh, I know it, and am sure of -it; everything will go better without me. You may imagine I don’t like -to think that, but it is true.” - -There was an interval, during which the old man was quite broken down, -and Dunning, rushing to his master’s side, shot reproachful speeches, as -well as glances, at Mrs. Osborne. “It appears,” said Dunning, “that I’m -never believed to know nothink, not even my own dooty to my master; but -those as comes to him with disagreeable stories and complaints, and that -just at this critical moment in the middle of his trouble, poor -gentleman, knows less than me. Come, Sir Giles. Compose yourself, Sir -Giles. I’ll have to give you some of your drops, and you know as you -don’t like ’em, if you don’t take things more easy, Sir Giles.” - -“I’m better,” said the old gentleman, feebly; “better, better. But, Meg, -you’ve got no money--how are you to live without money, Meg?” - -“I have my pension, uncle.” - -“A pension! what is a pension? It isn’t enough for anything. Even your -poor aunt always allowed that.” - -“It is enough to live on, Uncle--for Osy and me.” - -“Osy, too,” he cried--“Osy, that I was just saying we must make a man -of! You are very, very hard upon me, Meg. I never thought you would be -hard upon me.” But already Sir Giles was wearied of his emotions, and -was calming down. - -“I hope there will be other children to make up to you, Uncle Giles.” - -“What!” cried the old man, “is there a prospect of that? Are there -thoughts of that already, Meg? Now, that is news, that is news! Now you -make up for everything. Whew!” Sir Giles uttered a feeble whistle, and -then he gave a feeble cheer. “Hurrah--then there may be an heir to the -old house still. Hurrah! Hurrah?” - -“Shall I say it for you, Uncle Giles?” said Osy. “Stand out of the way, -Movver, and let Uncle Giles and me do it. Hurrah!” cried the little -fellow, waving his hat upon Sir Giles’ stick. “Now, Uncle Giles, hip, -hip, as the men do--hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - - -This was about Osy’s last performance in the house which was the only -home he had ever known. He did not know what he was cheering for, but -only that it was delightful to make a noise, and that his old uncle’s -tremulous bass, soon lost in an access of sobs and laughter, was very -funny. Osy would willingly have gone on for half an hour with this novel -amusement; but it must be allowed that when he found the great boxes -standing about in the room that had been his nursery, and began to watch -the mysteries of the packing, his healthy little soul was disturbed by -no trouble of parting, but jumped forward to the intoxicating thought of -a journey and a new place with eager satisfaction and wonder. Everything -was good to Osy, whether it was doing exactly the same thing to-day as -he had done every day since he was born, or playing with something that -he had never done or known before. He was much more perplexed to be kept -upstairs after dinner, and not allowed to go down to the library, than -he was by the removal from everything he had ever known. And when next -morning he was driven away in the big carriage to the railway station, -he was as ready to cheer for the delight of the outset as he had been, -without knowing why, for Uncle Giles’ mysterious burst of -self-gratulation. All things were joyful to the little new soul setting -out upon the world. - -Patty, however, was by no means delighted with Margaret’s prompt -withdrawal. She felt herself forestalled, which was painful, and the -power of the initiative taken from her. She had intended to play for a -little, as the cat plays with the mouse, with this fine lady, who had -once been so far above Patty Hewitt, and to whom, in her schoolgirl -days, she had been expected to curtsey as to the Queen. Patty’s heart -had swelled with the thought of bringing down pride (a moral process, as -everybody knows), and teaching the woman who had no money, and therefore -no right to set herself up above others, her proper place; and it vexed -her that this fine _rôle_ should be taken from her. - -“Oh, you are going, are you?” she said. “I hope it isn’t on my account. -When I married Gervase I knew all that there was to put up with, and -more than has turned out. I knew I shouldn’t have my house to myself, -like most new married ladies, and I had made up my mind to all that. I -wouldn’t have turned you out, not for the world--however you might have -been in my way.” - -“I am afraid I have a strong objection,” said Margaret, “to be in -anybody’s way.” - -“Ah, that’s your pride,” said Patty, “which I must say I wonder at in a -person of your age, and that knows she has nothing to keep it up on. -You’ve got a pension, haven’t you, that’s enough to live on? It’s a fine -thing having money out of all our pockets to spend as you please; but I -never heard that a pension was much to trust to, and if you were to -marry again you would lose it all. And your boy to bring up, too. My -father-in-law has a tremendous idea of your boy. I think it’s good for -him, in one way, that you are taking him away; for it’s ridiculous to -bring up a poor child like that, who hasn’t a penny, to think that he’s -as good as the heir, and treated by everybody as if he was really a -gentleman’s son, you know, with a good fortune at his back.” - -Margaret smothered with difficulty the indignation that rose to her -lips, but she said quietly, “You must disabuse your mind of any such -idea. Osy never could be my uncle’s heir. The heir of Greyshott after -Gervase--and, of course, Gervase’s children--is not Osy, but Gerald -Piercey, our cousin who has just gone away.” - -Though this was precious information to Patty, she received it with a -toss of her head. - -“I hope,” she said, “I know a little about the family I’ve married into; -but I can tell you something more, and that is, that it’ll never be your -fine Colonel’s, for all so grand as he thinks himself; for it’s all in -father-in-law’s power, and rather than let him have it he’ll leave it -all away. I wouldn’t see a penny go to that man that gives himself such -airs, not if I were to make the will myself to take it away.” - -“I hope,” said Margaret, with an effort, “that there will be natural -heirs, and that there need be no question on that point.” - -“Oh, you will stand up for him, of course!” cried Patty; “but I’d like -you to know, if you’re making up the match on that score, that it’ll -never come to pass. Me and Gervase is both against him, and -father-in-law won’t go against us both, not when he gets used to me. I’d -rather see it all go to an ’ospital than to that man. I can’t bear that -man, looking down upon those that are better than himself, as if he was -on stilts!” Patty grew red and hot in her indignation. Then she shook -out her dress airily, as if shaking away the subject and the -objectionable person. “Oh yes,” she said, “natural heirs!” with a -conscious giggle. “It’s you that has gone and put that in -father-in-law’s old head. But I told him it was early days. Dear old -man. It’s a pity he is silly. I don’t think he ever can have been much -in his head, any more than----. Do you?” - -“My uncle is in very bad health. He is ill, and his nerves are much -affected. But he has always been a man quite--quite able to manage his -own affairs. A man,” cried Margaret, faltering a little with indignation -and distress, “of very good sense and energy, not at all like--not at -all----” - -“Well, well,” said Patty, “time shows everything, you know, and he’s -quite safe with me and Gervase; at all events, whatever comes after, his -only son comes first, don’t he? And me and Gervase will see that the -dear old man isn’t made a cat’s-paw of, but kept quite square.” - -It was with a sensation half of disappointment, yet more than half of -satisfaction, that Patty found herself next morning alone in what she -called so confidently her own house. Alone, for Sir Giles, of course, -was in his own room, and was much better there, she felt, and Gervase, -so long as he was kept in good humour, was not very troublesome. To be -sure, it cost a good deal of exertion on her part to keep him in good -humour. He felt, as so many a wooer of his simple mind has done, the -want of the employment of courtship, which had so long amused and -occupied him. He could no longer go to the Seven Thorns in the evening, -a resource which was entirely cut off from his vacant life, from the -fact of having Patty always with him, without the exercise of any -endeavour on his own part. The excitement of keeping free of his -mother’s scrutiny; the still greater excitement of fishing furtively for -Patty’s attention, making her see that he was there, persuading her by -all the simple wiles of which he was master to grant him an interview; -the alarm of getting home, with all the devices which had to be -practised in order to get in safely, without being called to account and -made to say where he had been--and inspected, to see what he had been -doing: all this took a great deal of the salt out of poor Gervase’s -life. He did not know, now that he had settled down again at home, and -all the annoying sensations of the crises were over, what to do with -himself in the evenings. Patty and he alone were rather less lively -than it had used to be when Sir Giles and Lady Piercey sat in their -great chairs, and the game of backgammon was going on, and Meg about, -and the child rampaging in all the corners. Even to have so many more -people in the room gave it to him an air of additional animation. Patty -told him it was the library that looked so dull. “Such a room for you -all to sit in,” she said, “so gloomy and dark, with these horrid old -pictures, and miles of books. Wait till I have the drawing-room in -order.” But it didn’t amuse Gervase to watch all the alterations Mrs. -Patty was making, nor how she was having the white and gold of the great -drawing-room furbished up. The first night they sat in that huge room, -with all the lamps lit, and the two figures lost among all the gilding -and the damask, and reflected over and over again, till they were tired -of seeing themselves in the big mirrors, Gervase felt more lonely than -ever. Never had Patty found so hard a task before her,--not when she had -to attend to all the customers alone, and keep their accounts separate -in her head, and to chalk up as much as was safe to the score of one -toper, and cleverly avoid hearing the call of another who had exceeded -the utmost range of possible solvability. Never, when she had all that -to do, had she found it so heavy upon her as it was to amuse Gervase. -She invented noisy games for him, she plied him with caresses when other -methods failed, she endeavoured to revive the old teasings and elusions -of the courtship; but as Gervase’s imagination had never had much to do -with his love-making, these attempts to return to an earlier stage were -generally futile. He could not be played with--made miserable by a -frown, brought back again by a smile, as had once been the case. And -Patty had more than the labours of a Hercules in keeping her Softy in -order. There was no one to defend him from now, no tyrannical mother to -be defied, to make him feel the force of the wife’s protection. When Sir -Giles was well enough to come to the drawing-room after dinner, the task -was quite beyond the powers of any woman; for it was needful to please -the old gentleman, to give up everything for him, to represent to him -that his company was always a delight to his children. Poor old Sir -Giles had winked and blinked in the many lights of the great -drawing-room. He had been dazzled, but he had not been ill-pleased. - -“We never used this, you know, in your mother’s time but for company,” -he said. It was Gervase whom he seemed to address, but it was Patty who -replied. - -“I thought it would be a little change for you,” she said. “A change is -always good, and there’s more light and more air. You should always have -plenty of air, and not the associations that are in the other room.” - -“Perhaps you are right, my dear,” the old gentleman said with a sigh. It -was she who was “my dear” now; and, indeed, she was very attentive to -Sir Giles, never neglecting him, doing everything she could think of for -his pleasure. It was on one of the evenings when she was devoting -herself to him, playing the game he loved, and allowing him to win in -the cleverest way, that Gervase, who was strolling about the room with -his hands in his pockets, half jealous of his father, calling her, now -in whispers, now loudly, to leave that and come to him, at last -disappeared before the game was finished. Patty went on hurriedly with -the backgammon, but she was on thorns all the while. She had established -the habit of sending off Dunning, whom she was slowly undermining, less -for any serious reason than because he was a relic of the past _régime_; -and, therefore, she was now helpless; could not leave Sir Giles; could -not interrupt the process of amusing and entertaining him. Where had the -Softy gone? to prowl about the house looking for something that might -amuse him; to fling himself dissatisfied upon his bed and fall asleep in -the utter vacancy of his soul? An uneasy sense that something worse than -this was possible oppressed Patty as she sat and played out the game of -backgammon. Then there ensued another dreadful interval, during which -Sir Giles talked and wondered what had become of his son. “He has gone -to sleep somewhere, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Patty; “the nights are -growing long, and poor dear Gervase wants a little amusement. I was -thinking of suggesting, dear papa (this was the name she had fixed upon -Sir Giles, who had resisted at first, then laughed, and finally accepted -the title with the obedience of habit), that we should both play, he and -I, against you. You are worth more than the two of us, you know.” - -“Nonsense, you little flatterer. You’ve a very pretty notion of the -game. I had to fight for it that last round. I had, indeed. I had to -fight for my life.” - -“Ah, dear papa!” said Patty, shaking her head at him. “You are worth far -more than the two of us! but it would keep us all together, all the -family together.” - -“I don’t like Gervase to play with me,” said Sir Giles fretfully. “He’s -too noisy, and he has no sense; he can’t understand a refined game. I -shouldn’t wonder if he had gone out to some of his old haunts that his -poor mother couldn’t bear. The Seven----. I beg your pardon, my dear, I -am sure,” the old gentleman cried, colouring up to his eyes. - -“Dear papa, why should you beg my pardon? But oh, no! Gervase has not -gone to the Seven Thorns. He went there for me. That makes all the -difference. Why should he go back now?” - -“My dear,” said Sir Giles again, “I must beg your pardon. I didn’t -intend to make any insinuation. Of course it was for you. But it’s a -dangerous thing to acquire a habit, especially for one that--for one -that doesn’t, don’t you know, take in many ideas at a time.” - -“I know him better than that. I know where he is, the lazy boy. But, -dear papa, fancy, it is ten o’clock; your bedtime. Oh, how soon ten -comes when we have a pleasant game, and in such good company! I suppose -I must ring for Dunning now.” - -“Yes, you had better ring for Dunning. If I am a little bit late, and -should have a headache or anything, he throws it in my teeth. We have -had a very pleasant game, and I must say that for you, my dear, that you -know how to make the time pass. Well, Dunning, here I am, ready you see, -ready to the minute, thanks to Mrs. Gervase, who is a great deal more -careful of me than you are, you surly old beggar. Good night, my dear; -but tell Gervase from me that it isn’t good manners to break up the -party; but he never was renowned for good manners, poor boy,” the old -gentleman said, shaking his head as he was wheeled away. - -And then Patty had a bitter moment. She went to the library, where he -sometimes took refuge, falling asleep upon the old sofa, where he had -lain and kicked his heels as a child; and then to his room, where he -sometimes went when he was dull, to throw himself upon his bed. But -Gervase was not to be found in either place. He came stumbling to the -old door which opened on the yew avenue, late at night, and she herself -ran downstairs to admit him--angry, yet subduing herself. He had resumed -his old habit, as his father had guessed: the habit which had been -formed for Patty, and which she had so sharply shaken him out of with a -power and mastery which she no longer possessed. Patty felt in that -moment the first drawback of that unexampled elevation which she had -attained with such unexpected ease. Had she married in her own class, -the publican’s daughter would not have been very deeply wounded by her -husband’s return on an occasion in such a plight. But when she stole -down through the sleeping house and admitted the future master of -Greyshott, and led him upstairs, hushing his broken speech and stumbling -gait, that nobody might hear, Patty learned something which no other -manner of instruction could have conveyed to her. She found that there -were things that were harder upon a lady (such as she flattered herself -she had become) than on a village woman. She coaxed and soothed him to -bed, like a nurse with a child, that nobody should suspect what had -happened; and she ground her teeth and vowed vengeance upon her father, -who had dared to take the Softy in and treat him like this. And thus -there arose before Patty a prospect which appalled even her brisk and -courageous spirit. What if she should not be able to put this down -summarily and with the strong hand? Then what would become of her hopes -of winning a place in the county, and being acknowledged by all the -great people as worthy to make her entrance among them? After the first -unexpected triumph of becoming mistress of a great house and a number of -servants, her ambition had risen to higher flights; and this was what -that over-vaulting ambition aimed at. But what would become of that -hope, or of many others, if the Softy, startled out of himself for a -moment by his marriage, should fall back into the beerhouse society -which suited him best? Patty fell from the height of her dreams when she -saw that sight which is always a pitiful one for a young wife. She felt -the burden of “the honour unto which she was not born” come down for the -first time with a crushing weight upon her. Oh, it was not so simple -after all--so easy, so pleasant to be a lady! She had begun already to -forget that it was to Gervase she owed her advancement, and to feel the -burden of keeping him amused and employed. Now she felt that the Softy -had it in his power to mar that advancement still. She had cleared every -hostile influence out of the house; she had got rid of every rival. She -had conquered Sir Giles, and gained possession of the keys, and become -the acknowledged mistress of Greyshott. What a great thing, what a -wonderful thing, for Patty Hewitt! And yet she felt, in the bitterness -of her heart, that it might be better to be still Patty Hewitt, with all -the world before her, than to be Mrs. Piercey, of Greyshott, with that -Softy to drag her down. - -This was the first big thorn that pierced Patty’s foot, and reminded her -that she was mortal, as she was marching on in her victorious way. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - - -Patty had been triumphantly successful in the first chapter of her -career. She had an easy victory over her father-in-law. She had cleared -the house of everybody whom she disliked or feared. First, Mrs. Osborne, -and with her--not least in Patty’s estimation--Sarah, Osy’s maid, who -had been at school with her, and whom she was still more anxious to get -rid of than her mistress. Then Parsons, who knew a great deal too much -of the family to be endurable for a moment; then the one servant in the -house who had ventured to be rude to Gervase’s wife, John the footman: a -dreadful example, whose sudden fate had exercised the most salutary -influence over the rest of the household. It is true that Dunning still -remained Sir Giles’ attendant, against whom there were the same -objections as against Parsons; but for the moment, at least, Dunning was -indispensable, and had to be borne with. She stood, however, after the -first month of her sway on the very top-gallant of success, supreme in -the house, her word a law, the oldest and most secure arrangements -falling to pieces at her will, the entire order of affairs changed to -please her. Everything had gone as she desired, and no head had been -lifted up in rebellion. The great wardrobes were full of fine clothes. -She had shuffled off Miss Fletcher, the village dressmaker, and procured -the finest and most highly cultivated maid that ever advertised in the -_Times_. Lady Piercey’s stores of lace and linen, and even her -old-fashioned jewellery, which was much more valuable than beautiful, -were in Patty’s hands. She had realised all her dreams, and more than -all. But there is nothing perfect in human affairs, and now the reverse -of her good fortune began to rise out of the mists before Patty’s eyes. - -The first trouble of all was, perhaps, the cutting off of her connection -with her home and origin. Her father had come to see her very early in -her story, had been received in the half-dismantled library for a short -angry conference, and left with a crimson countenance and a volley of -muttered oaths, and had never come again. But there was another member -of the family who was less easy to get rid of. Miss Hewitt made a call -in state, in her most splendid costume, with a bonnet still more -exuberant in red and yellow than that in which she had witnessed the -funeral of Lady Piercey. She descended upon Patty at an early hour, when -Mrs. Gervase was still profoundly occupied with the restoration of the -great drawing-room, and made her way there, regardless of the opposition -of the polite butler. “Perhaps you are not aware that I am Mrs. -Piercey’s own aunt,” that lady said fiercely; “I shall go to my niece -wherever she is. I have no fear of not being welcome.” The butler knew, -also, too well who the visitor was, and he trembled for the consequences -of his weakness as she pushed her way before him into the room where the -carpenter and his apprentice and a couple of housemaids were executing -Patty’s orders, under her close superintendence. The men were on ladders -cleaning the long mirrors, the maids were busy with the furniture, while -Patty, seated in a gilt and brocaded chair sat in state looking on. -“Place that table in the corner, there, and these two chairs beside it. -Not that, you stupid; the deep gentleman’s chair on one side, and this -one without arms on the other--let me see. Yes, that will do, with a -palm or a great fern behind.” Patty held her head on one side to -contemplate the effect, while the two housemaids stood looking on, not -yet so much accustomed to the new sway that they did not exchange a -glance, a “la! much she knows about it,” when her attention was called -away. - -It was, indeed, with no small start and sensation that Patty’s attention -was called away. She was sitting thus, with her head on one side, -contemplating the group of furniture, perhaps imagining herself in the -chair without arms, with a silken train arranged about her feet (when -her mourning should be over, for Patty was, in all things, a stickler -for propriety), while some grand gentleman, a viscount at least, leant -over the table entertaining her from the depths of the “gentleman’s -chair”: when there suddenly burst upon her consciousness a bustle at -the door, a quick throwing open, and a voice which was harsh and -jarring, but alas, how well known and familiar! - -“Patty, my pet, here I am! That man of yours wanted to put me in a -waiting-room, but I said, Where she is there I’ll go; and here I am, my -little lovey, and a happy woman to see you in your own house.” - -“Oh!” cried Patty, rising quickly from her chair. Her wits were so much -about her, even in this great and sudden shock, that she refrained from -saying aunt in the hearing of that excited audience--which was foolish, -indeed, since all the housemaids and all the carpenters in Greyshott -parish knew very well that Miss Hewitt, of Rose Cottage, was Mrs. -Piercey’s aunt, and far the richest, consequently the most respectable -of her kindred. Patty could not say much more, for she was enfolded in -the heavy drapery of Miss Hewitt’s Paisley shawl, and almost stifled in -her close embrace. “And bless you, all’s ended as I said it would; and -ain’t I glad I was the one to help you to it?” Miss Hewitt said in her -enthusiasm, bestowing a large audible kiss on Patty’s face. - -“Oh, dear!” said Patty, as soon as she could speak. “This isn’t the -place to receive any one in. Jervis, why didn’t you show the lady into -the morning-room? I can’t talk to you here, with all the servants -about.” - -“Don’t blame the man,” said Miss Hewitt; “I wanted to see you free, -without stopping whatever you were doing. It’s not as if I were a mere -visitor as couldn’t make allowances. I just like to see everything, and -what it was like before, and what you’re doing. I know you, Patty. They -won’t know it for the same ’ouse afore you’re done with it. Well, this -is a nice room! but none too big for what you’ll want when you get -things your own way. Greyshott won’t know itself with all the doings -there’ll be.” - -“Oh, but I can’t receive any lady here,” said Patty. “Let me take you -into the morning-room; it’s where I always sit in the morning. I -couldn’t possibly sit and talk with a caller before lunch in any other -place. If you don’t mind I’ll show you the way.” - -The butler held the door open with an obsequious air in which there was, -as that functionary was well aware, an over-acting of his part--but that -did not occur to the ladies who swept out, Patty in advance, and to whom -it would scarcely have seemed too much if Jervis had walked backwards -before them. He stayed behind to make his comment with uplifted hands -and eyes upon the spectacle. “Lord, ain’t she a-going it!” said Jervis. -It was, perhaps, not dignified for a person in his position to unbosom -himself to the housemaids and the carpenter; but how could mortal man -keep silent in circumstances so exciting? The ladies went to the -morning-room in another frame of mind, both of them putting on silently -their armour for the inevitable battle. When they had reached the room -which was to be the scene of it, Miss Hewitt flung herself at once -heavily into an easy chair. “Well! I call this a poky little place,” she -cried. “You might have sent the servants away, Patty. I liked that other -place much better. Morning-room! why it’s no better than my parlour,” -she cried. - -“It would only hold the whole of your house, kitchen and all,” cried -Patty; “and it’s where I choose people to come,” she added decisively, -“when they’ve that little sense as to come in the morning, when _no_ -lady receives.” - -“Oh, that’s how I am to be met, is it?” said Miss Hewitt, “you little -ungrateful wretch! It was nothing but dear aunt, and how good I was, -when you came to me to help you. Ah! you had to come to me to help to -secure him at the last--and him nothing but a Softy. If I had had -somebody to stand for me like I did for you, Miss Patty, Greyshott would -have been a very different place, and you’d never have got your nose in -here!” - -“Well, Aunt,” said Patty, “if those are your ideas, you can’t wonder -that I shouldn’t want you. For if you had married Sir Giles, which I -suppose is what you mean, and would never have let me get my nose in, -you’ll understand that I don’t want your nose in. I wouldn’t have said -it so plump if you hadn’t begun. Though I don’t believe Sir Giles ever -thought of such a thing, now I know him well.” - -“He’s not a Softy, you see,” said the angry old lady, with a snort. - -“No,” said Patty, sedately; “he’s not a Softy. I should think he’d had a -good deal of common-sense in his day. But I don’t want to quarrel,” she -added; “whatever you may do. No doubt you’ve come about your money, -which is quite natural. You shall have your money, Aunt Patience. It -wasn’t so needful as I thought it would be, for Mr. Piercey had plenty -for what was wanted; but, of course, I’m much obliged to you all the -same.” - -“Oh, Mr. Piercey: that’s what you call the Softy now!” cried Miss -Hewitt, in high scorn. - -“It’s what I always called him, and it’s his name and mine too. I’m Mrs. -Piercey, as the heir’s wife, and not Mrs. Gervase. My father-in-law says -so, and he ought to know.” - -“Oh, your father-in-law,” cried Miss Hewitt, with extreme bitterness; -“you’ve changed all your relations, I see. When it comes to a person to -disown their debts and their folks----” - -“I do neither the one nor the other,” cried Patty. “You shall have every -penny of your fifty pounds--and interest, if you like, with that. And -everybody knows my folks,” she cried, with a toss of her head. “Oh, no -fear that they’ll ever be forgotten. Father’s been here with the smell -of beer about him like to knock you down, and when I told him I couldn’t -bear it, what does he do but fling out of the house cursing and -swearing, and letting everybody see.” - -“Well, your father is a trial,” Miss Hewitt allowed candidly. “I don’t -wonder, Patty, as you were hurt; but so was he, and he won’t come back -no more, won’t Richard. You can’t, anyhow, my pet, have the same -objections to me.” - -Miss Hewitt held her head aloft, and her golden flowers nodded and -rustled. The complacency of her smile, and the confidence that in her -there was nothing to find fault with, was too much even for Patty. She -could not say the words that came to her lips. - -“Well, Aunt Patience,” she said, in subdued tones, “I am treating you -just the same as if you were Lady Hartmore.” - -“And no more than is my due, Patty. I might have been my lady many and -many’s the year if I’d had an Aunt Patience as would have done for me as -I’ve done for you. Has she been to call already? She’s one as always -respects the rising sun.” - -“No,” said Patty, still more subdued, “she has not been yet--but that’s -easy explained, where there’s been so lately a death in the house.” - -“And a good thing for you, too! If ever there was a tyrant of a -woman---- But I see you’re in deep crape, Patty, to show your grief.” - -“I hope I know better than to show any want of respect to my -mother-in-law. And I think, Aunt Patience, you might have known better -than to come to a house that’s in such mourning with all these colours -on your head.” - -“My bonnet!” cried Miss Hewitt. She caught sight of herself in a glass, -and bridled and smiled at herself, instinctively arranging the bow of -red ribbon that was tied under her chin. “I never had such a becoming -bonnet in my life; and as for mourning, there’s nobody could expect me -to put on black for her.” - -“No,” said Patty, “and that’s why I hadn’t expected even a call from -you, Aunt Patience, during the mourning--not being in any way a real -connection of the house.” - -Miss Hewitt fixed her eyes very wide open upon those of her niece, and -the two maintained a silent combat by that method for at least a minute. -It was the elder who gave in the first. “If that’s how you’re going to -treat your own relations,” she said, “Patty, you’ll not see much of me. -And I can tell you, as well as if it had happened already, you won’t see -much of other folks. There’s none of the grand people as you’re looking -for that will come near the place. The rector’ll call because he’s bound -to, and because you was once his show girl at the Sunday School; and the -new curate will call to see if he can get a subscription for something, -but, mark you my words: nobody else--no, not a soul! and when you’ve -bundled everybody belonging to you out of your doors, then you’ll see -who you’ll have to speak to. I’m sorry for you, Patty, I am indeed.” - -“Are you, Aunt Patience?” cried Patty, with defiance. “When it comes to -that, I’ll send for you back.” - -“It’s a deal easier,” said Miss Hewitt sententiously, “to whistle folks -away than to bring them back.” - -But after this there was a cessation of hostilities, and in the end Miss -Hewitt was taken over the house to see all its splendours, which, as -much as possible, she depreciated. She was the only witness of her -elevation whom Patty had as yet had, and though some sacrifice of pride -and spirit was necessary, a natural longing to impress and dazzle her -world, through the means of some spectator, was still stronger. Patty -went so far as to offer her aunt some of those pairs of silk stockings -which Parsons had been counting when her new mistress fell upon her. -“They’re such good stockings,” Patty said, “but miles too big for me.” -“If you think I’ll wear her old cast-off things!” cried Miss Hewitt, -purple with rage, flinging them back into the drawers from which Patty -had taken them. “And my foot, if anything, is a little smaller than -yours,” she added, with angry satisfaction. But when the visitor -lingered and at last betrayed her desire to be asked to stay for -“dinner”--a word which came out unadvisedly, and which she immediately -corrected, with a blush--“Lunch, I suppose you call it,”--Patty assumed -very high ground. - -“My dear Aunt! if we were by ourselves of course it would not matter; -but dear papa always takes his luncheon along with us.” - -“And who’s dear papa?” asked Miss Hewitt, with natural derision. - -“I mean Sir Giles, of course; he’s in very delicate health, and we have -to be very careful.” - -“Sir Giles,” said Miss Hewitt grimly, “has seen me before.” - -“Yes--he said so when he heard my name--he said, Where have I heard that -name before?” - -“Patty, you’re a little devil; he knows a deal more than that of me.” - -“Ah, well, perhaps once, Aunt; but his memory’s gone now; and to bring -in a stranger to the luncheon table! Perhaps you don’t remember,” said -Patty severely, “that my poor dear mother-in-law has not yet been a -fortnight in her grave.” - -Miss Hewitt was thus got rid of, though not without trouble; but Patty -did not find it easy to forget what she had said, especially when it -came true to the letter; for week after week went by and not a step, -except that of the doctor, crossed the threshold of Greyshott. Patty -took her place in the drawing-room every afternoon, with everything -arranged very cleverly, and looking as like as an imitation could be to -the little _mise en scène_ of a young lady waiting for her guests; but -no guests ever came. At length, after much waiting, there -appeared--exactly as Aunt Patience had said--the rector! accompanied by -his young daughter, for he was a widower. The rector called her Patty in -the first moment of meeting, and though he amended that in a confused -manner, and gave her finally her full honours as Mrs. Piercey, it was -difficult to get over that beginning, which threw his young companion -into utter discomfiture. And then, to make matters worse, he delivered a -little lecture upon the responsibilities of her new position and the -difficulty of the duties that would come upon her. “You must not let -your mind dwell on your disadvantages,” he said kindly; “everybody, -after a while, will make allowances for you.” “You are quite mistaken if -you think I want to have allowances made for me,” said Patty, provoked. -And what could the rector reply? He said, “Oh!” thus showing the poverty -of the English language, and how little a man in such a predicament can -find to say for himself; and then he began hurriedly to talk parish -talk, and ask Mrs. Piercey’s patronage for various charities--charities -by which Patty Hewitt might almost have been in a position to benefit so -short a time ago. “That’s well over,” he said to his daughter, wiping -his forehead, when they went out of the gates of Greyshott. And he did -not come again, nor she--not even the girl. And nobody came; and of all -the difficult things in the world Mrs. Gervase Piercey found nothing so -difficult as to explain to her grand maid how it was that no visitor was -ever seen at Greyshott. The thing itself was bad enough, but to explain -it to Jerningham was still worse. “You see we are still in deep -mourning,” Mrs. Piercey said. “Yes, ma’am,” said Jerningham, with a -sniff of polite scepticism. For a lady who, however deep her mourning -might be, had not a single friend to come to see her, was more than -Jerningham could understand. And Patty sat alone in her fine -drawing-room, and walked about her great house, and spoke to nobody but -old Sir Giles and her own Softy; and thought many times, with a kind of -alarm, of what Aunt Patience had said. Had it not already come true? - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - - -This, however, was after all but a small matter; it was not actual -misfortune. Patty, indeed, felt it much, partly on account of Jerningham -and the other servants, who she felt must triumph in this -non-recognition of her claims; and also a little for herself, for it was -an extraordinary change from the perpetual coming and going of the Seven -Thorns, and all the admiration and respect which she had there, the -jokes, and the laughter and the talk, which if not refined, were good -enough for Patty Hewitt--to the condition of having no one to speak to, -not a soul--except old Sir Giles and her own Softy, whose conversation -clever Patty could not be said to have enjoyed at any time. It was very -dull work going on from day to day with nothing better than poor old Sir -Giles’ broken talk, which was about himself and his affairs--not about -her, naturally the most interesting subject to Patty. Many times she was -tempted to go upstairs and sit with Jerningham to unbosom herself and -relieve her mind of all the unspoken talk, and make a companion and -_confidante_ of her maid. Jerningham was a person much better trained -and educated than Patty. She could have instructed her in many of the -ways of the fine ladies which Mrs. Piercey could only guess at, or -painfully copy out of novels; but perhaps, if her mistress had yielded -to this impulse it would have been Jerningham who would have held back, -knowing her place and desiring no confidences. Patty, however, also knew -her place, and that to confide in a servant was a fatal thing, so that -she never yielded to this temptation. But how dull it was! It is a fine -thing to be the mistress of a great house, to have a large household -under your orders, to be served hand and foot, as Patty herself would -have said; but never to have a gossip, never a jest with any one, she -for whom every passer-by had once had a cheerful word, to have nobody to -admire either herself or her dresses, to envy her good fortune, to -wonder at her grandeur! that takes the glory out of any victory. Would -Cæsar have cared to come back with all the joy and splendour of a -triumphal procession had there been nobody to look at him? Patty had -succeeded to the extent of her highest dreams, but, alas! there was -nobody to see. - -That, however, was merely negative, and there was always the hope that -it might not last. She took her seat in the drawing-room every day with -perennial expectation, still believing that somebody must come; and, no -doubt, in the long run, her expectation would have come true. But Patty -soon had actual trouble far more important than any mere deprivation. -She had been afraid of Sir Giles, over whom her victory had been easy, -and she had been afraid of the servants, whom she had now completely -under her foot; but she never had any fear about the Softy, her husband, -who had been her dog--a slave delighted with his chains--who had desired -nothing better than to do what she told him, and to follow her about -wherever she went. That Gervase should become the only rebel against -her, that he should escape her authority and influence, and take his own -way in opposition to hers, was a thing which had not entered into any of -her calculations--Gervase, whose devotion had been too much, who had -wearied her out with his slavish dependence on her, how had he -emancipated himself? It was inconceivable to Patty. She had felt sure -that whatever happened she could always control him, always keep him in -subjection, guide him with a look, be absolute mistress of his mind and -all his wishes. The first revelation of something more in Softy which -she had not calculated upon had come when she first found the difficulty -of amusing him in the long evenings (lit with so many wax candles, -surrounded with so many glories!). Then it was revealed to Patty that -she was not enough even for that fool. Then it began to dawn upon her -faintly that the Seven Thorns itself had something to do with the -attraction, and the excitement of the suspense, and the restraint and -expectation in which she had held him: all these adjuncts were over now; -he had Patty all his own, and he did not find Patty enough. Was that -possible? could it be true? - -Perhaps there was something in the very ease of Patty’s triumph that had -to do with this. Had his mother lived, and had Gervase experienced that -protection of having a wife to stand by him, which he had anticipated, -it is very likely that this result would have been long delayed, if, -indeed, it had ever appeared at all. But there was nobody now against -whom Gervase required to be protected. His father had never opposed him, -and now that Sir Giles was, like everybody else in the house, under -Patty’s sway, not even the faint excitement of a momentary struggle with -him chequered the Softy’s well-being. The consequence was that he, as -well as Patty, found it dull. He had no one to play with him, he longed -for the movement of the alehouse, the sound of the carts and carriages, -the slow jokes in the parlour, the smoke and the fun--also the beer; and -perhaps that most of all. It was hard work even when Patty was devoted -to his constant amusement, for the Softy had no intervals; he wanted to -be entertained all the time: and when she flagged for a moment, he -became sullen and tugged at his chain. But when Sir Giles came on the -scene, and Patty’s attention was distracted and her cares given to the -old man, offence and sullen disgust arose in the mind of Gervase. He -would not join in the game, as Patty called him to do; neither father -nor son indeed wanted a third in the game: and Gervase, duller than ever -and angry too, went to sleep for a night or two, tried to amuse himself -another evening or two with cat’s cradle or the solitaire board--then -flung these expedients aside in impatience, and finally strolled off, -through the soft, warm darkness of the night, to the Seven Thorns. The -Seven Thorns! it was poetic justice upon Patty, but that made it only -the harder to bear. - -Then there came upon Patty one of those curses of life which fall upon -women with a bitterness and horror of which probably the inflictors of -the pain are never fully aware. It would have been bad enough if this -had befallen her in her natural position as the wife of a country -tradesman or small farmer. Domestic misery is the same in one class as -in another; yet it would be vain to deny the aggravations that a higher -position adds to primitive anguish of this kind. The cottager is not so -much ashamed of her husband’s backslidings. In many cases they are the -subject of the long monologue of complaint that runs through her life. -They cannot be hid, and they become a sort of possession, the readiest -excuse for every failing of her own. But that the young master should -stumble night after night up to Greyshott; that he should be seen by all -the neighbourhood drinking among the dull rustics at the Seven Thorns; -that a crowd of servants should listen and peep to hear his unsteady -step, and his boisterous laugh, and the stammerings of excuse or -explanations, or worse still, of noisy mirth, bursting from him in the -middle of the quiet night--was something more terrible still. Patty--on -that first occasion, when, long after every one else was in bed, she -stole downstairs to admit him by that little door near the beech avenue, -to which his unsteady footsteps naturally turned--was horrified and -angry beyond description; but she did not doubt she could put a stop to -it. Not for a moment did she hesitate as to her power. It should never -happen again, she said to herself. Once was nothing. Henceforward she -would be on her guard. He should not escape from her another time. She -did not even upbraid Gervase--it was her own fault, who had never -thought of that, taken no precautions; but it should never, never, she -said to herself, with, perhaps unnecessary asseverations, happen again. - -Gervase, upbraided as in sport by his laughing wife for forsaking her, -as if he had been a naughty child, did nothing but laugh and triumph in -reply. “Weren’t they just astonished to see me!” he said: “your father -opened his mouth like this,” opening his own large mouth with the moist -hanging under-lip. “You should ha’ seen him, you should ha’ seen him, -Patty--like I was a ghost! ‘Hallo!’ said he, and ‘Hallo!’ said I, ‘here -I am, you see.’ There wasn’t one of them could say a word; but -afterwards I stood treat, and we had a jolly night.” - -“And, oh, how you did smell of beer, you naughty fellow, when you came -in!” - -“Did I? Well, not without reason, neither,” said Gervase, with his loud -laugh; “a set of jolly old cocks when you set them going. We only wanted -you there in your old blue dress and your apron.” - -“That you will never see again, I can tell you; and it isn’t very nice -of you, Gervase, wishing your wife in such a place.” - -“It’s a good enough place, and it’s where you came from,” said Gervase. -“But I told ’em,” he said, nodding his head, “what an awful swell you -have grown--nothing good enough for you. Didn’t the old fellows laugh -and nod their old heads. Ho, ho! He, he!” - -“Gervase, dear,” said his wife, “you won’t go there again? you won’t go -and leave me all by myself, longing and wondering when you’d come back? -I thought you’d gone and fallen asleep somewhere. I thought every minute -you’d come into the room. You won’t go again, Gervase, dear, and leave -your poor Patty alone?” - -“Why, you had father,” Gervase said. - -“Oh, papa; yes, dear, and I kept on playing to amuse him, dear old -gentleman, and to keep it from him that you had gone out. If he had -known where you were, it would have vexed him sadly, you know it would.” - -“It vexed them both,” said Gervase, “when I went there after you; but I -didn’t mind--nor you either, Patty.” - -“A young single man has to have his liberty,” said Patty, “but when he’s -married---- You wouldn’t have gone off and left me--your Patty, whom you -said you were so fond of--in those days?” - -“Ah,” said the Softy, with the wisdom of his kind, “but I’ve got you now -fast, Patty, at home waiting for me; so I can take my pleasure a bit, -and have you all the same.” He looked at her with a cynical light in -his dull eyes. He, and she also, felt the strength of the argument. No -need to please her now, and conciliate her in her own ideas about beer -and the parlour of the Seven Thorns. She could no longer cast him off, -or leave him in the lurch. Consequently, Gervase felt himself free to -indulge his tastes in his own way, whatever Patty might think. She was -struck silent by that new light in his eyes. He was not capable of -argument, or of anything but sticking to what he had once said, with all -the force of his folly. She looked at him, and, for the first time, saw -what was before her. It had never occurred to her before that he had the -strength to resist her, or that she could not call him to her like a dog -when her better sense saw it to be necessary. A docile fool is sometimes -contemptible enough; but a fool resistant, a being whom reason cannot -teach, who has no power of being convinced! Patty felt a cold dew come -over her forehead. She saw what was before her with momentary giddiness, -as if she had looked over the edge of a precipice. But she did not lose -hope. She sent next day an imperative note to her father requiring his -attendance: that he either should resist or refuse her call did not come -into her mind. “Come up to Greyshott,” she wrote, “at once, for I have -something to say to you;” as she might have written to one of her -servants. But Richard Hewitt was not a man who could be defied with -impunity. He never appeared in obedience to her summons; he took no -notice of it. He replied only by that silence which is the most -terrible of all kinds of resistance. And it was not long before Gervase -disappeared again. After the second catastrophe, Patty swept down upon -the Seven Thorns in her carriage--an imposing figure in her silk and -crape. But Hewitt was not impressed even by the sight of her grandeur. -“I’ll not refuse no customer for you--there! and you needn’t think you -can come over me,” he cried. “By George! to order me about--what I’m to -do and whom I’m to have in this house. It’s like your impudence; but I -tell you, Miss, I’ll see you d----d first,” the angry man roared, -bringing his clenched fist down upon the table, and making all the -glasses ring. Patty was cowed, and had not a word to say. - -And then there began for the triumphant young woman an ordeal enough to -daunt the stoutest heart. It was true that she had not, like many a wife -in such circumstances, the anguish of love to give a sting to -everything. Patty had used the Softy partly as the instrument of her own -elevation; but his folly had not disgusted or pained her as it might -have done under other circumstances. She had a sober affection for him -even, as her own property, a thing that belonged to her, and felt -strongly the impulse of protecting him from scandal and injury: more, he -was so involved still in all her hopes of advancement, that she was as -much alarmed for the betrayal of his bad behaviour, as if (like so many) -she had feared the loss of a situation or work which brought in the -living of the family. And it must be added for Patty that she did her -very best to keep all knowledge of Gervase’s conduct from his father. -She sat and played his game of backgammon, inventing almost every -evening a new excuse. “Isn’t he a lazy boy? He’s gone to sleep again,” -was at first the easiest explanation. But Patty felt that would not do -always. “What do you think, dear papa? Gervase has taken to reading,” -she said; “I gave him a nice novel, all hunting and horses, and he got -so interested in it.” “He never was any good outside a horse himself,” -Sir Giles said, with a little grumble. But he was easily satisfied. He -asked nothing more than to have his mind relieved from that care for -Gervase which Lady Piercey had always insisted he should share. “He’s -got his wife to look after him, now,” Sir Giles said, when Dunning -hinted a doubt that Mr. Gervase was sometimes out of an evening. He was -thankful to wash his hands of all responsibility. That apparent -selfishness of old age, which consists very much of weariness and -conscious inability to bear the burden, came over him more and more -every day. Had such a thing been possible as that Gervase should have -married a girl in his own position, and made her miserable, the good in -Sir Giles would have been roused to support and uphold the victim. But -Patty knew very well what she was doing. Patty had accepted all the -responsibilities. She was able to take care of herself. He had his wife -to take care of him, and to keep him off his father. Patty accepted her -share of that tacit bargain honestly; and, as for Sir Giles, it must be -said that he was easily satisfied--received her explanations, and gave -her as little trouble as possible. He nodded his head, and went on with -his game. Perhaps, if truth had been told, it was a relief to the old -man when the Softy--strolling about restlessly from place to place, -interfering with the play, calling off his wife’s attention, always -troublesome and always ungainly--was not there. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - - -Patty had been married only about four months, when an incident happened -that brought this period of humiliation and trouble after her triumph to -a climax. The summer had gone, the dark days and long nights of early -winter had come back, and Gervase’s almost nightly visits to the Seven -Thorns were complicated by the storms and rains of the season, which, -however, were rarely bad enough to keep him indoors. Had Patty been free -to keep a constant watch upon him, it was her opinion that she could -have prevented his continual escape into the night. She could have made -him so comfortable at home. By moments she had visions of what she could -do to reclaim her husband and satisfy him, if the dreadful restraint of -the old man and his nightly game were withdrawn. Once or twice, when Sir -Giles was indisposed, she had, indeed, managed to do this. She had -brewed him hot and fragrant drinks to take the place of the beer, and -exhausted herself in talk to amuse him. Poor Patty! she thought to -herself that surely she must, at least, be as amusing as the old fellows -in the parlour at the Seven Thorns. Many a woman has thought the same: -a brilliant young creature, full of knowledge and spirit, and wit and -pleasantness, might not she think herself as attractive as the dull -gossip of the club? But it is a dangerous conflict to enter into, and -the race is certainly not to the swift nor the battle to the strong in -this respect. And Patty was not an amusing conversationalist. She knew -the methods of rustic flirtation, and how to hold off and call on a -provoked and tantalised lover; and she could be very lively in talk -about herself and what she meant to do; but the first was no longer a -method to be employed with Gervase, who was now brutally conscious of -being Patty’s proprietor; and he was not even so much interested in what -she meant to do as he once had been. He much preferred the heavy jokes, -the great guffaw, the half-mocking attention that was paid to himself in -the parlour at the Seven Thorns. He was not in the least aware that the -big laugh that went round, and in which he himself joined with a -sensation of truly enjoying himself, was chiefly at him and his folly. -And his freedom to do what he liked, to drink as much as he liked, and -babble and maunder at his pleasure, was very sweet to Gervase: he liked -it better than anything else in the world; perhaps not better than Patty -if there had been a conflict between the two--but then, as he said, he -had Patty all the same whatever he might do, and why shouldn’t he enjoy -himself when it was so entirely in his power? - -But when Patty sat the whole evening through playing backgammon with Sir -Giles, her ears on the alert for every sound, her hopes sometimes -raised by a footstep on the stairs to imagine that he had not gone out -after all, or her fears excited by some noise to the terror of believing -that he had come back earlier than usual, and was coming in--like the -fool he was, to betray himself to his father! it was not wonderful if -she looked sometimes with a suppressed bitterness at her old -father-in-law fumbling at his game. What good was his life to that old -man? He could not walk a step without assistance. He was bound to that -chair whatever happened. He had nobody of his own age to speak to, no -one except people of another generation, whom he was keeping out of what -Patty called “their own.” “Oh, if the old man were out of the way, how -soon I could put everything right!” Patty said to herself. Though she -had indeed failed, and received a grievous defeat, her confidence in -herself was not shaken. It was only circumstances, she thought, that -were to blame. If she had things in her own hands, if her evenings were -unencumbered, if she could devote herself to her husband as she had -intended to do, let us see how long the Seven Thorns would have stood -against her! And, oh, what good was his life to that old man! If he were -to die, what a blessed relief it would be! Full of aches and pains, his -nerves shattered, unable to keep from crying when he talked, unable to -think of anything except his walk (walk! in his chair driven by -Dunning), and his dinner, which was chiefly slops, and his cups of beef -tea, and his drops, and his game at night, which he was allowed to win -to please him! Poor Sir Giles! It was not, indeed, a very pleasing -programme: but it is to be supposed that it did not seem so miserable to -him as to Patty, for Sir Giles showed no inclination whatever to die. He -might have thought, if he had been an unselfish old man, that he was a -burden, that he kept the young people from enjoying their lives, while -getting so little good out of his own--that if he were but out of the -way Patty would be my lady, and free to look after her own husband and -keep him straight; but he did not do so. She sat all the evening -through, and said: “Yes, dear papa,” and “How capitally you play!” and -“What luck you have!” and “I am nowhere beside you, dear papa,” smiling -and beaming upon him, and, to do her justice, exerting all her powers to -amuse him; but all the time saying to herself, “Oh, what good is his -life to him! Oh, how can he go on like this, keeping Gervase out of his -right place, and keeping me that I can’t do anything for my own husband! -Oh, that we had the house to ourselves and I were free to keep Gervase -straight!” - -One evening, Patty had been feeling more keenly than usual this keen -contrariety and hindrance of everything. Sir Giles had sat longer than -he generally did, sending off Dunning when he appeared, demanding an -hour’s grace and another game. He was in higher spirits than usual. -“Come, Patty,” he said, “you’re not tired. Have your revenge and give me -a good beating. I’m in high feather to-night. I don’t care that! for -Dunning. Come back in an hour, and perhaps I’ll go to bed.” - -“‘Alf an hour, Sir Giles: and that’s too long,” Dunning said. - -“Half an hour, dear papa--you must not really tempt Providence by -staying any longer,” said Mrs. Gervase. “Have my revenge? Oh, no! but -I’ll give you another chance of beating me all to atoms. Isn’t Sir Giles -well to-night, Dunning? He looks ten years younger.” - -“He’s excited with all that play,” said Dunning. “I don’t ’old with so -much backgammon. If he’s ill in the morning I wash my hands of it. He -knows well enough hisself he didn’t ought to be so late.” - -“The white for me as usual,” said Sir Giles. “I’m a sad, selfish, old -fellow, always appropriating the winning colour, eh, Patty? Never mind, -you are coming on beautifully--you play a very pretty little game. I’m -training you to beat myself, my dear, if not to-night, well, some other -night. Come along, don’t let’s waste any time if that old curmudgeon -gives us only half an hour.” - -Patty drew her chair to the table again with her most smiling aspect. -“Here I am, dear papa,” she said. The renovated drawing-room, if it was, -perhaps, in the taste of a past time and a little heavy and ungraceful, -was a handsome room, abundantly lighted, with an atmosphere of warmth -and luxurious comfort; and Patty in her black silk, with her hair -carefully dressed _à la_ Jerningham, and her dress from a fashionable -mantua-maker, recommended by that accomplished attendant--was as good an -imitation of what a lady at home ought to be, as it would be easy to -find; and as she sat there ministering to her old father-in-law, keeping -him in comfort and good humour, giving up her time and her attention to -play over again the same monotonous unending game--the picture, both -moral and physical, was one that would have gained the admiration of any -spectator. But as she drew her chair again towards the table, there -flashed across Patty’s mind a remembrance of another scene: the parlour -at the Seven Thorns full of a cloud of smoke and a smell of beer; the -rustic customers, with their slow talk, holding forth each to his -neighbour, calling with knocks upon the floor and table for further -supplies; while she, Patty, the same girl, hastened to see what was -wanted, and to bring them what they called for--she, Mrs. Piercey, the -wife of the heir of Greyshott, the mistress of all this great house! And -it was only four months ago. How clearly she saw that scene! The same -thing would be going on to-night while she played backgammon with Sir -Giles, and smiled, and talked to her dear papa--and with a thrill of -mingled rage, vexation, and anxiety, Patty felt herself deserted and her -husband there! It gave her a pang which was all the more keen from her -confidence in what she could do, and her sense of the bondage which -prevented her from doing it. Oh, why should this old man go on with his -cackle and his dice, and his life which was no good to any one? Why, why -couldn’t he die and set her free? “Here I am, dear papa,” she said. - -“Perhaps that sleepy fellow, Gervase, will wake up and appear before -we’ve done,” said Sir Giles. “I wouldn’t humour him too much, my dear. -It’s one thing to be devoted to your husband, and another thing to let -him muddle his brains away. He sleeps a great deal too much, that’s my -opinion. He’s not too bright at the best of times, and if you let him -drowse about like this it’ll do him harm--it’ll do him harm. I don’t see -that he gets up any earlier in the morning for sleeping like this at -night. His poor mother would never have permitted it. Sixes, my dear. -No, no, you mustn’t humour him too much.” - -“What luck you have, dear papa! Oh, yes, I know, I know, he’s humoured -too much. But some need more sleep than others: and don’t you think, on -the whole, it does him good? His mind comes out so much; he’s so -sensible when you talk to him. I couldn’t wish for better advice than -Gervase gives.” - -“I’m very glad to hear you say so, my dear; there’s a great deal in him, -poor boy; I always said so; more than anybody knows. But I wouldn’t let -him sleep like that. What, Dunning, you old rascal, here again already? -It can’t be half an hour yet.” - -“Oh, yes, dear papa,” said Patty, “it is the half-hour; and that last -throw has quite made an end of me. Good-night, and I hope you’ll sleep -well. And I’ll go, as you say, and wake up that lazy boy. He _is_ a lazy -boy. But I’ll try and break him of it now you’ve told me. I thought it -was best to humour him. But I’ll break him of it, now I know what you -think.” - -“Do, my dear, do!” said Sir Giles, nodding his head at her as he was -wheeled away. Dunning gave Mrs. Gervase a look behind his master’s -chair. Ah, you may keep such a secret from those whom it affects most, -but to keep it from the servants is more than any one can do! Dunning -knew well enough where Gervase was. He knew how Gervase returned home, -at what hour, and in what condition. Dunning, in addition, thought he -knew that it was Patty’s doing, part of some deep-laid scheme of hers, -and could not divine that the poor young woman’s heart was beating under -that fine gown with terror and anxiety. She gave a little gasp of relief -when the sound of Sir Giles’ chair died away, and his door was closed -audibly. And then she rang to have the lights put out, telling the -butler that Sir Giles and Mr. Piercey had both gone to bed; and then -Patty, heroic as any martyr, placed herself under Jerningham’s hands to -have her hair brushed, going through all the routine that nobody might -think from her demeanour that anything was wrong. She was quivering with -anxiety in every limb when she sent the maid away; and then, in her -dressing-gown, stole downstairs to open the side door, and strain her -ears for the heavy footstep stumbling through the blackness of the -night. - -Poor Patty! what thoughts went through her mind as she kept that vigil! -Fury and determination to do something desperate, to stop it at all -hazards--and that this should be the last time, the very last! She would -take him by the shoulder and shake the very life out of him rather than -that this should go on. She would fling herself at his feet and implore -him--alas, Patty knew very well that to implore and to threaten were -alike useless, and that the fool would only open his moist mouth and -laugh in her face. What could she do? what could she do? She would make -an appeal to her father, she would threaten him with the loss of his -licence, she would bribe him with all the money she could scrape -together, she did not know what she would not do--but to bear this -longer was impossible! And then she fell into a dreary calm, and thought -over all that had happened, her wonderful triumph, the change in -everything, the contrast. And yet what advance had she made if she -never, never could separate herself from the Seven Thorns? Whether it -was she who was there or her husband, what did it matter? Who would ever -acknowledge them or give them their own place if this were to go on? Oh, -if these county people had but done as they ought, if they had but shown -themselves friendly and taken some notice of the young pair, people who -had known Gervase all his life, and ought to have felt for him! Patty -shed a few hot tears over the unkindness of the world, and then, as is -so natural, her mind went back upon her own hopes, and the ideal she had -formed of her life which, as yet, was so little realised. She had -thought of herself as driving about the country, paying visits at those -grand houses which had been to her as the abodes of the blest; her -husband at her side, well-dressed and well set up, with everybody saying -how much he had improved! And invitations raining upon them, and -fortune smiling everywhere. Sir Gervase and Lady Piercey! how -delightfully it had seemed to sound in her fortunate ears! To be sure -all this could not be realised until poor old Sir Giles had been fully -convinced that it was not for his advantage to live any longer; but that -might have happened any day. Oh, if he could but be convinced of it now, -and leave her free to care for her husband! Was not Gervase her first -duty? Why should this old man go on living, keeping his son out of his -own? - -And then Patty’s mind went back to the Seven Thorns, that place from -which it appeared she could not get free. She saw herself there before -anything was yet settled, while all her life was before her. As she sat -alone and shivered and listened, the image of Patty, light-hearted and -free, came up before her like a picture. How busy she had been, how -everybody had admired her, even the old fellows in the parlour! And the -young ones, how they had watched for a word with her, and some had -almost come to blows! Roger, for instance, who had made so much fun of -the Softy, who had looked such a gallant fellow in his brown velveteen -coat and his red tie! She remembered how he had appealed to her not to -do it, not to bind herself to a fool. The impudent fellow! to talk so of -Gervase--Sir Gervase Piercey that was soon to be! Oh, poor Gervase, poor -Gervase! he was not, perhaps, very wise, but he could still be set right -again and kept straight if she were but free to give herself up -altogether to the care of him. Roger Pearson could never have been -anything but a country fellow living in a cottage. It was true that he -was handsome, and all that. Patty seemed to see him, too, though she did -not wish it, with the light in his eyes, looking at her with his air of -mastery, the Adonis of the village. Every girl in the place had wanted -Roger, but he had eyes for only her. Why did he come before her now? She -did not want to see him or to think of him--far from that. There was not -a fibre of the wanton in Patty’s nature. She had no understanding of the -women who, with husbands of their own, could think of any other man. And -if she had the choice to make over again, she knew that she would do the -same; but still she could not help thinking of Roger Pearson, though she -had no idea why. - -This effect, however, was shortly after explained to her in the most -trying way. The night grew darker and darker, and colder and colder. The -Seven Thorns must have been closed long ago, and all its revellers -dispersed to their homes. What could have happened to Gervase? where -could he have gone? Could he have taken so much that he was made to stay -there, as unable to take care of himself, a thing which Patty could -remember to have happened in her time? She became afraid to look at her -watch or to listen to a clock, in the sickness of her heart. It was -impossible but that he must have reached home long ago had he left the -Seven Thorns in the natural way. Oh, where was he? where was he? Where -had he gone? what had happened to him? Patty dared not go upstairs to -bed, even when she was convinced that he could not be coming now; for -her father, she was sure, would turn him out in the early morning if -this was what had happened. Yet how could she remain up, and on the -watch, when the servants would be stirring, revealing what had happened -to the whole household? Patty is, perhaps, not a person for whom to -appeal to the reader’s sympathies, but she was very unhappy, very -anxious, not knowing what to think. - -At last, in the blackest hour of the night, about three o’clock or so in -the morning, her anxious ear heard, or seemed to hear, a faint sound. -Steps, and then a pause, and then steps again, and the sound of the -little side gate in the beech avenue pushed open. Patty was immediately -on the alert, with unspeakable relief in her mind. But the sounds were -not those of one man stumbling home. Sometimes there was a noise as of -something being tugged along the grass, then another stop, and the steps -again making the gravel fly, and then the sound as of a fall. In her -terror she stole out into the darkness, fearing she knew not what, and -at last, by faint perception through the gloom, by sound, and by almost -contact in the stifling dark, perceived how it was--her husband, -scarcely conscious, being dragged and hustled along through the dark by -another man. - -“Is it you, Gervase? oh, is it you, Gervase?” she cried. - -Oh, poor Patty! is there any one so hard-hearted as to refuse to pity -her in her misery? The voice that answered her out of the blackness of -the night was not that of Gervase. He uttered no sound but that of heavy -breath. Yet it was a well-known voice, a voice that made her heart jump -to her throat with intolerable horror, anger, and shame--to hear how -sober, manful, energetic, and capable it was. - -“There’s nothing wrong with him,” it said, clearly and quickly, “except -that he’s drunk. Show a light and I’ll get him in. I’ve had such a job, -but I’ll manage now; only for goodness’ sake look sharp and show a -light.” - -It was the voice of Roger Pearson, whom she had been thinking of, whose -presence had sent some subtle intimation through the air to bring him to -her thoughts. - -Patty hurried back to the open door and brought out the candle, which -burned steadily in the motionless blackness of the air. She said not a -word. Of the pang it gave her to see the man whom she had rejected -bringing back the man whom she had married she gave no sign. If she -could have covered her face that he might not see her, she would have -done so; but that being impossible, Patty never flinched. She held the -light to direct him, while now and then roused to take a step of his own -accord, but generally dragged by the other, Gervase was got in. She led -the way to the library, which was on the same level, stepping with -precaution not to be heard, shading the light with her hand, with all -her wits about her. There was not a tinge of colour on Patty’s face. She -was cold, shivering with excitement and distress. It was not till -Gervase had been laid upon the sofa that she spoke. - -“I am sorry you have had this trouble,” she said. “I hope you have not -over-strained yourself with such a weight. Can I get you anything?” She -looked at him courageously in the face. It was right to offer a man -something who had brought, even were it only a strayed dog, home. - -And he, too, looked at her, and for a moment said nothing. He stretched -his arms to relax them. - -“I’m not a man that cares for the stuff,” he said, “but perhaps I’d be -none the worse for a drop of brandy to take off the strain. He’s safe -enough there,” he added. “You needn’t be anxious. He’ll wake up before -the daylight, and then you can get him upstairs.” - -Patty did not say a word, but led the way to the dining-room, where -there was brandy to be got. It was a thing any lady might have done, she -said to herself, even through the wild beating of her heart, and the -passion in her breast--the passion of rage, and exasperation, and shame. -He was cool enough, thinking more of stretching and twisting himself to -ease his muscles than of the silent anguish in which she was. When he -had swallowed the brandy he advised her, with rough friendliness, “Take -a little yourself. It’s hard on you; you want something to give you a -little strength!” - -“Will you take any more?” said Patty, sharply. - -“No, I don’t want no more. It’s awful good stuff; it runs through a man -like fire. I’d been at a bit of an ’op over there by Coulter’s Mill, and -I nigh fell over him lying out on the moor. He might have got his death; -so when I saw who it was, I thought I’d best bring him home. But he’ll -take no harm; the drink that’s in him will keep the cold out.” - -“I am much obliged to you,” said Patty. “If there’s any reward you’d -take----” - -“Meaning money?” he said, with a suppressed roar of a laugh. “No, I -won’t take no money. I might say something nasty to you after that, but -I won’t neither. It ain’t very nice for you, poor girl, to have your man -brought home in that state by your old sweetheart. I feel for you; but -you always had a sharp tongue, and you never would give in. I advise you -to take more care of the Softy now you’ve got him back,” he said as he -went away. - -Patty shut and locked the door with an energy of rage and humiliation -which almost overcame the horror of being heard. And then she went into -the library and sat beside her husband till he had sufficiently -recovered from his stupor to be taken upstairs. What hours of vigil! All -the sins of her triumph might have been expiated while she sat there and -shivered through the miserable night. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - - -Patty had thoughts enough, surely, to occupy her that night, but it is -doubtful whether there were any that came into her mind with the same -reality--repeated again and again, as if by accident the recollection -had been blown back upon her by a sudden wind--as those careless words -uttered by Pearson when he had described how he had found Gervase: “I -had been at a little hop at Coulter’s Mill;” he said ’op, but though -Patty had never used that manner of speech herself it did not hurt her. -A little hop at Coulter’s Mill. Such things were going on while she was -shut up in the dismal grandeur of Greyshott. Girls were whirling round -with their partners, receiving their attentions, which, though they -might be rough and not very refined, were all that Patty knew of those -delights of youth; while she, Patty, whom they all envied, who was now -so far above them, sat and played backgammon with an old dotard, or -watched half the night for her Softy’s return. There were still such -things, and Roger Pearson went to them! Patty had a soft place in her -heart for Roger; she wished him no harm, and it might very well have -been, had not Gervase and ambition come across her path, that she should -have been his wife; and though she wished him nothing but good, Patty -did hope that she had more or less broken his heart. She thought he -would never have wished to go to those sort of places again, where every -tune that was played and every dance would remind him of her. His -careless speech took her, therefore, full in the breast, with a -stupefying surprise. And he did not say it as if it was anything -wonderful, but only as the calm ordinary of life, “I’d been at a little -’op at Coulter’s Mill.” And he was returning about two o’clock in the -morning, which showed that he had amused himself well. Could such things -be, and she out of them all? Every time this thought crossed her mind it -gave her a new shock. It seemed almost impossible that such things could -be. - -But at all events, it was a comfort that Gervase at last was roused and -got safely to his room before the servants were stirring, which it had -been Patty’s fear would not be possible. She had made up her story what -to say in case she had been surprised by the early housemaid. She meant -to keep the door closed, and to say that Mr. Piercey had been ill in the -night and could not sleep, and now had fallen asleep on the sofa, and -must not be disturbed. Happily, however, it was not necessary to burden -her conscience with this additional fib. She got him upstairs safely, -and to bed, and lay down herself upon the sofa with great relief. What a -night! while all the girls who had been at the dance at Coulter’s Mill -would still be sleeping soundly, and if they ever thought of Patty, -would think of her with such envy! Poor Patty, she was very brave. She -snatched a little sleep, and was refreshed before Jerningham came to the -door with that early cup of tea, which Patty understood all the fine -ladies took in the morning. For once she was glad of that unnecessary -refreshment. She told Jerningham that Mr. Piercey had been ill, and that -she feared he had taken a bad cold; and then Patty closed the door upon -the maid, who guessed, if she did not already know exactly, the -character of the illness, and began to think steadily what she should -do. She would tell Gervase that another night, if it happened again, he -would be brought in dead, not alive. He would die, she would tell him, -on the roadside like a dog. His was not a mind that could take in milder -imaginations, but he would understand _that_. And Patty made up her mind -to have another conversation with her father equally trenchant. She -would tell him that if anything happened to Gervase she would have him -tried for manslaughter. There would be abundant evidence, which she -would not hesitate to bring forth, that the victim was half-witted, that -he had been taken advantage of, and that the man who plied him with -drink and then turned him out, his poor brain more clouded than ever, to -find his way home, was his murderer and nothing else. Patty said to -herself that she did not mind what scandals she would raise in such -circumstances. If Richard Hewitt were brought to the scaffold she would -not mind, though he was her father. She would tell him that she would -drag him there with her own hands. She set here fierce little teeth, and -vowed to herself that she would ruin him were he ten times her father, -rather than let _this_ go on. She would frighten Gervase to death; but -before she was done she would set her foot on the ruins of the Seven -Thorns. - -Gervase, however, was too ill to be threatened the day after that -dreadful vigil. He had caught cold lying out upon the moor, and he was -very ill and in a high fever, quite unable to get up, or to have -anything but nursing and kindness. Patty had the confidence of a woman -well acquainted with the consequences of a debauch, that this would wear -off in a short time and leave no particular results. She gave him -beef-tea and gruel and kept him quiet, and told him, like a child, that -he would be better to-morrow. “Gervase has caught a bad cold,” she told -Sir Giles, “but you must not be anxious, dear papa. I am keeping him in -his warm bed, and he’ll be all right to-morrow.” “Right, right, my -dear,” said Sir Giles. “Bed is the best place. There is nothing like -taking a cold in time, nothing like it. And we must remember he was -always delicate. There’s no stamina in him, no stamina.” “He’ll be all -right to-morrow,” Patty said, and she kept running up and down between -the games to see if he was asleep, if he was comfortable, if he wanted -anything. “Good creature!” said Sir Giles, half to himself, half to -Dunning, who silently but consistently refused to appreciate Mrs. -Piercey. “Now, what would you and I have done with the poor boy if he -had been ill, and no wife on the spot to look after him?” “Maybe he -wouldn’t have had the same thing the matter with him,” said Dunning, -significantly. “Eh, what do you mean? What’s the matter with him? He’s -got a bad cold,” cried Sir Giles. “There are colds and colds,” said the -enigmatical Dunning. But Patty came back at the moment, saying that -Gervase was quite quiet and asleep, and resumed her place for the second -game. It was a longer game than usual, and Patty played badly, wishing -her dear papa we will not venture to say how far off. But it came to an -end at last, as everything does. “I hope you’ll have a good night, my -dear, and not be disturbed with him,” the old gentleman said kindly. -“Oh, I feel sure,” cried Patty, “he’ll be better to-morrow.” But, as a -matter of fact, she was not at all sure. The fumes of the drink ought to -have died off by that time, but the fever had not died off. He was ill, -and she was frightened and did not know what to do. And instead of being -better in the morning, poor Gervase was worse, and the doctor had to be -sent for, to whom, after various prevarications, poor Patty was obliged -to confess the truth. Impossible to look more grave than the doctor did -when he heard of this. “It was enough to kill him,” he said. Patty -understood (with a private reserve of vengeance against her father, who -had been the cause of it) that Gervase was really ill and had escaped -something still worse. But she was confident in her own powers of -nursing, and did not take fright. She was really an excellent nurse, -having a great deal of sense, and the habit of activity, and no fear of -giving herself trouble. She devoted herself to her husband quite -cheerfully, and even during the two first nights went down in a very -pretty dressing-gown to play his game with Sir Giles. “We must not look -for any change just yet, the doctor says, but he’ll soon be well, he’ll -soon be well,” she said; and believed it so thoroughly that Sir Giles, -too, was quite cheerful, notwithstanding that Dunning, in the -background, shook his head. Dunning would have shaken his head whatever -had been the circumstances. It was part of his position to take always -the worst view. And the household in general also took the worst view. -Nobody had said anything about that fatal lying out on the moor. Mrs. -Gervase certainly had not said a word (except to the doctor), and Roger -Pearson had resisted every temptation to betray his share in the matter; -yet everybody knew. How did they know? It is impossible to tell. The -butler shook his head like Dunning, and so did the cook. “He have no -constitution,” they said. - -But it was not till some days after that Patty began to take fright. She -said “He’ll be better to-morrow,” even after she saw that the doctor -looked grave--and resisted the aid of a nurse as long as she could, -declaring that for a day or two longer she could hold out. “For he’s not -going to be long ill,” she said, cheerfully. “Perhaps not,” the doctor -replied, with a tone that was exasperating in its solemnity. What did -he mean? “You must remember, Mrs. Piercey,” he continued, “that your -husband has no constitution. Fortunately he has had no serious illness -before, but he has always been delicate. It’s common in--in such cases. -He never had any stamina. You cannot expect him to throw off an attack -such as this like any other man.” - -“Why not like any other man?” cried Patty. She was so familiar with -Gervase that she had forgotten his peculiarities. Except when she -thought of it as likely to serve her own purpose with her father, she -had even forgotten that he was the Softy. He was her husband--part of -herself, about whom, assuredly, there was no fibre of weakness. “Why -shouldn’t he shake it off like any other man?” she cried angrily. - -The doctor gave her a strange look. “He has no constitution,” he said. - -The words and the look worked in Patty’s mind like some strange leaven, -mingling with all her thoughts. She could not at first imagine what they -meant. After a while, when she was relieved by the nurse and went into -another room to rest, instead of going to sleep, as she had, indeed, -much reason to do, she sat down and thought it all over in the quiet. No -constitution--no stamina. Patty knew very well, of course, what these -words meant; it was the application of them that was difficult. Gervase! -He was a little loose in his limbs, not very firmly knit perhaps, with -not so much colour as the rustics around--but he was young, and -healthy, and strong enough. Nobody had ever imagined that he was not -strong. As for being a little soft, perhaps, in the mind, that was -because people did not know him; and even if they did, the mind had -nothing to do with the body, and it was all in his favour, for he did -not worry and vex himself about things as others did. Like other -men--why wasn’t he like other men? He was as tall as most, he was not -crooked or out of proportion, he was---- - -Did it mean that he might die? - -Patty rose from her chair and flung her arms above her head with a cry. -She was not without natural affection; she liked her husband, and was -not dissatisfied with him, except in that matter of going to the Seven -Thorns. She did not object to him because he was a fool; she was fond of -him in a way. But when it suddenly flashed upon her that this might be -the meaning of what the doctor said, it was not of Gervase’s fate that -she thought. Die! and deprive her of what she had made so many efforts -to secure! Die! so that she never, never should be Lady Piercey, should -she live a hundred years! Patty stood for a moment all quivering with -emotion as she first realised this thought. It was intolerable, and not -to be borne. She had married him, coaxed him, kept him in good humour, -given up everything for him--only for this, that he should die before -his father, and leave her nothing but Mrs. Piercey--Mrs. Piercey only, -and for ever! Patty raised her hands unconsciously as if to seize him -and shake him, with a long-drawn breath and a sobbing, hissing “Oh!” -from the very bottom of her heart. She had it in her mind to rush to -him, to seize him, to tell him he must not do it. He must make an -effort; he must live, whatever happened. It was inconceivable, -insupportable that he should die. He must not, should not die before his -father, cheating his wife! She stood for a moment with her hands -clenched, as if she had in reality grasped Gervase by his coat, and then -she flung herself upon her face on the sofa in a passion of wild -weeping. It could not, could not be; it must not be. She would not allow -the possibility. Before his father, who was an old man--leaving all the -honours to--anybody, whoever happened to be in the way, Margaret -Osborne, for anything she knew--but not Patty, not she who had worked -for them, struggled for them! It could not, and it must not be. - -Patty did not sleep that day, though she had been up all night and -wanted sleep. She bathed her face and her eyes, and changed her dress, -and went back to her husband’s bedside with a kind of fierce -determination to hold by him, not to let him die. There was no change in -him from what there had been when she left him, and the nurse was half -offended by her intrusion. “I assure you, ma’am, I know my duties,” she -said, “and you’ll break down next if you don’t mind. Go, there’s a dear, -and get some sleep; you can’t nurse him both by night and day. And -there’s no change, nothing to make you anxious.” - -“You are sure of that, nurse?” - -“Quite sure. He’s quite quiet and comfortable, so far as I can see.” - -“But they say he has no constitution,” said Patty, gazing into the -woman’s face for comfort. - -“Well, Mrs. Piercey; but most times it’s the strongest man with whom it -goes hardest,” the nurse said. - -And this gave Patty great consolation; it was the only comfort she had. -It was one of those dicta which she had heard often both about children -and men, and therefore she received it the more willingly. “It goes -harder with the strong ones.” That was the very commonest thing to say, -and perhaps it was true. The old women often knew better than the -doctors, she said to herself. Indeed, there was in her mind a far -greater confidence in such a deliverance than in anything the doctors -could say. - -And nothing could exceed the devotion with which poor Gervase was -nursed. His wife was by his side night and day. She never tired--never -wanted repose; was always ready; the most careful and anxious of nurses. - -“He’s much better to-day, don’t you think?” was her greeting to the -doctor when he came. And Dr. Bryant said afterwards that Mrs. Piercey -looked as if she would have flown at his throat when he looked grave. -She could not bear to be contradicted or checked in her hopes. And every -day she went downstairs and assured Sir Giles that his son would soon be -better. - -“We can’t expect it to pass in a day,” she said, “for it is a very -serious attack.” - -“And he has no stamina, no stamina; we always knew it--we were always -told that,” said the old gentleman. - -Mrs. Piercey looked fiercely at her father-in-law, too. She could not -bear to hear this repeated. - -“Dear papa,” she said, “it comes hardest always on the strongest men.” - -“God bless you, my dear!” cried old Sir Giles, falling a-sobbing, as was -his wont when his mind was disturbed, “I believe that’s true.” - -Oh, how could he go on living--that old man for whom nobody cared; who -did nothing but keep the younger ones out of their own! What had he to -live for? Patty wondered, with a wild, yet suppressed rage which no -words could express; old, helpless, not able to enjoy anything except -that wretched, tedious backgammon, and keeping others out of their own; -yet he would live and see Gervase die! He would go on, and on, and see -his only child buried, as he had seen his wife, and forget all about it -after a week, and play his backgammon, and be guarded by Dunning from -every wind that blew. Dunning! Was it Dunning, perhaps, that kept him -alive; that knew things which the doctors don’t know? It was natural to -Patty’s education and training to think this, and that some private -nostrum would do more than all the drugs in the world. - -“Shall I send down a nurse to you for a moment,” she said to Sir Giles -suddenly, “and will you let Dunning come up and look at him?” Dunning -could not refuse to go, but he looked at Patty suspiciously, as if she -meant to betray him into some trap. - -“I don’t know nothing about that kind of illness,” he said. - -“Oh, but you don’t know what kind of illness it is till you see him,” -cried Patty. She hastily led the man to her husband’s bedside, and -watched his looks while he stood awkwardly, holding as far aloof as he -could, looking down upon the half-sleep, half-stupor, in which the -patient lay. - -“Oh, Dunning, what do you think?” - -“I think as he looks very bad,” Dunning said, in a subdued and troubled -voice. - -“That’s not what I want you to tell me. I want you to think if there is -anything we could give him to rouse him up. What he wants is to be -roused up, don’t you see? When you are roused to see the need of it, you -can do a deal for yourself, however ill you may be. What could we give -him, Dunning, to rouse him up?” - -Dunning could see nothing but some unintelligible trap that was being -laid for him in those words. - -“I’m not a doctor,” he said, sullenly. “I know what’s good for Sir -Giles, as is chronic; but I don’t know anything about the like of this. -I should say there’s nothing to give him, but just wait and--trust in -God,” said Dunning. - -“Oh, God!” said Patty, in the unintentional profanity of her hot terror -and distress. He was so far off; so difficult to get at; so impossible -to tell what His meaning was! whereas she had felt that this man might -have known something--some charm, some medicine which could be given at -once. - -“You had better go back to Sir Giles,” she said, shortly, and sat down -herself by that hopeless bed. But it was not hopeless to Patty. As soon -as Dunning was gone she began to take a little comfort even from what he -had said: “Wait, and trust in God.” Patty knew all that could be said in -words about trusting in God, and she knew many collects and prayers; -but, somehow, even she felt that to ask God by any means, whatever -happened, to exert His power that she might be Lady Piercey in the -end--that the old man might die and the young man live for this -purpose--was a thing not thought of in any collect: her mouth was -stopped, and she could not find a word to say. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - - -It was with nothing less than consternation that the county received the -intelligence of Gervase Piercey’s death, which flew from house to house -nobody could tell how; told by the early postman on his rounds, conveyed -with the morning’s rolls from the villages, brought up at a pace much -accelerated by the importance of the news by grooms with letter-bags, -and every kind of messenger. Gervase Piercey was dead: the Softy of the -village--poor Sir Giles’ only son. Though he was a fool, he was Sir -Giles’ only child! There were ladies in the county who had wondered -wistfully whether, if he were “taken up” by some capable woman, he might -not have been so licked into shape as to have justified that capable -woman in marrying him to her daughter. Nobody had been so brave as to do -it, but several had speculated on the subject, thinking that, after all, -to preserve a good old family from the dust, and hand on Greyshott to -better heirs, might be worthy the sacrifice of a few years of a girl’s -life. These ladies, though none of them had been brave enough to take -the necessary steps, felt doubly outraged by his marriage when it took -place; and the consternation in their minds at the receipt of this last -piece of news was tinged with something like remorse. Oh, if they had -but had the courage! Maud or Mabel, if she had been forced to marry that -unfortunate simpleton, would, as they now saw, have been so swiftly -released! but it is needless to go back upon what might have been, after -the contrary events. And now what a conjunction was this--what a -terrible position for the poor old father! his only son taken from him; -left alone with that woman in the house! Nobody knew anything about -Patty; it was enough that she was Patty, and that she had married that -poor half-witted young man. And then the question arose in a great many -houses--What were they to do? They had not called upon Mrs. -Gervase--nobody had called upon Mrs. Gervase--but how were they to -approach Sir Giles now, with that woman there? Poor old Sir Giles! he -had allowed her to take possession of his house for his son’s sake, no -doubt, and for peace, not being strong enough for any struggle, and what -would he do now? Would he send her away, and thus be accessible again to -his old friends, or what would he do? This question occupied the mind of -the neighbourhood very much for the day or two after the news was -received, and it became apparent that something must be done. The old -man could not be left alone in his trouble, unsolaced by any friendly -word; the details must be inquired into--the time of the funeral, so -that proper respect might be paid. Many people sent cards, and servants -to make the necessary inquiries, but one or two gentlemen went -themselves, Lord Hartmore in particular, who as virtually the head of -the county, and actually a very old friend, felt it incumbent upon him -to carry his sympathy and condolence in person. Lord Hartmore was -received by a young lady in very deep mourning, already covered in crape -from top to toe, and crowned with the most orthodox of widows’ caps. She -was very quiet, but very firm. - -“I cannot allow any one to disturb Sir Giles,” she said; “he is very -much broken down. Absolute quiet, and as little reference as possible to -the details of our great trouble, are indispensable, the doctor says.” - -Lord Hartmore was much surprised at the self-possession of the young -woman, and at her language. - -“The tone of the voice was of course a little uneducated,” he said, “but -she talked, my dear, she talked as well as you or I, and made use of the -same expressions!” - -“Why, what other expressions could any one make use of?” cried Lady -Hartmore. - -“I said an old friend like myself should surely be made an exception; -but she didn’t give in. ‘My father-in-law has seen none of his old -friends for a long time,’ she said quite pointedly; ‘he is not -accustomed to seeing them. It would be a great agitation to him, and I -am charged to see that he is not disturbed.’ I assure you,” said Lord -Hartmore, “I didn’t know what to say. We have all deserted him in the -most horrid way. The young woman was right: to put in an appearance -just at this moment, not having shown since poor Lady Piercey’s funeral, -might quite probably be very discomposing to the old man!” - -“And what about the funeral?” was the next question that was asked. - -“There, again,” said Lord Hartmore, “I can’t blame her. She’s met with -no attention from us, and why should she take any trouble about us? The -funeral is to be on Thursday; but she said, ‘My father-in-law will not -go. I can’t put him to such a trial. I will follow my husband to his -grave myself, and I don’t know that I wish anybody else to take the -trouble.’ She carries things with a very high hand, but I can’t blame -her, I can’t blame her,” Lord Hartmore said. It must be added that the -consternation of the county neighbours was increased by this report. -Their consternation was increased, and so were their doubts as to what -they should do; but at the same time their curiosity was piqued, and a -certain sense of compunction rose in their bosoms. If it was merely the -recklessness of disappointment and despair which moved Patty, or if it -was severe and subtle calculation, at least her policy was wonderfully -successful. There was a large attendance at poor Gervase’s funeral, at -which she appeared alone, occupying by herself the blackest of mourning -coaches, and in such a depth of crape as never widow had worn before. -But Mrs. Gervase was exceedingly _digne_ in her woe. She made no -hysterical demonstration. She had none of her own people in attendance -upon her, as had been expected, though Richard Hewitt occupied a -conspicuous position in the crowd, thrusting himself in among the county -gentlemen in the procession. Patty stood by the grave all alone, and saw -her hopes buried with real anguish. She fulfilled the part so well that -Lord Hartmore (a candid man, as has been seen) could not contain himself -for pity, and stepped quietly forward to her side and offered his arm. -She took it silently, but with a trembling and evident need of support -which went to the good gentleman’s heart. Poor thing, poor thing! then -she had been really fond of him after all. Lord Hartmore reflected -silently that to a girl in her position the defects of the poor -half-witted fellow might not be so apparent, and if she loved him, -strange as that seemed! He led her back to her carriage with an almost -fatherly friendliness, the whole village looking on, all the other -gentlemen a little ashamed of themselves, and Richard Hewitt’s red face -blazing through the crowd. “My wife will call to inquire for you,” he -said, as he put her in, “and I hope that I may be admitted soon to see -my dear old friend, Sir Giles.” Patty answered only by a bow. It was all -that could be expected of the poor young new-made widow, who had -fulfilled this sad duty alone with no one to stand by her. The -spectators were all impressed, and even overawed, by Patty’s loneliness -and her crape and her youth. - -And she did in reality feel her downfall too much to get the good of -Lord Hartmore’s civility, or indulge the elation which sprang up in her -mind, instinctively accompanying the consciousness that everybody saw -her leaning upon Lord Hartmore’s arm. Ah! what a thing that would have -been a month ago! but now was it only a tantalising flutter before her -eyes of what might have been, at present when all the reality was over? -It would be unkind to Patty to say that no regret for poor Gervase in -his own person was in her heart. She had not been without affection for -Gervase, and the thought of his early death had been very sad to her at -the moment. Poor Gervase, so young, and just when better things might -have been in store for him! But the mind very soon familiarises itself -with such an event when there is no very strong sentiment in question. -It was not Gervase, but herself, whom Patty chiefly mourned. After all -she had done and all she had gone through, to think that this was what -was left to her--a position as insecure as that of any governess or -companion, at the mercy of an old and ailing man, with one of her -enemies at his ear. Oh, that it should be that old man, that useless, -ailing old man, that should live and Gervase die! There seemed no -justice in it, no equity, no sense of right. Sir Giles had lived his -life and had all its good things, and there was no advantage to him or -to any one in his continuance; whereas Gervase, Gervase! He, poor -fellow, had it in his power to make his wife Lady Piercey, to secure her -position so that nobody could touch it. And it was he that had gone, and -not his father! Patty wept very real tears as she drove slowly home -alone--real! they were tears of fire, and made her eyelids burn. Oh, how -different from the last time when she drove along that same road, thrust -in anyhow, clambering up without a hand to help her, sitting by -Dunning’s side--but with all the world before her, and the sense of a -coming triumph in her veins! Patty did not deceive herself about her -position now. A son’s widow is a very different thing from a son’s wife. -The latter must be received, and has her certain place; the other is a -mere dependant, to be neglected at pleasure. And it all rested with Sir -Giles what was to become of her. He might keep her there as the mistress -of his house, or he might make her a little allowance and send her away, -desiring to see no more of her. Patty was altogether dependent, she -felt, on the caprice of the old man. She had as good as nobody but he in -the world, for she said to herself that nothing would induce her ever to -speak to her father again, who had murdered Gervase and all her hopes. -She would never look at him with her free will, never speak to him. That -he should have dared to come to the funeral was a sin the more. Never, -never! Patty said to herself she would rather go out to service, rather -starve! These five months had placed a gulf between her and the Seven -Thorns which nothing could ever bridge over. If it was suggested to her -that she should return home, as young widows often do, she would say -that she had no home, and it would be true. She would rather be a -servant, rather starve! - -And then her mind went back to Sir Giles. What would he do with her? -The old man liked her, she felt sure. And she had been good to him. -Whatever her motives had been, whether they would bear scrutiny or not, -she had been good to him. She had kept pain away from him as far as she -could. She had taken care of all his comforts. She had not permitted him -to be disturbed. Dunning and all the rest would have thought it -essential that he should go to the funeral and undergo all the misery -and excitement of that ceremony. But Patty had prevented that. He had -reason to be grateful to her; but would he be grateful? This was the -tremendous question. Would he keep her there as the mistress of his -house, or would he send her away? Patty had in her jewel-case, carefully -locked up, a letter from Margaret Osborne to her uncle, which she -thought it wisest to keep back. If Sir Giles received it, it might make -him think that Mrs. Osborne was the best mistress for his house, which -she was not, Patty felt sure. She put it aside, saying to herself that -some time, when the excitement was over and everything had settled down, -she would give it--but not now: to what purpose now? Poor Sir Giles -wanted to forget his trouble, not to have it forced upon him by -condolences. Margaret had written to Patty also a short note full of -sorrow for poor Gervase, and asking whether it would be desirable that -she should come to Greyshott for his funeral; to which Patty had replied -explaining that everything was to be very quiet in consequence of the -condition of “dear papa.” “It is he that must be considered in -everything,” Patty wrote; “I have the doctor’s orders to keep him as -much as possible from all emotion. I will bury my dear husband myself. -Nobody else, as you know, has ever been very fond of him, and I shall -not ask anybody to come for the form’s sake. If possible, dear papa is -not to be told even the day. He is very broken and miserable, but when -he is let alone and not reminded, he forgets.” Margaret had accepted -this as a refusal of her visit, and she had asked no more. It would have -been a painful visit in any case. Colonel Piercey was abroad. There -were, therefore, no relations to come to make the occasion more -difficult for Patty, and yet there had been no want of “respect.” The -county magnates had all attended the melancholy funeral--where the young -wife alone was chief mourner. “Why did not Margaret come?” they all -asked, and blamed her. But a feeling of sympathy arose for Patty all -over the neighbourhood. The doctor spoke with enthusiasm of her devotion -as a nurse, and her intelligence and understanding. Poor thing! Poor -thing! Whatever her antecedents had been, and however she had acquired -that place, she had certainly behaved very well; and now what was to -become of her? people asked with pity. It was assumed that she would -return to her friends, as other young widows did--though not in this -case to her father’s house. - -If they had but known how anxiously she was herself debating that -question as she drove along in her crape and her woe, with the blinds -down, and every symptom of desolation! Dunning had not allowed his -master to dine out of his own rooms, or to indulge in any diversion in -the evening, since the death of his son. If other people did not know or -care what was right, Dunning did, and at all events poor Mr. Gervase -should be respected in his own house as long as he lay there. Above all, -on the evening of the funeral day, Dunning was determined there should -be no relaxation of that rule. He was disposed to think, as were the -rest of the servants, that Patty’s reign was over; but the others were -more wary than Dunning, and did not show any signs of emancipation as -yet. He did so with premature exultation, rejecting almost roughly her -suggestion that Sir Giles should dine as usual on that gloomy evening. -“Master’s not equal to it,” said Dunning, “and if he was he didn’t ought -to be. I don’t hold with folks that dance and sing the day they’ve put -their belongings in the grave--or eat and drink, it’s just the same.” - -“You forget what the doctor says, that nothing must be allowed to upset -him. I hope you don’t talk to Sir Giles on--melancholy subjects,” Patty -said, with all the dignity of her widow’s cap. - -“I don’t know what subjects there can be but melancholic subjects in -this ’ouse of mournin’,” Dunning said. - -“Then I will come and see him myself,” said Patty. She went to Sir -Giles’ room accordingly, after his too simple dinner had been swallowed, -and devoted herself to him. - -“I think we’ll send Dunning away for a little, dear papa,” she said. -“We have things to talk of, haven’t we?--and Dunning has been on duty a -long time, and a little society will make him more cheerful.” - -“I beg your pardon, Sir Giles,” said Dunning, “but whatever some folks -may think I don’t ’old with being cheerful, not on the day of a -funeral.” - -“What does he say, my dear? what does he say?” said Sir Giles. “But look -you here, Dunning, whatever it is I won’t have Mrs. Piercey -contradicted. Do you hear, sir? Do as Mrs. Piercey tells you,” and he -struck his stick upon the floor. - -Dunning in consternation withdrew, for when Sir Giles was roused he was -not to be trifled with. - -“She’s found out some d----d trick to come over the old man,” he said -in the housekeeper’s room to which he retired. But this was a mistake; -for it was Sir Giles himself who had invented the trick. He turned to -Patty with great tenderness when the man disappeared, and took her by -both hands and drew her to a chair beside him. - -“My dear,” he said, “I’ve forgotten, like an old sinner, what Meg -Osborne told me. I’ve been allowing you to do all sorts of things and -wear yourself out. But it sha’n’t happen again, it sha’n’t happen again. -Now that my poor dear boy is gone we must be more careful than ever--for -it’s our last hope both for you and for me to have an heir for the old -house.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - - -It was Sir Giles himself who had found this charm which had so great an -effect on the after-history of Greyshott. Patty, among other qualities -which were not so praiseworthy, had the almost fierce modesty of the -young Englishwoman, and would not have spoken on such a subject to a -man, even so harmless a person as an old man like Sir Giles, for any -inducement. She did not even understand what he meant at first, and the -same impulse of _farouche_ modesty made her ashamed to explain, or do -more than blush deeply and remonstrate, “Oh, dear papa!” as she would -have done probably in any case, whether his supposition had been false -or true. The old gentleman in his melancholy and confused musings over -Gervase, had suddenly remembered, the thought being recalled by some -merest trifle of association, the hurrahs of little Osy which had -mingled with his own feeble cheer on some forgotten occasion. He -remembered it suddenly as the strangest contrast to his feelings now. -What had the old father, desolate and childless, to cheer about? What -had he heard that could have produced that cheer? It was when Meg was -going away--when she had told him she was going to take Osy away from -him. That was nothing to cheer about. What was it that had made him -forget Osy, but which the dear little fellow had caught up and shouted -over, though it was an unkindness to himself? and then he recollected -all at once. What Mrs. Osborne had said had been the most common and -ordinary wish that children might arise in the old house, which was the -most natural thing, the most certainly to be expected. She had meant no -more: but Sir Giles had at once attributed to Meg a knowledge which was -at the moment impossible, without reflecting either that she was the -last person to receive the confidence of Patty. He forgot now that it -was months since this had been said, and only remembered that it had -been said, and that the prospect was like life from death. Life from -death! That was what it would be--from his dead son an heir, in whom the -old house might blossom and grow glad again. He took up the idea where -he had dropped it with a sudden exhilaration which drove away all -sorrow. An heir to the old house, a thing all made of hope, with none of -poor Gervase’s deficiencies, a being whom the old man fondly hoped to -“make a man of” even yet before he died. - -And it would not be too much to say that the first feeling of Patty, -when she understood what the old gentleman meant, was one of -consternation. She did not know how to answer him, how to tell him that -she had no such hope. Her lips were closed partly by the tradition of -silence on such subjects which an unsophisticated Englishwoman seldom -surmounts, and partly because she was so utterly astonished and taken -aback by the suggestion. She did not even see the advantage in it, nor -how it placed this feeble old man whose life hung on a thread in her -hands. It was not till after she had left him and was alone, and could -think, that these advantages occurred to Patty; and there was probably -no suggestion of a treacherous kind which it would have seemed to her so -impossible to make use of. The scruples of life are very much things of -circumstance, that seeming quite legitimate and right to one which is -the height of immodesty and indelicacy to another. Patty had one -distinct object in her mind, now that all her hopes were over, which was -to induce her father-in-law, by whatever means were possible, to make a -provision for her. He was really, she felt, the only one to whom she -could now cling, her sole support and protection, and she meant to be -also his protector, to take care of him as he had never been taken care -of before. All this she steadfastly intended, meaning nothing but good -to the ailing and desolate old man; but she also intended that he should -provide for her, as was her right as his son’s wife. Should Sir Giles -die at the present moment, Patty was strongly and painfully aware that -she would be in no way the better for having taken that step which had -seemed so prodigious a one, which had raised her so high above all her -antecedents and belongings, by becoming Gervase Piercey’s wife. She was -Mrs. Piercey, but she was without a penny, poorer by the burden of that -name than Patty Hewitt could ever have been. Her first duty, her first -determination was to be provided for, in whatever manner it might be -most possible to do that. But it is only just to her to say that this -way of influencing her father-in-law, and of moving him to do what she -wished, had never occurred to her, and even when thus suggested it was -very repugnant to her--the last thing she desired to do. But Patty, shut -up in her room of widowhood and mourning, with her cap with its long, -white streamers visible upon the table, and everything black about her, -even the dressing-gown which she had put on to sit by the fire, and her -mind so alert and unfatigued going over everything, speculating how best -to pluck from the nettle danger the flower of safety, could not shut out -the suggestion from her thoughts. It might even yet prove to be so, she -said to herself, blushing hotly, even though she was alone. And if not, -why shouldn’t she permit Sir Giles to think so? It would give him a -great deal of pleasure, poor old gentleman. It would tide him over the -worst time, the immediate crisis of his son’s death, and it would double -her every claim upon him, and make it more than ever necessary that he -should put her at once beyond the reach of want or suffering of any -kind. Still, it was with reluctance that she accepted this weapon which -had been thrust into her hand. - -Sir Giles could not get his new discovery out of his head. He told -Dunning of it before he went to bed. It was whispered all through the -house in the morning; and though some of the women scoffed and declared -it to be an invention, yet it was, of course, the most natural idea in -the world. From Patty not a word came, either in assertion or denial. -She said nothing; she understood no hints; she never allowed herself to -be betrayed into reference to her supposed hopes. Sir Giles alone talked -to her on the subject with joyous laughter and chuckles, and a loudly -expressed determination that she should be obeyed and not contradicted, -which was of priceless value to Patty, at the moment when her sway was a -little uncertain, and when expectation was strong in the household that -she should be displaced and Mrs. Osborne sent for in her place. The -household by no means desired Mrs. Osborne in Patty’s place. Margaret -had been too much and too long a dependant to be popular among the -servants; and Patty, who was so peremptory, who had acted upon her -convictions, and managed to turn out everybody whom she feared or -disliked, had powerful recommendations in her imperious authority. She -meant what she said, and could not be driven or persuaded out of it; and -she knew when work was well done, and gave the capable housemaid or -cleaner of plate the praise which was his or her due. And she was not -unjust, save in the case of personal disrespect to herself, which she -never pardoned--a quality which the servants’ hall entirely approved. -Mrs. Osborne could be got to “look over” anything by judicious entreaty -or representation, especially if it was a mere offence against herself, -and was less respected and considered in consequence. It was not, -therefore, in any way desired that she should take up the reins; yet, -all the same, it made a great difference to Patty that Sir Giles had -taken it into his head that she must not be contradicted. It established -her once more firmly in her seat. - -And the little group in the great drawing-room in the evening was all -the more cheerful in consequence. It was, to look at, a forlorn group -enough: the old gentleman, more feeble than ever, with Dunning behind -his chair, ready to move it according to his caprice, and the young -widow in her deep crape, a black spot upon the white and gold of the -room. Patty had been requested by Sir Giles to “take that thing off her -head,” and did so obediently in her father-in-law’s presence, though she -was far too determined to do her duty by her dead husband to dispense -with that symbol of grief on any other occasion. They sat with the -backgammon-board between them, playing game after game. There was in -Patty’s mind unutterable relief from the misery and suspense which she -had suffered in Gervase’s lifetime; but other thoughts, scarcely less -anxious, occupied her fully. Yet she talked to the old gentleman with an -endeavour to please and amuse him which was heroic. It was a great -strain upon Patty. She could talk of herself without difficulty; she -could have talked, had she thought it expedient, of her father and aunt, -and their sins against her; she could have talked of Gervase; but these -subjects being all tabooed, it was very hard upon Patty to find anything -to say. She knew nobody whom Sir Giles knew. She could not tell him the -news, for she knew none, except the affairs of the village, which -interested herself, and which she seized on greedily from every possible -channel. But Patty could not talk on any other subject. She had to talk -about the backgammon, to remind him of the wonderful stroke he had -played last night, and the wonderful luck he had always; and how it was -such an amazing chance for her to play, a poor ignorant thing as she -was, with such an accomplished player as dear papa. This was but a -scanty thread to spin through night after night, and had it not been -made up so much of applause it is very doubtful how long it would have -sufficed. But there is nothing of which the ordinary mind can swallow so -much as praise; and when the interest of life is reduced to a game, the -player thinks as much of his lucky chances and his skilful movements as -if it were something of the highest importance; so that, on the whole, -this talk did very well and kept them going. But still Patty had not -ventured to introduce her great subject--that provision for herself -which she felt became more and more important every day; for who could -tell whether any morning Sir Giles might not be found to have passed -away from this life altogether, or to be enclosed in the living tomb of -paralysis, unable to act or devise anything more. - -Lady Hartmore did not call next day as her lord had promised, but she -did call, and was received by Patty in full panoply of mourning and with -a heart that beat loudly with suppressed excitement. Lady Hartmore was -neither so much touched by the sight of the young widow, nor so -sympathetic as her husband had been. She examined Patty curiously, with -searching eyes, full not only of the superciliousness of rank, but of -the experience of a much older woman, which Mrs. Gervase would have -opposed with defiance, but for the false pretence which, though she had -never put it forth, and though it had arisen most innocently, gave her -something of a sensation of guilt. This, however, though Patty was not -aware of it, did her service with the great lady. It subdued her natural -determination, and gave an apparent softness to her aspect which did not -belong to it by nature. Lady Hartmore put a great many questions to the -young widow: did she think of remaining at Greyshott, which must be so -melancholy a place nowadays? did she think this last shock had very much -shaken Sir Giles? did she not feel it a great responsibility to be left -in charge of him? and many other such questions. To these Patty replied -very properly that she could not possibly leave Sir Giles alone; that he -had been very kind to her, like a father, and that nothing would induce -her to desert him; that he was very well on the whole, “quite himself,” -and that she tried to be as cheerful as she could on his account. She -took no notice of the question about leaving Greyshott. It was not -indeed necessary to reply to it, when she had already made that answer -about the impossibility of leaving Sir Giles. - -“But you must want somebody to speak to,--somebody to take care of you, -too,” said the great lady, meaning more than she said. - -“Oh, no,” said Patty; “I have always had very good health, I have never -been delicate. I am very fond of my dear father-in-law. He does not want -very much--he is very easily amused, and so kind, always so kind. We do -very well all by ourselves--as well,” Patty added, with a sigh, “as in -the circumstances we could possibly do.” - -What could any one say to such perfect sentiments? Lady Hartmore was -baffled in her inquisitions. “Still,” she said, “I should have thought -that some one who was a relation--some one of your own family--a woman -to speak to----” - -“I am sure,” said Patty, “that Lady Hartmore knows my family are not -likely to be welcome at Greyshott; and I have but an old aunt who was -never married, and therefore has no experience.” She blushed as she said -this, and Lady Hartmore was very quick to take up the inference for -which she was prepared. But Patty was too wise to be led into any -further disclosures or to answer any of the searching questions which -her ladyship proceeded to put. - -“How did you find the poor thing?” her husband asked when he joined her -in the carriage--for Lord Hartmore had visited Sir Giles while Lady -Hartmore thus did her duty by Patty. - -“I found the poor thing very well and extremely well able to take care -of herself,” said the lady. “I don’t think you need waste so much -sympathy upon her.” But Lord Hartmore was full of feeling, and could not -be persuaded to take this view. - -“The poor old fellow is quite exultant,” he said. “It is a wonderful -blessing for him, whatever you may think of it in any other connection. -It has given him a new lease.” - -“I don’t believe a word of it,” said Lady Hartmore. - -“Oh, come!” cried her husband. “It is one thing to trust your own -judgment, which is an excellent one, I don’t gainsay it--but quite -another to set it up against those who must know the facts best. By the -way, he bewildered me by saying Meg told him. Has Meg been here?” - -“Not that I know of; but she may have made a hurried run to see her -uncle. If Meg told him----” said Lady Hartmore, in subdued tones. She -added after a pause, “I shall think more of her if Meg is her -_confidante_.” - -Thus on the whole the impression was favourable to Patty, even though -the grounds upon which it was formed were false. - -After this visit Patty took her first active step towards the -accomplishment of her desires. Sir Giles, who had been pleased with the -Hartmore visit and augured great things from it, opened the way by -asking if she had not liked Lady Hartmore and found her kind? “A nice -woman, a good-hearted woman,” he said. - -“Yes, dear papa; but one thing she said gave me a great deal of pain; -for she seemed to think I should go back to my family, and leave you,” -she said, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. - -“Leave me? nonsense!” said Sir Giles, “I sha’n’t let you leave me, my -dear. I shouldn’t have sent you away, anyhow, you may be sure; no, no, I -shouldn’t have sent you away; but in present circumstances, my -dear--Why, you’re all our hope at Greyshott, you’re all our stand-by, -you’re--you’re our sheet-anchor.” - -“How kind, how kind you are, dear papa! I try to do my best to keep -everything straight, though I never could pretend to be of so much -consequence as that. But people feel free to speak,” said Patty, with a -sigh, “because they know I have no ground to stand on. I wasn’t dear -Gervase’s equal when he married me, and there were no settlements or -anything, you know; and I am quite dependent, quite dependent, as much -as a servant--but without any wages,” Patty added, with a faint laugh. - -It was at one of the rare moments when Dunning was absent, intervals of -which Patty eagerly took advantage. Dunning was, indeed, a thorn in her -flesh, though after mature deliberation she had decided that it was -wiser to retain him, that he might take the responsibility of Sir Giles’ -health. - -“Dependent!” cried Sir Giles, “nonsense, nonsense! A servant, my dear? -Don’t let me hear such a word again. No, no; no, no; never could have -been so, for you’ve been quite a daughter, quite a daughter. But, in the -present circumstances----” - -“Ah, dear papa, don’t let us think of that. I love to be with you--it’s -the only comfort I have; but still I can’t forget that I have no -provision. I might have to go away and work for my living, if somebody -were to over-persuade you, or if you were--ill or anything. A Mrs. -Piercey having to work for her living--or perhaps take a situation! I -shouldn’t mind it for myself, but when I think, dear papa, of your -name.” - -“Good Lord!” cried Sir Giles, “you must be out of your mind, my dear, to -think of such a thing. My poor boy’s wife, and a good wife to him, too, -if he had but lived to profit by it. That’s all nonsense, all nonsense, -my dear.” - -“Ah, dear papa! but it would not be nonsense if I had not you to trust -to,” cried Patty, laying her hand upon his arm. “It is you who are my -sheet-anchor. I have not a penny of my own, not even to pay for my -mourning; and I can’t earn any for myself, don’t you know, because of -dear Gervase and your name--the first in the county. I couldn’t take in -needlework, could I, in Greyshott? and a woman, you know, has always -little expenses----” - -“My dear,” said Sir Giles, “have all the fal-lals you can set your face -to, and send in the bills to me; you’ve nothing to do but send in the -bills to me.” - -“Dear papa! as if I ever doubted your kindness. It is not fal-lals I am -thinking of; this,” cried Patty, holding up her crape, “is not much of -a fal-lal, is it? But what I am thinking of is the time to come, when I -shall require to have a little provision or income or salary of my own.” - -“Do you mean,” cried the old man, in the half-sobbing tone into which he -was betrayed by any emotion, “when--when--I’m no more; when I’m dead? Is -that what you mean?” - -Patty stooped down and laid her face against the large old limp hand, -which reposed on the arm of Sir Giles’ chair. “I hope I’ll be dead, too, -before that,” she said; “for what should I have to live for then?” - -This, it need not be pointed out, was no answer to his question; but it -seemed so, and Sir Giles was much affected and sobbed, which Patty -echoed with a deep sigh or two which seemed to give a more refined -expression to his feeling. He put his other hand upon her head. - -“Please God, we’ll see better days before that,” he said. - -And then Dunning came back, and a new game was begun. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - - -It was not till some days after this, that Sir Giles referred to the -subject again. Patty thought it had entirely failed to make any -impression on his mind, and that she must herself renew the -conversation, when he surprised her by saying suddenly, as if there had -been no interval, “It won’t be necessary, my dear, it won’t be -necessary. As his mother, everything will be in your hands.” - -“Dear papa!” she cried, with a quite natural start; “how you frightened -me!” - -“I don’t want to frighten you, my dear; anything but that--anything but -that! But you must see that any little arrangements we might make would -be all needless, quite needless. Of course, everything will go to the -natural heir. There will probably be a long minority, for you know, my -dear, with the best intentions in the world, an old fellow like me---- -though I would give half my kingdom to see him come of age--half my -kingdom! But no, no, that’s a selfish thought; for I should wish him to -have the property unimpaired, if not added to--if not added to. You’ll -take great care of it, I am sure. You’re quite a woman of brains.” Sir -Giles spoke very fast, to get through this long effort of thought and -consideration before Dunning came back. Then he added, with his usual -mingled outburst of laughing and sobbing, patting her arm with his large -old nerveless hand, “So you see it’s needless, needless, my dear, for -everything will be in your hands.” - -“Dear papa!” cried Patty. She was silent for some time in confusion and -embarrassment. Then, “There’s nothing certain in this world,” she said. - -“What, what?” cried Sir Giles. “Nothing’s happened--nothing’s happened, -my dear? I hope you don’t mean to tell me that?” - -“Nothing has happened, dear papa,” cried Patty, with a painful flush -upon her face. She had not meant to deceive him, and certainly not in -this way. It was indeed hard upon her that she had, without any fault of -hers, this fiction to keep up. “But there’s nothing certain in this -world,” she said. “Who would have thought five months ago that I should -need to be thinking of a little provision for myself--I, that was -Gervase’s wife, and had no need to think of anything? I married him -without a thought of having anything settled on me, or even wanting a -penny but what he gave me.” Patty put her handkerchief to her eyes to -absorb some real tears, for though her grief for poor Gervase could -scarcely be expected to be very profound, her pity for herself was -sincere and lasting. “Dearest papa! I can’t bear to ask for myself. -I’ve always been used to work, and I could get my own living at any -time. It is just that I can’t bear, being Mrs. Piercey, that I should -have to do it in that way--Gervase’s widow, with _your_ name.” - -“Don’t, my dear, don’t! For goodness’ sake don’t agitate yourself! Don’t -cry, my dear, don’t cry!” said Sir Giles, anxiously. - -“Oh, I wouldn’t cry if--if I could help it. I would do nothing to vex -you, dear papa. But when I think of all that has happened--oh, who -should know so well as I that there’s nothing certain in this world!” - -“My dear, my dear, I’ll send for Pownceby to-morrow. You must not upset -yourself--you mustn’t, indeed. What should I do, and everybody, if--if -anything was to happen?” Sir Giles cried. And he became so excited in -his anxiety to calm her, that Patty was compelled to conquer herself and -regain her self-command. She looked up with a mournful smile from her -pocket-handkerchief. “Dear papa,” she said, “we are two of us that -mustn’t do that. If you get upset it will upset me, and that will upset -you still more; so we must each hold up for the sake of the other. -Suppose we have another game?” - -“You always know exactly what I want,” said the old gentleman, his sob -turning into a laugh, as his laugh so often turned into a sob. There was -not, in fact, much difference between the two; and the rest of the -evening was passed as usual in admiring exclamations on Patty’s part as -to his wonderful play and wonderful luck, so that even Dunning did not -suspect that there had been anything more. - -Patty reminded her father-in-law next morning when she went to him, as -she had begun to make a practice of doing, to see if he wanted any -letters written, that he had spoken of some Mr. Pownceby who was to be -written to. “I don’t know who Mr. Pownceby is, but you said something -about him, dear papa!” And the result was that in a day or two Mr. -Pownceby came, the family solicitor, whom Patty indeed did not know, but -of whose faculties and position in the matter she had a shrewd guess. -She had to entertain the little gentleman to luncheon after he had been -closeted with Sir Giles all the morning; and Mr. Pownceby was much -impressed by Mrs. Piercey’s dignified air, and her crape and her widow’s -cap. “I suppose it’s within the range of possibilities that a girl in -that position might be fond even of a poor fellow like Gervase Piercey,” -he said to himself doubtfully; and he made himself very agreeable to the -young widow. He informed her that he had received instructions to charge -the estate with an annuity of a thousand pounds a year for her, of which -the payments were to begin at once. “A very proper arrangement,” he -said, and he was impressed by the composure with which Patty received -the information. She was not indeed at all elated by it. A thousand -pounds a year was a great thing for Patty Hewitt of the Seven Thorns. -She would have thought it a princely revenue when she became Gervase -Piercey’s wife; but a few months’ familiarity with the expenditure of -Greyshott had made a great change in Patty’s views. To descend into a -small house like the Rectory, for instance (she had once thought the -Rectory a palace), and to do without a carriage, was far from an -agreeable prospect. “How shall I ever do without a carriage?” Patty said -to herself, and she thought with scorn of the little basket-work -pony-chaise which was all the rector could afford. Was it possible that -she should ever come down to that? Mr. Pownceby, when he went away, held -her hand for a moment, and asked whether a very old friend of the -family, who had known poor dear Gervase from his birth, might be -permitted to say how pleased and thankful he was that there were -hopes----? which made Sir Giles so very happy, poor old gentleman? “And -I fear, I fear, my dear old friend has not many days before him,” the -lawyer said; “he’s quite clear in his mind, but it was not to be -expected that a worn-out constitution could bear all those shocks one -after another. We’ll not have him long, Mrs. Piercey, we’ll not have him -long!” - -“Does the doctor say so?” asked Patty. - -“My dear lady, the doctor says he has the best of nursing; and -everything so much the better for a lady in the house.” It was with this -_douceur_ that the solicitor took his leave, being a man that liked to -please everybody. And there can be no doubt that a softened feeling -arose in the whole neighbourhood about Patty, who was said to be such a -good daughter to Sir Giles. “Thrown over her own people altogether--no -crowd of barbarians about the house, as one used to fear; and quite -gives herself up to her father-in-law; plays backgammon with him half -the day, which can’t be lively for a young woman; and expects----” These -last were the most potent words of all. - -Patty was, indeed, very good to her father-in-law, and that not -altogether for policy, but partly from feeling; for he had been kind to -her, and she was grateful. The winter was dreary and long, and there -were sometimes weeks together when Sir Giles could not get out, even -into the garden, for that forlorn little drive of his in the wheeled -chair. Patty gave herself up to his service with a devotion which was -above all praise. She bore his fretfulness when weakness and suffering -made the old man querulous. She was always at hand, whatever he wanted. -She looked after his food and his comfort, often in despite of Dunning -and to the great offence of the cook, but both these functionaries had -to submit to Patty’s will. Had she not carried everything with a very -high hand, it is possible that her footing might not have been so sure; -for the women soon penetrated the fiction, which was not indeed of -Patty’s creation, and Dunning even ventured upon hints to Sir Giles that -all was not as he thought. The old gentleman, however, got weaker day by -day; one little indulgence after another dropped from him. March was -unusually blustery, and April very wet. These were good reasons why he -should not go out; that he was more comfortable in his chair by the -fire. Then he got indifferent to the paper, which Dunning always read to -him in the morning, and only took an interest in the scraps of news -which Patty repeated to him later on. - -“Why did not Dunning read me that, if it is in the paper? The fellow -gets lazier and lazier; he never reads the paper to me now! He thinks I -forget!” When Dunning would have remonstrated Patty checked him with a -look. - -“You must never contradict Sir Giles!” she said to him aside. - -“And he says I’m never to contradict _her_!” Dunning said indignantly in -the housekeeper’s room, where he went for consolation; “between them a -man ain’t allowed to say a word!” - -The women all cried out with scorn that Sir Giles would find out -different from _that_ one o’ these days. - -“Then he’ll just die,” said Dunning. Things had come to a very mournful -pass in the old melancholy house. - -By degrees the backgammon, too, fell out of use. Patty sat with him -still in the evening, but it was in his own room, often by his bedside, -and many, many conversations took place between them, unheard by any -one. Dunning would catch a word now and then, as he went and came, and -gathered that Sir Giles was sometimes telling her of things he would -like to have done, and that sometimes she was telling him of things she -would wish to be done. - -“As if she had aught to do with it!” Dunning said with indignation. -Dunning, observing everything, imagined, too, that Sir Giles began to -grow anxious about those expectations which were so long delayed. His -attendant sometimes heard mutterings of calculation and broken -questioning with himself from the old gentleman. - -“It’s a long time to wait--a long time--a long time!” he said. - -“What is a long time, Sir Giles?” Dunning ventured to ask--but was told -to hold his tongue for a fool. - -One day, towards the end of April, he suddenly roused from a long muse -or doze by the fire, and called to Dunning to send a telegram for -Pownceby. - -“Tell him to come directly. I mayn’t be here to-morrow,” Sir Giles said. - -“Are you thinking of changing the air, Sir Giles?” said the astonished -servant. - -The rain was pouring in a white blast across the park, bending all the -young trees one way, and pattering among the foliage. - -“Air!” said the old man; “it’s nothing but water; but I’m soon going to -move, Dunning, as you say.” - -“Well, it might do you good, Sir Giles, a little later--when the -weather’s better.” - -Sir Giles made no reply, but Dunning heard him muttering: “She always -says there’s nothing certain in this world.” - -Mr. Pownceby came as quick as the railway could bring him. - -“Is there anything wrong?” he asked of Mrs. Piercey, who met him at the -door. - -“Oh, I am afraid he’s very bad,” said Patty; “I am afraid he’s not long -for this world.” - -“Why does he want me? Does he want to change his will?” - -“I don’t know--I don’t know. Oh, Mr. Pownceby, I don’t know how to say -it. I am afraid he is disappointed: that--that you said to me last -time----” - -“Was not true, I suppose?” said the father of a family, who was not -without his experiences, and he looked somewhat sternly at Patty, who -was trembling. - -“I never said it was,” she said. “It was not I. He took it into his -head, and I did not know how to contradict him. Oh, don’t say to him -it’s not true! rather, rather let him believe it now. Let him die happy, -Mr. Pownceby! Oh, he has been so good to me! Say anything to make him -die happy!” Patty cried. - -The lawyer was angry and disappointed, too; but Patty’s feeling was -evidently genuine, and he could not help feeling a certain sympathy with -her. Sir Giles was sitting up in bed, ashy white with that pallor of old -age which is scarcely increased by death. - -“I’m glad you’re come in time, Pownceby--very glad you’re come in time. -I’m--I’m going to make a move; for change of air, don’t you know, as -Dunning says. Poor Dunning! he won’t get such an easy berth again. My -will--that’s it. I want to change--my will. Clear it all away, -Pownceby--all away, except the little legacies--the servants and -that----” - -“But not Mrs. Piercey, Sir Giles? If--if she’s been the cause of -any--disappointment; it isn’t her fault.” - -“Disappointment!” said the old man. “Quite the contrary. She’s been just -the reverse. It was a good day for me when she came to the house. No, I -don’t mean that it was a good day, for it was my poor wife’s funeral; -but if anybody could have made a man of Gervase she would have done it. -She would have done it, Pownceby. Yes, yes; sweep her away! sweep -everybody away! I give and bequeath Greyshott and all I have--all I -have, don’t you know? Gerald Piercey can have the pictures if he likes; -she won’t care for them to----” - -The old man was seized with a fit of coughing, which interrupted him at -this interesting moment. Mr. Pownceby sat with his pen in his hand and -many speculations in his mind. To cut off his daughter-in-law’s little -income even while he praised her so! And who was the person to whom it -was all to be left without regard for the rest? Meg Piercey, perhaps, -who was one of the nearest, though she had never been supposed to have -any chance. The lawyer sat with his eyes under his spectacles intently -fixed upon Sir Giles, and with many remonstrances in his mind. Mrs. -Gervase might be wrong to have filled the poor man with false hopes; but -to leave her to the tender mercies of Meg Piercey, whom she had -virtually turned out of the house, would be cruel. Sir Giles began to -speak before his coughing fit was over. - -“She says, poor thing,” and here he coughed, “she s--says that there’s -nothing--nothing certain in this world. She’s right, Pownceby--she’s -right. She--generally is.” - -“There’s not much risk in saying that, Sir Giles.” - -“No, it’s true enough--it’s true enough. It might grow up like its -father. God grant it otherwise. You remember our first boy, Pownceby? -Wasn’t that a fellow! as bold as a lion and yet so sweet. His poor -mother never got over it--never; nor I neither, nor I neither--though I -never made any fuss.” - -Was the old man wandering in his mind? - -“I hoped it would have been like him,” said Sir Giles, with a sob. “I -had set my heart on that. But none of us can tell. There’s nothing -certain, as she says. It might grow up like its father. I’ll make all -safe, anyhow, Pownceby. Put it down, put it down--everything to----” - -“Sir Giles! to whom? Everything to----?” - -“Why, Pownceby, old fellow! Ah, to be sure he doesn’t know the first -name. Sounds droll a little, those two names together. Quick! I want it -signed and done with, in case I should, as Dunning says--don’t you know, -change the air.” - -“But, Sir Giles!” cried the lawyer, in consternation: “Sir Giles!” he -added, “you don’t mean, I hope, to leave the property away from the -family and the natural heir?” - -“What a muddlehead you are, Pownceby!” said Sir Giles, radiant. “Why, It -will be the natural heir. It will be the head of the family. And it will -grow up like our first boy, please God. But nothing is certain; and -supposing it was to turn out like its father? My poor boy, my poor -Gervase! It wasn’t as if we weren’t fond of him, you know, Pownceby. His -poor mother worshipped the very ground he trod on. But one can’t help -hoping everything that’s good for It, and none of the drawbacks--none of -the drawbacks. Make haste, Pownceby; draw it out quick! You’re quicker -than any clerk you have, when you’ll take trouble. Nothing’s certain in -this world; let’s make it all safe, Pownceby, however things may turn -out.” - -“I’ll take your instructions, Sir Giles--though I don’t like the job. -But it’s a serious matter, you know, a very serious matter. Hadn’t you -better think it over again? I’ll have the will drawn out in proper form, -and come back to-morrow to have it signed.” - -“And how can you tell that you’ll find me to-morrow? I may have moved on -and got a change of air, as Dunning says. No, Pownceby, draw up -something as simple as you like, and I’ll sign it to-day.” - -The solicitor met Mrs. Piercey again in the hall as he went out. He had -not been so kind on his arrival as she had found him before; but now he -had a gloomy countenance, almost a scowl on his face, and would have -pushed past her without speaking, with a murmur about the train which -would wait for no man. Patty, however, was not the woman to be pushed -aside. She insisted upon hearing his opinion how Sir Giles was. - -“I think with you that he is very ill,” he replied, gloomily, “and in -mind as well as in body----” - -“Oh no,” cried Patty, “not that, not that! as clear in his head, Mr. -Pownceby, as you or me.” - -He gave her a dark look, which Patty did not understand. “Anyhow,” he -said, “he’s an old man, Mrs. Piercey, and I don’t think life has many -charms for him. We have no right to repine.” - -Mr. Pownceby had known Sir Giles Piercey all his life, and liked him -perhaps as well as he liked any one out of his own family. But to -repine--why should he repine, or Patty any more, who stood anxiously -reading his face, and only more anxious not to betray her anxiety than -she was to hear what, perhaps, he might tell? But he did not do this. -Nor would he continue the conversation, nor be persuaded to sit down. He -asked that he might be sent for, at any moment, if Sir Giles expressed a -wish to see him again. “I will come at a moment’s notice--by telegraph,” -he said, with a gloomy face, that intended no jest. And he added still -more gloomily, “I believe it will be for your advantage, too.” - -“I am thinking of my father-in-law and not of my advantage,” Patty said -with indignation. The anxiety in her mind was great, and she could not -divine what he meant. - - - - -CHAPTER XL. - - -Margaret Osborne had lost no time in settling down in a cottage -proportioned to her means, with her little boy and the one maid, who did -all that was necessary, yet as little of everything as was practicable, -for the small household. The place she had chosen was not very far from -Greyshott, yet in the impracticability of country roads, especially -during the winter, to those who are out of railway range, almost as far -apart as if it had been at the other end of England. The district -altogether had not attained the popularity it now enjoys, and the -village was very rural indeed, with nobody in it above the rank of the -rustic tradesmen and traffickers, except the inevitable parson and the -doctor. The vicar’s wife seized with enthusiasm upon the new inhabitant -as a representative of society, and various others of the neighbouring -clergywomen made haste to call upon a woman so well connected, as did -also the squire of the place, or, at least, the ladies belonging to him. -But Mrs. Osborne had no such thirst for society as to trudge along the -muddy roads to return their visits, and her income did not permit even -the indulgence of the jogging pony and homely clothes-basket of a little -carriage, in which many of the clerical neighbours found great comfort. -She had to stay at home perforce, knowing no enlivenment of her -solitude, except tea at the vicarage on rare occasions. Tea at the -vicarage in earlier and homelier days would have meant a quiet share of -the cheerful evening refreshments and amusements, when the guest was -made one of the family party, and all its natural interests and -occupations placed before her. But tea, which is an afternoon -performance and means a crowd of visitors collected from all quarters, -in which the natural household is altogether swamped, and the guest sees -not her friends, but their friends or distant acquaintances, of whom she -neither has nor wishes to have any knowledge--is a very different -matter. At Greyshott there had been occasional heavy dinner-parties, in -which it was Margaret’s part to exert herself for the satisfaction, at -all events, of old friends, most of whom called her Meg, and had known -her from her girlhood. These were not, perhaps, very entertaining -evenings, but they were better than the modern fashion. She lived, -accordingly, very much alone with Osy, and the maid-of-all-work, whom, -knowing so little as she did of the practical arrangements of a -household, she had to train, with many misadventures, which would have -been amusing had there been anybody with whom she could have laughed -over her own blunders and Jane’s ignorance. But alas! there was no one. -Osy was too young to be amused when his pudding was burned or his -potatoes like stones. He was more likely to cry, and his mother’s -anxiety for his health and comfort took the fun out of the ludicrous, -yet painful, errors of her unaccustomed house-keeping. It depends so -much on one’s surroundings whether these failures are ludicrous or -tragical. In some cases they are an enlivenment of life, in others an -exaggeration of all its troubles. These, however, were but temporary; -for Mrs. Osborne, though she knew nothing to begin with, and did not -even know whether she was capable of learning, was, in fact, too capable -a woman, though she was not aware of it, to be long overcome by troubles -of this kind; and it soon became a pleasure to her and enlivenment of -her life to look after her own little domestic arrangements, and carry -forward the education of her little maid-servant. There was not, after -all, very much to do--plenty of time after all was done for Osy’s -lessons, and for what was equally important, Margaret’s own lessons, -self-conducted, to fit her for teaching her boy. At seven years old a -little pupil does not make any very serious call upon his teachers, and -though Margaret was aware of having no education herself, she was still -capable of as much as the little fellow wanted, except in one -particular. Osy had, as many children have in the first stage, a -precocious capacity for what his mother called “figures,” knowing no -better; for I doubt whether Margaret knew what was the difference -between arithmetic and mathematics, or where one ends and the other -begins. Osy did in his own little head sums which made his mother’s -hair stand erect on hers. She was naturally all the more proud of this -achievement that she did not understand it in the least. She was even -delighted when Osy found her all wrong in an answer she had carefully -boggled out to one of those alarming sums, and laughed till the tears -came into her eyes at the pitying looks and apologetic speeches of her -little boy. “It isn’t nofing wrong, Movver,” Osy said. “Ladies never, -never do sums.” He stroked her hand in his childish compassion, anxious -to restore her to her own esteem. “You can wead evwyfing you sees in any -book, and write bof big hand and small hand, and understand evwyfing; -but ladies never does sums,” said Osy, climbing up to put his arms round -her neck and console her. These excuses for her incapacity were sweeter -to Margaret than any applause could have been, and such incidents soon -gave pleasure and interest to her life. It is well for women that few -things in life are more delightful than the constant companionship of an -intelligent child, and Margaret was, fortunately, capable of taking, not -only the comfort, but the amusement, too, of Osy’s new views of life. -These, however, we have not, alas! space to give; and as she was obliged -to engage the instructions of the village schoolmaster for him in the -one point which was utterly beyond her, Osy’s mathematical genius and -his peculiar phraseology soon died away together. He learned to -pronounce the “th,” which is so difficult a sound in English, and his -condition of infant prodigy in respect to “figures” and all the wonders -of his mental arithmetic came to an end under the prosaic rules of Mr. -Jones, as such precocities usually do. - -Margaret’s life, however, had thus fallen into a tolerably happy vein, -full of cheerful occupation and boundless hope and love--for what -eminence or delight was there in the world which that wonderful child -might not reach? and to be his mother was such a position, she felt, as -queens might have envied--when the news of her cousin’s death broke upon -her solitude with a sudden shock and horror. She had heard scarcely -anything about him in the interval. One or two letters dictated to -Dunning had come from her uncle in answer to her dutiful epistles, but -naturally there was no communication between her and Patty, and Gervase -had scarcely ever written a letter in his life. Sometimes at long -intervals Lady Hartmore had taken a long drive to see her, but that -great lady knew nothing about a household which nobody now ever visited. -“I might give you scraps I hear from the servants,” Lady Hartmore -said,--“one can’t help picking up things from the servants, though I am -always ashamed of it,”--but these scraps chiefly concerned the “ways” of -Mrs. Piercey, which Margaret was too loyal to her family to like to hear -laughed at. Gervase dead! it seemed one of those impossibilities which -the mind feels less power of accustoming itself to than much greater -losses. Those whom our minds can attend with longing and awe into the -eternal silence, who are of kin to all the great thoughts that fill it, -and for whom every heavenly development is possible, convey no sense of -incongruity, however overwhelming may be the sorrow, when they are -removed from us. But Gervase! How hard it was to think of him gaping, -incapable of understanding, on the verge of that new world. Who could -associate with him its heavenly progress, its high communion? Gervase! -why should he have died? it seemed harder to understand of him whose -departure would leave so slight a void, whose trace afar would be -followed by no longing eyes, than of one whose end would have shaken the -whole world. The news had a great and painful effect upon Margaret, -first for itself, and afterwards for what must follow. She wrote, as has -been said, to her uncle, asking if she might go to him, if a visit from -her would be of any comfort to him; and she wrote to Patty with her -heart full, forgetting everything in the pity with which she could not -but think of hopes overthrown. Patty replied with great propriety, not -concealing that she had kept back Margaret’s letter to Sir Giles, -explaining how little able he was for any further excitement, and that -all that could be done was to keep him perfectly quiet. “He might wish -to see you, but he is not equal to it,” Patty said; and she ended by -saying that her whole life should be devoted to Sir Giles as long as he -lived, “for I have nothing now upon Earth,” Patty said, with a big -capital. All that Margaret could do was to accept the situation, -thinking many a wistful thought of her poor old uncle, from whom -everything had been taken. Poor Gervase, indeed, had not been much to -his father, but yet he was his son. - -The winter was long and dreary--dreary enough at Greyshott, where the -old gentleman was going daily a step farther down the hill, and often -dreary, too, to Margaret, looking out from the window of her little -drawing-room upon the little row of laurels glistening in the wet, with -now and then a passer-by and his umbrella going heavily by. There are -some people who have an invincible inclination to look out, whatever is -outside the windows, were it only chimney-pots; and Margaret was one of -these. She got to know every twig of those glistening laurels shining in -the rain, and to recognise even the footsteps that went wading past. -There was not much refreshment nor amusement in it, but it was her -nature to look out wherever she was. And one afternoon, in the lingering -spring, she suddenly saw a figure coming up the village road which had -never been seen there before, which seemed to have fallen down from the -sky, or risen up from the depths, so little connection had it with -anything there. Mrs. Osborne owned the strangeness of the apparition -with a jump of the heart that had been beating so tranquilly in her -bosom. Gerald Piercey here! He had been for a long time abroad, -travelling in the East, far out of the usual tracks of travellers, and -had written to her three or four times from desert and distant places, -whose names recalled the Arabian Nights to her, but nothing nearer home. -The letters had always been curt, and not always amiable: “I note what -you say about having settled down. If you think the stagnant life of a -village the best thing for you, and your own instructions the best -thing for a boy who will have a part to play in the world, of course it -is needless for me to make any remark on the subject.” Margaret received -these missives with a little excitement, it must be allowed, if not with -pleasure. She confessed to herself that they amused her: “a boy who will -have a part to play in the world!” Did he think, she asked herself with -a smile, that Osy was seventeen instead of seven? At seven what did he -want beyond his mother’s instructions? But it cannot be denied that -letters, with curious Turkish hieroglyphics on the address, dated from -Damascus, Baghdad, and other dwellings of the unknown, had an effect -upon her. To receive them at Chillfold, in Surrey, was a sensation. The -Vicarage children, who collected stamps, were much excited by the -Turkish specimens, and she could not help a pleasurable sensation as she -bestowed them. Even Osy’s babble about Cousin Colonel was not unpleasing -to his mother’s ears. Gerald was far away, unable to take any steps, or -even to say much about Osy. She liked at that distance to have such a -man more or less belonging to her. The feeling of opposition had died -away. He had been fond of Osy, wanted to have him for his own--as who -would not wish to have her beautiful boy?--and what could be more -ingratiating to his mother than that sentiment, so long as it was -entertained by a man at Baghdad, who certainly could not take any steps -to steal the boy from his mother? Into this amicable, and even vaguely -pleased state of mind she had fallen--when suddenly, without any -warning, without even having seen him come round the corner, Gerald -Piercey stood before her eyes. - -Margaret went away from the window and sat down in the corner by the -fire, which was the corner most in the shade and safe from observation. -That her heart should beat so was absurd. What was Gerald Piercey to -her, or she to Gerald Piercey? He might make what propositions he -pleased, but he could not force her to give up her boy. At seven it was -ridiculous--out of the question! At seventeen it might be different, but -that was ten long years off. If this was what his object was, was not -her answer plain? - -He came in very gravely, not at all belligerent, though he looked round -with an air of criticism, remarking the smallness of the place, which -recalled to some extent Mrs. Osborne’s old feelings towards him. He had -no right to find the cottage small. She thought him looking old, worn, -and with care in his face. He, on the other hand, was astonished to see -her so young. The air of Chillfold, the tranquillity and freedom, had -been good for Margaret. The desert sun and wind had baked him black and -brown. The quiet of the cottage, the life of a child which she had been -living, had brought all her early roses back. - -“I have come,” he said, taking her hand in his, “on a sad errand.” And -then he paused and cried hurriedly, “What have you done to yourself? -Why, you are Meg Piercey again.” - -“Margaret Osborne at your service,” she said, as she had said before; -but with a very different feeling from that which had moved her on the -previous occasion: to be recognised with surprise as young and fair, is -a very different thing from being accused angrily of having lost your -freshness and your youth,--“but what is it, what is it?” - -“Uncle Giles is dying, Cousin Meg.” - -“Uncle Giles!” She drew her hand from him and dropped back into her -chair. For a moment she did not speak. “But I am not surprised,” she -said. “I looked for it: how could he go on living with nobody--not one -of his own?” - -“He might have had you. Poor old man! it is not the time to blame him.” - -“Me?” said Margaret. “I was not his child; nothing, and nobody, can make -up for the loss of what is your very own.” - -“Even when it is--Gervase Piercey?” - -“Poor Gervase!” said Margaret. “Oh, Gerald Piercey, you are a man with -whom things have always gone well. What does it matter what our children -are? they are our children all the same. And if it were nothing but to -think that it was Gervase--and what poor Gervase was.” - -Though she was perhaps a little incoherent, Gerald did not object. He -said: “At all events, I am very sorry for my poor old uncle. Mrs. -Gervase wrote to me to say that he was sinking fast, should I like to -come? and that she was writing to you in the same sense. I had only just -arrived when I got her letter, and I thought that the best thing was to -come to you at once, in case you were going to see him.” - -“Of course, I should wish to go and see him; but I have had no letter. I -must see him if she will let me. Dear old Uncle Giles, he was always -good and fatherly to me.” - -“And yet he let you leave your home--for this.” - -“Cousin Gerald,” said Margaret, “don’t let us begin to quarrel again. -This is very well--it suits me perfectly--and I am very happy here. It -is my own. My dear old uncle was not strong enough to struggle in my -favour, but he was always kind. I must go to see him, whether she wishes -it or not.” - -“I have a carriage ready. I thought that would be your decision. We -shall get there before dark.” - -“We?” she said, startled; then added, almost with timidity, “you are -going----?” - -“Certainly I am going. You don’t, perhaps, think what this may be to me. -My father will be the head of the house----” - -“And you after him. I fully understand what it is to you,” she said. - -He gave her a singular look, which she did not at all understand, except -that it might mean that with this increased power and authority he would -have more to say about Osy. “And to you too,” he said. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. - - -Patty received her two visitors without effusion, but with civility. Her -demeanour was very different from all they had known of her before. She -had been defiant and impertinent, anxious to offend and disgust, rather -than to attract, with the most anxious desire to get rid of both, and to -make them feel that they had no place nor standing in Greyshott. She -had, indeed, been so frightened lest she herself should be overthrown, -that all the “manners” in which Patty had been brought up deserted her, -and she behaved like the barmaid dressed in a little brief and stolen -authority, which they believed her to be. Indeed, the “manners” which -Patty had been taught chiefly consisted in the inculcation of extreme -respect to her “betters;” and her revolt from this, and conviction that -she had now no betters in the world, carried her further in the opposite -direction than if she had had no training at all. But in her calm tenure -of authority for nearly a year, Patty had learned many things. She had -learned that the mistress of a house does not need to stand upon her -authority, and that a right, acknowledged and evident, does not require -to be loudly asserted. It might have been supposed, however, that a -certain awe of the heir-at-law--a humility more or less towards the man -to whom shortly she must cede her keys, her place, and all the rights -upon which she now stood, would have shown themselves in her. But this -was not at all the case. She was quite civil to Colonel Piercey, but she -treated him solely as a guest--her guest--without any relationship of -his own towards the house in which she received him. To Margaret she was -more friendly, but more careless in her civility. “I ordered them to get -ready for you the room you used to have. I thought you would probably -like that best,” she said. Colonel Piercey was lodged quite humbly in -one of the “bachelor’s rooms,” no special attention of any kind being -paid to him, which was a thing very surprising to him, though he could -scarcely have told why. To be aware that you are very near being the -head of the house, and to be treated as if you were a very ordinary and -distant relation, is startling in a house which is full of the presence -of death. That presence, when it brings with it no deep family sorrow, -brings a sombre business and activity, a sense of suppressed -preparations and watchfulness for the end, which is very painful to the -sensitive mind, even when moved by no special feeling. Waiting for an -old man to die, it is often difficult not to be impatient for that -event, as for any other event which involves long waiting. Patty went -about the house with this air of much business held back and suspended -until something should happen. She was called away to have interviews -with this person and that. She spoke of the “arrangements” she had to -attend to. “Would it not be better that Colonel Piercey should relieve -you of some part of the trouble?” said Margaret. “Oh, no; one should -always do one’s own business. Outsiders never understand,” said Patty, -with what would have been, had she been less dignified, a toss of her -head in her widow’s cap. - -Was Gerald Piercey an outsider in the house that must so soon be his -own? He had given Margaret to understand during their long drive that -his father would not change his home or his life, and that it was he, -Gerald, who would occupy Greyshott. I think Colonel Piercey was of -opinion that he had made something else clear, though it had not been -spoken of in words--namely, that there was but one mistress possible for -Greyshott in its new life; but Mrs. Osborne did not by any means clearly -understand him, having her mind preoccupied by the belief that his -feelings to her were not of an affectionate kind, and that his first -object was to deprive her of her child. She felt, however, that he was -kind--bewilderingly kind, and that there was something in him which -wanted explanation; but all the more, Margaret was anxious and disturbed -by this attitude of “outsider” attributed to him. If Gerald Piercey was -an outsider in Greyshott on the eve of his uncle’s death, to whom he was -natural heir, who else could have any right there? He did not remark -this, as was natural. He was not surprised that Patty should hold him at -arm’s length. It was quite to be expected that she should feel deeply -the mere fact that he was the heir. Poor girl! He wondered what -provision had been made for her--if any; and if there should be none, -promised himself that his father’s first act, as Sir Francis, should be -to set this right. He was, in fact, very sorry for Mrs. Patty, whose -ambitions and schemes had come to so summary an end. She should never -require to go back to the alehouse, but should be fitly provided for as -the wife of the once heir of Greyshott ought to be. He confided these -intentions to Margaret at the very moment when Mrs. Osborne’s mind was -full of Patty’s speech about the outsider. “You mean if Uncle Giles has -not done so already,” Margaret said. - -“It is very unlikely he should have done so. Of course there could be no -settlement; and who was there to point out to him that such a thing was -necessary?” Colonel Piercey was so strong in his conviction that -Margaret did not like to suggest even that Patty might herself have -pointed it out. But her own mind was full of vague suspicion and alarm. -An outsider! Gerald Piercey, the natural heir of the house? - -Late that night the two visitors were called to Sir Giles’ room. “He is -awake and seems to know everybody; I should like you to see him now,” -Patty said, going herself to Mrs. Osborne’s room to call her. Colonel -Piercey was walking up and down in the hall, with an air of examining -the old family pictures, which Patty had not thought it necessary to -meddle with, though she had removed those that had been in the library. -He was not really looking at them, except as accessories to the -scene--silent witnesses of the one that was passing away, and the other -that was about to come. Gerald Piercey had a deep sadness in his heart, -though he could not keep his thoughts from the new life that was before -him. The very warmth of the rising of that new life and all its hopes -made him feel all the more the deep disappointment and loss in which the -other was ending. Poor Gervase would never have been a fit -representative of the Pierceys, but as Margaret said, as she had always -said, he was his father’s son, and the object of all the hopes of the -old pair who had reigned so long in Greyshott. And now this branch was -cut off, their line ended, and the old tree falling that had flourished -so long. He wondered if it would really be any comfort to poor old Sir -Giles, dying alone in his desolate house, that there were still Pierceys -to come after him: the same blood and race, though not drawn from his -source. It seemed questionable how far he would be comforted by this; -perhaps not at all, perhaps rather embittered by the fact that it was a -cousin’s son and not his own, who should now be the head of the house. - -“Come now, come now,” cried Patty eagerly, “as long as he is so -conscious and awake. He sleeps most of his time, and it’s quite a -chance--quite a chance. I want you to see with your own eyes that he’s -all himself, and has his faculties still.” She had an air of excitement -about her perhaps not quite appropriate to the moment, as if her nerves -were all in motion, and she could scarcely keep her fingers still or -subdue the quiver in her head and over all her frame. She led the way -hurriedly, opening the doors one after another in an excited way, and -pushing into the sick room with a “Look, dear papa, who I’ve brought to -see you.” Sir Giles was sitting up in his bed, his large ashy face -turned towards the door, his dim sunken eyes looking out from fold upon -fold of heavy eyelid, his under-lip hanging as that of poor Gervase had -done. “Ah,” he stammered, “let ’em come in--to the light, my dear. I’m -not in a state--to see strangers; but to please you--my dear.” - -“Uncle Giles,” said Margaret, with an exclamation of pain, “surely you -know me?” - -“Eh? let her stand--in the light--in the light; why, why, why--Meg: it’s -Meg,--that’s Meg.” She kissed him, and he made an effort to turn his -feeble head, and with his large moist lips he gave a tremulous kiss in -the air. “I’m--I’m glad to see you, Meg. You were the first to--tell -me--to tell me: I’ll be always grateful to you--for that.” - -“For what, dear uncle? It is I who owe everything to you. Oh, Uncle -Giles, if I could only tell you how much and how often I think of it! -you were always kind, always kind; and dear Aunt Piercey; you gave me my -home, the only home I ever had.” - -“Eh! eh! What is she saying, my dear? You’ll--you’ll look after -Meg--never let her come to want. She was the first to tell me. The -greatest news that has come--to Greyshott. You remember, Meg--and Osy, -bless him, how he cheered! There’s--there’s something for Osy. He -cheered like a little trump, and he gave--he gave my boy his only -wedding present, the--the only one. Dunning, where is my purse? Osy must -have a tip--two tips for that.” - -“Dear papa,” cried Patty, “don’t disturb yourself; oh, don’t disturb -yourself! I’ll see to it.” - -“My--my purse, Dunning!” The purse was procured while they all stood by, -and the old man fumbling, got with difficulty, one after another, two -sovereigns, which fell out of his trembling fingers upon the bed. “One -for--for cheering; and one for--for the other thing. Give ’em to Osy, -Meg, bless him; and my blessing. When It comes and all’s right, that’ll -be a friend for Osy--always a friend, better than an old man.” - -“Dear papa,” cried Patty, pushing forward again, “here is some one else -to see you--Colonel Piercey, dear, don’t you remember? Colonel -Piercey--Gerald--that once paid you a long visit; I know you’ll remember -if you try. Here,” she said, seizing his arm, pulling him forward, -“stand in the light that he may see you.” - -She was vibrating with excitement like a creature on wires. The touch of -her hand on Gerald’s arm was like an electric cord; and to be pushed -forward thus, and accounted for as if he had been an absolute stranger, -to be brought with difficulty to the mind of the dying man, was to -Gerald Piercey, as may well be supposed, an insupportable sensation. He -drew back, saying hastily, “I cannot disturb him. I will not have him -disturbed for me--let him alone, let him alone.” - -“Eh? what? who’s that? somebody else? Gerald?” said Sir Giles. He held -out his hand vaguely into the air, not seeing where his attention was -called, the large old limp grey hand, with so little volition or power -left in it. “Ah, Gerald, come to see the end of the old man? that’s -kind! that’s kind! My poor wife and I used to think if our first boy had -lived, don’t you know, he might have been a man like you. Well, Gerald, -I’ve nothing to give you, but my blessing--but my blessing. You won’t -mind if your nose is put out of joint, you know, as the old folks say. -And you’ll stand by It, Gerald, a--a good fellow like you.” - -“Dear papa, I think they’ll go now; it’s late, and you ought to go to -sleep.” - -“Not yet,” said Sir Giles, who had fallen into the old strain of faint -sobbing and laughing; “plenty--plenty of time for sleep. Thousands of -years, don’t you know, till it’s all--all over. Where are they? eh, Meg. -I scarcely see you; eh!” he kissed the air again with his hanging, -lifeless lips, “good-night; and t’other man. Gerald, be kind to her, my -boy; a good girl, Meg, a good girl. She’s been married, which some might -think a drawback; but if you’re fond of her, and she’s fond of you. Eh, -Dunning? well I’m not tired, not tired a bit--let him be the god-father, -my dear; and good-night to you, good-night to you--all.” - -He died in the night. - -The third funeral within a year from Greyshott! What a melancholy record -was that--father and mother, and the only child! Sir Giles was the only -one of the three who could be said to have been beloved. His wife had -always been an imperious woman, his son had been a fool; but the old man -was full of gentleness and kindness, and had been a model country -gentleman in his day, known to everybody, and always genial to rich and -poor. Once more the avenue was full of carriages, and the house of -mourners, and there were some tears, and many kind recollections, and a -great deal of talk about him as they carried him away. “It will be a -long time before we see the like of him again,” the country folk and -tenants said, while the gentlemen of the county congratulated themselves -that the old name was not to be extinct nor the land transferred to -other hands. The new baronet was not there; he was also an old man, and -not fond of much movement, but Colonel Piercey was his representative, -and an excellent representative, a man of whom the whole district might -be proud. He was looked to by every one, pointed out to those who did -not know him, and surrounded by a subtle atmosphere of suspended -congratulation and welcome, notwithstanding the universal grief for Sir -Giles. The old man’s dying words had not made a very deep impression on -Colonel Piercey, except those which concerned Margaret. He had not -understood the allusions, nor indeed thought of them, save as the -wanderings of weakness. It seemed all of a piece to him--the thought -that Sir Giles’ firstborn, the boy dead some thirty years ago, might -have grown such a man as he, and his nose being put out of joint, and -the petition that he should be good to some one, and stand by it. All -these wild and wandering words Gerald Piercey put out of his head as -meaning nothing. It was, perhaps, the “first boy,” whom he had never -heard of before, whom he was to be good to, yet who would put his nose -out of joint. It was all a muddle, and Gerald did not attempt to grope -his way through it. He was deeply impressed and touched by the image of -the old man dying; but he had no doubt as to his own prospects, and -thought of no disaster. How could there be any doubt? If there had been -a new will made since the death of Gervase, no doubt the estate had been -charged with an adequate provision for Gervase’s wife; if there had been -no will made, his father and he, as the next-of-kin and heir-at-law, -would of course take that into their own hands, and secure it at once. -Beyond this and the natural legacies, Gerald suspected no new thing. - -Margaret, on the other hand, had been deeply alarmed and startled by -what she heard. She did not remember what she had said on the occasion -to which her uncle referred, but she remembered his outburst of -cheering, and Osy, with his legs wide apart and his hat waving in his -hand, giving forth his hip, hip, hurrah. Was it possible that the old -man had made out to himself some fiction of what might be going to -happen, some illusion which buoyed him up with false hopes? Was it -possible that Patty----? Margaret did not know what to think. She would -fain have confided her alarm to Gerald, and taken counsel with him; but -those other words of Sir Giles had been too broadly significant, and he -was the last person in the world to whom she could talk on any subject -that would recall them. She had avoided Gerald, indeed, since that -scene, and it had not been referred to again between them. But her mind -was full of perplexity and doubt. The bearing of Patty (always _digne_, -always just what a daughter-in-law’s chastened grief should be,--not too -demonstrative), so confident, so authoritative, so determined to do -everything herself, without assistance from an “outsider,” increased -this sensation of alarm and uncertainty in Margaret’s mind. She did not -know in the least what was coming. But it seemed to her certain that -something was coming which was not in the course of nature, or according -to the common expectation. Her mind grew more and more confused, yet -more and more certain of this as the crisis approached; for Patty never -had been so independent, so confident, so sure of being the head of -everything, as on the funeral day. - -Yet Patty had her troubles, too, which she had to bear alone, and -without any aid at this crisis of her career. Miss Hewitt, whose -indignation at her reception on her first visit had been so great that -she had made a vow never to see her ungrateful niece again, had, by the -time that Sir Giles’ dangerous condition had become publicly known, got -over her fury. She had been paid her fifty pounds, and she had begun to -believe in Patty’s continued success and in her cleverness and power. -There had been a pause of alarm in the family after the death of -Gervase, when they had all feared (little knowing her spirit) that Patty -would be sent back on their hands. But when that alarm was well over and -Patty was found to hold her own, the admiration of her relations was -doubled. Her father was the first to claim a renewal of friendship; but -his reception was so alarming, and his daughter poured forth upon his -head such torrents of wrath, telling him that, but for the exposure of -family affairs, she would have him tried for manslaughter, that the -landlord of the Seven Thorns slunk off completely cowed and without a -word to say. This added to Miss Hewitt’s regard for her brave and -victorious niece, who feared no one, and she had in the meantime made -many attempts to obtain a footing at Greyshott. Partly to impress still -more sensibly upon her father her utter and unchangeable hostility, and -partly because some one to speak to became a necessity, Patty had -admitted her aunt on various occasions; and now Miss Hewitt demanded, -with a persistence which all Patty’s spare moments had been spent in -resisting, first an interview with Sir Giles, and then a place in the -carriage which conveyed her niece to his funeral. Patty had not yielded -in respect to the first, but in the extreme state of mental excitement -in which she was, her resolution gave way before the second prayer. It -had not been her intention to “mix herself up with any of the Hewitts,” -but in face of the scene which she anticipated at the reading of the -will, it gradually came to appear more and more desirable to her to have -some one to stand by her, some one to be dazzled by her position and -good fortune, and to take her part whatever opposition she might meet -with. Patty did not know what might happen at the reading of the will. -She had a prevision, but not even now any absolute certainty, what the -will was. And if it were as she believed, she did not know what powers -might be brought into action against her, or what might be done. She -decided at last that to have her aunt, who at bottom was a thoroughly -congenial spirit, to defend and stand by her, would be an advantage. And -this was how it was that Miss Hewitt attained the lugubrious triumph of -her life, the satisfaction of following her former lover in his old -carriage, his wife’s carriage, whom she considered her triumphant rival, -to his grave. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. - - -It was a strange triumph, and yet it was one. Miss Hewitt closely -followed her niece, once more wrapt in a new extravagance of crape; and -these ladies had the satisfaction of seeing Mrs. Osborne quietly take -her place opposite to them on the front seat of the carriage. This gave -both to Patty and her aunt an acute sensation of pleasure, which would -have been greater, however, had the victim seemed in any way conscious -of it. But Margaret was full of many thoughts, recollections, and -anticipations. She, too, looked forward to the disclosure of her uncle’s -will with a curiosity and anxiety which had nothing to do with any -expectations of her own. She had put away the two sovereigns so -tremulously extracted from his purse by the dying man with a half smile -and a tear. That, she concluded, was all that Osy would ever have from -his great-uncle, who might so easily have made a provision for the boy. -She had never expected it, she said to herself, but that was a different -thing from this certainty that it never would be; still there was a -tender familiarity about the “tip” for the child which went to -Margaret’s heart. Poor old uncle! If he had been left to himself, if he -had been able to think, he would have acted differently. She put away -the two pieces of money for Osy without any grudge, with a tender -thought of the old man who had been as good as a father to her all her -life. And now was this the end of Greyshott so far as she was concerned? -or was there a strange something looming out of the clouds, another life -of which she would not think, which she could not understand, to which -she did not consent? She put all thought out of her mind of anything -that concerned herself, or tried her best to do so--but the family was -dear to her still. Was there any plot threatening the name, the race, -the old, old dwelling of the Pierceys? There was a subdued triumph in -Patty’s look, a confidence in her voice and step, and the authoritative -orders she gave, which did not look like a woman who after to-day would -have no real authority in Sir Francis Pierce’s house. She could not -imagine what it could mean; but the advent of the elder woman, also in -crape, and full of ostentatious sympathy and regret, strengthened all -her apprehensions, though she did not know of what she was afraid. - -One or two of the oldest friends remained for the reading of the will. -It was felt on all sides that the grief which attended Sir Giles to his -tomb was of a modified kind. No one except Mrs. Osborne could be -supposed to regard the old gentleman with filial love or sorrow, and the -party which assembled round the luncheon table was serious, but put on -no affectation of woe. Patty took her place at the head of the table -with a quiet assurance to which nobody objected. She had too much sense -to talk of “dear papa” before all these people, and if she showed the -composure of an authorised and permanent mistress of the house, it was -probably because she had been accustomed to do so. Lord Hartmore, if his -sympathies were not so much aroused as on the day of Gervase’s funeral, -still retained a sort of partisan feeling for the young widow. She was -his _protégée_. His wife had not fallen in with his views, except in the -most moderate way, merely to honour the promise he had made for her. -Lady Hartmore did not attempt to improve her acquaintance with Patty. -She was quite at her ease at the other end of the table by the side of -Colonel Piercey, who now was _de facto_, in her assured belief, the -master of the house. Margaret was not present at the luncheon, and Miss -Hewitt, who was elated beyond expression by finding herself seated among -all the great people, on the other side of Lord Hartmore, felt herself -the principal person at table, and demeaned herself accordingly. “To -think,” she said, “my lord, that I should find myself ’ere on such an -occasion; me that once thought to be the mistress; but oh! the ideas of -the young is different from what comes to pass in life. ’Im as we have -laid in his grave, dear gentleman, was once---- Well, Patty, love, as -you say, this ain’t a time to talk of such things. Still, it do come -upon me sitting at ’is table, and ’im not ’ere to bid me welcome. But -it’s a mournful satisfaction to see the last of ’im all the same.” - -“Aunt was an old friend of my dear father-in-law,” Patty explained, -curtly. “I believe, Lord Hartmore, that you know more of Margaret -Osborne than I do. Margaret Osborne has not shown very much sympathy to -me, and all this winter I have never been able to get out for such a -purpose as making calls. I couldn’t have taken a three hours’ drive to -be away so long, not if it had been a matter of life and death. That -means almost a whole day, and dear Sir Giles never liked to let me out -of his sight.” - -“Ah, ’e always knew them that were really fond of ’im,” said Miss -Hewitt. “You couldn’t blind ’im, my lord, with pretences. I was kep’ -back by my family, and thoughts of what the world might say; but ’e knew -that Patty was the same stuff like, and ’e took to her the double of -what ’e would have done on that account. Oh, your lordship, what a man -’e was! You’re too young to remember ’im at ’is best: ’andsome is as -’andsome does, folk say--but a gentleman like ’im can’t always act as ’e -would like to. You must know that from yourself, my lord. Sometimes the -’eart don’t go where the ’and ’as to be given.” - -“Well, that is certainly sometimes the case,” said Lord Hartmore, with a -subdued laugh, “though I don’t think I know it by myself.” - -“Aunt’s so full of her old times,” cried Patty. “If there was anything -that was ever wanted for the little Osborne boy, Lord Hartmore, I -should always be pleased to help. He got too much for my dear -father-in-law latterly, being noisy, and such a spoiled little thing; -but he was fond of him, and spoke of him at the very last.” “I can never -forget that,” said Patty, putting her handkerchief lightly to her eyes. -“And if there should be need of a little help for his education, or -setting him out in life--but I should have a delicacy in saying so to -Margaret Osborne, unless you’d be so good as to do it for me.” - -“Oh, you’re very kind, Mrs. Piercey,” said Lord Hartmore, confused. “Our -dear Meg is rather a formidable person to approach with such a -proposal.” - -“Yes, isn’t she formidable?” cried Patty, eagerly. “That’s just the -word; one is frightened to offer to do her a good turn.” - -“Let us hope,” said Lord Hartmore, “that her good uncle has left her -beyond the need of help.” - -“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Patty, with a very serious face. - -“I feel sure of it,” said Lord Hartmore, with genial confidence. “He was -far too good a man, and too kind an uncle. Mrs. Piercey, I see my friend -Gerald looking this way, and Mr. Pownceby wriggling in his chair, as -if----” He made a slight movement as if to rise--which perhaps was not -the highest breeding in Lord Hartmore; but it was very slight and -accompanied by a look of deference, suggesting a signal on her part. - -“Mr. Gerald Piercey is not master here, nor is Mr. Pownceby,” said -Patty, with dignity. “They may look as they please, but in my own house -it’s my part to say when people are to leave the table.” - -“She do have a spirit, Patty does,” Miss Hewitt murmured under her -breath. - -Lord Hartmore settled himself in his chair again, abashed. “I beg your -pardon,” he said; and then, in a subdued tone, “Most likely Pownceby has -a train to catch.” - -“In that case I don’t mind stretching a point,” said the lady of the -house, “though Mr. Pownceby is no more than a hired servant paid for his -time, and it is no business of his to interfere.” - -A hired servant! Old Pownceby, who had all the secrets of the county in -his hands, and most of its business! Lord Hartmore grew pale with awe at -this daring speech. He looked straight before him, not to see the -signals of his wife telegraphing to him from Gerald Piercey’s side. -“I’ll have nothing to do with it,” he said to himself; and, indeed, in -his consternation, Lord Hartmore was the last to get up when the -movement of the chairs convinced him that Mrs. Piercey had condescended -to move. He offered that lady his arm humbly, on an indication from her -that this was expected. “I suppose we shall see Mrs. Osborne in the -library?” he said. - -“Oh, Margaret! I suppose she’d better be there for form’s sake, though I -don’t suppose it matters much. Aunt, will you tell Margaret Osborne to -come directly, please? I have never,” said Patty, with a smile, “got -into the way of calling her Meg, as you all do.” - -Lord Hartmore could scarcely dissimulate the little start of -consternation with which he heard this. The forlorn young widow, for -whom he had been so sorry, was appearing in a new light; but, of course, -it was only her ignorance, he said to himself. The party had all -assembled in the library when the voice of Miss Hewitt was heard outside -calling to some one who seemed to be following: “This way, -Margaret--this way. They’re all in the library. I don’t know the ’ouse -so well as I might, but this is the way. Come along please, quick, and -don’t keep the company waiting,” Miss Hewitt said. - -Gerald Piercey started forward to open the door, for which Miss Hewitt -rewarded him with an “Oh! thank you, but I’m quite at ’ome, quite at -’ome.” Margaret came in in the wake of that bustling figure, pale, and -with an air of suspense. “Was it necessary to send for me in that way?” -she said to Gerald. He had placed a chair for her beside Lady Hartmore. -“Oh, Heaven knows what is necessary!” said that lady. “You know the -proverb about beggars on horseback.” She was not so careful to subdue -her voice as she might have been, but in the commotion it was not -observed. Gerald Piercey stood with his hand on the back of his cousin’s -chair. They were the family, the only persons present of the Piercey -blood. The old friends of the house stood near them. At the upper end of -the room were Patty and her aunt. Mr. Pownceby stood in front of the -large fireplace with a paper in his hand. - -“I must explain,” he said, “how the will I have to read is so very -succinct a document. Sir Giles had made his will like other men, and as -there was a good deal to leave, there were a number of bequests. The -late Mr. Gervase Piercey was, of course, the heir, under trustees, as he -was not much--acquainted with business. Sir Giles thought fit to change -this, as was to be expected, after his son’s death. He sent for me -hastily one day, and gave me instructions which surprised me. I begged -him to allow me to take these back with me in order that the new will -should be properly written out, proposing to come back next day to -execute it, and, in short, hoping that he might reconsider the matter; -but he would hear of no delay. This document I will now read.” - -Gerald Piercey stood quite undisturbed, with his hand on the back of -Margaret’s chair. He was not anxious. It had not occurred to him that -the house of his fathers could be alienated from him, and short of that, -his poor old uncle’s wishes would, he sincerely felt, be sacred whatever -they were. He was glad to hear that there was a new will made, which, no -doubt, provided for Mrs. Piercey; and waited with an easy mind to hear -what it was. As for Margaret, the event about to happen began to dawn -clearly upon her. She saw it in Patty’s eyes, in her pose, sitting up -defiant in Lady Piercey’s chair. She looked up at her cousin with an -eager desire to warn him, to support him, but was daunted by the calm -of his look, fearing no evil. “Gerald, Gerald,” she said, instinctively. -The lines of his face melted suddenly; he looked down upon her with an -encouraging, protecting smile, and took her hand for a moment, saying -“Meg!” and no more. He thought she was appealing to him for his care and -protection in face of a probable disappointment to herself. - -Mr. Pownceby cleared his throat and waved his hand. He ran over the -exordium, name, and formula, of sound mind, etc., etc., to which -everybody listened impatiently, “do give and bequeath the whole of my -estates, property, real and personal, etc., to----” here he paused a -little, as if his own throat were dry--“Patience Piercey, my -daughter-in-law, and companion for the last six months, to be at her -entire disposal as it may be best for the interests of the family, and -in remainder to her child. This I do, believing it to be best for -meeting all difficulties, and in view of any contingency that might -arise. - -“Signed, Giles Piercey,” added the lawyer, “and dated Greyshott, 16th -June, just a fortnight ago.” - -There was a pause. Even now it did not seem to have struck Colonel -Piercey what it meant. He listened with a half smile. “And----?” he -said, waiting as if for more. - -“That is all, Colonel Piercey, every word. The house, estates, money, -everything. Even the servants are cut out. He said she’d look after -them. Mrs. Piercey takes everything--house, lands, money, plate, -everything. It is a very unusual and surprising will, but that is all.” - -And then there was another pause, and a general deep-drawn breath. - -“It is a very surprising will indeed,” said Lord Hartmore. - -It was a sort of remark to himself, forced from him by the astonishment -of the moment; but in the silence of the room it sounded as if addressed -like an oration to all who were there. - -“Pardon me,” cried Colonel Piercey, “but Greyshott? Do you mean that -Greyshott, the original home of the family----?” - -“I represented that to Sir Giles, but he would hear nothing. It is Mrs. -Piercey’s with all the rest.” - -“It is the most iniquitous thing I ever heard,” cried Lady Hartmore, -rising quickly to her feet. “What! not a word of anybody belonging to -him, nothing of Meg and her boy, nothing of his natural heirs, nothing -of old Dunning even, and the old servants?--The man must have been mad.” - -Here Patty rose and advanced to the conflict. She was very nervous, but -collected. “Mr. Pownceby can bear me witness that I knew nothing about -it,” she said. “I wasn’t there.” - -“No, you were not there,” said the lawyer. - -“I thought it right I should have a provision,” said Patty, “and so it -was right; and if my dear father-in-law thought that the one that stood -by him, and nursed him through all his illness, when everybody else -forsook him, was the one that ought to have it, who’s got anything to -say against that? I didn’t want it; but now that I’ve got it, I’ll stick -to it,” cried Patty defiantly, confronting Lady Hartmore, who had been -the only one to speak. - -“I have no doubt of it,” cried that lady, “but if I were Colonel -Piercey, I shouldn’t stand it; no, not for a moment! Why, the old man -was in his dotage, no more equal to making a will than---- than his son -would have been.” - -“Mary!” cried her husband in dismay. - -“Well!” said Lady Hartmore, suddenly brought to herself by the -consciousness of having said more than she ought to have said, “I am -glad, I am quite glad, Hartmore, for one thing, that you’ll now see -things in their proper light.” - -“And a very just will, too,” cried Miss Hewitt, coming to her niece’s -side,--“just like ’im, as was a very right-thinking man. Patty was an -angel to ’im, that she was, night and day. And it is nothing but what -was to be expected, that ’e should give ’er all as ’e had to give. And -not too much, neither, to the only one as nursed ’im, and did for ’im, -and gave up everything. Oh! I always said it--’e was a right-thinking -man.” - -Colonel Piercey said nothing after that exclamation of “Greyshott!” but -he retired with the lawyer into a corner as soon as the spell of -consternation was broken by the sudden sound of these passionate voices. -He had seized Margaret by the arm and drawn her with him. “We are the -representatives of the family,” he said, hurriedly; and Mrs. Osborne was -too much startled (though she had foreseen it), too sympathetic, and too -much excited, to object to the manner in which he had drawn her hand -within his arm. “Our interests are the same,” he said, briefly, with a -hurried nod to Mr. Pownceby; and they stood talking for some minutes, -while a wonderful interchange of artillery went on behind. This was -concluded by a sudden clear sound of Patty’s voice in the air, ringing -with passion and mastery. “I believe,” she said, “Lord Hartmore’s -carriage is at the door.” And then there arose a laugh of sharp anger -from the other side. “We are turned out,” cried Lady Hartmore, “turned -out of Greyshott, where we were familiar before that chit was born.” It -was a little like scolding, but it was the voice of nature all the same. - -“And I think,” said Colonel Piercey, “Meg, that you and I had better go, -too.” - -“Oh, as you please!” cried Patty; “Meg can stay if she likes, and I’ve -already said I shouldn’t mind giving any reasonable help to educate the -little boy. And as for you, Gerald Piercey, you can do what you like, -and I can see you are bursting with envy. You can’t touch me!” - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII. - - -It was thus in wrath and in consternation that the party dispersed. -Patty stood in the hall, flushed and fierce, with defiance in every -look, supported by her aunt, who stood behind her, and gave vent from -time to time to murmurs of sympathy and snorts of indignation. Patty had -almost forgotten, in her mingled triumph and rage, the anxiously -chastened demeanour which she had of late imposed upon herself. She was -a great deal more like Patty of the Seven Thorns than she had ever been -since her marriage. The opposition and scorn of Lady Hartmore had -awakened all her combative tendencies, and made her for the moment -careless of consequences. What did she care for those big wigs who -looked down upon her? Was she not as good as any of them, herself a -county magnate, the lady of Greyshott? better than they were! For the -Hartmores were not so rich as comported with their dignity; and Patty -was now rich, to her own idea enormously rich, and as great a lady as -any in England. Was she not Mrs. Piercey of Greyshott, owning no -superior anywhere? It is curious that this conviction should have swept -away for the moment all her precautions of behaviour, and restored her -to the native level of the country barmaid, as ready to scold as any -fishwife, to defy every rule of respect or even politeness. She waited -to see Lady Hartmore to the door, having swept out of the room before -that astonished lady with a bosom bursting with rage. Truth to tell, -Lady Hartmore was much disposed to fight, too. She would have liked, -above all things, to give the little upstart what humbler persons call a -piece of her mind. Her pulses, too, were beating high, and a flood of -words were pressing to her lips. It was intolerable to her to accept the -insult to herself and the wrong to her friends without saying -anything--without laying the offender low under the tempest of her -wrath. As for Lord Hartmore, it must be owned that he was frightened, -and only anxious to get his wife away. He held her arm tightly in his, -and gave it an additional pressure as he led her past the fierce little -adversary who, no doubt, had a greater command of appropriate language -than even Lady Hartmore had, whose style was probably less trenchant, -though more refined. “Now, Mary, now, my dear,” he said soothingly. The -sight of the carriage at the door was delightful to him as a safe port -to a sailor. And though the first thing Lady Hartmore did when safely -ensconced in her corner, was to turn upon him the flood of her -suppressed wrath with a “So this is your interesting little widow, -Hartmore!” he was too glad to get away from the sphere of combat to -attempt any self-defence. He, too, was saying “the little demon!” under -his breath. - -Patty still stood there, when Margaret, who had hastily collected the -few things she had brought with her, came down to join Colonel Piercey -in the hall. He had been standing, as he had been on a previous -occasion, carefully examining one of the old portraits. It was not a -very interesting portrait, nor was he, I suppose, specially interested -in it; but his figure, wrapt in silence and abstraction, made a curious -contrast to that of Patty, thrilling with fire and movement. It was -evident that she could not long restrain herself, and when Margaret -appeared coming down the great stairs, the torrent burst forth. - -“Oh, you are there, Meg Osborne: I wonder you didn’t go with your great -friends, the first people in the county, as you all think, insulting me -in my own house! Ah, and I’ll teach you all it’s my own house! I won’t -have nobody here turning their backs to me, or going out and in of my -place without as much as a thank you! You’re studying my pictures, -Colonel Piercey, are you? They’re my pictures, they’re not yours; and -I’ll have you to know that nobody sha’n’t even look at them without my -consent.” - -Colonel Piercey turned round, almost angry with himself for the fury he -felt. “I beg your pardon,” he said, very gravely, yet with a sort of -smile. - -“Oh, you beg my pardon! and you laugh as if it were a joke! I can tell -you it’s no joke. They’re all mine, willed by him as knew best who he -wanted them to go to; and I’ll keep them, that I will, against all the -beggarly kinsfolk in the world; coming here a-looking as soon as the old -man’s in his grave for what they can devour!” - -“Are you ready, Margaret?” Colonel Piercey said. - -“Don’t you turn it off to her, sir: speak to me! It’s me that has to be -considered first. You are going off mighty high: no civility to the head -of the house, though I’ve taken you in and given you lodging in my -house, at least Meg there, near a week? Oh, you laugh again, do you? And -who is the head of the house if it’s not me? I’m Mrs. Piercey of -Greyshott. The pictures are mine, and the name’s mine, as well as -everything else; and you are nothing but the son of the younger brother, -and not got as much to do with it as Pownceby there, the lawyer.” - -“My dear Mrs. Piercey,” said Mr. Pownceby, “however much you may despise -Pownceby the lawyer, he knows a little more on that subject than you do: -a lady is rarely, if ever, the head of a house, and certainly never one -who belongs to the family only by marriage. One word, if you please: -Colonel Piercey’s father, now Sir Francis Piercey, is the undoubted head -of the house.” - -“Oh, you’ll say anything, of course, to back them up; you think they’re -your only friends and will pay you best. But you’ll find that’s a -mistake, Mr. Pownceby the lawyer, just as they’ll find it’s a mistake. -What do you want here, Dunning? What business has servants, except my -footman to open the door, here? You’ve been a deal too much petted in -your time, and you’ll find out the difference now.” - -“Mr. Pownceby, sir,” said Dunning, who had suddenly appeared on the -scene, exceedingly dark and lowering, “Is it true, sir, what I hear, -that none of us old servants, not me, sir, that looked after him night -and day, is named in my old master’s will?” - -“I am sorry to say it is quite true, Dunning,” Mr. Pownceby said; “but I -don’t doubt that Mrs. Piercey will remember your long service, as Sir -Giles wished her to do.” - -“How do you know what Sir Giles wished? I know best what Sir Giles said -I was to do,” cried Patty. “As for long service, yes, if holding on like -grim death and taking as little trouble as possible is what you mean.” - -“Me take little trouble!” cried Dunning, foaming. “I’ve not had a -night’s rest, not an unbroken night, since Lady Piercey died--not one. -Oh, I knowed how it would be! when she come about him, flattering him -and slavering him, and the poor dear old gentleman thought it was good -for Mr. Gervase; and then after, didn’t she put it upon him as she was -in the family-way, and she never was in the family-way, no more than I -was. Hoh! ask the women! Hoh! look at her where she stands! He thought -as there was an heir coming, and there ain’t no more of an heir coming -than----” - -“Let us go, please, let us go,” cried Margaret, in distress. “Cousin -Gerald, Mr. Pownceby, we have nothing, nothing surely, to do with this. -Oh, let us get away.” - -“Put that fellow out of my house!” cried Patty, “put him out of my -house! You’re a nice gentleman, Gerald Piercey, to stand there and -encourage a man like that to insult a lady. Robert, take that man by the -shoulders and put him out.” - -“He had just best try,” said Dunning, squaring his shoulders. But -Robert, who was young and slim, knew better than to try. He stood -sheepishly fumbling by the door, opening it for the party who were going -out. Dunning was not an adversary to be lightly encountered. Colonel -Piercey, however, not insensible to the appeal made to him, laid his -hand on Dunning’s shoulder. - -“This lady is right,” he said; “we must not insult a woman, Dunning. You -had better come with us in the meantime. It will do you no good to stay -here.” - -“Ah, go with them and plot, do,” cried Patty; “I knew that’s how it -would end. He knows I can expose him and all his ways--neglecting my -dear old father-in-law; he knows he’ll never get another place if people -hear what I’ve got to say of him! Oh, yes, go with ’em, do! They thought -they were to have it all their own way, and turn me out. But all of you, -every one, will just learn the difference. If he had behaved like a -gentleman and her like a lady, I might have given them their old rubbish -of pictures. I don’t care for that trash; they’re no ornament to the -place. I intend to have them all taken down and carted off to the first -auction there is anywhere. I don’t believe they’d bring above a few -shillings; but all the same they are mine, and I’ll have no strangers -meddling with them,” Patty cried. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Aunt -Patience, hold your tongue, and let me manage my affairs myself.” - -“The only thing is just this, ladies and gentlemen,” said Miss Hewitt. -“She’s got put out, poor thing, and I don’t wonder, seeing all as she’s -’ad to do; but she don’t mean more than a bit of temper, and she’ll soon -come round if you’ll have a little patience. This is the gentleman that -come to me, and that I first told as my niece was married to Gervase -Piercey, and no mistake. ’E is a very civil gentleman, Patty, and, Lord, -why should you go and make enemies of ’im and of this lady, as I should -say was a-going to be ’_is_ good lady, and both belonging to the family! -Nor I would not go and make an enemy of Mr. Pownceby, as ’as all the -family papers in his ’ands and knows a deal, and could be of such use to -you. I’d ask them all to stay, if I was you, to a nice bit of family -dinner, and talk things over. What _is_ the good of making enemies when -being friends would be so much more use to you?” said Miss Hewitt, with -triumphant logic. But Patty, who had heard with impatience and many -attempts to interrupt, turned away before her oration was over, and, -turning her back upon her recent guests, walked away as majestically as -was possible, with her long train sweeping over the carpet, to the -drawing-room, where she shut herself in, slamming the door. Miss Hewitt -threw up her hands and eyes. “That’s just ’er,” she cried, “just ’er! -Thinks of nothing when ’er temper’s up; but I ’ope you won’t think -nothing of it neither. She’ll be as good friends in a hour as if nothing -had ’appened; and I’ll go and give her a good talking to,” the aunt -said. - -When Miss Hewitt reached the drawing-room she found Patty thrown upon -the sofa in the second stage of her passion, which was, naturally, -tears. But these paroxysms did not last long. “I let you talk, Aunt -Patience,” she said. “It pleased you, and it looked well enough. But I -know my affairs better than you. Enemies! of course they’re all my -enemies, and I don’t blame them. What I said I said on purpose, not in a -temper. I had them here on purpose to see the old gentleman before he -died, so that they might know for themselves that he was in his right -mind, and all that; and old Pownceby knows; and I wanted to show them -that I wasn’t afraid of them, not a bit. However, that’s all over, and -you needn’t trouble your head about it. I have a deal to do before the -trial----” - -“The trial!” said Miss Hewitt, in consternation. “Is there going to be a -trial?” - -“Of course there will be a trial. They won’t let Greyshott go without a -try for it, and you’ll see me in all the papers, and the whole story, -and I don’t know that there’s anything to be ashamed of. The thing I’ve -got to find out now is who to have for my lawyers. I want to have the -best--the very best; and some one that will make it all into a story, -and tell all I did for the poor old man. I was good to him,” said -Patty, with an admiration of herself which was very genuine--“I was -indeed. Many a time I’ve wanted to get a little pleasure like other -folks--to enjoy myself a bit. Oh, there was one night! when Roger -Pearson was here and had been at a dance, and I knew all the girls were -at it, and all as jolly as----, and me cooped up, playing backgammon -with the old gentleman, and--and worse beside.” - -“Good Lord, Patty!” cried Miss Hewitt. “Roger Pearson! where ever did -you see Roger Pearson? I thought _that_ was all over and done with!” - -“What did you please to mean by that remark?” said Patty, with great -dignity. “It doesn’t matter where I saw him. I did see him; and there’s -not many girls would have gone on with the backgammon and--the rest, as -I did, just that night. Aunt Patience, you may know a few things, but -you don’t know the trials of a married woman.” - -“The trials!” said Miss Hewitt. “I’ve known a many that have boasted of -the advantage it was. But trials--no. You’ll be very willing, I -shouldn’t wonder, to have ’em again.” - -“That depends upon many things; but I think not,” said Patty. - -“You mightn’t be lucky the first time, and yet be lucky the second,” -said her aunt; “but it can’t be said to be unlucky, Patty, when it -leaves you here, not twenty-five yet, with this grand property all to -yourself. Lord! I thought you was lucky at the first, when you got ’im; -for I knew they couldn’t put ’im out of ’is rights, Softy or no Softy; -but just think the luck you’ve had since; ’is mother dead afore you come -home, and that was a blessing, and then ’imself just a blessed release, -and then----” - -“I’ll thank you, Aunt Patience, not to speak of my husband in that way. -A release! Who’d have dared to say a word if Gervase had been here? Oh!” -she said, springing up from her seat, and stamping her foot upon the -carpet, “and here I am for ever and ever just what I am now, when I -would have been my lady all my life, and nobody to stop me, if he had -lived but six months more!” - -“Dear, and that’s true,” said Miss Hewitt deeply struck with the tragedy -of the event. “I do pity you, my pet! my poor darling! That’s true, -that’s true!” - -While this scene was going on in Greyshott, Gerald and Margaret were -jogging on towards Chillfold in their hired chaise. They had a great -deal to say, and yet there were long silences between them. Gerald was -more angry, Margaret more sad. - -“I should have minded nothing else,” the Colonel said, “if he had kept -the old house for us, the house that has produced us all--Greyshott, -that has never belonged but to a Piercey; and, Meg, if he had done -justice to you.” - -“There was no justice owing to me,” she said. “I left the house at my -own free will. I belong to another house and another name----” - -“That might have been true,” said Colonel Piercey, with something of his -old stiffness and severity, “if----” - -“It is true,” she said, “I am of the family of my child.” - -“Oh,” he cried, “what folly, at your age! I was angry to have lost you; -but now, I can’t tell how it is, you are Meg Piercey again.” - -“You have got used to my changed looks,” she said. “You have accepted -the fact that I am no longer in my teens. But this is not worth -discussing when there is so much more to think of. What shall you do? -or, indeed, what can you do?” - -“Fight it, certainly,” he said. “As soon as I have taken you home, I am -to meet old Pownceby, and lay the whole case before the best man we can -get. Thank Heaven, I am not without means to fight it out. Poor Uncle -Giles! It is hard to call him up to a reckoning before all the world; -but he could not have meant it; he could never have meant it.” - -“I have his little tip for Osy,” said Margaret, with tears in her eyes. - -“His little tip! when he ought to have provided for the boy!” - -“Poor Uncle Giles! He was never very strong: and I believe she was very -kind to him, and he was fond of her.” - -“Do you want me to accept this absurd will, this loss to the race, -because she was kind to him (granting that)--and an old man, in his -dotage, was fond of a scheming woman?” - -“Don’t call names,” said Margaret. “He was not in his dotage. We saw -him----” - -“Ah--called on purpose, that we might help to establish the fact,” said -Colonel Piercey, fiercely. “What do you call it but dotage--that tip -over which you are inclined to weep; and the reason alleged for it, that -you had been the first to tell him something? Yes, I know what that -means. Pownceby told me. That’s--how long since? But he believed it, -just the same as ever, in the same kind of distant hope. What is that -but dotage, Meg?” - -“And must it all, everything--the mere foolish hope I expressed to -please him, and anything she may have said--must it all be dragged -before the public, and poor Uncle Giles’ foolish hopes?” - -“Would you like me to throw it all over, and leave that woman to enjoy -her ill-gotten gains? Do you say I am to do that, Meg?” - -“I--say? Oh, no. What right have I? No, Cousin Gerald, I do not think -you should give up your claim. I think”--she paused a moment, and her -face lighted up, the words seemed to drop from her lips. Other thoughts -flashed up in her eyes--an expectation, the light of happiness and -peace. The carriage had turned a corner, and Chillfold, with her cottage -in it, and her boy, brought the relief and ease of home to Margaret’s -face. Her companion watched her eagerly. He saw the change that came -over her. His thoughts followed hers with a quick revulsion of sympathy. -He laid his hand upon hers. - -“Meg,” he said, “do you know there has never been anybody in the world -whose face has lighted up like that for me?” - -“You had a mother, Gerald,” she said quickly, almost ashamed of her -self-revelation; “but you forget--as Osy also will forget.” - -“At my age one wants something different from a mother,” he said, “and -one does not forget.” - -She did not say anything. She did not meet his look; but she gave a -little pressure, scarcely perceptible, to the hand that held hers. Their -long duel had come, at least, to peace--if nothing more. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV. - - -Patty had a great deal to do before the trial; for it is needless to say -that no time was lost in bringing the matter to a trial. It was in some -respects an unequal contest, for, clever as she was, she knew no more to -whom she should apply, or in whose hands she should place her cause, -than any other person of her original position. Mr. Pownceby was the -only representative of law with whom she was acquainted, he and the -shabby attorney of the village, who was the resort of litigious country -folk. And Mr. Pownceby, whom she had insulted, was, as she had foreseen, -on the other side. There was no help to be found in Miss Hewitt for any -such need, except in so far that after many years’ strenuous reading of -all the trials in the papers, the names of certain distinguished -advocates in various _causes célèbres_ and otherwise were at that lady’s -finger ends. The idea of the two women was to carry their business at -once, without any intervention of an intermediate authority, to one of -the very greatest of these great men, with whom, indeed, Patty herself -managed to obtain an interview, with the boldness of ignorance. The -great man was much amused by Patty, but he did not undertake her case. -He even suggested to her that it would be a good thing to compromise -matters, and agree with her adversary in the way, which did not at all -commend itself to Mrs. Piercey. She would rather, she declared, spend to -the half of her kingdom than tamely compromise her “rights,” and leave -Greyshott to the heir-at-law. The Solicitor-General (I think it was that -functionary) was very kind. He was amused by her story, by her youth and -good looks, by her fierce determination and her ignorance. It was seldom -that he had so genuine a study of human nature before him, and that -instinct of human nature which makes our own cause always seem the one -that is most just and right. He was moved to advise her to avoid -litigation rather from a desire to keep that piquant story for his -private gratification, instead of casting it abroad to all the winds, -than from any higher motive. And yet he did a great deal for her, -telling her who were the solicitors in whose hands she ought to place -herself, with a sense that Mrs. Piercey would not be too particular -about the means used to secure her success; and suggesting counsel with -something of the same idea, and a somewhat malicious amusement and -delighted expectation of what would be made of the case by such -advocates. He would no more have suggested either the one or the other -to Margaret Osborne, than he could have justified himself on moral -grounds for recommending them to Mrs. Piercey. Like clients like -advisers, he said to himself. He felt that Patty in the witness-box, -manipulated by his learned brother, would be a sight for the---- well, -not perhaps for the gods, unless it were the gods of the shilling -gallery, whom such an advocate would cause to weep over the young -widow’s woes--but for the delectation of the observant and cynical -spectator. How wicked and wrong this was it is needless to say; and yet -in the mingled issues of human concerns it was very kind to Patty, who -was not, as he divined, particular about the modes to be employed in her -campaign. - -I will not enter into all those preparations for the trial which -brightened life immensely to Mrs. Piercey, and made her feel that she -had scarcely lived before, and that, however the trial might turn out, -this crowded hour of glorious life was worth the age without a name -which would have been her fate had all been peaceful and undisturbed. -She had constant visits from her solicitors or their emissaries; -constant correspondence; a necessity often recurring for running up to -town, which opened to her many new delights. No expense was spared in -these preliminaries, the lawyers, to whom the speculative character of -the whole proceedings was clearly apparent, thinking it well (they were, -as has been said, not scrupulous members of their class) to make as much -out of it in the meantime as possible; and Patty herself having, in a -different degree, something of the same feeling. She was ready, as has -been said, to sacrifice half of her kingdom in order to win her plea, -and, at the same time, she indulged freely in the pleasure of spending, -with the idea before her that even in the event of losing, that pleasure -could not be taken from her. Whatever she acquired now would, in that -respect, be pure gain. Therefore there can be no doubt that she enjoyed -her life during this interval. She had committed one or two -imprudencies, which her advisers much regretted and gently condemned. -She had made an enemy of Dunning for one thing, which they blamed -greatly, and she had alienated the sympathies of her neighbours by her -behaviour in the first flush of her triumph, which Lady Hartmore did not -fail to publish. But if the client were not foolish sometimes, to what -good would be the cleverness of her guides and counsellors? Patty, for -her part, declared that she had no fear of Dunning. What could Dunning -say that could affect her position? He could describe Sir Giles’ hopes, -which, it was evident, must have been mistaken; but she could swear, -with a good conscience, that she had never said anything about those -hopes to Sir Giles. Patty’s modesty, the instinct that had made her -really incapable of taking advantage of Sir Giles’ delusion, had, it is -to be feared, by this time, by dint of familiarity with the subject, -become much subdued. She had shrunk with a blush from any such -discussion, even with her old father-in-law; but she was not afraid now -of the ordeal of being examined and cross-examined on the subject before -all the world. She was not, indeed, at all afraid of the examination -which nowadays frightens most people out of their wits. This, no doubt, -was partly ignorance, but it was partly also a happy confidence in her -own power to encounter and discomfit any man who should stand up to -question her. This confidence has been seen in various cases of young -women who have encountered jauntily an ordeal in which it is difficult -for the strongest not to come to grief; but an ignorant girl often -believes in her own sharp answers more than in any inquisition in the -world. - -Except these advisers-at-law, however, and her aunt, whom she by no -means permitted to be always with her, Patty had actually no supporters -or sympathisers. She lived in her great house alone: nobody entering it -save one of these advisers; nobody sitting at her table with her; nobody -taking any share in the excitement of her life. She had indeed waylaid -the rector one day, and compelled him to come to her carriage door to -speak to her, which he did with great reluctance, being openly and -avowedly on the other side. “What have I ever done to you that you -should be against me?” she said; “you used to be my friend once----” - -“I hope I am everybody’s friend--who does well,” said the rector. - -“And haven’t I done well? If to nurse old Sir Giles night and day, and -lay myself out in everything to please him wasn’t doing well, why, then -I must have been taught my duty very badly, for I thought it was ‘I was -sick and ye---- ’” - -“Oh! that is how people force a text and put their own meaning to it,” -said the rector, with a gesture of impatience. “But,” he added, in a -more subdued tone, “nobody denies, Mrs. Piercey, that you were kind to -the old man.” - -“And wasn’t that my duty?” said Patty, triumphantly; but though she -silenced her spiritual instructor she did not convince him that it was -his duty to support her. No text about the wrongs of the widow had any -effect upon him. He stood and looked down at the summer dust in which -his feet were planted, and shook his head. It is a great thing to have -the enthusiasm of a cause to prop you up, and to have lawyers coming and -going from town, and a great deal of business on hand; but to have -nobody to speak to, nobody to give you either help or sympathy at home, -is hard. When Patty came home from London, after one of the expeditions -in which she had been more or less enjoying herself, the blank of the -house, in which there was not a soul who cared whether she won or lost, -whether she lived or died, was sometimes more than she could bear. One -evening, late in July, she went out for a walk, which was a very unusual -thing with her, upon the great stretch of common land which lay outside -the beech avenue. Patty had begun by this time to grow so much -accustomed to the use of a carriage, that she no longer felt it the most -delightful mode of conveyance. She had at first, when she came into the -possession of that luxury, felt it impossible to walk half a dozen steps -without her carriage at her heels; but now she became a little bored by -the necessity of a daily drive, and loved to escape for a little walk. -She had been in town all day, and it had been hot and uncomfortable. -Patty had nowhere to go to in town for a little lunch and refreshment, -as ladies have generally. It seemed a wrong to her that ladies had that; -that they went in twos and threes enjoying their shopping and their -little expedition, laughing and talking to each other, as some did who -had gone to town in the same carriage with her, and again had travelled -with her coming down, full of news and chatter and purchases. Patty had -no one to go with her--there was no house in town where there were -friends who expected to see her at lunch; and when she came back, though -she might have bought the most charming things in the world, though -there might be diamonds in her little bag, there was nobody to wish to -see them, to exclaim over their beauty, and envy their happy possessor. -These ladies sometimes spoke to her when they did not know her, but -often looked askance and whispered to each other; and anyhow, the -contrast they made with herself inflamed her very soul with anger. They -could wander out, too, in the cool of the evening, still talking, -laughing over their adventures, while she was always alone. It was -soothing to see that many of them drove home from the station in a bit -of a pony carriage or shabby little waggonette with one horse, while her -carriage waited for her in lonely grandeur. Sometimes, even, they -walked, carrying their parcels, while Patty looked down upon them with -immeasurable contempt. But a carriage is not good for everything, and -Patty sometimes strayed out alone, thinking the exercise would be good -for her, but in reality hoping to escape a little from herself. - -It was seldom that she met any one on that lonely moor, but on this -particular evening there came towards her, with the glow behind him of -the setting sun, a figure, which Patty felt to be, somehow, familiar; -though as she did not expect to meet with any one here equal to her -quality, she was not at all curious, but even contemptuous of any -pedestrian who was not, like herself, walking for pleasure, but might -probably be obliged to walk. He carried a long cricket-bag in his hand, -and was in white flannels, which made a little brightening in the -dimness of the evening, and had a light cap of a bright colour on his -head. A well-made, manly figure, slim but strong, and a long swinging -step clearing the intervening distance swiftly, made Patty think of some -one who had been like that, who would not have let her, in other days, -be alone if he could have helped it. She remembered very clearly who -that was, and with a little shiver how she had last seen him, and the -dance he had been to, and how the thought of that dance moved her to the -depths. But this could not be Roger. He had always been fond of -cricket--too fond, the village said--liking that better than steady -work. But to be dressed like this, in flannels, and a cap of a “colour,” -was not for common men like him; that was the dress gentlemen put on for -the play which was their only work to so many. Indeed, Patty was close -upon him before she saw that it was indeed Roger, who took off his cap -when he saw her, and would have passed on with that respectful -salutation had, not Patty stopped almost without meaning it, in the -start of recognition. “Is it you?” she said in her surprise, upon which -Roger took off his cap again. - -“Seems as if I’d risen in the world,” he said, “but it’s more seeming -than fact. I’ve been playing for the county,” he added, with scarcely -concealed pride. “It don’t do a man much good, perhaps, but we’re -pleased enough all the same.” - -“It’s a long time since I have seen you,” said Patty, scarcely knowing -what she said. “I--I took you for one of the gentlemen.” - -“And it’s a long time since I’ve seen you--and I’d like to say that I’m -sorry, Pa----, Mrs. Piercey, for all that’s happened--and for the -trouble, if it is a trouble, you’re in now.” - -“It is no trouble,” said Patty, hotly. “I’m going to defend my rights, -if that’s what you mean.” - -“Well, I hope that’s what it is,” said Roger, “but I don’t like to hear -of any one I care for beginning with the law. It just skins you alive -and wastes good money that might be spent far better--bring you in a -deal more pleasure, I mean.” - -“You don’t know very much, Roger, about the pleasure money brings in!” - -“Oh, don’t I, Patty! Well, if one of us remembers the old days the other -must, too. Cricketing about all over the place as I’m doing, runs -through a good lot, I can tell you, if it didn’t bring a little more -in.” - -“Don’t you do anything but cricket, nowadays?” she said. - -“Not much; but it pays well enough,” said Roger, pushing back his cap -from his forehead. - -The evening, it is true, was getting a little dim, though not dark; but -didn’t he look a gentleman! No one would have guessed he wasn’t a -gentleman, was the thought that passed through Patty’s mind like a dart. - -“And I live a lot among the swells, now,” he said, “and I hear what they -say; I don’t want to offend you, Patty, far from it--but ain’t it a bore -living all by yourself in that big lonesome house, with all the deaths -and things that have happened in it?” - -“You forget it’s my home,” said Patty, drawing herself up. - -“Well, is it your home? All right if it had been your husband’s or if -there had been an heir; but I don’t hold myself with a place going out -of the family like that--that has been in it for hundreds of years. I -don’t like the thoughts of the Seven Thorns even going out o’ the name -of ’Ewitt. It’s no concern of mine, but I don’t.” - -“Perhaps you think I should go back there, out of my own place, and keep -it up!” - -“I don’t say as I meant that,” said Roger, turning his cap, which he had -taken off, round and round in his hands, “but I wouldn’t be the one to -take it out of the family if it was me. I’d say, Look here now, what’ll -you give me? You be happy in your way, and I’ll be happy in mine.” - -“Well, I shall take your advice, Mr. Pearson. I’ll be happy in my own -way. It’s not yours, and never will be. But that don’t matter, seeing -we’ve nothing on earth to do with each other, and are in quite different -ranks of life. I wish you good-night, and I hope the cricketing business -will be a good one and pay, or else I might say, ‘Mind, there’s the -winter coming on'--if a lady could take upon her to give advice to a -sporting man.” - -“Patty,” he cried, calling after her, “don’t part with a fellow like -this; I didn’t mean to offend you--far from it. I only thought I’d warn -you what folks said.” - -“Folks is fools for the most part,” cried Patty fiercely, using a -much-cited sentiment, which she had never heard of, by the light of -nature, “and I don’t want to hear what they say. Mr. Pearson, I wish you -good-night.” - -“There! I’ve been and put my foot in it--I knew I should,” Roger said. -He stood, the image of despondency, in the middle of the moor, his white -figure standing out against the western light as Patty turned at a sharp -angle to go home. She could see him with the corner of her eye without -looking at him. He stood there silent for a moment, and then dashed his -fist into the air with a profane exclamation. “That’s not what I meant -at all,” he said, and lifted his cricket-bag and sped away. - -What was it that went out of the evening with him, when Patty, venturing -to glance round, saw the landscape empty of the man who had offended her -so deeply, who had ventured to blame her--her a lady so far above -him--Mrs. Piercey of Greyshott, while he was only a cricketer, an idle -fellow about the country, no good, as even the village people said? But -yet a dreariness settled down upon the world; night came on and that -loneliness which seemed now Patty’s fate. Well, she said to herself, -what did she care? She had her fine estate, her name that was as good as -the best, her grand house, as much money to spend as she chose, and -nobody to dictate to her what she should do--no, nobody to dictate to -her--nobody even to advise, to say, “That’s right, Patty!” Her Aunt -Patience did that, it was true, but then Aunt Patience’s approval, save -in the very extremity of having nobody else, did not count for much. She -hurried in; but it was lonely, lonelier even than the moor--nobody to -speak to, nobody to break the long row of chairs and sofas which were -there with the intention of accommodating half the county, but now had -nobody to sit down upon them but Patty’s self, moving from one to -another with a futile feeling of breaking the solitude. But nothing was -to be had to break that solitude except Aunt Patience. Mrs. Piercey of -Greyshott rang the bell, and ordered the carriage to be sent at once to -the village to fetch Miss Hewitt immediately, without a minute’s delay! -That she could do--send out her carriage, and her horses, and her -secretly-swearing servants for any caprice at any moment. For Miss -Hewitt! It was what might be called an anti-climax, if Patty had known -what that meant. She did know what it meant deeply to the bottom of her -heart, though she was not acquainted with the word. To go through all -that she had gone through, to do all she had done, for the sake of -having the company of Miss Hewitt and her sympathy and encouragement! -could there be a greater drop of deepest downfall from the highest -heights than this? - -But the trial was coming on, and soon all England would be ringing with -Patty’s name and story and fortunes. She would have crowds of people to -admire and wonder at her. She would win her cause in the sight of all -England. She would be the heroine of the day, in everybody’s mouth. -Surely there would be some compensation in that. - - - - -CHAPTER XLV. - - -I refrain from attempting to describe the great trial Piercey v. -Piercey, which made the whole country ring. It was, indeed, a _cause -célèbre_, and may be found, no doubt, by every one who wishes to trace -it, in the history of such notable romances which exists in the legal -records. It was so managed by the exceedingly clever advocates whom -Patty had been fortunate enough to secure, as to entertain the country, -morning after morning in the columns of the _Times_, by a living piece -of family history, a household opened up and laid bare to every curious -eye, which is, perhaps, the thing of all others which delights the -British public (and all other publics) the most. Poor old Sir Giles, in -his wheeled chair, with his backgammon board and all his weaknesses, -became as familiar a figure to the reader of the newspapers as anything -in Dickens or Thackeray--more familiar even than Sir Pitt Crawley, -because he reached a still larger circle of readers and was a real -person, incontestable fact, and only buried the other day. England for -the moment became as intimately acquainted with the Softy, as even the -old labourers in the parlour at the Seven Thorns. The story, as it was -unfolded by the prosecution, was one not favourable to the heroine--a -girl out of a roadside tavern, who had married the half-witted son of -the squire, who had almost forced her way into the house on the death of -its mistress, who had contrived so to cajole the poor old gentleman that -he gave himself up entirely to her influence, and finally left her his -estates and everything of which he was possessed--leaving out even his -old servants whom he had provided for in his previous will, and giving -absolute power to the little adventuress. This was a story which did not -conciliate the favour of the public. But when it came to the pleadings -on the other side, and Patty was revealed as a ministering angel, both -to her husband and father-in-law, as having worked the greatest -improvement in the one, so that it was hoped he would soon take his -place among his country neighbours; and as having protected and solaced -the failing days of the other, and been his only companion and consoler, -a great change took place in the popular sentiment. It soon became -apparent to the world that this little adventuress was one of those rare -women who are never out of place in whatever class they may appear in, -the lowest or the highest, and are always in their sphere doing good to -everybody. The drama was unfolded with the greatest skill: even those -“hopes” which it was not denied Sir Giles had greatly built upon, and -the disappointment of which, when the young widow found herself deceived -in her fond anticipations, was the crudest blow of all. The women who -were present shed tears almost without exception over poor Patty’s -delusion; and that she should have implored the lawyer not to dispel -that delusion, to let poor Sir Giles die happy, still believing it, was -made to appear the most beautiful trait of character. And indeed, as a -matter of fact, Patty had meant well in this particular, and it would -have been highly to her credit had it been separated from all that came -after. Dunning’s testimony, which had been much built upon by the -prosecution, was very much weakened by the account given of his various -negligences; especially of the fact proved by the lady herself that he -had accompanied his master to Lady Piercey’s funeral, without providing -himself with any restorative to administer to the old gentleman on an -occasion of so much excitement and distress, and of such unusual -fatigue. “I would not permit it even to be thought of, that he should -attend my husband’s funeral. It would have been too much for him,” Patty -said, with all the eloquence of her crape and her widow’s cap to enhance -what she said. But, indeed, I am here doing precisely what I said I -would not attempt to do--and I was not present at the trial to give the -details with the confidence of an eye-witness. The consequence, however, -was, as all the world knows, that the verdict was for the defendant, and -that Patty came out triumphantly mistress of the field, and of -Greyshott, and of all that old Sir Giles had committed to her hands. - -A romance of real life! It was, indeed, a disappointment and loss to -the whole country when the great Piercey case was over. Even old -gentlemen who were supposed to care for nothing but politics and the -price of stocks, threw down the _Times_ with an angry exclamation that -there was nothing in it, the first dull morning or two after that case -was concluded. Thus Patty was a benefactor to her kind without any -intention of being so. People were generally sorry for the Pierceys, -who, there was no doubt, had a right to be disappointed and even angry -to see their ancient patrimony thus swept away into the hands of a -stranger. For nobody entertained the slightest doubt that Patty would -marry and set up a new family out of the ashes of the old. And why -shouldn’t she? the people cried who knew nothing about it. Was it not -the very principle of the British constitution to be always taking in -new blood to revive the old? Was not the very peerage constantly -leavened by this process; new lords being made out of cotton and coals -and beer and all the industries to give solidity to the lessening -phalanx of the sons of the Crusaders? Old Sir Francis Piercey, who was -the plaintiff, was well enough off to pay his costs, and he ought to be -able at his age to reconcile himself to the loss! To be sure, there was -his son, a very distinguished soldier. Well! he had better marry the -young widow, everybody said, and settle the matter so. - -The county people did not, however, take this view. They were wroth -beyond expression on the subject of this intruder into their midst. -Nobody had called upon her but Lady Hartmore, whose indignation knew no -bounds; who had never forgiven her husband, and never would forgive him, -she declared, for having betrayed her into that visit. “But to be sure I -never should have known what the minx was if I had not seen her!” that -lady said. Patty was completely tabooed on every side. Even the rector -turned off the highroad when he saw her carriage approaching, and ran by -an improvised path over the fields not to meet her. Wherever she might -find companions or friends it was evidently not to be in her own -district. Her old friends were servants in one great house or another, -or the wives of cottagers and labourers; and Patty was altogether -unaware of their existence. When she drove about the county, as she did -very much and often in the impulse of her triumph, her eyes met only -faces which were very familiar but which she would not know, or faces -glimpsed at afar off which would not know her. She was undisputed -mistress of Greyshott, and all its revenues and privileges. All the -neighbouring land belonged to her, and almost every house in the -village; but except to Miss Hewitt, her aunt, and the servants of the -house, and, occasionally, some much-mistaken woman from one of the -cottages, who felt emboldened to make a petition to the lady of -Greyshott on the score of having been at school with her, Patty spoke to -nobody, or rather had nobody to speak to, which is a better statement of -the case. - -With one large exception, however, so long as the trial lasted, when -lawyers and lawyers’ clerks had constant missions to Greyshott, and the -distinguished barrister who won her cause for her, came over on a few -days’ visit. That visit was, in fact, though it was the greatest triumph -and glory to Patty, one of the most terrible ordeals she had to go -through. He was a most amusing visitor, with endless stories to tell and -compliments to pay, and would have made almost any party, in any country -house which had the good fortune to receive him, “go off,” by his own -unaided exertions. But it is to be doubted if this brilliant orator and -special pleader had ever in his life formed the whole of a country-house -party, with a little, smart, under-bred person and a village spinster -for his sole hosts. He was appalled, it must be allowed, and felt that a -curious new light was thrown upon the story which he made into a romance -of real life; but all the same, it need not be said, this gentleman -exerted himself to make the three days “go off” as if the house had been -full, and the Prime Minister among the guests. But to describe what this -was to Patty would require something more than the modest store of words -I have at my disposal. She was not so ignorant as Miss Hewitt, who -enjoyed the good the gods had provided for her without _arrière pensée_, -and began to laugh before the delighted guest had opened his lips. Patty -knew that there should be people invited “to meet” a man so well known. -She knew that there ought to have been a party in the house, or, at -least, distinguished company to dinner. And she had nobody, not even -the rector! She did her best to invent reasons why So-and-so and -So-and-so could not come, and made free use of the name of Lord -Hartmore, who, she thought, with the instinct of her kind, had been made -to give her up by his wife. She even made use of the fact that most -people in the county were displeased with her on account of the trial, -and because they wished the Pierceys to be still at Greyshott. “And so -they are, in the person of much the most attractive member of the -family,” the great man said, who would have been still more amused by -his position between these two ladies if he had not been in his own -person something of a black sheep, and a little on the alert to see -himself avoided and neglected. Patty was not aware that he would not -have ventured to pay these compliments to another kind of hostess; but -she suffered intently from the fact that she had nobody to invite to -meet him, nobody who would come to her even for a night, to keep her -guest in countenance. She demeaned herself so far as to write to the -rector begging of him to come. But the rector had another engagement and -would not, or could not, consent. Poor Patty! She suffered in many ways -from being thus, as it were, out of the bonds of all human society, but -never so much as in that dreadful three days. He was (as she thought) -old, and he was fat, and not at all well-looking, though he was so -amusing; but he gave her to understand before he went away that he would -not mind marrying Mrs. Piercey of Greyshott. And so did one of the -solicitors who instructed him, the younger one, who was unmarried; and -there was a head clerk, nothing more than a head clerk, who looked very -much as if a similar proposal was on his lips. “Like his impudence!” -Patty said, though she really knew nothing of the young man. Three -proposals, or almost proposals of marriage, within a week or two! This -pleased the natural mind of Patty of the Seven Thorns, but it gave Mrs. -Piercey occasion to think. They were all concerned with securing -property for her, and assuring her in its possession, and they thought -naturally that nobody had so good a right to help her take care of it. -But this reasoning was not by any means agreeable to Patty, who, -flattered at first, became exceedingly angry afterwards when she found -herself treated so frankly as an appendage to her property. - -“Of course I knew it was always like that as soon as you had a little -money!” she said, indignantly. - -“Not with ’im, Patty, not with ’im,” said Miss Hewitt, upon whom the -brilliant barrister had made a great impression. - -“Him!” cried Patty, “a fat old man!” - -“You can’t have everything,” said her aunt. “For my part I’d rather ’ave -a man like that, that’s such fine company, and as you never could be -dull as long as ’e was there, than a bit of a cock robin with an -’andsome face, and nothing behind it!” - -“If you are meaning my Gervase, Aunt Patience, I----” - -“Lord, I never thought o’ your Gervase! Bless us, ’e ’ad no ’andsome -face, whatever else!” the old lady cried. She was sent home that evening -in the carriage, and Patty, angry, indignant, desolate, remained -altogether alone. It was hard to say which was worst, the dreadful -consciousness of having “nobody to meet” a guest, or being without -guests altogether. She walked up and down her solitary house, entering -one room after another; all deserted and empty. The servants, as -well-bred servants should, got out of the way when they heard her -approaching, so that not even in the corridor upstairs did she see a -housemaid, or in the hall below a shadow of butler or footman to break -the sensation of solitude. To be sure, she knew where to find Jerningham -seated in her light and pleasant chamber sewing; but Jerningham was -somewhat unapproachable, occupied with her work, quite above idle -gossip, and indisposed to entertain her mistress; for Jerningham -flattered herself that she knew her place. What was Patty to do? The -under-housemaid was a Greyshott girl who had been at school with her; -therefore it may be perceived how great was the necessity for -remembering always who she was, and never relaxing her dignity. She -might have gone abroad, which she was aware was a thing that was done -with great success sometimes by ladies who could travel about with maid -and footman, and no need to think of expense. But Patty felt that she -could not consent to descend among the common herd in search of -acquaintances, and that her grandeur was nothing to her unless it was -acknowledged and enjoyed at home. And then the winter was coming on, -Patty was not yet sufficiently educated to know that winter was -precisely the time to go abroad. She knew nothing in the world but -Greyshott, and it was only for applause and admiration at Greyshott that -she really cared. - -It was in these circumstances that the winter passed, the second winter -only since Patty’s marriage, which had lifted her so far above all her -antecedents and old companions. It was a long and dreary winter, with -much rain, and that dull and depressing atmosphere of cloud, when heaven -and earth is of the same colour, and there is not even the variety of -frost and thaws to break the monotonous languor of the long dead dark -weeks. Patty did not bate an inch of her grandeur either for her -loneliness or for the aggravation of that loneliness which was in the -great rooms, untenanted as they were. She did not take to the little -cheerful morning-room in which Lady Piercey had been glad to spend the -greater part of her life in such wintry weather. Patty dined alone in -the great dining-room, which it was so difficult to light up, and she -sat alone all the evening through in the great drawing-room, with all -its white and gold, where her little figure, still all black from head -to foot, was almost lost in a corner, and formed but a speck upon the -brightness of the large vacant carpet, and lights that seemed to shine -for their own pleasure. Poor Patty! She sat and thought of the last -winter, which was melancholy enough, but not so bad as this: of old Sir -Giles and his backgammon board, and Dunning standing behind backs. It -was not exciting, but it was “company” at least. She thought of herself -sitting there, flattering the old gentleman about his play, smiling and -beaming upon him, yet feeling so sick of it all; and of that night--that -night! when Roger Pearson had been at the dance, and brought Gervase in -from the moor, to be laid on the bed from which he was never to rise. -Her mind did not dwell upon Gervase, but it is astonishing how often she -thought upon that dance at which her rejected lover had been enjoying -himself, while she sat playing backgammon with her father-in-law, and -listening for her husband. What a contrast! The picture had been burned -in upon her mind by the event connected with it, and now had much more -effect than that event. She could almost see the rustic couples with -their arms entwined, and the romping flirtations of the barn, and the -smoky lamps hung about, so different, so different from the steady soft -waxen lights which threw an unbroken illumination upon her solitary -head! It was bad then, but it was almost worse now, when she had no -company at all, except Aunt Patience from time to time, as long as Mrs. -Piercey could put up with her. And this was all--all! that her rise in -the world had brought her! She had done nothing very bad to procure that -rise. If Gervase had lived it would have been good for him that she had -married him, she still felt sure, notwithstanding that in actual fact it -had not done him much good; and it was good for Sir Giles to have had -her society and ministrations in the end of his life. Everybody allowed -that--even the hostile lawyer at the trial, even the sullen Dunning, -who had occasion to dislike her if anybody had, who had lost his legacy -and almost his character by her means. Even he had been instrumental in -proving to the world how she had cheered and comforted the old man. And -she had got her reward--everything but that title, which it was grievous -to her to think of; which, perhaps, if she had got it--if Gervase had -only had the sense to live six months longer--would have made all the -difference! She had got her reward, and this was what it had come to--a -quietness in which you could hear a pin drop; a loneliness never broken -by any voice except those of her servants, of whom she must not, and -dared not, make friends. Poor Patty! once so cheerful, so admired and -considered at the Seven Thorns, with her life so full of bustle and -liveliness--this was all she had come to after her romance in real life. - -I cannot help thinking that if there had been a lady at the rectory, -this state of affairs would have been mended, and that a good mother, -with her family to set out in the world, would have seen the advantage -for her own children of doing her best to attract acquaintances and -company to Greyshott. But the rector was only a man, and a timid one, -fearing to break the bonds of convention, and his daughters were too -young to take the matter into their own hands. They might have done it -had Mrs. Piercey waited for a few years; but then Patty had no -inclination to wait. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI. - - -Mrs. Piercey went to town after Easter, as she was aware everybody who -respected themselves, who were in Society, or who had any money to -spend, did. But, alas! she did not know how to manage this any more than -to find the usual solace in country life. She was, indeed, still more -helpless in town; for no doubt in the country, if she had been patient, -there would at last have been found somebody who would have had courage -to break the embargo, to defy Lord and Lady Hartmore and all the -partisans of the old family, and to call upon the lady of Greyshott. But -in town what could Patty do? She knew nobody but the distant cousins -somewhere in the depths of Islington, to whom she had gone at the time -of her marriage, but whom she had taken care to forget the very -existence of as soon as her need for them was over. Mrs. Piercey went to -a fashionable hotel, and engaged a handsome set of rooms, and sat down -and waited for happiness to come to her. She had her maid with her, the -irreproachable Jerningham, who would not allow her mistress to demean -herself by making a companion of her; and she had Robert, the footman, -and her own coachman from Greyshott, and a new victoria in which to -drive about--all the elements of happiness--poor Patty! and yet it would -not come. She had permitted herself, by this time, to drop the weight of -her mourning, and to blossom forth in grey and white; and she drove in -the Park in the most beautiful costumes, with the old fat Greyshott -horses, who were in themselves a certificate that she was somebody, no -mushroom of a _parvenue_. So was the coachman, who was the real old -Greyshott coachman, and (evidently) had been in the family for -generations. She drove steadily every day along the sacred promenade, -and was seen of everybody, and discussed among various bands of -onlookers, whose only occupation, like the Athenians, was that of seeing -or hearing some new thing. Who was she? That she was not of the style of -her horses and her coachman was apparent at a glance. Where had she got -them? Was it an attempt on the part of some visitor from the ends of the -earth to pose as a lady of established family? Was it, perhaps, a daring -_coup_ on the part of some person, not at all _comme il faut_, to -attract the observation and curiosity of the world? Patty’s little face, -with its somewhat fast prettiness, half abashed, half impudent, shone -out of its surroundings with a contradiction to all those suppositions. -The Person would not have been at all abashed, but wholly impudent, or -else quite assured and satisfied with herself; and in any case she would -not have been alone. A stranger, above all, would not have been alone. -There would have been a bevy of other women with her, making merry over -all the novelty about them, and this, probably, would have been the case -had the other idea been correct. But who was this, with the face of a -pretty housemaid and the horses of a respectable dowager? Some of the -gentlemen in the park, who amused themselves with these speculations, -would, no doubt, have managed to resolve their doubts on the subject had -not Patty been, as much as Una, though she was so different a character, -enveloped in an atmosphere of such unquestionable good behaviour and -modesty as no instructed eye could mistake. Women, who are less -instructed on such matters, may mistake; but not men, who have better -means of knowing. Thus Patty did make a little commotion; but as she had -no means of knowing of it, and no one to tell her, it did her no good in -the world. - -And she went a good many times to the theatre, and to the opera, though -it bored her. But this was a great ordeal: to go into a box all alone, -and subject herself to the opera-glasses of the multitude. Patty did not -mind it at first. She liked to be seen, and had no objection that people -should look at her, and her diamonds; and there was a hope that it might -lead to something in her mind. But how could it lead to anything? for -she knew nobody who was likely to be seen at the opera. When she went -home in the evening she could have cried for disappointment and -mortification. Was this all? Was there never to be anything more than -this? Was all her life to be spent thus in luxury and splendour; always -alone? - -At first she had dined in solitary state in her rooms, as she thought it -right, in her position, to do. But when Patty heard that other people of -equal pretensions--one of them the baronet’s lady, whom it was her -despair not to be--went down to the general dining-room for their meals, -she was too happy to go there too, thinking she must, at least, make -some acquaintance with the other dwellers in the hotel. But things were -not much better there, for Mrs. Piercey was established at a little -table by herself in great state, but unutterable solitude, watching with -a sick heart the groups about her--the people who were going to the -theatre, or to such delights of balls and evening parties as Patty had -never known. There was but one solitary person beside herself, and that -was an old gentleman, with his napkin tucked into his buttonhole, who -was absorbed by the _menu_ and evidently thought of nothing else. Patty -watched the groups with hungry eyes--the men in their evening coats, -with wide expanses of white; the ladies, who evidently intended to dress -after this semi-public dinner. Oh, how she longed to belong to some one, -to have some one belonging to her! And such a little thing, she thought, -would do it: nothing more than an introduction, nothing beyond the -advent of some one who knew her, who would say, “Mrs. Piercey of -Greyshott,” and the ice would be broken. But then that some one who knew -her, where was he or she to be found? - -Alas! there came a moment when both he and she were found, and that was -the worst of all. She was seated listlessly in her usual solitude, when -she saw a pair of people who were taking their seats at a table not far -off. They had their backs turned towards her, and yet they seemed -familiar to Patty. They were both tall, the gentleman with a military -air, the lady with a little bend in her head which Patty thought she -knew. There was about them that indefinable air of being lately married -which it is so very difficult to obliterate, though they did not look -very young. The lady was quietly dressed, or rather she was in a dress -which was the symbol of quiet--quakerly, or motherly, to our -grandmothers: grey satin, but with such reflections and shadows in it, -as has made it in our better instructed age one of the most perfectly -decorative of fabrics. Patty, experienced by this time in the habits and -customs of the people she watched so wistfully, was of opinion that they -were going to the opera. Who were they? She knew them--oh, certainly she -knew them; and they evidently knew several of the groups about; and now -at last Patty’s opportunity had surely come. - -I think by this time Mrs. Piercey of Greyshott had acquired a forlorn -look, the consequence of her many disappointments. It is not pleasant to -sit and watch people who are better off than we are, however -philosophical and high-minded we may be; and Patty, it need not be said, -was neither. Her mouth had got a little droop at the corners, her eyes a -little fixity, as of staring and weariness in staring. She was too much -dressed for the dining-room of a hotel, and she had very manifestly the -air of being alone, and of being accustomed to be alone. I think that, -as so often happens, Patty was on the eve of finding the acquaintance -for whom her soul longed, at these very moments when her burden was -about to become too much for her to bear; and she certainly had attained -recognition in the world outside, as was to be proved to her no later -than to-night. Such coincidences are of frequent occurrence in human -affairs. It had become known in the hotel to some kind people, who had -watched her solitude as she watched their cheerful company, who she was; -and the matron of the party had remembered how much that was good had -been said of Patty on the trial, and how kind she had been to the old -man who had left her all his money without any doing of hers. “Poor -little thing! I shall certainly take an opportunity of speaking to her -to-morrow,” this lady was saying, as Patty watched with absorbed -attention the other people. Indeed, the compassion of this good woman -might have hastened her purpose and made her “speak” that very night, -had not Patty been so bent upon those other people whom she was more and -more sure she knew; and what a difference--what a difference in her life -might that have made! But she never knew--which was, perhaps, in the -circumstances, a good thing. - -It was while Patty’s attention was called away perforce by the waiter -who attended to her, that the other people at whom she had been gazing -became aware of her presence. The gentleman had turned a bronzed face, -full of the glow of warmer suns than ours, in her direction, and started -visibly. He was a man whom the reader has seen habitually with another -expression--that of perplexity and general discontent; a man with a -temper, and with little patience, though capable of better things. He -had apparently got to these better things now. His face was lighted up -with happiness; he was bending over the little table, which, small as it -was, seemed too much to separate them, to talk to his wife, with the air -of a man who has so much and so many things to say, that he has not a -minute to lose in the outpouring of his heart. She was full of response, -if not perhaps so overflowing; but on her aspect, too, there had come a -wonderful change. Her beautiful grey satin gown was not more unlike the -unfailing black which Mrs. Osborne always wore, than the poor relation -of Greyshott was to Gerald Piercey’s wife, Meg Piercey once again. It -would be vain to enter upon all the preliminaries which brought about -this happy conclusion. Margaret had many difficulties to get over, which -to everybody else appeared fantastical enough. A second marriage is a -thing which, in theory, few women like; and to cease to belong solely to -Osy, and to bear another name than his, though it was her own, was very -painful to her. Yet these difficulties had all been got over, even if I -had space to enter into them; which, seeing that Patty is all this time -waiting, dallying with her undesired dinner, and wondering who these -people are whom she seems to know, would be uncalled for in the highest -degree. - -When the waiter came up to the solitary lady at the table, and Colonel -Piercey turned his face in that direction, he started and swore under -his breath, “By Jove!” though he was not a man addicted to expletives. -Then he said, “Meg! Meg!” under his breath; “who do you think is sitting -behind you at that table? Don’t turn round. Mrs. Piercey, as sure as -life!” - -“Mrs. Piercey?” She was bewildered for a moment. “There are so many Mrs. -Pierceys. Whom do you mean?” - -“One more than there used to be, for my salvation,” the bridegroom said; -and then added, with a laugh, “but no other like this one, Meg--Mrs. -Piercey of Greyshott----” - -“Patty!” cried Margaret, under her breath. - -“If you dare to be so familiar with so great a lady--the heroine of the -trial, poor Uncle Giles’ good angel----” - -“Oh, don’t be bitter, Gerald! It is all over and done with; and who -knows, if it had been otherwise----” - -“Whether we should ever have come together?” he said: “you know best, so -far as that goes, my love; and if it might have been so, good luck to -Greyshott, and I am glad we have not got it. Yes, there she is, the -identical Patty; and none the better for her success, I should say, -looking very much bored and rather pale.” - -“Who is with her?” asked Margaret. - -“There is nobody with her that I can see. No, she is quite alone, and -bored, as I told you; and in a diamond necklace,” he said with a laugh. - -“Alone, and with a diamond necklace, in the dining-room of a hotel!” - -“Well, why not? To show it and herself, of course; and probably a much -better way than any other in her power to show them.” - -“Oh, Gerald, don’t be so merciless. She has got your inheritance; but -still, it was really Uncle Giles’ will, and she was kind to him--even -old Dunning could not deny that. And if Gervase had lived----” - -“It was as well he did not live, poor fellow, for her as well as for -himself, though I should certainly, myself, have preferred it; for then -we should have had none of this fuss, either of anticipation or -disappointment--and no trial, and no costs; and no useless baronetcy -that brings in nothing.” - -“Don’t say that; your father likes it, and so will you in your day.” - -“My father likes to be head of the family, and so shall I. We’ll have -our first quarrel, Meg, over that little hussy, then.” - -“Not our first quarrel by a great many,” she said, letting her hand rest -for a moment on his arm. “But don’t call her names, Gerald: all alone in -a hotel in London, in the middle of the season, without a creature to -speak a word to her! And I heard she was perfectly alone all the winter -at home. Lady Hartmore goes too far. She has made it a personal matter -that nobody should call. Poor little Patty! Gerald----” - -“Poor little Patty, indeed! who has cost us not only Greyshott, but how -many thousand pounds; who has made you poor, Meg.” - -“There is poor and poor. Poor in your way is not poor in mine. I am -rich, whatever you may be. Is she still there--alone--Gerald, with that -white little face?” Margaret had managed, furtively, to turn her head, -still under shadow of the waiter, and get a glimpse of their supplanter. - -“What does it matter if her face is white or not? She has chalked it, -perhaps, as she might rouge it on another occasion, to play her part.” - -“You have no pity,” said Margaret; “to me it is very sad to see a poor -woman like that alone, trying to enjoy herself. I think, Gerald, I -will----” - -“Will what? You are capable of anything, Meg. I shall not be surprised -at whatever you propose.” - -“Well, since you have so poor an opinion of me,” she said with a smile, -“I think I’ll speak to her, Gerald.” - -“Do you remember that she turned you out of your home? that she insulted -you so that it was with difficulty I kept my temper?” - -“You never did keep your temper, dear,” said Margaret with gentle -impartiality, shaking her head; “and,” she added with a smile, “you -insulted me far worse than ever Patty did. Should I bear malice? I will -say a word to her before we go.” - -When they rose, and when Patty saw who they were, the chalk which -Colonel Piercey thought she was capable of using to play her part, -yielded to a crimson so hot and vivid that its truth and reality were -thoroughly proved. She half rose, too, then sat down again more -determinedly than before. - -“Mrs. Piercey,” said Margaret, “we saw you, and I could not pass you -without a word.” - -“You are very kind, I am sure, Margaret Osborne; but you could have left -your table very well without coming near me.” - -“Yes, perhaps,” said Margaret; “I should have said that, seeing you -alone----” - -“Oh, if I am alone it is my own fault!” cried Patty, with a heat of -angry despair which almost took away her voice. Then it occurred to her -that to show this passion was to lessen herself in the eyes of those to -whom she most wished to appear happy and great. She forced her cry of -rage into a little affected laugh. “I don’t often come here,” she said; -“I dine generally in my own apartments. But to-day I expected friends -who could not come, and so I thought I’d amuse myself by coming down -here to see the wild beasts feed.” - -As she said this, her eyes fell accidentally upon the kind lady who had -made up her mind to make the acquaintance of this forlorn little woman, -and startled that amiable person so that she sat gazing open-mouthed and -open-eyed. - -“In that case I am afraid I am only intruding,” said Margaret; “but I -thought perhaps--if you are alone here, I--or my husband,” she added -this with a sudden blush and smile, “might have been of some use----” - -“Oh, your husband! I wish him joy, I am sure. So you stuck to him, -though he hasn’t got Greyshott? Well, he’ll have the baronetcy, to be -sure, when the old man dies--I hadn’t thought of that--without a penny! -You must have been dead set on him, to be sure.” - -And Patty, bursting with fury and despite, jumped up, almost oversetting -the table, and with a wave of her hand as if dismissing a supplicant, -but with none of her usual regard for her dignity and her dress in -threading a crowd, hurried away. - -“You got rather more than you looked for,” cried Colonel Piercey, -triumphant, as Margaret came back to him and hastily took his arm. He -had not heard what passed. - -“I suppose there was nothing else to be expected,” Margaret said in a -subdued voice. - -Patty went to the opera that night, as she had intended, her heart -almost bursting; for that she should have hoped to meet somebody who -would introduce and help her, and then to find that somebody was -Margaret Osborne, was almost more than she could bear; but soon she was -soothed by perceiving that more opera-glasses were fixed on her than -ever, and that the people in the boxes opposite, and in the stalls, were -pointing her out to one another. She caught the sound of her own name as -she sat well forward in her box, that her diamonds might be well seen -and her own charms appreciated; and she almost forgot the indignity to -which she had been, as she thought, subjected. But as she went out, poor -Patty could not but hear some remarks which were not intended for her -ear. “That was the woman,” somebody said, “the heroine of the great -case, Piercey _versus_ Piercey; don’t you remember? the woman who -married an idiot, and then got his father to leave her all the -property.” “What a horror!” said the lady addressed: “a barmaid, wasn’t -she? and the poor creature she married quite imbecile--and now to come -and plant herself there in the front of a box. Does she think anybody -will take any notice of her, I wonder?” “Impudent little face, but -rather broken down--begins to see it won’t pay,” said another man. - -Patty caught Robert, her footman, by the arm, and shrieked to him to -take her out of this, or she should faint, which the crowd around took -for an exclamation of real despair, and made way for the lady, to let -her get to the air. And Patty left town next day. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII. - - -She left town next day in a tempest of wrath and indignation, and -something like despair. She said to herself that she would go home, -where no one would dare to insult her. Home! where, indeed, there would -be nobody to insult her, but nobody to care for her; to remark upon her -even in that contemptuous way; to say a word even of reprobation. A -strong sense of injustice was in her soul. I am strongly of opinion that -when any of us commits a great sin, it immediately becomes the most -natural, even normal thing in our own eyes; that we are convinced that -most people have done the same, only have not been found out; and that -the opinion of the world against it is either purely fictitious, a -pretence of superior virtue, or else the result of prejudice or personal -hostility. Patty had not committed any great sin. She had sought her own -aggrandisement, as most people do, but she had gained wealth and -grandeur far above her hopes by nothing that could be called wrong; -indeed, she had done her duty in the position in which Providence and -her own exertions had placed her. It was not her business to look after -the interests of the Piercey family, but to take gratefully what was -given her, which she had the best of right to, because it had been given -her. This was Patty’s argument, and it would be difficult to find fault -with it. And to think that the whole cruel world should turn upon her -for that; all those gentlefolks whom she despised with the full force of -democratic rage against people who supposed themselves her betters, yet -felt to the bottom of her heart to be the only arbiters of social -elevation and happiness, the only people about whose opinion she cared! -She came back to Greyshott in a subdued transport of almost tragic -passion. She would seek them no more, neither their approval nor their -company. She would go back to her own class, to the class from which she -had sprung, who would neither scorn her nor patronise her, but fill -Greyshott with admiring voices and adulation, and make her feel herself -the greatest lady and the most beneficent. She called for Aunt Patience -on her way from the station and carried her back to Greyshott. “You’re -going to stay this time,” she said; “I mean to live in my own way, and -have my old friends about me; and I don’t care that,” and Patty snapped -her fingers, “for what the county may say.” - -“The county couldn’t say nothing against your having me with you, -Patty--only right, everybody would say, and you so young, and men coming -and going.” - -“Where are the men coming and going?” said Patty; “I see none of them. -I dare say there would be plenty, though, if it wasn’t for the women,” -she added, with a self-delusion dear to every woman upon whom society -does not smile. - -“You take your oath of that!” said Miss Hewitt, who was naturally of the -same mind. - -“But I mean to think of them no more,” cried Patty; “the servants shall -say ‘not at home’ to any of those ladies as shows their face here! I’ll -bear it no longer! If they don’t like to call they can stay away,--what -is it to me? But I’m going to see my old friends and give dinners and -dances to them that will really enjoy it!” Patty cried. - -Miss Hewitt looked very grave. “Who do you mean, Patty, by your old -friends?” she said. - -“Who should I mean but the Fletchers and the Simmonses and the Pearsons -and the Smiths and the Higginbothams?” said Patty, running on till she -was out of breath. - -“Lord, Patty! you’d never think of that!” cried Miss Hewitt, horrified. - -“Why shouldn’t I?--they’d be thankful and they’d enjoy themselves; and -I’d have folks of my own kind about me as good as anybody.” - -“Oh, Patty, Patty, has it come to that? But you’re in a temper and don’t -mean it,” Aunt Patience cried. - -It would, perhaps, have been better for this disinterested relation had -she supported Patty in her new fancy, as undoubtedly it would have been -glorious and delightful to herself to have posed before her own village -associates as one of the mistresses of Greyshott. But Miss Hewitt had -been influenced all her life by that desire for the society of the -ladies and gentlemen which is so strong in the bosom of the democrat -everywhere. She could not bear that Patty should demean herself by -falling back upon “the rabble”; and many discussions ensued, in which -the elder lady had the better of the argument. Patty’s passionate desire -to be revenged upon the people who had slighted her resolved itself at -last into the heroic conception of such a fête for the tenants and -peasantry as had never been known in the county before. Indeed, the -county was not very forward in such matters; it was an old-fashioned, -easy-going district, and new ways and new education had made but small -progress in it as yet. The squires and the gentry generally had not -begun to feel that necessity for conciliating their poorer neighbours, -with whom at present they dwelt in great amity--which has now become a -habit of society. And the fame of the great proceedings at Greyshott -travelled like fire and flame across the county. No expense was spared -upon that wonderful fête. Patty knew exactly what her old friends and -companions liked in the way of entertainment. She made a little speech -at the dinner, which began the proceedings, to the effect that she had -not invited any of the fine folks to walk about and watch them as if -they were wild beasts feeding (using over again in a reverse sense the -metaphor which she had already found so effectual), but preferred that -they should feel that she was trusting them like friends and wished -them to enjoy themselves. And to see Patty and Miss Hewitt walking -about, sweeping the long trains of their dresses over the turf in the -midst of these revellers, with a graciousness and patronage which would -have made Lady Hartmore open her eyes, was a sight indeed. No Princess -Royal could have been more certain of her superior place than Patty on -this supreme occasion, when, flying from the hateful aristocrats, who -would not call upon her, she had intended to throw herself back again -into the bosom of her own class. And Miss Hewitt looked a Grand Duchess -at the least, and showed a benign interest in the villagers which no -reigning lady could have surpassed. “Seven? have you really? and such -fine children; and is this the youngest?” she said, pausing before a -family group; to the awe of the parents, who had known old Patience -Hewitt all their lives, and knew that she knew every detail of their -little history; but this will show with what gusto and fine histrionic -power she was able, though really almost an old woman, to take up and -play her part. But had it not been the ideal and hope of her life? - -There was, however, one person at the Greyshott fête whom it was -difficult to identify with the heroes of the village. When Patty saw -approaching her across the greensward a well-knit manly figure in -irreproachable flannels, with a striped cap of red and white on his -head, a tie of the same colour, a fine white flannel shirt encircling -with its spotless folded-down collar a throat burnt to a brilliant -red-brown by the sun, her heart gave a jump with the sudden conviction -that “a gentleman” had come, even though uninvited, to see her in her -glory. It gave another jump, however, still more excited and tremulous, -when this figure turned out to be Roger Pearson--not a gentleman indeed, -but a famous personage all over England, the pride of the county, whose -rise in the world was now fully known to her. She had seen him before, -indeed, in this costume, but only in the dusk, when it was not so -clearly apparent. How well it became him, and what a fine fellow he -looked! handsome, free, independent, as different from all his rustic -friends as Patty was from her old school-fellows in their cotton -dresses, but in how different a way; for Roger, it was well known, was -hand-and-glove with many of the greatest people of England, and yet -quite at home in the village eleven which he had come to lead in the -match which was one of the features of the day. Patty, though she was -the lady of Greyshott, could not but feel a pang of delight and pride -when he walked by her side through the crowd. He was the only one whom -she could not patronise. She thought furtively that any one who saw them -would think he was the young squire; that was what he looked like--the -master, as she was the lady. He had no need to put on those airs which -Patty assumed. Nobody disputed his superiority, or even looked as if -they felt themselves as good as him. And it seemed to be natural, as the -afternoon went on, that he should find himself again and again by -Patty’s side, sometimes suggesting something new, sometimes offering -his services to carry out her plans, sometimes begging that she would -rest and not wear herself out. “Go and sit down quiet a bit, and I’ll -look after ’em; I can see you’re doing too much,” he said. It was taking -a great deal upon him, Miss Hewitt thought, but Patty liked it! She gave -him commissions to do this and that for her, and looked on with the most -unaccustomed warmth at her heart while he fulfilled them. Just like the -young master! always traceable wherever he moved in the whiteness of his -dress, that dress which the gentlemen wore and looked their best in; and -nobody could have imagined that Roger Pearson was not a gentleman, to -see him. “Well! and weren’t there ways of making him one?” Patty thought -to herself. - -But, notwithstanding her indignant determination to throw herself back -into the bosom of her own class, it was to Roger alone that she made any -overtures of further intercourse. He stayed behind all the others when -the troops of guests went away, and told her it was a real plucky thing -to do, and had been a first-rate success. He looked, indeed, like a -gentleman, but he had not adopted the phraseology of the Vere de Veres; -and perhaps Patty liked him all the better. She said, “Come and see me -any day; come when you like,” when he held her hand to say good-night; -and she said it in an undertone, so that Aunt Patience might not hear. - -“I will indeed,” he said in the same tone, “the first vacant day I -have----” Her breast swelled to see that he was a man much sought -after, though this had not been her own fate. - -But either he did not have a vacant day, or, what Patty’s judgment quite -approved, he did not mean to make himself cheap. And Patty fell into a -worse depth of solitude than ever, notwithstanding the presence of Aunt -Patience, to whom she had said in the rashness of her passion that she -should henceforth stay always at Greyshott, but whom now she felt to be -an additional burden when perpetually by her side. There had been a -little quarrel between them after luncheon one day in July, for they -were both irritable by reason of that unbroken _tête-à-tête_, and of the -fact that they had said ten or twelve times over everything they had to -say; and Miss Hewitt had flounced off upstairs to her room, where, after -her passion blew off, she had lain down on the sofa to take a nap, -leaving Patty to unmitigated solitude. It was raining, and that made it -more dreary than ever: rain in July, quiet, persistent, downpouring; -bursting the flowers to pieces; scattering the leaves of the last roses -on the ground; and injuring even those sturdy uninteresting geraniums -which are the gardener’s stand-by--is the dreariest of all rains. It is -out of season, even when it is wanted for the country, as there is -always some philosopher to tell us; and it is pitiless, pattering upon -the trees, soaking the grass, spreading about us a remorseless curtain -of grey. Patty, all alone, walked from window to window and saw nothing -but the trees under the rain, and a little yellow river pouring across -the path. She sat down and took up the work with which Aunt Patience -solaced the weary hours. It was the old-fashioned Berlin woolwork, which -only old ladies do nowadays. She contrived to put it all wrong, and then -she threw it down and went to the window again. And then she was aware -of a figure coming up the avenue, a figure clothed in a glistening white -mackintosh and under an umbrella. She could not see who it was, but -something in the walk struck her as familiar. It looked like a -gentleman, she said to herself; though to be sure, in these days of -equality, it might be only the draper’s young man with patterns, or the -lawyer’s clerk. Patty felt that she would have been glad to see even the -lawyer’s clerk. - -But when it was Roger Pearson that came into the room, what a difference -that made at once! It was almost as if the sun had come out from behind -the clouds for a moment, although he was not a gentleman, but only a -professional cricketer. He was not dressed this time in his flannels, -which suited him best, but in a grey suit, which, however, was very -presentable. Patty felt that if the first lady in the county was to -choose this particular wet day to call, which was not likely, she would -not need to blush for her visitor. And she was unfeignedly glad to see -him in the desolation of her solitude. She could tell from the manner in -which he looked at her that he was admiring her, and he could tell that -she was admiring him, and what could two young people require more of -each other? Roger told her quite frankly a great deal about himself. He -acknowledged that he had been “a bit idle” in his earlier days, and -liked play better than work; but that had all come in very useful, for -such play was now his work, and he had a very pleasant life, going all -over the country to cricket matches, and seeing everything that was -going. “And all among the swells, too,” he said, “which would please -you.” - -“Indeed, you’re mistaken altogether,” said Patty. “Swells! I loathe the -very name of them. Since I’ve lived among ’em I know what they are; and -a poorer, more cold, stuck-up, self-seeking set----” - -“I don’t make no such objections,” said Roger, who, it has been said, -took no trouble to use the language of gentlemen. “They’re good fellows -enough. I don’t want no more of them than they’re willing to give me--so -we gets on first rate.” - -“They try to crush your spirit,” cried Patty, flaming, “and then, -perhaps, when they’ve got you well under their fist, they’ll condescend -to take a little notice. But none of that sort of thing for me!” - -“Well!” said Roger, looking round him, “this is a fine sort of a place, -with all these mirrors and gilt things; but I should have said you would -have been more comfortable with a smaller house, and things more in our -own way, like what we’ve been used to, both you and me.” - -“I have been used to this for a long time now,” said Patty, with spirit, -“and it’s my own house.” - -“Yes, I know,” he said, “and it ain’t for me to say anything, for I’m -not a swell like these as you have such a high opinion of.” - -“I have no high opinion of them. I hate them!” cried Patty, with set -teeth. - -“Well, I’ve often thought,” said Roger, “though I know I’ve no right -to--but just in fancy don’t you know--as Patty Hewitt of the Seven -Thorns would have been a happier woman in the nice little ’ouse as I -could give her now, and never harming nobody, than a grand lady like -Mrs. Piercey, with so much trouble as you have had, and no real -friends.” - -“How do you know,” cried Patty, “that I have no friends?” and then, -after a moment’s struggle to keep her self-command, she burst into a -violent storm of tears. “Oh, don’t say anything to me!” she cried, -“don’t say anything to me! I haven’t had a kind word from a soul, nor -known what it was to have an easy heart or a bit of pleasure, not since -the night you came to the little door, Roger Pearson--no, nor long -before.” - -There was a silence, broken only by her passionate sobs and the sound of -the weeping which she could not control, until Roger moved from his -chair and went up to the sofa on which she had thrown herself, hiding -her tears and flushed face upon the cushions. He laid his hand upon her -shoulder with a caressing touch, and said, softly, “Don’t now, don’t -now, Patty dear. Don’t cry, there’s a love.” - -“And when you think all I’ve gone through,” said Patty, among her sobs, -“and how I’ve given up everything to do my duty! When you said to me -that night you had been at a dance--Oh! and me never seeing a soul, -never anything but waiting on them, and serving them, and nursing them, -or playing nonsense games from morning to night! And then when the old -gentleman died and left me what I never asked him for, then everybody -taking up against me as if I had committed a sin; and never one coming -near me, never, never one, but Meg in London coming to speak out of -charity, because I was alone. Yes, and I was alone,” said Patty, raising -herself up, drying her eyes hastily, with a nervous hand, “and I’ll be -alone all my life; but I’ll never take charity as if I was some poor -creature, from her or from him!” - -“You needn’t be alone a moment more than you like, Patty,” said Roger. -“I was always fond of you, you well know. You jilted me to marry _'im_, -poor fellow, but I’ll not say a word about that. You’re not ’appy in -this great ’ouse, and you know it, nor you’ll never be. I’m not saying -anything one way or another about them ladies and swells: maybe they -might have been a little kinder and done no ’arm. But you’re an -interloper among them, you know you are; and I’m not one as ’olds with -putting another man’s nose out of joint, or taking his ’ouse over ’is -’ead. I wouldn’t, if it was a bit of a cottage, or your father’s old -place at the Seven Thorns; and no more would I here. There ain’t no -blessing on it, that’s my opinion.” - -“I don’t know, Roger Pearson, that your opinion was ever asked,” Patty -said. - -“It wasn’t asked; but you wouldn’t cry like that before anybody but me, -nor own as you were in trouble. Now, ’ere’s my ’and, if you’ll have it, -Patty; I’ll not come ’ere to sit down at another man’s fireside, but -I’ll stand by you through thick and thin; and I’m making a pretty bit of -money myself, and neither me nor you--we don’t need to be beholdin’ to -nobody. Let’s just set up a snug place of our own, and I’d like to see -the man--the biggest swell in the world--or woman either, that would put -a slight upon my wife.” - -“What!” said Patty, with a smile that was meant to be satirical, “give -up Greyshott and my position and all as I’ve struggled so hard for, for -you, Roger Pearson? Why, who are you? nobody! a man as is a good -cricketer; and that’s the whole when all’s said.” - -“Well,” said Roger, good-humouredly, “it’s not a great deal, perhaps, -but it’s always something; and it’s still me if I never touched a bat. -You wouldn’t marry my cricketing any more than you’d marry his -parliamenteering, or sporting, or what not, if you did get a swell; and -you take my word, Patty, you’ll never get on with a swell like you would -do with me. We’ve been brought up the same, and we understand each -other. I know how you’re feeling, just exactly, my poor little girl: -you’d like to be ’appy, and then pride comes in. You say, ‘I’ve worked -hard for it and I’ll never give it up.’” - -“If you mean I’ll not give up being Mrs. Piercey of Greyshott, with the -finest house in the county, to go to a cottage with you----” - -“Don’t now, don’t,” said Roger, protesting, yet without excitement; “I -never said a cottage, did I? What I said was a ’andsome ’ouse, with all -the modern improvements and furnished to your fancy, instead of this old -barrack of a place, and a spanking pair of ’osses, a deal better than -them old fat beasts, as goes along like snails; and some more in the -stable, a brougham, and a victoria, and a dogcart for me; that’s my -style. I don’t call that love in a cottage. I call it love very well to -do, with everything comfortable. Lord! if you like this better, this old -place--full of ghosts and dead folks’ pictures, I don’t agree with your -taste, my dear, and that’s all I’ve got to say.” - -Patty looked at her matter-of-fact lover, raising her head high, -preparing the sharpest speeches. She sat very upright, all the tears -over, ready, quite ready, to give him his answer. But then there -suddenly came over Patty a vision of the winter which was coming, the -winter that would be just like the last--the monotonous, dreadful days, -the long, lingering, mortal nights, with Aunt Patience for her sole -companion. And her thoughts leapt on before to the ’andsome ’ouse; for -being, as Roger said, of his kind, and understanding by nature what he -meant, her imagination represented to her in a flash as of sunshine, -that shining, brilliant, high-coloured house--with all the last -improvements and the newest fashions, plate-glass windows, shining fresh -paint which it would be a delight to keep like a new pin, everything -new, clean, delightful; carpets and curtains of her own choosing, -costing a great deal of money, and of which she could say to every -guest, “It’s the best that money could buy,” or “I gave so much a yard -for it,” or “Every window stands me in fifty pounds there as you see -it.” All this appeared to Patty in a flash of roseate colour. And the -pair of spanking horses at the door, and a crowd of cricketing men, yes, -and cricketing ladies; and meetings in her own grounds, and great -luncheon parties, and quantities of other young couples thinking of -nothing but their fun and their pleasure, the wives dressing against -each other, the young men competing in their batting and bowling, and in -their horses and turn-outs, but all in the easiest, noisiest, friendly -way, and all surrounding herself, Patty, with admiration and homage as -the richest among them. Oh, what a contrast to grey old Greyshott, with -its empty, echoing rooms and its dark solitude, and the pictures of dead -people, as Roger said, and not a lively sight or sound, nothing but -Jerningham and the other servants and Aunt Patience. To think of all -that, and Roger added to it,--Roger, who sat looking at her so kindly, -with his handsome good-humoured face, not hurrying her in her decision, -looking as if he knew beforehand that she could not resist him and his -offer of everything she liked best in the world. - -All this came to Patty in a moment, as she sat with her sharp speeches -all arrested on her lips. The pause she made was not long, but it was -long enough to show him that she had begun to think, and we all know -that the woman who deliberates is lost; and it was in the nature of the -practical-minded lover, who was not given to the sentimental, as it was -also in Patty’s nature, to carry things by a _coup de main_. He sprang -up from the seat he had taken opposite to her, and suddenly, before she -was aware, gave Patty a hearty kiss which seemed to sound through all -the silent house. - -“Don’t you think any more about it,” he said, holding her fast; “you -jilted me before, but you’re not going to jilt me again. I ’ave the -’ouse in my eye, and I know the jolly life we’ll live in it: lots of -company and lots of fun, and two folks that is fond of one another; -that’s better than living all alone--a little more grand, but no fun at -all.” - -And to such a triumphant and convincing argument, which her heart and -every faculty acknowledged, what could Patty reply? - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII. - - -It was only a few weeks after this that there appeared in the -newspapers, which had all reported at such length the great trial of -Piercey _versus_ Piercey, a paragraph which perhaps caused as much -commotion through the county as the news of any great public event for -many years. Parliament had risen, and the papers were very thankful for -a new sensation of any kind. The paragraph was to this effect:-- - -“Our readers have not forgotten the trial of Piercey _v._ Piercey, which -unfolded so curious a page of family history, and roused so many -comments through the whole English-speaking world. It is seldom that so -many elements of human interest are collected in a single case, and the -effect it produced on the immense audience which followed its -developments day by day was extraordinary. The public took sides, as on -an affair of imperial importance, for and against the heroine, who, from -the bar-room of a roadside inn, found herself elevated in a single year -to the position of a considerable landowner, with an ancient historical -house and a name well known in the annals of the country. How she -attained these honours, whether by the most worthy and admirable means, -by unquestionable self-devotion to her husband and father-in-law, or by -undue influence, exercised first on a young man of feeble intellect, and -afterwards on an old gentleman in his dotage, was the question debated -in almost every sociable assembly. - -“The partisans and opponents of this lady will have a new problem -offered to them in the new and startling incident which is now announced -as the climax of this story. Those who have all along believed in the -disinterestedness of the young and charming Mrs. Piercey will be -delighted to hear that she has now presented herself again before the -public, in the most romantic and attractive light by freely and of her -own will resigning the Manor of Greyshott, to which a jury of her -countrymen had decided her to be fully entitled, to the heirs-at-law of -the late Sir Giles Piercey, together with all the old furniture, -pictures, family plate, etc., contained in the manor house--a gift -equally magnificent and unexpected. It is now stated that this has all -along been Mrs. Piercey’s intention, and that but for the trial, which -put her at once on her defence, she would have made this magnanimous -renunciation immediately after coming into the property. Her rights -having been assailed, however, it is natural that a high-spirited young -woman should have felt it her first duty to vindicate her character; and -that she should now carry out her high-minded intention, after all the -obloquy which it has been attempted to throw on her, and the base -motives imputed to her, is a remarkable instance of magnanimity which, -indeed, we know nothing to equal. It is, indeed, heaping coals of fire -on the heads of her accusers, for whom, however, it must be said that -their irritation in finding themselves so unexpectedly deprived of the -inheritance they had confidently expected, was natural and justifiable. -It must be a satisfaction to all that a _cause célèbre_ which attracted -so much attention should end in such a fine act of restitution, and that -an ancient family should thus be restored to their ancestral place. We -are delighted to add that Mrs. Piercey, who still retains a fine fortune -bequeathed to her by the love and gratitude of her father-in-law, whom -she nursed with the greatest devotion till his death, is about to -contract a second marriage with a gentleman very well known in the -cricketing world.” - -“In the name of Heaven, what is the meaning of that?” cried old Sir -Francis Piercey, who was a choleric old gentleman, flinging down the -newspaper (which only arrived in the evening), and turning a crimson -countenance, flushed with astonishment and offence, to his son Gerald -and his daughter-in-law Margaret, who had returned to their home in the -north only a few days before. Sir Francis was a very peppery old man, -and constantly thought, as do many heads of houses conscious of having -grown a little hard of hearing, that nothing was told him, and that even -in respect to the events most interesting to the family he was -systematically kept in the dark. - -“The meaning of what?” Margaret asked, without excitement. She had no -newspaper, being quite content to wait for the news until the gentlemen -had read everything and contemptuously flung down each his journal with -the remark that there was nothing in it. Mrs. Gerald Piercey did not -imagine there could ever be anything in the paper which could concern -her or her belongings; and it was a quiet time in politics, when -Parliament was up, and nothing very stirring to be expected. She rose to -put down by her father-in-law’s side his cup of tea; for though he was -so fiery an old gentleman, he loved the little feminine attentions of -which he had been for many years deprived. - -“Let me see, Grandpapa,” said Osy, coming to the front with the air of a -man who could put all straight. - -“By Jove!” cried Colonel Piercey, who had come to the same startling -announcement in his paper. And the father and son for a moment sat bolt -upright, staring at each other as if each supposed the other to be to -blame. - -“What is it?” said Margaret, beginning to be alarmed. - -She was answered by the sudden opening of the door, and the entrance, -announced by a servant quite unacquainted with him, who conferred upon -him an incomprehensible name, of Mr. Pownceby, pale with excitement and -tired with a journey. He scarcely took time for the ceremonious -salutations which Sir Francis Piercey thought needful, and omitted -altogether the “how-d’ye-do’s” owing to his old friends, Margaret and -Gerald, but burst at once into the subject that possessed him. “Well, I -can see you’ve seen it! Sharp work putting it in so soon; but it’s all -true.” - -“What is all true? We have something to do with its being false or true, -I suppose?” cried Colonel Piercey, placing himself in a somewhat defiant -attitude, in an Englishman’s usual position of defence before the fire. - -“What are you saying, sir? what are you saying? I am a little hard of -hearing. I desire that all this should be explained to me immediately. -You seem all to understand, but not a syllable has reached my ears.” - -“I assure you, Sir Francis,” said Mr. Pownceby, “I started the first -thing this morning. I have not let the grass grow under my feet. Her -solicitors communicated with me only yesterday. It is sharp work getting -it into the papers at once, very sharp work, but I suppose she wanted to -get the honour and glory; and it is quite true. I have the deed in my -pocket in full form; for those solicitors of hers, if not endowed with -just the best fame in the profession, are----” - -“But you’re going a great deal too fast, Pownceby,” cried Colonel -Gerald. “I don’t see that either my father or I can accept anything from -that woman’s hand.” - -“The deed in full form, Sir Francis,” said the lawyer, too wise to take -any notice of so hotheaded a person, “restoring Greyshott and all that -is in it to the lawful heir--yourself. I don’t pretend to know what is -her motive; but there it is all in black and white: and for once in a -way I can’t but say that I admire the woman, Sir Francis, and that -she’s got perception of what is right in her, after all.” - -“God bless my soul!” was all Sir Francis said. - -“But we can’t take it from that woman, Pownceby! Why, what are you -thinking of? Receive from her, a person we all despise, a gift like -this! Why, the thing is impossible! It is like her impertinence to offer -it; and how you could think for a moment----” - -Margaret, who had hastily taken up the paper and read the paragraph, -here put it down again and laid her hand on her husband’s arm. “You must -wait,” she said, “you must wait, Gerald, for what your father says.” - -“The woman of the trial?” said Sir Francis, getting it with difficulty -into his head, “the baggage that married poor Gervase, and made a fool -of his father--that woman!” He added briskly, turning to his son: “I was -always against that trial, you know I was. Don’t throw away good money -after bad, I always said: let be; if we don’t get it in the course of -nature we’ll never get it, was what I always said. You know I always -said it. Those costs which you ran up in spite of me, almost broke my -heart.” - -There was a pause, and then Colonel Piercey said with a half laugh, “We -all know, father, that you did not like the costs.” - -“I said so!” said Sir Francis, “I was always against it. I thought the -woman might turn out better than you supposed. A very remarkable thing, -Mr. Pownceby, don’t you think it’s a very remarkable thing? after she -had won her cause and had everything her own way. Do you recall to -memory ever having heard of a similar incident? I never did in all my -experience; a very extraordinary thing indeed!” - -“No,” said Mr. Pownceby, “no; I don’t think I ever did hear anything -like it. They generally stick to what they have got like grim death.” - -“I think that must be rather a remarkable woman,” said Sir Francis; “I -retract anything I may have been induced to say of her in a moment of -annoyance. I consider she has acted very creditably, very--very--I may -say nobly, Mr. Pownceby. I beg that I may never hear a word in her -disparagement from any of you. I hope that we might all be capable of -doing anything so--so--magnanimous and high-minded ourselves.” - -“But, father,” cried Colonel Piercey, “we can’t surely accept a gift -like this from a woman we know nothing of--whom we’ve no esteem -for--whom we’ve prosecuted--whom----” - -“Not accept it, sir?” cried Sir Francis--“not accept a righteous -restitution? I should like to know on what principle we could refuse it? -If a man had taken your watch from you, would you refuse to take it if -he brought it back? Why, what would that be but to discourage every good -impulse? I shall certainly accept it. And I hope, Mr. Pownceby, that you -will convey my thanks--yes, my thanks, and very high appreciation to -this young lady. I think she is doing a very noble thing. Whether I -benefited by it or not, I should think it a very noble thing. Don’t be -stingy in your praise, sir! It’s noble to say you’ve been wrong--many -haven’t the strength of mind to do it. I’ll drink her very good health -at dinner. We’ll have a toast, do you hear?” - -“Yes, Grandpapa,” cried Osy, always ready; “and shall it be with what -Cousin Colonel calls the honours? You give the name, and I’ll stand up -upon a chair and do the ‘Hip, hip, hurrah!’” - -Upon what rule it was that old Sir Francis, rather a severe old -gentleman to most people, had become grandpapa to Osy, while Colonel -Piercey remained only, as of old, Cousin Colonel, is too subtle a -question to enter into; but it was so to the perfect satisfaction of the -two persons chiefly involved. And thus for the second time Osy cheered -for Patty with the delighted readiness of an unbiassed soul. - -Mrs. Piercey left Greyshott shortly after this, having left everything -in the most perfect good order, and all the servants in the house, -without saying a word of any new arrangements, though I need not say -they had all read that paragraph in the newspapers. She went to London, -where she spent a few weeks very pleasantly, and ordered a great many -new dresses. Here she dismissed Jerningham, who carried away with her a -number of black and white gowns, and the best recommendations. Patty -plunged into pinks and blues with the zest of a person who has long been -deprived of such indulgences, and the world learned by the newspapers -that, on the 20th of August, Patience, widow of the late Gervase -Piercey, Esq., of Greyshott, was married at St. George’s, Hanover -Square, to Roger Pearson, Esq., of Canterbury House. The happy pair went -abroad for their honeymoon, but did not enjoy the Continent, only -entering into full and perfect bliss when they returned to the -glistening glories of their new house. There had been various storms -between them before the question of Greyshott had been decided, and it -had required all Roger’s power and influence to carry his scheme to a -successful conclusion. His determination not to sit down by another -man’s fireside, and to have nothing to say to the old house, which he -declared gave him the shivers to look at, were answered by many a -scornful request to take himself off then, if he didn’t like it, and -leave it to those who did. - -“That’s just what I want--to leave it to those that like it: you don’t, -Patty, and never will!” cried the bold lover. “How do I know? Oh, I -know! You’ve gone through a lot, and you think you’ll have something for -it, anyhow. Well, so you shall have something for it. Wait till you see -the ’ouse that is just waiting till you say the word--ten times better -an ’ouse, and folks all about us will be delighted to see you, and as -much fun as you can set your face to!” Oh, how powerful and how sweet -these arguments were! But to give Greyshott back was a bitter pill to -Patty. - -“I’ll sell it, then,” she said; “it’ll bring in a deal of money;” and -this was what Miss Hewitt, who was almost mad with opposition, advised, -arguing and beseeching till the foam flew from her mouth. - -But Roger was obstinate. He declared that he would not be instrumental -in taking any man’s home from him. “Money’s a different thing,” he said. -“One sovereign’s just like another, but one ’ouse ain’t like another.” -The telling argument, however, was one which Roger had the cleverness to -pick up from a cricket reporter on a daily paper, to whom he had -confided his romance. - -“By George!” cried the journalist, “what a paragraph for my paper!” He -said “par,” no doubt, but Patty would not have understood what this -meant. When she did take up the idea, and understood that her praises -were to be sung and her generosity extolled in every paper, and that the -Pierceys would be made to sing small before her, Patty was overcome at -last. Her heart swelled as if it would burst with triumph and a sense of -greatness when she read that paragraph. She felt it to be altogether -just and true. If they had not prosecuted, there was no telling what -magnanimity she might not have been equal to, and she accepted the -praise as one who had deserved it to the very utmost. - -“They’ve been in it hundreds and hundreds of years,” she said to the new -friends to whom her bridegroom introduced her in London--among whom were -several newspaper men, and one who insisted upon getting her portrait -for an illustrated paper--“as we have been in the Seven Thorns. Being of -an old family myself, I have always felt for them.” This was reported in -the little biographical notice which was appended to Mrs. Piercey’s -portrait in the illustrated paper, where it was also told that she had -been known far and wide as the Lily of the Seven Thorns, and had been -carried off by the Squire’s son from many competitors. It made up for -much, even for the fact, still bitter to her, that she had been cheated -out of her title, and would never be Lady Piercey,--a loss and delusion -which sometimes brought tears into her eyes long after she was Roger -Pearson’s wife. - -But when Patty settled down in her own ’Andsome ’Ouse, it was soon -proved that Roger had not said a word too much. The cricketing world -rallied round him. He ceased to be a professional, and became a -gentleman cricketer and a member of the M.C.C. The cricket pitch within -the grounds of Canterbury House was admirable, and matches were played -there, in which not only the honour of the county, but the honour of -England, was involved. Patty gave cricket luncheons and even cricket -dinners, to which the golden youth of England came gladly, and where -even great ladies, watching the cricket for one side or another, were -content to be entertained. Patty drove her two spanking horses over the -county, calling at the best houses; while even Lady Hartmore, after the -restitution as she called it, paid her a visit of ceremony, which Mrs. -Roger Pearson, swelling with pride and triumph, never returned. Not to -have returned Lady Hartmore’s visit was almost as great a distinction as -to have received one from the Queen. And all the lesser ladies in the -county envied Patty the strength of mind which made her capable of such -a proof of independence. - -Colonel Piercey and his wife became shortly afterwards the inhabitants -of Greyshott, which suited Sir Francis better than to have his -long-accustomed quiet permanently disturbed. “Though I’d like to keep -the boy,” he said. It cost a good deal to Colonel Pierce’s pride, but it -lay with his father to decide, and there was nothing more to say. They -were not rich, for Greyshott was a difficult place to keep up on a -limited income; but it was something, no doubt, after the shock of the -restoration, to have the old house still. - -And Patty flourishes and spreads like a green baytree. She is not so -careful of etiquette, so anxious to be always correct and do what other -ladies do. She is beginning to grow stout; her colour is high; her -nursery is full; and she is, beyond all question, a much happier woman -than she ever could have been in Greyshott, even had Lady Hartmore -called and all gone well--now that she and her husband live in continual -jollity in their own ’Andsome ’Ouse. - - THE END. - - - PRINTED BY F. A. BROCKHAUS, LEIPZIG. - - * * * * * - - The English Library. - - HEINEMANN AND BALESTIER - - (_Ltd. London_). - - LEIPZIG. - - BERLIN. VIENNA. PARIS. - - For Sale by all Booksellers, and at all Railway Stalls, on the - Continent. - - _Each Volume sold separately, price 1 Mark 60 Pfennig, or 2 Francs._ - - -=The English Library= is designed to supply the latest and most excellent -examples of English and American fiction and general literature, for -Continental reading. The volumes of the series are for sale at all -booksellers and at all Railway Stalls on the Continent. - -=The English Library= being especially prepared for the convenience of -travellers and Continental readers, is put forth in small, portable, -shapely, and convenient volumes, issued in distinctive covers at the -uniform price of 1 Mark 60 Pfennig, or 2 Francs per volume. They are -clearly and carefully printed on the best paper, and flexibly bound. - -=The English Library= has been fortunate in securing the cooperation of -almost every Novelist of importance in England and America. The -resources and variety of =The English Library= may be judged from the -following list of authors contributing to it:-- - - R. L. STEVENSON. - WALTER BESANT. - H. RIDER HAGGARD. - RUDYARD KIPLING. - GEORGE MEREDITH. - HENRY JAMES. - W. E. NORRIS. - F. ANSTEY. - HALL CAINE. - JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. - SIR EDWIN ARNOLD. - W. D. HOWELLS. - JUSTIN McCARTHY. - S. BARING-GOULD. - B. L. FARJEON. - MARGARET DELAND. - TASMA. - F. MABEL ROBINSON. - JESSIE FOTHERGILL. - F. C. PHILIPS. - LUCAS MALET. - OSCAR WILDE. - MAARTEN MAARTENS. - MARY E. WILKINS. - MRS. RIDDELL. - FRANK BARRETT. - MRS. ALEXANDER. - JAMES PAYN. - OUIDA. - MRS. PARR. - JEROME K. JEROME. - KATHERINE S. MACQUOID. - J. M. BARRIE. - A. CONAN DOYLE. - CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER. - EDNA LYALL. - GEORGE MANVILLE FENN. - F. W. ROBINSON. - MARGARET L. WOODS. - MAXWELL GRAY. - STANLEY J. WEYMAN. - JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. - FLORENCE MARRYAT. - AUSTIN DOBSON. - L. B. WALFORD. - MRS. HUNGERFORD. - FLORENCE WARDEN. - E. FRANCES POYNTER. - HELEN MATHERS. - ROLF BOLDREWOOD. - ROBERT BUCHANAN. - HON. EMILY LAWLESS. - MRS. OLIPHANT. - FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT. - -=The English Library= sets two aims especially before itself:-- - -FIRST--To issue its volumes _simultaneously_ with the appearance of the -same works in England and America; and - -SECOND--To compress these works (wherever it is possible without -sacrifice of the legibility of the type) into _One Volume_. - -English and American travellers and English-speaking residents on the -Continent will appreciate the opportunity thus afforded to obtain in a -convenient form, and at a moderate price, new books as rapidly as they -are issued at home, without being forced to wait until they have ceased -to be novelties. - - -The English Library.[A] - - 1. THE LIGHT THAT FAILED. By RUDYARD KIPLING, Author of “The - Phantom Rickshaw,” “Soldiers Three,” “The Story of the Gadsbys,” - &c. 1 vol. - -“It is the first truth about Mr. Kipling that he has power, real -intrinsic power.”--_Academy._ - - 2, 3. SIDNEY. By MARGARET DELAND, Author of “John Ward, Preacher.” - 2 vols. - -“Better even than ‘John Ward, Preacher.’”--_Speaker._ - - 4, 5. APRIL’S LADY. By Mrs. HUNGERFORD, Author of “Molly Bawn.” 2 - vols. - -“Quite worthy of the author of ‘Molly Bawn.’”--_Athenæum._ - -“The tipsy-cake of literature, light and sweet.”--_Saturday Review._ - - 6. THE LIGHT of the WORLD. By Sir EDWIN ARNOLD, K.C.I.E., C.S.I., - Author of “The Light of Asia.” 1 vol. - -“The multitude of readers who were delighted and instructed by ‘The -Light of Asia’ will turn to this new volume with lively expectation. The -whole burden of the poem is to set forth the joyful aspect of the -Christian faith as compared with that of Buddha.”--_Daily News._ - - 7. THE PHANTOM RICKSHAW. By RUDYARD KIPLING, Author of “The Light - that Failed,” “Soldiers Three,” &c. 1 vol. - -“He is a born story-teller, and a man of humour into the -bargain.”--_Saturday Review._ - - 8, 9. URITH. By S. BARING-GOULD, Author of “Mehalah,” “John - Herring,” &c. 2 vols. - -“A powerful and ingenious romance.”--_Anti-Jacobin._ - -“Mr. Baring-Gould has been able to create a strong interest, and to -maintain it at a high pitch.”--_Athenæum._ - - 10, 11. MARCIA. By W. E. NORRIS, Author of “Matrimony,” “No New - Thing.” &c. 2 vols. - -“Mr. Norris has the light touch of Thackeray, who guides us through -three or four generations as gracefully as a well-bred man might point -out the portraits of his ancestors in the family picture -gallery.”--_Quarterly Review._ - - 12, 13. BRAVE HEART AND TRUE. By FLORENCE MARRYAT, Author of “My - Sister the Actress,” “Véronique,” &c. 2 vols. - -“Miss Marryat wields a clever pen.”--_Athenæum._ - - [A] The greater number of the Volumes mentioned in the following - catalogue are now ready, and may be obtained from every bookseller and - at every railway bookstall on the Continent. The reader is referred to - the last pages of the cover for an exact list of the volumes of =The - English Library= issued up to the present date. - - 14, 15. BASIL AND ANNETTE. By B. L. FARJEON, Author of “Grif,” - “Blade o’ Grass,” &c. 2 vols. - -“One of the most finished stories, from a literary point of view, that -the author has ever produced.”--_Spectator._ - - 16, 17. IN THE HEART OF THE STORM. By MAXWELL GRAY, Author of “The - Silence of Dean Maitland.” 2 vols. - -“The nobility, the seriousness of purpose, the keen sense of humour, the -boldness and brilliance in description, will all be familiar to the -readers of her previous works. It stands far, very far, above our -average fiction.”--_Speaker._ - - 18. TOURMALIN’S TIME CHEQUES. By F. ANSTEY, Author of “Vice Versâ,” - “The Giant’s Robe,” &c. 1 vol. - -“A writer who thoroughly understands and sympathetically describes -English character.”--_Vanity Fair._ - - 19, 20. THE WAGES OF SIN. By LUCAS MALET. Author of “Col. Enderby’s - Wife,” “Mrs. Lorimer,” &c. 2 vols. - -“Since ‘The Mill on the Floss’ there has been nothing more powerful in -fiction.”--_Scotsman._ - -“We admire greatly the singular dramatic power, psychological skill, and -literary art of Lucas Malet, never displayed with such effect as in ‘The -Wages of Sin.’”--_Speaker._ - - 21. THE ANGLOMANIACS. By Mrs. BURTON HARRISON. 1 vol. - -This story, published anonymously in the _Century_ magazine, aroused the -most lively interest and discussion during its serial course. It has -more than usual attraction from its clever analysis of the latest -tendency in American society, here satirised under the name of -Anglomania. - - 22. MY FACE IS MY FORTUNE. By F. C. PHILIPS, Author of “As in a - Looking-Glass,” and PERCY FENDALL. 1 vol. - -“It requires to go back to Balzac in order to match the pitiless -analyses and incisive descriptions which ... incontestably place Mr. -Philips in the first rank of our most artistic and brilliant -writers.”--_Morning Post._ - - 23, 24. ST. KATHERINE’S BY THE TOWER. By WALTER BESANT, Author of - “All Sorts and Conditions of Men,” &c. 2 vols. - -“Written with great power and sometimes with almost tragic -intensity.”--_Daily Telegraph._ - - 25, 26. ERIC BRIGHTEYES. By H. RIDER HAGGARD, Author of “King - Solomon’s Mines,” “She,” &c. 2 vols. - -“The drama of fate and battle fascinates; the figures are cast in the -heroic mould; the utterances are large, direct, and simple.”--_Scotsman._ - -“We incline to think that this is artistically the most perfect of its -author’s works.”--_Anti-Jacobin._ - - 27. WHAT GOLD CANNOT BUY. By Mrs. ALEXANDER, Author of “The Wooing - O’t,” &c. 1 vol. - -“Mrs. Alexander tells a story with clearness and spirit.”--_Athenæum._ - - 28, 29. ONE OF OUR CONQUERORS. By GEORGE MEREDITH, Author of “The - Ordeal of Richard Feverel,” “Beauchamp’s Career,” &c. 2 vols. - -“We doubt if Mr. Meredith has ever written anything stronger, anything -more absolutely convincing.”--_Speaker._ - - 30. A LONDON LIFE. By HENRY JAMES, Author of “Daisy Miller,” “The - American,” “The Portrait of a Lady,” &c. 1 vol. - -A collection of tales by Mr. James, marked by the qualities which have -made him the foremost living expositor of certain phases of life. - - 31, 32. A HARDY NORSEMAN. By EDNA LYALL. Author of “Donovan,” “We - Two,” &c. 2 vols. - -“A grand simplicity, an unconscious poetry of eloquence, which stirs the -very depths of the heart.”--_Standard._ - - 33. PRETTY MISS SMITH. By FLORENCE WARDEN, Author of “The House on - the Marsh,” &c. 1 vol. - -“Since reading ‘The House on the Marsh’ I have not read a more exciting -tale than the same authoress’s ‘Pretty Miss Smith.’”--_The Baron de -Bookworms in Punch._ - -“Succeeds in exciting a strong interest of the kind that teases the -reader’s curiosity.”--_Scotsman._ - - 34. DERRICK VAUGHAN, and THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER. By EDNA - LYALL, Author of “Donovan,” “We Two,” &c. 1 vol. - -“Edna Lyall has not written anything more artistic, or, from the moral -point of view, more stimulating.”--_Academy._ - - 35. THE MYSTERY OF No. 13. By HELEN MATHERS, Author of “Comin’ - thro’ the Rye,” &c. 1 vol. - -A new book by the popular author of “Comin’ thro’ the Rye.” Included in -the same volume are other stories which have not before appeared in book -form. - - 36. A LITTLE IRISH GIRL. By Mrs. HUNGERFORD, Author of “Molly - Bawn.” 1 vol. - -A new short story by the author of “Molly Bawn,” marked by her fresh, -crisp touch and spontaneous humour. - - 37, 38. THE DEEMSTER. By HALL CAINE, Author of “The Bondman,” &c. 2 - vols. - -“Mr. Caine stands out among his novelistic brethren, reminding us ... of -Victor Hugo.”--_World._ - - 39. THE SHADOW OF A DREAM. By W. D. HOWELLS, Author of “A Hazard of - New Fortunes,” &c. 1 vol. - -“Mr. Howells is beyond doubt, one of the most charming romance writers -in the English language.”--_Westminster Review._ - - 40. THE RISEN DEAD. By FLORENCE MARRYAT, Author of “My Sister the - Actress,” “Brave Heart and True,” &c. 1 vol. - -Miss Marryat’s latest novel, just issued in book form in England and -America. - - 41. MINE OWN PEOPLE. By RUDYARD KIPLING, Author of “The Light that - Failed,” “The Phantom Rickshaw,” “Soldiers Three,” &c. 1 vol. - -A collection of short stories, Indian and military, which have appeared -in the magazines since Mr. Kipling came to England. - - 42. A WINDOW IN THRUMS. By J. M. BARRIE, Author of “When a Man’s - Single,” “Auld Licht Idylls,” &c. 1 vol. - -“We think that this is the very best of the many good sketches of -Scottish peasant life which we have ever read.”--_Standard._ - - 43. THREE MEN IN A BOAT. By JEROME K. JEROME, Author of “The Idle - Thoughts of an Idle Fellow,” &c. 1 vol. - -The most successful of the humorous works of the English Mark Twain. - - 44. THE SPLENDID SPUR. By “Q.,” Author of “Dead Man’s Rock,” &c. 1 - vol. - -This book is universally acknowledged to be the strongest work of one of -the most promising of the younger novelists. - - 45. WITH ESSEX IN IRELAND. By Hon. EMILY LAWLESS, Author of - “Hurrish.” 1 vol. - -This book has had a wide success, and has been declared to be one of the -most remarkable and accurate historical novels in existence. - - 46. A HUMBLE ROMANCE. By MARY E. WILKINS, Author of “A New England - Nun,” &c. 1 vol. - -“Few books of this size contain as much fresh and original -story-telling.”--_Literary World._ - -“Miss Wilkins’s short stories are in our estimate -unrivalled.”--_Aberdeen Free Press._ - - 47. MISS WENTWORTH’S IDEA. By W. E. NORRIS, Author of “Matrimony,” - “No New Thing,” &c. 1 vol. - -The last of Mr. Norris’s novels, which has just completed serial -publication in England and America. - - 48, 49. THE MISCHIEF OF MONICA. By L. B. WALFORD, Author of “Mr. - Smith,” “The Baby’s Grandmother,” &c. 2 vols. - -Mrs. Walford’s latest work, lately published serially in _Longman’s -Magazine_, is characterised by the knowledge of character and romantic -realism which distinguish the author of “Mr. Smith.” - - 50. A VERY STRANGE FAMILY. By F. W. ROBINSON, Author of - “Grandmother’s Money,” “Poor Zeph,” &c. 1 vol. - -“Thoroughly interesting, as well as fresh in motive.”--_Graphic._ - - 51. AN AMERICAN GIRL IN LONDON. By SARAH JEANNETTE DUNCAN, Author - of “A Social Departure,” &c. 1 vol. - -This clever work has been one of the greatest successes of the present -London season. - - 52. HER LAST THROW. By Mrs. HUNGERFORD, Author of “Molly Bawn.” 1 - vol. - -“Mrs. Hungerford never fails to be prettily piquant.”--_Academy._ - - 53. THE SCAPEGOAT. By HALL CAINE, Author of “The Deemster,” “The - Shadow of a Crime,” &c. 1 vol. - -Mr. Hall Caine has only just concluded the writing of this, his newest -novel. It is the fruit of his recent travel in Tangier and introduces -the author to new ground. - - 54. INTENTIONS. By OSCAR WILDE. 1 vol. - -A book of essays in Mr. Wilde’s picturesque and vigorous manner, -containing the well-known paper, “The Decay of Lying.” - - 55. A FAR-AWAY MELODY. By MARY E. WILKINS, Author of “A Humble - Romance,” “A New England Nun,” &c. 1 vol. - -This charming volume of short stories has won for the author an unique -position as the artist of humble human emotion. - - 56, 57. THE SIN OF OLGA ZASSOULICH. By FRANK BARRETT, Author of - “The Admirable Lady Biddy Fane,” “Between Life and Death,” &c. 2 - vols. - -“Those people who ... debate whether Mr. R. L. Stevenson or Mr. Rider -Haggard shall be awarded the palm of modern romance writing must really -take into consideration the claims of Mr. Frank Barrett.”--_Athenæum._ - - 58. THE ENGLISH POETS. By JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, 1 vol. - -This book contains some of Mr. Lowell’s best known contributions to -literary criticism. - - 59. SOLDIERS THREE. By RUDYARD KIPLING, Author of “The Light that - Failed,” “The Phantom Rickshaw,” “Mine Own People,” &c. 1 vol. - -“If Mr. Kipling should not ultimately blossom into an Anglo-Indian -Dickens, he will, at all events, occupy a high place in the literature -of our day.”--_Athenæum._ - - 60. ACCORDING TO ST. JOHN. By AMÉLIE RIVES, Author of “The Quick or - the Dead,” “A Brother to Dragons,” &c. 1 vol. - -A new and very original work by this powerful and vivid writer. - - 61, 62. MR. CHAINE’S SONS. By W. E. NORRIS, Author of “Matrimony,” - “Marcia,” “Miss Wentworth’s Idea,” &c. 2 vols. - -Mr. Norris’s new story, which has just met with great success in Temple -Bar. - - 63. THE NEW RECTOR. By STANLEY J. WEYMAN, Author of “The House of - the Wolf,” &c. 1 vol. - -A new story of village life, rich in domestic interest and full of -character. - - 64, 65. THE MYSTERY OF M. FELIX. By B. L. FARJEON, Author “Blade o’ - Grass,” &c. - -“A novel of great interest and power. It bubbles over with humour of the -raciest and richest character.”--_Scotsman._ - - 66. A SYDNEY-SIDE SAXON. By ROLF BOLDREWOOD, Author of “Robbery - under Arms.” 1 vol. - -The last novel by the popular Australian novelist. - - 67. THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. By RUDYARD KIPLING, Author of “The - Light that Failed,” “The Phantom Rickshaw,” “Soldiers Three,” “Mine - Own People,” &c. 1 vol. - -This volume includes “The Story of the Gadsbys,” Mr. Kipling’s principal -sketch of social life in India, and “Under the Deodars,” a series of -pictures of native life and character. - - 68. HEDDA GABLER. By HENRIK IBSEN. Translated by EDMUND GOSSE. 1 - vol. - -The last and perhaps the greatest of Ibsen’s social dramas, the -appearance of which caused so much controversy. The translation here -offered is the one used at the performances of the play at the -Vaudeville Theatre, London. - - 69. THE PENANCE OF PORTIA JAMES. By “TASMA,” Author of “Uncle Piper - of Piper’s Hill,” “In Her Earliest Youth,” &c. 1 vol. - -A new story by the author of “Uncle Piper of Piper’s Hill,” full of -character and movement. - - 70, 71. MY WINTER ON THE NILE. By CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER, Author of - “Back-Log Studies,” “My Summer in a Garden,” &c. 2 vols. - -This charming book of travel deals, with characteristic skill, good -sense, and good humour, with the popular Egyptian tour. The volume is -issued in time for the Nile season of 1891-2. - - 72. TUSCAN CITIES. By W. D. HOWELLS, Author of “The Shadow of a - Dream,” “The Rise of Silas Lapham,” &c. 1 vol. - -These travel papers deal with their own region of Italy in the genial -and cheering spirit made memorable in Mr. Howells’ “Venetian Days” and -“Italian Journeys.” - - 73. MY JO, JOHN. By HELEN MATHERS, Author of “Comin’ thro’ the - Rye,” “Cherry Ripe,” “The Mystery of No. 13.” - -“A story of lively interest and attraction by the popular author of -“Comin’ thro’ the Rye.” - - 74. CECILIA DE NOËL. By the Author of “Mademoiselle Ixe.” - -“Well worthy the author of ‘Mademoiselle Ixe;’ the style is admirable; -the figures are all vividly delineated.”--_Spectator._ - - 75, 76. THE LITTLE MINISTER. By J. M. BARRIE, Author of “A Window - in Thrums,” &c. 2 vols. - -“Original men and men with styles are so uncommon as to make Mr. -Barrie’s appearance as a novelist a matter for general -congratulation.”--_Saturday Review._ - - 77, 78. THE RAILWAY MAN AND HIS CHILDREN. By Mrs. OLIPHANT, Author - of “Kirsteen,” “Within the Precincts,” “At His Gates,” &c. 2 vols. - - 79. THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. By A. CONAN DOYLE, Author of “The - White Company,” “Micah Clarke,” &c. 1 vol. - -“An entirely new story of stirring life and incident by the author of -‘Micah Clarke.’” - - 80, 81. ESTHER VANHOMRIGH. By MARGARET L. WOODS, Author of “A - Village Tragedy,” 2 vols. - -The _Speaker_, announcing the first appearance of “Esther Vanhomrigh” in -serial form, said: “If the public had paid half the attention it ought -to ‘A Village Tragedy,’ it would have found that tale to be the one and -only thoroughly successful tale that has been printed of late.” - - 82. SELECTED POEMS. By AUSTIN DOBSON, Author of “Old-World Idylls,” - “At the Sign of the Lyre,” &c. 1 vol. - -Mr. Austin Dobson has himself made this selection from his poems -expressly for “=The English Library=.” - - 83. STAGELAND. By JEROME K. JEROME, Author of “Idle Thoughts of an - Idle Fellow,” “Three Men in a Boat,” &c. 1 vol. - -“This characteristic burlesque of the modern dramatic method is -universally considered one of the most successful products of any living -humorist.” - - 84, 85. THE BABY’S GRANDMOTHER. By Mrs. WALFORD, Author of “Mr. - Smith,” “The Mischief of Monica,” &c. 2 vols. - -This is one of Mrs. Walford’s most skilful and artistic novels. - - 86, 87. THE ADVENTURES OF HARRY RICHMOND. By GEORGE MEREDITH, - Author of “The Ordeal of Richard Feverel,” “Beauchamp’s Career,” - &c. 2 vols. - - 88, 89. THE FAIR GOD. By LEW WALLACE, Author of “Ben Hur,” 2 vols. - -A stirring tale of adventure in Mexico. - - 90. JUPITER LIGHTS. By CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON, Author of - “Anne,” &c. 1 vol. - -The best-known work by this successful author. - - 91. KING BILLY OF BALLARAT. By MORLEY ROBERTS, Author of “The - Western Avernus,” &c. 1 vol. - -A series of clever and entertaining short stories. - - 92. MAISIE DERRICK. By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID, Author of “Patty,” - &c. 1 vol. - -The last work by the clever author of “Patty.” - - 93. JACK’S FATHER. By W. E. NORRIS, Author of “Matrimony.” - “Marcia,” “Miss Wentworth’s Idea,” &c. 1 vol. - - 94. A ROMANCE OF THE MOORS. By MONA CAIRD, Author of “The Wing of - Azrael,” &c. 1 vol. - - 95, 96. THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. By Mrs. OLIPHANT, Author of - “Kirsteen,” “At His Gates,” “The Railway Man and His Children,” &c. - 2 vols. - - 97. LADY PATTY. By Mrs. HUNGERFORD, Author of “Molly Bawn,” &c. 1 - vol. - - 98, 99. HOVENDEN, V.C. By F. MABEL ROBINSON, Author of “A Woman of - the World,” “Disenchantment,” &c. 2 vols. - - - HE WENT FOR A SOLDIER. By JOHN STRANGE WINTER, Author of “Bootle’s - Baby,” “Mignon’s Husband,” “Regimental Legends,” &c. 1 vol. - - DENZIL QUARRIER. By GEORGE GISSING, Author of “New Grub Street,” - “The Nether World,” &c. 1 vol. - - PETER IBBETSON. By GEORGE DU MAURIER. 1 vol. - - A NEW ENGLAND NUN. By MARY E. WILKINS, Author of “A Far Away - Melody,” “A Humble Romance,” &c. 1 vol. - - GRANIA. By the Hon. EMILY LAWLESS, Author of “Hurrish,” “With Essex - in Ireland,” &c. 2 vols. - - THE SLAVE OF THE LAMP. By HENRY SETON MERRIMAN, Author of “Young - Mr. Mistley,” &c. 1 vol. - - MAMMON. By Mrs. ALEXANDER, Author of “The Wooing O’t,” &c. 2 vols. - - A FATAL SILENCE. By FLORENCE MARRYAT, Author of “My Sister the - Actress,” “Brave Heart and True,” &c. 2 vols. - - THE O’CONNORS OF BALLINAHINCH. By Mrs. HUNGERFORD, Author of “Molly - Bawn,” &c. 1 vol. - - T’OTHER DEAR CHARMER. By HELEN MATHERS, Author of “Comin’ thro’ the - Rye,” &c. 1 vol. - - INCONSEQUENT LIVES. By J. H. PEARCE, Author of “Esther Pentreath,” - &c. 1 vol. - - LODUSKY. By FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT, Author of “Little Lord - Fauntleroy,” &c. 1 vol. - - ANNE. By CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON, Author of “Jupiter Lights,” - &c. 2 vols. - - - _Sold Everywhere on the Continent._ - - Price M. 1,60, or 2 Francs per volume. - - * * * * * - - The English Library. - - _Each Volume told separately._ - - PRICE 1 MARK 80 PFENNIG, OR 2 FRANCS. - - _NOW READY._ - - -1. The Light that Failed. By RUDYARD KIPLING......1 vol. - -2, 3. Sidney. By MARGARET DELAND, Author of “John Ward, Preacher.”.....2 -vols. - -4, 5. April’s Lady. By Mrs. HUNGERFORD......2 vols. - -6. The Light Of the World. By Sir E. ARNOLD, K.C.I.E., C.S.I......1 vol. - -7. The Phantom Rickshaw. By RUDYARD KIPLING......1 vol. - -8, 9. Urith. By S. BARING-GOULD......2 vols. - -10, 11. Marcia. By W. E. NORRIS......2 vols. - -12, 13. Brave Heart and True. By FLORENCE MARRYAT......2 vols. - -14, 15. Basil and Annette. By B. L. FARJEON......2 vols. - -16, 17. In the Heart of the Storm. By the Author of “The Silence of Dean -Maitland.”.....2 vols. - -18. Tourmalin’s Time Cheques. By F. ANSTEY......1 vol. - -19, 20. The Wages of Sin. By LUCAS MALET......2 vols. - -21. The Anglomaniacs. By Mrs. BURTON HARRISON......1 vol. - -22. My Face is my Fortune. By F. C. PHILIPS......1 vol. - -23, 24. St. Katherine’s by the Tower. By WALTER BESANT......2 vols. - -25, 26. Eric Brighteyes. By H. RIDER HAGGARD......2 vols. - -27. What Gold Cannot Buy. By Mrs. ALEXANDER......1 vol. - -28, 29. One of our Conquerors. By GEO. MEREDITH......2 vols. - -30. A London Life. By HENRY JAMES......1 vol. - -31, 32. A Hardy Norseman. By EDNA LYALL......2 vols. - -33. Pretty Miss Smith. By FLORENCE WARDEN......1 vol. - -34. Derrick Vaughan, and The Autobiography of a Slander. By EDNA -LYALL......1 vol. - -35. The Mystery of No. 13. By HELEN MATHERS......1 vol. - -36. A Little Irish Girl. By Mrs. HUNGERFORD......1 vol. - -37, 38. The Deemster. By HALL CAINE......2 vols. - -39. The Shadow of a Dream. By W. D. HOWELLS......1 vol. - -40. The Risen Dead. By FLORENCE MARRYAT......1 vol. - -41. Mine Own People. By RUDYARD KIPLING......1 vol. - -42. A Window In Thrums. By J. M. BARRIE......1 vol. - -43. Three Men In a Boat. By JEROME K. JEROME......1 vol. - -44. The Splendid Spur. By “Q.”.....1 vol. - -45. With Essex In Ireland. By Hon. EMILY LAWLESS......1 vol. - -46. A Humble Romance. By MARY E. WILKINS......1 vol. - -47. Miss Wentworth’s Idea. By W. E. NORRIS......1 vol. - -48, 49. The Mischief of Monica. By L. B. WALFORD......2 vols. - -50. A Very Strange Family. By F. W. ROBINSON......1 vol. - -51. An American Girl in London. By SARA JEANNETTE DUNCAN......1 vol. - -52. Her Last Throw. By Mrs. HUNGERFORD......1 vol. - -53. The Scapegoat. By HALL CAINE......1 vol. - -54. Intentions. By OSCAR WILDE......1 vol. - -55. A Far-away Melody. By MARY E. WILKINS......1 vol. - -56, 57. The Sin of Olga Zassoulich. By FRANK BARRETT......2 vols. - -58. The English Poets. By JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL......1 vol. - -59. Soldiers Three. By RUDYARD KIPLING......1 vol. - -60. According to St. John. By AMÉLIE RIVES......1 vol. - -61, 62. Mr. Chaine’s Sons. By W. E. NORRIS......2 vols. - -63. The New Rector. By STANLEY J. WEYMAN......1 vol. - -64, 65. The Mystery of M. Felix. By B. L. FARJEON......2 vols. - -66. A Sydney-Side Saxon. By ROLF BOLDREWOOD......1 vol. - -67. The Story of the Gadsbys. By RUDYARD KIPLING......1 vol. - -68. Hedda Gabler. A Drama. By HENRIK IBSEN......1 vol. - -69. The Penance of Portia James. By TASMA......1 vol. - -70, 71. My Winter on the Nile. By CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER......2 vols. - -72. Tuscan Cities. By W. D. HOWELLS......1 vol. - -73. My Jo, John. By HELEN MATHERS......1 vol. - -74. Cecilia de Noël. By the Author of “Mademoiselle Ixe.”.....1 vol. - -75, 76. The Little Minister. By J. M. BARRIE......2 vols. - -77, 78. The Railway Man and his Children. By Mrs. OLIPHANT......2 vols. - -79. The Doings of Raffles Haw. By A. CONAN DOYLE......1 vol. - -80, 81. Esther Vanhomrigh. By MARGARET L. WOODS......2 vols. - -82. Selected Poems. By AUSTIN DOBSON......1 vol. - -83. Stage-Land. By JEROME K. JEROME......1 vol. - -84, 85. The Baby’s Grandmother. By L. B. WALFORD......2 vols. - -86, 87. The Adventures of Harry Richmond. By GEORGE MEREDITH......2 -vols. - -88, 89. The Fair God. By LEW WALLACE......2 vols. - -90. Jupiter Lights. By CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON......1 vol. - -91. King Billy of Ballarat. By MORLEY ROBERTS......1 vol. - -92. Maisie Derrick. By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID......1 vol. - -93. Jack’s Father. By W. E. NORRIS......1 vol. - -94. A Romance of the Moors. By MONA CAIRD......1 vol. - -95, 96. The Marriage of Elinor. By Mrs. OLIPHANT......2 vols. - -97. Lady Patty. By Mrs. HUNGERFORD......1 vol. - -98, 99. Hovenden, V.C. By F. MABEL ROBINSON......2 vols. - -100. The Average Woman. By WOLCOTT BALESTIER......1 vol. - -101. He Went for a Soldier. By JOHN STRANGE WINTER......1 vol. - -102. Denzil Quarrier. By GEORGE GISSING......1 vol. - -103, 104. A Son of Hagar. By HALL CAINE......2 vols. - -105. Mammon. By Mrs. ALEXANDER......1 vol. - -106. Peter Ibbetson. By GEORGE DU MAURIER......1 vol. - -107, 108. A Social Departure. By SARA JEANNETTE DUNCAN......2 vols. - -109. Seamew Abbey. By FLORENCE WARDEN......1 vol. - -110, 111. The Shadow of a Crime. By HALL CAINE......2 vols. - -112. The Slave of the Lamp. By HENRY SETON MERRIMAN......1 vol. - -113. Grania. By Hon. EMILY LAWLESS......1 vol. - -114. There is no Death. By FLORENCE MARRYAT......1 vol. - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cuckoo in the Nest, v. 2/2, by -Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CUCKOO IN THE NEST, V. 2/2 *** - -***** This file should be named 52756-0.txt or 52756-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/7/5/52756/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at 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. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -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/license - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/52756-0.zip b/old/52756-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 2c5e216..0000000 --- a/old/52756-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/52756-h.zip b/old/52756-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 56319fb..0000000 --- a/old/52756-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/52756-h/52756-h.htm b/old/52756-h/52756-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index bd12ad8..0000000 --- a/old/52756-h/52756-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8430 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" -"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> - <head> <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> -<title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Cuckoo in the Nest; vol. 1/2, by Margaret Oliphant -</title> -<style type="text/css"> - p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} - -.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.cb {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;} - -.eng {font-family: "Old English Text MT",fantasy,sans-serif;font-weight:bold;} - -.hang {text-indent:-2%;margin-left:4%;} - -.rt {text-align:right;} - -small {font-size: 70%;} - -.footnote {width:95%;margin:auto 3% 1% auto;font-size:0.9em;position:relative;} - -.label {position:relative;left:-.5em;top:0;text-align:left;font-size:.8em;} - -.fnanchor {vertical-align:30%;font-size:.8em;} - -big {font-size: 130%;} - - h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both; -margin-right:8%;font-size:250%;} - - h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:120%;} - - hr {width:90%;margin:2em auto 2em auto;clear:both;color:black;} - - hr.full {width: 60%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; -padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} - - table {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;} - - body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} - -a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - - link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - -a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} - -a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} - -.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} - - img {border:none;} - -.blockquot {margin-top:1%;margin-bottom:1%;} -.blockquot p{margin:.1em auto .1em auto;} - -.figcenter {margin-top:3%;margin-bottom:3%;clear:both; -margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - @media print, handheld - {.figcenter - {page-break-before: avoid;} - } - -div.poetry {text-align:center;} -div.poem {font-size:90%;margin:auto auto;text-indent:0%; -display: inline-block; text-align: left;} -.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} -.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: .45em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; -left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; -background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} -@media print, handheld -{.pagenum - {display: none;} - } - -</style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -Project Gutenberg's The Cuckoo in the Nest, v. 2/2, by Margaret Oliphant - -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/license - - -Title: The Cuckoo in the Nest, v. 2/2 - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: August 8, 2016 [EBook #52756] -[Last updated: September 16, 2016] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CUCKOO IN THE NEST, V. 2/2 *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="354" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="border:3px double black;margin:2em auto auto auto;max-width:50%;"> -<tr><td> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER: XXVI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">XXVII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">XXVIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">XXIX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">XXX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">XXXI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">XXXII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">XXXIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">XXXIV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">XXXV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">XXXVI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">XXXVII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">XXXVIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">XXXIX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XL">XL., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">XLI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">XLII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">XLIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">XLIV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">XLV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVI">XLVI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVII">XLVII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVIII">XLVIII.</a> -</td></tr> -</table> - -<p class="c"><span class="eng">The English Library</span></p> - -<h1>The Cuckoo<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 30%;">in the Nest</span></h1> - -<p class="c"><small>BY</small><br /> -<span class="smcap">M r s. O l i p h a n t</span><br /><small>AUTHOR OF</small><br /> -<small><i>“THE RAILWAY MAN AND HIS CHILDREN,” -“KIRSTEEN,” “DIANA,” ETC. ETC.</i></small> -<br /><br />VOLUME II.<br /> - -<br /><i>LEIPZIG</i><br /> -HEINEMANN AND BALESTIER -(<i>Ltd. London</i>)<br /><br /> - -<i>PARIS</i> -HACHETTE ET CIE</p> - -<p class="c"><i>The Volumes of the English Library are published by arrangement with the Authors, and -<br />enjoy Copyright in all Continental countries, but may not be introduced<br /> -into Great Britain, Ireland, or the British Colonies</i><br /> -———<br /> -<small>COMPLETE IN TWO VOLUMES</small><br /><br /> - -<span class="eng">The English Library</span><br /> -<br /> -No. 157<br /> -<br /> -<big>THE CUCKOO IN THE NEST</big><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">BY Mrs. OLIPHANT</span><br /> -<br /> -<i>IN TWO VOLUMES</i><br /> -<br /><br /><br /> -<i>OTHER VOLUMES BY THE SAME AUTHOR<br /> -PUBLISHED IN</i><br /><br /> -<span class="eng">The English Library</span></p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td align="left">77. 78.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Railway Man and his Children</span></td><td align="left">2 Vols.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">95. 96.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Marriage of Elinor</span></td><td align="left">2 Vols.</td></tr> -</table> -<p class="c"> -(<i>In the Press</i>)<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">The Victorian Age of English Literature.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">Diana.</span><br /> -<br /> -<i>Copyright Edition</i><br /> -</p> - -<h1> -<span class="smcap">The Cuckoo<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 30%;">In The Nest</span></span></h1> -<p class="c"> -BY<br /> -<span class="smcap">MRS. OLIPHANT</span><br /> -<br /> -AUTHOR OF<br /> -<small>“<i>WITHIN THE PRECINCTS</i>,” “<i>THE RAILWAY MAN AND HIS CHILDREN</i>,”<br /> -“<i>AT HIS GATES</i>,” “<i>THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR</i>,” <i>ETC.</i></small><br /> -<br /> -<i>IN TWO VOLUMES</i><br /> -<br /> -VOLUME II.<br /> -<br /> -LEIPZIG<br /> -HEINEMANN AND BALESTIER<br /> -<i>LIMITED</i>, <i>LONDON</i><br /> -1892<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1"></a>{1}</span> </p> - -<p class="cb">THE CUCKOO IN THE NEST</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Colonel Piercey</span> had been walking up and down somewhat impatiently for -some time, at the corner of the rose-garden where Osy had left him. The -child had not then seen the lady at the window who asked who was that -little boy; and this incident and the account of it, which Osy had -hastened to give to his mother, had naturally occupied some time. He was -not much accustomed to wait, and did not like it. And when he saw -Margaret come slowly along, some half-hour after he had sent, what he -felt was a very respectful message to her, asking her to allow him a few -minutes’ conversation, the curious opposition and sense of inevitable -hostility which he felt towards his cousin, was sharpened into a keen -feeling of resentment. She had held him at bay all along, never treated -him with confidence or friendliness; and if she chose to affect -fine-lady airs of coyness and pride <i>now</i>! It was quite unconsciously to -himself, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2"></a>{2}</span> was by nature a man full of generosity, who would have -been more astonished than words could say, had he been charged with -presuming upon adverse circumstances; and yet he was far more angry with -Margaret in her dependent position than he would have been with any -woman more happily situated. He felt that she, as women he believed -generally did, was disposed to stand upon the superiority of being at so -great a disadvantage, and to claim consideration from the very fact that -she got it from no one. Why should she bear the spurns of all the -unworthy, and mount upon that pedestal of patient merit to him? It was -not that he felt it natural to treat her badly because other people did, -but because the fact that other people did, gave her the opportunity of -assuming that it would be the same with him. He would have liked to take -her by the shoulders and shake out of her that aspect of injury, without -knowing that he dared not have entertained that fierce intention towards -any one who was not injured. Finally, he watched her coming towards him -slowly, showing her reluctance in every step, with an impatience and -disinclination to put up with it, which was almost stronger than any -feeling of personal opposition he had ever felt in his life. She said, -before she had quite come up to him: “I am sorry I have kept you -waiting. Osy has only given me your message now.”</p> - -<p>It was on his lips to say: “You are not sorry to have kept me waiting!” -but he subdued that impulse. A man like Colonel Piercey cannot give a -woman the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3"></a>{3}</span> lie direct, unless in very serious circumstances indeed. He -replied stiffly: “I fear I have taken a great liberty in asking you to -meet me here at all.”</p> - -<p>Margaret answered only with a faint smile and wave of her hand, which -seemed to Colonel Piercey to say as plainly as words: “Everybody offers -me indignity; why not you, too?” which, perhaps, was not very far from -the fact; though she was a great deal too proud to have ever said, or -even implied, anything of the kind. He answered his own supposition -hotly, by saying: “I know no other place where we should be safe from -interruption, and I thought it my duty to—— speak to you about the new -condition of affairs.”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” said Margaret. “I am afraid I have very little light to throw on -the position; but I shall be glad to hear what you have to say.”</p> - -<p>All that he said in the meantime was, with some resentment: “You don’t -seem so much startled by what has happened as I should have supposed.”</p> - -<p>“I was much startled to see Patty—I mean the person whom we must now -call Mrs. Gervase—at the funeral. But of course, after that, one was -prepared for all the rest. I don’t know that I had much reason to be -startled even at that. From the moment we found that she was absent -while he was absent, I ought to have, and indeed I did, divine what must -have occurred. However sure one is of such a thing, it is startling, all -the same, when one comes to see it actually accomplished; but I ought -not to say more than that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4"></a>{4}</span>”</p> - -<p>“You take it with much philosophy,” Colonel Piercey said.</p> - -<p>“Do you think so? I should be glad to think I was so strong-minded; for -there is probably no one to whom it will make so much difference as to -me.”</p> - -<p>“That is why I felt that I must speak to you. Can nothing be done to -prevent this?”</p> - -<p>“To prevent what?” she said, with some surprise.</p> - -<p>“The reign of this woman over Uncle Giles’ house, in Aunt Piercey’s -place! It is too intolerable; it is enough to make the old lady rise -from her grave.”</p> - -<p>“Poor old Aunt Piercey! She has been taken away from the evil to come. I -am glad that she is dead, and has not had this to bear.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose women have tears at their will,” cried Colonel Piercey, -bursting forth in an impatience which he could restrain no longer. “She -was not so kind to you that you should feel so tenderly for her.”</p> - -<p>“How do you know she was not kind to me? She was natural, at all -events,” cried Margaret. “It has all been quite natural up to this time; -I went away and I came back, and whatever happened to me, I was at home. -But you, Colonel Piercey, you are not natural. I have no right to accept -contumely at your hands. You came here with a suspicion of Heaven knows -what in your mind; you thought I had some design: what was the design -which you suspected me of having against the happiness of this -household? I warned you that you should have some time or other to -explain what you meant—to me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5"></a>{5}</span>”</p> - -<p>Colonel Piercey stood confronting her among the roses which formed so -inappropriate a background, and did not know what reply to make. He had -not expected that assault. Answer to a man for whatever you have said or -seemed to say, and whatever may lie behind, that is simple enough; but -to explain your injurious thoughts to a woman, who does not even soften -the situation by saying that she has no one to protect her—that is a -different matter. He grew red, and then grew grey. He had no more notion -what to answer to her than he had what it was, actually and as a matter -of fact, that he had suspected. He had not suspected anything. He had -felt that a woman like this could never have accepted the position of -dependence, unless—— That such a person must be a dangerous and -hostile force—that she had wrongs to redress, a position to make—how -could he tell? It had been instinctive, he had never known what he -thought.</p> - -<p>“Cousin Meg——” he said, hesitating.</p> - -<p>“From the moment,” she said indignantly, “in which you set me up as a -schemer and designing person in the home that sheltered me, these terms -of relationship have been worse than out of place.”</p> - -<p>Poor Colonel Piercey! He was as far from being a coward as a man could -be. If he did not write V.C. after his name, it was, perhaps, because -the opportunity had not come to him of acquiring that distinction; he -was the kind of man of which V.C.'s are made. But now, no expedient, -save that of utter<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6"></a>{6}</span> cowardice, occurred to him; for the first time in -his life he ran away.</p> - -<p>“I am very sorry you will not accord me these terms,” he said, meekly; -“I don’t understand what you accuse me of. <i>I</i> think you a schemer and -designing person! how could I? If you will excuse me, there is no sense -in such a suggestion. Unless I had been a fool—and I hope, at least, -that you don’t consider me a fool—how could I have thought anything of -the kind? You must think me either mad or an idiot,” he went on, gaining -a little courage. “I came here with no suspicions. I have been angry,” -he added, turning his head away, “to see my cousin, Meg Piercey, at -everybody’s beck and call, and to see how careless they were of you, and -how exacting, and how——”</p> - -<p>“All this,” said Margaret, with surprise, “should have made you look -upon me with compassion instead of something like insult.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, compassion,” he cried, “to you! I should have thought that the -worst insult of all. You are not a person to be pitied. However I may -have offended, I have always felt that——”</p> - -<p>The end of this statement was part of the process of running away. -Indeed, he was very much frightened, and felt the falseness of his -position extremely. He had not a word to say for himself. To upbraid -her—at a moment when her home, her last shelter, was probably about to -be taken from her, and herself thrown upon the world with her helpless -child—he,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7"></a>{7}</span> perhaps, being the only person who had any right to help -her—was the most impossible thing in the world. And though his opinion -had no time or occasion to have changed, it had always been an opinion -founded upon nothing. A more curious state of mind could scarcely be. He -was dislodged from his position at the point of Margaret’s sword, so to -speak. And he had never had any ground for that position, or right to -have assumed it; and yet he was still there in mind, though in word and -profession he had run away. Margaret did not understand this complicated -state of mind. She was half amused by the dismay in his face, by his too -swift and complete change of front. The <i>amende</i> which he had made was -as complete as any apology and confession could be, though it was an -apology by implication, rather than a direct denial of blame. “How could -I?” is different from “I did not.” But she did not dwell upon this.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” she said, “I have no right not to accept what you say, -though it is, perhaps, strangely expressed. And I scarcely know what -there is I can explain to you. My aunt feared this that has taken place, -before I did: she naturally thought less of her son’s deficiencies. She -was so imprudent, as I thought it, as to warn the girl of things she -would do to prevent it. I believe there was really nothing that could -have been done to prevent it. And then she was equally imprudent in -letting him go to town, and thus giving him the opportunity. She thought -she could secure him by putting him in the hands of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8"></a>{8}</span>clergyman, who -never saw him at all. I feared very much how it would be, and poor -Gervase was several times on the point of betraying himself. Perhaps, if -I had sought his confidence—— But his mother would not have paid any -attention to what I could say. And I don’t know what could have been -done to prevent it.”</p> - -<p>“Why, he is next to an idiot!”</p> - -<p>“Oh no,” cried Margaret, half offended. “Gervase is not an idiot. He has -gleams of understanding, quite—almost, as clear as any one. He knows -what he wants, and though you may think his mind has no steadiness, you -will find he always comes back to his point. He has a kind of -cleverness, even, at times. Oh no; Aunt Piercey examined into all that. -They could not make him out incapable of managing his own affairs. To be -sure, he has not had any to manage up to this time. And now that he has -this sharp Patty behind him,” said Margaret, with a half smile——</p> - -<p>“Then you think nothing can be done?”</p> - -<p>“What could be done? You could not do anything in Uncle Giles’ lifetime -to turn his only child out of his inheritance.”</p> - -<p>“It is you,” said Colonel Piercey, “who are imputing intentions now. I -had no such idea. I think my business as next-of-kin is to defend the -poor fellow. But the woman; that is a different thing.”</p> - -<p>“The woman is his wife. I don’t want to assume any unnatural -impartiality. But, after all, is he likely ever to have had a better -wife? I believe she will<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9"></a>{9}</span> be an excellent wife to Gervase. One of his -own class, I hope, would not have married him.”</p> - -<p>“Why do you say, ‘I hope?’ Is that not worse than anything that could be -said?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” said Margaret. “Poor Gervase is not an idiot, but neither is -he just like other people. And a girl might have been driven into it, -and then might have found——” She added, with a little shiver, “It is -the best thing that could have happened for him to marry Patty. I hate -it, of course. How could I do otherwise? But as far as he himself is -concerned——”</p> - -<p>“You are a great philosopher, Cousin Meg.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think so?” Half resentful as she was, and not more than half -satisfied with Colonel Piercey’s explanations, he was yet the only -person in the world to whom she could speak with freedom; and it was a -relief to her. “She will look after Uncle Giles’ comfort, and he will -get to like her,” she continued. “She will rule the household with a rod -of iron.” Margaret laughed, though her face settled down the next moment -into a settled gravity. “They will have no society, but they will not -want it. She will keep them amused. Perhaps it is the best thing that -could have happened,” she said.</p> - -<p>“And you? and the boy?” He stopped and looked at her standing among the -roses, which were very luxuriant in the last climax of maturity, full -blown, shedding their leaves, just about to topple over from that height -of life into the beginning of decay. Margaret had no trace of decay -about her, but she, too,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10"></a>{10}</span> was in the full height of life, the fulfilment -of promise, standing at the <i>mezzo di cammin</i>, and full of all -capabilities. She did not look up at him, but answered with a -half-smile,—</p> - -<p>“I—and the boy? We are not destitute. Perhaps it will be better for us -both to set out together, and live our own life.”</p> - -<p>“You are not destitute? I hope you will pardon me. After what you think -my conduct has been, you may say I have no right——”</p> - -<p>Margaret smiled in spite of herself.</p> - -<p>“But you say that your conduct has been—not what I thought.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, that is so: I have not been such a fool. Cousin Meg, we were -great friends in the old days.”</p> - -<p>“Not such very great friends—no more than girls and boys are when they -are not specially attached to each other.”</p> - -<p>He thought that she intended to give him a little prick with one of -those thorns which the matured rose still keeps upon its stalk; and he -felt the prick, which, being still more mature than she, he ought not to -have done.</p> - -<p>“I think it was a little more than that,” he said, in a slight tone of -pique; “but anyhow—we are cousins.”</p> - -<p>“Very distant cousins.”</p> - -<p>“Distant cousins,” he cried, impatiently, “are near when there are no -nearer between. We are of the same blood, at least. You want to push me -away,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11"></a>{11}</span> to make me feel I have nothing to do with it; but that can’t be -so long as you are Meg Piercey——”</p> - -<p>“Margaret Osborne at your service,” she said, gravely. “Forgive me, -Cousin Gerald. It is true, we have had enough of this tilting. I don’t -doubt for a moment that you would give me a helping hand if you could; -that you wish me well, and especially,” she added, lifting her eyes with -a half reproach, half gratitude in them, “the boy—as you call him.”</p> - -<p>“What could I call him but the boy?” said Colonel Piercey, with a sort -of exasperation. “Yes, I don’t deny it, it was of him I wanted to speak. -He is a delightful boy—he is full of faculty and capacity, and one -could make anything of him. Let me say quite sincerely what I think. You -are not destitute; but you are not rich enough to give him the best of -everything in the way of education, as—as—don’t slay me with a flash -of lightning—as I could. Now I have said it! If you would trust him to -me!”</p> - -<p>She had looked, indeed, for a moment as if her eyes could give forth -lightning enough to have slain any man standing defenceless before her; -but then these eyes softened with hot tears. She kept looking at the -man, explaining himself with such difficulty, putting forth his offer of -kindness as if it were some dreadful proposition, with a gradual melting -of the lines in her face. When he threw a hasty glance at her at the end -of his speech, she seemed to him a woman made of fire, shedding light -about her in an astonishing transfiguration such as he had never seen -before.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12"></a>{12}</span></p> - -<p>“This,” she said, in a low voice, “is the most terrible demonstration of -my poverty and helplessness that has ever been made to me—and the most -awful suggestion, as of suicide and destruction.”</p> - -<p>“Meg!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t, don’t interrupt me! It is: I have never known how little good I -was before. I don’t know now if it will kill me, or sting me to life; -but all the same,” she cried, her lip quivering, “you are kind, and I -thank you with all my heart! and I will promise you this: If I find, as -you think, that, whatever I may do, I cannot give my Osy the education -he ought to have, I will send and remind you of your offer. I hope you -will have children of your own by that time, and perhaps you will have -forgotten it.”</p> - -<p>“I shall not forget it; and I am very unlikely to have children of my -own.”</p> - -<p>“Anyhow, I will trust you,” she said, “and I thank you with all my -heart, though you are my enemy. And that is a bargain,” she said, -holding out her hand.</p> - -<p>Her enemy! Was he her enemy? And yet it seemed something else beside.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13"></a>{13}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">While</span> these scenes were going on, Mr. and Mrs. Gervase Piercey were very -differently employed upstairs. When Patty had finished her tea, and when -she had made the survey of the library, concerning which her conclusion -was that these horrid bookcases must be cleared away, and that a -full-length portrait of herself in the white satin which had not, yet -ought to have been, her wedding-dress, would do a great deal for the -cheerfulness of the room, she took her husband’s arm, and desired him to -conduct her over the house. When Patty saw the drawing-room, which was -very large, cold, and light in colour, with chairs and chandeliers in -brown holland, she changed her mind about the library. She had not been -aware of the existence of this drawing-room.</p> - -<p>“This is where we shall sit, of course,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Father can’t abide it,” said Gervase.</p> - -<p>“Oh, your father is a very nice old gentleman. He will have to put up -with it,” said the new lady of the house.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14"></a>{14}</span></p> - -<p>In imagination she saw herself seated there, receiving the county, and -the spirit of Patty was uplifted. She felt, for the first time, without -any admixture of disappointment, that here was her sphere. When she was -taken upstairs, however, to Gervase’s room, she regarded it by no means -with the same satisfaction. It was a large room, but sparsely furnished, -in no respect like the luxurious bower she had imagined for herself.</p> - -<p>“Take off my bonnet here!” she said: “no, indeed I sha’n’t. Why, there -is not even a drapery to the toilet table. I have not come to Greyshott, -I hope, to have less comfort than I had at home. There must be spare -rooms. Take me to the best of the spare rooms.”</p> - -<p>“There’s the prince’s room,” said Gervase, “but nobody sleeps there -since some fellow of a prince—I can’t tell you what prince—— And I -haven’t got the keys; it’s Parsons that has got the keys.”</p> - -<p>“You can call Parsons, I suppose. Ring the bell,” said Patty, seizing -the opportunity to look at herself in the glass, though she surveyed the -room with contempt.</p> - -<p>“Lord!” cried Gervase. “Parsons, mother’s own woman——.” Then he threw -himself down in his favourite chair with his hands in his pockets. “You -can do it yourself. I’m not going to catch a scolding for you.”</p> - -<p>“A scolding!” said Patty; “and who is going to scold you, you silly -fellow, except me? I should like<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15"></a>{15}</span> to see them try—Mrs. Parsons or Sir -Giles, or any one. You can just say, ‘Speak to my wife.’”</p> - -<p>“There’s mother, that you daren’t set up your face to. I say,” said -Gervase; “Patty, what’s all this about mother? Mother’s—dead? She’ll -never have a word to say about anything any more?”</p> - -<p>“Dear mother!” said Patty. “You must always say dear mother, Gervase, -now: I’m sure I should have loved her—but, you see, Providence never -gave me the opportunity. No, she’ll never have a word to say: it’s me -that will have everything to say.—Oh, you have answered the bell at -last! Send Mrs. Parsons here.”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Parsons, ma’am—my lady?” the frightened little under-housemaid, -who had been made to answer, said.</p> - -<p>Patty gave her a gracious smile, feeling that at last she had found some -one who understood what her claims were.</p> - -<p>“What’s your name?” she said.</p> - -<p>“Ellen.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Ellen, I like your looks, and I’ve no doubt we shall get on; but -you needn’t call me my lady, not now,—for the present I am only Mrs. -Gervase. Now, go and send Parsons here.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, my lady, Mrs. Parsons! she’s in my old lady’s room. I daren’t -disturb her, not for anything in the world; it would be as much as my -place was worth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16"></a>{16}</span>”</p> - -<p>“I see you are only a little fool after all,” said Patty, with a frown. -“Your place is just worth this much—whether you please me or not. Mrs. -Parsons has as much power as—as that table. Goodness,” cried Patty, -“what a state this house has been in, to be sure, when one servant is -afraid of another! but I shall soon put an end to that. Call Parsons! -let her come at once.”</p> - -<p>The little housemaid came back while Patty still stood before the glass -straightening the edge of her bonnet and arranging her veil.</p> - -<p>“If you please, my lady, Mrs. Parsons is doing out my old lady’s -drawers—and she has her head bent down, and I can’t make her hear.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll make her hear,” cried Patty, with an impulse which belonged rather -to her previous condition than to her present dignity; and she rushed -along the corridor like a whirlwind, with her draperies flying. It was, -doubtless, instinct or inspiration that directed her to the right door, -while Gervase followed on her steps to see the fun, with a grin upon his -face. He remembered only now and then, when something recalled it to -him, that his mother was gone. He was not thinking of her now; -nevertheless, when Patty burst into that room, he stood in the doorway -dumb, the grin dying out from his face, and gave a scared look round as -if looking for the familiar presence he had so often encountered there.</p> - -<p>“You perhaps have not heard, Mrs. Parsons,” said Patty, with her sharp, -decisive voice, “that I sent for you?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17"></a>{17}</span>”</p> - -<p>Parsons had her head bent over the drawers. She said, without turning -round, “That gaby, Ellen, said something about somebody wanting me”; and -then began to count,—“Eight, nine, ten. Three dozen here and three -dozen in the walnut wardrobe,” said Parsons; “that makes it just right.”</p> - -<p>Patty’s curiosity overcame her resentment. She came forward and looked -over Parsons’ shoulder. “Six dozen silk stockings,” she cried; “is that -what you are counting? What a number for an old lady! and fine, too, and -in good condition,” she said, putting her hand over the woman’s shoulder -and bringing forth a handful. They were mingled white and black, and -Patty looked upon them with covetous eyes.</p> - -<p>“Who are you as takes such a liberty?” cried Parsons, springing to her -feet. She found herself confronted by Patty’s very alert, firm figure -and resolute countenance. Patty drew Lady Piercey’s silk stockings -through her hands, looking at the size of them. She held them up by the -toes to mark her sense of their enormous dimensions.</p> - -<p>“I could put both my feet into one of them,” she said, reflectively, “so -that they are no use to me. Oh, you are Parsons! Open the door, please, -at once, of the best rooms. I want to settle down.”</p> - -<p>The woman looked at the intruder with a mixture of defiance and fear. -She turned to Gervase, appealing against the stranger. Many a time had -Parsons put the Softy out of his mother’s room, bidding him be off and -not aggravate my lady. But my lady was gone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18"></a>{18}</span> and Gervase was the -master, to do what he would; or, what was worse, it was Patty who was -the mistress. Patty of the ale-house! Parsons looked at Gervase with an -agonised appeal. “They’re your mother’s things,” she said; “Mr. Gervase, -will you see them knock about your mother’s things?”</p> - -<p>Patty’s eyes were in the drawer remarking everything, and those eyes -sparkled and shone. What treasures were there! Not only silk stockings -too big for her, but linen, and lace, and embroidered handkerchiefs, and -silks, such as Patty had never seen before. She went to the drawers and -closed them one after another.</p> - -<p>“I see there are some nice things here,” she said. “We can’t have them -turned over like this by a servant. Some servants expect their -mistress’s things as their perquisites, but we can’t allow that in this -house. Lock them up, lock them up at once, and I’ll take the keys.”</p> - -<p>“The keys—my keys!” cried Parsons almost beside herself.</p> - -<p>“The late Lady Piercey’s keys. I’ll take them, please, all of them. -There’s a time for everything; and to go over my mother-in-law’s things -the very day of her funeral is indecent—that is what it is, indecent; I -can find no other word.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll never give up my keys!” cried Parsons, “that my dear lady trusted -me with—never, never!” And then she burst into tears, and flung them -down on the floor at Gervase’s feet. “Take them all, then! all!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19"></a>{19}</span>” she -cried; “I’ll not keep one of them! Oh, my dear old lady, what a good -thing she has not lived to see this day! But it never would have -happened had she been here. You never, never would have dared to lift up -your little impudent face.—Oh, Mr. Gervase! oh, Mr. Gervase, save me -from her! She’ll tear me to pieces!” Parsons cried. No doubt Patty’s -look was fierce. The woman seized hold upon Gervase and swung herself -out by him, keeping his limp person between her and his wife. “Don’t let -her!” she cried, “don’t let her! in your own mother’s room.”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Parsons,” said Patty, over Gervase’s body as it were, “do you -think I would soil my fingers by touching you? You thought you would rob -the poor lady that’s dead, and that nobody would notice; but you did not -know that <i>I</i> was here. Instead of rummaging Lady Piercey’s drawers, you -had better empty your own, and get ready for leaving. Have all your -accounts ready and your keys ready; you shall leave this house by twelve -to-morrow,” Patty cried.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Gervase, Mr. Gervase!” cried the unfortunate woman.</p> - -<p>“I say, don’t you go and touch me, Parsons. I don’t mind your talking, -but you sha’n’t go and finger me as if I was clothes from the wash,” -said Gervase. He laughed at his own joke with enjoyment. “As if I was a -basket of clothes from the wash,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Shut the door upon her, Gervase. I don’t condescend to bandy words.—At -twelve to-morrow,” Patty said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20"></a>{20}</span></p> - -<p>Parsons went downstairs mad with fury, and was told the tale of the tea, -and how John Simpson had got his dismissal, and was never to appear -before that upstart more. “We had better all give warning afore she -comes to the rest of us,” said cook. But it was a good place, with many -perquisites, and as she spoke she exchanged with the butler a look of -some anxiety. Perhaps they did not wish to present their accounts at a -moment’s notice. Perhaps they only thought regretfully of their good -place. Parsons had carried things with a high hand over the younger -servants for years. She had not always even respected the -susceptibilities of cook. She had been her mistress’s favourite and -companion, doing, they all thought, very much what she liked with the -internal economy of the house. No one had ventured to contradict, or -even oppose, Lady Piercey’s factotum. It was not in human nature not to -be pleased, more or less, that she had found some one to repay to her in -a certain degree the little tyrannies of the past. “What would Mr. -Dunning say?” was what everybody asked.</p> - -<p>The house was, however, in great agitation as the hour of dinner -approached, and the drama of the family was about to be exposed to the -searching observation of that keen audience which waits at table, and -which had all its faculties sharpened for this, its chief moment of -spectatorship. To have this mode and period of watching the crisis of -life in other human creatures, must be a great <i>dédommagement</i> for any -ills that may pertain to domestic service in these days. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21"></a>{21}</span> is as good -as a play, nay, better, seeing that there is no simulation in the -history that is worked out under our servants’ eyes. It was exciting to -think, even, how many places should be laid at table; whether Patty, -whose new dignity had not been formally announced to any one, and, who, -for anything they knew, might shrink from appearing in the midst of the -family, unsupported—might not withdraw from the ordeal of the common -meal, or be too much overcome with grief to come downstairs. Patty’s -mind was greatly exercised on the same subject. She had chosen from -among the unoccupied rooms those which pleased her best, which were not, -however, the prince’s rooms, but a suite adjoining which took her fancy, -the size and the fittings of which, however, suggested innumerable new -ideas to a mind open and eager to receive every indication of what was -suitable to her new state. For one thing, they were lined with -prodigious wardrobes: <i>miles</i>, Patty said to herself with awe, of old -dark, gleaming, mahogany doors, behind which were pegs and shelves -innumerable, to contain the dresses of the inhabitant. Patty could count -hers—and only two, or at most, three of these were fit for the use of -Mrs. Gervase Piercey—on one hand; and the long range of empty space at -once depressed and excited her—a vacancy that must be filled. In like -manner, the large dressing-table had drawers for jewellery, of which -Patty had none. And in this great space, where her little figure was -visible in glimpses in two or three tall mirrors, there was such evident -need of a maid, that her alert<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22"></a>{22}</span> spirit was overawed by the necessity. -Then she had nothing that was needful for the toilet: no shoes, not even -a fresh handkerchief to dry those tears, which were ready to come at the -mention of her dear mother-in-law’s name. The temptation to return to -that dear mother-in-law’s room, and equip herself with those articles -which lay there in such abundance, and which certainly, it would harm no -one to make use of, was very strong. But Patty was half-afraid, -half-conscious, that on this evening, at least, it would be unwise so to -compromise herself. It was not an evening, she reflected, for full -dress, and her mourning would be an excuse for everything. What a wise -inspiration that had been, to cover her old dress with crape! Patty -undid a hook or two, and folded in the corners of her bodice at the -neck. It showed the whiteness of that throat, and gave an indication -that she knew what was required in polite society. And she drew on again -with some difficulty, over hands which were not quite so presentable, -the black gloves, which had not borne the strain of the morning, the -heat, and the affliction, so well as might have been desired. Before -doing this, however, she had written, by a sudden inspiration, a note to -Sally Fletcher, requesting her to come to Greyshott at once with Mrs. -Gervase Piercey’s “things,” and to remain as her maid till further -orders. And then she took her husband’s arm, and went solemnly -downstairs.</p> - -<p>Colonel Piercey was lingering in the hall, much at a loss what to do. -Margaret had not yet appeared.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23"></a>{23}</span> The butler stood at the door of the -dining-room, with Robert, not John Simpson, at his side. Patty knew that -it was correct and proper for the party to assemble first in the -drawing-room, but she waived that ceremony for to-night. She came -downstairs very audibly, describing to Gervase what she intended to do.</p> - -<p>“I can’t bear the gloomy library,” she said. “I don’t mean to sit in it. -We must have the real drawing-room made fit to live in. But all that -will want a little time, and, of course, your dear papa must be -consulted. I would not for the world interfere with his little ways.”</p> - -<p>“Where’s father? ain’t he coming to dinner?” said Gervase, breaking into -this speech, which the audience for which it was intended had already -heard, noted, and inwardly digested.</p> - -<p>“No, Mr. Gervase. Mr. Dunning things as Sir Giles ’as ’ad enough -excitement for to-day.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Patty, “I don’t think much of Dunning after his neglect, -but he’s right in that. I should have said so myself had it been -referred to me. Early to bed and kept quite quiet—that is the only -thing for your poor dear papa. Are we waiting for any one?” she said, -looking round with majesty. <i>J’ai failli attendre</i>. Patty had never -heard these words, but they were written on her face.</p> - -<p>There was silence in the hall. Colonel Piercey had turned round from the -engraving which he had been examining with quite unnecessary minuteness; -but as he did not know either of the strange couple who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24"></a>{24}</span> by a sudden -transformation had become his hosts, it was not possible that he could -give any explanations; and the butler, who had not the training of a -master of the ceremonies, and who had begun to shake in his shoes before -that personage who, in her day, had drawn beer for him at the Seven -Thorns—who had dismissed the great Parsons, and accused the greater -Dunning of neglect—remained dumb, shifting from one foot to another, -looking helplessly in front of him. He ventured at last to say, with -trepidation, that “Mrs. Osborne, if you please, is just coming -downstairs.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mrs. Osborne!” said Patty, and swept into the room. She stood -looking for a moment at the expanse of the table laid with five -places—one of them unnecessary. “I suppose I had better take my own -proper place at once without ceremony,” she said, with an airy gesture, -half to Colonel Piercey, half to the butler. “And, Gervase, as your -father isn’t here, you had better sit in his place. We must make another -arrangement when Sir Giles is able to come to table. Oh, Margaret -Osborne! Is that where she sits? And here she is! I don’t say anything, -for we are a little unpunctual ourselves to-night. But I must warn you -all that I am generally exact to the minute, and I never wait for -anybody,” Patty said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25"></a>{25}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> may easily be supposed that there was not much conversation at the -table thus surrounded. Colonel Piercey and Margaret Osborne sat opposite -to each other, but concealed from each other by the huge bouquet of -flowers which occupied the central place; and neither of them, in the -shock and strangeness of the occasion, found a word to say. They were -both paralysed, so to speak, by the unimaginable circumstances in which -they found themselves, overwhelmed with an amazement which grew as the -meal went on. Gervase, in his father’s seat, ate voraciously, and -laughed a good deal, but said little. Patty was mistress of the -occasion. One glance of keen observation had shown her that Mrs. -Osborne’s dress was not even open at the throat; it was not covered with -crape. It was the simplest of black gowns, with no special sign of -“deep” mourning, such as on the evening of a funeral ought to have been -indispensable. If Patty had ever entertained any doubt of herself it now -vanished. It was she who was fulfilling all the duties necessary. The -others were but outsiders. She had secured triumphantly her proper seat -and sphere.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26"></a>{26}</span></p> - -<p>“It is unfortunate for us, Gervase,” she said, “to come home on such a -sad day; and to think we knew nothing of all the dreadful things that -were going on till we learned it all with a shock when we arrived! It is -true, we were moving about on our wedding-tour; but still, if the house -hadn’t been filled with those as—that—didn’t wish us well, we might -have been called back; and you, dear, might have had the mournful -satisfaction——”</p> - -<p>“You always said, Patty,” said Gervase, “that you would stay a week -away.”</p> - -<p>“And to think of my poor dear mother-in-law looking for us, holding out -her poor arms to us—and us knowing nothing,” said Patty, drying her -eyes—“as if there were no telegraphs nor railways! Which makes it very -sad for us to come home now; but I hope your dear father, Gervase, if -he’s rightly watched and done for, won’t be any the worse. Oh, I hope -not! it would be too sad. That Dunning, who has been thought so much of, -does not seem to me at all fit for his place. To think of him to-day, -such an agitating day, with nothing to give his master! I shall take the -liberty of superintending Mr. Dunning in future,” Patty said.</p> - -<p>Gerald Piercey and Margaret Osborne ate what was set before them humbly, -without raising their eyes. They were ridiculously silenced and reduced -to subjection; even if they could have encouraged each other with a -glance it would have been something, but they had not even that -alleviation. What to say! They<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27"></a>{27}</span> were ignored as completely as if they -had been two naughty children. Gervase, more naughty still, but in -favour, took advantage by behaving himself as badly as possible. He made -signs to the butler to pour him out wine with a liberal hand, and -gobbled his food in great mouthfuls. “I say, Meg,” he whispered, putting -his hand before his mouth, “don’t tell! she can’t see me!” while his -wife’s monologue ran on; and then he interrupted it with one of those -boisterous laughs by which the Softy was known.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” Patty cried sharply from the head of the table.</p> - -<p>“Meg knows—Meg and me knows,” cried Gervase from the other end.</p> - -<p>“I must request,” said Patty, “Margaret Osborne, that you will not make -my husband forget, with your jokes, what day it is. You mayn’t think it, -perhaps, for my poor dear mother-in-law was not very kind to me—but I -feel it to be a very solemn day. And you may be very witty and very -clever, though you don’t show it to me—but I won’t have laughing and -nonsense at my table on poor dear Lady Piercey’s funeral day.”</p> - -<p>What was Margaret to do? She could not defend herself from so grotesque -an accusation. She looked up with some quick words on her lips, but did -not say them. It was intolerable, but it was at the same time ludicrous; -a ridiculous jest, and yet the most horribly, absurdly serious -catastrophe in the world.</p> - -<p>“The laughing seems all on your husband’s side,” said Colonel Piercey, -unable to refrain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28"></a>{28}</span></p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Patty, fixing upon him a broad stare: and then she, too, -permitted herself a little laugh. “It’s the strangest thing,” she said, -“and I can’t help seeing it’s ridiculous—though laughing is not in my -mind, however it may be in other people’s, on such a day—here’s a -gentleman sitting at my table, and everybody knows him but me.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know him,” cried Gervase, “not from Adam; unless it’s Gerald -Piercey, the soldier fellow that mother was so full of before I went off -to get married: though nobody knew I was going to get married,” he said, -with a chuckle, “except little Osy, that gave me—— I say, where’s -little Osy, Meg?”</p> - -<p>“I hope,” said Patty severely, “that children are not in the habit of -being brought down here after dinner as they are in some places. It’s -such bad style, and, I’m thankful to say, it’s going out of fashion. -It’s a thing as I could not put up with here.”</p> - -<p>“Send some one upstairs,” said Margaret, in a low voice to the footman -who was standing by her, “to say that Master Osy is not to come down.”</p> - -<p>“What are you saying to the servant? I don’t want to be disagreeable,” -said Patty, “but I object to a servant being sent away from his -business. Oh, if the child comes usually, let him come, but it must be -for the last time.”</p> - -<p>“If I may go myself,” said Margaret, half rising, “that will be the most -expeditious way.”</p> - -<p>“Not before you have finished your dinner,” cried Patty; “oh, don’t, -pray. I should be quite distressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29"></a>{29}</span> if you didn’t have your dinner. And -you had no tea. I know some ladies have trays sent upstairs. But I can’t -tolerate such a habit as having trays upstairs: so for goodness’ sake, -Margaret Osborne, sit still and finish your dinner here.”</p> - -<p>Colonel Piercey moved his chair a little; he managed to look beyond the -bouquet at Margaret, sitting flushed and indignant, yet incapable of -completing the absurdity of the situation by a scene at table before the -servants. Colonel Piercey had run through all the gamut of astonishment, -anger, and confusion; he had arrived at pure amusement now. The -momentary interchange of glances made the situation possible, and it was -immediately and unexpectedly ameliorated by the melodramatic appearance -of Dunning behind in the half-darkness at the door.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Gervase, if you please, Sir Giles is calling for you,” the man -said.</p> - -<p>Patty sprang up from her seat. “Sir Giles? the dear old gentleman! Oh, I -foresaw this! He is ill, he is ill! Come, Gervase!” she cried.</p> - -<p>“Not a bit,” said Gervase; “it’s only Dunning’s way. He likes to stop -you in the middle of your dinner. There’s nothing the matter with the -governor, Dunning, eh?”</p> - -<p>“There’s just this, that he’s a-calling for Mr. Gervase, and not no -other person,” Dunning said, with slow precision.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m Mrs. Gervase; I’m the same as Mr. Gervase. Come, come, don’t -let’s lose a moment! Moments<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30"></a>{30}</span> are precious!” cried Patty, rushing to her -husband and snatching him out of his chair, “in his state of health and -at his age.”</p> - -<p>Margaret and the Colonel were left alone, but the fear of the servants -was upon them. They did not venture to say anything to each other. They -were helped solemnly to the dish which had begun to go round, and for a -moment sat in silence like two mutes, with the inexorable bouquet -between them. Then Colonel Piercey said, in very bad French, “This is -worse than I feared. What are we to do?”</p> - -<p>“I shall go to my room to Osy before she comes back.”</p> - -<p>“I have no Osy to go to,” he said with a short laugh. “What a strange -scene! stranger than any in a book. I am glad to have seen it once in a -way.”</p> - -<p>“Not glad, I hope,” said Margaret. “Sorry for Uncle Giles and all the -rest. But she is not so bad as that. No, no, she is not. You don’t -see—she wants to assert all her rights, to show you and me how strong -she is, and how she scorns us. On ordinary occasions she is not like -this.”</p> - -<p>“You are either absurdly charitable in your thoughts, or else you want -to throw dust in my eyes, Cousin Meg.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing of the kind; I do neither. It is quite true. She is not bad in -character at all. She will be kind to Uncle Giles, and probably improve -his condition. We have all had a blind confidence in Dunning, and -perhaps he doesn’t deserve it. She wants to get<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31"></a>{31}</span> Uncle Giles into her -own hands, and she will do so. But he will not suffer; I am sure of it.”</p> - -<p>“Poor old gentleman! It is hard to be old, to be handed from one to -another. And will he accept it?” Colonel Piercey said.</p> - -<p>“She will be very nice and kind, and she is young and pretty.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, not—not that!”</p> - -<p>“You are prejudiced, Cousin Gerald. She is pretty when you see her in -her proper aspect, and there can be no doubt she is young. Her voice is -nice and soft. It is almost like a lady’s voice. Hush! I think I hear -her coming back!” Margaret rose hurriedly. “Please say to Mrs. Piercey, -Robert, that I am tired, and have gone to my room.”</p> - -<p>“Let me come too,” said Gerald Piercey, following her into the hall. “I -shall go away to-morrow, of course—and you, what are you going to do?”</p> - -<p>“I cannot go to-morrow. I shall have to wait—until I am turned out, or -till I can go.”</p> - -<p>“I wish you would come with me to my father’s, where you would be most -welcome: and he is a nearer relative than I am.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you; you go too far,” said Margaret. “To think me a scheming -woman only this morning, and at night to offer me a new home, where I -might scheme and plot at my leisure? No, I will do that no more: I will -go to nobody. We are not destitute.”</p> - -<p>“Meg! will you remember that you have nobody nearer to you than my -father and me?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32"></a>{32}</span>”</p> - -<p>“But I have,” she said, “on my mother’s side, and on my husband’s side. -We shall find relations wherever we go.”</p> - -<p>He answered by an impatient exclamation. “There is one thing, at least, -on which we made a bargain a few hours since,” he said.</p> - -<p>The lamp in the hall did not give a good light. It was one of the things -which Patty changed in the first week of her residence at Greyshott. It -threw a very faint illumination on Margaret Osborne’s face. And she did -not say anything to make her meaning clear. She did nothing but hold out -her hand.</p> - -<p>Patty, meanwhile, had made her way, pushing her husband before her, to -Sir Giles’ door. She pushed him inside with an earnest whisper. “Go in, -and talk to him nicely. Be very nice to him, as nice as ever you can be. -Mind, I’m listening to you, and presently I’ll come in, too.”</p> - -<p>The room was closely shut up, though it was a warm night, and scarcely -dark as yet, and Sir Giles sat in his chair with a tray upon the table -beside him. But he had pushed away his soup. His large old face was -excited and feverish, his hands performing a kind of tattoo upon his -chair. “Are you there, my boy? are you there, Gervase?” he said. “Come -in, come in and talk to me a little. I’m left all alone. I have nobody -with me but servants. Where’s—where’s all the family? Your poor -mother’s gone, I know, and we’ll never see her any more. But where’s -everybody? Where’s—where’s everybody?” the old gentleman said with his -unsteady voice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33"></a>{33}</span></p> - -<p>“I’m here, father, all right,” Gervase said.</p> - -<p>“Sir Giles, sir, he’s fretting for company, and his game, and all that; -but he ain’t fit for it, Mr. Gervase, he ain’t fit for it. He have gone -through a deal to-day.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll play your game, father. I’m here all right,” Gervase repeated. -“Come, get out the table, you old humbug, and we’ll throw the men and -the dice about. I’m ready, father; I’m always ready,” he said.</p> - -<p>“No, no,” said Sir Giles, pushing the table away; “I don’t want any -game. I’m a sad, lonely old man, and I want somebody to talk to. -Gervase, sit down there and talk to me. Where have you been all this -long time, and your mother, your poor mother, wanting you? What have you -been doing? You can go, Dunning; I don’t want you now. I want to talk to -my boy. Gervase, what have you been doing, and why didn’t you come -home?”</p> - -<p>“I’ve been—getting married, father,” said Gervase, grinning from ear to -ear. “I would have told you, but she wouldn’t let me tell you. She -thought you might have put a stop to it. A fellow wants to be married, -father, when he’s my age.”</p> - -<p>“And who has married you?” said the father, going on beating with his -tremulous fingers as though keeping time to some music. “Who has married -you, my poor boy? It can’t be any great match, but we couldn’t expect -any great match. I saw—a young woman: I thought she was—that I had -somehow seen her before.”</p> - -<p>“Well, she’s—why, she’s just married to me, father.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34"></a>{34}</span> She’s awful proud -of her new name. She signed her letter—for I saw it—Mrs. Gervase -Piercey, as if she hadn’t got any other name.”</p> - -<p>“She shouldn’t do that, though,” said the old man, “she’s Mrs. Piercey, -being the son’s wife, the next heir. If Gerald had a wife, now, she’d be -Mrs. Gerald, but not yours. I’m afraid she can’t know much about it. -Gervase, your poor mother was struck very suddenly. She always feared -you were going to do something like that, and she had somebody in her -mind, but she was never able to tell me who it was. Gervase, I hope it -is somebody decent you have married, now your poor mother isn’t here.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, father; awfully decent,” said Gervase, with his great laugh. -“She would have given it to any one that wasn’t civil. She was one that -kept you on and kept you off, and as clever as Old Boots himself, and up -to——”</p> - -<p>Patty had listened to this discussion till her patience was quite worn -out. She had waited for a favourable moment to introduce herself, but -she could not stand and hear this description, so far beneath her merits -as she felt it to be. She came in with a little rush of her skirts, not -disagreeable to the old man, who looked up vaguely expectant, to see her -sweep round the corner of the large screen that shielded him from the -draught. “I must come and tell you myself who I am, Sir Giles,” she -said. “I’m Patience; and though, perhaps, I shouldn’t say it, I’m one -that will take care of <i>that</i>, and take care of the house, and see that -you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35"></a>{35}</span> are not put upon by your servants, nor made to wait for anything, -but have whatever you wish. And I’ll be a very good daughter to you, if -you’ll let me, Sir Giles,” she said.</p> - -<p>The old gentleman had passed a miserable week. First his wife’s illness, -so dreadful and beyond all human commiseration, and then her death, and -the gloom of the house, and the excitement of the funeral, and the -neglect of everything that made life bearable to him. It is true, that -his soup and his wine and whatever food was allowed to him were supplied -regularly, and no actual breach of his comforts had occurred. But his -room had been darkened, and his backgammon had been stopped, and there -had been no cheerful faces round him. Even little Osy’s company had been -taken away. The child had been stated to be “too much” for him. Parsons -and Dunning had held him in their hands and administered him, and they -were both determined that he should do and say nothing that was not -appropriate to his bereaved condition. The old man was not insensible to -his wife’s death. It brought into his mind that sense of utter -desolation, that chill sensation of an approaching end, which is, alas! -not more palatable in many cases to an old man than to a young one. And -Parsons and Dunning both thought it the most appropriate thing for him -to sit alone and think of his latter end. But Sir Giles was not of that -opinion. His old life was strong in him, though it was hampered with so -many troubles. He wanted, rather, to forget that death was waiting for -him, too,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36"></a>{36}</span> round the next corner. Who could tell how far off that next -corner might be? He wanted to forget, not to be shut up helplessly with -that thought alone. And Mrs. Osborne, with all the prejudices and bonds -of the household upon her, had not had courage to break through the -lines which had been formed around her uncle. She had believed, as it -was the law of the family to believe, that Sir Giles’ faithful attendant -knew best. And thus it was, that when the young woman who was Gervase’s -wife came boldly in—a young person who was not afraid of Dunning, a -stranger bringing a little novelty, a little stir of something -unaccustomed into his life—he looked up with a kind of light in his -dull eye, and relief in his mind. “Oh! you are Patience, are you?” he -said. “Patience! it is a queer sort of a name, and I think I remember to -have heard it before.”</p> - -<p>Oh, poor Miss Hewitt, in her red and yellow bonnet! If she had but known -that this faint deposit of recollection was all that remained in her old -lover’s mind!</p> - -<p>“But I should like you to call me Patty, Sir Giles.” She went down on -her knees at his feet, while the old gentleman looked on in wonder, not -knowing what was going to happen. “You have not got that bandage quite -straight,” she said, “and I’m sure you’re not so comfortable as you -ought to be. I can put it on better than that. Look you here, Gervase, -hold the candle, and in a minute I’ll settle it all right.”</p> - -<p>Sir Giles was so much taken by surprise that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37"></a>{37}</span> made no opposition; and -he was amused and pleased by her silent movements, her soft touch and -manipulation. The novelty pleased him, and the young head bent over his -suffering foot, the pretty hair, the pleasant shape, were all much more -gratifying than Dunning. He thought he was relieved, whether he was -really so or not. And he was contented, and the spell of the gloom was -broken. “But I’m not to be settled so easy as my foot,” he said. “How -dared you to take and marry my boy here, Mrs. Patty, or whatever your -name is, without saying a word to me?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Gervase Piercey, or Mrs. Piercey, as she henceforward called -herself, walked that night into the great state-room in Greyshott—where -Sally Fletcher awaited her, trembling, bringing Patty Hewitt’s small -wardrobe roughly packed in one small box—with the air of a conqueror, -victorious along all the line.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38"></a>{38}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Colonel Piercey</span> left Greyshott the next morning after these incidents. -There was no reason why he should stay. Even old Sir Giles had changed -his note when his kinsman took leave of him. Mental trouble does not -keep its hold long on a mind which has grown weak with bodily disease -and much nursing, that prevailing invalidism and necessity for taking -care of one’s self which absorbs every thought; and though the old -gentleman was still ready enough to mourn for the loss of his life-long -companion, yet he was easily soothed and diverted by the needs of that -older companion still, himself. Besides, now that the funeral was over, -there was no alarming prospect before him, no terror of being compelled -to act for himself. He took leave of the Colonel not uncheerfully. -“Going?” he said, when Gerald appeared in his room to say good-bye. “I’m -glad you could stay so long; but it’s been a sad visit. Another time, -now there’s young people in the house, they’ll make it more cheerful for -you, eh? Don’t be long of coming again.”</p> - -<p>Colonel Piercey, somewhat stiffly—which was his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39"></a>{39}</span> nature, for he had not -the understanding of human weakness which brings indulgence, and he -could not forget that a few days before the old man had begged him with -tears to stay—answered that he was glad to leave his uncle so much -better and more satisfied about his son.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Sir Giles, “about satisfied I don’t know, I don’t know; I -can’t tell you at this moment, Gerald. She speaks fair, but then she’s -on her promotion, don’t you see? Anyhow, she’s young, and perhaps she’ll -learn; and she’s nice-looking—and speaks not so badly for a girl -without education; not so badly, does she, Gerald? We’ll do; oh, I think -we’ll do. She’ll look after Gervase, and keep him off me. And that’s a -great thing, don’t you see? Though when I think what his mother would -have said—Lord bless me, I tremble when I think what his mother would -have said. She never would have borne it. She would have turned the -house upside down and made everybody miserable; which makes me feel that -being as it had to be, it’s perhaps better—better, Gerald, though it’s -a hard thing to say, that his mother went first, went without knowing. -You will say she suspected; and I believe she did suspect; she was a -penetrating woman; but suspecting’s not so bad as knowing; and I’m—I’m -almost glad, poor soul, that she’s gone. She would never have put up -with it. And now this one may make something of Gervase—who knows? It -is a kind of anxiety off my mind. Time for your train?” the old -gentleman added cheerfully. “Well, thank you for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40"></a>{40}</span> your visit, my boy; -I’ve enjoyed it—and come again, come soon again.”</p> - -<p>Sir Giles was as much delighted to be free of his visitor as he had been -to welcome him to Greyshott. And it was evident that he was conforming -his mind to the new state of affairs. Gerald had meant to appeal to his -kindness for Margaret, but he had not patience or self-command enough to -say anything. He had no thought of the anxieties that dwelt in the old -man’s mind—the dreariness of his conclusion that it was better his old -wife was gone: the forlorn endurance of a state of affairs which he had -no power to prevent. A little more sympathy might have made Sir Giles’ -endurance take a tragic aspect, the last refuge of a sanguine and simple -spirit trying to be content with the hope that something might still be -made of his only child. But Gerald Piercey only thought with mingled -contempt and pity of the facile mind, and the drivel of old age, things -entirely beyond his sympathy or thoughts.</p> - -<p>He had an interview of a more interesting kind with Margaret before he -went away. “I wish you could leave as easily as I do,” he said.</p> - -<p>“So do I—but that would be impossible in any case. I have Osy to think -of. I must not allow myself to be carried away by any sudden -impulse—even if it were for nothing else, for my poor old uncle’s sake. -He is fond of Osy. It might chill his poor old clouded life still more -to miss the child.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Uncle Giles! I think you may make your<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41"></a>{41}</span> mind easy on that point. -It’s age, I suppose, and illness. One thing is just as good as another -to him.”</p> - -<p>“I am not quite of your opinion,” she said.</p> - -<p>“I think you are never quite of any one’s opinion except your own,” he -retorted, quickly.</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s best for me, don’t you think?” she replied, with something -of the same flash of spirit, “seeing that I have, as people say, nobody -to think of but myself.”</p> - -<p>“And the boy? Meg, you have promised me that you will think of what I -said about the boy. He should want for nothing. He should have all the -advantages education could give, if you would trust him to me—or to my -father, if that would give you more confidence.”</p> - -<p>“It is not confidence that is wanting,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Then, what is it? It cannot be that you think I speak without warrant. -My father will write to you. I will pledge myself to you—as if he were -my very own. His future should be my care; his education, his outset in -the world——”</p> - -<p>Margaret stood looking at him for some time in silence, a faint smile -about her lips, which began to quiver, the colour forsaking her cheeks. -What she said was so perfectly irrelevant, so idiotic, to the -straight-forward mind of the man who was offering her the most -unquestionable advantage, and asking nothing but a direct answer—yes, -or no—that he could almost have struck her in his impatience. He did -metaphorically, with the severity of that flash in his eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42"></a>{42}</span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“And how there looked him in the face<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An angel, beautiful and bright;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And how he knew it was a fiend,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That miserable knight.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>—This was what Margaret said.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” he cried; “is it I that am the fiend, offering the -best I can think of?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, the angel,” said Margaret; “and is it my own heart that is the -fiend, that makes the other picture? Oh, God help me! I don’t know. My -child is my life. But there are things better than life, and that might -be given up. Yet, he is my duty, too, and not yours, Gerald. Prosperity -and comfort, and your great warm-hearted, honourable kindness; or -poverty and nature, and a poor mother—and love? Which would be the best -for him? We cannot see a step before us; and the issues are of life and -death.”</p> - -<p>“It is better not to exaggerate,” he said, with an almost angry -impatience. “There need be no cutting off. You should, of course, see -the child when you liked, for his holidays and that sort of thing. -There’s no question of life or death, but of a man’s career for the boy, -under men’s influence, or—— I know, I know! You would teach him -everything that is good, and put the best principles into him, and -sacrifice yourself, and all that. In short, you would make a perfect -woman of him, had Osy been a girl; but, as he is a boy——!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think you’re a little sharp, Gerald,” she cried, “bidding me -cut out my heart and give it you, and showing me all the advantages!” -She laughed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43"></a>{43}</span> with her lips quivering, holding her hands clasped, -fiercely determined, whatever she did, not to cry, which is a woman’s -weakness.</p> - -<p>“Meg, you are a sensible woman: not a girl, to know no better.”</p> - -<p>This was his honest thought: a girl, young and tender, is to be spared, -though her youth has the elasticity of a flower, and springs up again -to-morrow; but the woman who has passed that chapter, whose first -susceptibilities are over, is a different matter. He was honestly -bewildered when Margaret left him hurriedly with a choked “Thank you. -Good-bye. I shall write”; and thus broke off the conversation, leaving -him there astonished in the hall, with his coat over his arm, and his -travelling bag in his hand: for this was how they had held their last -consultation, the library and dining-room being both full of Patty, -whose presence seemed to occupy the whole house, and who now came forth, -with all the airs of the mistress of the house, to take leave of her -guest.</p> - -<p>“Well, Colonel Piercey, so you are going? I hope it is not because of -the circumstances, though, of course, with a death and a marriage both -in the house, it isn’t very suitable for strangers, is it? But I’m not -one that would ever wish to be rude to my husband’s friends. I’m told -you were going, anyhow, and I hope that’s the case. And I’m sure you -must feel I’m very thoughtful,” said Patty, with a little laugh, “never -to disturb you in your tender good-byes! Oh, I can sympathise with that -sort of thing! I told Gervase, ‘Don’t disturb<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44"></a>{44}</span> those poor things; there -isn’t a place where they can have a word quiet before they part.’ But I -hope you’ll soon come and fetch her, Colonel Piercey. You and her, you -are not like Gervase and me: you haven’t any time to lose.”</p> - -<p>“I have not the honour of understanding you, Mrs. Piercey,” said the -Colonel, very stiffly. “I must leave with you my farewells to my cousin -Gervase.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you needn’t; he’s here, he’s coming—he wouldn’t be so wanting as -not to see you off himself, though you’re only a third or fourth cousin, -I hear. But as for not understanding me, Colonel Piercey, I hope you -understand Meg Osborne, which is more to the purpose, and that you’ve -named the day. Marriage is catching, I’ve always heard, and you ain’t -going to treat a relation badly, I hope, in my house. I’m sure, after -all the philandering and talking in corners, and——”</p> - -<p>“I wish you good-day, Mrs. Piercey,” the Colonel said. He jumped into -the dog-cart with an energy which even the quiet fat horse of Greyshott -training could scarcely withstand, and, seizing the reins from the -groom’s hands, drove that comfortable animal down the avenue at a pace -to which it was entirely unaccustomed. To describe the ferment of mind -into which he was thrown by Patty’s last words would be impossible. He -heard the loud, vacant laugh of Gervase, and a cry of “Hi! Hallo! Where -are you off to?” sounding after him, but took no notice. He was a man of -considerable temper, as has not been concealed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45"></a>{45}</span> and there could be no -doubt that it would have afforded him considerable satisfaction to take -Patty by the arms and shake her, had that been a possible way of -expressing his sentiments. He was furious, first, he said to himself, at -the insult to Meg; but it is doubtful whether this really was so much -the cause of his indignation as he believed. The causes were -complicated, but chiefly had reference to himself, who was more -interesting to him at present than Meg or any one else in the world. -That he should be accused of philandering and talking in corners, or of -treating a woman “badly,” even by the most vulgar voice in the world, -had something so exasperatingly inappropriate and unlikely in it that he -said to himself it was laughable. Laughable, and nothing else! Yet he -did not laugh; he felt himself possessed by the most furious gravity -instead—ready to kill anybody who should so much as smile. -Philandering—and with a middle-aged woman! This, no doubt, gave it a -double sting. It had never occurred to Colonel Piercey, though he was -forty, to think of himself as on an elderly level, or to imagine any -connection of his name with that of any woman who was not young and -fair, and in the first chapter of life. I have always been of opinion -that men and women about the same age, when that age has passed the -boundaries of youth, are each other’s natural enemies rather than -friends. They have fully learned that they are on opposite sides. There -is a natural hostility between them. If some chance has not made them -friends, and inclined to forget or<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46"></a>{46}</span> pardon the difference of their -sides, they are instinctively in opposition. To marry each other is the -last thing that would occur to them. Of course, I am considering natural -tendencies only, and not those of the fortune-hunter of either sex, or -persons in quest of an establishment. The man of forty seeks a young -bride; the woman of that age, or near it, finds devotion in a young man. -(I don’t say seeks it—for all women feel this question of age to be -fantastically important.) Gerald Piercey had reached the Greyshott -station, and flung himself and his bags and wraps into a carriage, -before he had begun to get over the sting of the suggestion that he had -been philandering (Heavens, what a word!), and that not with a girl—an -imputation which he might have smiled at and pardoned—but with a widow, -a mother, a middle-aged woman! Indignity could not go further. The -little barmaid, the wretched little tavern flirt who had seized -possession of the home of the Pierceys, had caught him full in the -centre of his shield.</p> - -<p>It was not till long after, when that heat had died away, that he -recurred to what he had at first tried to persuade himself was the -occasion of his wrath—the insult to Meg. Poor Meg! whose growing old he -had himself so deeply and absurdly resented, as if it had been her own -fault—how would she fare, left in the power of that little demon? She -could not go off at a moment’s notice, as he could. She would have to -wait, he remembered with a horrified realisation, perhaps for her -quarter-day, for the payment of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47"></a>{47}</span> pension, before she would be able -to budge at all. And, then, where would she go?—a woman who had been -accustomed to Greyshott, which, though it was not very luxurious or -refined, was still, in its way, a great house. Where would she go, with -her hundred or two hundred, or some such nominal sum, a year? And, -perhaps, not money enough in the meantime even to pay her journey, even -to carry her away! She was a hot-headed, self-willed, argumentative -woman; determined in her own opinions, caring not a straw for other -people’s; refusing, in the most unaccountable way, an advantageous -suggestion—a proposal that would have left her free, without -encumbrance, to get as much comfort as possible for herself out of her -very small income; an entirely impracticable, unmanageable woman! but -yet—to think of that little barmaid flouting her, insulting her, was -too much for the Colonel. His wrath rose again, not so hot, but full of -indignation—a creature not worthy to tie her shoe! He seemed to see her -standing there, against the dark panelling of the wall, in her black -dress. And, somehow, it occurred to him all at once that the slim, tall -figure did not present the usual signs which distinguish middle age. How -old was Meg Piercey, after all? A dozen years ago, when he had been at -Greyshott last, she was a girl in her teens. Twelve years do not make a -girl of nineteen middle-aged. She had married at four or -five-and-twenty—not earlier; and Osy was seven or thereabouts. Gerald -found himself unconsciously calculating like an old woman. If she had -married at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48"></a>{48}</span> twenty-four, and if Osy were seven, that did not make her -more than two-and-thirty at the outside. At thirty-two one is not -middle-aged; the Colonel did not feel himself so at forty. To be sure, a -woman is different; but even for a woman, though it may not be so -romantic as eighteen, it is not a great age—thirty-two. And to be -turned out of her home; and to be left with next to nothing to live on; -and to be insulted by that vulgar little village girl; and to be set -down, even by a man, a relation, one bound to make the best of her, as -almost an old woman—at thirty-two! Poor Meg Piercey! Poor Margaret -Osborne! The home of her childhood gone, and the protection of her -married life gone. And her child! What was the difficulty about her -child? Something more, perhaps, when one came to think of it, than -merely being left without encumbrance, freed from responsibility! When -one came to think of it, and to think how other women were, with their -children about them, perhaps, after all, it meant more than that. Poor -Meg! poor Meg!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49"></a>{49}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Osborne</span> realised very fully all the weight of the trouble which had -fallen upon her, but it is to be doubted whether she would have liked -that compassionate apostrophe to “poor Meg!” any more than other things -which had fallen from Gerald Piercey’s lips; or, indeed, whether she -felt herself so much to be pitied as he did. Nobody knows like ourselves -how hard and how heavy our troubles are; and yet, at the same time, our -own case is generally less miserable to us than it is to the benevolent -onlooker. The moment it becomes our own case it somehow becomes natural, -and finds alleviations, or, if not alleviations, circumstances which -prove it to be no such extraordinary thing. We change our position -according to our lot, and even in the self-consciousness of crime become -immediately aware of a whole world of people who are as badly off, or -perhaps worse, than we are, without the same explanations of their -conduct which exist in our case. Margaret, seeing what had befallen her, -and what was about to befall her, instinctively changed her own point of -view, and felt,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50"></a>{50}</span> along with the necessity, a new rising of life and -courage. The long consideration of what she was to do, though perhaps a -painful and discouraging deliberation, yet roused all her faculties and -occupied her mind. At thirty-two (since we have arrived through Gerald -Piercey’s calculations at something like her exact age), the thought of -a new beginning can never be wholly painful. None of the possibilities -of life are exhausted; the world is still before us where to choose. -Nevertheless it was a confusing and not encouraging subject of thought. -Margaret’s education, such as it was, had been completed before any new -views about the education of women were prevalent; indeed, it would not -have mattered much whether these ideas had been prevalent or not, for -certainly it never would have entered into the minds of Sir Giles or -Lady Piercey to send their niece to Girton, or even to any humbler place -preparatory to Girton. They gave Margaret as little education as was -indispensable, entertained reluctantly a governess for her for some -years, and had her taught to play the piano a little, and to draw a -little, and to have an awkward, not speaking acquaintance with the -French verbs, which was all they knew or thought of as needful. What -could she do with that amount of knowledge, even now, when she had -supplemented it with a great deal of reading, and much thinking of her -own? Nothing. No school would have her as a teacher, no sensible parent -would trust her, all unaware of the technique of teaching as she was, -with the education of their children. And what<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51"></a>{51}</span> was there else that a -woman, a lady, with all her wits about her, and the use of all her -faculties, could do? That was the dreadful question. Margaret did not -fall back with indignation on the thought that its chief difficulty -arose from the fact that she was a woman; for she knew enough of life to -be aware that a man of her own class in the same position, trained to -nothing in particular, would be almost as badly off. There were -“appointments” to be had, she knew, for men certainly, for woman too, -occasionally, but she was perfectly vague about them, what they were. -And the idea of going out to an office daily, which was her sole -conception, and on the whole a just one, of what an “appointment” might -mean, filled Margaret with a bewildering sense of inappropriateness and -impossibility. It would not be she who could fill any such place. It -would be something different from herself, a shadow or outward -appearance of her, impossible for herself to realise. -Impossible—impossible! She knew nothing but how to read, to think, to -discharge the duties of a mother to her child, to live as English ladies -live, concerned with small domestic offices, keeping life more or less -in harmony, giving orders to the servants, and smoothing over the -tempests and troubles which arose from the imperfect execution of these -orders—and looking after the poor. To do all these things is to be a -not unimportant servant to the commonwealth. Life would go far more -roughly, with less advantage on both sides, were it not for -functionaries of this kind: but then their services are generally to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52"></a>{52}</span> be -had for nothing, and are not worth money; besides—which makes the -matter more difficult still—these services lose a great part of their -real value when they are done, not for love but for money, in which case -the house lady of nature changes her place altogether and goes over to -another and far less pleasing kind.</p> - -<p>These thoughts had passed through Margaret’s mind vaguely, and without -any pressure of an immediate emergency, many times already in the course -of her speculations as to the future for Osy and for herself. She had -often said to herself that she could not remain at Greyshott for ever; -that the time must come when she would have to decide upon something; -that the old couple who were her protectors could not live for ever; and -that the house of Gervase, poor Gervase, however it might turn out, -would probably be no home for her. She had gone over all those -suggestions of what she could do to increase her small income, and to -educate her child, with a ceaseless interest, but yet without any -sharpness or urgency, as of a thing that might happen at any moment. And -there was always a vague ground of probability behind—that either one -or other of the old people, who were so fond of Osy, might leave him -something to make his first steps easier, that they would not go out of -the world without making some provision even for herself, who had served -them like their own child, and knew no home but under their wing. There -would be that, whatever it was, to make everything more possible. She -had not calculated on it, and yet she had felt assured that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53"></a>{53}</span> some such -thing would be. But now all those prospects had come to an end in a -moment. Lady Piercey had left no will at all, and Sir Giles was no -longer a free agent, or would not be so any longer. The prospect was cut -off before her eyes, all that shadowy margin gone, nothing left but the -bare certainty. Two hundred a year! There are very different ways of -looking at two hundred pounds a year. It is not very long since the -papers were full of letters demonstrating the impossibility of -supporting life with honesty and gentility on seven hundred a year. The -calculations looked so very convincing, that one rubbed one’s bewildered -eyes if one had been accustomed to believe (as I confess I had) that -there was a great deal of pleasant spending for two young people in -seven hundred a year. On the other hand, I have just read a novel, and a -very clever novel, in which it is considered quite justifiable for a -young man to marry and take upon him the charge of his wife’s mother and -sister on a hundred and fifty pounds a year. Clearly there is a very -great difference between these estimates, and I think it very likely -that the author of the latter is more practically instructed as to what -she is speaking of than the gentleman who made the other calculations. -Who shall decide upon the fact that lies between these two statements? I -can only say that Margaret Osborne’s conclusion was not to waste her -time in efforts to get work which she probably could not do well, and -which would be quite inappropriate to her, but to try what could be done -upon her two hundred pounds a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54"></a>{54}</span> year. Ah! how many, many millions of -people would be thankful to have two hundred a year! How many honest, -good, well-conditioned families, “buirdly chiels and clever hizzies,” -have been brought up on the half of it! But yet there are differences -which cannot be ignored. The working man has many advantages over the -gentleman, with his host of artificial wants—but, alas! we cannot go -back easily to the rule of nature. Margaret was not so utterly -unprovided for as her cousin Gerald had remorsefully imagined. She was -not destitute, as she said. She had laid a little money aside for this -always-threatening emergency; and she had spoken to Sarah, Osy’s maid, -who, though reluctantly and on a very distant and far-off possibility, -had declared it possible that she might undertake to do the work of a -small house. “But, oh! I wouldn’t, ma’am,” Sarah had said, “not if I was -you; you would miss Greyshott and the nice big rooms, and nothing to do -but ring the bell.” Margaret had laughed at this conception of life, and -laughed now as she recalled it. But no doubt it was true. She was not -very apt at ringing of bells, nor did she require much personal -service—still it would not be without a regret, a sense of the -difference—but that was of too little real importance to be thought of -now.</p> - -<p>Indeed, all these thoughts were as nothing to the other which Gerald -Piercey, in his desire to help her, had flung into her mind like an -arrow of fire. To carry Osy away to that cottage, to deprive him of all -those “advantages” which, even at his age, a child can<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55"></a>{55}</span> understand—Osy -would know very well what that sacrifice meant when he had no pony to -ride on, no great rooms to run about in, no obsequious court of -flatterers ready to carry him on their shoulders, to give him drives and -rides on nobler animals, to bring him dainties, and all kinds of -indulgences. Osy had been the favourite of the house, as well as of old -Sir Giles and my lady. He had been as free of the housekeeper’s room as -of the library. There was nobody who had not bowed down before him and -sought to please him. The child, though he was only a child, would -understand what it was to relinquish all these, to have a small cottage, -a little garden, nothing outside of them, and only a mother within. At -seven years old to have this brought home to him, was early, very early. -He would not understand how it was. If he heard, even at that early age, -that he might have had another pony, another household to conquer by his -pretty ways, and all the usual indulgences and pleasant things, but for -his mother, would Osy’s childish affection bear that test? Would he like -her better than his pony? And, oh! still deeper, more penetrating -question, was she better than the pony, better than the larger -upbringing, the position of one who is born to command, the freedom of -life, the influence of men, the “every advantage” of which Gerald -Piercey had spoken? Would she, a woman not very cheerful, and who must -in future be very full of cares and calculations how to make both ends -meet, would she be better for him than all that? She? What question -could be more penetrating?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56"></a>{56}</span> “It would be better for the child.” Would it -be better for him? Sometimes it comes about that in the very midst of -the happiness of life, with every sail full, and the sun shining, and -the horizon clear, there comes a sudden catastrophe, and some young -woman whose life has been that of the group of children at her knee, has -suddenly to stop and stand by with dumb anguish, and see one and another -taken away from her by kind friends, kindest friends! benefactors only -to be blessed and praised! while all around her other friends -congratulate her, bid her feel that she must not stand in the way of the -children, of their real advantage! Is it to their real advantage? Is it -better to be the children of kindness or the children of love? to be -brought up in your own home or in another’s? Oh, poor little mother; -often you have to smile out of your broken heart and bear it! Margaret -Osborne had but one thing in the world; but she would have done like the -others, and smiled and endured even to be severed from that only -possession, had she been sure. Who can be sure? She said to herself that -love, and his own home, and the ties of nature were best. And then -Gerald Piercey’s words came back and stung her like fiery serpents: “A -man’s career, under men’s influence, or——” Or what? A poor woman’s -influence, a woman who was herself a failure, whom nobody cared much for -under the sun. Which—which would be the best for Osy? This is the kind -of argument that tears the heart in two. It is full of anguish while it -is going on: and after the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57"></a>{57}</span> decision is made, it lays up poignant and -dreadful recollections. If I had not done that, but the other—if I had -not sent away my child into the careless hands of strangers; or, on the -other hand, if I had not been so confident of myself; if I could but -have seen how much better for him would have been the man’s influence, -the man’s career!</p> - -<p>This was the war that Margaret was waging with herself while she had to -meet the immediate troubles of the day. It was inconceivable how soon -the great house was filled with Patty’s presence, how soon it became -hers, from roof to basement, how she pervaded it in all the rooms at -once, so to speak, so that nothing was out of her sharp sight for more -than two minutes. Mrs. Osborne had retired upstairs with her heart full -when she left Colonel Piercey in the hall; but in the restlessness of a -disturbed mind she came down again about an hour afterwards, partly to -put a stop, for a time, to that endless argument, partly to write a -letter which she had promised, to inform Lady Hartmore of what had -happened, and partly, perhaps, out of that curiosity and painful -inclination to hasten a catastrophe which comes to the mind in the -storms of existence. It is true that she had made up her mind to leave -Greyshott, but she could not do so as Gerald, a visitor, did, nor was -she sure how she could best arrange her retirement with dignity and -composure. She felt that there must be no semblance of a quarrel, nor -would she make matters worse for Gervase’s wife by allowing it to appear -to the county that her first<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58"></a>{58}</span> act had been to drive Gervase’s cousin out -of the house. She had decided to wait a little, to endure the new -<i>régime</i> until she could quietly detach herself without any shock to her -old uncle or commotion in the house. Yet it cannot be denied that -Margaret’s nerves were very much disturbed, and that she was conscious -of Patty’s entrance while she sat writing her letter, and felt her heart -jump when that active, bustling little step became again and again -audible. Margaret was seated with her back to the door, but the sound of -this step, returning and returning, betrayed to her very clearly the -impatience with which her presence was regarded. And her letter did not -make much progress. She foresaw the coming attack, and she did not -forestall it as she might have done by going away. At last a voice as -sharp as the step broke the listening silence of the room.</p> - -<p>“Margaret Osborne! how long are you going to be writing that letter? The -housemaids are waiting, and I must have this room thoroughly done out. -It wants it, I am sure! Oh, take your time! but if you will let me know -about when you are likely to be done——”</p> - -<p>“I can finish my letter upstairs, if it is necessary,” Margaret said, -turning round.</p> - -<p>“Well, I think generally that is the best way. The library’s generally -supposed to be the gentlemen’s room in a house. I mean to have the -drawing-room put in order, and to use that, as it ought to be used. But -not just this week, and poor mother so lately buried.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59"></a>{59}</span> I don’t know what -your feelings may be, but I can’t sit in a dingy place like this,” Patty -said. “Oh, take your time,” she added, with fine irony; “but if you -could tell me within half an hour or so when you are likely to have -done——”</p> - -<p>“I will finish my letter in my own room.”</p> - -<p>“If I was you,” said Patty, “I’d write them all there in future. New -folks make new ways. I am very particular about my house. I like -everything kept in its proper place—and every person,” she added -significantly. “The servants can’t serve two masters. That is in the -Bible, you know, so it must be true.”</p> - -<p>“I do not think,” said Margaret, with a faint smile, “that you will be -troubled by their devotion to me.”</p> - -<p>“No; I suppose you have let yourself be put upon,” said Patty; “because, -though you think yourself one of the family, you ain’t exactly one of -the family, and, of course, they see that. It’s not good for a houseful -of servants to have a sort of a lady, neither one thing nor another, -neither a mistress nor a servant, in the house. It teaches them to be -disrespectful to their betters, because they know you can’t do anything -to them. I would rather pension poor relations off than have them about -the house putting everything out.”</p> - -<p>“It will not be necessary in my case,” cried Margaret, with a sudden -flame of anger and shame enveloping her all over. “I had fully intended -to leave Greyshott, but wished to avoid any appearance of—— any shock -to my uncle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60"></a>{60}</span>”</p> - -<p>“Oh, take your time!” cried Patty, with a toss of her head; and she -called to the housemaids, who appeared timorous and undecided at the -door. “Come here, and I’ll show how I wish you to settle all this in -future,” she said. “Oh, Mrs. Osborne’s going! You needn’t mind for -her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61"></a>{61}</span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was not worth while to be angry. She had known, of course, all along, -how it must be. There had been no thought in her mind of resistance, of -remaining in Greyshott as Patty’s companion, of appealing to her uncle -against the new mistress of the house. It had not been a very happy home -for Margaret at any time; though, while Lady Piercey lived, it was a -sure one, as well as habitual,—the only place that seemed natural to -her, and to which she belonged. Perhaps, she said to herself, as she -went hurriedly upstairs, with that sense of the intolerable which a -little insult brings almost more keenly than a great sorrow, it was -better that the knot should thus be cut for her by an alert and decisive -hand, and no uncertainty left on the subject. She went into her room -quickly, with a “wind in her going,” a sweep of her skirts, an action -and movement about her which was unlike her usual composure. Sarah was -alone in her room, not seated quietly at work as was her wont, but -standing at the window looking out upon some scene below. There was a -corner of the stable yard visible from one window<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62"></a>{62}</span> of Margaret’s rooms, -which were far from being the best rooms in the house.</p> - -<p>“Where is Master Osy?” Mrs. Osborne said.</p> - -<p>“He is with Sir Giles, ma’am. I—I was just taking a glance from the -window before I began my work——”</p> - -<p>“Sarah,” said Margaret, “we shall have to begin our packing immediately. -We are going away.” How difficult it was not to say a little more—not -to relieve the burden of her indignation with a word or two! for, -indeed, there was nobody whom she could speak to except this round-faced -girl, who looked up half frightened, half sympathetic, into her face.</p> - -<p>“Oh, ma’am, to leave Greyshott! Where are you a-going to?” Sarah said; -and her open mouth and eyes repeated with dismay the same question, -fixed upon Margaret’s face.</p> - -<p>“Shall you be so sorry to leave Greyshott?” said Mrs. Osborne.</p> - -<p>Sarah hung her head. She took her handkerchief from her pocket, and -twisted it into a knot; finally the quick-coming tears rolled over her -round cheeks. “Oh, ma’am!” she cried, and could say no more. A -nurserymaid’s tears do not seem a very tragic addition to any trouble, -and yet they came upon Margaret with all the force of a new misfortune.</p> - -<p>“What is it, Sarah? Is it leaving Jim? is that why you cry?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, we was to be married at Christmas,” the girl cried, in a passion of -tears.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63"></a>{63}</span></p> - -<p>“Then you meant to leave me, Sarah? Why didn’t you tell me so? Well, of -course, I should not hinder your marriage, my good girl; but Christmas -is six months off, and you will stay with Master Osy, won’t you, till -that time comes?”</p> - -<p>Sarah became inarticulate with crying, but shook her head, though she -could not speak.</p> - -<p>“No!—do you mean no? I thought you were fond of us,” said poor -Margaret, quite broken down by this unexpected desertion. It was of no -importance, no importance! she said to herself; but, nevertheless, it -gave her a sting.</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t ask me, ma’am, don’t ask me! So I am, fond: there never was a -nicer lady. But how do I know as Jim—— they changes so, they changes -so, does men!” Sarah cried, among her tears.</p> - -<p>“Well, well; you will pack for me, at least,” said Margaret, with a -faint laugh, “if that is how we are to part, Sarah,—but you must begin -at once; no more looking out of the window, for a little while, at -least. But Jim is a good fellow. He will be faithful—till Christmas.” -She laughed again; was it as the usual alternative to crying? or was it -because there are junctures of utter forlornness and solitude to which a -laugh responds better than any crying? not less sadly, one may be sure.</p> - -<p>Sarah dried her streaming eyes, but continued to shake her head. “It’s -out o’ sight out of mind with most of ’em,” she said. “I’ll have to go -and get the boxes, ma’am, and I don’t know who there is to fetch<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64"></a>{64}</span> ’em -up, unless I might call Jim—and the others, they don’t like to see a -groom a-coming into the house.”</p> - -<p>“Then let the others do it, Sarah.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mrs. Osborne! they won’t go agin the—— the new lady, as they -calls her. Oh, they calls her just Patty and nasty names among -themselves, but if you asks them to do a thing, they says, ‘We wasn’t -hired to work for the likes of you and your Missus, Sal.’ Not a better -word from one o’ them men,” cried Sarah, “not one of ’em! They’re as -frightened of her already as if she was the devil, and she isn’t far -short. I’ll call him, ma’am, when they’re at their dinners; and, -perhaps, you’d give him a word, just a word, to say as how you think -he’s a lucky fellow to have got me, and that kind of thing—as a true -friend.”</p> - -<p>“Is that the office of a true friend?” said Margaret. It is a great -thing in this life, which has so many hard passages, when you are able -to be amused. Sarah’s petition and the words which she kindly put into -her mistress’s mouth, did Margaret more good than a great deal of -philosophy. She went away after a time to look for her boy and to tell -her uncle of the decision she had come to. They were out, as usual, in -the avenue, Sir Giles being wheeled along by a very glum Dunning, and -Osy babbling and making his little excursions round and about the old -gentleman’s chair.</p> - -<p>“When I am a man,” Osy was saying, “I s’all be far, far away from here. -I s’all be a soldier leading my tompany. I s’an’t do what nobody tells -me—not you, Uncle Giles, nor Movver, nobody but the Queen.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65"></a>{65}</span>”</p> - -<p>“And I sha’n’t be here at all, Osy,” said the old man. “When you come -back a great Captain like your cousin Gerald, there will be no old Uncle -Giles to tell you what you said when you were a little boy.”</p> - -<p>“Why?” said the child, coming up close to the chair. “Will they put you -down in the black hole with Aunt Piercey, Uncle Giles?”</p> - -<p>“Master Osy, don’t you speak of no such drefful things,” said Dunning.</p> - -<p>“But Parsons said, ‘She have don to heaven,’ ” said the child. “I like -Parsons’ way the best, for heaven’s a beau’ful place. I’d like to go and -see you there, Uncle Giles. You wouldn’t want Dunning, you’d have an -angel to dwive you about.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, my little man!” said Sir Giles, “I don’t think I am worthy of an -angel. I’m more frightened for the angel than for the black hole, Osy. I -don’t think I want any better angel than you are, my nice little boy. I -hope God will let me go on a little just quietly with Dunning, and you -to talk to your old uncle. Tell me a little more about what you will do -when you are a man. That amuses me most.”</p> - -<p>“Uncle Giles, Cousin Gervase doesn’t do very much though he’s a man. -He’s only don and dot marrwed. I’m glad he’s dot marrwed. I dave him my -big silver penny for a marrwage present. If he hadn’t been marrwed he -would have tooked it, and a gemplemans s’ouldn’t never do that. So I’m -glad. Are you glad, Uncle Giles?”</p> - -<p>“Never mind, never mind, my boy. Are you sure<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66"></a>{66}</span> you’ll go to India, Osy, -and fight all the Queen’s battles? She doesn’t know what a great, grand -champion she’s going to have, like Goliath,” said the old man with his -rumbling laugh.</p> - -<p>“Goliaf,” said Osy, gravely, “wasn’t a nice soldier. He was more big nor -anybody and he bragged of it. It’s grander to be the littlest and win. I -am not very big, Uncle Giles, not at pwesent.”</p> - -<p>“No, Osy. That’s true, my dear,” said the old gentleman.</p> - -<p>“But I’ll twy!” cried the boy. “I’m not fwightened of big men. They’re -generwally,” he added, half apologetically and with a struggle over the -word, “nice to little boys. Cousin Colonel, he is wather like Goliaf. He -dave me a wide upon his s’oulder; but when he sawed Movver tomin, he—— -Are big men ever fwightened of ladies, Uncle Giles?”</p> - -<p>“Sometimes, Osy,” said Sir Giles, with a delighted laugh.</p> - -<p>“Then it was that!” cried Osy. “I touldn’t understand. Oh, wait, Uncle -Giles; just wait till I tatch that butterfly. I’ll tatch him; I’ll tatch -him in a moment! I’m a great one,” the child sang, running off—“for -tatching butterflies, for tatching—— Movver, movver, you sended it -away.”</p> - -<p>“What did the little shaver mean by giving a wedding present?” said Sir -Giles. “Where’s my money, Dunning? have I got any money? If he gave my -boy a wedding present, it was the—the only one. They’ll come in now, -perhaps, when it gets known;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67"></a>{67}</span> but I’ll not forget Osy for that, I’ll not -forget Osy for that. Did you ever see a child like him, Dunning? I never -saw a child like him, except our first one that we lost,” said the old -man with a sob. “Did I ever tell you of our first that we lost? Just -such a child; just such a child! And my poor Gervase was the dearest -little thing when he was a baby, before——. Children are very different -from men—very different, very different, Dunning. You never know how -the most promising is to grow up. Sometimes they’re a—— a great -disappointment. They’re always a disappointment, I should say from what -I’ve seen, comparing the little thing with the big man, as Osy says. -But, please God, we’ll make a man of that boy, whatever happens. Ah, -Meg! is it you? I was just saying we must make a man of Osy—we must -make a man of him—whatever happens.”</p> - -<p>“I hope he will turn out a good man, Uncle Giles.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, we shall make a man of him, Meg! not but what, as I was saying, -they’re always disappointments more or less. Your poor aunt would never -let me say that, when she was breaking her poor heart for our first boy -that we lost. I used to say he might have grown up to rend our -hearts—but she would never hear me, never let me speak. It broke her -heart, that baby’s going, Meg.” This had happened a quarter of a century -before, but the old gentleman spoke as if it had been yesterday. “You -may think she did not show it, and looked as if she had forgotten; but -she never forgot. I saw it in her eyes when she saw<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68"></a>{68}</span> Gerald Piercey -first. She gave me a look as if to say, this might be him coming home, a -distinguished man. For he was a delightful child—he might have grown to -be anything, that boy!”</p> - -<p>“Dear Uncle Giles! You must try to look to the future—to think that -there may be perhaps other children to love.” Margaret laid her hand -tenderly upon the old man’s shoulder, which was heaving with those -harmless sobs—which meant so little, and yet were so pitiful to the -beholder. “I wanted to speak to you—about Osy, Uncle Giles.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” said the old man, cheering up. “Did you hear that he gave my -poor Gervase a wedding present? that little chap! and the only one—the -only one! I’ll never forget that, Meg, if I should live to be a hundred. -And, please God, we’ll pay it back to him, and make a man of him, Meg.”</p> - -<p>“It was precisely of that, Uncle, I wanted to speak.” But how was she to -speak? What was she to say to this old man so full of affection and of -generous purpose? Margaret went on patting the old gentleman on the -shoulder unconsciously, soothing him as if he had been a child. “Dear -Uncle Giles, you know that now Gervase is married, they—he will want to -live, perhaps, rather a different way.”</p> - -<p>“What different way?” said Sir Giles, aroused and holding up his head.</p> - -<p>“I mean, they are young people, you know, and will want to, perhaps—see -more company, have visitors, enjoy their life.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69"></a>{69}</span>”</p> - -<p>Sir Giles gave her an anxious, deprecating look.</p> - -<p>“Do you think then, Meg, that—that she will do? that she will know how -to manage? that she will be able to keep Gervase up to the mark?”</p> - -<p>“I think,” said Margaret, pausing to find the best words, “I think—that -she is really clever, and very, very quick, and will adapt herself and -learn, and—yes—I believe she will keep him up to the mark.”</p> - -<p>“God bless you for saying so, my dear! that is what I began to hope. We -could not have expected him to make a great match, Meg.”</p> - -<p>“No, Uncle.”</p> - -<p>“His poor mother, you know, always had hopes. She thought some nice girl -might have taken a fancy to him. But it was not to be expected, Meg.”</p> - -<p>“No, Uncle. I don’t think it was to be expected.”</p> - -<p>“In that case,” said Sir Giles—he was so much aroused and interested -that there was a certain clearness in his thoughts—“in that case, it is -perhaps the best thing that could have happened after all.”</p> - -<p>“Dear Uncle, yes, perhaps. But to give them every chance, to make them -feel quite at ease and unhampered, I think they should be left to -themselves.”</p> - -<p>“I will not interfere with them,” he cried; “I will not meddle between -them. Once I have accepted a thing, Meg, I accept it fully. You might -know me enough for that.”</p> - -<p>“I never doubted you, Uncle; but there is more: I think, dear Uncle -Giles, I must go away.”</p> - -<p>“You—go away!” he said, looking up at her, his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70"></a>{70}</span> loose lips beginning to -quiver; “you—go away! Why, Meg, you can be of more use here than ever. -You can show her how to—how to—why, bless us, we all know, after all, -that though she’s Mrs. Piercey, she was only, only—well, nobody, Meg! -you know—don’t bother me with names. She is nobody. She can’t know how -to—to behave herself even. I looked to you to—— Dunning, be off with -you: look after Master Osy. I know it’s wrong to speak before servants, -Meg, but Dunning’s not exactly a servant, he knows everything; he has -heard everything discussed.”</p> - -<p>“Too much, I fear,” said Margaret half to herself. “Dear Uncle, perhaps -you have not considered that mine has always been rather a doubtful -position. I am your niece, and you have always been like my father, but -Gervase’s wife thinks me only a dependant. One can’t wonder at -it—neither mistress nor servant. She thinks a little as the servants -do. I am only here as a dependant. She will not take a hint from me. She -will be better without me here. For one thing, she would think I was -watching her, and making unkind remarks, however innocent I might be. It -is best, indeed it is best, dear Uncle, that I should go.”</p> - -<p>“Go! away from Greyshott, Meg!—why, why! Greyshott—you have always -been at Greyshott.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Uncle Giles, thanks to you; dear Uncle Giles, when I was an -orphan, and had no one, you have done everything for me; but now the -best thing I can do for you is to go away. Oh, I know it, and am sure of -it; everything will go better without me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71"></a>{71}</span> You may imagine I don’t like -to think that, but it is true.”</p> - -<p>There was an interval, during which the old man was quite broken down, -and Dunning, rushing to his master’s side, shot reproachful speeches, as -well as glances, at Mrs. Osborne. “It appears,” said Dunning, “that I’m -never believed to know nothink, not even my own dooty to my master; but -those as comes to him with disagreeable stories and complaints, and that -just at this critical moment in the middle of his trouble, poor -gentleman, knows less than me. Come, Sir Giles. Compose yourself, Sir -Giles. I’ll have to give you some of your drops, and you know as you -don’t like ’em, if you don’t take things more easy, Sir Giles.”</p> - -<p>“I’m better,” said the old gentleman, feebly; “better, better. But, Meg, -you’ve got no money—how are you to live without money, Meg?”</p> - -<p>“I have my pension, uncle.”</p> - -<p>“A pension! what is a pension? It isn’t enough for anything. Even your -poor aunt always allowed that.”</p> - -<p>“It is enough to live on, Uncle—for Osy and me.”</p> - -<p>“Osy, too,” he cried—“Osy, that I was just saying we must make a man -of! You are very, very hard upon me, Meg. I never thought you would be -hard upon me.” But already Sir Giles was wearied of his emotions, and -was calming down.</p> - -<p>“I hope there will be other children to make up to you, Uncle Giles.”</p> - -<p>“What!” cried the old man, “is there a prospect<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72"></a>{72}</span> of that? Are there -thoughts of that already, Meg? Now, that is news, that is news! Now you -make up for everything. Whew!” Sir Giles uttered a feeble whistle, and -then he gave a feeble cheer. “Hurrah—then there may be an heir to the -old house still. Hurrah! Hurrah?”</p> - -<p>“Shall I say it for you, Uncle Giles?” said Osy. “Stand out of the way, -Movver, and let Uncle Giles and me do it. Hurrah!” cried the little -fellow, waving his hat upon Sir Giles’ stick. “Now, Uncle Giles, hip, -hip, as the men do—hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73"></a>{73}</span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">This</span> was about Osy’s last performance in the house which was the only -home he had ever known. He did not know what he was cheering for, but -only that it was delightful to make a noise, and that his old uncle’s -tremulous bass, soon lost in an access of sobs and laughter, was very -funny. Osy would willingly have gone on for half an hour with this novel -amusement; but it must be allowed that when he found the great boxes -standing about in the room that had been his nursery, and began to watch -the mysteries of the packing, his healthy little soul was disturbed by -no trouble of parting, but jumped forward to the intoxicating thought of -a journey and a new place with eager satisfaction and wonder. Everything -was good to Osy, whether it was doing exactly the same thing to-day as -he had done every day since he was born, or playing with something that -he had never done or known before. He was much more perplexed to be kept -upstairs after dinner, and not allowed to go down to the library, than -he was by the removal from everything he had ever known. And when next -morning he was driven<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74"></a>{74}</span> away in the big carriage to the railway station, -he was as ready to cheer for the delight of the outset as he had been, -without knowing why, for Uncle Giles’ mysterious burst of -self-gratulation. All things were joyful to the little new soul setting -out upon the world.</p> - -<p>Patty, however, was by no means delighted with Margaret’s prompt -withdrawal. She felt herself forestalled, which was painful, and the -power of the initiative taken from her. She had intended to play for a -little, as the cat plays with the mouse, with this fine lady, who had -once been so far above Patty Hewitt, and to whom, in her schoolgirl -days, she had been expected to curtsey as to the Queen. Patty’s heart -had swelled with the thought of bringing down pride (a moral process, as -everybody knows), and teaching the woman who had no money, and therefore -no right to set herself up above others, her proper place; and it vexed -her that this fine <i>rôle</i> should be taken from her.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you are going, are you?” she said. “I hope it isn’t on my account. -When I married Gervase I knew all that there was to put up with, and -more than has turned out. I knew I shouldn’t have my house to myself, -like most new married ladies, and I had made up my mind to all that. I -wouldn’t have turned you out, not for the world—however you might have -been in my way.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid I have a strong objection,” said Margaret, “to be in -anybody’s way.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, that’s your pride,” said Patty, “which I must say I wonder at in a -person of your age, and that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75"></a>{75}</span> knows she has nothing to keep it up on. -You’ve got a pension, haven’t you, that’s enough to live on? It’s a fine -thing having money out of all our pockets to spend as you please; but I -never heard that a pension was much to trust to, and if you were to -marry again you would lose it all. And your boy to bring up, too. My -father-in-law has a tremendous idea of your boy. I think it’s good for -him, in one way, that you are taking him away; for it’s ridiculous to -bring up a poor child like that, who hasn’t a penny, to think that he’s -as good as the heir, and treated by everybody as if he was really a -gentleman’s son, you know, with a good fortune at his back.”</p> - -<p>Margaret smothered with difficulty the indignation that rose to her -lips, but she said quietly, “You must disabuse your mind of any such -idea. Osy never could be my uncle’s heir. The heir of Greyshott after -Gervase—and, of course, Gervase’s children—is not Osy, but Gerald -Piercey, our cousin who has just gone away.”</p> - -<p>Though this was precious information to Patty, she received it with a -toss of her head.</p> - -<p>“I hope,” she said, “I know a little about the family I’ve married into; -but I can tell you something more, and that is, that it’ll never be your -fine Colonel’s, for all so grand as he thinks himself; for it’s all in -father-in-law’s power, and rather than let him have it he’ll leave it -all away. I wouldn’t see a penny go to that man that gives himself such -airs, not if I were to make the will myself to take it away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76"></a>{76}</span>”</p> - -<p>“I hope,” said Margaret, with an effort, “that there will be natural -heirs, and that there need be no question on that point.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you will stand up for him, of course!” cried Patty; “but I’d like -you to know, if you’re making up the match on that score, that it’ll -never come to pass. Me and Gervase is both against him, and -father-in-law won’t go against us both, not when he gets used to me. I’d -rather see it all go to an ’ospital than to that man. I can’t bear that -man, looking down upon those that are better than himself, as if he was -on stilts!” Patty grew red and hot in her indignation. Then she shook -out her dress airily, as if shaking away the subject and the -objectionable person. “Oh yes,” she said, “natural heirs!” with a -conscious giggle. “It’s you that has gone and put that in -father-in-law’s old head. But I told him it was early days. Dear old -man. It’s a pity he is silly. I don’t think he ever can have been much -in his head, any more than——. Do you?”</p> - -<p>“My uncle is in very bad health. He is ill, and his nerves are much -affected. But he has always been a man quite—quite able to manage his -own affairs. A man,” cried Margaret, faltering a little with indignation -and distress, “of very good sense and energy, not at all like—not at -all——”</p> - -<p>“Well, well,” said Patty, “time shows everything, you know, and he’s -quite safe with me and Gervase; at all events, whatever comes after, his -only son comes first, don’t he? And me and Gervase will see that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77"></a>{77}</span> the -dear old man isn’t made a cat’s-paw of, but kept quite square.”</p> - -<p>It was with a sensation half of disappointment, yet more than half of -satisfaction, that Patty found herself next morning alone in what she -called so confidently her own house. Alone, for Sir Giles, of course, -was in his own room, and was much better there, she felt, and Gervase, -so long as he was kept in good humour, was not very troublesome. To be -sure, it cost a good deal of exertion on her part to keep him in good -humour. He felt, as so many a wooer of his simple mind has done, the -want of the employment of courtship, which had so long amused and -occupied him. He could no longer go to the Seven Thorns in the evening, -a resource which was entirely cut off from his vacant life, from the -fact of having Patty always with him, without the exercise of any -endeavour on his own part. The excitement of keeping free of his -mother’s scrutiny; the still greater excitement of fishing furtively for -Patty’s attention, making her see that he was there, persuading her by -all the simple wiles of which he was master to grant him an interview; -the alarm of getting home, with all the devices which had to be -practised in order to get in safely, without being called to account and -made to say where he had been—and inspected, to see what he had been -doing: all this took a great deal of the salt out of poor Gervase’s -life. He did not know, now that he had settled down again at home, and -all the annoying sensations of the crises were over, what to do with -himself in the evenings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78"></a>{78}</span> Patty and he alone were rather less lively -than it had used to be when Sir Giles and Lady Piercey sat in their -great chairs, and the game of backgammon was going on, and Meg about, -and the child rampaging in all the corners. Even to have so many more -people in the room gave it to him an air of additional animation. Patty -told him it was the library that looked so dull. “Such a room for you -all to sit in,” she said, “so gloomy and dark, with these horrid old -pictures, and miles of books. Wait till I have the drawing-room in -order.” But it didn’t amuse Gervase to watch all the alterations Mrs. -Patty was making, nor how she was having the white and gold of the great -drawing-room furbished up. The first night they sat in that huge room, -with all the lamps lit, and the two figures lost among all the gilding -and the damask, and reflected over and over again, till they were tired -of seeing themselves in the big mirrors, Gervase felt more lonely than -ever. Never had Patty found so hard a task before her,—not when she had -to attend to all the customers alone, and keep their accounts separate -in her head, and to chalk up as much as was safe to the score of one -toper, and cleverly avoid hearing the call of another who had exceeded -the utmost range of possible solvability. Never, when she had all that -to do, had she found it so heavy upon her as it was to amuse Gervase. -She invented noisy games for him, she plied him with caresses when other -methods failed, she endeavoured to revive the old teasings and elusions -of the courtship; but as Gervase’s imagination<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79"></a>{79}</span> had never had much to do -with his love-making, these attempts to return to an earlier stage were -generally futile. He could not be played with—made miserable by a -frown, brought back again by a smile, as had once been the case. And -Patty had more than the labours of a Hercules in keeping her Softy in -order. There was no one to defend him from now, no tyrannical mother to -be defied, to make him feel the force of the wife’s protection. When Sir -Giles was well enough to come to the drawing-room after dinner, the task -was quite beyond the powers of any woman; for it was needful to please -the old gentleman, to give up everything for him, to represent to him -that his company was always a delight to his children. Poor old Sir -Giles had winked and blinked in the many lights of the great -drawing-room. He had been dazzled, but he had not been ill-pleased.</p> - -<p>“We never used this, you know, in your mother’s time but for company,” -he said. It was Gervase whom he seemed to address, but it was Patty who -replied.</p> - -<p>“I thought it would be a little change for you,” she said. “A change is -always good, and there’s more light and more air. You should always have -plenty of air, and not the associations that are in the other room.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you are right, my dear,” the old gentleman said with a sigh. It -was she who was “my dear” now; and, indeed, she was very attentive to -Sir Giles, never neglecting him, doing everything she could think of for -his pleasure. It was on one of the evenings when she was devoting -herself to him, playing the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80"></a>{80}</span> game he loved, and allowing him to win in -the cleverest way, that Gervase, who was strolling about the room with -his hands in his pockets, half jealous of his father, calling her, now -in whispers, now loudly, to leave that and come to him, at last -disappeared before the game was finished. Patty went on hurriedly with -the backgammon, but she was on thorns all the while. She had established -the habit of sending off Dunning, whom she was slowly undermining, less -for any serious reason than because he was a relic of the past <i>régime</i>; -and, therefore, she was now helpless; could not leave Sir Giles; could -not interrupt the process of amusing and entertaining him. Where had the -Softy gone? to prowl about the house looking for something that might -amuse him; to fling himself dissatisfied upon his bed and fall asleep in -the utter vacancy of his soul? An uneasy sense that something worse than -this was possible oppressed Patty as she sat and played out the game of -backgammon. Then there ensued another dreadful interval, during which -Sir Giles talked and wondered what had become of his son. “He has gone -to sleep somewhere, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Patty; “the nights are -growing long, and poor dear Gervase wants a little amusement. I was -thinking of suggesting, dear papa (this was the name she had fixed upon -Sir Giles, who had resisted at first, then laughed, and finally accepted -the title with the obedience of habit), that we should both play, he and -I, against you. You are worth more than the two of us, you know.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81"></a>{81}</span>”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, you little flatterer. You’ve a very pretty notion of the -game. I had to fight for it that last round. I had, indeed. I had to -fight for my life.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, dear papa!” said Patty, shaking her head at him. “You are worth far -more than the two of us! but it would keep us all together, all the -family together.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t like Gervase to play with me,” said Sir Giles fretfully. “He’s -too noisy, and he has no sense; he can’t understand a refined game. I -shouldn’t wonder if he had gone out to some of his old haunts that his -poor mother couldn’t bear. The Seven——. I beg your pardon, my dear, I -am sure,” the old gentleman cried, colouring up to his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Dear papa, why should you beg my pardon? But oh, no! Gervase has not -gone to the Seven Thorns. He went there for me. That makes all the -difference. Why should he go back now?”</p> - -<p>“My dear,” said Sir Giles again, “I must beg your pardon. I didn’t -intend to make any insinuation. Of course it was for you. But it’s a -dangerous thing to acquire a habit, especially for one that—for one -that doesn’t, don’t you know, take in many ideas at a time.”</p> - -<p>“I know him better than that. I know where he is, the lazy boy. But, -dear papa, fancy, it is ten o’clock; your bedtime. Oh, how soon ten -comes when we have a pleasant game, and in such good company! I suppose -I must ring for Dunning now.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you had better ring for Dunning. If I am a little bit late, and -should have a headache or anything,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82"></a>{82}</span> he throws it in my teeth. We have -had a very pleasant game, and I must say that for you, my dear, that you -know how to make the time pass. Well, Dunning, here I am, ready you see, -ready to the minute, thanks to Mrs. Gervase, who is a great deal more -careful of me than you are, you surly old beggar. Good night, my dear; -but tell Gervase from me that it isn’t good manners to break up the -party; but he never was renowned for good manners, poor boy,” the old -gentleman said, shaking his head as he was wheeled away.</p> - -<p>And then Patty had a bitter moment. She went to the library, where he -sometimes took refuge, falling asleep upon the old sofa, where he had -lain and kicked his heels as a child; and then to his room, where he -sometimes went when he was dull, to throw himself upon his bed. But -Gervase was not to be found in either place. He came stumbling to the -old door which opened on the yew avenue, late at night, and she herself -ran downstairs to admit him—angry, yet subduing herself. He had resumed -his old habit, as his father had guessed: the habit which had been -formed for Patty, and which she had so sharply shaken him out of with a -power and mastery which she no longer possessed. Patty felt in that -moment the first drawback of that unexampled elevation which she had -attained with such unexpected ease. Had she married in her own class, -the publican’s daughter would not have been very deeply wounded by her -husband’s return on an occasion in such a plight. But when she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83"></a>{83}</span> stole -down through the sleeping house and admitted the future master of -Greyshott, and led him upstairs, hushing his broken speech and stumbling -gait, that nobody might hear, Patty learned something which no other -manner of instruction could have conveyed to her. She found that there -were things that were harder upon a lady (such as she flattered herself -she had become) than on a village woman. She coaxed and soothed him to -bed, like a nurse with a child, that nobody should suspect what had -happened; and she ground her teeth and vowed vengeance upon her father, -who had dared to take the Softy in and treat him like this. And thus -there arose before Patty a prospect which appalled even her brisk and -courageous spirit. What if she should not be able to put this down -summarily and with the strong hand? Then what would become of her hopes -of winning a place in the county, and being acknowledged by all the -great people as worthy to make her entrance among them? After the first -unexpected triumph of becoming mistress of a great house and a number of -servants, her ambition had risen to higher flights; and this was what -that over-vaulting ambition aimed at. But what would become of that -hope, or of many others, if the Softy, startled out of himself for a -moment by his marriage, should fall back into the beerhouse society -which suited him best? Patty fell from the height of her dreams when she -saw that sight which is always a pitiful one for a young wife. She felt -the burden of “the honour unto which she was not born” come down for the -first time with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84"></a>{84}</span> a crushing weight upon her. Oh, it was not so simple -after all—so easy, so pleasant to be a lady! She had begun already to -forget that it was to Gervase she owed her advancement, and to feel the -burden of keeping him amused and employed. Now she felt that the Softy -had it in his power to mar that advancement still. She had cleared every -hostile influence out of the house; she had got rid of every rival. She -had conquered Sir Giles, and gained possession of the keys, and become -the acknowledged mistress of Greyshott. What a great thing, what a -wonderful thing, for Patty Hewitt! And yet she felt, in the bitterness -of her heart, that it might be better to be still Patty Hewitt, with all -the world before her, than to be Mrs. Piercey, of Greyshott, with that -Softy to drag her down.</p> - -<p>This was the first big thorn that pierced Patty’s foot, and reminded her -that she was mortal, as she was marching on in her victorious way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85"></a>{85}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Patty</span> had been triumphantly successful in the first chapter of her -career. She had an easy victory over her father-in-law. She had cleared -the house of everybody whom she disliked or feared. First, Mrs. Osborne, -and with her—not least in Patty’s estimation—Sarah, Osy’s maid, who -had been at school with her, and whom she was still more anxious to get -rid of than her mistress. Then Parsons, who knew a great deal too much -of the family to be endurable for a moment; then the one servant in the -house who had ventured to be rude to Gervase’s wife, John the footman: a -dreadful example, whose sudden fate had exercised the most salutary -influence over the rest of the household. It is true that Dunning still -remained Sir Giles’ attendant, against whom there were the same -objections as against Parsons; but for the moment, at least, Dunning was -indispensable, and had to be borne with. She stood, however, after the -first month of her sway on the very top-gallant of success, supreme in -the house, her word a law, the oldest and most secure arrangements -falling to pieces at her will, the entire<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86"></a>{86}</span> order of affairs changed to -please her. Everything had gone as she desired, and no head had been -lifted up in rebellion. The great wardrobes were full of fine clothes. -She had shuffled off Miss Fletcher, the village dressmaker, and procured -the finest and most highly cultivated maid that ever advertised in the -<i>Times</i>. Lady Piercey’s stores of lace and linen, and even her -old-fashioned jewellery, which was much more valuable than beautiful, -were in Patty’s hands. She had realised all her dreams, and more than -all. But there is nothing perfect in human affairs, and now the reverse -of her good fortune began to rise out of the mists before Patty’s eyes.</p> - -<p>The first trouble of all was, perhaps, the cutting off of her connection -with her home and origin. Her father had come to see her very early in -her story, had been received in the half-dismantled library for a short -angry conference, and left with a crimson countenance and a volley of -muttered oaths, and had never come again. But there was another member -of the family who was less easy to get rid of. Miss Hewitt made a call -in state, in her most splendid costume, with a bonnet still more -exuberant in red and yellow than that in which she had witnessed the -funeral of Lady Piercey. She descended upon Patty at an early hour, when -Mrs. Gervase was still profoundly occupied with the restoration of the -great drawing-room, and made her way there, regardless of the opposition -of the polite butler. “Perhaps you are not aware that I am Mrs. -Piercey’s own aunt,” that lady said fiercely;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87"></a>{87}</span> “I shall go to my niece -wherever she is. I have no fear of not being welcome.” The butler knew, -also, too well who the visitor was, and he trembled for the consequences -of his weakness as she pushed her way before him into the room where the -carpenter and his apprentice and a couple of housemaids were executing -Patty’s orders, under her close superintendence. The men were on ladders -cleaning the long mirrors, the maids were busy with the furniture, while -Patty, seated in a gilt and brocaded chair sat in state looking on. -“Place that table in the corner, there, and these two chairs beside it. -Not that, you stupid; the deep gentleman’s chair on one side, and this -one without arms on the other—let me see. Yes, that will do, with a -palm or a great fern behind.” Patty held her head on one side to -contemplate the effect, while the two housemaids stood looking on, not -yet so much accustomed to the new sway that they did not exchange a -glance, a “la! much she knows about it,” when her attention was called -away.</p> - -<p>It was, indeed, with no small start and sensation that Patty’s attention -was called away. She was sitting thus, with her head on one side, -contemplating the group of furniture, perhaps imagining herself in the -chair without arms, with a silken train arranged about her feet (when -her mourning should be over, for Patty was, in all things, a stickler -for propriety), while some grand gentleman, a viscount at least, leant -over the table entertaining her from the depths of the “gentleman’s -chair”: when there suddenly burst upon her conscious<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88"></a>{88}</span>ness a bustle at -the door, a quick throwing open, and a voice which was harsh and -jarring, but alas, how well known and familiar!</p> - -<p>“Patty, my pet, here I am! That man of yours wanted to put me in a -waiting-room, but I said, Where she is there I’ll go; and here I am, my -little lovey, and a happy woman to see you in your own house.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” cried Patty, rising quickly from her chair. Her wits were so much -about her, even in this great and sudden shock, that she refrained from -saying aunt in the hearing of that excited audience—which was foolish, -indeed, since all the housemaids and all the carpenters in Greyshott -parish knew very well that Miss Hewitt, of Rose Cottage, was Mrs. -Piercey’s aunt, and far the richest, consequently the most respectable -of her kindred. Patty could not say much more, for she was enfolded in -the heavy drapery of Miss Hewitt’s Paisley shawl, and almost stifled in -her close embrace. “And bless you, all’s ended as I said it would; and -ain’t I glad I was the one to help you to it?” Miss Hewitt said in her -enthusiasm, bestowing a large audible kiss on Patty’s face.</p> - -<p>“Oh, dear!” said Patty, as soon as she could speak. “This isn’t the -place to receive any one in. Jervis, why didn’t you show the lady into -the morning-room? I can’t talk to you here, with all the servants -about.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t blame the man,” said Miss Hewitt; “I wanted to see you free, -without stopping whatever you were doing. It’s not as if I were a mere -visitor as couldn’t make allowances. I just like to see everything,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89"></a>{89}</span> and -what it was like before, and what you’re doing. I know you, Patty. They -won’t know it for the same ’ouse afore you’re done with it. Well, this -is a nice room! but none too big for what you’ll want when you get -things your own way. Greyshott won’t know itself with all the doings -there’ll be.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but I can’t receive any lady here,” said Patty. “Let me take you -into the morning-room; it’s where I always sit in the morning. I -couldn’t possibly sit and talk with a caller before lunch in any other -place. If you don’t mind I’ll show you the way.”</p> - -<p>The butler held the door open with an obsequious air in which there was, -as that functionary was well aware, an over-acting of his part—but that -did not occur to the ladies who swept out, Patty in advance, and to whom -it would scarcely have seemed too much if Jervis had walked backwards -before them. He stayed behind to make his comment with uplifted hands -and eyes upon the spectacle. “Lord, ain’t she a-going it!” said Jervis. -It was, perhaps, not dignified for a person in his position to unbosom -himself to the housemaids and the carpenter; but how could mortal man -keep silent in circumstances so exciting? The ladies went to the -morning-room in another frame of mind, both of them putting on silently -their armour for the inevitable battle. When they had reached the room -which was to be the scene of it, Miss Hewitt flung herself at once -heavily into an easy chair. “Well! I call this a poky little place,” she -cried. “You might have sent the servants away, Patty. I liked that other -place much<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90"></a>{90}</span> better. Morning-room! why it’s no better than my parlour,” -she cried.</p> - -<p>“It would only hold the whole of your house, kitchen and all,” cried -Patty; “and it’s where I choose people to come,” she added decisively, -“when they’ve that little sense as to come in the morning, when <i>no</i> -lady receives.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s how I am to be met, is it?” said Miss Hewitt, “you little -ungrateful wretch! It was nothing but dear aunt, and how good I was, -when you came to me to help you. Ah! you had to come to me to help to -secure him at the last—and him nothing but a Softy. If I had had -somebody to stand for me like I did for you, Miss Patty, Greyshott would -have been a very different place, and you’d never have got your nose in -here!”</p> - -<p>“Well, Aunt,” said Patty, “if those are your ideas, you can’t wonder -that I shouldn’t want you. For if you had married Sir Giles, which I -suppose is what you mean, and would never have let me get my nose in, -you’ll understand that I don’t want your nose in. I wouldn’t have said -it so plump if you hadn’t begun. Though I don’t believe Sir Giles ever -thought of such a thing, now I know him well.”</p> - -<p>“He’s not a Softy, you see,” said the angry old lady, with a snort.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Patty, sedately; “he’s not a Softy. I should think he’d had a -good deal of common-sense in his day. But I don’t want to quarrel,” she -added; “whatever you may do. No doubt you’ve come about your money, -which is quite natural. You shall have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91"></a>{91}</span> your money, Aunt Patience. It -wasn’t so needful as I thought it would be, for Mr. Piercey had plenty -for what was wanted; but, of course, I’m much obliged to you all the -same.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Piercey: that’s what you call the Softy now!” cried Miss -Hewitt, in high scorn.</p> - -<p>“It’s what I always called him, and it’s his name and mine too. I’m Mrs. -Piercey, as the heir’s wife, and not Mrs. Gervase. My father-in-law says -so, and he ought to know.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, your father-in-law,” cried Miss Hewitt, with extreme bitterness; -“you’ve changed all your relations, I see. When it comes to a person to -disown their debts and their folks——”</p> - -<p>“I do neither the one nor the other,” cried Patty. “You shall have every -penny of your fifty pounds—and interest, if you like, with that. And -everybody knows my folks,” she cried, with a toss of her head. “Oh, no -fear that they’ll ever be forgotten. Father’s been here with the smell -of beer about him like to knock you down, and when I told him I couldn’t -bear it, what does he do but fling out of the house cursing and -swearing, and letting everybody see.”</p> - -<p>“Well, your father is a trial,” Miss Hewitt allowed candidly. “I don’t -wonder, Patty, as you were hurt; but so was he, and he won’t come back -no more, won’t Richard. You can’t, anyhow, my pet, have the same -objections to me.”</p> - -<p>Miss Hewitt held her head aloft, and her golden flowers nodded and -rustled. The complacency of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92"></a>{92}</span> smile, and the confidence that in her -there was nothing to find fault with, was too much even for Patty. She -could not say the words that came to her lips.</p> - -<p>“Well, Aunt Patience,” she said, in subdued tones, “I am treating you -just the same as if you were Lady Hartmore.”</p> - -<p>“And no more than is my due, Patty. I might have been my lady many and -many’s the year if I’d had an Aunt Patience as would have done for me as -I’ve done for you. Has she been to call already? She’s one as always -respects the rising sun.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Patty, still more subdued, “she has not been yet—but that’s -easy explained, where there’s been so lately a death in the house.”</p> - -<p>“And a good thing for you, too! If ever there was a tyrant of a -woman—— But I see you’re in deep crape, Patty, to show your grief.”</p> - -<p>“I hope I know better than to show any want of respect to my -mother-in-law. And I think, Aunt Patience, you might have known better -than to come to a house that’s in such mourning with all these colours -on your head.”</p> - -<p>“My bonnet!” cried Miss Hewitt. She caught sight of herself in a glass, -and bridled and smiled at herself, instinctively arranging the bow of -red ribbon that was tied under her chin. “I never had such a becoming -bonnet in my life; and as for mourning, there’s nobody could expect me -to put on black for her.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Patty, “and that’s why I hadn’t expected even a call from -you, Aunt Patience, during the mourn<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93"></a>{93}</span>ing—not being in any way a real -connection of the house.”</p> - -<p>Miss Hewitt fixed her eyes very wide open upon those of her niece, and -the two maintained a silent combat by that method for at least a minute. -It was the elder who gave in the first. “If that’s how you’re going to -treat your own relations,” she said, “Patty, you’ll not see much of me. -And I can tell you, as well as if it had happened already, you won’t see -much of other folks. There’s none of the grand people as you’re looking -for that will come near the place. The rector’ll call because he’s bound -to, and because you was once his show girl at the Sunday School; and the -new curate will call to see if he can get a subscription for something, -but, mark you my words: nobody else—no, not a soul! and when you’ve -bundled everybody belonging to you out of your doors, then you’ll see -who you’ll have to speak to. I’m sorry for you, Patty, I am indeed.”</p> - -<p>“Are you, Aunt Patience?” cried Patty, with defiance. “When it comes to -that, I’ll send for you back.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a deal easier,” said Miss Hewitt sententiously, “to whistle folks -away than to bring them back.”</p> - -<p>But after this there was a cessation of hostilities, and in the end Miss -Hewitt was taken over the house to see all its splendours, which, as -much as possible, she depreciated. She was the only witness of her -elevation whom Patty had as yet had, and though some sacrifice of pride -and spirit was necessary, a natural longing to impress and dazzle her -world, through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94"></a>{94}</span> means of some spectator, was still stronger. Patty -went so far as to offer her aunt some of those pairs of silk stockings -which Parsons had been counting when her new mistress fell upon her. -“They’re such good stockings,” Patty said, “but miles too big for me.” -“If you think I’ll wear her old cast-off things!” cried Miss Hewitt, -purple with rage, flinging them back into the drawers from which Patty -had taken them. “And my foot, if anything, is a little smaller than -yours,” she added, with angry satisfaction. But when the visitor -lingered and at last betrayed her desire to be asked to stay for -“dinner”—a word which came out unadvisedly, and which she immediately -corrected, with a blush—“Lunch, I suppose you call it,”—Patty assumed -very high ground.</p> - -<p>“My dear Aunt! if we were by ourselves of course it would not matter; -but dear papa always takes his luncheon along with us.”</p> - -<p>“And who’s dear papa?” asked Miss Hewitt, with natural derision.</p> - -<p>“I mean Sir Giles, of course; he’s in very delicate health, and we have -to be very careful.”</p> - -<p>“Sir Giles,” said Miss Hewitt grimly, “has seen me before.”</p> - -<p>“Yes—he said so when he heard my name—he said, Where have I heard that -name before?”</p> - -<p>“Patty, you’re a little devil; he knows a deal more than that of me.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, well, perhaps once, Aunt; but his memory’s gone now; and to bring -in a stranger to the luncheon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95"></a>{95}</span> table! Perhaps you don’t remember,” said -Patty severely, “that my poor dear mother-in-law has not yet been a -fortnight in her grave.”</p> - -<p>Miss Hewitt was thus got rid of, though not without trouble; but Patty -did not find it easy to forget what she had said, especially when it -came true to the letter; for week after week went by and not a step, -except that of the doctor, crossed the threshold of Greyshott. Patty -took her place in the drawing-room every afternoon, with everything -arranged very cleverly, and looking as like as an imitation could be to -the little <i>mise en scène</i> of a young lady waiting for her guests; but -no guests ever came. At length, after much waiting, there -appeared—exactly as Aunt Patience had said—the rector! accompanied by -his young daughter, for he was a widower. The rector called her Patty in -the first moment of meeting, and though he amended that in a confused -manner, and gave her finally her full honours as Mrs. Piercey, it was -difficult to get over that beginning, which threw his young companion -into utter discomfiture. And then, to make matters worse, he delivered a -little lecture upon the responsibilities of her new position and the -difficulty of the duties that would come upon her. “You must not let -your mind dwell on your disadvantages,” he said kindly; “everybody, -after a while, will make allowances for you.” “You are quite mistaken if -you think I want to have allowances made for me,” said Patty, provoked. -And what could the rector reply? He said, “Oh!” thus showing the poverty -of the English language, and how little a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96"></a>{96}</span> man in such a predicament can -find to say for himself; and then he began hurriedly to talk parish -talk, and ask Mrs. Piercey’s patronage for various charities—charities -by which Patty Hewitt might almost have been in a position to benefit so -short a time ago. “That’s well over,” he said to his daughter, wiping -his forehead, when they went out of the gates of Greyshott. And he did -not come again, nor she—not even the girl. And nobody came; and of all -the difficult things in the world Mrs. Gervase Piercey found nothing so -difficult as to explain to her grand maid how it was that no visitor was -ever seen at Greyshott. The thing itself was bad enough, but to explain -it to Jerningham was still worse. “You see we are still in deep -mourning,” Mrs. Piercey said. “Yes, ma’am,” said Jerningham, with a -sniff of polite scepticism. For a lady who, however deep her mourning -might be, had not a single friend to come to see her, was more than -Jerningham could understand. And Patty sat alone in her fine -drawing-room, and walked about her great house, and spoke to nobody but -old Sir Giles and her own Softy; and thought many times, with a kind of -alarm, of what Aunt Patience had said. Had it not already come true?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97"></a>{97}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">This</span>, however, was after all but a small matter; it was not actual -misfortune. Patty, indeed, felt it much, partly on account of Jerningham -and the other servants, who she felt must triumph in this -non-recognition of her claims; and also a little for herself, for it was -an extraordinary change from the perpetual coming and going of the Seven -Thorns, and all the admiration and respect which she had there, the -jokes, and the laughter and the talk, which if not refined, were good -enough for Patty Hewitt—to the condition of having no one to speak to, -not a soul—except old Sir Giles and her own Softy, whose conversation -clever Patty could not be said to have enjoyed at any time. It was very -dull work going on from day to day with nothing better than poor old Sir -Giles’ broken talk, which was about himself and his affairs—not about -her, naturally the most interesting subject to Patty. Many times she was -tempted to go upstairs and sit with Jerningham to unbosom herself and -relieve her mind of all the unspoken talk, and make a companion and -<i>confidante</i> of her maid. Jerningham was a person much<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98"></a>{98}</span> better trained -and educated than Patty. She could have instructed her in many of the -ways of the fine ladies which Mrs. Piercey could only guess at, or -painfully copy out of novels; but perhaps, if her mistress had yielded -to this impulse it would have been Jerningham who would have held back, -knowing her place and desiring no confidences. Patty, however, also knew -her place, and that to confide in a servant was a fatal thing, so that -she never yielded to this temptation. But how dull it was! It is a fine -thing to be the mistress of a great house, to have a large household -under your orders, to be served hand and foot, as Patty herself would -have said; but never to have a gossip, never a jest with any one, she -for whom every passer-by had once had a cheerful word, to have nobody to -admire either herself or her dresses, to envy her good fortune, to -wonder at her grandeur! that takes the glory out of any victory. Would -Cæsar have cared to come back with all the joy and splendour of a -triumphal procession had there been nobody to look at him? Patty had -succeeded to the extent of her highest dreams, but, alas! there was -nobody to see.</p> - -<p>That, however, was merely negative, and there was always the hope that -it might not last. She took her seat in the drawing-room every day with -perennial expectation, still believing that somebody must come; and, no -doubt, in the long run, her expectation would have come true. But Patty -soon had actual trouble far more important than any mere deprivation. -She had been afraid of Sir Giles, over whom her victory<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99"></a>{99}</span> had been easy, -and she had been afraid of the servants, whom she had now completely -under her foot; but she never had any fear about the Softy, her husband, -who had been her dog—a slave delighted with his chains—who had desired -nothing better than to do what she told him, and to follow her about -wherever she went. That Gervase should become the only rebel against -her, that he should escape her authority and influence, and take his own -way in opposition to hers, was a thing which had not entered into any of -her calculations—Gervase, whose devotion had been too much, who had -wearied her out with his slavish dependence on her, how had he -emancipated himself? It was inconceivable to Patty. She had felt sure -that whatever happened she could always control him, always keep him in -subjection, guide him with a look, be absolute mistress of his mind and -all his wishes. The first revelation of something more in Softy which -she had not calculated upon had come when she first found the difficulty -of amusing him in the long evenings (lit with so many wax candles, -surrounded with so many glories!). Then it was revealed to Patty that -she was not enough even for that fool. Then it began to dawn upon her -faintly that the Seven Thorns itself had something to do with the -attraction, and the excitement of the suspense, and the restraint and -expectation in which she had held him: all these adjuncts were over now; -he had Patty all his own, and he did not find Patty enough. Was that -possible? could it be true?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a>{100}</span></p> - -<p>Perhaps there was something in the very ease of Patty’s triumph that had -to do with this. Had his mother lived, and had Gervase experienced that -protection of having a wife to stand by him, which he had anticipated, -it is very likely that this result would have been long delayed, if, -indeed, it had ever appeared at all. But there was nobody now against -whom Gervase required to be protected. His father had never opposed him, -and now that Sir Giles was, like everybody else in the house, under -Patty’s sway, not even the faint excitement of a momentary struggle with -him chequered the Softy’s well-being. The consequence was that he, as -well as Patty, found it dull. He had no one to play with him, he longed -for the movement of the alehouse, the sound of the carts and carriages, -the slow jokes in the parlour, the smoke and the fun—also the beer; and -perhaps that most of all. It was hard work even when Patty was devoted -to his constant amusement, for the Softy had no intervals; he wanted to -be entertained all the time: and when she flagged for a moment, he -became sullen and tugged at his chain. But when Sir Giles came on the -scene, and Patty’s attention was distracted and her cares given to the -old man, offence and sullen disgust arose in the mind of Gervase. He -would not join in the game, as Patty called him to do; neither father -nor son indeed wanted a third in the game: and Gervase, duller than ever -and angry too, went to sleep for a night or two, tried to amuse himself -another evening or two with cat’s cradle or the solitaire board—then -flung these<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a>{101}</span> expedients aside in impatience, and finally strolled off, -through the soft, warm darkness of the night, to the Seven Thorns. The -Seven Thorns! it was poetic justice upon Patty, but that made it only -the harder to bear.</p> - -<p>Then there came upon Patty one of those curses of life which fall upon -women with a bitterness and horror of which probably the inflictors of -the pain are never fully aware. It would have been bad enough if this -had befallen her in her natural position as the wife of a country -tradesman or small farmer. Domestic misery is the same in one class as -in another; yet it would be vain to deny the aggravations that a higher -position adds to primitive anguish of this kind. The cottager is not so -much ashamed of her husband’s backslidings. In many cases they are the -subject of the long monologue of complaint that runs through her life. -They cannot be hid, and they become a sort of possession, the readiest -excuse for every failing of her own. But that the young master should -stumble night after night up to Greyshott; that he should be seen by all -the neighbourhood drinking among the dull rustics at the Seven Thorns; -that a crowd of servants should listen and peep to hear his unsteady -step, and his boisterous laugh, and the stammerings of excuse or -explanations, or worse still, of noisy mirth, bursting from him in the -middle of the quiet night—was something more terrible still. Patty—on -that first occasion, when, long after every one else was in bed, she -stole downstairs to admit him by that little door near the beech avenue, -to which his unsteady footsteps naturally turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a>{102}</span>—was horrified and -angry beyond description; but she did not doubt she could put a stop to -it. Not for a moment did she hesitate as to her power. It should never -happen again, she said to herself. Once was nothing. Henceforward she -would be on her guard. He should not escape from her another time. She -did not even upbraid Gervase—it was her own fault, who had never -thought of that, taken no precautions; but it should never, never, she -said to herself, with, perhaps unnecessary asseverations, happen again.</p> - -<p>Gervase, upbraided as in sport by his laughing wife for forsaking her, -as if he had been a naughty child, did nothing but laugh and triumph in -reply. “Weren’t they just astonished to see me!” he said: “your father -opened his mouth like this,” opening his own large mouth with the moist -hanging under-lip. “You should ha’ seen him, you should ha’ seen him, -Patty—like I was a ghost! ‘Hallo!’ said he, and ‘Hallo!’ said I, ‘here -I am, you see.’ There wasn’t one of them could say a word; but -afterwards I stood treat, and we had a jolly night.”</p> - -<p>“And, oh, how you did smell of beer, you naughty fellow, when you came -in!”</p> - -<p>“Did I? Well, not without reason, neither,” said Gervase, with his loud -laugh; “a set of jolly old cocks when you set them going. We only wanted -you there in your old blue dress and your apron.”</p> - -<p>“That you will never see again, I can tell you; and it isn’t very nice -of you, Gervase, wishing your wife in such a place.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a>{103}</span>”</p> - -<p>“It’s a good enough place, and it’s where you came from,” said Gervase. -“But I told ’em,” he said, nodding his head, “what an awful swell you -have grown—nothing good enough for you. Didn’t the old fellows laugh -and nod their old heads. Ho, ho! He, he!”</p> - -<p>“Gervase, dear,” said his wife, “you won’t go there again? you won’t go -and leave me all by myself, longing and wondering when you’d come back? -I thought you’d gone and fallen asleep somewhere. I thought every minute -you’d come into the room. You won’t go again, Gervase, dear, and leave -your poor Patty alone?”</p> - -<p>“Why, you had father,” Gervase said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, papa; yes, dear, and I kept on playing to amuse him, dear old -gentleman, and to keep it from him that you had gone out. If he had -known where you were, it would have vexed him sadly, you know it would.”</p> - -<p>“It vexed them both,” said Gervase, “when I went there after you; but I -didn’t mind—nor you either, Patty.”</p> - -<p>“A young single man has to have his liberty,” said Patty, “but when he’s -married—— You wouldn’t have gone off and left me—your Patty, whom you -said you were so fond of—in those days?”</p> - -<p>“Ah,” said the Softy, with the wisdom of his kind, “but I’ve got you now -fast, Patty, at home waiting for me; so I can take my pleasure a bit, -and have you all the same.” He looked at her with a cynical light<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a>{104}</span> in -his dull eyes. He, and she also, felt the strength of the argument. No -need to please her now, and conciliate her in her own ideas about beer -and the parlour of the Seven Thorns. She could no longer cast him off, -or leave him in the lurch. Consequently, Gervase felt himself free to -indulge his tastes in his own way, whatever Patty might think. She was -struck silent by that new light in his eyes. He was not capable of -argument, or of anything but sticking to what he had once said, with all -the force of his folly. She looked at him, and, for the first time, saw -what was before her. It had never occurred to her before that he had the -strength to resist her, or that she could not call him to her like a dog -when her better sense saw it to be necessary. A docile fool is sometimes -contemptible enough; but a fool resistant, a being whom reason cannot -teach, who has no power of being convinced! Patty felt a cold dew come -over her forehead. She saw what was before her with momentary giddiness, -as if she had looked over the edge of a precipice. But she did not lose -hope. She sent next day an imperative note to her father requiring his -attendance: that he either should resist or refuse her call did not come -into her mind. “Come up to Greyshott,” she wrote, “at once, for I have -something to say to you;” as she might have written to one of her -servants. But Richard Hewitt was not a man who could be defied with -impunity. He never appeared in obedience to her summons; he took no -notice of it. He replied only by that silence which is the most<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a>{105}</span> -terrible of all kinds of resistance. And it was not long before Gervase -disappeared again. After the second catastrophe, Patty swept down upon -the Seven Thorns in her carriage—an imposing figure in her silk and -crape. But Hewitt was not impressed even by the sight of her grandeur. -“I’ll not refuse no customer for you—there! and you needn’t think you -can come over me,” he cried. “By George! to order me about—what I’m to -do and whom I’m to have in this house. It’s like your impudence; but I -tell you, Miss, I’ll see you d——d first,” the angry man roared, -bringing his clenched fist down upon the table, and making all the -glasses ring. Patty was cowed, and had not a word to say.</p> - -<p>And then there began for the triumphant young woman an ordeal enough to -daunt the stoutest heart. It was true that she had not, like many a wife -in such circumstances, the anguish of love to give a sting to -everything. Patty had used the Softy partly as the instrument of her own -elevation; but his folly had not disgusted or pained her as it might -have done under other circumstances. She had a sober affection for him -even, as her own property, a thing that belonged to her, and felt -strongly the impulse of protecting him from scandal and injury: more, he -was so involved still in all her hopes of advancement, that she was as -much alarmed for the betrayal of his bad behaviour, as if (like so many) -she had feared the loss of a situation or work which brought in the -living of the family. And it must be added for Patty that she did<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a>{106}</span> her -very best to keep all knowledge of Gervase’s conduct from his father. -She sat and played his game of backgammon, inventing almost every -evening a new excuse. “Isn’t he a lazy boy? He’s gone to sleep again,” -was at first the easiest explanation. But Patty felt that would not do -always. “What do you think, dear papa? Gervase has taken to reading,” -she said; “I gave him a nice novel, all hunting and horses, and he got -so interested in it.” “He never was any good outside a horse himself,” -Sir Giles said, with a little grumble. But he was easily satisfied. He -asked nothing more than to have his mind relieved from that care for -Gervase which Lady Piercey had always insisted he should share. “He’s -got his wife to look after him, now,” Sir Giles said, when Dunning -hinted a doubt that Mr. Gervase was sometimes out of an evening. He was -thankful to wash his hands of all responsibility. That apparent -selfishness of old age, which consists very much of weariness and -conscious inability to bear the burden, came over him more and more -every day. Had such a thing been possible as that Gervase should have -married a girl in his own position, and made her miserable, the good in -Sir Giles would have been roused to support and uphold the victim. But -Patty knew very well what she was doing. Patty had accepted all the -responsibilities. She was able to take care of herself. He had his wife -to take care of him, and to keep him off his father. Patty accepted her -share of that tacit bargain honestly; and, as for Sir Giles, it must be -said that he was easily satisfied—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a>{107}</span>received her explanations, and gave -her as little trouble as possible. He nodded his head, and went on with -his game. Perhaps, if truth had been told, it was a relief to the old -man when the Softy—strolling about restlessly from place to place, -interfering with the play, calling off his wife’s attention, always -troublesome and always ungainly—was not there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a>{108}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Patty</span> had been married only about four months, when an incident happened -that brought this period of humiliation and trouble after her triumph to -a climax. The summer had gone, the dark days and long nights of early -winter had come back, and Gervase’s almost nightly visits to the Seven -Thorns were complicated by the storms and rains of the season, which, -however, were rarely bad enough to keep him indoors. Had Patty been free -to keep a constant watch upon him, it was her opinion that she could -have prevented his continual escape into the night. She could have made -him so comfortable at home. By moments she had visions of what she could -do to reclaim her husband and satisfy him, if the dreadful restraint of -the old man and his nightly game were withdrawn. Once or twice, when Sir -Giles was indisposed, she had, indeed, managed to do this. She had -brewed him hot and fragrant drinks to take the place of the beer, and -exhausted herself in talk to amuse him. Poor Patty! she thought to -herself that surely she must, at least, be as amusing as the old fellows -in the parlour at the Seven Thorns.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a>{109}</span> Many a woman has thought the same: -a brilliant young creature, full of knowledge and spirit, and wit and -pleasantness, might not she think herself as attractive as the dull -gossip of the club? But it is a dangerous conflict to enter into, and -the race is certainly not to the swift nor the battle to the strong in -this respect. And Patty was not an amusing conversationalist. She knew -the methods of rustic flirtation, and how to hold off and call on a -provoked and tantalised lover; and she could be very lively in talk -about herself and what she meant to do; but the first was no longer a -method to be employed with Gervase, who was now brutally conscious of -being Patty’s proprietor; and he was not even so much interested in what -she meant to do as he once had been. He much preferred the heavy jokes, -the great guffaw, the half-mocking attention that was paid to himself in -the parlour at the Seven Thorns. He was not in the least aware that the -big laugh that went round, and in which he himself joined with a -sensation of truly enjoying himself, was chiefly at him and his folly. -And his freedom to do what he liked, to drink as much as he liked, and -babble and maunder at his pleasure, was very sweet to Gervase: he liked -it better than anything else in the world; perhaps not better than Patty -if there had been a conflict between the two—but then, as he said, he -had Patty all the same whatever he might do, and why shouldn’t he enjoy -himself when it was so entirely in his power?</p> - -<p>But when Patty sat the whole evening through playing backgammon with Sir -Giles, her ears on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a>{110}</span> alert for every sound, her hopes sometimes -raised by a footstep on the stairs to imagine that he had not gone out -after all, or her fears excited by some noise to the terror of believing -that he had come back earlier than usual, and was coming in—like the -fool he was, to betray himself to his father! it was not wonderful if -she looked sometimes with a suppressed bitterness at her old -father-in-law fumbling at his game. What good was his life to that old -man? He could not walk a step without assistance. He was bound to that -chair whatever happened. He had nobody of his own age to speak to, no -one except people of another generation, whom he was keeping out of what -Patty called “their own.” “Oh, if the old man were out of the way, how -soon I could put everything right!” Patty said to herself. Though she -had indeed failed, and received a grievous defeat, her confidence in -herself was not shaken. It was only circumstances, she thought, that -were to blame. If she had things in her own hands, if her evenings were -unencumbered, if she could devote herself to her husband as she had -intended to do, let us see how long the Seven Thorns would have stood -against her! And, oh, what good was his life to that old man! If he were -to die, what a blessed relief it would be! Full of aches and pains, his -nerves shattered, unable to keep from crying when he talked, unable to -think of anything except his walk (walk! in his chair driven by -Dunning), and his dinner, which was chiefly slops, and his cups of beef -tea, and his drops, and his game at night, which he was allowed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a>{111}</span> to win -to please him! Poor Sir Giles! It was not, indeed, a very pleasing -programme: but it is to be supposed that it did not seem so miserable to -him as to Patty, for Sir Giles showed no inclination whatever to die. He -might have thought, if he had been an unselfish old man, that he was a -burden, that he kept the young people from enjoying their lives, while -getting so little good out of his own—that if he were but out of the -way Patty would be my lady, and free to look after her own husband and -keep him straight; but he did not do so. She sat all the evening -through, and said: “Yes, dear papa,” and “How capitally you play!” and -“What luck you have!” and “I am nowhere beside you, dear papa,” smiling -and beaming upon him, and, to do her justice, exerting all her powers to -amuse him; but all the time saying to herself, “Oh, what good is his -life to him! Oh, how can he go on like this, keeping Gervase out of his -right place, and keeping me that I can’t do anything for my own husband! -Oh, that we had the house to ourselves and I were free to keep Gervase -straight!”</p> - -<p>One evening, Patty had been feeling more keenly than usual this keen -contrariety and hindrance of everything. Sir Giles had sat longer than -he generally did, sending off Dunning when he appeared, demanding an -hour’s grace and another game. He was in higher spirits than usual. -“Come, Patty,” he said, “you’re not tired. Have your revenge and give me -a good beating. I’m in high feather to-night. I don’t care that! for -Dunning. Come back in an hour, and perhaps I’ll go to bed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a>{112}</span>”</p> - -<p>“ ‘Alf an hour, Sir Giles: and that’s too long,” Dunning said.</p> - -<p>“Half an hour, dear papa—you must not really tempt Providence by -staying any longer,” said Mrs. Gervase. “Have my revenge? Oh, no! but -I’ll give you another chance of beating me all to atoms. Isn’t Sir Giles -well to-night, Dunning? He looks ten years younger.”</p> - -<p>“He’s excited with all that play,” said Dunning. “I don’t ’old with so -much backgammon. If he’s ill in the morning I wash my hands of it. He -knows well enough hisself he didn’t ought to be so late.”</p> - -<p>“The white for me as usual,” said Sir Giles. “I’m a sad, selfish, old -fellow, always appropriating the winning colour, eh, Patty? Never mind, -you are coming on beautifully—you play a very pretty little game. I’m -training you to beat myself, my dear, if not to-night, well, some other -night. Come along, don’t let’s waste any time if that old curmudgeon -gives us only half an hour.”</p> - -<p>Patty drew her chair to the table again with her most smiling aspect. -“Here I am, dear papa,” she said. The renovated drawing-room, if it was, -perhaps, in the taste of a past time and a little heavy and ungraceful, -was a handsome room, abundantly lighted, with an atmosphere of warmth -and luxurious comfort; and Patty in her black silk, with her hair -carefully dressed <i>à la</i> Jerningham, and her dress from a fashionable -mantua-maker, recommended by that accomplished attendant—was as good an -imitation of what a lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a>{113}</span> at home ought to be, as it would be easy to -find; and as she sat there ministering to her old father-in-law, keeping -him in comfort and good humour, giving up her time and her attention to -play over again the same monotonous unending game—the picture, both -moral and physical, was one that would have gained the admiration of any -spectator. But as she drew her chair again towards the table, there -flashed across Patty’s mind a remembrance of another scene: the parlour -at the Seven Thorns full of a cloud of smoke and a smell of beer; the -rustic customers, with their slow talk, holding forth each to his -neighbour, calling with knocks upon the floor and table for further -supplies; while she, Patty, the same girl, hastened to see what was -wanted, and to bring them what they called for—she, Mrs. Piercey, the -wife of the heir of Greyshott, the mistress of all this great house! And -it was only four months ago. How clearly she saw that scene! The same -thing would be going on to-night while she played backgammon with Sir -Giles, and smiled, and talked to her dear papa—and with a thrill of -mingled rage, vexation, and anxiety, Patty felt herself deserted and her -husband there! It gave her a pang which was all the more keen from her -confidence in what she could do, and her sense of the bondage which -prevented her from doing it. Oh, why should this old man go on with his -cackle and his dice, and his life which was no good to any one? Why, why -couldn’t he die and set her free? “Here I am, dear papa,” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a>{114}</span></p> - -<p>“Perhaps that sleepy fellow, Gervase, will wake up and appear before -we’ve done,” said Sir Giles. “I wouldn’t humour him too much, my dear. -It’s one thing to be devoted to your husband, and another thing to let -him muddle his brains away. He sleeps a great deal too much, that’s my -opinion. He’s not too bright at the best of times, and if you let him -drowse about like this it’ll do him harm—it’ll do him harm. I don’t see -that he gets up any earlier in the morning for sleeping like this at -night. His poor mother would never have permitted it. Sixes, my dear. -No, no, you mustn’t humour him too much.”</p> - -<p>“What luck you have, dear papa! Oh, yes, I know, I know, he’s humoured -too much. But some need more sleep than others: and don’t you think, on -the whole, it does him good? His mind comes out so much; he’s so -sensible when you talk to him. I couldn’t wish for better advice than -Gervase gives.”</p> - -<p>“I’m very glad to hear you say so, my dear; there’s a great deal in him, -poor boy; I always said so; more than anybody knows. But I wouldn’t let -him sleep like that. What, Dunning, you old rascal, here again already? -It can’t be half an hour yet.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, dear papa,” said Patty, “it is the half-hour; and that last -throw has quite made an end of me. Good-night, and I hope you’ll sleep -well. And I’ll go, as you say, and wake up that lazy boy. He <i>is</i> a lazy -boy. But I’ll try and break him of it now you’ve told me. I thought it -was best to humour him. But I’ll break him of it, now I know what you -think.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a>{115}</span>”</p> - -<p>“Do, my dear, do!” said Sir Giles, nodding his head at her as he was -wheeled away. Dunning gave Mrs. Gervase a look behind his master’s -chair. Ah, you may keep such a secret from those whom it affects most, -but to keep it from the servants is more than any one can do! Dunning -knew well enough where Gervase was. He knew how Gervase returned home, -at what hour, and in what condition. Dunning, in addition, thought he -knew that it was Patty’s doing, part of some deep-laid scheme of hers, -and could not divine that the poor young woman’s heart was beating under -that fine gown with terror and anxiety. She gave a little gasp of relief -when the sound of Sir Giles’ chair died away, and his door was closed -audibly. And then she rang to have the lights put out, telling the -butler that Sir Giles and Mr. Piercey had both gone to bed; and then -Patty, heroic as any martyr, placed herself under Jerningham’s hands to -have her hair brushed, going through all the routine that nobody might -think from her demeanour that anything was wrong. She was quivering with -anxiety in every limb when she sent the maid away; and then, in her -dressing-gown, stole downstairs to open the side door, and strain her -ears for the heavy footstep stumbling through the blackness of the -night.</p> - -<p>Poor Patty! what thoughts went through her mind as she kept that vigil! -Fury and determination to do something desperate, to stop it at all -hazards—and that this should be the last time, the very last! She would -take him by the shoulder and shake the very life out<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a>{116}</span> of him rather than -that this should go on. She would fling herself at his feet and implore -him—alas, Patty knew very well that to implore and to threaten were -alike useless, and that the fool would only open his moist mouth and -laugh in her face. What could she do? what could she do? She would make -an appeal to her father, she would threaten him with the loss of his -licence, she would bribe him with all the money she could scrape -together, she did not know what she would not do—but to bear this -longer was impossible! And then she fell into a dreary calm, and thought -over all that had happened, her wonderful triumph, the change in -everything, the contrast. And yet what advance had she made if she -never, never could separate herself from the Seven Thorns? Whether it -was she who was there or her husband, what did it matter? Who would ever -acknowledge them or give them their own place if this were to go on? Oh, -if these county people had but done as they ought, if they had but shown -themselves friendly and taken some notice of the young pair, people who -had known Gervase all his life, and ought to have felt for him! Patty -shed a few hot tears over the unkindness of the world, and then, as is -so natural, her mind went back upon her own hopes, and the ideal she had -formed of her life which, as yet, was so little realised. She had -thought of herself as driving about the country, paying visits at those -grand houses which had been to her as the abodes of the blest; her -husband at her side, well-dressed and well set up, with everybody saying -how much he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a>{117}</span> improved! And invitations raining upon them, and -fortune smiling everywhere. Sir Gervase and Lady Piercey! how -delightfully it had seemed to sound in her fortunate ears! To be sure -all this could not be realised until poor old Sir Giles had been fully -convinced that it was not for his advantage to live any longer; but that -might have happened any day. Oh, if he could but be convinced of it now, -and leave her free to care for her husband! Was not Gervase her first -duty? Why should this old man go on living, keeping his son out of his -own?</p> - -<p>And then Patty’s mind went back to the Seven Thorns, that place from -which it appeared she could not get free. She saw herself there before -anything was yet settled, while all her life was before her. As she sat -alone and shivered and listened, the image of Patty, light-hearted and -free, came up before her like a picture. How busy she had been, how -everybody had admired her, even the old fellows in the parlour! And the -young ones, how they had watched for a word with her, and some had -almost come to blows! Roger, for instance, who had made so much fun of -the Softy, who had looked such a gallant fellow in his brown velveteen -coat and his red tie! She remembered how he had appealed to her not to -do it, not to bind herself to a fool. The impudent fellow! to talk so of -Gervase—Sir Gervase Piercey that was soon to be! Oh, poor Gervase, poor -Gervase! he was not, perhaps, very wise, but he could still be set right -again and kept straight if she were but free to give herself up<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a>{118}</span> -altogether to the care of him. Roger Pearson could never have been -anything but a country fellow living in a cottage. It was true that he -was handsome, and all that. Patty seemed to see him, too, though she did -not wish it, with the light in his eyes, looking at her with his air of -mastery, the Adonis of the village. Every girl in the place had wanted -Roger, but he had eyes for only her. Why did he come before her now? She -did not want to see him or to think of him—far from that. There was not -a fibre of the wanton in Patty’s nature. She had no understanding of the -women who, with husbands of their own, could think of any other man. And -if she had the choice to make over again, she knew that she would do the -same; but still she could not help thinking of Roger Pearson, though she -had no idea why.</p> - -<p>This effect, however, was shortly after explained to her in the most -trying way. The night grew darker and darker, and colder and colder. The -Seven Thorns must have been closed long ago, and all its revellers -dispersed to their homes. What could have happened to Gervase? where -could he have gone? Could he have taken so much that he was made to stay -there, as unable to take care of himself, a thing which Patty could -remember to have happened in her time? She became afraid to look at her -watch or to listen to a clock, in the sickness of her heart. It was -impossible but that he must have reached home long ago had he left the -Seven Thorns in the natural way. Oh, where was he? where was he? Where -had he gone? what<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a>{119}</span> had happened to him? Patty dared not go upstairs to -bed, even when she was convinced that he could not be coming now; for -her father, she was sure, would turn him out in the early morning if -this was what had happened. Yet how could she remain up, and on the -watch, when the servants would be stirring, revealing what had happened -to the whole household? Patty is, perhaps, not a person for whom to -appeal to the reader’s sympathies, but she was very unhappy, very -anxious, not knowing what to think.</p> - -<p>At last, in the blackest hour of the night, about three o’clock or so in -the morning, her anxious ear heard, or seemed to hear, a faint sound. -Steps, and then a pause, and then steps again, and the sound of the -little side gate in the beech avenue pushed open. Patty was immediately -on the alert, with unspeakable relief in her mind. But the sounds were -not those of one man stumbling home. Sometimes there was a noise as of -something being tugged along the grass, then another stop, and the steps -again making the gravel fly, and then the sound as of a fall. In her -terror she stole out into the darkness, fearing she knew not what, and -at last, by faint perception through the gloom, by sound, and by almost -contact in the stifling dark, perceived how it was—her husband, -scarcely conscious, being dragged and hustled along through the dark by -another man.</p> - -<p>“Is it you, Gervase? oh, is it you, Gervase?” she cried.</p> - -<p>Oh, poor Patty! is there any one so hard-hearted<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a>{120}</span> as to refuse to pity -her in her misery? The voice that answered her out of the blackness of -the night was not that of Gervase. He uttered no sound but that of heavy -breath. Yet it was a well-known voice, a voice that made her heart jump -to her throat with intolerable horror, anger, and shame—to hear how -sober, manful, energetic, and capable it was.</p> - -<p>“There’s nothing wrong with him,” it said, clearly and quickly, “except -that he’s drunk. Show a light and I’ll get him in. I’ve had such a job, -but I’ll manage now; only for goodness’ sake look sharp and show a -light.”</p> - -<p>It was the voice of Roger Pearson, whom she had been thinking of, whose -presence had sent some subtle intimation through the air to bring him to -her thoughts.</p> - -<p>Patty hurried back to the open door and brought out the candle, which -burned steadily in the motionless blackness of the air. She said not a -word. Of the pang it gave her to see the man whom she had rejected -bringing back the man whom she had married she gave no sign. If she -could have covered her face that he might not see her, she would have -done so; but that being impossible, Patty never flinched. She held the -light to direct him, while now and then roused to take a step of his own -accord, but generally dragged by the other, Gervase was got in. She led -the way to the library, which was on the same level, stepping with -precaution not to be heard, shading the light with her hand, with all -her wits about her. There was not a tinge of colour on Patty’s face. She -was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a>{121}</span> cold, shivering with excitement and distress. It was not till -Gervase had been laid upon the sofa that she spoke.</p> - -<p>“I am sorry you have had this trouble,” she said. “I hope you have not -over-strained yourself with such a weight. Can I get you anything?” She -looked at him courageously in the face. It was right to offer a man -something who had brought, even were it only a strayed dog, home.</p> - -<p>And he, too, looked at her, and for a moment said nothing. He stretched -his arms to relax them.</p> - -<p>“I’m not a man that cares for the stuff,” he said, “but perhaps I’d be -none the worse for a drop of brandy to take off the strain. He’s safe -enough there,” he added. “You needn’t be anxious. He’ll wake up before -the daylight, and then you can get him upstairs.”</p> - -<p>Patty did not say a word, but led the way to the dining-room, where -there was brandy to be got. It was a thing any lady might have done, she -said to herself, even through the wild beating of her heart, and the -passion in her breast—the passion of rage, and exasperation, and shame. -He was cool enough, thinking more of stretching and twisting himself to -ease his muscles than of the silent anguish in which she was. When he -had swallowed the brandy he advised her, with rough friendliness, “Take -a little yourself. It’s hard on you; you want something to give you a -little strength!”</p> - -<p>“Will you take any more?” said Patty, sharply.</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t want no more. It’s awful good stuff;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a>{122}</span> it runs through a man -like fire. I’d been at a bit of an ’op over there by Coulter’s Mill, and -I nigh fell over him lying out on the moor. He might have got his death; -so when I saw who it was, I thought I’d best bring him home. But he’ll -take no harm; the drink that’s in him will keep the cold out.”</p> - -<p>“I am much obliged to you,” said Patty. “If there’s any reward you’d -take——”</p> - -<p>“Meaning money?” he said, with a suppressed roar of a laugh. “No, I -won’t take no money. I might say something nasty to you after that, but -I won’t neither. It ain’t very nice for you, poor girl, to have your man -brought home in that state by your old sweetheart. I feel for you; but -you always had a sharp tongue, and you never would give in. I advise you -to take more care of the Softy now you’ve got him back,” he said as he -went away.</p> - -<p>Patty shut and locked the door with an energy of rage and humiliation -which almost overcame the horror of being heard. And then she went into -the library and sat beside her husband till he had sufficiently -recovered from his stupor to be taken upstairs. What hours of vigil! All -the sins of her triumph might have been expiated while she sat there and -shivered through the miserable night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a>{123}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Patty</span> had thoughts enough, surely, to occupy her that night, but it is -doubtful whether there were any that came into her mind with the same -reality—repeated again and again, as if by accident the recollection -had been blown back upon her by a sudden wind—as those careless words -uttered by Pearson when he had described how he had found Gervase: “I -had been at a little hop at Coulter’s Mill;” he said ’op, but though -Patty had never used that manner of speech herself it did not hurt her. -A little hop at Coulter’s Mill. Such things were going on while she was -shut up in the dismal grandeur of Greyshott. Girls were whirling round -with their partners, receiving their attentions, which, though they -might be rough and not very refined, were all that Patty knew of those -delights of youth; while she, Patty, whom they all envied, who was now -so far above them, sat and played backgammon with an old dotard, or -watched half the night for her Softy’s return. There were still such -things, and Roger Pearson went to them! Patty had a soft place in her -heart for Roger; she wished him no harm,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a>{124}</span> and it might very well have -been, had not Gervase and ambition come across her path, that she should -have been his wife; and though she wished him nothing but good, Patty -did hope that she had more or less broken his heart. She thought he -would never have wished to go to those sort of places again, where every -tune that was played and every dance would remind him of her. His -careless speech took her, therefore, full in the breast, with a -stupefying surprise. And he did not say it as if it was anything -wonderful, but only as the calm ordinary of life, “I’d been at a little -’op at Coulter’s Mill.” And he was returning about two o’clock in the -morning, which showed that he had amused himself well. Could such things -be, and she out of them all? Every time this thought crossed her mind it -gave her a new shock. It seemed almost impossible that such things could -be.</p> - -<p>But at all events, it was a comfort that Gervase at last was roused and -got safely to his room before the servants were stirring, which it had -been Patty’s fear would not be possible. She had made up her story what -to say in case she had been surprised by the early housemaid. She meant -to keep the door closed, and to say that Mr. Piercey had been ill in the -night and could not sleep, and now had fallen asleep on the sofa, and -must not be disturbed. Happily, however, it was not necessary to burden -her conscience with this additional fib. She got him upstairs safely, -and to bed, and lay down herself upon the sofa with great relief. What a -night! while all the girls who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a>{125}</span> had been at the dance at Coulter’s Mill -would still be sleeping soundly, and if they ever thought of Patty, -would think of her with such envy! Poor Patty, she was very brave. She -snatched a little sleep, and was refreshed before Jerningham came to the -door with that early cup of tea, which Patty understood all the fine -ladies took in the morning. For once she was glad of that unnecessary -refreshment. She told Jerningham that Mr. Piercey had been ill, and that -she feared he had taken a bad cold; and then Patty closed the door upon -the maid, who guessed, if she did not already know exactly, the -character of the illness, and began to think steadily what she should -do. She would tell Gervase that another night, if it happened again, he -would be brought in dead, not alive. He would die, she would tell him, -on the roadside like a dog. His was not a mind that could take in milder -imaginations, but he would understand <i>that</i>. And Patty made up her mind -to have another conversation with her father equally trenchant. She -would tell him that if anything happened to Gervase she would have him -tried for manslaughter. There would be abundant evidence, which she -would not hesitate to bring forth, that the victim was half-witted, that -he had been taken advantage of, and that the man who plied him with -drink and then turned him out, his poor brain more clouded than ever, to -find his way home, was his murderer and nothing else. Patty said to -herself that she did not mind what scandals she would raise in such -circumstances. If Richard Hewitt were brought<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a>{126}</span> to the scaffold she would -not mind, though he was her father. She would tell him that she would -drag him there with her own hands. She set here fierce little teeth, and -vowed to herself that she would ruin him were he ten times her father, -rather than let <i>this</i> go on. She would frighten Gervase to death; but -before she was done she would set her foot on the ruins of the Seven -Thorns.</p> - -<p>Gervase, however, was too ill to be threatened the day after that -dreadful vigil. He had caught cold lying out upon the moor, and he was -very ill and in a high fever, quite unable to get up, or to have -anything but nursing and kindness. Patty had the confidence of a woman -well acquainted with the consequences of a debauch, that this would wear -off in a short time and leave no particular results. She gave him -beef-tea and gruel and kept him quiet, and told him, like a child, that -he would be better to-morrow. “Gervase has caught a bad cold,” she told -Sir Giles, “but you must not be anxious, dear papa. I am keeping him in -his warm bed, and he’ll be all right to-morrow.” “Right, right, my -dear,” said Sir Giles. “Bed is the best place. There is nothing like -taking a cold in time, nothing like it. And we must remember he was -always delicate. There’s no stamina in him, no stamina.” “He’ll be all -right to-morrow,” Patty said, and she kept running up and down between -the games to see if he was asleep, if he was comfortable, if he wanted -anything. “Good creature!” said Sir Giles, half to himself, half to -Dunning, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a>{127}</span> silently but consistently refused to appreciate Mrs. -Piercey. “Now, what would you and I have done with the poor boy if he -had been ill, and no wife on the spot to look after him?” “Maybe he -wouldn’t have had the same thing the matter with him,” said Dunning, -significantly. “Eh, what do you mean? What’s the matter with him? He’s -got a bad cold,” cried Sir Giles. “There are colds and colds,” said the -enigmatical Dunning. But Patty came back at the moment, saying that -Gervase was quite quiet and asleep, and resumed her place for the second -game. It was a longer game than usual, and Patty played badly, wishing -her dear papa we will not venture to say how far off. But it came to an -end at last, as everything does. “I hope you’ll have a good night, my -dear, and not be disturbed with him,” the old gentleman said kindly. -“Oh, I feel sure,” cried Patty, “he’ll be better to-morrow.” But, as a -matter of fact, she was not at all sure. The fumes of the drink ought to -have died off by that time, but the fever had not died off. He was ill, -and she was frightened and did not know what to do. And instead of being -better in the morning, poor Gervase was worse, and the doctor had to be -sent for, to whom, after various prevarications, poor Patty was obliged -to confess the truth. Impossible to look more grave than the doctor did -when he heard of this. “It was enough to kill him,” he said. Patty -understood (with a private reserve of vengeance against her father, who -had been the cause of it) that Gervase was really ill and had escaped -something still worse. But she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a>{128}</span> was confident in her own powers of -nursing, and did not take fright. She was really an excellent nurse, -having a great deal of sense, and the habit of activity, and no fear of -giving herself trouble. She devoted herself to her husband quite -cheerfully, and even during the two first nights went down in a very -pretty dressing-gown to play his game with Sir Giles. “We must not look -for any change just yet, the doctor says, but he’ll soon be well, he’ll -soon be well,” she said; and believed it so thoroughly that Sir Giles, -too, was quite cheerful, notwithstanding that Dunning, in the -background, shook his head. Dunning would have shaken his head whatever -had been the circumstances. It was part of his position to take always -the worst view. And the household in general also took the worst view. -Nobody had said anything about that fatal lying out on the moor. Mrs. -Gervase certainly had not said a word (except to the doctor), and Roger -Pearson had resisted every temptation to betray his share in the matter; -yet everybody knew. How did they know? It is impossible to tell. The -butler shook his head like Dunning, and so did the cook. “He have no -constitution,” they said.</p> - -<p>But it was not till some days after that Patty began to take fright. She -said “He’ll be better to-morrow,” even after she saw that the doctor -looked grave—and resisted the aid of a nurse as long as she could, -declaring that for a day or two longer she could hold out. “For he’s not -going to be long ill,” she said, cheerfully. “Perhaps not,” the doctor -replied, with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a>{129}</span> tone that was exasperating in its solemnity. What did -he mean? “You must remember, Mrs. Piercey,” he continued, “that your -husband has no constitution. Fortunately he has had no serious illness -before, but he has always been delicate. It’s common in—in such cases. -He never had any stamina. You cannot expect him to throw off an attack -such as this like any other man.”</p> - -<p>“Why not like any other man?” cried Patty. She was so familiar with -Gervase that she had forgotten his peculiarities. Except when she -thought of it as likely to serve her own purpose with her father, she -had even forgotten that he was the Softy. He was her husband—part of -herself, about whom, assuredly, there was no fibre of weakness. “Why -shouldn’t he shake it off like any other man?” she cried angrily.</p> - -<p>The doctor gave her a strange look. “He has no constitution,” he said.</p> - -<p>The words and the look worked in Patty’s mind like some strange leaven, -mingling with all her thoughts. She could not at first imagine what they -meant. After a while, when she was relieved by the nurse and went into -another room to rest, instead of going to sleep, as she had, indeed, -much reason to do, she sat down and thought it all over in the quiet. No -constitution—no stamina. Patty knew very well, of course, what these -words meant; it was the application of them that was difficult. Gervase! -He was a little loose in his limbs, not very firmly knit perhaps, with -not so much colour as the rustics around—but he was young, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a>{130}</span> -healthy, and strong enough. Nobody had ever imagined that he was not -strong. As for being a little soft, perhaps, in the mind, that was -because people did not know him; and even if they did, the mind had -nothing to do with the body, and it was all in his favour, for he did -not worry and vex himself about things as others did. Like other -men—why wasn’t he like other men? He was as tall as most, he was not -crooked or out of proportion, he was——</p> - -<p>Did it mean that he might die?</p> - -<p>Patty rose from her chair and flung her arms above her head with a cry. -She was not without natural affection; she liked her husband, and was -not dissatisfied with him, except in that matter of going to the Seven -Thorns. She did not object to him because he was a fool; she was fond of -him in a way. But when it suddenly flashed upon her that this might be -the meaning of what the doctor said, it was not of Gervase’s fate that -she thought. Die! and deprive her of what she had made so many efforts -to secure! Die! so that she never, never should be Lady Piercey, should -she live a hundred years! Patty stood for a moment all quivering with -emotion as she first realised this thought. It was intolerable, and not -to be borne. She had married him, coaxed him, kept him in good humour, -given up everything for him—only for this, that he should die before -his father, and leave her nothing but Mrs. Piercey—Mrs. Piercey only, -and for ever! Patty raised her hands unconsciously as if to seize him -and shake him, with a long-drawn breath and a sobbing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a>{131}</span> hissing “Oh!” -from the very bottom of her heart. She had it in her mind to rush to -him, to seize him, to tell him he must not do it. He must make an -effort; he must live, whatever happened. It was inconceivable, -insupportable that he should die. He must not, should not die before his -father, cheating his wife! She stood for a moment with her hands -clenched, as if she had in reality grasped Gervase by his coat, and then -she flung herself upon her face on the sofa in a passion of wild -weeping. It could not, could not be; it must not be. She would not allow -the possibility. Before his father, who was an old man—leaving all the -honours to—anybody, whoever happened to be in the way, Margaret -Osborne, for anything she knew—but not Patty, not she who had worked -for them, struggled for them! It could not, and it must not be.</p> - -<p>Patty did not sleep that day, though she had been up all night and -wanted sleep. She bathed her face and her eyes, and changed her dress, -and went back to her husband’s bedside with a kind of fierce -determination to hold by him, not to let him die. There was no change in -him from what there had been when she left him, and the nurse was half -offended by her intrusion. “I assure you, ma’am, I know my duties,” she -said, “and you’ll break down next if you don’t mind. Go, there’s a dear, -and get some sleep; you can’t nurse him both by night and day. And -there’s no change, nothing to make you anxious.”</p> - -<p>“You are sure of that, nurse?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a>{132}</span>”</p> - -<p>“Quite sure. He’s quite quiet and comfortable, so far as I can see.”</p> - -<p>“But they say he has no constitution,” said Patty, gazing into the -woman’s face for comfort.</p> - -<p>“Well, Mrs. Piercey; but most times it’s the strongest man with whom it -goes hardest,” the nurse said.</p> - -<p>And this gave Patty great consolation; it was the only comfort she had. -It was one of those dicta which she had heard often both about children -and men, and therefore she received it the more willingly. “It goes -harder with the strong ones.” That was the very commonest thing to say, -and perhaps it was true. The old women often knew better than the -doctors, she said to herself. Indeed, there was in her mind a far -greater confidence in such a deliverance than in anything the doctors -could say.</p> - -<p>And nothing could exceed the devotion with which poor Gervase was -nursed. His wife was by his side night and day. She never tired—never -wanted repose; was always ready; the most careful and anxious of nurses.</p> - -<p>“He’s much better to-day, don’t you think?” was her greeting to the -doctor when he came. And Dr. Bryant said afterwards that Mrs. Piercey -looked as if she would have flown at his throat when he looked grave. -She could not bear to be contradicted or checked in her hopes. And every -day she went downstairs and assured Sir Giles that his son would soon be -better.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a>{133}</span></p> - -<p>“We can’t expect it to pass in a day,” she said, “for it is a very -serious attack.”</p> - -<p>“And he has no stamina, no stamina; we always knew it—we were always -told that,” said the old gentleman.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Piercey looked fiercely at her father-in-law, too. She could not -bear to hear this repeated.</p> - -<p>“Dear papa,” she said, “it comes hardest always on the strongest men.”</p> - -<p>“God bless you, my dear!” cried old Sir Giles, falling a-sobbing, as was -his wont when his mind was disturbed, “I believe that’s true.”</p> - -<p>Oh, how could he go on living—that old man for whom nobody cared; who -did nothing but keep the younger ones out of their own! What had he to -live for? Patty wondered, with a wild, yet suppressed rage which no -words could express; old, helpless, not able to enjoy anything except -that wretched, tedious backgammon, and keeping others out of their own; -yet he would live and see Gervase die! He would go on, and on, and see -his only child buried, as he had seen his wife, and forget all about it -after a week, and play his backgammon, and be guarded by Dunning from -every wind that blew. Dunning! Was it Dunning, perhaps, that kept him -alive; that knew things which the doctors don’t know? It was natural to -Patty’s education and training to think this, and that some private -nostrum would do more than all the drugs in the world.</p> - -<p>“Shall I send down a nurse to you for a moment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a>{134}</span>” she said to Sir Giles -suddenly, “and will you let Dunning come up and look at him?” Dunning -could not refuse to go, but he looked at Patty suspiciously, as if she -meant to betray him into some trap.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know nothing about that kind of illness,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but you don’t know what kind of illness it is till you see him,” -cried Patty. She hastily led the man to her husband’s bedside, and -watched his looks while he stood awkwardly, holding as far aloof as he -could, looking down upon the half-sleep, half-stupor, in which the -patient lay.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Dunning, what do you think?”</p> - -<p>“I think as he looks very bad,” Dunning said, in a subdued and troubled -voice.</p> - -<p>“That’s not what I want you to tell me. I want you to think if there is -anything we could give him to rouse him up. What he wants is to be -roused up, don’t you see? When you are roused to see the need of it, you -can do a deal for yourself, however ill you may be. What could we give -him, Dunning, to rouse him up?”</p> - -<p>Dunning could see nothing but some unintelligible trap that was being -laid for him in those words.</p> - -<p>“I’m not a doctor,” he said, sullenly. “I know what’s good for Sir -Giles, as is chronic; but I don’t know anything about the like of this. -I should say there’s nothing to give him, but just wait and—trust in -God,” said Dunning.</p> - -<p>“Oh, God!” said Patty, in the unintentional pro<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a>{135}</span>fanity of her hot terror -and distress. He was so far off; so difficult to get at; so impossible -to tell what His meaning was! whereas she had felt that this man might -have known something—some charm, some medicine which could be given at -once.</p> - -<p>“You had better go back to Sir Giles,” she said, shortly, and sat down -herself by that hopeless bed. But it was not hopeless to Patty. As soon -as Dunning was gone she began to take a little comfort even from what he -had said: “Wait, and trust in God.” Patty knew all that could be said in -words about trusting in God, and she knew many collects and prayers; -but, somehow, even she felt that to ask God by any means, whatever -happened, to exert His power that she might be Lady Piercey in the -end—that the old man might die and the young man live for this -purpose—was a thing not thought of in any collect: her mouth was -stopped, and she could not find a word to say.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a>{136}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was with nothing less than consternation that the county received the -intelligence of Gervase Piercey’s death, which flew from house to house -nobody could tell how; told by the early postman on his rounds, conveyed -with the morning’s rolls from the villages, brought up at a pace much -accelerated by the importance of the news by grooms with letter-bags, -and every kind of messenger. Gervase Piercey was dead: the Softy of the -village—poor Sir Giles’ only son. Though he was a fool, he was Sir -Giles’ only child! There were ladies in the county who had wondered -wistfully whether, if he were “taken up” by some capable woman, he might -not have been so licked into shape as to have justified that capable -woman in marrying him to her daughter. Nobody had been so brave as to do -it, but several had speculated on the subject, thinking that, after all, -to preserve a good old family from the dust, and hand on Greyshott to -better heirs, might be worthy the sacrifice of a few years of a girl’s -life. These ladies, though none of them had been brave enough to take -the necessary steps, felt<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a>{137}</span> doubly outraged by his marriage when it took -place; and the consternation in their minds at the receipt of this last -piece of news was tinged with something like remorse. Oh, if they had -but had the courage! Maud or Mabel, if she had been forced to marry that -unfortunate simpleton, would, as they now saw, have been so swiftly -released! but it is needless to go back upon what might have been, after -the contrary events. And now what a conjunction was this—what a -terrible position for the poor old father! his only son taken from him; -left alone with that woman in the house! Nobody knew anything about -Patty; it was enough that she was Patty, and that she had married that -poor half-witted young man. And then the question arose in a great many -houses—What were they to do? They had not called upon Mrs. -Gervase—nobody had called upon Mrs. Gervase—but how were they to -approach Sir Giles now, with that woman there? Poor old Sir Giles! he -had allowed her to take possession of his house for his son’s sake, no -doubt, and for peace, not being strong enough for any struggle, and what -would he do now? Would he send her away, and thus be accessible again to -his old friends, or what would he do? This question occupied the mind of -the neighbourhood very much for the day or two after the news was -received, and it became apparent that something must be done. The old -man could not be left alone in his trouble, unsolaced by any friendly -word; the details must be inquired into—the time of the funeral, so -that proper respect might be paid. Many people<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a>{138}</span> sent cards, and servants -to make the necessary inquiries, but one or two gentlemen went -themselves, Lord Hartmore in particular, who as virtually the head of -the county, and actually a very old friend, felt it incumbent upon him -to carry his sympathy and condolence in person. Lord Hartmore was -received by a young lady in very deep mourning, already covered in crape -from top to toe, and crowned with the most orthodox of widows’ caps. She -was very quiet, but very firm.</p> - -<p>“I cannot allow any one to disturb Sir Giles,” she said; “he is very -much broken down. Absolute quiet, and as little reference as possible to -the details of our great trouble, are indispensable, the doctor says.”</p> - -<p>Lord Hartmore was much surprised at the self-possession of the young -woman, and at her language.</p> - -<p>“The tone of the voice was of course a little uneducated,” he said, “but -she talked, my dear, she talked as well as you or I, and made use of the -same expressions!”</p> - -<p>“Why, what other expressions could any one make use of?” cried Lady -Hartmore.</p> - -<p>“I said an old friend like myself should surely be made an exception; -but she didn’t give in. ‘My father-in-law has seen none of his old -friends for a long time,’ she said quite pointedly; ‘he is not -accustomed to seeing them. It would be a great agitation to him, and I -am charged to see that he is not disturbed.’ I assure you,” said Lord -Hartmore, “I didn’t know what to say. We have all deserted him in the -most horrid<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a>{139}</span> way. The young woman was right: to put in an appearance -just at this moment, not having shown since poor Lady Piercey’s funeral, -might quite probably be very discomposing to the old man!”</p> - -<p>“And what about the funeral?” was the next question that was asked.</p> - -<p>“There, again,” said Lord Hartmore, “I can’t blame her. She’s met with -no attention from us, and why should she take any trouble about us? The -funeral is to be on Thursday; but she said, ‘My father-in-law will not -go. I can’t put him to such a trial. I will follow my husband to his -grave myself, and I don’t know that I wish anybody else to take the -trouble.’ She carries things with a very high hand, but I can’t blame -her, I can’t blame her,” Lord Hartmore said. It must be added that the -consternation of the county neighbours was increased by this report. -Their consternation was increased, and so were their doubts as to what -they should do; but at the same time their curiosity was piqued, and a -certain sense of compunction rose in their bosoms. If it was merely the -recklessness of disappointment and despair which moved Patty, or if it -was severe and subtle calculation, at least her policy was wonderfully -successful. There was a large attendance at poor Gervase’s funeral, at -which she appeared alone, occupying by herself the blackest of mourning -coaches, and in such a depth of crape as never widow had worn before. -But Mrs. Gervase was exceedingly <i>digne</i> in her woe. She made no -hysterical demonstration. She had none of her own people in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a>{140}</span> attendance -upon her, as had been expected, though Richard Hewitt occupied a -conspicuous position in the crowd, thrusting himself in among the county -gentlemen in the procession. Patty stood by the grave all alone, and saw -her hopes buried with real anguish. She fulfilled the part so well that -Lord Hartmore (a candid man, as has been seen) could not contain himself -for pity, and stepped quietly forward to her side and offered his arm. -She took it silently, but with a trembling and evident need of support -which went to the good gentleman’s heart. Poor thing, poor thing! then -she had been really fond of him after all. Lord Hartmore reflected -silently that to a girl in her position the defects of the poor -half-witted fellow might not be so apparent, and if she loved him, -strange as that seemed! He led her back to her carriage with an almost -fatherly friendliness, the whole village looking on, all the other -gentlemen a little ashamed of themselves, and Richard Hewitt’s red face -blazing through the crowd. “My wife will call to inquire for you,” he -said, as he put her in, “and I hope that I may be admitted soon to see -my dear old friend, Sir Giles.” Patty answered only by a bow. It was all -that could be expected of the poor young new-made widow, who had -fulfilled this sad duty alone with no one to stand by her. The -spectators were all impressed, and even overawed, by Patty’s loneliness -and her crape and her youth.</p> - -<p>And she did in reality feel her downfall too much to get the good of -Lord Hartmore’s civility, or indulge<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a>{141}</span> the elation which sprang up in her -mind, instinctively accompanying the consciousness that everybody saw -her leaning upon Lord Hartmore’s arm. Ah! what a thing that would have -been a month ago! but now was it only a tantalising flutter before her -eyes of what might have been, at present when all the reality was over? -It would be unkind to Patty to say that no regret for poor Gervase in -his own person was in her heart. She had not been without affection for -Gervase, and the thought of his early death had been very sad to her at -the moment. Poor Gervase, so young, and just when better things might -have been in store for him! But the mind very soon familiarises itself -with such an event when there is no very strong sentiment in question. -It was not Gervase, but herself, whom Patty chiefly mourned. After all -she had done and all she had gone through, to think that this was what -was left to her—a position as insecure as that of any governess or -companion, at the mercy of an old and ailing man, with one of her -enemies at his ear. Oh, that it should be that old man, that useless, -ailing old man, that should live and Gervase die! There seemed no -justice in it, no equity, no sense of right. Sir Giles had lived his -life and had all its good things, and there was no advantage to him or -to any one in his continuance; whereas Gervase, Gervase! He, poor -fellow, had it in his power to make his wife Lady Piercey, to secure her -position so that nobody could touch it. And it was he that had gone, and -not his father! Patty wept very real tears as she drove slowly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a>{142}</span> home -alone—real! they were tears of fire, and made her eyelids burn. Oh, how -different from the last time when she drove along that same road, thrust -in anyhow, clambering up without a hand to help her, sitting by -Dunning’s side—but with all the world before her, and the sense of a -coming triumph in her veins! Patty did not deceive herself about her -position now. A son’s widow is a very different thing from a son’s wife. -The latter must be received, and has her certain place; the other is a -mere dependant, to be neglected at pleasure. And it all rested with Sir -Giles what was to become of her. He might keep her there as the mistress -of his house, or he might make her a little allowance and send her away, -desiring to see no more of her. Patty was altogether dependent, she -felt, on the caprice of the old man. She had as good as nobody but he in -the world, for she said to herself that nothing would induce her ever to -speak to her father again, who had murdered Gervase and all her hopes. -She would never look at him with her free will, never speak to him. That -he should have dared to come to the funeral was a sin the more. Never, -never! Patty said to herself she would rather go out to service, rather -starve! These five months had placed a gulf between her and the Seven -Thorns which nothing could ever bridge over. If it was suggested to her -that she should return home, as young widows often do, she would say -that she had no home, and it would be true. She would rather be a -servant, rather starve!</p> - -<p>And then her mind went back to Sir Giles. What<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a>{143}</span> would he do with her? -The old man liked her, she felt sure. And she had been good to him. -Whatever her motives had been, whether they would bear scrutiny or not, -she had been good to him. She had kept pain away from him as far as she -could. She had taken care of all his comforts. She had not permitted him -to be disturbed. Dunning and all the rest would have thought it -essential that he should go to the funeral and undergo all the misery -and excitement of that ceremony. But Patty had prevented that. He had -reason to be grateful to her; but would he be grateful? This was the -tremendous question. Would he keep her there as the mistress of his -house, or would he send her away? Patty had in her jewel-case, carefully -locked up, a letter from Margaret Osborne to her uncle, which she -thought it wisest to keep back. If Sir Giles received it, it might make -him think that Mrs. Osborne was the best mistress for his house, which -she was not, Patty felt sure. She put it aside, saying to herself that -some time, when the excitement was over and everything had settled down, -she would give it—but not now: to what purpose now? Poor Sir Giles -wanted to forget his trouble, not to have it forced upon him by -condolences. Margaret had written to Patty also a short note full of -sorrow for poor Gervase, and asking whether it would be desirable that -she should come to Greyshott for his funeral; to which Patty had replied -explaining that everything was to be very quiet in consequence of the -condition of “dear papa.” “It is he that must be considered in -everything,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a>{144}</span>” Patty wrote; “I have the doctor’s orders to keep him as -much as possible from all emotion. I will bury my dear husband myself. -Nobody else, as you know, has ever been very fond of him, and I shall -not ask anybody to come for the form’s sake. If possible, dear papa is -not to be told even the day. He is very broken and miserable, but when -he is let alone and not reminded, he forgets.” Margaret had accepted -this as a refusal of her visit, and she had asked no more. It would have -been a painful visit in any case. Colonel Piercey was abroad. There -were, therefore, no relations to come to make the occasion more -difficult for Patty, and yet there had been no want of “respect.” The -county magnates had all attended the melancholy funeral—where the young -wife alone was chief mourner. “Why did not Margaret come?” they all -asked, and blamed her. But a feeling of sympathy arose for Patty all -over the neighbourhood. The doctor spoke with enthusiasm of her devotion -as a nurse, and her intelligence and understanding. Poor thing! Poor -thing! Whatever her antecedents had been, and however she had acquired -that place, she had certainly behaved very well; and now what was to -become of her? people asked with pity. It was assumed that she would -return to her friends, as other young widows did—though not in this -case to her father’s house.</p> - -<p>If they had but known how anxiously she was herself debating that -question as she drove along in her crape and her woe, with the blinds -down, and every symptom of desolation! Dunning had not allowed his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a>{145}</span> -master to dine out of his own rooms, or to indulge in any diversion in -the evening, since the death of his son. If other people did not know or -care what was right, Dunning did, and at all events poor Mr. Gervase -should be respected in his own house as long as he lay there. Above all, -on the evening of the funeral day, Dunning was determined there should -be no relaxation of that rule. He was disposed to think, as were the -rest of the servants, that Patty’s reign was over; but the others were -more wary than Dunning, and did not show any signs of emancipation as -yet. He did so with premature exultation, rejecting almost roughly her -suggestion that Sir Giles should dine as usual on that gloomy evening. -“Master’s not equal to it,” said Dunning, “and if he was he didn’t ought -to be. I don’t hold with folks that dance and sing the day they’ve put -their belongings in the grave—or eat and drink, it’s just the same.”</p> - -<p>“You forget what the doctor says, that nothing must be allowed to upset -him. I hope you don’t talk to Sir Giles on—melancholy subjects,” Patty -said, with all the dignity of her widow’s cap.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what subjects there can be but melancholic subjects in -this ’ouse of mournin’,” Dunning said.</p> - -<p>“Then I will come and see him myself,” said Patty. She went to Sir -Giles’ room accordingly, after his too simple dinner had been swallowed, -and devoted herself to him.</p> - -<p>“I think we’ll send Dunning away for a little, dear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a>{146}</span> papa,” she said. -“We have things to talk of, haven’t we?—and Dunning has been on duty a -long time, and a little society will make him more cheerful.”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon, Sir Giles,” said Dunning, “but whatever some folks -may think I don’t ’old with being cheerful, not on the day of a -funeral.”</p> - -<p>“What does he say, my dear? what does he say?” said Sir Giles. “But look -you here, Dunning, whatever it is I won’t have Mrs. Piercey -contradicted. Do you hear, sir? Do as Mrs. Piercey tells you,” and he -struck his stick upon the floor.</p> - -<p>Dunning in consternation withdrew, for when Sir Giles was roused he was -not to be trifled with.</p> - -<p>“She’s found out some d——d trick to come over the old man,” he said -in the housekeeper’s room to which he retired. But this was a mistake; -for it was Sir Giles himself who had invented the trick. He turned to -Patty with great tenderness when the man disappeared, and took her by -both hands and drew her to a chair beside him.</p> - -<p>“My dear,” he said, “I’ve forgotten, like an old sinner, what Meg -Osborne told me. I’ve been allowing you to do all sorts of things and -wear yourself out. But it sha’n’t happen again, it sha’n’t happen again. -Now that my poor dear boy is gone we must be more careful than ever—for -it’s our last hope both for you and for me to have an heir for the old -house.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a>{147}</span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was Sir Giles himself who had found this charm which had so great an -effect on the after-history of Greyshott. Patty, among other qualities -which were not so praiseworthy, had the almost fierce modesty of the -young Englishwoman, and would not have spoken on such a subject to a -man, even so harmless a person as an old man like Sir Giles, for any -inducement. She did not even understand what he meant at first, and the -same impulse of <i>farouche</i> modesty made her ashamed to explain, or do -more than blush deeply and remonstrate, “Oh, dear papa!” as she would -have done probably in any case, whether his supposition had been false -or true. The old gentleman in his melancholy and confused musings over -Gervase, had suddenly remembered, the thought being recalled by some -merest trifle of association, the hurrahs of little Osy which had -mingled with his own feeble cheer on some forgotten occasion. He -remembered it suddenly as the strangest contrast to his feelings now. -What had the old father, desolate and childless, to cheer about? What -had he heard that could have produced that cheer? It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a>{148}</span> when Meg was -going away—when she had told him she was going to take Osy away from -him. That was nothing to cheer about. What was it that had made him -forget Osy, but which the dear little fellow had caught up and shouted -over, though it was an unkindness to himself? and then he recollected -all at once. What Mrs. Osborne had said had been the most common and -ordinary wish that children might arise in the old house, which was the -most natural thing, the most certainly to be expected. She had meant no -more: but Sir Giles had at once attributed to Meg a knowledge which was -at the moment impossible, without reflecting either that she was the -last person to receive the confidence of Patty. He forgot now that it -was months since this had been said, and only remembered that it had -been said, and that the prospect was like life from death. Life from -death! That was what it would be—from his dead son an heir, in whom the -old house might blossom and grow glad again. He took up the idea where -he had dropped it with a sudden exhilaration which drove away all -sorrow. An heir to the old house, a thing all made of hope, with none of -poor Gervase’s deficiencies, a being whom the old man fondly hoped to -“make a man of” even yet before he died.</p> - -<p>And it would not be too much to say that the first feeling of Patty, -when she understood what the old gentleman meant, was one of -consternation. She did not know how to answer him, how to tell him that -she had no such hope. Her lips were closed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a>{149}</span> partly by the tradition of -silence on such subjects which an unsophisticated Englishwoman seldom -surmounts, and partly because she was so utterly astonished and taken -aback by the suggestion. She did not even see the advantage in it, nor -how it placed this feeble old man whose life hung on a thread in her -hands. It was not till after she had left him and was alone, and could -think, that these advantages occurred to Patty; and there was probably -no suggestion of a treacherous kind which it would have seemed to her so -impossible to make use of. The scruples of life are very much things of -circumstance, that seeming quite legitimate and right to one which is -the height of immodesty and indelicacy to another. Patty had one -distinct object in her mind, now that all her hopes were over, which was -to induce her father-in-law, by whatever means were possible, to make a -provision for her. He was really, she felt, the only one to whom she -could now cling, her sole support and protection, and she meant to be -also his protector, to take care of him as he had never been taken care -of before. All this she steadfastly intended, meaning nothing but good -to the ailing and desolate old man; but she also intended that he should -provide for her, as was her right as his son’s wife. Should Sir Giles -die at the present moment, Patty was strongly and painfully aware that -she would be in no way the better for having taken that step which had -seemed so prodigious a one, which had raised her so high above all her -antecedents and belongings, by becoming Gervase<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a>{150}</span> Piercey’s wife. She was -Mrs. Piercey, but she was without a penny, poorer by the burden of that -name than Patty Hewitt could ever have been. Her first duty, her first -determination was to be provided for, in whatever manner it might be -most possible to do that. But it is only just to her to say that this -way of influencing her father-in-law, and of moving him to do what she -wished, had never occurred to her, and even when thus suggested it was -very repugnant to her—the last thing she desired to do. But Patty, shut -up in her room of widowhood and mourning, with her cap with its long, -white streamers visible upon the table, and everything black about her, -even the dressing-gown which she had put on to sit by the fire, and her -mind so alert and unfatigued going over everything, speculating how best -to pluck from the nettle danger the flower of safety, could not shut out -the suggestion from her thoughts. It might even yet prove to be so, she -said to herself, blushing hotly, even though she was alone. And if not, -why shouldn’t she permit Sir Giles to think so? It would give him a -great deal of pleasure, poor old gentleman. It would tide him over the -worst time, the immediate crisis of his son’s death, and it would double -her every claim upon him, and make it more than ever necessary that he -should put her at once beyond the reach of want or suffering of any -kind. Still, it was with reluctance that she accepted this weapon which -had been thrust into her hand.</p> - -<p>Sir Giles could not get his new discovery out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a>{151}</span> his head. He told -Dunning of it before he went to bed. It was whispered all through the -house in the morning; and though some of the women scoffed and declared -it to be an invention, yet it was, of course, the most natural idea in -the world. From Patty not a word came, either in assertion or denial. -She said nothing; she understood no hints; she never allowed herself to -be betrayed into reference to her supposed hopes. Sir Giles alone talked -to her on the subject with joyous laughter and chuckles, and a loudly -expressed determination that she should be obeyed and not contradicted, -which was of priceless value to Patty, at the moment when her sway was a -little uncertain, and when expectation was strong in the household that -she should be displaced and Mrs. Osborne sent for in her place. The -household by no means desired Mrs. Osborne in Patty’s place. Margaret -had been too much and too long a dependant to be popular among the -servants; and Patty, who was so peremptory, who had acted upon her -convictions, and managed to turn out everybody whom she feared or -disliked, had powerful recommendations in her imperious authority. She -meant what she said, and could not be driven or persuaded out of it; and -she knew when work was well done, and gave the capable housemaid or -cleaner of plate the praise which was his or her due. And she was not -unjust, save in the case of personal disrespect to herself, which she -never pardoned—a quality which the servants’ hall entirely approved. -Mrs. Osborne could be got to “look over” anything by judicious entreaty<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a>{152}</span> -or representation, especially if it was a mere offence against herself, -and was less respected and considered in consequence. It was not, -therefore, in any way desired that she should take up the reins; yet, -all the same, it made a great difference to Patty that Sir Giles had -taken it into his head that she must not be contradicted. It established -her once more firmly in her seat.</p> - -<p>And the little group in the great drawing-room in the evening was all -the more cheerful in consequence. It was, to look at, a forlorn group -enough: the old gentleman, more feeble than ever, with Dunning behind -his chair, ready to move it according to his caprice, and the young -widow in her deep crape, a black spot upon the white and gold of the -room. Patty had been requested by Sir Giles to “take that thing off her -head,” and did so obediently in her father-in-law’s presence, though she -was far too determined to do her duty by her dead husband to dispense -with that symbol of grief on any other occasion. They sat with the -backgammon-board between them, playing game after game. There was in -Patty’s mind unutterable relief from the misery and suspense which she -had suffered in Gervase’s lifetime; but other thoughts, scarcely less -anxious, occupied her fully. Yet she talked to the old gentleman with an -endeavour to please and amuse him which was heroic. It was a great -strain upon Patty. She could talk of herself without difficulty; she -could have talked, had she thought it expedient, of her father and aunt, -and their sins against her; she could have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a>{153}</span> talked of Gervase; but these -subjects being all tabooed, it was very hard upon Patty to find anything -to say. She knew nobody whom Sir Giles knew. She could not tell him the -news, for she knew none, except the affairs of the village, which -interested herself, and which she seized on greedily from every possible -channel. But Patty could not talk on any other subject. She had to talk -about the backgammon, to remind him of the wonderful stroke he had -played last night, and the wonderful luck he had always; and how it was -such an amazing chance for her to play, a poor ignorant thing as she -was, with such an accomplished player as dear papa. This was but a -scanty thread to spin through night after night, and had it not been -made up so much of applause it is very doubtful how long it would have -sufficed. But there is nothing of which the ordinary mind can swallow so -much as praise; and when the interest of life is reduced to a game, the -player thinks as much of his lucky chances and his skilful movements as -if it were something of the highest importance; so that, on the whole, -this talk did very well and kept them going. But still Patty had not -ventured to introduce her great subject—that provision for herself -which she felt became more and more important every day; for who could -tell whether any morning Sir Giles might not be found to have passed -away from this life altogether, or to be enclosed in the living tomb of -paralysis, unable to act or devise anything more.</p> - -<p>Lady Hartmore did not call next day as her lord<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a>{154}</span> had promised, but she -did call, and was received by Patty in full panoply of mourning and with -a heart that beat loudly with suppressed excitement. Lady Hartmore was -neither so much touched by the sight of the young widow, nor so -sympathetic as her husband had been. She examined Patty curiously, with -searching eyes, full not only of the superciliousness of rank, but of -the experience of a much older woman, which Mrs. Gervase would have -opposed with defiance, but for the false pretence which, though she had -never put it forth, and though it had arisen most innocently, gave her -something of a sensation of guilt. This, however, though Patty was not -aware of it, did her service with the great lady. It subdued her natural -determination, and gave an apparent softness to her aspect which did not -belong to it by nature. Lady Hartmore put a great many questions to the -young widow: did she think of remaining at Greyshott, which must be so -melancholy a place nowadays? did she think this last shock had very much -shaken Sir Giles? did she not feel it a great responsibility to be left -in charge of him? and many other such questions. To these Patty replied -very properly that she could not possibly leave Sir Giles alone; that he -had been very kind to her, like a father, and that nothing would induce -her to desert him; that he was very well on the whole, “quite himself,” -and that she tried to be as cheerful as she could on his account. She -took no notice of the question about leaving Greyshott. It was not -indeed necessary to reply to it, when she had already<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a>{155}</span> made that answer -about the impossibility of leaving Sir Giles.</p> - -<p>“But you must want somebody to speak to,—somebody to take care of you, -too,” said the great lady, meaning more than she said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no,” said Patty; “I have always had very good health, I have never -been delicate. I am very fond of my dear father-in-law. He does not want -very much—he is very easily amused, and so kind, always so kind. We do -very well all by ourselves—as well,” Patty added, with a sigh, “as in -the circumstances we could possibly do.”</p> - -<p>What could any one say to such perfect sentiments? Lady Hartmore was -baffled in her inquisitions. “Still,” she said, “I should have thought -that some one who was a relation—some one of your own family—a woman -to speak to——”</p> - -<p>“I am sure,” said Patty, “that Lady Hartmore knows my family are not -likely to be welcome at Greyshott; and I have but an old aunt who was -never married, and therefore has no experience.” She blushed as she said -this, and Lady Hartmore was very quick to take up the inference for -which she was prepared. But Patty was too wise to be led into any -further disclosures or to answer any of the searching questions which -her ladyship proceeded to put.</p> - -<p>“How did you find the poor thing?” her husband asked when he joined her -in the carriage—for Lord Hartmore had visited Sir Giles while Lady -Hartmore thus did her duty by Patty.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a>{156}</span></p> - -<p>“I found the poor thing very well and extremely well able to take care -of herself,” said the lady. “I don’t think you need waste so much -sympathy upon her.” But Lord Hartmore was full of feeling, and could not -be persuaded to take this view.</p> - -<p>“The poor old fellow is quite exultant,” he said. “It is a wonderful -blessing for him, whatever you may think of it in any other connection. -It has given him a new lease.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe a word of it,” said Lady Hartmore.</p> - -<p>“Oh, come!” cried her husband. “It is one thing to trust your own -judgment, which is an excellent one, I don’t gainsay it—but quite -another to set it up against those who must know the facts best. By the -way, he bewildered me by saying Meg told him. Has Meg been here?”</p> - -<p>“Not that I know of; but she may have made a hurried run to see her -uncle. If Meg told him——” said Lady Hartmore, in subdued tones. She -added after a pause, “I shall think more of her if Meg is her -<i>confidante</i>.”</p> - -<p>Thus on the whole the impression was favourable to Patty, even though -the grounds upon which it was formed were false.</p> - -<p>After this visit Patty took her first active step towards the -accomplishment of her desires. Sir Giles, who had been pleased with the -Hartmore visit and augured great things from it, opened the way by -asking if she had not liked Lady Hartmore and found<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a>{157}</span> her kind? “A nice -woman, a good-hearted woman,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, dear papa; but one thing she said gave me a great deal of pain; -for she seemed to think I should go back to my family, and leave you,” -she said, putting her handkerchief to her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Leave me? nonsense!” said Sir Giles, “I sha’n’t let you leave me, my -dear. I shouldn’t have sent you away, anyhow, you may be sure; no, no, I -shouldn’t have sent you away; but in present circumstances, my -dear—Why, you’re all our hope at Greyshott, you’re all our stand-by, -you’re—you’re our sheet-anchor.”</p> - -<p>“How kind, how kind you are, dear papa! I try to do my best to keep -everything straight, though I never could pretend to be of so much -consequence as that. But people feel free to speak,” said Patty, with a -sigh, “because they know I have no ground to stand on. I wasn’t dear -Gervase’s equal when he married me, and there were no settlements or -anything, you know; and I am quite dependent, quite dependent, as much -as a servant—but without any wages,” Patty added, with a faint laugh.</p> - -<p>It was at one of the rare moments when Dunning was absent, intervals of -which Patty eagerly took advantage. Dunning was, indeed, a thorn in her -flesh, though after mature deliberation she had decided that it was -wiser to retain him, that he might take the responsibility of Sir Giles’ -health.</p> - -<p>“Dependent!” cried Sir Giles, “nonsense, nonsense! A servant, my dear? -Don’t let me hear such a word<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a>{158}</span> again. No, no; no, no; never could have -been so, for you’ve been quite a daughter, quite a daughter. But, in the -present circumstances——”</p> - -<p>“Ah, dear papa, don’t let us think of that. I love to be with you—it’s -the only comfort I have; but still I can’t forget that I have no -provision. I might have to go away and work for my living, if somebody -were to over-persuade you, or if you were—ill or anything. A Mrs. -Piercey having to work for her living—or perhaps take a situation! I -shouldn’t mind it for myself, but when I think, dear papa, of your -name.”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord!” cried Sir Giles, “you must be out of your mind, my dear, to -think of such a thing. My poor boy’s wife, and a good wife to him, too, -if he had but lived to profit by it. That’s all nonsense, all nonsense, -my dear.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, dear papa! but it would not be nonsense if I had not you to trust -to,” cried Patty, laying her hand upon his arm. “It is you who are my -sheet-anchor. I have not a penny of my own, not even to pay for my -mourning; and I can’t earn any for myself, don’t you know, because of -dear Gervase and your name—the first in the county. I couldn’t take in -needlework, could I, in Greyshott? and a woman, you know, has always -little expenses——”</p> - -<p>“My dear,” said Sir Giles, “have all the fal-lals you can set your face -to, and send in the bills to me; you’ve nothing to do but send in the -bills to me.”</p> - -<p>“Dear papa! as if I ever doubted your kindness. It is not fal-lals I am -thinking of; this,” cried Patty,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a>{159}</span> holding up her crape, “is not much of -a fal-lal, is it? But what I am thinking of is the time to come, when I -shall require to have a little provision or income or salary of my own.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean,” cried the old man, in the half-sobbing tone into which he -was betrayed by any emotion, “when—when—I’m no more; when I’m dead? Is -that what you mean?”</p> - -<p>Patty stooped down and laid her face against the large old limp hand, -which reposed on the arm of Sir Giles’ chair. “I hope I’ll be dead, too, -before that,” she said; “for what should I have to live for then?”</p> - -<p>This, it need not be pointed out, was no answer to his question; but it -seemed so, and Sir Giles was much affected and sobbed, which Patty -echoed with a deep sigh or two which seemed to give a more refined -expression to his feeling. He put his other hand upon her head.</p> - -<p>“Please God, we’ll see better days before that,” he said.</p> - -<p>And then Dunning came back, and a new game was begun.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a>{160}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was not till some days after this, that Sir Giles referred to the -subject again. Patty thought it had entirely failed to make any -impression on his mind, and that she must herself renew the -conversation, when he surprised her by saying suddenly, as if there had -been no interval, “It won’t be necessary, my dear, it won’t be -necessary. As his mother, everything will be in your hands.”</p> - -<p>“Dear papa!” she cried, with a quite natural start; “how you frightened -me!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to frighten you, my dear; anything but that—anything but -that! But you must see that any little arrangements we might make would -be all needless, quite needless. Of course, everything will go to the -natural heir. There will probably be a long minority, for you know, my -dear, with the best intentions in the world, an old fellow like me—— -though I would give half my kingdom to see him come of age—half my -kingdom! But no, no, that’s a selfish thought; for I should wish him to -have the property unimpaired, if not added to—if not added to. You’ll<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a>{161}</span> -take great care of it, I am sure. You’re quite a woman of brains.” Sir -Giles spoke very fast, to get through this long effort of thought and -consideration before Dunning came back. Then he added, with his usual -mingled outburst of laughing and sobbing, patting her arm with his large -old nerveless hand, “So you see it’s needless, needless, my dear, for -everything will be in your hands.”</p> - -<p>“Dear papa!” cried Patty. She was silent for some time in confusion and -embarrassment. Then, “There’s nothing certain in this world,” she said.</p> - -<p>“What, what?” cried Sir Giles. “Nothing’s happened—nothing’s happened, -my dear? I hope you don’t mean to tell me that?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing has happened, dear papa,” cried Patty, with a painful flush -upon her face. She had not meant to deceive him, and certainly not in -this way. It was indeed hard upon her that she had, without any fault of -hers, this fiction to keep up. “But there’s nothing certain in this -world,” she said. “Who would have thought five months ago that I should -need to be thinking of a little provision for myself—I, that was -Gervase’s wife, and had no need to think of anything? I married him -without a thought of having anything settled on me, or even wanting a -penny but what he gave me.” Patty put her handkerchief to her eyes to -absorb some real tears, for though her grief for poor Gervase could -scarcely be expected to be very profound, her pity for herself was -sincere and lasting. “Dearest papa! I can’t bear to ask for myself. -I’ve<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a>{162}</span> always been used to work, and I could get my own living at any -time. It is just that I can’t bear, being Mrs. Piercey, that I should -have to do it in that way—Gervase’s widow, with <i>your</i> name.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t, my dear, don’t! For goodness’ sake don’t agitate yourself! Don’t -cry, my dear, don’t cry!” said Sir Giles, anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I wouldn’t cry if—if I could help it. I would do nothing to vex -you, dear papa. But when I think of all that has happened—oh, who -should know so well as I that there’s nothing certain in this world!”</p> - -<p>“My dear, my dear, I’ll send for Pownceby to-morrow. You must not upset -yourself—you mustn’t, indeed. What should I do, and everybody, if—if -anything was to happen?” Sir Giles cried. And he became so excited in -his anxiety to calm her, that Patty was compelled to conquer herself and -regain her self-command. She looked up with a mournful smile from her -pocket-handkerchief. “Dear papa,” she said, “we are two of us that -mustn’t do that. If you get upset it will upset me, and that will upset -you still more; so we must each hold up for the sake of the other. -Suppose we have another game?”</p> - -<p>“You always know exactly what I want,” said the old gentleman, his sob -turning into a laugh, as his laugh so often turned into a sob. There was -not, in fact, much difference between the two; and the rest of the -evening was passed as usual in admiring exclamations on Patty’s part as -to his wonderful play and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a>{163}</span> wonderful luck, so that even Dunning did not -suspect that there had been anything more.</p> - -<p>Patty reminded her father-in-law next morning when she went to him, as -she had begun to make a practice of doing, to see if he wanted any -letters written, that he had spoken of some Mr. Pownceby who was to be -written to. “I don’t know who Mr. Pownceby is, but you said something -about him, dear papa!” And the result was that in a day or two Mr. -Pownceby came, the family solicitor, whom Patty indeed did not know, but -of whose faculties and position in the matter she had a shrewd guess. -She had to entertain the little gentleman to luncheon after he had been -closeted with Sir Giles all the morning; and Mr. Pownceby was much -impressed by Mrs. Piercey’s dignified air, and her crape and her widow’s -cap. “I suppose it’s within the range of possibilities that a girl in -that position might be fond even of a poor fellow like Gervase Piercey,” -he said to himself doubtfully; and he made himself very agreeable to the -young widow. He informed her that he had received instructions to charge -the estate with an annuity of a thousand pounds a year for her, of which -the payments were to begin at once. “A very proper arrangement,” he -said, and he was impressed by the composure with which Patty received -the information. She was not indeed at all elated by it. A thousand -pounds a year was a great thing for Patty Hewitt of the Seven Thorns. -She would have thought it a princely revenue when she became Gervase -Piercey’s wife; but a few months’ familiarity with the expenditure<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a>{164}</span> of -Greyshott had made a great change in Patty’s views. To descend into a -small house like the Rectory, for instance (she had once thought the -Rectory a palace), and to do without a carriage, was far from an -agreeable prospect. “How shall I ever do without a carriage?” Patty said -to herself, and she thought with scorn of the little basket-work -pony-chaise which was all the rector could afford. Was it possible that -she should ever come down to that? Mr. Pownceby, when he went away, held -her hand for a moment, and asked whether a very old friend of the -family, who had known poor dear Gervase from his birth, might be -permitted to say how pleased and thankful he was that there were -hopes——? which made Sir Giles so very happy, poor old gentleman? “And -I fear, I fear, my dear old friend has not many days before him,” the -lawyer said; “he’s quite clear in his mind, but it was not to be -expected that a worn-out constitution could bear all those shocks one -after another. We’ll not have him long, Mrs. Piercey, we’ll not have him -long!”</p> - -<p>“Does the doctor say so?” asked Patty.</p> - -<p>“My dear lady, the doctor says he has the best of nursing; and -everything so much the better for a lady in the house.” It was with this -<i>douceur</i> that the solicitor took his leave, being a man that liked to -please everybody. And there can be no doubt that a softened feeling -arose in the whole neighbourhood about Patty, who was said to be such a -good daughter to Sir Giles. “Thrown over her own people altogether—no -crowd of barbarians about the house, as one used to fear;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a>{165}</span> and quite -gives herself up to her father-in-law; plays backgammon with him half -the day, which can’t be lively for a young woman; and expects——” These -last were the most potent words of all.</p> - -<p>Patty was, indeed, very good to her father-in-law, and that not -altogether for policy, but partly from feeling; for he had been kind to -her, and she was grateful. The winter was dreary and long, and there -were sometimes weeks together when Sir Giles could not get out, even -into the garden, for that forlorn little drive of his in the wheeled -chair. Patty gave herself up to his service with a devotion which was -above all praise. She bore his fretfulness when weakness and suffering -made the old man querulous. She was always at hand, whatever he wanted. -She looked after his food and his comfort, often in despite of Dunning -and to the great offence of the cook, but both these functionaries had -to submit to Patty’s will. Had she not carried everything with a very -high hand, it is possible that her footing might not have been so sure; -for the women soon penetrated the fiction, which was not indeed of -Patty’s creation, and Dunning even ventured upon hints to Sir Giles that -all was not as he thought. The old gentleman, however, got weaker day by -day; one little indulgence after another dropped from him. March was -unusually blustery, and April very wet. These were good reasons why he -should not go out; that he was more comfortable in his chair by the -fire. Then he got indifferent to the paper, which Dunning always read to -him in the morning, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a>{166}</span> only took an interest in the scraps of news -which Patty repeated to him later on.</p> - -<p>“Why did not Dunning read me that, if it is in the paper? The fellow -gets lazier and lazier; he never reads the paper to me now! He thinks I -forget!” When Dunning would have remonstrated Patty checked him with a -look.</p> - -<p>“You must never contradict Sir Giles!” she said to him aside.</p> - -<p>“And he says I’m never to contradict <i>her</i>!” Dunning said indignantly in -the housekeeper’s room, where he went for consolation; “between them a -man ain’t allowed to say a word!”</p> - -<p>The women all cried out with scorn that Sir Giles would find out -different from <i>that</i> one o’ these days.</p> - -<p>“Then he’ll just die,” said Dunning. Things had come to a very mournful -pass in the old melancholy house.</p> - -<p>By degrees the backgammon, too, fell out of use. Patty sat with him -still in the evening, but it was in his own room, often by his bedside, -and many, many conversations took place between them, unheard by any -one. Dunning would catch a word now and then, as he went and came, and -gathered that Sir Giles was sometimes telling her of things he would -like to have done, and that sometimes she was telling him of things she -would wish to be done.</p> - -<p>“As if she had aught to do with it!” Dunning said with indignation. -Dunning, observing everything, imagined, too, that Sir Giles began to -grow anxious about<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a>{167}</span> those expectations which were so long delayed. His -attendant sometimes heard mutterings of calculation and broken -questioning with himself from the old gentleman.</p> - -<p>“It’s a long time to wait—a long time—a long time!” he said.</p> - -<p>“What is a long time, Sir Giles?” Dunning ventured to ask—but was told -to hold his tongue for a fool.</p> - -<p>One day, towards the end of April, he suddenly roused from a long muse -or doze by the fire, and called to Dunning to send a telegram for -Pownceby.</p> - -<p>“Tell him to come directly. I mayn’t be here to-morrow,” Sir Giles said.</p> - -<p>“Are you thinking of changing the air, Sir Giles?” said the astonished -servant.</p> - -<p>The rain was pouring in a white blast across the park, bending all the -young trees one way, and pattering among the foliage.</p> - -<p>“Air!” said the old man; “it’s nothing but water; but I’m soon going to -move, Dunning, as you say.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it might do you good, Sir Giles, a little later—when the -weather’s better.”</p> - -<p>Sir Giles made no reply, but Dunning heard him muttering: “She always -says there’s nothing certain in this world.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Pownceby came as quick as the railway could bring him.</p> - -<p>“Is there anything wrong?” he asked of Mrs. Piercey, who met him at the -door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a>{168}</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, I am afraid he’s very bad,” said Patty; “I am afraid he’s not long -for this world.”</p> - -<p>“Why does he want me? Does he want to change his will?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know—I don’t know. Oh, Mr. Pownceby, I don’t know how to say -it. I am afraid he is disappointed: that—that you said to me last -time——”</p> - -<p>“Was not true, I suppose?” said the father of a family, who was not -without his experiences, and he looked somewhat sternly at Patty, who -was trembling.</p> - -<p>“I never said it was,” she said. “It was not I. He took it into his -head, and I did not know how to contradict him. Oh, don’t say to him -it’s not true! rather, rather let him believe it now. Let him die happy, -Mr. Pownceby! Oh, he has been so good to me! Say anything to make him -die happy!” Patty cried.</p> - -<p>The lawyer was angry and disappointed, too; but Patty’s feeling was -evidently genuine, and he could not help feeling a certain sympathy with -her. Sir Giles was sitting up in bed, ashy white with that pallor of old -age which is scarcely increased by death.</p> - -<p>“I’m glad you’re come in time, Pownceby—very glad you’re come in time. -I’m—I’m going to make a move; for change of air, don’t you know, as -Dunning says. Poor Dunning! he won’t get such an easy berth again. My -will—that’s it. I want to change—my will. Clear it all away, -Pownceby—all away, except the little legacies—the servants and -that——”</p> - -<p>“But not Mrs. Piercey, Sir Giles? If—if sh<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a>{169}</span>e’s been the cause of -any—disappointment; it isn’t her fault.”</p> - -<p>“Disappointment!” said the old man. “Quite the contrary. She’s been just -the reverse. It was a good day for me when she came to the house. No, I -don’t mean that it was a good day, for it was my poor wife’s funeral; -but if anybody could have made a man of Gervase she would have done it. -She would have done it, Pownceby. Yes, yes; sweep her away! sweep -everybody away! I give and bequeath Greyshott and all I have—all I -have, don’t you know? Gerald Piercey can have the pictures if he likes; -she won’t care for them to——”</p> - -<p>The old man was seized with a fit of coughing, which interrupted him at -this interesting moment. Mr. Pownceby sat with his pen in his hand and -many speculations in his mind. To cut off his daughter-in-law’s little -income even while he praised her so! And who was the person to whom it -was all to be left without regard for the rest? Meg Piercey, perhaps, -who was one of the nearest, though she had never been supposed to have -any chance. The lawyer sat with his eyes under his spectacles intently -fixed upon Sir Giles, and with many remonstrances in his mind. Mrs. -Gervase might be wrong to have filled the poor man with false hopes; but -to leave her to the tender mercies of Meg Piercey, whom she had -virtually turned out of the house, would be cruel. Sir Giles began to -speak before his coughing fit was over.</p> - -<p>“She says, poor thing,” and here he coughed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a>{170}</span> “she s—says that there’s -nothing—nothing certain in this world. She’s right, Pownceby—she’s -right. She—generally is.”</p> - -<p>“There’s not much risk in saying that, Sir Giles.”</p> - -<p>“No, it’s true enough—it’s true enough. It might grow up like its -father. God grant it otherwise. You remember our first boy, Pownceby? -Wasn’t that a fellow! as bold as a lion and yet so sweet. His poor -mother never got over it—never; nor I neither, nor I neither—though I -never made any fuss.”</p> - -<p>Was the old man wandering in his mind?</p> - -<p>“I hoped it would have been like him,” said Sir Giles, with a sob. “I -had set my heart on that. But none of us can tell. There’s nothing -certain, as she says. It might grow up like its father. I’ll make all -safe, anyhow, Pownceby. Put it down, put it down—everything to——”</p> - -<p>“Sir Giles! to whom? Everything to——?”</p> - -<p>“Why, Pownceby, old fellow! Ah, to be sure he doesn’t know the first -name. Sounds droll a little, those two names together. Quick! I want it -signed and done with, in case I should, as Dunning says—don’t you know, -change the air.”</p> - -<p>“But, Sir Giles!” cried the lawyer, in consternation: “Sir Giles!” he -added, “you don’t mean, I hope, to leave the property away from the -family and the natural heir?”</p> - -<p>“What a muddlehead you are, Pownceby!” said Sir Giles, radiant. “Why, It -will be the natural heir. It will be the head of the family. And it will -grow<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a>{171}</span> up like our first boy, please God. But nothing is certain; and -supposing it was to turn out like its father? My poor boy, my poor -Gervase! It wasn’t as if we weren’t fond of him, you know, Pownceby. His -poor mother worshipped the very ground he trod on. But one can’t help -hoping everything that’s good for It, and none of the drawbacks—none of -the drawbacks. Make haste, Pownceby; draw it out quick! You’re quicker -than any clerk you have, when you’ll take trouble. Nothing’s certain in -this world; let’s make it all safe, Pownceby, however things may turn -out.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll take your instructions, Sir Giles—though I don’t like the job. -But it’s a serious matter, you know, a very serious matter. Hadn’t you -better think it over again? I’ll have the will drawn out in proper form, -and come back to-morrow to have it signed.”</p> - -<p>“And how can you tell that you’ll find me to-morrow? I may have moved on -and got a change of air, as Dunning says. No, Pownceby, draw up -something as simple as you like, and I’ll sign it to-day.”</p> - -<p>The solicitor met Mrs. Piercey again in the hall as he went out. He had -not been so kind on his arrival as she had found him before; but now he -had a gloomy countenance, almost a scowl on his face, and would have -pushed past her without speaking, with a murmur about the train which -would wait for no man. Patty, however, was not the woman to be pushed -aside. She insisted upon hearing his opinion how Sir Giles was.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a>{172}</span></p> - -<p>“I think with you that he is very ill,” he replied, gloomily, “and in -mind as well as in body——”</p> - -<p>“Oh no,” cried Patty, “not that, not that! as clear in his head, Mr. -Pownceby, as you or me.”</p> - -<p>He gave her a dark look, which Patty did not understand. “Anyhow,” he -said, “he’s an old man, Mrs. Piercey, and I don’t think life has many -charms for him. We have no right to repine.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Pownceby had known Sir Giles Piercey all his life, and liked him -perhaps as well as he liked any one out of his own family. But to -repine—why should he repine, or Patty any more, who stood anxiously -reading his face, and only more anxious not to betray her anxiety than -she was to hear what, perhaps, he might tell? But he did not do this. -Nor would he continue the conversation, nor be persuaded to sit down. He -asked that he might be sent for, at any moment, if Sir Giles expressed a -wish to see him again. “I will come at a moment’s notice—by telegraph,” -he said, with a gloomy face, that intended no jest. And he added still -more gloomily, “I believe it will be for your advantage, too.”</p> - -<p>“I am thinking of my father-in-law and not of my advantage,” Patty said -with indignation. The anxiety in her mind was great, and she could not -divine what he meant.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a>{173}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Margaret Osborne</span> had lost no time in settling down in a cottage -proportioned to her means, with her little boy and the one maid, who did -all that was necessary, yet as little of everything as was practicable, -for the small household. The place she had chosen was not very far from -Greyshott, yet in the impracticability of country roads, especially -during the winter, to those who are out of railway range, almost as far -apart as if it had been at the other end of England. The district -altogether had not attained the popularity it now enjoys, and the -village was very rural indeed, with nobody in it above the rank of the -rustic tradesmen and traffickers, except the inevitable parson and the -doctor. The vicar’s wife seized with enthusiasm upon the new inhabitant -as a representative of society, and various others of the neighbouring -clergywomen made haste to call upon a woman so well connected, as did -also the squire of the place, or, at least, the ladies belonging to him. -But Mrs. Osborne had no such thirst for society as to trudge along the -muddy roads to return their visits, and her income did not permit<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a>{174}</span> even -the indulgence of the jogging pony and homely clothes-basket of a little -carriage, in which many of the clerical neighbours found great comfort. -She had to stay at home perforce, knowing no enlivenment of her -solitude, except tea at the vicarage on rare occasions. Tea at the -vicarage in earlier and homelier days would have meant a quiet share of -the cheerful evening refreshments and amusements, when the guest was -made one of the family party, and all its natural interests and -occupations placed before her. But tea, which is an afternoon -performance and means a crowd of visitors collected from all quarters, -in which the natural household is altogether swamped, and the guest sees -not her friends, but their friends or distant acquaintances, of whom she -neither has nor wishes to have any knowledge—is a very different -matter. At Greyshott there had been occasional heavy dinner-parties, in -which it was Margaret’s part to exert herself for the satisfaction, at -all events, of old friends, most of whom called her Meg, and had known -her from her girlhood. These were not, perhaps, very entertaining -evenings, but they were better than the modern fashion. She lived, -accordingly, very much alone with Osy, and the maid-of-all-work, whom, -knowing so little as she did of the practical arrangements of a -household, she had to train, with many misadventures, which would have -been amusing had there been anybody with whom she could have laughed -over her own blunders and Jane’s ignorance. But alas! there was no one. -Osy was too young to be amused when his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a>{175}</span> pudding was burned or his -potatoes like stones. He was more likely to cry, and his mother’s -anxiety for his health and comfort took the fun out of the ludicrous, -yet painful, errors of her unaccustomed house-keeping. It depends so -much on one’s surroundings whether these failures are ludicrous or -tragical. In some cases they are an enlivenment of life, in others an -exaggeration of all its troubles. These, however, were but temporary; -for Mrs. Osborne, though she knew nothing to begin with, and did not -even know whether she was capable of learning, was, in fact, too capable -a woman, though she was not aware of it, to be long overcome by troubles -of this kind; and it soon became a pleasure to her and enlivenment of -her life to look after her own little domestic arrangements, and carry -forward the education of her little maid-servant. There was not, after -all, very much to do—plenty of time after all was done for Osy’s -lessons, and for what was equally important, Margaret’s own lessons, -self-conducted, to fit her for teaching her boy. At seven years old a -little pupil does not make any very serious call upon his teachers, and -though Margaret was aware of having no education herself, she was still -capable of as much as the little fellow wanted, except in one -particular. Osy had, as many children have in the first stage, a -precocious capacity for what his mother called “figures,” knowing no -better; for I doubt whether Margaret knew what was the difference -between arithmetic and mathematics, or where one ends and the other -begins. Osy did in his own little head sums which made his mothe<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a>{176}</span>r’s -hair stand erect on hers. She was naturally all the more proud of this -achievement that she did not understand it in the least. She was even -delighted when Osy found her all wrong in an answer she had carefully -boggled out to one of those alarming sums, and laughed till the tears -came into her eyes at the pitying looks and apologetic speeches of her -little boy. “It isn’t nofing wrong, Movver,” Osy said. “Ladies never, -never do sums.” He stroked her hand in his childish compassion, anxious -to restore her to her own esteem. “You can wead evwyfing you sees in any -book, and write bof big hand and small hand, and understand evwyfing; -but ladies never does sums,” said Osy, climbing up to put his arms round -her neck and console her. These excuses for her incapacity were sweeter -to Margaret than any applause could have been, and such incidents soon -gave pleasure and interest to her life. It is well for women that few -things in life are more delightful than the constant companionship of an -intelligent child, and Margaret was, fortunately, capable of taking, not -only the comfort, but the amusement, too, of Osy’s new views of life. -These, however, we have not, alas! space to give; and as she was obliged -to engage the instructions of the village schoolmaster for him in the -one point which was utterly beyond her, Osy’s mathematical genius and -his peculiar phraseology soon died away together. He learned to -pronounce the “th,” which is so difficult a sound in English, and his -condition of infant prodigy in respect to “figures” and all the wonders -of his mental arithmetic came to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a>{177}</span> an end under the prosaic rules of Mr. -Jones, as such precocities usually do.</p> - -<p>Margaret’s life, however, had thus fallen into a tolerably happy vein, -full of cheerful occupation and boundless hope and love—for what -eminence or delight was there in the world which that wonderful child -might not reach? and to be his mother was such a position, she felt, as -queens might have envied—when the news of her cousin’s death broke upon -her solitude with a sudden shock and horror. She had heard scarcely -anything about him in the interval. One or two letters dictated to -Dunning had come from her uncle in answer to her dutiful epistles, but -naturally there was no communication between her and Patty, and Gervase -had scarcely ever written a letter in his life. Sometimes at long -intervals Lady Hartmore had taken a long drive to see her, but that -great lady knew nothing about a household which nobody now ever visited. -“I might give you scraps I hear from the servants,” Lady Hartmore -said,—“one can’t help picking up things from the servants, though I am -always ashamed of it,”—but these scraps chiefly concerned the “ways” of -Mrs. Piercey, which Margaret was too loyal to her family to like to hear -laughed at. Gervase dead! it seemed one of those impossibilities which -the mind feels less power of accustoming itself to than much greater -losses. Those whom our minds can attend with longing and awe into the -eternal silence, who are of kin to all the great thoughts that fill it, -and for whom every heavenly development is possible, convey<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a>{178}</span> no sense of -incongruity, however overwhelming may be the sorrow, when they are -removed from us. But Gervase! How hard it was to think of him gaping, -incapable of understanding, on the verge of that new world. Who could -associate with him its heavenly progress, its high communion? Gervase! -why should he have died? it seemed harder to understand of him whose -departure would leave so slight a void, whose trace afar would be -followed by no longing eyes, than of one whose end would have shaken the -whole world. The news had a great and painful effect upon Margaret, -first for itself, and afterwards for what must follow. She wrote, as has -been said, to her uncle, asking if she might go to him, if a visit from -her would be of any comfort to him; and she wrote to Patty with her -heart full, forgetting everything in the pity with which she could not -but think of hopes overthrown. Patty replied with great propriety, not -concealing that she had kept back Margaret’s letter to Sir Giles, -explaining how little able he was for any further excitement, and that -all that could be done was to keep him perfectly quiet. “He might wish -to see you, but he is not equal to it,” Patty said; and she ended by -saying that her whole life should be devoted to Sir Giles as long as he -lived, “for I have nothing now upon Earth,” Patty said, with a big -capital. All that Margaret could do was to accept the situation, -thinking many a wistful thought of her poor old uncle, from whom -everything had been taken. Poor Gervase, indeed, had not been much to -his father, but yet he was his son.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a>{179}</span></p> - -<p>The winter was long and dreary—dreary enough at Greyshott, where the -old gentleman was going daily a step farther down the hill, and often -dreary, too, to Margaret, looking out from the window of her little -drawing-room upon the little row of laurels glistening in the wet, with -now and then a passer-by and his umbrella going heavily by. There are -some people who have an invincible inclination to look out, whatever is -outside the windows, were it only chimney-pots; and Margaret was one of -these. She got to know every twig of those glistening laurels shining in -the rain, and to recognise even the footsteps that went wading past. -There was not much refreshment nor amusement in it, but it was her -nature to look out wherever she was. And one afternoon, in the lingering -spring, she suddenly saw a figure coming up the village road which had -never been seen there before, which seemed to have fallen down from the -sky, or risen up from the depths, so little connection had it with -anything there. Mrs. Osborne owned the strangeness of the apparition -with a jump of the heart that had been beating so tranquilly in her -bosom. Gerald Piercey here! He had been for a long time abroad, -travelling in the East, far out of the usual tracks of travellers, and -had written to her three or four times from desert and distant places, -whose names recalled the Arabian Nights to her, but nothing nearer home. -The letters had always been curt, and not always amiable: “I note what -you say about having settled down. If you think the stagnant life of a -village the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a>{180}</span> best thing for you, and your own instructions the best -thing for a boy who will have a part to play in the world, of course it -is needless for me to make any remark on the subject.” Margaret received -these missives with a little excitement, it must be allowed, if not with -pleasure. She confessed to herself that they amused her: “a boy who will -have a part to play in the world!” Did he think, she asked herself with -a smile, that Osy was seventeen instead of seven? At seven what did he -want beyond his mother’s instructions? But it cannot be denied that -letters, with curious Turkish hieroglyphics on the address, dated from -Damascus, Baghdad, and other dwellings of the unknown, had an effect -upon her. To receive them at Chillfold, in Surrey, was a sensation. The -Vicarage children, who collected stamps, were much excited by the -Turkish specimens, and she could not help a pleasurable sensation as she -bestowed them. Even Osy’s babble about Cousin Colonel was not unpleasing -to his mother’s ears. Gerald was far away, unable to take any steps, or -even to say much about Osy. She liked at that distance to have such a -man more or less belonging to her. The feeling of opposition had died -away. He had been fond of Osy, wanted to have him for his own—as who -would not wish to have her beautiful boy?—and what could be more -ingratiating to his mother than that sentiment, so long as it was -entertained by a man at Baghdad, who certainly could not take any steps -to steal the boy from his mother? Into this amicable, and even vaguely -pleased state of mind<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a>{181}</span> she had fallen—when suddenly, without any -warning, without even having seen him come round the corner, Gerald -Piercey stood before her eyes.</p> - -<p>Margaret went away from the window and sat down in the corner by the -fire, which was the corner most in the shade and safe from observation. -That her heart should beat so was absurd. What was Gerald Piercey to -her, or she to Gerald Piercey? He might make what propositions he -pleased, but he could not force her to give up her boy. At seven it was -ridiculous—out of the question! At seventeen it might be different, but -that was ten long years off. If this was what his object was, was not -her answer plain?</p> - -<p>He came in very gravely, not at all belligerent, though he looked round -with an air of criticism, remarking the smallness of the place, which -recalled to some extent Mrs. Osborne’s old feelings towards him. He had -no right to find the cottage small. She thought him looking old, worn, -and with care in his face. He, on the other hand, was astonished to see -her so young. The air of Chillfold, the tranquillity and freedom, had -been good for Margaret. The desert sun and wind had baked him black and -brown. The quiet of the cottage, the life of a child which she had been -living, had brought all her early roses back.</p> - -<p>“I have come,” he said, taking her hand in his, “on a sad errand.” And -then he paused and cried hurriedly, “What have you done to yourself? -Why, you are Meg Piercey again.”</p> - -<p>“Margaret Osborne at your service,” she said, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a>{182}</span> she had said before; -but with a very different feeling from that which had moved her on the -previous occasion: to be recognised with surprise as young and fair, is -a very different thing from being accused angrily of having lost your -freshness and your youth,—“but what is it, what is it?”</p> - -<p>“Uncle Giles is dying, Cousin Meg.”</p> - -<p>“Uncle Giles!” She drew her hand from him and dropped back into her -chair. For a moment she did not speak. “But I am not surprised,” she -said. “I looked for it: how could he go on living with nobody—not one -of his own?”</p> - -<p>“He might have had you. Poor old man! it is not the time to blame him.”</p> - -<p>“Me?” said Margaret. “I was not his child; nothing, and nobody, can make -up for the loss of what is your very own.”</p> - -<p>“Even when it is—Gervase Piercey?”</p> - -<p>“Poor Gervase!” said Margaret. “Oh, Gerald Piercey, you are a man with -whom things have always gone well. What does it matter what our children -are? they are our children all the same. And if it were nothing but to -think that it was Gervase—and what poor Gervase was.”</p> - -<p>Though she was perhaps a little incoherent, Gerald did not object. He -said: “At all events, I am very sorry for my poor old uncle. Mrs. -Gervase wrote to me to say that he was sinking fast, should I like to -come? and that she was writing to you in the same sense. I had only just -arrived when I got her letter,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a>{183}</span> and I thought that the best thing was to -come to you at once, in case you were going to see him.”</p> - -<p>“Of course, I should wish to go and see him; but I have had no letter. I -must see him if she will let me. Dear old Uncle Giles, he was always -good and fatherly to me.”</p> - -<p>“And yet he let you leave your home—for this.”</p> - -<p>“Cousin Gerald,” said Margaret, “don’t let us begin to quarrel again. -This is very well—it suits me perfectly—and I am very happy here. It -is my own. My dear old uncle was not strong enough to struggle in my -favour, but he was always kind. I must go to see him, whether she wishes -it or not.”</p> - -<p>“I have a carriage ready. I thought that would be your decision. We -shall get there before dark.”</p> - -<p>“We?” she said, startled; then added, almost with timidity, “you are -going——?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly I am going. You don’t, perhaps, think what this may be to me. -My father will be the head of the house——”</p> - -<p>“And you after him. I fully understand what it is to you,” she said.</p> - -<p>He gave her a singular look, which she did not at all understand, except -that it might mean that with this increased power and authority he would -have more to say about Osy. “And to you too,” he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a>{184}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI"></a>CHAPTER XLI.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Patty</span> received her two visitors without effusion, but with civility. Her -demeanour was very different from all they had known of her before. She -had been defiant and impertinent, anxious to offend and disgust, rather -than to attract, with the most anxious desire to get rid of both, and to -make them feel that they had no place nor standing in Greyshott. She -had, indeed, been so frightened lest she herself should be overthrown, -that all the “manners” in which Patty had been brought up deserted her, -and she behaved like the barmaid dressed in a little brief and stolen -authority, which they believed her to be. Indeed, the “manners” which -Patty had been taught chiefly consisted in the inculcation of extreme -respect to her “betters;” and her revolt from this, and conviction that -she had now no betters in the world, carried her further in the opposite -direction than if she had had no training at all. But in her calm tenure -of authority for nearly a year, Patty had learned many things. She had -learned that the mistress of a house does not need to stand upon her -authority, and that a right, acknowledged and evident,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a>{185}</span> does not require -to be loudly asserted. It might have been supposed, however, that a -certain awe of the heir-at-law—a humility more or less towards the man -to whom shortly she must cede her keys, her place, and all the rights -upon which she now stood, would have shown themselves in her. But this -was not at all the case. She was quite civil to Colonel Piercey, but she -treated him solely as a guest—her guest—without any relationship of -his own towards the house in which she received him. To Margaret she was -more friendly, but more careless in her civility. “I ordered them to get -ready for you the room you used to have. I thought you would probably -like that best,” she said. Colonel Piercey was lodged quite humbly in -one of the “bachelor’s rooms,” no special attention of any kind being -paid to him, which was a thing very surprising to him, though he could -scarcely have told why. To be aware that you are very near being the -head of the house, and to be treated as if you were a very ordinary and -distant relation, is startling in a house which is full of the presence -of death. That presence, when it brings with it no deep family sorrow, -brings a sombre business and activity, a sense of suppressed -preparations and watchfulness for the end, which is very painful to the -sensitive mind, even when moved by no special feeling. Waiting for an -old man to die, it is often difficult not to be impatient for that -event, as for any other event which involves long waiting. Patty went -about the house with this air of much business held back and suspended -until something should happen. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a>{186}</span> was called away to have interviews -with this person and that. She spoke of the “arrangements” she had to -attend to. “Would it not be better that Colonel Piercey should relieve -you of some part of the trouble?” said Margaret. “Oh, no; one should -always do one’s own business. Outsiders never understand,” said Patty, -with what would have been, had she been less dignified, a toss of her -head in her widow’s cap.</p> - -<p>Was Gerald Piercey an outsider in the house that must so soon be his -own? He had given Margaret to understand during their long drive that -his father would not change his home or his life, and that it was he, -Gerald, who would occupy Greyshott. I think Colonel Piercey was of -opinion that he had made something else clear, though it had not been -spoken of in words—namely, that there was but one mistress possible for -Greyshott in its new life; but Mrs. Osborne did not by any means clearly -understand him, having her mind preoccupied by the belief that his -feelings to her were not of an affectionate kind, and that his first -object was to deprive her of her child. She felt, however, that he was -kind—bewilderingly kind, and that there was something in him which -wanted explanation; but all the more, Margaret was anxious and disturbed -by this attitude of “outsider” attributed to him. If Gerald Piercey was -an outsider in Greyshott on the eve of his uncle’s death, to whom he was -natural heir, who else could have any right there? He did not remark -this, as was natural. He was not surprised that Patty should hold him at -arm’s length. It was quite to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a>{187}</span> expected that she should feel deeply -the mere fact that he was the heir. Poor girl! He wondered what -provision had been made for her—if any; and if there should be none, -promised himself that his father’s first act, as Sir Francis, should be -to set this right. He was, in fact, very sorry for Mrs. Patty, whose -ambitions and schemes had come to so summary an end. She should never -require to go back to the alehouse, but should be fitly provided for as -the wife of the once heir of Greyshott ought to be. He confided these -intentions to Margaret at the very moment when Mrs. Osborne’s mind was -full of Patty’s speech about the outsider. “You mean if Uncle Giles has -not done so already,” Margaret said.</p> - -<p>“It is very unlikely he should have done so. Of course there could be no -settlement; and who was there to point out to him that such a thing was -necessary?” Colonel Piercey was so strong in his conviction that -Margaret did not like to suggest even that Patty might herself have -pointed it out. But her own mind was full of vague suspicion and alarm. -An outsider! Gerald Piercey, the natural heir of the house?</p> - -<p>Late that night the two visitors were called to Sir Giles’ room. “He is -awake and seems to know everybody; I should like you to see him now,” -Patty said, going herself to Mrs. Osborne’s room to call her. Colonel -Piercey was walking up and down in the hall, with an air of examining -the old family pictures, which Patty had not thought it necessary to -meddle with, though she had removed those that had been in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a>{188}</span> library. -He was not really looking at them, except as accessories to the -scene—silent witnesses of the one that was passing away, and the other -that was about to come. Gerald Piercey had a deep sadness in his heart, -though he could not keep his thoughts from the new life that was before -him. The very warmth of the rising of that new life and all its hopes -made him feel all the more the deep disappointment and loss in which the -other was ending. Poor Gervase would never have been a fit -representative of the Pierceys, but as Margaret said, as she had always -said, he was his father’s son, and the object of all the hopes of the -old pair who had reigned so long in Greyshott. And now this branch was -cut off, their line ended, and the old tree falling that had flourished -so long. He wondered if it would really be any comfort to poor old Sir -Giles, dying alone in his desolate house, that there were still Pierceys -to come after him: the same blood and race, though not drawn from his -source. It seemed questionable how far he would be comforted by this; -perhaps not at all, perhaps rather embittered by the fact that it was a -cousin’s son and not his own, who should now be the head of the house.</p> - -<p>“Come now, come now,” cried Patty eagerly, “as long as he is so -conscious and awake. He sleeps most of his time, and it’s quite a -chance—quite a chance. I want you to see with your own eyes that he’s -all himself, and has his faculties still.” She had an air of excitement -about her perhaps not quite appropriate to the moment, as if her nerves -were all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a>{189}</span> in motion, and she could scarcely keep her fingers still or -subdue the quiver in her head and over all her frame. She led the way -hurriedly, opening the doors one after another in an excited way, and -pushing into the sick room with a “Look, dear papa, who I’ve brought to -see you.” Sir Giles was sitting up in his bed, his large ashy face -turned towards the door, his dim sunken eyes looking out from fold upon -fold of heavy eyelid, his under-lip hanging as that of poor Gervase had -done. “Ah,” he stammered, “let ’em come in—to the light, my dear. I’m -not in a state—to see strangers; but to please you—my dear.”</p> - -<p>“Uncle Giles,” said Margaret, with an exclamation of pain, “surely you -know me?”</p> - -<p>“Eh? let her stand—in the light—in the light; why, why, why—Meg: it’s -Meg,—that’s Meg.” She kissed him, and he made an effort to turn his -feeble head, and with his large moist lips he gave a tremulous kiss in -the air. “I’m—I’m glad to see you, Meg. You were the first to—tell -me—to tell me: I’ll be always grateful to you—for that.”</p> - -<p>“For what, dear uncle? It is I who owe everything to you. Oh, Uncle -Giles, if I could only tell you how much and how often I think of it! -you were always kind, always kind; and dear Aunt Piercey; you gave me my -home, the only home I ever had.”</p> - -<p>“Eh! eh! What is she saying, my dear? You’ll—you’ll look after -Meg—never let her come to want. She was the first to tell me. The -greatest news that has come—to Greyshott. You remember, Meg—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a>{190}</span> Osy, -bless him, how he cheered! There’s—there’s something for Osy. He -cheered like a little trump, and he gave—he gave my boy his only -wedding present, the—the only one. Dunning, where is my purse? Osy must -have a tip—two tips for that.”</p> - -<p>“Dear papa,” cried Patty, “don’t disturb yourself; oh, don’t disturb -yourself! I’ll see to it.”</p> - -<p>“My—my purse, Dunning!” The purse was procured while they all stood by, -and the old man fumbling, got with difficulty, one after another, two -sovereigns, which fell out of his trembling fingers upon the bed. “One -for—for cheering; and one for—for the other thing. Give ’em to Osy, -Meg, bless him; and my blessing. When It comes and all’s right, that’ll -be a friend for Osy—always a friend, better than an old man.”</p> - -<p>“Dear papa,” cried Patty, pushing forward again, “here is some one else -to see you—Colonel Piercey, dear, don’t you remember? Colonel -Piercey—Gerald—that once paid you a long visit; I know you’ll remember -if you try. Here,” she said, seizing his arm, pulling him forward, -“stand in the light that he may see you.”</p> - -<p>She was vibrating with excitement like a creature on wires. The touch of -her hand on Gerald’s arm was like an electric cord; and to be pushed -forward thus, and accounted for as if he had been an absolute stranger, -to be brought with difficulty to the mind of the dying man, was to -Gerald Piercey, as may well be supposed, an insupportable sensation. He -drew<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a>{191}</span> back, saying hastily, “I cannot disturb him. I will not have him -disturbed for me—let him alone, let him alone.”</p> - -<p>“Eh? what? who’s that? somebody else? Gerald?” said Sir Giles. He held -out his hand vaguely into the air, not seeing where his attention was -called, the large old limp grey hand, with so little volition or power -left in it. “Ah, Gerald, come to see the end of the old man? that’s -kind! that’s kind! My poor wife and I used to think if our first boy had -lived, don’t you know, he might have been a man like you. Well, Gerald, -I’ve nothing to give you, but my blessing—but my blessing. You won’t -mind if your nose is put out of joint, you know, as the old folks say. -And you’ll stand by It, Gerald, a—a good fellow like you.”</p> - -<p>“Dear papa, I think they’ll go now; it’s late, and you ought to go to -sleep.”</p> - -<p>“Not yet,” said Sir Giles, who had fallen into the old strain of faint -sobbing and laughing; “plenty—plenty of time for sleep. Thousands of -years, don’t you know, till it’s all—all over. Where are they? eh, Meg. -I scarcely see you; eh!” he kissed the air again with his hanging, -lifeless lips, “good-night; and t’other man. Gerald, be kind to her, my -boy; a good girl, Meg, a good girl. She’s been married, which some might -think a drawback; but if you’re fond of her, and she’s fond of you. Eh, -Dunning? well I’m not tired, not tired a bit—let him be the god-father, -my dear; and good-night to you, good-night to you—all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a>{192}</span>”</p> - -<p>He died in the night.</p> - -<p>The third funeral within a year from Greyshott! What a melancholy record -was that—father and mother, and the only child! Sir Giles was the only -one of the three who could be said to have been beloved. His wife had -always been an imperious woman, his son had been a fool; but the old man -was full of gentleness and kindness, and had been a model country -gentleman in his day, known to everybody, and always genial to rich and -poor. Once more the avenue was full of carriages, and the house of -mourners, and there were some tears, and many kind recollections, and a -great deal of talk about him as they carried him away. “It will be a -long time before we see the like of him again,” the country folk and -tenants said, while the gentlemen of the county congratulated themselves -that the old name was not to be extinct nor the land transferred to -other hands. The new baronet was not there; he was also an old man, and -not fond of much movement, but Colonel Piercey was his representative, -and an excellent representative, a man of whom the whole district might -be proud. He was looked to by every one, pointed out to those who did -not know him, and surrounded by a subtle atmosphere of suspended -congratulation and welcome, notwithstanding the universal grief for Sir -Giles. The old man’s dying words had not made a very deep impression on -Colonel Piercey, except those which concerned Margaret. He had not -understood the allusions, nor indeed thought of them, save as the -wanderings of weakness. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a>{193}</span> seemed all of a piece to him—the thought -that Sir Giles’ firstborn, the boy dead some thirty years ago, might -have grown such a man as he, and his nose being put out of joint, and -the petition that he should be good to some one, and stand by it. All -these wild and wandering words Gerald Piercey put out of his head as -meaning nothing. It was, perhaps, the “first boy,” whom he had never -heard of before, whom he was to be good to, yet who would put his nose -out of joint. It was all a muddle, and Gerald did not attempt to grope -his way through it. He was deeply impressed and touched by the image of -the old man dying; but he had no doubt as to his own prospects, and -thought of no disaster. How could there be any doubt? If there had been -a new will made since the death of Gervase, no doubt the estate had been -charged with an adequate provision for Gervase’s wife; if there had been -no will made, his father and he, as the next-of-kin and heir-at-law, -would of course take that into their own hands, and secure it at once. -Beyond this and the natural legacies, Gerald suspected no new thing.</p> - -<p>Margaret, on the other hand, had been deeply alarmed and startled by -what she heard. She did not remember what she had said on the occasion -to which her uncle referred, but she remembered his outburst of -cheering, and Osy, with his legs wide apart and his hat waving in his -hand, giving forth his hip, hip, hurrah. Was it possible that the old -man had made out to himself some fiction of what might be going to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a>{194}</span> -happen, some illusion which buoyed him up with false hopes? Was it -possible that Patty——? Margaret did not know what to think. She would -fain have confided her alarm to Gerald, and taken counsel with him; but -those other words of Sir Giles had been too broadly significant, and he -was the last person in the world to whom she could talk on any subject -that would recall them. She had avoided Gerald, indeed, since that -scene, and it had not been referred to again between them. But her mind -was full of perplexity and doubt. The bearing of Patty (always <i>digne</i>, -always just what a daughter-in-law’s chastened grief should be,—not too -demonstrative), so confident, so authoritative, so determined to do -everything herself, without assistance from an “outsider,” increased -this sensation of alarm and uncertainty in Margaret’s mind. She did not -know in the least what was coming. But it seemed to her certain that -something was coming which was not in the course of nature, or according -to the common expectation. Her mind grew more and more confused, yet -more and more certain of this as the crisis approached; for Patty never -had been so independent, so confident, so sure of being the head of -everything, as on the funeral day.</p> - -<p>Yet Patty had her troubles, too, which she had to bear alone, and -without any aid at this crisis of her career. Miss Hewitt, whose -indignation at her reception on her first visit had been so great that -she had made a vow never to see her ungrateful niece again, had, by the -time that Sir Giles’ dangerous condition had become<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a>{195}</span> publicly known, got -over her fury. She had been paid her fifty pounds, and she had begun to -believe in Patty’s continued success and in her cleverness and power. -There had been a pause of alarm in the family after the death of -Gervase, when they had all feared (little knowing her spirit) that Patty -would be sent back on their hands. But when that alarm was well over and -Patty was found to hold her own, the admiration of her relations was -doubled. Her father was the first to claim a renewal of friendship; but -his reception was so alarming, and his daughter poured forth upon his -head such torrents of wrath, telling him that, but for the exposure of -family affairs, she would have him tried for manslaughter, that the -landlord of the Seven Thorns slunk off completely cowed and without a -word to say. This added to Miss Hewitt’s regard for her brave and -victorious niece, who feared no one, and she had in the meantime made -many attempts to obtain a footing at Greyshott. Partly to impress still -more sensibly upon her father her utter and unchangeable hostility, and -partly because some one to speak to became a necessity, Patty had -admitted her aunt on various occasions; and now Miss Hewitt demanded, -with a persistence which all Patty’s spare moments had been spent in -resisting, first an interview with Sir Giles, and then a place in the -carriage which conveyed her niece to his funeral. Patty had not yielded -in respect to the first, but in the extreme state of mental excitement -in which she was, her resolution gave way before the second prayer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a>{196}</span> It -had not been her intention to “mix herself up with any of the Hewitts,” -but in face of the scene which she anticipated at the reading of the -will, it gradually came to appear more and more desirable to her to have -some one to stand by her, some one to be dazzled by her position and -good fortune, and to take her part whatever opposition she might meet -with. Patty did not know what might happen at the reading of the will. -She had a prevision, but not even now any absolute certainty, what the -will was. And if it were as she believed, she did not know what powers -might be brought into action against her, or what might be done. She -decided at last that to have her aunt, who at bottom was a thoroughly -congenial spirit, to defend and stand by her, would be an advantage. And -this was how it was that Miss Hewitt attained the lugubrious triumph of -her life, the satisfaction of following her former lover in his old -carriage, his wife’s carriage, whom she considered her triumphant rival, -to his grave.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a>{197}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLII" id="CHAPTER_XLII"></a>CHAPTER XLII.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a strange triumph, and yet it was one. Miss Hewitt closely -followed her niece, once more wrapt in a new extravagance of crape; and -these ladies had the satisfaction of seeing Mrs. Osborne quietly take -her place opposite to them on the front seat of the carriage. This gave -both to Patty and her aunt an acute sensation of pleasure, which would -have been greater, however, had the victim seemed in any way conscious -of it. But Margaret was full of many thoughts, recollections, and -anticipations. She, too, looked forward to the disclosure of her uncle’s -will with a curiosity and anxiety which had nothing to do with any -expectations of her own. She had put away the two sovereigns so -tremulously extracted from his purse by the dying man with a half smile -and a tear. That, she concluded, was all that Osy would ever have from -his great-uncle, who might so easily have made a provision for the boy. -She had never expected it, she said to herself, but that was a different -thing from this certainty that it never would be; still there was a -tender familiarity about the “tip” for the child which went to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a>{198}</span> -Margaret’s heart. Poor old uncle! If he had been left to himself, if he -had been able to think, he would have acted differently. She put away -the two pieces of money for Osy without any grudge, with a tender -thought of the old man who had been as good as a father to her all her -life. And now was this the end of Greyshott so far as she was concerned? -or was there a strange something looming out of the clouds, another life -of which she would not think, which she could not understand, to which -she did not consent? She put all thought out of her mind of anything -that concerned herself, or tried her best to do so—but the family was -dear to her still. Was there any plot threatening the name, the race, -the old, old dwelling of the Pierceys? There was a subdued triumph in -Patty’s look, a confidence in her voice and step, and the authoritative -orders she gave, which did not look like a woman who after to-day would -have no real authority in Sir Francis Pierce’s house. She could not -imagine what it could mean; but the advent of the elder woman, also in -crape, and full of ostentatious sympathy and regret, strengthened all -her apprehensions, though she did not know of what she was afraid.</p> - -<p>One or two of the oldest friends remained for the reading of the will. -It was felt on all sides that the grief which attended Sir Giles to his -tomb was of a modified kind. No one except Mrs. Osborne could be -supposed to regard the old gentleman with filial love or sorrow, and the -party which assembled round<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a>{199}</span> the luncheon table was serious, but put on -no affectation of woe. Patty took her place at the head of the table -with a quiet assurance to which nobody objected. She had too much sense -to talk of “dear papa” before all these people, and if she showed the -composure of an authorised and permanent mistress of the house, it was -probably because she had been accustomed to do so. Lord Hartmore, if his -sympathies were not so much aroused as on the day of Gervase’s funeral, -still retained a sort of partisan feeling for the young widow. She was -his <i>protégée</i>. His wife had not fallen in with his views, except in the -most moderate way, merely to honour the promise he had made for her. -Lady Hartmore did not attempt to improve her acquaintance with Patty. -She was quite at her ease at the other end of the table by the side of -Colonel Piercey, who now was <i>de facto</i>, in her assured belief, the -master of the house. Margaret was not present at the luncheon, and Miss -Hewitt, who was elated beyond expression by finding herself seated among -all the great people, on the other side of Lord Hartmore, felt herself -the principal person at table, and demeaned herself accordingly. “To -think,” she said, “my lord, that I should find myself ’ere on such an -occasion; me that once thought to be the mistress; but oh! the ideas of -the young is different from what comes to pass in life. ’Im as we have -laid in his grave, dear gentleman, was once—— Well, Patty, love, as -you say, this ain’t a time to talk of such things. Still, it do come -upon me sitting at ’is table, and ’im<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a>{200}</span> not ’ere to bid me welcome. But -it’s a mournful satisfaction to see the last of ’im all the same.”</p> - -<p>“Aunt was an old friend of my dear father-in-law,” Patty explained, -curtly. “I believe, Lord Hartmore, that you know more of Margaret -Osborne than I do. Margaret Osborne has not shown very much sympathy to -me, and all this winter I have never been able to get out for such a -purpose as making calls. I couldn’t have taken a three hours’ drive to -be away so long, not if it had been a matter of life and death. That -means almost a whole day, and dear Sir Giles never liked to let me out -of his sight.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, ’e always knew them that were really fond of ’im,” said Miss -Hewitt. “You couldn’t blind ’im, my lord, with pretences. I was kep’ -back by my family, and thoughts of what the world might say; but ’e knew -that Patty was the same stuff like, and ’e took to her the double of -what ’e would have done on that account. Oh, your lordship, what a man -’e was! You’re too young to remember ’im at ’is best: ’andsome is as -’andsome does, folk say—but a gentleman like ’im can’t always act as ’e -would like to. You must know that from yourself, my lord. Sometimes the -’eart don’t go where the ’and ’as to be given.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that is certainly sometimes the case,” said Lord Hartmore, with a -subdued laugh, “though I don’t think I know it by myself.”</p> - -<p>“Aunt’s so full of her old times,” cried Patty. “If there was anything -that was ever wanted for the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a>{201}</span> Osborne boy, Lord Hartmore, I -should always be pleased to help. He got too much for my dear -father-in-law latterly, being noisy, and such a spoiled little thing; -but he was fond of him, and spoke of him at the very last.” “I can never -forget that,” said Patty, putting her handkerchief lightly to her eyes. -“And if there should be need of a little help for his education, or -setting him out in life—but I should have a delicacy in saying so to -Margaret Osborne, unless you’d be so good as to do it for me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you’re very kind, Mrs. Piercey,” said Lord Hartmore, confused. “Our -dear Meg is rather a formidable person to approach with such a -proposal.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, isn’t she formidable?” cried Patty, eagerly. “That’s just the -word; one is frightened to offer to do her a good turn.”</p> - -<p>“Let us hope,” said Lord Hartmore, “that her good uncle has left her -beyond the need of help.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Patty, with a very serious face.</p> - -<p>“I feel sure of it,” said Lord Hartmore, with genial confidence. “He was -far too good a man, and too kind an uncle. Mrs. Piercey, I see my friend -Gerald looking this way, and Mr. Pownceby wriggling in his chair, as -if——” He made a slight movement as if to rise—which perhaps was not -the highest breeding in Lord Hartmore; but it was very slight and -accompanied by a look of deference, suggesting a signal on her part.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Gerald Piercey is not master here, nor is Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a>{202}</span> Pownceby,” said -Patty, with dignity. “They may look as they please, but in my own house -it’s my part to say when people are to leave the table.”</p> - -<p>“She do have a spirit, Patty does,” Miss Hewitt murmured under her -breath.</p> - -<p>Lord Hartmore settled himself in his chair again, abashed. “I beg your -pardon,” he said; and then, in a subdued tone, “Most likely Pownceby has -a train to catch.”</p> - -<p>“In that case I don’t mind stretching a point,” said the lady of the -house, “though Mr. Pownceby is no more than a hired servant paid for his -time, and it is no business of his to interfere.”</p> - -<p>A hired servant! Old Pownceby, who had all the secrets of the county in -his hands, and most of its business! Lord Hartmore grew pale with awe at -this daring speech. He looked straight before him, not to see the -signals of his wife telegraphing to him from Gerald Piercey’s side. -“I’ll have nothing to do with it,” he said to himself; and, indeed, in -his consternation, Lord Hartmore was the last to get up when the -movement of the chairs convinced him that Mrs. Piercey had condescended -to move. He offered that lady his arm humbly, on an indication from her -that this was expected. “I suppose we shall see Mrs. Osborne in the -library?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Margaret! I suppose she’d better be there for form’s sake, though I -don’t suppose it matters much. Aunt, will you tell Margaret Osborne to -come directly, please? I have never,” said Patty, with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a>{203}</span> smile, “got -into the way of calling her Meg, as you all do.”</p> - -<p>Lord Hartmore could scarcely dissimulate the little start of -consternation with which he heard this. The forlorn young widow, for -whom he had been so sorry, was appearing in a new light; but, of course, -it was only her ignorance, he said to himself. The party had all -assembled in the library when the voice of Miss Hewitt was heard outside -calling to some one who seemed to be following: “This way, -Margaret—this way. They’re all in the library. I don’t know the ’ouse -so well as I might, but this is the way. Come along please, quick, and -don’t keep the company waiting,” Miss Hewitt said.</p> - -<p>Gerald Piercey started forward to open the door, for which Miss Hewitt -rewarded him with an “Oh! thank you, but I’m quite at ’ome, quite at -’ome.” Margaret came in in the wake of that bustling figure, pale, and -with an air of suspense. “Was it necessary to send for me in that way?” -she said to Gerald. He had placed a chair for her beside Lady Hartmore. -“Oh, Heaven knows what is necessary!” said that lady. “You know the -proverb about beggars on horseback.” She was not so careful to subdue -her voice as she might have been, but in the commotion it was not -observed. Gerald Piercey stood with his hand on the back of his cousin’s -chair. They were the family, the only persons present of the Piercey -blood. The old friends of the house stood near them. At the upper end of -the room were Patty and her aunt. Mr. Pownce<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a>{204}</span>by stood in front of the -large fireplace with a paper in his hand.</p> - -<p>“I must explain,” he said, “how the will I have to read is so very -succinct a document. Sir Giles had made his will like other men, and as -there was a good deal to leave, there were a number of bequests. The -late Mr. Gervase Piercey was, of course, the heir, under trustees, as he -was not much—acquainted with business. Sir Giles thought fit to change -this, as was to be expected, after his son’s death. He sent for me -hastily one day, and gave me instructions which surprised me. I begged -him to allow me to take these back with me in order that the new will -should be properly written out, proposing to come back next day to -execute it, and, in short, hoping that he might reconsider the matter; -but he would hear of no delay. This document I will now read.”</p> - -<p>Gerald Piercey stood quite undisturbed, with his hand on the back of -Margaret’s chair. He was not anxious. It had not occurred to him that -the house of his fathers could be alienated from him, and short of that, -his poor old uncle’s wishes would, he sincerely felt, be sacred whatever -they were. He was glad to hear that there was a new will made, which, no -doubt, provided for Mrs. Piercey; and waited with an easy mind to hear -what it was. As for Margaret, the event about to happen began to dawn -clearly upon her. She saw it in Patty’s eyes, in her pose, sitting up -defiant in Lady Piercey’s chair. She looked up at her cousin with an -eager desire to warn him, to support<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a>{205}</span> him, but was daunted by the calm -of his look, fearing no evil. “Gerald, Gerald,” she said, instinctively. -The lines of his face melted suddenly; he looked down upon her with an -encouraging, protecting smile, and took her hand for a moment, saying -“Meg!” and no more. He thought she was appealing to him for his care and -protection in face of a probable disappointment to herself.</p> - -<p>Mr. Pownceby cleared his throat and waved his hand. He ran over the -exordium, name, and formula, of sound mind, etc., etc., to which -everybody listened impatiently, “do give and bequeath the whole of my -estates, property, real and personal, etc., to——” here he paused a -little, as if his own throat were dry—“Patience Piercey, my -daughter-in-law, and companion for the last six months, to be at her -entire disposal as it may be best for the interests of the family, and -in remainder to her child. This I do, believing it to be best for -meeting all difficulties, and in view of any contingency that might -arise.</p> - -<p>“Signed, Giles Piercey,” added the lawyer, “and dated Greyshott, 16th -June, just a fortnight ago.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause. Even now it did not seem to have struck Colonel -Piercey what it meant. He listened with a half smile. “And——?” he -said, waiting as if for more.</p> - -<p>“That is all, Colonel Piercey, every word. The house, estates, money, -everything. Even the servants are cut out. He said she’d look after -them. Mrs. Piercey takes everything—house, lands, money, plate,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a>{206}</span> -everything. It is a very unusual and surprising will, but that is all.”</p> - -<p>And then there was another pause, and a general deep-drawn breath.</p> - -<p>“It is a very surprising will indeed,” said Lord Hartmore.</p> - -<p>It was a sort of remark to himself, forced from him by the astonishment -of the moment; but in the silence of the room it sounded as if addressed -like an oration to all who were there.</p> - -<p>“Pardon me,” cried Colonel Piercey, “but Greyshott? Do you mean that -Greyshott, the original home of the family——?”</p> - -<p>“I represented that to Sir Giles, but he would hear nothing. It is Mrs. -Piercey’s with all the rest.”</p> - -<p>“It is the most iniquitous thing I ever heard,” cried Lady Hartmore, -rising quickly to her feet. “What! not a word of anybody belonging to -him, nothing of Meg and her boy, nothing of his natural heirs, nothing -of old Dunning even, and the old servants?—The man must have been mad.”</p> - -<p>Here Patty rose and advanced to the conflict. She was very nervous, but -collected. “Mr. Pownceby can bear me witness that I knew nothing about -it,” she said. “I wasn’t there.”</p> - -<p>“No, you were not there,” said the lawyer.</p> - -<p>“I thought it right I should have a provision,” said Patty, “and so it -was right; and if my dear father-in-law thought that the one that stood -by him, and nursed him through all his illness, when everybody else -for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a>{207}</span>sook him, was the one that ought to have it, who’s got anything to -say against that? I didn’t want it; but now that I’ve got it, I’ll stick -to it,” cried Patty defiantly, confronting Lady Hartmore, who had been -the only one to speak.</p> - -<p>“I have no doubt of it,” cried that lady, “but if I were Colonel -Piercey, I shouldn’t stand it; no, not for a moment! Why, the old man -was in his dotage, no more equal to making a will than—— than his son -would have been.”</p> - -<p>“Mary!” cried her husband in dismay.</p> - -<p>“Well!” said Lady Hartmore, suddenly brought to herself by the -consciousness of having said more than she ought to have said, “I am -glad, I am quite glad, Hartmore, for one thing, that you’ll now see -things in their proper light.”</p> - -<p>“And a very just will, too,” cried Miss Hewitt, coming to her niece’s -side,—“just like ’im, as was a very right-thinking man. Patty was an -angel to ’im, that she was, night and day. And it is nothing but what -was to be expected, that ’e should give ’er all as ’e had to give. And -not too much, neither, to the only one as nursed ’im, and did for ’im, -and gave up everything. Oh! I always said it—’e was a right-thinking -man.”</p> - -<p>Colonel Piercey said nothing after that exclamation of “Greyshott!” but -he retired with the lawyer into a corner as soon as the spell of -consternation was broken by the sudden sound of these passionate voices. -He had seized Margaret by the arm and drawn her with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a>{208}</span> him. “We are the -representatives of the family,” he said, hurriedly; and Mrs. Osborne was -too much startled (though she had foreseen it), too sympathetic, and too -much excited, to object to the manner in which he had drawn her hand -within his arm. “Our interests are the same,” he said, briefly, with a -hurried nod to Mr. Pownceby; and they stood talking for some minutes, -while a wonderful interchange of artillery went on behind. This was -concluded by a sudden clear sound of Patty’s voice in the air, ringing -with passion and mastery. “I believe,” she said, “Lord Hartmore’s -carriage is at the door.” And then there arose a laugh of sharp anger -from the other side. “We are turned out,” cried Lady Hartmore, “turned -out of Greyshott, where we were familiar before that chit was born.” It -was a little like scolding, but it was the voice of nature all the same.</p> - -<p>“And I think,” said Colonel Piercey, “Meg, that you and I had better go, -too.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, as you please!” cried Patty; “Meg can stay if she likes, and I’ve -already said I shouldn’t mind giving any reasonable help to educate the -little boy. And as for you, Gerald Piercey, you can do what you like, -and I can see you are bursting with envy. You can’t touch me!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a>{209}</span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIII" id="CHAPTER_XLIII"></a>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was thus in wrath and in consternation that the party dispersed. -Patty stood in the hall, flushed and fierce, with defiance in every -look, supported by her aunt, who stood behind her, and gave vent from -time to time to murmurs of sympathy and snorts of indignation. Patty had -almost forgotten, in her mingled triumph and rage, the anxiously -chastened demeanour which she had of late imposed upon herself. She was -a great deal more like Patty of the Seven Thorns than she had ever been -since her marriage. The opposition and scorn of Lady Hartmore had -awakened all her combative tendencies, and made her for the moment -careless of consequences. What did she care for those big wigs who -looked down upon her? Was she not as good as any of them, herself a -county magnate, the lady of Greyshott? better than they were! For the -Hartmores were not so rich as comported with their dignity; and Patty -was now rich, to her own idea enormously rich, and as great a lady as -any in England. Was she not Mrs. Piercey of Greyshott, owning no -superior anywhere? It<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a>{210}</span> is curious that this conviction should have swept -away for the moment all her precautions of behaviour, and restored her -to the native level of the country barmaid, as ready to scold as any -fishwife, to defy every rule of respect or even politeness. She waited -to see Lady Hartmore to the door, having swept out of the room before -that astonished lady with a bosom bursting with rage. Truth to tell, -Lady Hartmore was much disposed to fight, too. She would have liked, -above all things, to give the little upstart what humbler persons call a -piece of her mind. Her pulses, too, were beating high, and a flood of -words were pressing to her lips. It was intolerable to her to accept the -insult to herself and the wrong to her friends without saying -anything—without laying the offender low under the tempest of her -wrath. As for Lord Hartmore, it must be owned that he was frightened, -and only anxious to get his wife away. He held her arm tightly in his, -and gave it an additional pressure as he led her past the fierce little -adversary who, no doubt, had a greater command of appropriate language -than even Lady Hartmore had, whose style was probably less trenchant, -though more refined. “Now, Mary, now, my dear,” he said soothingly. The -sight of the carriage at the door was delightful to him as a safe port -to a sailor. And though the first thing Lady Hartmore did when safely -ensconced in her corner, was to turn upon him the flood of her -suppressed wrath with a “So this is your interesting little widow, -Hartmore!” he was too glad to get away from the sphere of combat to -attempt any<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211"></a>{211}</span> self-defence. He, too, was saying “the little demon!” under -his breath.</p> - -<p>Patty still stood there, when Margaret, who had hastily collected the -few things she had brought with her, came down to join Colonel Piercey -in the hall. He had been standing, as he had been on a previous -occasion, carefully examining one of the old portraits. It was not a -very interesting portrait, nor was he, I suppose, specially interested -in it; but his figure, wrapt in silence and abstraction, made a curious -contrast to that of Patty, thrilling with fire and movement. It was -evident that she could not long restrain herself, and when Margaret -appeared coming down the great stairs, the torrent burst forth.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you are there, Meg Osborne: I wonder you didn’t go with your great -friends, the first people in the county, as you all think, insulting me -in my own house! Ah, and I’ll teach you all it’s my own house! I won’t -have nobody here turning their backs to me, or going out and in of my -place without as much as a thank you! You’re studying my pictures, -Colonel Piercey, are you? They’re my pictures, they’re not yours; and -I’ll have you to know that nobody sha’n’t even look at them without my -consent.”</p> - -<p>Colonel Piercey turned round, almost angry with himself for the fury he -felt. “I beg your pardon,” he said, very gravely, yet with a sort of -smile.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you beg my pardon! and you laugh as if it were a joke! I can tell -you it’s no joke. They’re all mine, willed by him as knew best who he -wanted<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212"></a>{212}</span> them to go to; and I’ll keep them, that I will, against all the -beggarly kinsfolk in the world; coming here a-looking as soon as the old -man’s in his grave for what they can devour!”</p> - -<p>“Are you ready, Margaret?” Colonel Piercey said.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you turn it off to her, sir: speak to me! It’s me that has to be -considered first. You are going off mighty high: no civility to the head -of the house, though I’ve taken you in and given you lodging in my -house, at least Meg there, near a week? Oh, you laugh again, do you? And -who is the head of the house if it’s not me? I’m Mrs. Piercey of -Greyshott. The pictures are mine, and the name’s mine, as well as -everything else; and you are nothing but the son of the younger brother, -and not got as much to do with it as Pownceby there, the lawyer.”</p> - -<p>“My dear Mrs. Piercey,” said Mr. Pownceby, “however much you may despise -Pownceby the lawyer, he knows a little more on that subject than you do: -a lady is rarely, if ever, the head of a house, and certainly never one -who belongs to the family only by marriage. One word, if you please: -Colonel Piercey’s father, now Sir Francis Piercey, is the undoubted head -of the house.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you’ll say anything, of course, to back them up; you think they’re -your only friends and will pay you best. But you’ll find that’s a -mistake, Mr. Pownceby the lawyer, just as they’ll find it’s a mistake. -What do you want here, Dunning? What business has servants, except my -footman to open the door, here?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213"></a>{213}</span> You’ve been a deal too much petted in -your time, and you’ll find out the difference now.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Pownceby, sir,” said Dunning, who had suddenly appeared on the -scene, exceedingly dark and lowering, “Is it true, sir, what I hear, -that none of us old servants, not me, sir, that looked after him night -and day, is named in my old master’s will?”</p> - -<p>“I am sorry to say it is quite true, Dunning,” Mr. Pownceby said; “but I -don’t doubt that Mrs. Piercey will remember your long service, as Sir -Giles wished her to do.”</p> - -<p>“How do you know what Sir Giles wished? I know best what Sir Giles said -I was to do,” cried Patty. “As for long service, yes, if holding on like -grim death and taking as little trouble as possible is what you mean.”</p> - -<p>“Me take little trouble!” cried Dunning, foaming. “I’ve not had a -night’s rest, not an unbroken night, since Lady Piercey died—not one. -Oh, I knowed how it would be! when she come about him, flattering him -and slavering him, and the poor dear old gentleman thought it was good -for Mr. Gervase; and then after, didn’t she put it upon him as she was -in the family-way, and she never was in the family-way, no more than I -was. Hoh! ask the women! Hoh! look at her where she stands! He thought -as there was an heir coming, and there ain’t no more of an heir coming -than——”</p> - -<p>“Let us go, please, let us go,” cried Margaret, in distress. “Cousin -Gerald, Mr. Pownceby, we have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214"></a>{214}</span> nothing, nothing surely, to do with this. -Oh, let us get away.”</p> - -<p>“Put that fellow out of my house!” cried Patty, “put him out of my -house! You’re a nice gentleman, Gerald Piercey, to stand there and -encourage a man like that to insult a lady. Robert, take that man by the -shoulders and put him out.”</p> - -<p>“He had just best try,” said Dunning, squaring his shoulders. But -Robert, who was young and slim, knew better than to try. He stood -sheepishly fumbling by the door, opening it for the party who were going -out. Dunning was not an adversary to be lightly encountered. Colonel -Piercey, however, not insensible to the appeal made to him, laid his -hand on Dunning’s shoulder.</p> - -<p>“This lady is right,” he said; “we must not insult a woman, Dunning. You -had better come with us in the meantime. It will do you no good to stay -here.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, go with them and plot, do,” cried Patty; “I knew that’s how it -would end. He knows I can expose him and all his ways—neglecting my -dear old father-in-law; he knows he’ll never get another place if people -hear what I’ve got to say of him! Oh, yes, go with ’em, do! They thought -they were to have it all their own way, and turn me out. But all of you, -every one, will just learn the difference. If he had behaved like a -gentleman and her like a lady, I might have given them their old rubbish -of pictures. I don’t care for that trash; they’re no ornament to the -place. I intend to have them all taken down and carted off to the first -auction there is anywhere. I don’t believe the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215"></a>{215}</span>y’d bring above a few -shillings; but all the same they are mine, and I’ll have no strangers -meddling with them,” Patty cried. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Aunt -Patience, hold your tongue, and let me manage my affairs myself.”</p> - -<p>“The only thing is just this, ladies and gentlemen,” said Miss Hewitt. -“She’s got put out, poor thing, and I don’t wonder, seeing all as she’s -’ad to do; but she don’t mean more than a bit of temper, and she’ll soon -come round if you’ll have a little patience. This is the gentleman that -come to me, and that I first told as my niece was married to Gervase -Piercey, and no mistake. ’E is a very civil gentleman, Patty, and, Lord, -why should you go and make enemies of ’im and of this lady, as I should -say was a-going to be ’<i>is</i> good lady, and both belonging to the family! -Nor I would not go and make an enemy of Mr. Pownceby, as ’as all the -family papers in his ’ands and knows a deal, and could be of such use to -you. I’d ask them all to stay, if I was you, to a nice bit of family -dinner, and talk things over. What <i>is</i> the good of making enemies when -being friends would be so much more use to you?” said Miss Hewitt, with -triumphant logic. But Patty, who had heard with impatience and many -attempts to interrupt, turned away before her oration was over, and, -turning her back upon her recent guests, walked away as majestically as -was possible, with her long train sweeping over the carpet, to the -drawing-room, where she shut herself in, slamming the door. Miss Hewitt -threw up her hands and eyes. “Tha<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216"></a>{216}</span>t’s just ’er,” she cried, “just ’er! -Thinks of nothing when ’er temper’s up; but I ’ope you won’t think -nothing of it neither. She’ll be as good friends in a hour as if nothing -had ’appened; and I’ll go and give her a good talking to,” the aunt -said.</p> - -<p>When Miss Hewitt reached the drawing-room she found Patty thrown upon -the sofa in the second stage of her passion, which was, naturally, -tears. But these paroxysms did not last long. “I let you talk, Aunt -Patience,” she said. “It pleased you, and it looked well enough. But I -know my affairs better than you. Enemies! of course they’re all my -enemies, and I don’t blame them. What I said I said on purpose, not in a -temper. I had them here on purpose to see the old gentleman before he -died, so that they might know for themselves that he was in his right -mind, and all that; and old Pownceby knows; and I wanted to show them -that I wasn’t afraid of them, not a bit. However, that’s all over, and -you needn’t trouble your head about it. I have a deal to do before the -trial——”</p> - -<p>“The trial!” said Miss Hewitt, in consternation. “Is there going to be a -trial?”</p> - -<p>“Of course there will be a trial. They won’t let Greyshott go without a -try for it, and you’ll see me in all the papers, and the whole story, -and I don’t know that there’s anything to be ashamed of. The thing I’ve -got to find out now is who to have for my lawyers. I want to have the -best—the very best; and some one that will make it all into a story, -and tell all I did for the poor old man. I was good to him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217"></a>{217}</span>” said -Patty, with an admiration of herself which was very genuine—“I was -indeed. Many a time I’ve wanted to get a little pleasure like other -folks—to enjoy myself a bit. Oh, there was one night! when Roger -Pearson was here and had been at a dance, and I knew all the girls were -at it, and all as jolly as——, and me cooped up, playing backgammon -with the old gentleman, and—and worse beside.”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord, Patty!” cried Miss Hewitt. “Roger Pearson! where ever did -you see Roger Pearson? I thought <i>that</i> was all over and done with!”</p> - -<p>“What did you please to mean by that remark?” said Patty, with great -dignity. “It doesn’t matter where I saw him. I did see him; and there’s -not many girls would have gone on with the backgammon and—the rest, as -I did, just that night. Aunt Patience, you may know a few things, but -you don’t know the trials of a married woman.”</p> - -<p>“The trials!” said Miss Hewitt. “I’ve known a many that have boasted of -the advantage it was. But trials—no. You’ll be very willing, I -shouldn’t wonder, to have ’em again.”</p> - -<p>“That depends upon many things; but I think not,” said Patty.</p> - -<p>“You mightn’t be lucky the first time, and yet be lucky the second,” -said her aunt; “but it can’t be said to be unlucky, Patty, when it -leaves you here, not twenty-five yet, with this grand property all to -yourself. Lord! I thought you was lucky at the first, when you got ’im; -for I knew they couldn’t put ’im out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218"></a>{218}</span> ’is rights, Softy or no Softy; -but just think the luck you’ve had since; ’is mother dead afore you come -home, and that was a blessing, and then ’imself just a blessed release, -and then——”</p> - -<p>“I’ll thank you, Aunt Patience, not to speak of my husband in that way. -A release! Who’d have dared to say a word if Gervase had been here? Oh!” -she said, springing up from her seat, and stamping her foot upon the -carpet, “and here I am for ever and ever just what I am now, when I -would have been my lady all my life, and nobody to stop me, if he had -lived but six months more!”</p> - -<p>“Dear, and that’s true,” said Miss Hewitt deeply struck with the tragedy -of the event. “I do pity you, my pet! my poor darling! That’s true, -that’s true!”</p> - -<p>While this scene was going on in Greyshott, Gerald and Margaret were -jogging on towards Chillfold in their hired chaise. They had a great -deal to say, and yet there were long silences between them. Gerald was -more angry, Margaret more sad.</p> - -<p>“I should have minded nothing else,” the Colonel said, “if he had kept -the old house for us, the house that has produced us all—Greyshott, -that has never belonged but to a Piercey; and, Meg, if he had done -justice to you.”</p> - -<p>“There was no justice owing to me,” she said. “I left the house at my -own free will. I belong to another house and another name——”</p> - -<p>“That might have been true,” said Colonel Piercey, with something of his -old stiffness and severity, “if—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219"></a>{219}</span>—”</p> - -<p>“It is true,” she said, “I am of the family of my child.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” he cried, “what folly, at your age! I was angry to have lost you; -but now, I can’t tell how it is, you are Meg Piercey again.”</p> - -<p>“You have got used to my changed looks,” she said. “You have accepted -the fact that I am no longer in my teens. But this is not worth -discussing when there is so much more to think of. What shall you do? -or, indeed, what can you do?”</p> - -<p>“Fight it, certainly,” he said. “As soon as I have taken you home, I am -to meet old Pownceby, and lay the whole case before the best man we can -get. Thank Heaven, I am not without means to fight it out. Poor Uncle -Giles! It is hard to call him up to a reckoning before all the world; -but he could not have meant it; he could never have meant it.”</p> - -<p>“I have his little tip for Osy,” said Margaret, with tears in her eyes.</p> - -<p>“His little tip! when he ought to have provided for the boy!”</p> - -<p>“Poor Uncle Giles! He was never very strong: and I believe she was very -kind to him, and he was fond of her.”</p> - -<p>“Do you want me to accept this absurd will, this loss to the race, -because she was kind to him (granting that)—and an old man, in his -dotage, was fond of a scheming woman?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t call names,” said Margaret. “He was not in his dotage. We saw -him——”</p> - -<p>“Ah—called on purpose, that we might help to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220"></a>{220}</span> establish the fact,” said -Colonel Piercey, fiercely. “What do you call it but dotage—that tip -over which you are inclined to weep; and the reason alleged for it, that -you had been the first to tell him something? Yes, I know what that -means. Pownceby told me. That’s—how long since? But he believed it, -just the same as ever, in the same kind of distant hope. What is that -but dotage, Meg?”</p> - -<p>“And must it all, everything—the mere foolish hope I expressed to -please him, and anything she may have said—must it all be dragged -before the public, and poor Uncle Giles’ foolish hopes?”</p> - -<p>“Would you like me to throw it all over, and leave that woman to enjoy -her ill-gotten gains? Do you say I am to do that, Meg?”</p> - -<p>“I—say? Oh, no. What right have I? No, Cousin Gerald, I do not think -you should give up your claim. I think”—she paused a moment, and her -face lighted up, the words seemed to drop from her lips. Other thoughts -flashed up in her eyes—an expectation, the light of happiness and -peace. The carriage had turned a corner, and Chillfold, with her cottage -in it, and her boy, brought the relief and ease of home to Margaret’s -face. Her companion watched her eagerly. He saw the change that came -over her. His thoughts followed hers with a quick revulsion of sympathy. -He laid his hand upon hers.</p> - -<p>“Meg,” he said, “do you know there has never been anybody in the world -whose face has lighted up like that for me?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221"></a>{221}</span>”</p> - -<p>“You had a mother, Gerald,” she said quickly, almost ashamed of her -self-revelation; “but you forget—as Osy also will forget.”</p> - -<p>“At my age one wants something different from a mother,” he said, “and -one does not forget.”</p> - -<p>She did not say anything. She did not meet his look; but she gave a -little pressure, scarcely perceptible, to the hand that held hers. Their -long duel had come, at least, to peace—if nothing more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222"></a>{222}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIV" id="CHAPTER_XLIV"></a>CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Patty</span> had a great deal to do before the trial; for it is needless to say -that no time was lost in bringing the matter to a trial. It was in some -respects an unequal contest, for, clever as she was, she knew no more to -whom she should apply, or in whose hands she should place her cause, -than any other person of her original position. Mr. Pownceby was the -only representative of law with whom she was acquainted, he and the -shabby attorney of the village, who was the resort of litigious country -folk. And Mr. Pownceby, whom she had insulted, was, as she had foreseen, -on the other side. There was no help to be found in Miss Hewitt for any -such need, except in so far that after many years’ strenuous reading of -all the trials in the papers, the names of certain distinguished -advocates in various <i>causes célèbres</i> and otherwise were at that lady’s -finger ends. The idea of the two women was to carry their business at -once, without any intervention of an intermediate authority, to one of -the very greatest of these great men, with whom, indeed, Patty herself -managed to obtain an interview, with the boldness of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223"></a>{223}</span> ignorance. The -great man was much amused by Patty, but he did not undertake her case. -He even suggested to her that it would be a good thing to compromise -matters, and agree with her adversary in the way, which did not at all -commend itself to Mrs. Piercey. She would rather, she declared, spend to -the half of her kingdom than tamely compromise her “rights,” and leave -Greyshott to the heir-at-law. The Solicitor-General (I think it was that -functionary) was very kind. He was amused by her story, by her youth and -good looks, by her fierce determination and her ignorance. It was seldom -that he had so genuine a study of human nature before him, and that -instinct of human nature which makes our own cause always seem the one -that is most just and right. He was moved to advise her to avoid -litigation rather from a desire to keep that piquant story for his -private gratification, instead of casting it abroad to all the winds, -than from any higher motive. And yet he did a great deal for her, -telling her who were the solicitors in whose hands she ought to place -herself, with a sense that Mrs. Piercey would not be too particular -about the means used to secure her success; and suggesting counsel with -something of the same idea, and a somewhat malicious amusement and -delighted expectation of what would be made of the case by such -advocates. He would no more have suggested either the one or the other -to Margaret Osborne, than he could have justified himself on moral -grounds for recommending them to Mrs. Piercey. Like clients like -advisers, he said to himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224"></a>{224}</span> He felt that Patty in the witness-box, -manipulated by his learned brother, would be a sight for the—— well, -not perhaps for the gods, unless it were the gods of the shilling -gallery, whom such an advocate would cause to weep over the young -widow’s woes—but for the delectation of the observant and cynical -spectator. How wicked and wrong this was it is needless to say; and yet -in the mingled issues of human concerns it was very kind to Patty, who -was not, as he divined, particular about the modes to be employed in her -campaign.</p> - -<p>I will not enter into all those preparations for the trial which -brightened life immensely to Mrs. Piercey, and made her feel that she -had scarcely lived before, and that, however the trial might turn out, -this crowded hour of glorious life was worth the age without a name -which would have been her fate had all been peaceful and undisturbed. -She had constant visits from her solicitors or their emissaries; -constant correspondence; a necessity often recurring for running up to -town, which opened to her many new delights. No expense was spared in -these preliminaries, the lawyers, to whom the speculative character of -the whole proceedings was clearly apparent, thinking it well (they were, -as has been said, not scrupulous members of their class) to make as much -out of it in the meantime as possible; and Patty herself having, in a -different degree, something of the same feeling. She was ready, as has -been said, to sacrifice half of her kingdom in order to win her plea, -and, at the same time, she indulged freely in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225"></a>{225}</span> the pleasure of spending, -with the idea before her that even in the event of losing, that pleasure -could not be taken from her. Whatever she acquired now would, in that -respect, be pure gain. Therefore there can be no doubt that she enjoyed -her life during this interval. She had committed one or two -imprudencies, which her advisers much regretted and gently condemned. -She had made an enemy of Dunning for one thing, which they blamed -greatly, and she had alienated the sympathies of her neighbours by her -behaviour in the first flush of her triumph, which Lady Hartmore did not -fail to publish. But if the client were not foolish sometimes, to what -good would be the cleverness of her guides and counsellors? Patty, for -her part, declared that she had no fear of Dunning. What could Dunning -say that could affect her position? He could describe Sir Giles’ hopes, -which, it was evident, must have been mistaken; but she could swear, -with a good conscience, that she had never said anything about those -hopes to Sir Giles. Patty’s modesty, the instinct that had made her -really incapable of taking advantage of Sir Giles’ delusion, had, it is -to be feared, by this time, by dint of familiarity with the subject, -become much subdued. She had shrunk with a blush from any such -discussion, even with her old father-in-law; but she was not afraid now -of the ordeal of being examined and cross-examined on the subject before -all the world. She was not, indeed, at all afraid of the examination -which nowadays frightens most people out of their wits. This, no doubt, -was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226"></a>{226}</span> partly ignorance, but it was partly also a happy confidence in her -own power to encounter and discomfit any man who should stand up to -question her. This confidence has been seen in various cases of young -women who have encountered jauntily an ordeal in which it is difficult -for the strongest not to come to grief; but an ignorant girl often -believes in her own sharp answers more than in any inquisition in the -world.</p> - -<p>Except these advisers-at-law, however, and her aunt, whom she by no -means permitted to be always with her, Patty had actually no supporters -or sympathisers. She lived in her great house alone: nobody entering it -save one of these advisers; nobody sitting at her table with her; nobody -taking any share in the excitement of her life. She had indeed waylaid -the rector one day, and compelled him to come to her carriage door to -speak to her, which he did with great reluctance, being openly and -avowedly on the other side. “What have I ever done to you that you -should be against me?” she said; “you used to be my friend once——”</p> - -<p>“I hope I am everybody’s friend—who does well,” said the rector.</p> - -<p>“And haven’t I done well? If to nurse old Sir Giles night and day, and -lay myself out in everything to please him wasn’t doing well, why, then -I must have been taught my duty very badly, for I thought it was ‘I was -sick and ye—— ’ ”</p> - -<p>“Oh! that is how people force a text and put their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227"></a>{227}</span> own meaning to it,” -said the rector, with a gesture of impatience. “But,” he added, in a -more subdued tone, “nobody denies, Mrs. Piercey, that you were kind to -the old man.”</p> - -<p>“And wasn’t that my duty?” said Patty, triumphantly; but though she -silenced her spiritual instructor she did not convince him that it was -his duty to support her. No text about the wrongs of the widow had any -effect upon him. He stood and looked down at the summer dust in which -his feet were planted, and shook his head. It is a great thing to have -the enthusiasm of a cause to prop you up, and to have lawyers coming and -going from town, and a great deal of business on hand; but to have -nobody to speak to, nobody to give you either help or sympathy at home, -is hard. When Patty came home from London, after one of the expeditions -in which she had been more or less enjoying herself, the blank of the -house, in which there was not a soul who cared whether she won or lost, -whether she lived or died, was sometimes more than she could bear. One -evening, late in July, she went out for a walk, which was a very unusual -thing with her, upon the great stretch of common land which lay outside -the beech avenue. Patty had begun by this time to grow so much -accustomed to the use of a carriage, that she no longer felt it the most -delightful mode of conveyance. She had at first, when she came into the -possession of that luxury, felt it impossible to walk half a dozen steps -without her carriage at her heels; but now she became a little bored by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228"></a>{228}</span> -the necessity of a daily drive, and loved to escape for a little walk. -She had been in town all day, and it had been hot and uncomfortable. -Patty had nowhere to go to in town for a little lunch and refreshment, -as ladies have generally. It seemed a wrong to her that ladies had that; -that they went in twos and threes enjoying their shopping and their -little expedition, laughing and talking to each other, as some did who -had gone to town in the same carriage with her, and again had travelled -with her coming down, full of news and chatter and purchases. Patty had -no one to go with her—there was no house in town where there were -friends who expected to see her at lunch; and when she came back, though -she might have bought the most charming things in the world, though -there might be diamonds in her little bag, there was nobody to wish to -see them, to exclaim over their beauty, and envy their happy possessor. -These ladies sometimes spoke to her when they did not know her, but -often looked askance and whispered to each other; and anyhow, the -contrast they made with herself inflamed her very soul with anger. They -could wander out, too, in the cool of the evening, still talking, -laughing over their adventures, while she was always alone. It was -soothing to see that many of them drove home from the station in a bit -of a pony carriage or shabby little waggonette with one horse, while her -carriage waited for her in lonely grandeur. Sometimes, even, they -walked, carrying their parcels, while Patty looked down upon them with -immeasurable contempt. But a carriage<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229"></a>{229}</span> is not good for everything, and -Patty sometimes strayed out alone, thinking the exercise would be good -for her, but in reality hoping to escape a little from herself.</p> - -<p>It was seldom that she met any one on that lonely moor, but on this -particular evening there came towards her, with the glow behind him of -the setting sun, a figure, which Patty felt to be, somehow, familiar; -though as she did not expect to meet with any one here equal to her -quality, she was not at all curious, but even contemptuous of any -pedestrian who was not, like herself, walking for pleasure, but might -probably be obliged to walk. He carried a long cricket-bag in his hand, -and was in white flannels, which made a little brightening in the -dimness of the evening, and had a light cap of a bright colour on his -head. A well-made, manly figure, slim but strong, and a long swinging -step clearing the intervening distance swiftly, made Patty think of some -one who had been like that, who would not have let her, in other days, -be alone if he could have helped it. She remembered very clearly who -that was, and with a little shiver how she had last seen him, and the -dance he had been to, and how the thought of that dance moved her to the -depths. But this could not be Roger. He had always been fond of -cricket—too fond, the village said—liking that better than steady -work. But to be dressed like this, in flannels, and a cap of a “colour,” -was not for common men like him; that was the dress gentlemen put on for -the play which was their only work to so many. Indeed, Patty was close -upon him before she saw that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230"></a>{230}</span> it was indeed Roger, who took off his cap -when he saw her, and would have passed on with that respectful -salutation had, not Patty stopped almost without meaning it, in the -start of recognition. “Is it you?” she said in her surprise, upon which -Roger took off his cap again.</p> - -<p>“Seems as if I’d risen in the world,” he said, “but it’s more seeming -than fact. I’ve been playing for the county,” he added, with scarcely -concealed pride. “It don’t do a man much good, perhaps, but we’re -pleased enough all the same.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a long time since I have seen you,” said Patty, scarcely knowing -what she said. “I—I took you for one of the gentlemen.”</p> - -<p>“And it’s a long time since I’ve seen you—and I’d like to say that I’m -sorry, Pa——, Mrs. Piercey, for all that’s happened—and for the -trouble, if it is a trouble, you’re in now.”</p> - -<p>“It is no trouble,” said Patty, hotly. “I’m going to defend my rights, -if that’s what you mean.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I hope that’s what it is,” said Roger, “but I don’t like to hear -of any one I care for beginning with the law. It just skins you alive -and wastes good money that might be spent far better—bring you in a -deal more pleasure, I mean.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t know very much, Roger, about the pleasure money brings in!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t I, Patty! Well, if one of us remembers the old days the other -must, too. Cricketing about all over the place as I’m doing, runs -through<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231"></a>{231}</span> a good lot, I can tell you, if it didn’t bring a little more -in.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you do anything but cricket, nowadays?” she said.</p> - -<p>“Not much; but it pays well enough,” said Roger, pushing back his cap -from his forehead.</p> - -<p>The evening, it is true, was getting a little dim, though not dark; but -didn’t he look a gentleman! No one would have guessed he wasn’t a -gentleman, was the thought that passed through Patty’s mind like a dart.</p> - -<p>“And I live a lot among the swells, now,” he said, “and I hear what they -say; I don’t want to offend you, Patty, far from it—but ain’t it a bore -living all by yourself in that big lonesome house, with all the deaths -and things that have happened in it?”</p> - -<p>“You forget it’s my home,” said Patty, drawing herself up.</p> - -<p>“Well, is it your home? All right if it had been your husband’s or if -there had been an heir; but I don’t hold myself with a place going out -of the family like that—that has been in it for hundreds of years. I -don’t like the thoughts of the Seven Thorns even going out o’ the name -of ’Ewitt. It’s no concern of mine, but I don’t.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you think I should go back there, out of my own place, and keep -it up!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t say as I meant that,” said Roger, turning his cap, which he had -taken off, round and round in his hands, “but I wouldn’t be the one to -take it out of the family if it was me. I’d say, Look here now,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232"></a>{232}</span> what’ll -you give me? You be happy in your way, and I’ll be happy in mine.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I shall take your advice, Mr. Pearson. I’ll be happy in my own -way. It’s not yours, and never will be. But that don’t matter, seeing -we’ve nothing on earth to do with each other, and are in quite different -ranks of life. I wish you good-night, and I hope the cricketing business -will be a good one and pay, or else I might say, ‘Mind, there’s the -winter coming on'—if a lady could take upon her to give advice to a -sporting man.”</p> - -<p>“Patty,” he cried, calling after her, “don’t part with a fellow like -this; I didn’t mean to offend you—far from it. I only thought I’d warn -you what folks said.”</p> - -<p>“Folks is fools for the most part,” cried Patty fiercely, using a -much-cited sentiment, which she had never heard of, by the light of -nature, “and I don’t want to hear what they say. Mr. Pearson, I wish you -good-night.”</p> - -<p>“There! I’ve been and put my foot in it—I knew I should,” Roger said. -He stood, the image of despondency, in the middle of the moor, his white -figure standing out against the western light as Patty turned at a sharp -angle to go home. She could see him with the corner of her eye without -looking at him. He stood there silent for a moment, and then dashed his -fist into the air with a profane exclamation. “That’s not what I meant -at all,” he said, and lifted his cricket-bag and sped away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233"></a>{233}</span></p> - -<p>What was it that went out of the evening with him, when Patty, venturing -to glance round, saw the landscape empty of the man who had offended her -so deeply, who had ventured to blame her—her a lady so far above -him—Mrs. Piercey of Greyshott, while he was only a cricketer, an idle -fellow about the country, no good, as even the village people said? But -yet a dreariness settled down upon the world; night came on and that -loneliness which seemed now Patty’s fate. Well, she said to herself, -what did she care? She had her fine estate, her name that was as good as -the best, her grand house, as much money to spend as she chose, and -nobody to dictate to her what she should do—no, nobody to dictate to -her—nobody even to advise, to say, “That’s right, Patty!” Her Aunt -Patience did that, it was true, but then Aunt Patience’s approval, save -in the very extremity of having nobody else, did not count for much. She -hurried in; but it was lonely, lonelier even than the moor—nobody to -speak to, nobody to break the long row of chairs and sofas which were -there with the intention of accommodating half the county, but now had -nobody to sit down upon them but Patty’s self, moving from one to -another with a futile feeling of breaking the solitude. But nothing was -to be had to break that solitude except Aunt Patience. Mrs. Piercey of -Greyshott rang the bell, and ordered the carriage to be sent at once to -the village to fetch Miss Hewitt immediately, without a minute’s delay! -That she could do—send out her carriage, and her horses, and her -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234"></a>{234}</span>secretly-swearing servants for any caprice at any moment. For Miss -Hewitt! It was what might be called an anti-climax, if Patty had known -what that meant. She did know what it meant deeply to the bottom of her -heart, though she was not acquainted with the word. To go through all -that she had gone through, to do all she had done, for the sake of -having the company of Miss Hewitt and her sympathy and encouragement! -could there be a greater drop of deepest downfall from the highest -heights than this?</p> - -<p>But the trial was coming on, and soon all England would be ringing with -Patty’s name and story and fortunes. She would have crowds of people to -admire and wonder at her. She would win her cause in the sight of all -England. She would be the heroine of the day, in everybody’s mouth. -Surely there would be some compensation in that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235"></a>{235}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLV" id="CHAPTER_XLV"></a>CHAPTER XLV.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">I refrain</span> from attempting to describe the great trial Piercey v. -Piercey, which made the whole country ring. It was, indeed, a <i>cause -célèbre</i>, and may be found, no doubt, by every one who wishes to trace -it, in the history of such notable romances which exists in the legal -records. It was so managed by the exceedingly clever advocates whom -Patty had been fortunate enough to secure, as to entertain the country, -morning after morning in the columns of the <i>Times</i>, by a living piece -of family history, a household opened up and laid bare to every curious -eye, which is, perhaps, the thing of all others which delights the -British public (and all other publics) the most. Poor old Sir Giles, in -his wheeled chair, with his backgammon board and all his weaknesses, -became as familiar a figure to the reader of the newspapers as anything -in Dickens or Thackeray—more familiar even than Sir Pitt Crawley, -because he reached a still larger circle of readers and was a real -person, incontestable fact, and only buried the other day. England for -the moment became as intimately acquainted with the Softy, as even the -old<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236"></a>{236}</span> labourers in the parlour at the Seven Thorns. The story, as it was -unfolded by the prosecution, was one not favourable to the heroine—a -girl out of a roadside tavern, who had married the half-witted son of -the squire, who had almost forced her way into the house on the death of -its mistress, who had contrived so to cajole the poor old gentleman that -he gave himself up entirely to her influence, and finally left her his -estates and everything of which he was possessed—leaving out even his -old servants whom he had provided for in his previous will, and giving -absolute power to the little adventuress. This was a story which did not -conciliate the favour of the public. But when it came to the pleadings -on the other side, and Patty was revealed as a ministering angel, both -to her husband and father-in-law, as having worked the greatest -improvement in the one, so that it was hoped he would soon take his -place among his country neighbours; and as having protected and solaced -the failing days of the other, and been his only companion and consoler, -a great change took place in the popular sentiment. It soon became -apparent to the world that this little adventuress was one of those rare -women who are never out of place in whatever class they may appear in, -the lowest or the highest, and are always in their sphere doing good to -everybody. The drama was unfolded with the greatest skill: even those -“hopes” which it was not denied Sir Giles had greatly built upon, and -the disappointment of which, when the young widow found herself deceived -in her fond anticipations, was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237"></a>{237}</span> crudest blow of all. The women who -were present shed tears almost without exception over poor Patty’s -delusion; and that she should have implored the lawyer not to dispel -that delusion, to let poor Sir Giles die happy, still believing it, was -made to appear the most beautiful trait of character. And indeed, as a -matter of fact, Patty had meant well in this particular, and it would -have been highly to her credit had it been separated from all that came -after. Dunning’s testimony, which had been much built upon by the -prosecution, was very much weakened by the account given of his various -negligences; especially of the fact proved by the lady herself that he -had accompanied his master to Lady Piercey’s funeral, without providing -himself with any restorative to administer to the old gentleman on an -occasion of so much excitement and distress, and of such unusual -fatigue. “I would not permit it even to be thought of, that he should -attend my husband’s funeral. It would have been too much for him,” Patty -said, with all the eloquence of her crape and her widow’s cap to enhance -what she said. But, indeed, I am here doing precisely what I said I -would not attempt to do—and I was not present at the trial to give the -details with the confidence of an eye-witness. The consequence, however, -was, as all the world knows, that the verdict was for the defendant, and -that Patty came out triumphantly mistress of the field, and of -Greyshott, and of all that old Sir Giles had committed to her hands.</p> - -<p>A romance of real life! It was, indeed, a dis<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238"></a>{238}</span>appointment and loss to -the whole country when the great Piercey case was over. Even old -gentlemen who were supposed to care for nothing but politics and the -price of stocks, threw down the <i>Times</i> with an angry exclamation that -there was nothing in it, the first dull morning or two after that case -was concluded. Thus Patty was a benefactor to her kind without any -intention of being so. People were generally sorry for the Pierceys, -who, there was no doubt, had a right to be disappointed and even angry -to see their ancient patrimony thus swept away into the hands of a -stranger. For nobody entertained the slightest doubt that Patty would -marry and set up a new family out of the ashes of the old. And why -shouldn’t she? the people cried who knew nothing about it. Was it not -the very principle of the British constitution to be always taking in -new blood to revive the old? Was not the very peerage constantly -leavened by this process; new lords being made out of cotton and coals -and beer and all the industries to give solidity to the lessening -phalanx of the sons of the Crusaders? Old Sir Francis Piercey, who was -the plaintiff, was well enough off to pay his costs, and he ought to be -able at his age to reconcile himself to the loss! To be sure, there was -his son, a very distinguished soldier. Well! he had better marry the -young widow, everybody said, and settle the matter so.</p> - -<p>The county people did not, however, take this view. They were wroth -beyond expression on the subject of this intruder into their midst. -Nobody had called upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239"></a>{239}</span> her but Lady Hartmore, whose indignation knew no -bounds; who had never forgiven her husband, and never would forgive him, -she declared, for having betrayed her into that visit. “But to be sure I -never should have known what the minx was if I had not seen her!” that -lady said. Patty was completely tabooed on every side. Even the rector -turned off the highroad when he saw her carriage approaching, and ran by -an improvised path over the fields not to meet her. Wherever she might -find companions or friends it was evidently not to be in her own -district. Her old friends were servants in one great house or another, -or the wives of cottagers and labourers; and Patty was altogether -unaware of their existence. When she drove about the county, as she did -very much and often in the impulse of her triumph, her eyes met only -faces which were very familiar but which she would not know, or faces -glimpsed at afar off which would not know her. She was undisputed -mistress of Greyshott, and all its revenues and privileges. All the -neighbouring land belonged to her, and almost every house in the -village; but except to Miss Hewitt, her aunt, and the servants of the -house, and, occasionally, some much-mistaken woman from one of the -cottages, who felt emboldened to make a petition to the lady of -Greyshott on the score of having been at school with her, Patty spoke to -nobody, or rather had nobody to speak to, which is a better statement of -the case.</p> - -<p>With one large exception, however, so long as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240"></a>{240}</span> trial lasted, when -lawyers and lawyers’ clerks had constant missions to Greyshott, and the -distinguished barrister who won her cause for her, came over on a few -days’ visit. That visit was, in fact, though it was the greatest triumph -and glory to Patty, one of the most terrible ordeals she had to go -through. He was a most amusing visitor, with endless stories to tell and -compliments to pay, and would have made almost any party, in any country -house which had the good fortune to receive him, “go off,” by his own -unaided exertions. But it is to be doubted if this brilliant orator and -special pleader had ever in his life formed the whole of a country-house -party, with a little, smart, under-bred person and a village spinster -for his sole hosts. He was appalled, it must be allowed, and felt that a -curious new light was thrown upon the story which he made into a romance -of real life; but all the same, it need not be said, this gentleman -exerted himself to make the three days “go off” as if the house had been -full, and the Prime Minister among the guests. But to describe what this -was to Patty would require something more than the modest store of words -I have at my disposal. She was not so ignorant as Miss Hewitt, who -enjoyed the good the gods had provided for her without <i>arrière pensée</i>, -and began to laugh before the delighted guest had opened his lips. Patty -knew that there should be people invited “to meet” a man so well known. -She knew that there ought to have been a party in the house, or, at -least, distinguished company to dinner. And she had nobody, not even -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241"></a>{241}</span> rector! She did her best to invent reasons why So-and-so and -So-and-so could not come, and made free use of the name of Lord -Hartmore, who, she thought, with the instinct of her kind, had been made -to give her up by his wife. She even made use of the fact that most -people in the county were displeased with her on account of the trial, -and because they wished the Pierceys to be still at Greyshott. “And so -they are, in the person of much the most attractive member of the -family,” the great man said, who would have been still more amused by -his position between these two ladies if he had not been in his own -person something of a black sheep, and a little on the alert to see -himself avoided and neglected. Patty was not aware that he would not -have ventured to pay these compliments to another kind of hostess; but -she suffered intently from the fact that she had nobody to invite to -meet him, nobody who would come to her even for a night, to keep her -guest in countenance. She demeaned herself so far as to write to the -rector begging of him to come. But the rector had another engagement and -would not, or could not, consent. Poor Patty! She suffered in many ways -from being thus, as it were, out of the bonds of all human society, but -never so much as in that dreadful three days. He was (as she thought) -old, and he was fat, and not at all well-looking, though he was so -amusing; but he gave her to understand before he went away that he would -not mind marrying Mrs. Piercey of Greyshott. And so did one of the -solicitors who instructed him, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242"></a>{242}</span> younger one, who was unmarried; and -there was a head clerk, nothing more than a head clerk, who looked very -much as if a similar proposal was on his lips. “Like his impudence!” -Patty said, though she really knew nothing of the young man. Three -proposals, or almost proposals of marriage, within a week or two! This -pleased the natural mind of Patty of the Seven Thorns, but it gave Mrs. -Piercey occasion to think. They were all concerned with securing -property for her, and assuring her in its possession, and they thought -naturally that nobody had so good a right to help her take care of it. -But this reasoning was not by any means agreeable to Patty, who, -flattered at first, became exceedingly angry afterwards when she found -herself treated so frankly as an appendage to her property.</p> - -<p>“Of course I knew it was always like that as soon as you had a little -money!” she said, indignantly.</p> - -<p>“Not with ’im, Patty, not with ’im,” said Miss Hewitt, upon whom the -brilliant barrister had made a great impression.</p> - -<p>“Him!” cried Patty, “a fat old man!”</p> - -<p>“You can’t have everything,” said her aunt. “For my part I’d rather ’ave -a man like that, that’s such fine company, and as you never could be -dull as long as ’e was there, than a bit of a cock robin with an -’andsome face, and nothing behind it!”</p> - -<p>“If you are meaning my Gervase, Aunt Patience, I——”</p> - -<p>“Lord, I never thought o’ your Gervase! Bless<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243"></a>{243}</span> us, ’e ’ad no ’andsome -face, whatever else!” the old lady cried. She was sent home that evening -in the carriage, and Patty, angry, indignant, desolate, remained -altogether alone. It was hard to say which was worst, the dreadful -consciousness of having “nobody to meet” a guest, or being without -guests altogether. She walked up and down her solitary house, entering -one room after another; all deserted and empty. The servants, as -well-bred servants should, got out of the way when they heard her -approaching, so that not even in the corridor upstairs did she see a -housemaid, or in the hall below a shadow of butler or footman to break -the sensation of solitude. To be sure, she knew where to find Jerningham -seated in her light and pleasant chamber sewing; but Jerningham was -somewhat unapproachable, occupied with her work, quite above idle -gossip, and indisposed to entertain her mistress; for Jerningham -flattered herself that she knew her place. What was Patty to do? The -under-housemaid was a Greyshott girl who had been at school with her; -therefore it may be perceived how great was the necessity for -remembering always who she was, and never relaxing her dignity. She -might have gone abroad, which she was aware was a thing that was done -with great success sometimes by ladies who could travel about with maid -and footman, and no need to think of expense. But Patty felt that she -could not consent to descend among the common herd in search of -acquaintances, and that her grandeur was nothing to her unless it was -acknowledged and enjoyed at home. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244"></a>{244}</span> then the winter was coming on, -Patty was not yet sufficiently educated to know that winter was -precisely the time to go abroad. She knew nothing in the world but -Greyshott, and it was only for applause and admiration at Greyshott that -she really cared.</p> - -<p>It was in these circumstances that the winter passed, the second winter -only since Patty’s marriage, which had lifted her so far above all her -antecedents and old companions. It was a long and dreary winter, with -much rain, and that dull and depressing atmosphere of cloud, when heaven -and earth is of the same colour, and there is not even the variety of -frost and thaws to break the monotonous languor of the long dead dark -weeks. Patty did not bate an inch of her grandeur either for her -loneliness or for the aggravation of that loneliness which was in the -great rooms, untenanted as they were. She did not take to the little -cheerful morning-room in which Lady Piercey had been glad to spend the -greater part of her life in such wintry weather. Patty dined alone in -the great dining-room, which it was so difficult to light up, and she -sat alone all the evening through in the great drawing-room, with all -its white and gold, where her little figure, still all black from head -to foot, was almost lost in a corner, and formed but a speck upon the -brightness of the large vacant carpet, and lights that seemed to shine -for their own pleasure. Poor Patty! She sat and thought of the last -winter, which was melancholy enough, but not so bad as this: of old Sir -Giles and his backgammon board, and Dunning standing behind backs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245"></a>{245}</span> It -was not exciting, but it was “company” at least. She thought of herself -sitting there, flattering the old gentleman about his play, smiling and -beaming upon him, yet feeling so sick of it all; and of that night—that -night! when Roger Pearson had been at the dance, and brought Gervase in -from the moor, to be laid on the bed from which he was never to rise. -Her mind did not dwell upon Gervase, but it is astonishing how often she -thought upon that dance at which her rejected lover had been enjoying -himself, while she sat playing backgammon with her father-in-law, and -listening for her husband. What a contrast! The picture had been burned -in upon her mind by the event connected with it, and now had much more -effect than that event. She could almost see the rustic couples with -their arms entwined, and the romping flirtations of the barn, and the -smoky lamps hung about, so different, so different from the steady soft -waxen lights which threw an unbroken illumination upon her solitary -head! It was bad then, but it was almost worse now, when she had no -company at all, except Aunt Patience from time to time, as long as Mrs. -Piercey could put up with her. And this was all—all! that her rise in -the world had brought her! She had done nothing very bad to procure that -rise. If Gervase had lived it would have been good for him that she had -married him, she still felt sure, notwithstanding that in actual fact it -had not done him much good; and it was good for Sir Giles to have had -her society and ministrations in the end of his life. Everybody allowed -that—even<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246"></a>{246}</span> the hostile lawyer at the trial, even the sullen Dunning, -who had occasion to dislike her if anybody had, who had lost his legacy -and almost his character by her means. Even he had been instrumental in -proving to the world how she had cheered and comforted the old man. And -she had got her reward—everything but that title, which it was grievous -to her to think of; which, perhaps, if she had got it—if Gervase had -only had the sense to live six months longer—would have made all the -difference! She had got her reward, and this was what it had come to—a -quietness in which you could hear a pin drop; a loneliness never broken -by any voice except those of her servants, of whom she must not, and -dared not, make friends. Poor Patty! once so cheerful, so admired and -considered at the Seven Thorns, with her life so full of bustle and -liveliness—this was all she had come to after her romance in real life.</p> - -<p>I cannot help thinking that if there had been a lady at the rectory, -this state of affairs would have been mended, and that a good mother, -with her family to set out in the world, would have seen the advantage -for her own children of doing her best to attract acquaintances and -company to Greyshott. But the rector was only a man, and a timid one, -fearing to break the bonds of convention, and his daughters were too -young to take the matter into their own hands. They might have done it -had Mrs. Piercey waited for a few years; but then Patty had no -inclination to wait.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247"></a>{247}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVI" id="CHAPTER_XLVI"></a>CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Piercey</span> went to town after Easter, as she was aware everybody who -respected themselves, who were in Society, or who had any money to -spend, did. But, alas! she did not know how to manage this any more than -to find the usual solace in country life. She was, indeed, still more -helpless in town; for no doubt in the country, if she had been patient, -there would at last have been found somebody who would have had courage -to break the embargo, to defy Lord and Lady Hartmore and all the -partisans of the old family, and to call upon the lady of Greyshott. But -in town what could Patty do? She knew nobody but the distant cousins -somewhere in the depths of Islington, to whom she had gone at the time -of her marriage, but whom she had taken care to forget the very -existence of as soon as her need for them was over. Mrs. Piercey went to -a fashionable hotel, and engaged a handsome set of rooms, and sat down -and waited for happiness to come to her. She had her maid with her, the -irreproachable Jerningham, who would not allow her mistress to demean -herself by making a com<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248"></a>{248}</span>panion of her; and she had Robert, the footman, -and her own coachman from Greyshott, and a new victoria in which to -drive about—all the elements of happiness—poor Patty! and yet it would -not come. She had permitted herself, by this time, to drop the weight of -her mourning, and to blossom forth in grey and white; and she drove in -the Park in the most beautiful costumes, with the old fat Greyshott -horses, who were in themselves a certificate that she was somebody, no -mushroom of a <i>parvenue</i>. So was the coachman, who was the real old -Greyshott coachman, and (evidently) had been in the family for -generations. She drove steadily every day along the sacred promenade, -and was seen of everybody, and discussed among various bands of -onlookers, whose only occupation, like the Athenians, was that of seeing -or hearing some new thing. Who was she? That she was not of the style of -her horses and her coachman was apparent at a glance. Where had she got -them? Was it an attempt on the part of some visitor from the ends of the -earth to pose as a lady of established family? Was it, perhaps, a daring -<i>coup</i> on the part of some person, not at all <i>comme il faut</i>, to -attract the observation and curiosity of the world? Patty’s little face, -with its somewhat fast prettiness, half abashed, half impudent, shone -out of its surroundings with a contradiction to all those suppositions. -The Person would not have been at all abashed, but wholly impudent, or -else quite assured and satisfied with herself; and in any case she would -not have been alone. A stranger,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249"></a>{249}</span> above all, would not have been alone. -There would have been a bevy of other women with her, making merry over -all the novelty about them, and this, probably, would have been the case -had the other idea been correct. But who was this, with the face of a -pretty housemaid and the horses of a respectable dowager? Some of the -gentlemen in the park, who amused themselves with these speculations, -would, no doubt, have managed to resolve their doubts on the subject had -not Patty been, as much as Una, though she was so different a character, -enveloped in an atmosphere of such unquestionable good behaviour and -modesty as no instructed eye could mistake. Women, who are less -instructed on such matters, may mistake; but not men, who have better -means of knowing. Thus Patty did make a little commotion; but as she had -no means of knowing of it, and no one to tell her, it did her no good in -the world.</p> - -<p>And she went a good many times to the theatre, and to the opera, though -it bored her. But this was a great ordeal: to go into a box all alone, -and subject herself to the opera-glasses of the multitude. Patty did not -mind it at first. She liked to be seen, and had no objection that people -should look at her, and her diamonds; and there was a hope that it might -lead to something in her mind. But how could it lead to anything? for -she knew nobody who was likely to be seen at the opera. When she went -home in the evening she could have cried for disappointment and -mortification. Was this all? Was there never to be any<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250"></a>{250}</span>thing more than -this? Was all her life to be spent thus in luxury and splendour; always -alone?</p> - -<p>At first she had dined in solitary state in her rooms, as she thought it -right, in her position, to do. But when Patty heard that other people of -equal pretensions—one of them the baronet’s lady, whom it was her -despair not to be—went down to the general dining-room for their meals, -she was too happy to go there too, thinking she must, at least, make -some acquaintance with the other dwellers in the hotel. But things were -not much better there, for Mrs. Piercey was established at a little -table by herself in great state, but unutterable solitude, watching with -a sick heart the groups about her—the people who were going to the -theatre, or to such delights of balls and evening parties as Patty had -never known. There was but one solitary person beside herself, and that -was an old gentleman, with his napkin tucked into his buttonhole, who -was absorbed by the <i>menu</i> and evidently thought of nothing else. Patty -watched the groups with hungry eyes—the men in their evening coats, -with wide expanses of white; the ladies, who evidently intended to dress -after this semi-public dinner. Oh, how she longed to belong to some one, -to have some one belonging to her! And such a little thing, she thought, -would do it: nothing more than an introduction, nothing beyond the -advent of some one who knew her, who would say, “Mrs. Piercey of -Greyshott,” and the ice would be broken. But then that some one who knew -her, where was he or she to be found?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251"></a>{251}</span></p> - -<p>Alas! there came a moment when both he and she were found, and that was -the worst of all. She was seated listlessly in her usual solitude, when -she saw a pair of people who were taking their seats at a table not far -off. They had their backs turned towards her, and yet they seemed -familiar to Patty. They were both tall, the gentleman with a military -air, the lady with a little bend in her head which Patty thought she -knew. There was about them that indefinable air of being lately married -which it is so very difficult to obliterate, though they did not look -very young. The lady was quietly dressed, or rather she was in a dress -which was the symbol of quiet—quakerly, or motherly, to our -grandmothers: grey satin, but with such reflections and shadows in it, -as has made it in our better instructed age one of the most perfectly -decorative of fabrics. Patty, experienced by this time in the habits and -customs of the people she watched so wistfully, was of opinion that they -were going to the opera. Who were they? She knew them—oh, certainly she -knew them; and they evidently knew several of the groups about; and now -at last Patty’s opportunity had surely come.</p> - -<p>I think by this time Mrs. Piercey of Greyshott had acquired a forlorn -look, the consequence of her many disappointments. It is not pleasant to -sit and watch people who are better off than we are, however -philosophical and high-minded we may be; and Patty, it need not be said, -was neither. Her mouth had got a little droop at the corners, her eyes a -little fixity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252"></a>{252}</span> as of staring and weariness in staring. She was too much -dressed for the dining-room of a hotel, and she had very manifestly the -air of being alone, and of being accustomed to be alone. I think that, -as so often happens, Patty was on the eve of finding the acquaintance -for whom her soul longed, at these very moments when her burden was -about to become too much for her to bear; and she certainly had attained -recognition in the world outside, as was to be proved to her no later -than to-night. Such coincidences are of frequent occurrence in human -affairs. It had become known in the hotel to some kind people, who had -watched her solitude as she watched their cheerful company, who she was; -and the matron of the party had remembered how much that was good had -been said of Patty on the trial, and how kind she had been to the old -man who had left her all his money without any doing of hers. “Poor -little thing! I shall certainly take an opportunity of speaking to her -to-morrow,” this lady was saying, as Patty watched with absorbed -attention the other people. Indeed, the compassion of this good woman -might have hastened her purpose and made her “speak” that very night, -had not Patty been so bent upon those other people whom she was more and -more sure she knew; and what a difference—what a difference in her life -might that have made! But she never knew—which was, perhaps, in the -circumstances, a good thing.</p> - -<p>It was while Patty’s attention was called away perforce by the waiter -who attended to her, that the other<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253"></a>{253}</span> people at whom she had been gazing -became aware of her presence. The gentleman had turned a bronzed face, -full of the glow of warmer suns than ours, in her direction, and started -visibly. He was a man whom the reader has seen habitually with another -expression—that of perplexity and general discontent; a man with a -temper, and with little patience, though capable of better things. He -had apparently got to these better things now. His face was lighted up -with happiness; he was bending over the little table, which, small as it -was, seemed too much to separate them, to talk to his wife, with the air -of a man who has so much and so many things to say, that he has not a -minute to lose in the outpouring of his heart. She was full of response, -if not perhaps so overflowing; but on her aspect, too, there had come a -wonderful change. Her beautiful grey satin gown was not more unlike the -unfailing black which Mrs. Osborne always wore, than the poor relation -of Greyshott was to Gerald Piercey’s wife, Meg Piercey once again. It -would be vain to enter upon all the preliminaries which brought about -this happy conclusion. Margaret had many difficulties to get over, which -to everybody else appeared fantastical enough. A second marriage is a -thing which, in theory, few women like; and to cease to belong solely to -Osy, and to bear another name than his, though it was her own, was very -painful to her. Yet these difficulties had all been got over, even if I -had space to enter into them; which, seeing that Patty is all this time -waiting, dallying with her undesired dinner,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254"></a>{254}</span> and wondering who these -people are whom she seems to know, would be uncalled for in the highest -degree.</p> - -<p>When the waiter came up to the solitary lady at the table, and Colonel -Piercey turned his face in that direction, he started and swore under -his breath, “By Jove!” though he was not a man addicted to expletives. -Then he said, “Meg! Meg!” under his breath; “who do you think is sitting -behind you at that table? Don’t turn round. Mrs. Piercey, as sure as -life!”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Piercey?” She was bewildered for a moment. “There are so many Mrs. -Pierceys. Whom do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“One more than there used to be, for my salvation,” the bridegroom said; -and then added, with a laugh, “but no other like this one, Meg—Mrs. -Piercey of Greyshott——”</p> - -<p>“Patty!” cried Margaret, under her breath.</p> - -<p>“If you dare to be so familiar with so great a lady—the heroine of the -trial, poor Uncle Giles’ good angel——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t be bitter, Gerald! It is all over and done with; and who -knows, if it had been otherwise——”</p> - -<p>“Whether we should ever have come together?” he said: “you know best, so -far as that goes, my love; and if it might have been so, good luck to -Greyshott, and I am glad we have not got it. Yes, there she is, the -identical Patty; and none the better for her success, I should say, -looking very much bored and rather pale.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255"></a>{255}</span>”</p> - -<p>“Who is with her?” asked Margaret.</p> - -<p>“There is nobody with her that I can see. No, she is quite alone, and -bored, as I told you; and in a diamond necklace,” he said with a laugh.</p> - -<p>“Alone, and with a diamond necklace, in the dining-room of a hotel!”</p> - -<p>“Well, why not? To show it and herself, of course; and probably a much -better way than any other in her power to show them.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Gerald, don’t be so merciless. She has got your inheritance; but -still, it was really Uncle Giles’ will, and she was kind to him—even -old Dunning could not deny that. And if Gervase had lived——”</p> - -<p>“It was as well he did not live, poor fellow, for her as well as for -himself, though I should certainly, myself, have preferred it; for then -we should have had none of this fuss, either of anticipation or -disappointment—and no trial, and no costs; and no useless baronetcy -that brings in nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say that; your father likes it, and so will you in your day.”</p> - -<p>“My father likes to be head of the family, and so shall I. We’ll have -our first quarrel, Meg, over that little hussy, then.”</p> - -<p>“Not our first quarrel by a great many,” she said, letting her hand rest -for a moment on his arm. “But don’t call her names, Gerald: all alone in -a hotel in London, in the middle of the season, without a creature to -speak a word to her! And I heard she was perfectly alone all the winter -at home. Lady Hartmore<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256"></a>{256}</span> goes too far. She has made it a personal matter -that nobody should call. Poor little Patty! Gerald——”</p> - -<p>“Poor little Patty, indeed! who has cost us not only Greyshott, but how -many thousand pounds; who has made you poor, Meg.”</p> - -<p>“There is poor and poor. Poor in your way is not poor in mine. I am -rich, whatever you may be. Is she still there—alone—Gerald, with that -white little face?” Margaret had managed, furtively, to turn her head, -still under shadow of the waiter, and get a glimpse of their supplanter.</p> - -<p>“What does it matter if her face is white or not? She has chalked it, -perhaps, as she might rouge it on another occasion, to play her part.”</p> - -<p>“You have no pity,” said Margaret; “to me it is very sad to see a poor -woman like that alone, trying to enjoy herself. I think, Gerald, I -will——”</p> - -<p>“Will what? You are capable of anything, Meg. I shall not be surprised -at whatever you propose.”</p> - -<p>“Well, since you have so poor an opinion of me,” she said with a smile, -“I think I’ll speak to her, Gerald.”</p> - -<p>“Do you remember that she turned you out of your home? that she insulted -you so that it was with difficulty I kept my temper?”</p> - -<p>“You never did keep your temper, dear,” said Margaret with gentle -impartiality, shaking her head; “and,” she added with a smile, “you -insulted me far worse than ever Patty did. Should I bear malice? I will -say a word to her before we go.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257"></a>{257}</span>”</p> - -<p>When they rose, and when Patty saw who they were, the chalk which -Colonel Piercey thought she was capable of using to play her part, -yielded to a crimson so hot and vivid that its truth and reality were -thoroughly proved. She half rose, too, then sat down again more -determinedly than before.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Piercey,” said Margaret, “we saw you, and I could not pass you -without a word.”</p> - -<p>“You are very kind, I am sure, Margaret Osborne; but you could have left -your table very well without coming near me.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, perhaps,” said Margaret; “I should have said that, seeing you -alone——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, if I am alone it is my own fault!” cried Patty, with a heat of -angry despair which almost took away her voice. Then it occurred to her -that to show this passion was to lessen herself in the eyes of those to -whom she most wished to appear happy and great. She forced her cry of -rage into a little affected laugh. “I don’t often come here,” she said; -“I dine generally in my own apartments. But to-day I expected friends -who could not come, and so I thought I’d amuse myself by coming down -here to see the wild beasts feed.”</p> - -<p>As she said this, her eyes fell accidentally upon the kind lady who had -made up her mind to make the acquaintance of this forlorn little woman, -and startled that amiable person so that she sat gazing open-mouthed and -open-eyed.</p> - -<p>“In that case I am afraid I am only intruding,” said Margaret; “but I -thought perhaps—if you are<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258"></a>{258}</span> alone here, I—or my husband,” she added -this with a sudden blush and smile, “might have been of some use——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, your husband! I wish him joy, I am sure. So you stuck to him, -though he hasn’t got Greyshott? Well, he’ll have the baronetcy, to be -sure, when the old man dies—I hadn’t thought of that—without a penny! -You must have been dead set on him, to be sure.”</p> - -<p>And Patty, bursting with fury and despite, jumped up, almost oversetting -the table, and with a wave of her hand as if dismissing a supplicant, -but with none of her usual regard for her dignity and her dress in -threading a crowd, hurried away.</p> - -<p>“You got rather more than you looked for,” cried Colonel Piercey, -triumphant, as Margaret came back to him and hastily took his arm. He -had not heard what passed.</p> - -<p>“I suppose there was nothing else to be expected,” Margaret said in a -subdued voice.</p> - -<p>Patty went to the opera that night, as she had intended, her heart -almost bursting; for that she should have hoped to meet somebody who -would introduce and help her, and then to find that somebody was -Margaret Osborne, was almost more than she could bear; but soon she was -soothed by perceiving that more opera-glasses were fixed on her than -ever, and that the people in the boxes opposite, and in the stalls, were -pointing her out to one another. She caught the sound of her own name as -she sat well forward in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259"></a>{259}</span> her box, that her diamonds might be well seen -and her own charms appreciated; and she almost forgot the indignity to -which she had been, as she thought, subjected. But as she went out, poor -Patty could not but hear some remarks which were not intended for her -ear. “That was the woman,” somebody said, “the heroine of the great -case, Piercey <i>versus</i> Piercey; don’t you remember? the woman who -married an idiot, and then got his father to leave her all the -property.” “What a horror!” said the lady addressed: “a barmaid, wasn’t -she? and the poor creature she married quite imbecile—and now to come -and plant herself there in the front of a box. Does she think anybody -will take any notice of her, I wonder?” “Impudent little face, but -rather broken down—begins to see it won’t pay,” said another man.</p> - -<p>Patty caught Robert, her footman, by the arm, and shrieked to him to -take her out of this, or she should faint, which the crowd around took -for an exclamation of real despair, and made way for the lady, to let -her get to the air. And Patty left town next day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260"></a>{260}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVII" id="CHAPTER_XLVII"></a>CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">She</span> left town next day in a tempest of wrath and indignation, and -something like despair. She said to herself that she would go home, -where no one would dare to insult her. Home! where, indeed, there would -be nobody to insult her, but nobody to care for her; to remark upon her -even in that contemptuous way; to say a word even of reprobation. A -strong sense of injustice was in her soul. I am strongly of opinion that -when any of us commits a great sin, it immediately becomes the most -natural, even normal thing in our own eyes; that we are convinced that -most people have done the same, only have not been found out; and that -the opinion of the world against it is either purely fictitious, a -pretence of superior virtue, or else the result of prejudice or personal -hostility. Patty had not committed any great sin. She had sought her own -aggrandisement, as most people do, but she had gained wealth and -grandeur far above her hopes by nothing that could be called wrong; -indeed, she had done her duty in the position in which Providence and -her own exertions had placed her. It was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261"></a>{261}</span> her business to look after -the interests of the Piercey family, but to take gratefully what was -given her, which she had the best of right to, because it had been given -her. This was Patty’s argument, and it would be difficult to find fault -with it. And to think that the whole cruel world should turn upon her -for that; all those gentlefolks whom she despised with the full force of -democratic rage against people who supposed themselves her betters, yet -felt to the bottom of her heart to be the only arbiters of social -elevation and happiness, the only people about whose opinion she cared! -She came back to Greyshott in a subdued transport of almost tragic -passion. She would seek them no more, neither their approval nor their -company. She would go back to her own class, to the class from which she -had sprung, who would neither scorn her nor patronise her, but fill -Greyshott with admiring voices and adulation, and make her feel herself -the greatest lady and the most beneficent. She called for Aunt Patience -on her way from the station and carried her back to Greyshott. “You’re -going to stay this time,” she said; “I mean to live in my own way, and -have my old friends about me; and I don’t care that,” and Patty snapped -her fingers, “for what the county may say.”</p> - -<p>“The county couldn’t say nothing against your having me with you, -Patty—only right, everybody would say, and you so young, and men coming -and going.”</p> - -<p>“Where are the men coming and going?” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262"></a>{262}</span> Patty; “I see none of them. -I dare say there would be plenty, though, if it wasn’t for the women,” -she added, with a self-delusion dear to every woman upon whom society -does not smile.</p> - -<p>“You take your oath of that!” said Miss Hewitt, who was naturally of the -same mind.</p> - -<p>“But I mean to think of them no more,” cried Patty; “the servants shall -say ‘not at home’ to any of those ladies as shows their face here! I’ll -bear it no longer! If they don’t like to call they can stay away,—what -is it to me? But I’m going to see my old friends and give dinners and -dances to them that will really enjoy it!” Patty cried.</p> - -<p>Miss Hewitt looked very grave. “Who do you mean, Patty, by your old -friends?” she said.</p> - -<p>“Who should I mean but the Fletchers and the Simmonses and the Pearsons -and the Smiths and the Higginbothams?” said Patty, running on till she -was out of breath.</p> - -<p>“Lord, Patty! you’d never think of that!” cried Miss Hewitt, horrified.</p> - -<p>“Why shouldn’t I?—they’d be thankful and they’d enjoy themselves; and -I’d have folks of my own kind about me as good as anybody.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Patty, Patty, has it come to that? But you’re in a temper and don’t -mean it,” Aunt Patience cried.</p> - -<p>It would, perhaps, have been better for this disinterested relation had -she supported Patty in her new fancy, as undoubtedly it would have been -glorious and delightful to herself to have posed before her own village<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263"></a>{263}</span> -associates as one of the mistresses of Greyshott. But Miss Hewitt had -been influenced all her life by that desire for the society of the -ladies and gentlemen which is so strong in the bosom of the democrat -everywhere. She could not bear that Patty should demean herself by -falling back upon “the rabble”; and many discussions ensued, in which -the elder lady had the better of the argument. Patty’s passionate desire -to be revenged upon the people who had slighted her resolved itself at -last into the heroic conception of such a fête for the tenants and -peasantry as had never been known in the county before. Indeed, the -county was not very forward in such matters; it was an old-fashioned, -easy-going district, and new ways and new education had made but small -progress in it as yet. The squires and the gentry generally had not -begun to feel that necessity for conciliating their poorer neighbours, -with whom at present they dwelt in great amity—which has now become a -habit of society. And the fame of the great proceedings at Greyshott -travelled like fire and flame across the county. No expense was spared -upon that wonderful fête. Patty knew exactly what her old friends and -companions liked in the way of entertainment. She made a little speech -at the dinner, which began the proceedings, to the effect that she had -not invited any of the fine folks to walk about and watch them as if -they were wild beasts feeding (using over again in a reverse sense the -metaphor which she had already found so effectual), but preferred that -they should feel that she was trusting them like friends and wished<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264"></a>{264}</span> -them to enjoy themselves. And to see Patty and Miss Hewitt walking -about, sweeping the long trains of their dresses over the turf in the -midst of these revellers, with a graciousness and patronage which would -have made Lady Hartmore open her eyes, was a sight indeed. No Princess -Royal could have been more certain of her superior place than Patty on -this supreme occasion, when, flying from the hateful aristocrats, who -would not call upon her, she had intended to throw herself back again -into the bosom of her own class. And Miss Hewitt looked a Grand Duchess -at the least, and showed a benign interest in the villagers which no -reigning lady could have surpassed. “Seven? have you really? and such -fine children; and is this the youngest?” she said, pausing before a -family group; to the awe of the parents, who had known old Patience -Hewitt all their lives, and knew that she knew every detail of their -little history; but this will show with what gusto and fine histrionic -power she was able, though really almost an old woman, to take up and -play her part. But had it not been the ideal and hope of her life?</p> - -<p>There was, however, one person at the Greyshott fête whom it was -difficult to identify with the heroes of the village. When Patty saw -approaching her across the greensward a well-knit manly figure in -irreproachable flannels, with a striped cap of red and white on his -head, a tie of the same colour, a fine white flannel shirt encircling -with its spotless folded-down collar a throat burnt to a brilliant -red-brown by the sun, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265"></a>{265}</span> heart gave a jump with the sudden conviction -that “a gentleman” had come, even though uninvited, to see her in her -glory. It gave another jump, however, still more excited and tremulous, -when this figure turned out to be Roger Pearson—not a gentleman indeed, -but a famous personage all over England, the pride of the county, whose -rise in the world was now fully known to her. She had seen him before, -indeed, in this costume, but only in the dusk, when it was not so -clearly apparent. How well it became him, and what a fine fellow he -looked! handsome, free, independent, as different from all his rustic -friends as Patty was from her old school-fellows in their cotton -dresses, but in how different a way; for Roger, it was well known, was -hand-and-glove with many of the greatest people of England, and yet -quite at home in the village eleven which he had come to lead in the -match which was one of the features of the day. Patty, though she was -the lady of Greyshott, could not but feel a pang of delight and pride -when he walked by her side through the crowd. He was the only one whom -she could not patronise. She thought furtively that any one who saw them -would think he was the young squire; that was what he looked like—the -master, as she was the lady. He had no need to put on those airs which -Patty assumed. Nobody disputed his superiority, or even looked as if -they felt themselves as good as him. And it seemed to be natural, as the -afternoon went on, that he should find himself again and again by -Patty’s side, sometimes suggesting some<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266"></a>{266}</span>thing new, sometimes offering -his services to carry out her plans, sometimes begging that she would -rest and not wear herself out. “Go and sit down quiet a bit, and I’ll -look after ’em; I can see you’re doing too much,” he said. It was taking -a great deal upon him, Miss Hewitt thought, but Patty liked it! She gave -him commissions to do this and that for her, and looked on with the most -unaccustomed warmth at her heart while he fulfilled them. Just like the -young master! always traceable wherever he moved in the whiteness of his -dress, that dress which the gentlemen wore and looked their best in; and -nobody could have imagined that Roger Pearson was not a gentleman, to -see him. “Well! and weren’t there ways of making him one?” Patty thought -to herself.</p> - -<p>But, notwithstanding her indignant determination to throw herself back -into the bosom of her own class, it was to Roger alone that she made any -overtures of further intercourse. He stayed behind all the others when -the troops of guests went away, and told her it was a real plucky thing -to do, and had been a first-rate success. He looked, indeed, like a -gentleman, but he had not adopted the phraseology of the Vere de Veres; -and perhaps Patty liked him all the better. She said, “Come and see me -any day; come when you like,” when he held her hand to say good-night; -and she said it in an undertone, so that Aunt Patience might not hear.</p> - -<p>“I will indeed,” he said in the same tone, “the first vacant day I -have——” Her breast swelled to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267"></a>{267}</span> see that he was a man much sought -after, though this had not been her own fate.</p> - -<p>But either he did not have a vacant day, or, what Patty’s judgment quite -approved, he did not mean to make himself cheap. And Patty fell into a -worse depth of solitude than ever, notwithstanding the presence of Aunt -Patience, to whom she had said in the rashness of her passion that she -should henceforth stay always at Greyshott, but whom now she felt to be -an additional burden when perpetually by her side. There had been a -little quarrel between them after luncheon one day in July, for they -were both irritable by reason of that unbroken <i>tête-à-tête</i>, and of the -fact that they had said ten or twelve times over everything they had to -say; and Miss Hewitt had flounced off upstairs to her room, where, after -her passion blew off, she had lain down on the sofa to take a nap, -leaving Patty to unmitigated solitude. It was raining, and that made it -more dreary than ever: rain in July, quiet, persistent, downpouring; -bursting the flowers to pieces; scattering the leaves of the last roses -on the ground; and injuring even those sturdy uninteresting geraniums -which are the gardener’s stand-by—is the dreariest of all rains. It is -out of season, even when it is wanted for the country, as there is -always some philosopher to tell us; and it is pitiless, pattering upon -the trees, soaking the grass, spreading about us a remorseless curtain -of grey. Patty, all alone, walked from window to window and saw nothing -but the trees under the rain, and a little yellow river pouring across -the path. She sat down and took up<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268"></a>{268}</span> the work with which Aunt Patience -solaced the weary hours. It was the old-fashioned Berlin woolwork, which -only old ladies do nowadays. She contrived to put it all wrong, and then -she threw it down and went to the window again. And then she was aware -of a figure coming up the avenue, a figure clothed in a glistening white -mackintosh and under an umbrella. She could not see who it was, but -something in the walk struck her as familiar. It looked like a -gentleman, she said to herself; though to be sure, in these days of -equality, it might be only the draper’s young man with patterns, or the -lawyer’s clerk. Patty felt that she would have been glad to see even the -lawyer’s clerk.</p> - -<p>But when it was Roger Pearson that came into the room, what a difference -that made at once! It was almost as if the sun had come out from behind -the clouds for a moment, although he was not a gentleman, but only a -professional cricketer. He was not dressed this time in his flannels, -which suited him best, but in a grey suit, which, however, was very -presentable. Patty felt that if the first lady in the county was to -choose this particular wet day to call, which was not likely, she would -not need to blush for her visitor. And she was unfeignedly glad to see -him in the desolation of her solitude. She could tell from the manner in -which he looked at her that he was admiring her, and he could tell that -she was admiring him, and what could two young people require more of -each other? Roger told her quite frankly a great deal about himself. He -acknowledged that he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269"></a>{269}</span> been “a bit idle” in his earlier days, and -liked play better than work; but that had all come in very useful, for -such play was now his work, and he had a very pleasant life, going all -over the country to cricket matches, and seeing everything that was -going. “And all among the swells, too,” he said, “which would please -you.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, you’re mistaken altogether,” said Patty. “Swells! I loathe the -very name of them. Since I’ve lived among ’em I know what they are; and -a poorer, more cold, stuck-up, self-seeking set——”</p> - -<p>“I don’t make no such objections,” said Roger, who, it has been said, -took no trouble to use the language of gentlemen. “They’re good fellows -enough. I don’t want no more of them than they’re willing to give me—so -we gets on first rate.”</p> - -<p>“They try to crush your spirit,” cried Patty, flaming, “and then, -perhaps, when they’ve got you well under their fist, they’ll condescend -to take a little notice. But none of that sort of thing for me!”</p> - -<p>“Well!” said Roger, looking round him, “this is a fine sort of a place, -with all these mirrors and gilt things; but I should have said you would -have been more comfortable with a smaller house, and things more in our -own way, like what we’ve been used to, both you and me.”</p> - -<p>“I have been used to this for a long time now,” said Patty, with spirit, -“and it’s my own house.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know,” he said, “and it ain’t for me to say anything, for I’m -not a swell like these as you have such a high opinion of.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_270" id="page_270"></a>{270}</span>”</p> - -<p>“I have no high opinion of them. I hate them!” cried Patty, with set -teeth.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ve often thought,” said Roger, “though I know I’ve no right -to—but just in fancy don’t you know—as Patty Hewitt of the Seven -Thorns would have been a happier woman in the nice little ’ouse as I -could give her now, and never harming nobody, than a grand lady like -Mrs. Piercey, with so much trouble as you have had, and no real -friends.”</p> - -<p>“How do you know,” cried Patty, “that I have no friends?” and then, -after a moment’s struggle to keep her self-command, she burst into a -violent storm of tears. “Oh, don’t say anything to me!” she cried, -“don’t say anything to me! I haven’t had a kind word from a soul, nor -known what it was to have an easy heart or a bit of pleasure, not since -the night you came to the little door, Roger Pearson—no, nor long -before.”</p> - -<p>There was a silence, broken only by her passionate sobs and the sound of -the weeping which she could not control, until Roger moved from his -chair and went up to the sofa on which she had thrown herself, hiding -her tears and flushed face upon the cushions. He laid his hand upon her -shoulder with a caressing touch, and said, softly, “Don’t now, don’t -now, Patty dear. Don’t cry, there’s a love.”</p> - -<p>“And when you think all I’ve gone through,” said Patty, among her sobs, -“and how I’ve given up everything to do my duty! When you said to me -that night you had been at a dance—Oh! and me never<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_271" id="page_271"></a>{271}</span> seeing a soul, -never anything but waiting on them, and serving them, and nursing them, -or playing nonsense games from morning to night! And then when the old -gentleman died and left me what I never asked him for, then everybody -taking up against me as if I had committed a sin; and never one coming -near me, never, never one, but Meg in London coming to speak out of -charity, because I was alone. Yes, and I was alone,” said Patty, raising -herself up, drying her eyes hastily, with a nervous hand, “and I’ll be -alone all my life; but I’ll never take charity as if I was some poor -creature, from her or from him!”</p> - -<p>“You needn’t be alone a moment more than you like, Patty,” said Roger. -“I was always fond of you, you well know. You jilted me to marry <i>'im</i>, -poor fellow, but I’ll not say a word about that. You’re not ’appy in -this great ’ouse, and you know it, nor you’ll never be. I’m not saying -anything one way or another about them ladies and swells: maybe they -might have been a little kinder and done no ’arm. But you’re an -interloper among them, you know you are; and I’m not one as ’olds with -putting another man’s nose out of joint, or taking his ’ouse over ’is -’ead. I wouldn’t, if it was a bit of a cottage, or your father’s old -place at the Seven Thorns; and no more would I here. There ain’t no -blessing on it, that’s my opinion.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know, Roger Pearson, that your opinion was ever asked,” Patty -said.</p> - -<p>“It wasn’t asked; but you wouldn’t cry like that before anybody but me, -nor own as you were in trouble.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_272" id="page_272"></a>{272}</span> Now, ’ere’s my ’and, if you’ll have it, -Patty; I’ll not come ’ere to sit down at another man’s fireside, but -I’ll stand by you through thick and thin; and I’m making a pretty bit of -money myself, and neither me nor you—we don’t need to be beholdin’ to -nobody. Let’s just set up a snug place of our own, and I’d like to see -the man—the biggest swell in the world—or woman either, that would put -a slight upon my wife.”</p> - -<p>“What!” said Patty, with a smile that was meant to be satirical, “give -up Greyshott and my position and all as I’ve struggled so hard for, for -you, Roger Pearson? Why, who are you? nobody! a man as is a good -cricketer; and that’s the whole when all’s said.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Roger, good-humouredly, “it’s not a great deal, perhaps, -but it’s always something; and it’s still me if I never touched a bat. -You wouldn’t marry my cricketing any more than you’d marry his -parliamenteering, or sporting, or what not, if you did get a swell; and -you take my word, Patty, you’ll never get on with a swell like you would -do with me. We’ve been brought up the same, and we understand each -other. I know how you’re feeling, just exactly, my poor little girl: -you’d like to be ’appy, and then pride comes in. You say, ‘I’ve worked -hard for it and I’ll never give it up.’ ”</p> - -<p>“If you mean I’ll not give up being Mrs. Piercey of Greyshott, with the -finest house in the county, to go to a cottage with you—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_273" id="page_273"></a>{273}</span>—”</p> - -<p>“Don’t now, don’t,” said Roger, protesting, yet without excitement; “I -never said a cottage, did I? What I said was a ’andsome ’ouse, with all -the modern improvements and furnished to your fancy, instead of this old -barrack of a place, and a spanking pair of ’osses, a deal better than -them old fat beasts, as goes along like snails; and some more in the -stable, a brougham, and a victoria, and a dogcart for me; that’s my -style. I don’t call that love in a cottage. I call it love very well to -do, with everything comfortable. Lord! if you like this better, this old -place—full of ghosts and dead folks’ pictures, I don’t agree with your -taste, my dear, and that’s all I’ve got to say.”</p> - -<p>Patty looked at her matter-of-fact lover, raising her head high, -preparing the sharpest speeches. She sat very upright, all the tears -over, ready, quite ready, to give him his answer. But then there -suddenly came over Patty a vision of the winter which was coming, the -winter that would be just like the last—the monotonous, dreadful days, -the long, lingering, mortal nights, with Aunt Patience for her sole -companion. And her thoughts leapt on before to the ’andsome ’ouse; for -being, as Roger said, of his kind, and understanding by nature what he -meant, her imagination represented to her in a flash as of sunshine, -that shining, brilliant, high-coloured house—with all the last -improvements and the newest fashions, plate-glass windows, shining fresh -paint which it would be a delight to keep like a new pin, everything -new, clean, delightful; carpets and curtains of her own choosing, -costing a great deal<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_274" id="page_274"></a>{274}</span> of money, and of which she could say to every -guest, “It’s the best that money could buy,” or “I gave so much a yard -for it,” or “Every window stands me in fifty pounds there as you see -it.” All this appeared to Patty in a flash of roseate colour. And the -pair of spanking horses at the door, and a crowd of cricketing men, yes, -and cricketing ladies; and meetings in her own grounds, and great -luncheon parties, and quantities of other young couples thinking of -nothing but their fun and their pleasure, the wives dressing against -each other, the young men competing in their batting and bowling, and in -their horses and turn-outs, but all in the easiest, noisiest, friendly -way, and all surrounding herself, Patty, with admiration and homage as -the richest among them. Oh, what a contrast to grey old Greyshott, with -its empty, echoing rooms and its dark solitude, and the pictures of dead -people, as Roger said, and not a lively sight or sound, nothing but -Jerningham and the other servants and Aunt Patience. To think of all -that, and Roger added to it,—Roger, who sat looking at her so kindly, -with his handsome good-humoured face, not hurrying her in her decision, -looking as if he knew beforehand that she could not resist him and his -offer of everything she liked best in the world.</p> - -<p>All this came to Patty in a moment, as she sat with her sharp speeches -all arrested on her lips. The pause she made was not long, but it was -long enough to show him that she had begun to think, and we all know -that the woman who deliberates is lost; and it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_275" id="page_275"></a>{275}</span> was in the nature of the -practical-minded lover, who was not given to the sentimental, as it was -also in Patty’s nature, to carry things by a <i>coup de main</i>. He sprang -up from the seat he had taken opposite to her, and suddenly, before she -was aware, gave Patty a hearty kiss which seemed to sound through all -the silent house.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think any more about it,” he said, holding her fast; “you -jilted me before, but you’re not going to jilt me again. I ’ave the -’ouse in my eye, and I know the jolly life we’ll live in it: lots of -company and lots of fun, and two folks that is fond of one another; -that’s better than living all alone—a little more grand, but no fun at -all.”</p> - -<p>And to such a triumphant and convincing argument, which her heart and -every faculty acknowledged, what could Patty reply?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_276" id="page_276"></a>{276}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVIII" id="CHAPTER_XLVIII"></a>CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was only a few weeks after this that there appeared in the -newspapers, which had all reported at such length the great trial of -Piercey <i>versus</i> Piercey, a paragraph which perhaps caused as much -commotion through the county as the news of any great public event for -many years. Parliament had risen, and the papers were very thankful for -a new sensation of any kind. The paragraph was to this effect:—</p> - -<p>“Our readers have not forgotten the trial of Piercey <i>v.</i> Piercey, which -unfolded so curious a page of family history, and roused so many -comments through the whole English-speaking world. It is seldom that so -many elements of human interest are collected in a single case, and the -effect it produced on the immense audience which followed its -developments day by day was extraordinary. The public took sides, as on -an affair of imperial importance, for and against the heroine, who, from -the bar-room of a roadside inn, found herself elevated in a single year -to the position of a considerable landowner, with an ancient historical -house and a name well known in the annals of the country. How<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_277" id="page_277"></a>{277}</span> she -attained these honours, whether by the most worthy and admirable means, -by unquestionable self-devotion to her husband and father-in-law, or by -undue influence, exercised first on a young man of feeble intellect, and -afterwards on an old gentleman in his dotage, was the question debated -in almost every sociable assembly.</p> - -<p>“The partisans and opponents of this lady will have a new problem -offered to them in the new and startling incident which is now announced -as the climax of this story. Those who have all along believed in the -disinterestedness of the young and charming Mrs. Piercey will be -delighted to hear that she has now presented herself again before the -public, in the most romantic and attractive light by freely and of her -own will resigning the Manor of Greyshott, to which a jury of her -countrymen had decided her to be fully entitled, to the heirs-at-law of -the late Sir Giles Piercey, together with all the old furniture, -pictures, family plate, etc., contained in the manor house—a gift -equally magnificent and unexpected. It is now stated that this has all -along been Mrs. Piercey’s intention, and that but for the trial, which -put her at once on her defence, she would have made this magnanimous -renunciation immediately after coming into the property. Her rights -having been assailed, however, it is natural that a high-spirited young -woman should have felt it her first duty to vindicate her character; and -that she should now carry out her high-minded intention, after all the -obloquy which it has been attempted to throw on her, and the base -motives imputed to her, is a remarkable instance of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_278" id="page_278"></a>{278}</span> magnanimity which, -indeed, we know nothing to equal. It is, indeed, heaping coals of fire -on the heads of her accusers, for whom, however, it must be said that -their irritation in finding themselves so unexpectedly deprived of the -inheritance they had confidently expected, was natural and justifiable. -It must be a satisfaction to all that a <i>cause célèbre</i> which attracted -so much attention should end in such a fine act of restitution, and that -an ancient family should thus be restored to their ancestral place. We -are delighted to add that Mrs. Piercey, who still retains a fine fortune -bequeathed to her by the love and gratitude of her father-in-law, whom -she nursed with the greatest devotion till his death, is about to -contract a second marriage with a gentleman very well known in the -cricketing world.”</p> - -<p>“In the name of Heaven, what is the meaning of that?” cried old Sir -Francis Piercey, who was a choleric old gentleman, flinging down the -newspaper (which only arrived in the evening), and turning a crimson -countenance, flushed with astonishment and offence, to his son Gerald -and his daughter-in-law Margaret, who had returned to their home in the -north only a few days before. Sir Francis was a very peppery old man, -and constantly thought, as do many heads of houses conscious of having -grown a little hard of hearing, that nothing was told him, and that even -in respect to the events most interesting to the family he was -systematically kept in the dark.</p> - -<p>“The meaning of what?” Margaret asked, without excitement. She had no -newspaper, being quite content<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_279" id="page_279"></a>{279}</span> to wait for the news until the gentlemen -had read everything and contemptuously flung down each his journal with -the remark that there was nothing in it. Mrs. Gerald Piercey did not -imagine there could ever be anything in the paper which could concern -her or her belongings; and it was a quiet time in politics, when -Parliament was up, and nothing very stirring to be expected. She rose to -put down by her father-in-law’s side his cup of tea; for though he was -so fiery an old gentleman, he loved the little feminine attentions of -which he had been for many years deprived.</p> - -<p>“Let me see, Grandpapa,” said Osy, coming to the front with the air of a -man who could put all straight.</p> - -<p>“By Jove!” cried Colonel Piercey, who had come to the same startling -announcement in his paper. And the father and son for a moment sat bolt -upright, staring at each other as if each supposed the other to be to -blame.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” said Margaret, beginning to be alarmed.</p> - -<p>She was answered by the sudden opening of the door, and the entrance, -announced by a servant quite unacquainted with him, who conferred upon -him an incomprehensible name, of Mr. Pownceby, pale with excitement and -tired with a journey. He scarcely took time for the ceremonious -salutations which Sir Francis Piercey thought needful, and omitted -altogether the “how-d’ye-do’s” owing to his old friends, Margaret and -Gerald, but burst at once into the subject that possessed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_280" id="page_280"></a>{280}</span> him. “Well, I -can see you’ve seen it! Sharp work putting it in so soon; but it’s all -true.”</p> - -<p>“What is all true? We have something to do with its being false or true, -I suppose?” cried Colonel Piercey, placing himself in a somewhat defiant -attitude, in an Englishman’s usual position of defence before the fire.</p> - -<p>“What are you saying, sir? what are you saying? I am a little hard of -hearing. I desire that all this should be explained to me immediately. -You seem all to understand, but not a syllable has reached my ears.”</p> - -<p>“I assure you, Sir Francis,” said Mr. Pownceby, “I started the first -thing this morning. I have not let the grass grow under my feet. Her -solicitors communicated with me only yesterday. It is sharp work getting -it into the papers at once, very sharp work, but I suppose she wanted to -get the honour and glory; and it is quite true. I have the deed in my -pocket in full form; for those solicitors of hers, if not endowed with -just the best fame in the profession, are——”</p> - -<p>“But you’re going a great deal too fast, Pownceby,” cried Colonel -Gerald. “I don’t see that either my father or I can accept anything from -that woman’s hand.”</p> - -<p>“The deed in full form, Sir Francis,” said the lawyer, too wise to take -any notice of so hotheaded a person, “restoring Greyshott and all that -is in it to the lawful heir—yourself. I don’t pretend to know what is -her motive; but there it is all in black and white: and for once in a -way I can’t but say that I admire the woman,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_281" id="page_281"></a>{281}</span> Sir Francis, and that -she’s got perception of what is right in her, after all.”</p> - -<p>“God bless my soul!” was all Sir Francis said.</p> - -<p>“But we can’t take it from that woman, Pownceby! Why, what are you -thinking of? Receive from her, a person we all despise, a gift like -this! Why, the thing is impossible! It is like her impertinence to offer -it; and how you could think for a moment——”</p> - -<p>Margaret, who had hastily taken up the paper and read the paragraph, -here put it down again and laid her hand on her husband’s arm. “You must -wait,” she said, “you must wait, Gerald, for what your father says.”</p> - -<p>“The woman of the trial?” said Sir Francis, getting it with difficulty -into his head, “the baggage that married poor Gervase, and made a fool -of his father—that woman!” He added briskly, turning to his son: “I was -always against that trial, you know I was. Don’t throw away good money -after bad, I always said: let be; if we don’t get it in the course of -nature we’ll never get it, was what I always said. You know I always -said it. Those costs which you ran up in spite of me, almost broke my -heart.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause, and then Colonel Piercey said with a half laugh, “We -all know, father, that you did not like the costs.”</p> - -<p>“I said so!” said Sir Francis, “I was always against it. I thought the -woman might turn out better than you supposed. A very remarkable thing, -Mr. Pownceby, don’t you think it’s a very remarkable thing? after she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_282" id="page_282"></a>{282}</span> -had won her cause and had everything her own way. Do you recall to -memory ever having heard of a similar incident? I never did in all my -experience; a very extraordinary thing indeed!”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Mr. Pownceby, “no; I don’t think I ever did hear anything -like it. They generally stick to what they have got like grim death.”</p> - -<p>“I think that must be rather a remarkable woman,” said Sir Francis; “I -retract anything I may have been induced to say of her in a moment of -annoyance. I consider she has acted very creditably, very—very—I may -say nobly, Mr. Pownceby. I beg that I may never hear a word in her -disparagement from any of you. I hope that we might all be capable of -doing anything so—so—magnanimous and high-minded ourselves.”</p> - -<p>“But, father,” cried Colonel Piercey, “we can’t surely accept a gift -like this from a woman we know nothing of—whom we’ve no esteem -for—whom we’ve prosecuted—whom——”</p> - -<p>“Not accept it, sir?” cried Sir Francis—“not accept a righteous -restitution? I should like to know on what principle we could refuse it? -If a man had taken your watch from you, would you refuse to take it if -he brought it back? Why, what would that be but to discourage every good -impulse? I shall certainly accept it. And I hope, Mr. Pownceby, that you -will convey my thanks—yes, my thanks, and very high appreciation to -this young lady. I think she is doing a very noble thing. Whether I -benefited by it or not, I should think it a very noble thing. Don’t be -stingy in your praise, sir!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_283" id="page_283"></a>{283}</span> It’s noble to say you’ve been wrong—many -haven’t the strength of mind to do it. I’ll drink her very good health -at dinner. We’ll have a toast, do you hear?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Grandpapa,” cried Osy, always ready; “and shall it be with what -Cousin Colonel calls the honours? You give the name, and I’ll stand up -upon a chair and do the ‘Hip, hip, hurrah!’ ”</p> - -<p>Upon what rule it was that old Sir Francis, rather a severe old -gentleman to most people, had become grandpapa to Osy, while Colonel -Piercey remained only, as of old, Cousin Colonel, is too subtle a -question to enter into; but it was so to the perfect satisfaction of the -two persons chiefly involved. And thus for the second time Osy cheered -for Patty with the delighted readiness of an unbiassed soul.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Piercey left Greyshott shortly after this, having left everything -in the most perfect good order, and all the servants in the house, -without saying a word of any new arrangements, though I need not say -they had all read that paragraph in the newspapers. She went to London, -where she spent a few weeks very pleasantly, and ordered a great many -new dresses. Here she dismissed Jerningham, who carried away with her a -number of black and white gowns, and the best recommendations. Patty -plunged into pinks and blues with the zest of a person who has long been -deprived of such indulgences, and the world learned by the newspapers -that, on the 20th of August, Patience, widow of the late Gervase -Piercey, Esq., of Greyshott, was married<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_284" id="page_284"></a>{284}</span> at St. George’s, Hanover -Square, to Roger Pearson, Esq., of Canterbury House. The happy pair went -abroad for their honeymoon, but did not enjoy the Continent, only -entering into full and perfect bliss when they returned to the -glistening glories of their new house. There had been various storms -between them before the question of Greyshott had been decided, and it -had required all Roger’s power and influence to carry his scheme to a -successful conclusion. His determination not to sit down by another -man’s fireside, and to have nothing to say to the old house, which he -declared gave him the shivers to look at, were answered by many a -scornful request to take himself off then, if he didn’t like it, and -leave it to those who did.</p> - -<p>“That’s just what I want—to leave it to those that like it: you don’t, -Patty, and never will!” cried the bold lover. “How do I know? Oh, I -know! You’ve gone through a lot, and you think you’ll have something for -it, anyhow. Well, so you shall have something for it. Wait till you see -the ’ouse that is just waiting till you say the word—ten times better -an ’ouse, and folks all about us will be delighted to see you, and as -much fun as you can set your face to!” Oh, how powerful and how sweet -these arguments were! But to give Greyshott back was a bitter pill to -Patty.</p> - -<p>“I’ll sell it, then,” she said; “it’ll bring in a deal of money;” and -this was what Miss Hewitt, who was almost mad with opposition, advised, -arguing and beseeching till the foam flew from her mouth.</p> - -<p>But Roger was obstinate. He declared that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_285" id="page_285"></a>{285}</span> would not be instrumental -in taking any man’s home from him. “Money’s a different thing,” he said. -“One sovereign’s just like another, but one ’ouse ain’t like another.” -The telling argument, however, was one which Roger had the cleverness to -pick up from a cricket reporter on a daily paper, to whom he had -confided his romance.</p> - -<p>“By George!” cried the journalist, “what a paragraph for my paper!” He -said “par,” no doubt, but Patty would not have understood what this -meant. When she did take up the idea, and understood that her praises -were to be sung and her generosity extolled in every paper, and that the -Pierceys would be made to sing small before her, Patty was overcome at -last. Her heart swelled as if it would burst with triumph and a sense of -greatness when she read that paragraph. She felt it to be altogether -just and true. If they had not prosecuted, there was no telling what -magnanimity she might not have been equal to, and she accepted the -praise as one who had deserved it to the very utmost.</p> - -<p>“They’ve been in it hundreds and hundreds of years,” she said to the new -friends to whom her bridegroom introduced her in London—among whom were -several newspaper men, and one who insisted upon getting her portrait -for an illustrated paper—“as we have been in the Seven Thorns. Being of -an old family myself, I have always felt for them.” This was reported in -the little biographical notice which was appended to Mrs. Piercey’s -portrait in the illustrated paper, where it was also told that she had -been known<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_286" id="page_286"></a>{286}</span> far and wide as the Lily of the Seven Thorns, and had been -carried off by the Squire’s son from many competitors. It made up for -much, even for the fact, still bitter to her, that she had been cheated -out of her title, and would never be Lady Piercey,—a loss and delusion -which sometimes brought tears into her eyes long after she was Roger -Pearson’s wife.</p> - -<p>But when Patty settled down in her own ’Andsome ’Ouse, it was soon -proved that Roger had not said a word too much. The cricketing world -rallied round him. He ceased to be a professional, and became a -gentleman cricketer and a member of the M.C.C. The cricket pitch within -the grounds of Canterbury House was admirable, and matches were played -there, in which not only the honour of the county, but the honour of -England, was involved. Patty gave cricket luncheons and even cricket -dinners, to which the golden youth of England came gladly, and where -even great ladies, watching the cricket for one side or another, were -content to be entertained. Patty drove her two spanking horses over the -county, calling at the best houses; while even Lady Hartmore, after the -restitution as she called it, paid her a visit of ceremony, which Mrs. -Roger Pearson, swelling with pride and triumph, never returned. Not to -have returned Lady Hartmore’s visit was almost as great a distinction as -to have received one from the Queen. And all the lesser ladies in the -county envied Patty the strength of mind which made her capable of such -a proof of independence.</p> - -<p>Colonel Piercey and his wife became shortly after<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_287" id="page_287"></a>{287}</span>wards the inhabitants -of Greyshott, which suited Sir Francis better than to have his -long-accustomed quiet permanently disturbed. “Though I’d like to keep -the boy,” he said. It cost a good deal to Colonel Pierce’s pride, but it -lay with his father to decide, and there was nothing more to say. They -were not rich, for Greyshott was a difficult place to keep up on a -limited income; but it was something, no doubt, after the shock of the -restoration, to have the old house still.</p> - -<p>And Patty flourishes and spreads like a green baytree. She is not so -careful of etiquette, so anxious to be always correct and do what other -ladies do. She is beginning to grow stout; her colour is high; her -nursery is full; and she is, beyond all question, a much happier woman -than she ever could have been in Greyshott, even had Lady Hartmore -called and all gone well—now that she and her husband live in continual -jollity in their own ’Andsome ’Ouse.</p> - -<p class="c"> -THE END.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_288" id="page_288"></a>{288}</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -PRINTED BY F. A. BROCKHAUS, LEIPZIG.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_289" id="page_289"></a>{289}</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="c"><span class="eng">The English Library.</span></p> - -<p class="cb"><span class="smcap">Heinemann and Balestier</span></p> - -<p class="c">(<i>Ltd. London</i>).</p> - -<p class="c">LEIPZIG.</p> - -<p class="c"> -BERLIN. VIENNA. PARIS.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="c">For Sale by all Booksellers, and at all Railway Stalls, on the -Continent.</p> - -<p class="c"><i>Each Volume sold separately, price 1 Mark 60 Pfennig, or 2 Francs.</i></p> - -<p><span class="eng">The English Library</span> is designed to supply the latest and most excellent -examples of English and American fiction and general literature, for -Continental reading. The volumes of the series are for sale at all -booksellers and at all Railway Stalls on the Continent.</p> - -<p><span class="eng">The English Library</span> being especially prepared for the convenience of -travellers and Continental readers, is put forth in small, portable, -shapely, and convenient volumes, issued in distinctive covers at the -uniform price of 1 Mark 60 Pfennig, or 2 Francs per volume. They are -clearly and carefully printed on the best paper, and flexibly bound.</p> - -<p><span class="eng">The English Library</span> has been fortunate in securing the cooperation of -almost every Novelist of importance in England<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_290" id="page_290"></a>{290}</span> and America. The -resources and variety of <span class="eng">The English Library</span> may be judged from the -following list of authors contributing to it:—</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td class="c"> -R. L. STEVENSON.<br /> -WALTER BESANT.<br /> -H. RIDER HAGGARD.<br /> -RUDYARD KIPLING.<br /> -GEORGE MEREDITH.<br /> -HENRY JAMES.<br /> -W. E. NORRIS.<br /> -F. ANSTEY.<br /> -HALL CAINE.<br /> -JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.<br /> -<span class="smcap">Sir</span> EDWIN ARNOLD.<br /> -W. D. HOWELLS.<br /> -JUSTIN McCARTHY.<br /> -S. BARING-GOULD.<br /> -B. L. FARJEON.<br /> -MARGARET DELAND.<br /> -TASMA.<br /> -F. MABEL ROBINSON.<br /> -JESSIE FOTHERGILL.<br /> -F. C. PHILIPS.<br /> -LUCAS MALET.<br /> -OSCAR WILDE.<br /> -MAARTEN MAARTENS.<br /> -MARY E. WILKINS.<br /> -<span class="smcap">Mrs.</span> RIDDELL.<br /> -FRANK BARRETT.<br /> -<span class="smcap">Mrs.</span> ALEXANDER.<br /> -JAMES PAYN.<br /> -OUIDA.<br /> -<span class="smcap">Mrs.</span> PARR.<br /> -JEROME K. JEROME.<br /> -KATHERINE S. MACQUOID.<br /> -J. M. BARRIE.<br /> -A. CONAN DOYLE.<br /> -CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER.<br /> -EDNA LYALL.<br /> -GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.<br /> -F. W. ROBINSON.<br /> -MARGARET L. WOODS.<br /> -MAXWELL GRAY.<br /> -STANLEY J. WEYMAN.<br /> -JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS.<br /> -FLORENCE MARRYAT.<br /> -AUSTIN DOBSON.<br /> -L. B. WALFORD.<br /> -<span class="smcap">Mrs.</span> HUNGERFORD.<br /> -FLORENCE WARDEN.<br /> -E. FRANCES POYNTER.<br /> -HELEN MATHERS.<br /> -ROLF BOLDREWOOD.<br /> -ROBERT BUCHANAN.<br /> -<span class="smcap">Hon.</span> EMILY LAWLESS.<br /> -<span class="smcap">Mrs.</span> OLIPHANT.<br /> -FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="eng">The English Library</span> sets two aims especially before itself:—</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">First</span>—To issue its volumes <i>simultaneously</i> with the appearance of the -same works in England and America; and</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Second</span>—To compress these works (wherever it is possible<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_291" id="page_291"></a>{291}</span> without -sacrifice of the legibility of the type) into <i>One Volume</i>.</p> - -<p>English and American travellers and English-speaking residents on the -Continent will appreciate the opportunity thus afforded to obtain in a -convenient form, and at a moderate price, new books as rapidly as they -are issued at home, without being forced to wait until they have ceased -to be novelties.</p> - -<hr /> -<p class="c"><span class="eng"><big>The English Library</big></span>.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></p> - -<p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> The greater number of the Volumes mentioned in the -following catalogue are now ready, and may be obtained from every -bookseller and at every railway bookstall on the Continent. The reader -is referred to the last pages of the cover for an exact list of the -volumes of <span class="eng">The English Library</span> issued up to the present date.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">1. THE LIGHT THAT FAILED. By <span class="smcap">Rudyard Kipling</span>, Author of “The -Phantom Rickshaw,” “Soldiers Three,” “The Story of the Gadsbys,” -&c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>“It is the first truth about Mr. Kipling that he has power, real -intrinsic power.”—<i>Academy.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">2, 3. SIDNEY. By <span class="smcap">Margaret Deland</span>, Author of “John Ward, Preacher.” -2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>“Better even than ‘John Ward, Preacher.’ ”—<i>Speaker.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">4, 5. APRIL’S LADY. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Hungerford</span>, Author of “Molly Bawn.” 2 -vols.</p></div> - -<p>“Quite worthy of the author of ‘Molly Bawn.’ ”—<i>Athenæum.</i></p> - -<p>“The tipsy-cake of literature, light and sweet.”—<i>Saturday Review.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">6. THE LIGHT of the WORLD. By Sir <span class="smcap">Edwin Arnold</span>, K.C.I.E., C.S.I., -Author of “The Light of Asia.” 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>“The multitude of readers who were delighted and instructed by ‘The -Light of Asia’ will turn to this new volume with lively expectation. The -whole burden of the poem is to set forth the joyful aspect of the -Christian faith as compared with that of Buddha.”—<i>Daily News.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">7. THE PHANTOM RICKSHAW. By <span class="smcap">Rudyard Kipling</span>, Author of “The Light -that Failed,” “Soldiers Three,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>“He is a born story-teller, and a man of humour into the -bargain.”—<i>Saturday Review.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">8, 9. URITH. By <span class="smcap">S. Baring-Gould</span>, Author of “Mehalah,” “John -Herring,” &c. 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>“A powerful and ingenious romance.”—<i>Anti-Jacobin.</i></p> - -<p>“Mr. Baring-Gould has been able to create a strong interest, and to -maintain it at a high pitch.”—<i>Athenæum.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">10, 11. MARCIA. By <span class="smcap">W. E. Norris</span>, Author of “Matrimony,” “No New -Thing.” &c. 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>“Mr. Norris has the light touch of Thackeray, who guides us through -three or four generations as gracefully as a well-bred man might point -out the portraits of his ancestors in the family picture -gallery.”—<i>Quarterly Review.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">12, 13. BRAVE HEART AND TRUE. By <span class="smcap">Florence Marryat</span>, Author of “My -Sister the Actress,” “Véronique,” &c. 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>“Miss Marryat wields a clever pen.”—<i>Athenæum.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">14, 15. BASIL AND ANNETTE. By <span class="smcap">B. L. Farjeon</span>, Author of “Grif,” -“Blade o’ Grass,” &c. 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>“One of the most finished stories, from a literary point of view, that -the author has ever produced.”—<i>Spectator.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">16, 17. IN THE HEART OF THE STORM. By <span class="smcap">Maxwell Gray</span>, Author of “The -Silence of Dean Maitland.” 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>“The nobility, the seriousness of purpose, the keen sense of humour, the -boldness and brilliance in description, will all be familiar to the -readers of her previous works. It stands far, very far, above our -average fiction.”—<i>Speaker.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">18. TOURMALIN’S TIME CHEQUES. By <span class="smcap">F. Anstey</span>, Author of “Vice Versâ,” -“The Giant’s Robe,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>“A writer who thoroughly understands and sympathetically describes -English character.”—<i>Vanity Fair.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">19, 20. THE WAGES OF SIN. By <span class="smcap">Lucas Malet</span>. Author of “Col. Enderby’s -Wife,” “Mrs. Lorimer,” &c. 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>“Since ‘The Mill on the Floss’ there has been nothing more powerful in -fiction.”—<i>Scotsman.</i></p> - -<p>“We admire greatly the singular dramatic power, psychological skill, and -literary art of Lucas Malet, never displayed with such effect as in ‘The -Wages of Sin.’ ”—<i>Speaker.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">21. THE ANGLOMANIACS. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Burton Harrison</span>. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>This story, published anonymously in the <i>Century</i> magazine, aroused the -most lively interest and discussion during its serial course. It has -more than usual attraction from its clever analysis of the latest -tendency in American society, here satirised under the name of -Anglomania.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">22. MY FACE IS MY FORTUNE. By <span class="smcap">F. C. Philips</span>, Author of “As in a -Looking-Glass,” and <span class="smcap">Percy Fendall</span>. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>“It requires to go back to Balzac in order to match the pitiless -analyses and incisive descriptions which ... incontestably place Mr. -Philips in the first rank of our most artistic and brilliant -writers.”—<i>Morning Post.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">23, 24. ST. KATHERINE’S BY THE TOWER. By <span class="smcap">Walter Besant</span>, Author of -“All Sorts and Conditions of Men,” &c. 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>“Written with great power and sometimes with almost tragic -intensity.”—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">25, 26. ERIC BRIGHTEYES. By <span class="smcap">H. Rider Haggard</span>, Author of “King -Solomon’s Mines,” “She,” &c. 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>“The drama of fate and battle fascinates; the figures are cast in the -heroic mould; the utterances are large, direct, and -simple.”—<i>Scotsman.</i></p> - -<p>“We incline to think that this is artistically the most perfect of its -author’s works.”—<i>Anti-Jacobin.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">27. WHAT GOLD CANNOT BUY. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Alexander</span>, Author of “The Wooing -O’t,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>“Mrs. Alexander tells a story with clearness and spirit.”—<i>Athenæum.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">28, 29. ONE OF OUR CONQUERORS. By <span class="smcap">George Meredith</span>, Author of “The -Ordeal of Richard Feverel,” “Beauchamp’s Career,” &c. 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>“We doubt if Mr. Meredith has ever written anything stronger, anything -more absolutely convincing.”—<i>Speaker.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">30. A LONDON LIFE. By <span class="smcap">Henry James</span>, Author of “Daisy Miller,” “The -American,” “The Portrait of a Lady,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>A collection of tales by Mr. James, marked by the qualities which have -made him the foremost living expositor of certain phases of life.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">31, 32. A HARDY NORSEMAN. By <span class="smcap">Edna Lyall</span>. Author of “Donovan,” “We -Two,” &c. 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>“A grand simplicity, an unconscious poetry of eloquence, which stirs the -very depths of the heart.”—<i>Standard.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">33. PRETTY MISS SMITH. By <span class="smcap">Florence Warden</span>, Author of “The House on -the Marsh,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>“Since reading ‘The House on the Marsh’ I have not read a more exciting -tale than the same authoress’s ‘Pretty Miss Smith.’ ”—<i>The Baron de -Bookworms in Punch.</i></p> - -<p>“Succeeds in exciting a strong interest of the kind that teases the -reader’s curiosity.”—<i>Scotsman.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">34. DERRICK VAUGHAN, and THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER. By <span class="smcap">Edna -Lyall</span>, Author of “Donovan,” “We Two,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>“Edna Lyall has not written anything more artistic, or, from the moral -point of view, more stimulating.”—<i>Academy.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">35. THE MYSTERY OF No. 13. By <span class="smcap">Helen Mathers</span>, Author of “Comin’ -thro’ the Rye,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>A new book by the popular author of “Comin’ thro’ the Rye.” Included in -the same volume are other stories which have not before appeared in book -form.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">36. A LITTLE IRISH GIRL. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Hungerford</span>, Author of “Molly -Bawn.” 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>A new short story by the author of “Molly Bawn,” marked by her fresh, -crisp touch and spontaneous humour.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">37, 38. THE DEEMSTER. By <span class="smcap">Hall Caine</span>, Author of “The Bondman,” &c. 2 -vols.</p></div> - -<p>“Mr. Caine stands out among his novelistic brethren, reminding us ... of -Victor Hugo.”—<i>World.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">39. THE SHADOW OF A DREAM. By <span class="smcap">W. D. Howells</span>, Author of “A Hazard of -New Fortunes,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>“Mr. Howells is beyond doubt, one of the most charming romance writers -in the English language.”—<i>Westminster Review.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">40. THE RISEN DEAD. By <span class="smcap">Florence Marryat</span>, Author of “My Sister the -Actress,” “Brave Heart and True,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>Miss Marryat’s latest novel, just issued in book form in England and -America.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">41. MINE OWN PEOPLE. By <span class="smcap">Rudyard Kipling</span>, Author of “The Light that -Failed,” “The Phantom Rickshaw,” “Soldiers Three,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>A collection of short stories, Indian and military, which have appeared -in the magazines since Mr. Kipling came to England.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">42. A WINDOW IN THRUMS. By <span class="smcap">J. M. Barrie</span>, Author of “When a Man’s -Single,” “Auld Licht Idylls,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>“We think that this is the very best of the many good sketches of -Scottish peasant life which we have ever read.”—<i>Standard.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">43. THREE MEN IN A BOAT. By <span class="smcap">Jerome K. Jerome</span>, Author of “The Idle -Thoughts of an Idle Fellow,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>The most successful of the humorous works of the English Mark Twain.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">44. THE SPLENDID SPUR. By “Q.,” Author of “Dead Man’s Rock,” &c. 1 -vol.</p></div> - -<p>This book is universally acknowledged to be the strongest work of one of -the most promising of the younger novelists.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">45. WITH ESSEX IN IRELAND. By Hon. <span class="smcap">Emily Lawless</span>, Author of -“Hurrish.” 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>This book has had a wide success, and has been declared to be one of the -most remarkable and accurate historical novels in existence.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">46. A HUMBLE ROMANCE. By <span class="smcap">Mary E. Wilkins</span>, Author of “A New England -Nun,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>“Few books of this size contain as much fresh and original -story-telling.”—<i>Literary World.</i></p> - -<p>“Miss Wilkins’s short stories are in our estimate -unrivalled.”—<i>Aberdeen Free Press.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">47. MISS WENTWORTH’S IDEA. By <span class="smcap">W. E. Norris</span>, Author of “Matrimony,” -“No New Thing,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>The last of Mr. Norris’s novels, which has just completed serial -publication in England and America.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">48, 49. THE MISCHIEF OF MONICA. By <span class="smcap">L. B. Walford</span>, Author of “Mr. -Smith,” “The Baby’s Grandmother,” &c. 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>Mrs. Walford’s latest work, lately published serially in <i>Longman’s -Magazine</i>, is characterised by the knowledge of character and romantic -realism which distinguish the author of “Mr. Smith.”</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">50. A VERY STRANGE FAMILY. By <span class="smcap">F. W. Robinson</span>, Author of -“Grandmother’s Money,” “Poor Zeph,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>“Thoroughly interesting, as well as fresh in motive.”—<i>Graphic.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">51. AN AMERICAN GIRL IN LONDON. By <span class="smcap">Sarah Jeannette Duncan</span>, Author -of “A Social Departure,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>This clever work has been one of the greatest successes of the present -London season.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">52. HER LAST THROW. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Hungerford</span>, Author of “Molly Bawn.” 1 -vol.</p></div> - -<p>“Mrs. Hungerford never fails to be prettily piquant.”—<i>Academy.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">53. THE SCAPEGOAT. By <span class="smcap">Hall Caine</span>, Author of “The Deemster,” “The -Shadow of a Crime,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>Mr. Hall Caine has only just concluded the writing of this, his newest -novel. It is the fruit of his recent travel in Tangier and introduces -the author to new ground.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">54. INTENTIONS. By <span class="smcap">Oscar Wilde</span>. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>A book of essays in Mr. Wilde’s picturesque and vigorous manner, -containing the well-known paper, “The Decay of Lying.”</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">55. A FAR-AWAY MELODY. By <span class="smcap">Mary E. Wilkins</span>, Author of “A Humble -Romance,” “A New England Nun,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>This charming volume of short stories has won for the author an unique -position as the artist of humble human emotion.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">56, 57. THE SIN OF OLGA ZASSOULICH. By <span class="smcap">Frank Barrett</span>, Author of -“The Admirable Lady Biddy Fane,” “Between Life and Death,” &c. 2 -vols.</p></div> - -<p>“Those people who ... debate whether Mr. R. L. Stevenson or Mr. Rider -Haggard shall be awarded the palm of modern romance writing must really -take into consideration the claims of Mr. Frank Barrett.”—<i>Athenæum.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">58. THE ENGLISH POETS. By <span class="smcap">James Russell Lowell</span>, 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>This book contains some of Mr. Lowell’s best known contributions to -literary criticism.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">59. SOLDIERS THREE. By <span class="smcap">Rudyard Kipling</span>, Author of “The Light that -Failed,” “The Phantom Rickshaw,” “Mine Own People,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>“If Mr. Kipling should not ultimately blossom into an Anglo-Indian -Dickens, he will, at all events, occupy a high place in the literature -of our day.”—<i>Athenæum.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">60. ACCORDING TO ST. JOHN. By <span class="smcap">Amélie Rives</span>, Author of “The Quick or -the Dead,” “A Brother to Dragons,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>A new and very original work by this powerful and vivid writer.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">61, 62. MR. CHAINE’S SONS. By <span class="smcap">W. E. Norris</span>, Author of “Matrimony,” -“Marcia,” “Miss Wentworth’s Idea,” &c. 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>Mr. Norris’s new story, which has just met with great success in Temple -Bar.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">63. THE NEW RECTOR. By <span class="smcap">Stanley J. Weyman</span>, Author of “The House of -the Wolf,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>A new story of village life, rich in domestic interest and full of -character.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">64, 65. THE MYSTERY OF M. FELIX. By <span class="smcap">B. L. Farjeon</span>, Author “Blade o’ -Grass,” &c.</p></div> - -<p>“A novel of great interest and power. It bubbles over with humour of the -raciest and richest character.”—<i>Scotsman.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">66. A SYDNEY-SIDE SAXON. By <span class="smcap">Rolf Boldrewood</span>, Author of “Robbery -under Arms.” 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>The last novel by the popular Australian novelist.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">67. THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. By <span class="smcap">Rudyard Kipling</span>, Author of “The -Light that Failed,” “The Phantom Rickshaw,” “Soldiers Three,” “Mine -Own People,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>This volume includes “The Story of the Gadsbys,” Mr. Kipling’s principal -sketch of social life in India, and “Under the Deodars,” a series of -pictures of native life and character.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">68. HEDDA GABLER. By <span class="smcap">Henrik Ibsen</span>. Translated by <span class="smcap">Edmund Gosse</span>. 1 -vol.</p></div> - -<p>The last and perhaps the greatest of Ibsen’s social dramas, the -appearance of which caused so much controversy. The translation here -offered is the one used at the performances of the play at the -Vaudeville Theatre, London.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">69. THE PENANCE OF PORTIA JAMES. By “<span class="smcap">Tasma</span>,” Author of “Uncle Piper -of Piper’s Hill,” “In Her Earliest Youth,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>A new story by the author of “Uncle Piper of Piper’s Hill,” full of -character and movement.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">70, 71. MY WINTER ON THE NILE. By <span class="smcap">Charles Dudley Warner</span>, Author of -“Back-Log Studies,” “My Summer in a Garden,” &c. 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>This charming book of travel deals, with characteristic skill, good -sense, and good humour, with the popular Egyptian tour. The volume is -issued in time for the Nile season of 1891-2.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">72. TUSCAN CITIES. By <span class="smcap">W. D. Howells</span>, Author of “The Shadow of a -Dream,” “The Rise of Silas Lapham,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>These travel papers deal with their own region of Italy in the genial -and cheering spirit made memorable in Mr. Howells’ “Venetian Days” and -“Italian Journeys.”</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">73. MY JO, JOHN. By <span class="smcap">Helen Mathers</span>, Author of “Comin’ thro’ the -Rye,” “Cherry Ripe,” “The Mystery of No. 13.”</p></div> - -<p>“A story of lively interest and attraction by the popular author of -“Comin’ thro’ the Rye.”</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">74. CECILIA DE NOËL. By the Author of “Mademoiselle Ixe.”</p></div> - -<p>“Well worthy the author of ‘Mademoiselle Ixe;’ the style is admirable; -the figures are all vividly delineated.”—<i>Spectator.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">75, 76. THE LITTLE MINISTER. By <span class="smcap">J. M. Barrie</span>, Author of “A Window -in Thrums,” &c. 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>“Original men and men with styles are so uncommon as to make Mr. -Barrie’s appearance as a novelist a matter for general -congratulation.”—<i>Saturday Review.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">77, 78. THE RAILWAY MAN AND HIS CHILDREN. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Oliphant</span>, Author -of “Kirsteen,” “Within the Precincts,” “At His Gates,” &c. 2 vols.</p> - -<p>79. THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. By <span class="smcap">A. Conan Doyle</span>, Author of “The -White Company,” “Micah Clarke,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>“An entirely new story of stirring life and incident by the author of -‘Micah Clarke.’ ”</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">80, 81. ESTHER VANHOMRIGH. By <span class="smcap">Margaret L. Woods</span>, Author of “A -Village Tragedy,” 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>The <i>Speaker</i>, announcing the first appearance of “Esther Vanhomrigh” in -serial form, said: “If the public had paid half the attention it ought -to ‘A Village Tragedy,’ it would have found that tale to be the one and -only thoroughly successful tale that has been printed of late.”</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">82. SELECTED POEMS. By <span class="smcap">Austin Dobson</span>, Author of “Old-World Idylls,” -“At the Sign of the Lyre,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>Mr. Austin Dobson has himself made this selection from his poems -expressly for “<span class="eng">The English Library</span>.”</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">83. STAGELAND. By <span class="smcap">Jerome K. Jerome</span>, Author of “Idle Thoughts of an -Idle Fellow,” “Three Men in a Boat,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>“This characteristic burlesque of the modern dramatic method is -universally considered one of the most successful products of any living -humorist.”</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">84, 85. THE BABY’S GRANDMOTHER. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Walford</span>, Author of “Mr. -Smith,” “The Mischief of Monica,” &c. 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>This is one of Mrs. Walford’s most skilful and artistic novels.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">86, 87. THE ADVENTURES OF HARRY RICHMOND. By <span class="smcap">George Meredith</span>, -Author of “The Ordeal of Richard Feverel,” “Beauchamp’s Career,” -&c. 2 vols.</p> - -<p>88, 89. THE FAIR GOD. By <span class="smcap">Lew Wallace</span>, Author of “Ben Hur,” 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p>A stirring tale of adventure in Mexico.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">90. JUPITER LIGHTS. By <span class="smcap">Constance Fenimore Woolson</span>, Author of -“Anne,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>The best-known work by this successful author.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">91. KING BILLY OF BALLARAT. By <span class="smcap">Morley Roberts</span>, Author of “The -Western Avernus,” &c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>A series of clever and entertaining short stories.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">92. MAISIE DERRICK. By <span class="smcap">Katharine S. Macquoid</span>, Author of “Patty,” -&c. 1 vol.</p></div> - -<p>The last work by the clever author of “Patty.”</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">93. JACK’S FATHER. By <span class="smcap">W. E. Norris</span>, Author of “Matrimony.” -“Marcia,” “Miss Wentworth’s Idea,” &c. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>94. A ROMANCE OF THE MOORS. By <span class="smcap">Mona Caird</span>, Author of “The Wing of -Azrael,” &c. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>95, 96. THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Oliphant</span>, Author of -“Kirsteen,” “At His Gates,” “The Railway Man and His Children,” &c. -2 vols.</p> - -<p>97. LADY PATTY. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Hungerford</span>, Author of “Molly Bawn,” &c. 1 -vol.</p> - -<p>98, 99. HOVENDEN, V.C. By <span class="smcap">F. Mabel Robinson</span>, Author of “A Woman of -the World,” “Disenchantment,” &c. 2 vols.</p> - -<p>HE WENT FOR A SOLDIER. By <span class="smcap">John Strange Winter</span>, Author of “Bootle’s -Baby,” “Mignon’s Husband,” “Regimental Legends,” &c. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>DENZIL QUARRIER. By <span class="smcap">George Gissing</span>, Author of “New Grub Street,” -“The Nether World,” &c. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>PETER IBBETSON. By <span class="smcap">George Du Maurier</span>. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>A NEW ENGLAND NUN. By <span class="smcap">Mary E. Wilkins</span>, Author of “A Far Away -Melody,” “A Humble Romance,” &c. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>GRANIA. By the Hon. <span class="smcap">Emily Lawless</span>, Author of “Hurrish,” “With Essex -in Ireland,” &c. 2 vols.</p> - -<p>THE SLAVE OF THE LAMP. By <span class="smcap">Henry Seton Merriman</span>, Author of “Young -Mr. Mistley,” &c. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>MAMMON. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Alexander</span>, Author of “The Wooing O’t,” &c. 2 vols.</p> - -<p>A FATAL SILENCE. By <span class="smcap">Florence Marryat</span>, Author of “My Sister the -Actress,” “Brave Heart and True,” &c. 2 vols.</p> - -<p>THE O’CONNORS OF BALLINAHINCH. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Hungerford</span>, Author of “Molly -Bawn,” &c. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>T’OTHER DEAR CHARMER. By <span class="smcap">Helen Mathers</span>, Author of “Comin’ thro’ the -Rye,” &c. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>INCONSEQUENT LIVES. By <span class="smcap">J. H. Pearce</span>, Author of “Esther Pentreath,” -&c. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>LODUSKY. By <span class="smcap">Frances Hodgson Burnett</span>, Author of “Little Lord -Fauntleroy,” &c. 1 vol.</p> - -<p>ANNE. By <span class="smcap">Constance Fenimore Woolson</span>, Author of “Jupiter Lights,” -&c. 2 vols.</p></div> - -<p class="c"><i>Sold Everywhere on the Continent.</i></p> - -<p class="c">Price M. 1,60, or 2 Francs per volume.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_297" id="page_297"></a>{297}</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="c"><span class="eng">The English Library.</span></p> - -<p class="c"><i>Each Volume told separately.</i></p> - -<p class="c">PRICE 1 MARK 80 PFENNIG, OR 2 FRANCS.</p> - -<p class="c"><i>NOW READY.</i></p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">1.</td><td valign="top"> The Light that Failed. By <span class="smcap">Rudyard Kipling</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">2, 3.</td><td valign="top"> Sidney. By <span class="smcap">Margaret Deland</span>, Author of “John Ward, Preacher.”</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">4, 5.</td><td valign="top"> April’s Lady. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Hungerford</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">6.</td><td valign="top"> The Light Of the World. By Sir <span class="smcap">E. Arnold, K.C.I.E., C.S.I.</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">7.</td><td valign="top"> The Phantom Rickshaw. By <span class="smcap">Rudyard Kipling</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">8, 9.</td><td valign="top"> Urith. By <span class="smcap">S. Baring-Gould</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">10, 11.</td><td valign="top"> Marcia. By <span class="smcap">W. E. Norris</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">12, 13.</td><td valign="top"> Brave Heart and True. By <span class="smcap">Florence Marryat</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">14, 15.</td><td valign="top"> Basil and Annette. By <span class="smcap">B. L. Farjeon</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">16, 17.</td><td valign="top"> In the Heart of the Storm. By the Author of “The Silence of Dean Maitland.”</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">18.</td><td valign="top"> Tourmalin’s Time Cheques. By <span class="smcap">F. Anstey</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">19, 20.</td><td valign="top"> The Wages of Sin. By <span class="smcap">Lucas Malet</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">21.</td><td valign="top"> The Anglomaniacs. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Burton Harrison</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">22.</td><td valign="top"> My Face is my Fortune. By <span class="smcap">F. C. Philips</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">23, 24.</td><td valign="top"> St. Katherine’s by the Tower. By <span class="smcap">Walter Besant</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">25, 26.</td><td valign="top"> Eric Brighteyes. By <span class="smcap">H. Rider Haggard</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">27.</td><td valign="top"> What Gold Cannot Buy. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Alexander</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">28, 29.</td><td valign="top"> One of our Conquerors. By <span class="smcap">Geo. Meredith</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">30.</td><td valign="top"> A London Life. By <span class="smcap">Henry James</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">31, 32.</td><td valign="top"> A Hardy Norseman. By <span class="smcap">Edna Lyall</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">33.</td><td valign="top"> Pretty Miss Smith. By <span class="smcap">Florence Warden</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">34.</td><td valign="top"> Derrick Vaughan, and The Autobiography of a Slander. By <span class="smcap">Edna Lyall</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">35.</td><td valign="top"> The Mystery of No. 13. By <span class="smcap">Helen Mathers</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">36.</td><td valign="top"> A Little Irish Girl. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Hungerford</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">37, 38.</td><td valign="top"> The Deemster. By <span class="smcap">Hall Caine</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">39.</td><td valign="top"> The Shadow of a Dream. By <span class="smcap">W. D. Howells</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">40.</td><td valign="top"> The Risen Dead. By <span class="smcap">Florence Marryat</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">41.</td><td valign="top"> Mine Own People. By <span class="smcap">Rudyard Kipling</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">42.</td><td valign="top"> A Window In Thrums. By <span class="smcap">J. M. Barrie</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">43.</td><td valign="top"> Three Men In a Boat. By <span class="smcap">Jerome K. Jerome</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">44.</td><td valign="top"> The Splendid Spur. By “Q.”</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">45.</td><td valign="top"> With Essex In Ireland. By Hon. <span class="smcap">Emily Lawless</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">46.</td><td valign="top"> A Humble Romance. By <span class="smcap">Mary E. Wilkins</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">47.</td><td valign="top"> Miss Wentworth’s Idea. By <span class="smcap">W. E. Norris</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">48, 49.</td><td valign="top"> The Mischief of Monica. By <span class="smcap">L. B. Walford</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">50.</td><td valign="top"> A Very Strange Family. By <span class="smcap">F. W. Robinson</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">51.</td><td valign="top"> An American Girl in London. By <span class="smcap">Sara Jeannette -Duncan</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">52.</td><td valign="top"> Her Last Throw. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Hungerford</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">53.</td><td valign="top"> The Scapegoat. By <span class="smcap">Hall Caine</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">54.</td><td valign="top"> Intentions. By <span class="smcap">Oscar Wilde</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">55.</td><td valign="top"> A Far-away Melody. By <span class="smcap">Mary E. Wilkins</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">56, 57.</td><td valign="top"> The Sin of Olga Zassoulich. By <span class="smcap">Frank Barrett</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">58.</td><td valign="top"> The English Poets. By <span class="smcap">James Russell Lowell</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">59.</td><td valign="top"> Soldiers Three. By <span class="smcap">Rudyard Kipling</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">60.</td><td valign="top"> According to St. John. By <span class="smcap">Amélie Rives</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">61, 62.</td><td valign="top"> Mr. Chaine’s Sons. By <span class="smcap">W. E. Norris</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">63.</td><td valign="top"> The New Rector. By <span class="smcap">Stanley J. Weyman</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">64, 65.</td><td valign="top"> The Mystery of M. Felix. By <span class="smcap">B. L. Farjeon</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">66.</td><td valign="top"> A Sydney-Side Saxon. By <span class="smcap">Rolf Boldrewood</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">67.</td><td valign="top"> The Story of the Gadsbys. By <span class="smcap">Rudyard Kipling</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">68.</td><td valign="top"> Hedda Gabler. A Drama. By <span class="smcap">Henrik Ibsen</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">69.</td><td valign="top"> The Penance of Portia James. By <span class="smcap">Tasma</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">70, 71.</td><td valign="top"> My Winter on the Nile. By <span class="smcap">Charles Dudley Warner</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">72.</td><td valign="top"> Tuscan Cities. By <span class="smcap">W. D. Howells</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">73.</td><td valign="top"> My Jo, John. By <span class="smcap">Helen Mathers</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">74.</td><td valign="top"> Cecilia de Noël. By the Author of “Mademoiselle Ixe.”</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">75, 76.</td><td valign="top"> The Little Minister. By <span class="smcap">J. M. Barrie</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">77, 78.</td><td valign="top"> The Railway Man and his Children. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Oliphant</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">79.</td><td valign="top"> The Doings of Raffles Haw. By <span class="smcap">A. Conan Doyle</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">80, 81.</td><td valign="top"> Esther Vanhomrigh. By <span class="smcap">Margaret L. Woods</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">82.</td><td valign="top"> Selected Poems. By <span class="smcap">Austin Dobson</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">83.</td><td valign="top"> Stage-Land. By <span class="smcap">Jerome K. Jerome</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">84, 85.</td><td valign="top"> The Baby’s Grandmother. By <span class="smcap">L. B. Walford</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">86, 87.</td><td valign="top"> The Adventures of Harry Richmond. By <span class="smcap">George Meredith</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">88, 89.</td><td valign="top"> The Fair God. By <span class="smcap">Lew Wallace</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">90.</td><td valign="top"> Jupiter Lights. By <span class="smcap">Constance Fenimore Woolson</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">91.</td><td valign="top"> King Billy of Ballarat. By <span class="smcap">Morley Roberts</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">92.</td><td valign="top"> Maisie Derrick. By <span class="smcap">Katharine S. Macquoid</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">93.</td><td valign="top"> Jack’s Father. By <span class="smcap">W. E. Norris</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">94.</td><td valign="top"> A Romance of the Moors. By <span class="smcap">Mona Caird</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">95, 96.</td><td valign="top"> The Marriage of Elinor. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Oliphant</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">97.</td><td valign="top"> Lady Patty. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Hungerford</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">98, 99.</td><td valign="top"> Hovenden, V.C. By <span class="smcap">F. Mabel Robinson</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">100.</td><td valign="top"> The Average Woman. By <span class="smcap">Wolcott Balestier</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">101.</td><td valign="top"> He Went for a Soldier. By <span class="smcap">John Strange Winter</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">102.</td><td valign="top"> Denzil Quarrier. By <span class="smcap">George Gissing</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">103, 104.</td><td valign="top"> A Son of Hagar. By <span class="smcap">Hall Caine</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">105.</td><td valign="top"> Mammon. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Alexander</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">106.</td><td valign="top"> Peter Ibbetson. By <span class="smcap">George Du Maurier</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">107, 108.</td><td valign="top"> A Social Departure. By <span class="smcap">Sara Jeannette Duncan</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">109.</td><td valign="top"> Seamew Abbey. By <span class="smcap">Florence Warden</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">110, 111.</td><td valign="top"> The Shadow of a Crime. By <span class="smcap">Hall Caine</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">2 vols.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">112.</td><td valign="top"> The Slave of the Lamp. By <span class="smcap">Henry Seton Merriman</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">113.</td><td valign="top"> Grania. By Hon. <span class="smcap">Emily Lawless</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top">114.</td><td valign="top"> There is no Death. By <span class="smcap">Florence Marryat</span>.</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1 vol.</td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cuckoo in the Nest, v. 2/2, by -Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CUCKOO IN THE NEST, V. 2/2 *** - -***** This file should be named 52756-h.htm or 52756-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/7/5/52756/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at 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. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -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/license - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/52756-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/52756-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ac66bc9..0000000 --- a/old/52756-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null |
