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diff --git a/old/53062-8.txt b/old/53062-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c9f2936..0000000 --- a/old/53062-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11107 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's At the Sign of the Silver Flagon, by B. L. Farjeon - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: At the Sign of the Silver Flagon - -Author: B. L. Farjeon - -Release Date: September 16, 2016 [EBook #53062] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AT THE SIGN OF THE SILVER FLAGON *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (Michigan State University) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - 1. Page scan source: - https://books.google.com/books?id=HZg9AQAAMAAJ - (Michigan State University) - 2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. - - - - - - -AT THE SIGN -OF -THE SILVER FLAGON. - - - - - - -AT THE SIGN -OF -THE SILVER FLAGON. - - - -BY -B. L. FARJEON. - -AUTHOR OF "BLADE-O'-GRASS," "JOSHUA MARVEL," "LONDON'S HEART," "GRIF," -"BREAD-AND-CHEESE AND KISSES," "AN ISLAND PEARL," ETC. - - - -NEW EDITION. - - - -LONDON: -TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE ST., STRAND. -1877. - -[_Right of translation reserved by the Author._] - - - - - - -CONTENTS. - ------------ - - -PART I.--AT THE OTHER END OF THE WORLD. - -CHAP. - I. SILVER CREEK TOWNSHIP. - II. HOW BABY OBTAINED HER SHARE IN THE STAR DRAMATIC COMPANY. - III. THE OPENING OF THE THEATRE, AND WHAT PART BABY TOOK IN - THE PERFORMANCES. - IV. MR. HART SEARCHES FOR A GOLDEN REEF. - V. PHILIP'S RIDE FOR FLOWERS FOR MARGARET. - VI. ROMEO AND JULIET. - VII. AH, PHILIP, MY SON! I, ALSO, HAVE A GIRL WHOM I LOVE. - VIII. GOD BLESS EVERYBODY. - IX. A MAN OF METTLE. - X. TO-MORROW IS ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. - XI. "I AM GOING TO SPEAK OUT," SAID PHILIP. - XII. "PRAY FOR RAIN, MY DARLING." - XIII. "WHAT IF THERE ARE VILLAINS AND SCOUNDRELS IN THE WORLD?" - HE CRIED. "WE WILL NEVER LOSE OUR FAITH IN GOD AND - MAN--NEVER! NEVER! NEVER!" - XIV. "THIS IS LIKE THE DAWN OF LIFE, MY SWEET." - XV. PHILIP IS CONVINCED OF THE EFFICACY OF MARGARET'S PRAYERS. - XVI. THE CHRISTENING OF THE WILLIAM SMITH. - XVII. NATURE PUNISHES THE THIEF. - XVIII. WILLIAM SMITH'S AMBITION. - XIX. MR. HART PROMISES TO WAIT A LITTLE LONGER. - XX. THEY FLEW LIKE MADMEN INTO THE TOWN. - XXI. DRIVEN BY LOVE INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH. - XXII. "DEAR OLD FELLOW! GOD BLESS MARGARET AND YOU!" - ------------ - -PART II--HOME. - - I. THE CURTAIN FALLS FOR A BRIEF SPACE. - II. "THE WORLD IS FULL OF SWEET AND BEAUTIFUL PLACES." - III. CUSTOS ROTULORUM. - IV. IT WAS JUST SUCH A DAY AS THIS; AND THE AIR WAS SWEET, - AND LIFE WAS SWEET. - V. A STRANGE STORY. - VI. MR. LEWIS NATHAN INTRODUCES HIMSELF. - VII. MARGARET TAKES THE HELM. - VIII. "SHE NEVER TOLD HER LOVE." - IX. LUCY'S PRINCE APPEARS ON THE SCENE. - X. THE THEORY OF FRIENDSHIP. - XI. A PEEP INTO BLUEBEARD'S ROOM. - XII. MR. HART DECLARES THAT HONESTY HAS DIED OUT OF THE WORLD. - -PART III.--THE DINNER OF THIRTEEN. - - I. STRANGE PREPARATIONS FOR THE DINNER. - II. ARRIVAL OF BUT ONE AT A DINNER FOR THIRTEEN. - III. ARRIVAL OF UNEXPECTED GUESTS. - IV. MARGARET'S TRIUMPH. - - - - - - -AT THE -SIGN OF THE SILVER FLAGON. - - - - - -Part the First. -AT THE OTHER END OF THE WORLD. - - - - -AT THE -SIGN OF THE SILVER FLAGON. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -SILVER CREEK TOWNSHIP. - - -It is December, and the sun marks the record of a hundred and six in -the shade. We are at the golden end of the world, in Australia, at -Silver Creek, twelve months ago a wilderness, now a busy and thriving -township. Within this brief space, an infant in the history of cities -has grown into what promises to become a strong and healthy man. -Unknown, unthought of but a year ago, the name of Silver Creek is -already a household word in a new and flourishing colony, and holds an -important place in the journals of commerce. - -There are turnings and thoroughfares in Silver Creek sufficiently -irregular to drive land surveyors into a state of distraction, and -there is but one street which exhibits anything like regularity in its -formation; but this is a result more of accident than design. It is -the principal street in the township, and is lined with wooden -tenements and calico tents, in which the business of the town is -transacted. Stores of every description, in which all things -necessary, and many things unnecessary, for the requirements of life, -are to be found within the limits of this thoroughfare, which is known -to the residents as High Street. If you are curious in such matters, -you may calculate how many stores High Street contains by setting its -length at a mile and a half, and giving each store an average frontage -of sixteen feet. A few of the buildings are of wood, the majority of -calico, and the inhabitants of one Englishman's castle can hear the -inhabitants of the next talking and bargaining during the day, and -sighing and murmuring during the night. Not that the inhabitants of -Silver Creek are all Englishmen. Other nations thirsting to have their -fingers in the golden pie, have sent their representatives across the -seas and through the bush, and Americans, Germans, Frenchmen, -Spaniards, Italians, Mongols, and Africans, form a rare Tower-of-Babel -community. As, however, they have all been drawn thither by one -magnet--fashioned of bright gold--they do not emulate the -Tower-of-Babel folk, but hob-a-nob amicably with one another, and make -common cause of it with the ubiquitous Englishman. The pie is a rich -one, but the fruit is unequally distributed, and there are many waste -places in it (unfortunately not seen until the crust is dived into), -the discovery of which brings disappointment and despair to the hungry -seekers. The despair does not last long; they are soon tearing up the -earth again, animated by new hopes of coming suddenly upon rich -pockets of gold. - -High Street had only one side, where the stores were built. Opposite, -it was open ground for a distance of some four hundred yards; then -commenced the upland, on the ridge of which a long thin range of -wooden buildings was erected, which formed the Government Camp, where -the official business of the township was transacted. There were the -resident-magistrate's court, the treasury, and, in dangerous -proximity, the gaol, and all the other necessary adjuncts of civil -government. The goldfields' commissioner, or the warden, as he was -usually called, and his staff, and the resident magistrate, and a few -of the lesser luminaries, dwelt there in snug habitations with their -Chinese cooks, who were rare masters at crust and paste--which is but -natural, as they are proverbially light-fingered. There these children -of the sun and the moon chattered, and cooked, and smoked opium in -their little wooden pipes, of which they were as tenderly solicitous -as though they had been children of their blood; and went elsewhere, -to the vilest and dirtiest nest of thoroughfares the imagination can -conjure up, and which was known as the Chinese Camp, to gamble away -their hard earnings. In this camp, of course, was the Joss-House, with -its absurd and senseless mummeries; and there, also, were certain -dens, which every night were filled with Chinamen, smoking themselves -into helpless idiocy. The provision stores in the Chinese camp were -stocked with curiosities in the eating way which made fastidious -persons shudder: such as preserved slugs and snails (delicious -delicacies to the Chinese palate), and bottles crammed with what -seemed to be pieces of preserved monkey, while thousands of shreds of -shrivelled meat hung from the calico roofs, which were black with -smoke. These shreds weighed about an ounce each, and looked like the -dried and twisted skins and tails of rats. To judge from the -glistening pig-like eyes of the children of the celestial sphere when -these morsels were on their platters, and they were preparing to -discuss them with their chop-sticks, they must have contained some -exquisite and delectable charm, which was hidden from the sight and -sense of the English barbarian. If ever night was made hideous, the -the Chinamen made it so in their dirty camp with the clanging of their -gongs and tom-toms, and the harsh treble of their voices. To -unaccustomed ears it appeared as though Bedlam had been turned loose -in this remote part of the globe. - -Between the Government Camp and the High Street ran a valley through -which a sparkling stream of water meandered; this was the Silver -Creek, from which the township derived its name. At the back of the -High Street stores, dotting the hills and gullies for miles around, -and in the rear again of the Government Camp, were the white tents of -the gold-diggers. There was a range of hills from which one could look -down upon the scene, and it was well worth the labour to climb this -height on a moonlight night, and gaze at the perspective of snow-white -roofs, beneath which the tired miners were sleeping, and at the silver -stream of water threading its way through the undulations. Then there -were the Government buildings, prettily situated, and here and there -clumps of silver-bark trees, and, in the distance, shadows of great -ranges melting into the clouds. It was a picturesque scene, and the -solemn silence and its romantic history afforded food for the mind as -well as for the eye. - -The Silver Creek diggings more than fulfilled the promise of its name, -for gold was found in its soil instead of silver. It was first -discovered by Chinamen, who had been hunted off another goldfield -fifty miles away, where their presence had been considered an -abomination by the European miners. They brought this judgment on -themselves by stealing, in the dead of the night, golden dirt which -did not by right belong to them, and severe skirmishes had taken place -between the rival races, in which the Chinamen were worsted. They had -to fly for their lives, and they wandered wearily, and yet with -spirit, further into the interior of the country, prospecting here and -there for gold, but without satisfactory results until they reached -the hitherto unexplored district of Silver Creek. Here, by their -discovery of the precious metal, their wanderings came to an end, and -they pitched their tents and lit their fires, and worked undisturbed -for a few weeks, getting much gold, and laughing doubtless in their -capacious sleeves at the lucky chance which had led them to the place. -But if they had indulged in the dream of keeping Silver Creek and its -precious deposit all to themselves, it was rudely disturbed one fine -morning, and they screeched like magpies when they saw six lusty -Tipperary men march on to their diggings, and stick their picks into -the ground. The Mongolian saw his enemy before him, and waited in -dread for what was to come. - -The following was the order of the proceedings of the Tipperary men: - -They first stuck their picks into the ground, at a distance of about -twenty yards apart from each other; then they clustered together, and -tightened their belts. When these were arranged to their satisfaction, -they solemnly and simultaneously produced six cutty pipes, all very -short and very black, and carefully lighted them. Being now, with -their pipes held firmly between their teeth, prepared for action, they -sauntered in an indolent kind of way towards the shafts at which the -Chinamen were working, and pausing at one, watched the man at the -windlass winding up the bucket. The Chinamen spoke not a word; the -Tipperary men spoke not a word. For full five minutes this was the -state of things, and the Chinamen proceeded sullenly with their work; -from screeching magpies, they were transformed into mute, -fear-stricken slaves. Wrath and animosity were in their hearts, but -outwardly they were the humblest of mortals. Their sallow faces grew -sallower, and they cursed their ill-fortune; for it happened that when -the Tipperary men appeared upon the scene, they were pulling up -wash-dirt, in which specks of gold could be plainly seen. But they -cursed in silence. - -"How deep, John?" asked one of the Tipperary men, touching the -Chinaman gently on his blue dungaree sleeve. - -He referred to the depth of the shaft at which the Chinaman was -working. - -John did not reply. - -But be it here understood that on Australasian and doubtless other -goldfields, all Chinamen have but one name--John--not given to them by -their godfathers and godmothers; and the countrymen of Confucius have -meekly accepted it. - -The Tipperary man repeated his question. - -"How deep, John?" - -John preserved silence. The Tipperary man and his mates followed suit -for a few seconds. Then he broke cover again. - -"M'lenty gold, John?" - -M'lenty means plenty; this was everywhere recognised as Chinaman's -English. - -"M'lenty gold, John?" - -Compelled to reply by the sense of danger which the slightly raised -tone in which this second question was repeated conveyed to the -sensitive soul of the Mongolian, John looked blankly into the face of -his interlocutor, and said, with all the innocence of a babe. - -"Me no sabby!" - -Perhaps no race in the world combines so much simplicity with so much -cunning as the Chinese. They utter falsehoods, as children do, with an -absolute conviction that it will be believed. In this instance, it -need scarcely be said that John understood perfectly the nature of the -inquiries addressed to him, and professed ignorance from a mingled -feeling of cunning, impotent anger, and helplessness. - -The Tipperary man quietly knocked the ashes out of his pipe against -the barrel of the windlass, and sticking it in his belt, produced from -his pocket a cake of Cavendish tobacco and a great spring knife. His -mates followed his example. They knocked the ashes out of their pipes, -and began cutting up sticks of Cavendish tobacco with great spring -knives. There was a wicked click in their knives as they opened them. -The Chinamen's eyes grew white, and they sighed for thunderbolts, or -lightning to strike these desperadoes into ashes, or for some secret -and as effectual means of getting rid of them. The Tipperary men -leisurely filled their pipes, applied a match to them, and puffed away -till they were well lighted. Then the one who had acted as spokesman -took the Chinaman's ear between his fingers, and the foreigner -betrayed himself by yelling out, "What for, you? What for, you?" -Another Tipperary man laid hold of the handle of the windlass, and the -Chinaman was whirled aside, screaming and yelling, and, after spinning -like a teetotum for a dozen yards, found himself in a favourable -position for studying the celestial sphere. A third Tipperary man put -his foot into the bucket which was about to be sent empty to the -bottom of the shaft, and grasped the rope above him with one firm -hand, while the second man, working at the windlass, slowly unwound -the rope, and let his mate down the pit. - -The yelling of the Chinaman who had been whirled from the windlass -brought every one of his companions to the spot. They formed quite a -small colony, numbering in all, twenty-two souls. The Tipperary men -would have grinned had they been told that they were surrounded by -twenty-two souls. They knew as much of theology as a laughing jackass -does, but, had they been put to it, they certainly would have denied -with powerful emphasis that Chinamen have souls. They saw around them -twenty-two pasty faces, and twenty-two bodies dressed in blue -dungaree; had the Chinamen turned their backs, the Tipperary men would -have seen twenty-two pigtails dangling from the crowns of the -Chinamen's heads, all trembling simultaneously and responsively from -agitation. This feature in the scene was curious and unique; but, -indeed, speaking in a dramatic sense, the entire situation was -stirring and interesting. One Tipperary man was hanging between heaven -and earth, with his foot in a bucket; a second was letting him down -the shaft. So that there were four Tipperary men left to confront, and -if necessary do battle with, twenty-two Chinamen. Long odds: but the -Tipperary men did not seem to think so, did not seem even to consider -that there was the slightest danger. Certainly they trifled with their -knives, but they trifled with them unconcernedly, opening and shutting -them with cruel clicks, and as though they had not the slightest -notion that they might be required for the cutting-up of Chinamen -instead of the cutting-up of tobacco. These Tipperary men--or, as they -should be more properly called, Tipperary boys--looked upon Chinamen -as the scum of the earth, as so many cattle. And the Chinamen, in this -instance, really did behave as though they were dirt beneath the feet -of the Tipperary boys. They screamed, they stamped, they expostulated, -they flashed their fingers in each other's faces, but not in the faces -of the Tipperary boys; but they did nothing more. The Tipperary boys -scarcely looking at the Chinamen, calmly sucked at their pipes and -played with their knives. - -Suddenly a great screeching was heard at the bottom of the shaft, -which might have come from twenty hungry and venomous cats let loose -upon one another; the Chinamen made a movement towards the shaft, but -did not approach close enough to mingle with the Tipperary boys. The -screeching continued, and an Irish oath or two, heartily uttered, gave -it variety. A voice was heard from below, calling out one single word: - -"Up!" - -The moment this word was uttered, the man at the windlass worked at -the handle, and began to wind up the rope. There was a heavy weight at -the end of it but the muscles of the Tipperary boy were equal to -greater emergencies, and he turned the handle slowly and easily, until -there came in view the shaven head of another Chinaman, and then an -antique weazened face, in which wrath and dismay were strongly -expressed. The man at the windlass, stooping, clutched with his left -hand the collar of the antique Chinaman, and pulling him out of the -bucket, flung him among his companions, who instantly recommenced -screaming, and chattering, and gesticulating with so much vehemence -that one might have imagined that their tongues had just been loosened -for the first time for twenty years. The arrival from the lower -regions was much older than his companions: their faces were large and -expressionless, his was small and vivacious; theirs were smooth, and -looked as though they were made out of dirty dough, his was lined and -wrinkled, and looked like an old and elaborate carving: their eyes -were mild and fishlike, his were full of dark fire. Evidently he was -the leader of the Chinese crew, for the moment he recovered his breath -he began to harangue them with almost frenzied eloquence. A man of -spirit he, inciting his mates to open resistance. His fingers flashed -the number of friends and foes as his tongue uttered them--five to -twenty-three; he even drew partly out of its sheath a long, thin, -glittering knife--but nothing came of it, for one of the Tipperary -boys, observing the action, caught him instantly by the neck, dragged -him from the midst of his companions, wrested the knife from his hand, -and hurled him far away on the other side of the Chinamen. It was the -work of an instant, and the twenty-three Mongolians--twenty-two on one -side, one on the other--looked on, cowed and trembling. - -What had occurred at the bottom of the shaft is soon told. The -Tipperary boy, when he stepped out of the bucket and landed on _terra -firma_, found the antique Chinaman busily at work in the gutter, where -the gold was found. The intruder made short work of it, trying pacific -means first. He pointed to the rope and the bucket, and motioned to -the Chinaman that he was wanted above. The Chinaman shook his head, -and did not understand. The Tipperary boy, not being in the humour to -waste time, seized him, placed him by main force in the bucket, and -then called to his mate to haul up. Having a sensible regard for his -limbs, the antique Chinaman was compelled to hold on to the rope. -After this a tape-line was let down the shaft, and the depth measured: -then the man below busied himself in tracing the bearing of the gold -gutter, its dip and direction, and what was the nature of the earth -above and below it. Having satisfied himself upon these points, he -half filled the bucket with the auriferous soil, and, stepping into -it, was pulled to heaven's light. - -"All right, mates," was all he said. - -Then he took a tin dish which belonged to the Chinamen, and, filling -it with the earth he had dug out of the gold gutter, walked towards -the creek, followed by his mates and the rightful owners. He washed -the earth carefully and deftly, and with experienced hands: all of -them looked on, animated by various feelings, as he swung the dish -round and round. Soon the gold came into view, dotting the lessened -earth brightly, like stars in a dirty sky: little by little all the -earth was washed away, and the pure gold lay in a little heap in the -corner of the tin dish. One of the Irishmen produced a pair of gold -scales, and the gold was weighed. - -"Four pennyweights to the dish," he said. - -"How thick is the wash-dirt?" asked one, of him who had been below. - -"About two foot and a half," was the reply. - -Hurrah! It was a fortune if they could get claims on the gutter. The -Chinamen waited anxiously. What were their enemies now about to do? -The man who had washed the gold held it towards the rightful owner. - -"M'lenty gold, John," he said, with a pleasant laugh. - -Somewhat more satisfied as to the honesty of the intentions of the -Tipperary boys, the Chinamen nodded their heads violently enough -almost to shake them off, and found their tongues and their -understanding. - -"Yes, yes. M'lenty gold! Englishman welly good man! Englishman get -m'lenty gold!" And pointed to some distance, with tempting fingers, to -show where gold was sure to be found in larger quantities. - -"All right, John," they said; "we don't want your claims. We only want -to find out the lay of the gutter. There's room enough for all at -present." - -The Chinamen, understanding now the English language, of which they -were before so ignorant, became gratefully effusive. The old man -darted forward to take the four pennyweights of gold. - -"Stop, though," said a Tipperary boy, the lawyer of the company. "Have -you got Miners' Rights! Where's your Miners' Rights?" - -Without their Miners' Rights--which, it may be necessary to explain, -were parchment grants from her Majesty the Queen, to mine the soil for -gold, at the rate of one pound per year per man--the claims which the -Chinamen were working were not legally theirs, and could be taken from -them at a moment's notice. In reply to the query, twenty-three hands -were thrust into twenty-three blue dungaree bosoms, and twenty-three -pieces of parchment were waved like flags of freedom triumphantly in -the air. The gold was returned to the rightful owners, and the -Tipperary boys marked out claims for themselves on the line of the -gutter, and were fortunate enough to hit the mark. Next day more men -arrived on the ground, and the gold rush having set in, in less than -three months the township of Silver Creek was formed. Diggers and -traders flocked there from all quarters, and a strangely mixed crew -was soon assembled together. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -HOW BABY OBTAINED HER SHARE IN THE STAR DRAMATIC -COMPANY. - - -Silver Creek could soon boast of its newspaper, of course; and equally -as a matter of course, it could almost as soon boast of its rival -newspaper. It is strange that in communities where one newspaper would -languish, two are almost sure to flourish; and the _Silver Creek -Herald_ and the _Silver Creek Mercury_ were not an exception to the -rule. They led a prosperous and noisy life, and were conducted upon -the usual abusive principles, with great vigour and some ability. -Their establishments were in the High Street, where there were also -sale-rooms, banks, hotels and restaurants, billiard-rooms, clothes and -provision stores, and a store with "Pie-office" written over it. This -was almost as good as the peripatetic vendor of baked potatoes, upon -whose tin can was painted "The Universal Baked Potato Company -(Limited)." The stores drove a roaring trade; flags waved gaily over -them; a continual stream of people was flowing up and down. It was -like a fair. Here were two Chinamen bearing a pole on their shoulders, -in the centre of which dangled, head downwards, a pig at the end of a -rope, with its four feet tied in one knot. (When the Chinaman gets to -Paradise he hopes to eat roast pig for breakfast, dinner, teas and -supper, through all eternity.) Here were half-a-dozen gold-diggers in -great thigh-boots, dragging a jibbing-horse along for their puddling -machine, cracking their whips and leaping here and there in sympathy -with the antics of their wild purchase. Here were American wagons, -with handsome teams of horses, and bullock-drays yoked by patient -long-suffering cattle, the drivers of which were unloading their -stores. Here was a negro, with his gleaming teeth, and his face alight -with humour, badgering a perplexed Mongolian, and a crowd of noisy -gold-diggers around them egging him on and laughing. The negro was -proving by the most absolute and logical of arguments that he had a -perfect right to enjoy the privileges of Silver Creek township, and -that the Mongolian was an interloper--"A foreigner, sah!" and had no -right there at all. The contest was an unequal one. All the sympathies -of the Europeans were with the negro, whose amazing flow of natural -spirits would have borne down far greater obstacles than were -presented in the distressed actions and thin voice of the Mongolian. -It was a peculiar feature of the goldfields that the African was -everywhere welcomed, and the Mongolian everywhere scowled at. Here -was a great dray creaking along, loaded with portions of the first -quartz-reefing machine which Silver Creek could boast of; and all -along the road were men buying boots and clothes, and picks and long -and short-handled shovels, and bars of steel, and powder and fuse, -calling out to one another heartily the while. It was a scene filled -with life and colour. - -Among the new arrivals, of whom thousands flocked into the township -every day, were some dozen men and women, who came in dusty and weary -with the toils of the road. They had travelled more than a hundred and -fifty miles, being attracted to Silver Creek township by the news of -its wonderful prosperity. They were a common-enough troop in outward -appearance, and did not look like traders or gold-miners. They had -with them a dray drawn by one horse--a poor weak-kneed creature, to -whom existence seemed to be a burden as he toiled painfully along with -his load behind him. What this load was could not be seen, for the -dray had a tarpaulin over it. Upon the tarpaulin were seated three -women. The first who calls for notice by virtue of her position was a -stately person, probably about thirty-five years of age; her -complexion was dark, and in her face was an expression, which might be -said to be stamped upon it, and which represented all the tragic -passions in little; she bore herself loftily in more senses than one. -Her mind was a storehouse, filled with tragedy queens, intermixed with -heroines of tenderer sentiment--which latter, however, were somewhat -out of place; but you would have roused her to great indignation had -you said so in her hearing. The second, about twenty-three years of -age, was a nice-looking saucy widow, with a pretty baby in her arms. -The third was a beautiful girl, of some eighteen or nineteen summers. -The men, who were all much sunburnt, walked along by the side and in -the rear of the dray, and when they entered High Street, peered -curiously about them, and then at each other, with an air of "This -will do." The eyes of one of the party, the eldest, a man of over -sixty years of age, were expressive of something more than curiosity: -anxiety was plainly there, but presently this vanished, and bright -twinkles took their place. He rubbed his hands joyously, and smiled -upon one and another. - -"It looks well," he said. - -He was the chief of the party, which was nothing less than a company -of actors and actresses come to open the first theatre at Silver -Creek. Before they started from Melbourne, they had formed themselves -into a joint stock company, and agreed to divide profits in proportion -to their abilities. There were twelve in the party, not reckoning the -baby, and the number of shares were thirty-six. These, after much -anxious discussion and deliberation, and some display of the peacock's -chief attribute, were distributed as follows:-- - - - Shares. - 1. Tragedian, light comedian, and stage-manager, - playing the lead in everything. 4½ - 2. Heavy man. 3 - 3. First old man. 2½ - 4. Second old man. 1½ - 5. First low comedy. 3 - 6. Second low comedy. 2 - 7. Walking gentleman and treasurer. 3 - 8. Supernumerary. 1 - 9. Juvenile lead and general utility, scene painter, - acting-manager, and general director. 4½ - 10. Leading lady. 4½ - 11. First old woman. 3 - (_There was no second_.) - 12. Chambermaid (who could sing and dance). 2½ - - -These proportions being settled, they jogged along comfortably, -dreaming of full purses; but on the second day the First Old Man drew -attention to the circumstance that although there were thirty-six -shares in the company, only thirty-five had been allotted. The Walking -Gentleman, who, as treasurer, was looked upon as the arithmetician of -the company, and was, therefore, the great authority in figures, -instantly began to reckon up, for the fifty-seventh time, and made -the number of shares thirty-seven: he tried again and made them -thirty-four; tried again, and made them thirty-eight. Then, in -desperation, he said that the First Old Man had "discovered a mare's -nest," and that the figures were right--thirty-six shares in the -company, and thirty-six allotted. Hurt in a tender point, the First -Old Man began again to pencil and reckon, and after achieving a dozen -different results, came back to his original discovery, and stuck to -his guns like a man. Thereupon high words ensued between the Walking -Gentleman and the First Old Man, and the matter was referred to the -arbitration of the other ten, who immediately set to work to settle -the dispute. The results they produced were extraordinary, varying -from seventeen to fifty-two, the highest and the lowest totals being -accomplished by the First Old Woman (who, to prove the general fitness -of things, should have been the First Old Man's wife, but in proof of -the general _un_fitness of things, wasn't) and the singing and dancing -Chambermaid. - -"_I_ make it fifty-two," said the First Old Woman, in a despondent -tone, "and what's to become of us, I'm sure I don't know." - -She said this in a tone which denoted that the salvation of the -Company was imperilled by this arithmetical crisis. - -"Fifty-two!" exclaimed the singing and acting Chambermaid, with a -melodious laugh. "Why, my dear, its only seventeen!" - -The matter was so serious, and everybody became so positive, that in a -very short time they were all wrangling and disputing. Nothing was -clear but one thing, that if these actors and actresses were a fair -sample of the profession they represented, then very few actors and -actresses are blessed with a genius for figures. - -"This is a bad commencement," frowned the Heavy Man, as was becoming -in him: frowns were his special privilege. - -The Supernumerary was the only indifferent person; his being the -lowest share and represented by the simple figure 1, he considered -himself safe. Besides, he was a neophyte, who had fully made up his -mind to rival the elder Kean one of these fine days; he was content, -in the meantime, to wait and suffer. Suffering is the badge of all his -tribe. - -Those were most uneasy and perplexed who held fractions of shares, -such as the Tragedian and Stage-manager, and the Leading Lady of the -company. - -A happy thought entered the mind of the eldest man of the party, whose -shares, represented by 4½, were set against No. 9, General Utility, -Scene-painter, Acting-manager, etc. - -"I have it!" he cried, slapping his thigh with the vigour of a younger -man. - -The others looked doubtful, but listened with attention, for he was -one whom they all respected and regarded with affection. - -"It is easily arrived at," he continued; "let us take thirty-six -shillings, which will represent the thirty-six shares, and give each -his proportion. Then, if there is no money left, no mistake has been -made." - -This proposal was received with laughter and applause, the largest -demonstrations coming from those whose pockets were bare of shillings. -For, truth to tell, these heroes and heroines of the sock and buskin -were impecunious. This circumstance is not uncommon; the condition is -almost chronic in the Profession. - -"Contributions!" cried the Acting-manager, pulling out of his own -pocket no fewer than seventeen shillings: a very Cr[oe]sus he. - -Others gave timidly, hesitatingly, grudgingly, doubtfully, for the -risk was not small. The Heavy Man had nothing to give; the Second Old -Man the same contribution; the Supernumerary the same. The Treasurer, -as became a "Walking Gentleman," was light of heart as he was of -pocket; he looked forward with hope, rich argosies were before him. -The First Old Woman produced a plethoric purse, which proved, however, -to be stuffed, not with bank notes, but with critical notes of her -abilities as the first of First Old Women. She managed to get together -a sixpence and two fourpenny-pieces, which she handed to the -Acting-manager, asking for twopence change. He gave her the demanded -twopence, and was haunted by visions of future complications. The -Leading Lady assumed an air of scornful indifference. The Leading -Tragedian contributed three shillings, the whole of his wealth. The -First Old Man produced four shillings, saying, "I give thee all--I can -no more," but he had money concealed. "Who steals my purse, steals -trash," observed the Low-Comedy Man, tossing a bad shilling to the -Acting-manager. In due time the full complement of thirty-six -shillings, representing thirty-six shares, lay in the Acting-manager's -palm. He apportioned them to the cry of "The Ghost walks!" Four and -sixpence to the Acting-manager, three shillings to the Heavy Man, and -so on and so on, until each had received his share. Then he found he -had a shilling left, and by this primitive arithmetic the First Old -Man was proved to be right. - -The next thing to be accomplished was the difficult task of collecting -and re-distributing the shillings which had been advanced. This -occasioned some comically-distressing scenes. The responsibility fell -upon the Acting-manager, who had advanced seventeen shillings. When -everybody was satisfied, he had only fourteen shillings left (a bad -one among them which they all repudiated) which he pocketed with a -grimace, amid general laughter. - -Then, - -"What's to be done with the other share?" was asked. - -It never occurred to these Bohemians that the matter might rest -where it was, and that the company could be carried on as well with -thirty-five shares as thirty-six. - -"O! I'll take it," said First Low-Comedy, "rather than it should cause -disturbances." - -"Will you?" from other throats. "But I'll take it!" - -"And I!" - -"And I!" - -It threatened to become a bone of desperate contention. - -Another happy thought occurred to the Acting-manager. Again he slapped -his thigh. - -"I have it!" he cried. "Give it to the baby." - -"Bravo!" cried the other ten; the mother remained silent. "Bravo! Give -it to the baby!" - -"Agreed!" sang the First Low-Comedy Man, in the character of one of -"Macbeth's" witches. - -"Agreed!" sang the Second Low-Comedy Man, in the character of another -of "Macbeth's" witches. - -And, - -"Agreed!" they all broke out in full chorus. - -Then they filled the woods with the music from "Macbeth," and danced -round an imaginary cauldron. - -Thus the baby became a shareholder. - -It was not the worst of small comedies this that was played in the -Australian woods on a blazing summer's day in January. Many passions -and emotions were represented in it in a small way. The curtain falls -down as the mother tosses her baby in the air, and as the child is -passed from one to another to be kissed. - -If in response to the general applause, which I hope will not be -wanting, the curtain is drawn aside again, the weak-kneed horse will -be seen shambling leisurely along, and the Heavy Man will be taking -great strides in advance of the others, with the baby on his -shoulders, crowing and laughing and flourishing her dimpled fists in -the air. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE OPENING OF THE THEATRE, AND WHAT PART BABY TOOK IN THE -PERFORMANCES. - - -The news of the arrival of Hart's Star Dramatic Company spread through -the Silver Creek Goldfields like wildfire, and every able-bodied man -and woman (about thirty of the former to one of the latter, so you may -guess what a precious commodity woman was) within ten miles around, -resolved to pay them a visit. It was really an event in the history of -the township; with the exception of casinos, sing-songs, and negro -entertainments, there had been no amusements, and the inhabitants -looked forward to the opening night with great interest and -excitement. - -Mr. Hart, who was the originator and guiding-star of the company, was -the old man already referred to as the Acting-manager; he was the -putty that kept the separate parts of the venture together, for -without him the concern would have gone to pieces. A tradesman takes a -small order, and is thankful for it; but give a small part to an -actress who aspires (and lives there an actress who does not aspire?) -and wait to hear the thanks that are showered on your head! Heaven and -earth! These little Junos are sublime in their indignation, and as for -the little Jupiters, it is well for some persons that they are not -Vulcans. It devolved upon Mr. Hart to heal every difference that arose -among the members of the company. No sinecure this, for Vanity's -ruffled feathers had to be smoothed a dozen times a week. In every -difficulty he was the one appealed to, and his decision was invariably -received with respect, if not with equanimity, for he was known to be -a just man. He had led a strange and wandering life, had been -Jack-of-all-trades and master of none, as he himself said, and was in -every respect a gentleman. He spoke French and German, and was in -other ways well educated; he painted, he sang, and knew how to conduct -himself--in other words he had no low vices, and here he was an old -man, fourteen thousand miles away from the land of his birth, an -adventurer, with a purse as lean as Falstaff's. He had been all over -the world, and (rare gift) had made friends everywhere; no one had -ever been heard to speak an ill word of him. That so old a man, -becoming attached to a Star Dramatic Company, should play the juvenile -lead will not be wondered at by persons acquainted with the -peculiarities of the profession; as little will it be wondered at that -the First Old Man was barely out of his teens. These reversals of the -proper order of things are common. Was Mr. Hart happy? His eye was -bright, his step was light, and his heart was as fresh as a young -man's. For the rest the question will be answered as this story -proceeds. - -Being in the Silver Creek township, with probably five pounds between -them, the first thing to be seen to by these wandering Bohemians was -the building of a theatre. An impossibility do you say? Not at all. -Easily accomplished. Directly their arrival and purpose became known, -the proprietor of the Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle Hotel and Restaurant -addressed Mr. Hart. - -"What have you come here for?" he asked. - -"To act," replied Mr. Hart. - -"You will want a theatre to act in." - -"We shall." - -"Is your company a good one?" - -"I think I may say it is. Go and look at our women." - -"I've seen them. You've a real beauty among them. I'm not a man to -beat about the bush, and you look like a man to be trusted." - -"Try me." - -"I will. I'll build you a theatre at the back of my hotel on the -following conditions." (The proprietor of the Rose, Shamrock, and -Thistle Hotel dotted off the conditions on the fingers of his left -hand with the forefinger of his right hand.) "You will undertake to -play in no other place for three months. You will undertake to play in -my theatre for six nights a week for three months, and the -entertainment shall not last less than four hours. You will undertake -to hand over to me every night one-fifth of the gross money received, -that being the rent I shall charge you. You will undertake that you -and all of you shall board and lodge at the Rose, Shamrock, and -Thistle, and to pay me three pounds per week per head for such board -and lodging--baby not to count." He looked at his thumb with a pucker -in his forehead, and finding no condition to which it could be -applied, concluded abruptly by saying, "That's all." - -Mr. Hart, with the mind of a general, debated for one moment, and -resolved the next. - -"How many people will the theatre hold?" - -"A thousand," replied the enterprising hotel-keeper promptly. - -It was a rough guess; he had not the slightest idea as to the size of -the place required for the accommodation of the number. - -"How long will the theatre take to build? - -"A week," was the brisk reply. - -"Then we can open in ten days," said Mr. Hart. "There's my hand on it. -What shall be the name of the theatre?" - -"I'm a loyal subject," said the hotel-keeper. "We'll call it 'The -Theatre Royal.' God save the Queen!" - -"So be it." - -And there and then the matter was settled. - -Within an hour a contract was given for the building of the Theatre -Royal; within two it was commenced; within a week it was finished; and -on the tenth night it was opened. Men never know what they can do till -they try; wonders can be accomplished only by saying they shall be -accomplished, and setting to work on them. It is grappling with small -things that dwarf men's minds; give them a wilderness to conquer, and -they rise to the occasion. When I say "them," I mean especially -Americans and English; next to them, but not equal to them, the -Germans; least of all civilised nations, with capacity to make grand -use of such opportunity, the French. - -The excitement in Silver Creek was tremendous. Crowds thronged the -High Street during the opening day of the Theatre Royal. The Rose, -Shamrock, and Thistle did a roaring trade. Eight hundred pounds were -taken over the bars for drinks before six o'clock in the evening; no -drink less than a shilling. Some contemptible rival grog-shop in the -vicinity had already reduced the price of a glass of ale to sixpence, -but the miners turned their noses up at it. They were as generous as -sailors, and they were not going to pay sixpence for a glass of ale -when a shilling was the regulation price. There was something sneaking -in it, and many a gold-digger lost caste by patronising the cheap -grog-shop. Fabulous prices were offered for the privilege of going -into the theatre before the doors were open, and securing front seats; -but the landlord of the Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle turned a deaf ear -to the tempters. - -"Fair play, mates," he said. "First come, first served; and the devil -take the hindmost." - -(Which, if the devil did, he would have had a good haul, for the -hindmost on that night stood for a thousand at least.) - -"Bravo, mate," the rough diggers cried; "you're the right sort!" - -He looked it, as he stood behind the bar, passing the jest and merry -word, with one eye gleaming cordially on his customers, and the other -eye looking sharply after his till, and nothing loth to make his -"pile" (or fortune) with his sleeves tucked up, and to boast of it -afterwards. - -The scene that took place that night within the walls of the new -Theatre Royal was one which not many have the privilege of witnessing. -Before the curtain drew up, there were two hundred and twenty pounds -in the drawers. And listen to this with envy, you harassed lessees; -there were only three persons admitted within the walls of the Theatre -Royal who did not pay; these were the proprietor of the theatre and -the editors of the two newspapers. Happy theatrical manager! Only two -critics to woo and conciliate! Deducting the landlord's fifth, and the -expenses for printing and lighting, there would not be less than one -hundred and forty pounds to divide. Why, at that rate, even the baby -would have four pounds for her share so curiously acquired! The -entertainment was arranged to show off the full strength of the -company. A "screaming" farce, to set the audience in a good humour (it -was not required, for they came in prime spirits, full set for -enjoyment); a dance by the pretty Chambermaid, _not_ dressed as a -chambermaid, be it here remarked; a stirring mob-drama; and a two-act -comic drama to conclude with. A liberal programme--one which made the -proprietor of the Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle rub his hands with -satisfaction. The actors and actresses, as they came on the stage, -were greeted with roars of applause, as they were already old -established favourites; the very supernumerary, the neophyte who -intended to rival the elder Kean, received a round which made him -certain that fame was within his grasp. All through the night, the -audience appeared to be anxiously looking out for new faces to give -them cordial greeting. The farce was literally a "screaming" farce; -had the author of the poor little literary bantling been present, it -would have done his heart good, and he might have had dreams of -greatness. When the curtain fell on the farce, it seemed impossible -for anything to be more successful; but the dance that followed -it eclipsed it. The gold-diggers could not have the farce -repeated--although they would have been well content to have had it, -one fellow actually crying out, "Let's have it all over again, mates!" -but they could have the dance again, and they did, once, twice, -thrice, and would have insisted on it again, but that the poor girl -stood before them with panting bosom, like a deer at its last gasp, -and appealed to them as prettily as her exhaustion would allow her to -do. The gold-diggers stood up, waved their billycock hats, and cheered -her as she had never been cheered before; and one threw a crown-piece -on the stage, and another cried, "I can beat that, mate!" and threw a -sovereign. Then it commenced to rain silver and gold, and the girl -stood aside at the wings, half frightened at the shower. It amounted -to no less than eleven pounds, which she gathered up in her gauze -dress and walked off with, kissing her hand and smiling bewitchingly -on the generous givers, who felt themselves well paid for their -liberality. - -(Before the week was out this dancing and singing Chambermaid had -forty-two distinct offers of marriage, and the other two ladies of the -company each about half as many.) - -Then came the Tragedian's chance in the melodrama, and good use did he -make of it. He emulated Bottom in his roaring, and the louder he -roared the louder the audience cheered. But decidedly the greatest -success of the night was achieved by the smallest member of the -company, and in an unexpected way. If any person was to be thanked for -it, it was the Acting-manager, Mr. Hart. - -It occurred in this wise: The Leading Lady dropped a few words, -which were construed into an objection to the baby receiving its -one-thirty-sixth share of the receipts. The mother (who was the First -Old Woman of the company) heard them, and spoke to Mr. Hart with tears -in her eyes. The singing Chambermaid stood near. - -"The spiteful thing!" she exclaimed. - -"Never mind," said Mr. Hart, "we will get over the difficulty; the -baby shall appear in the last piece." - -The mother in astonishment said that was impossible. - -"It is quite possible," answered Mr. Hart, "and shall be done." - -"But she'll be asleep, the darling!" exclaimed the mother. - -"All the better," was the answer. "She'll have nothing to say. You -play in the piece. Now attend to my instructions;" and he forthwith -gave them to her. - -In the drama, the mother, who really played the part of a mother, had -to sit at a table for five or six minutes sewing, and speaking perhaps -a dozen words, while the action of the piece was being carried on by -two characters who occupied the front of the stage. Mr. Hart, in this -scene, placed the cradle on the stage, with the baby in it. When the -mother went to her seat at the table, she took the baby from the -cradle on to her lap. - -"Why, it's a real baby!" cried the gold-diggers, and a buzz of delight -ran through the house. - -Suddenly the baby awoke, opened her eyes and stared with all her might -at the audience, whose attention was now entirely fixed upon the -movements of the pretty little thing. The mother raised her to her -feet on her lap, and the child, pleased with the light and glitter of -the scene, clapped her little hands--one of her pretty tricks--while -her face broke out into smiles and dimples. This was enough for the -gold-diggers; they laughed, they clapped their hands, they applauded, -they cried: - -"Bravo, young un! Bravo!" - -As though the baby had performed the most marvellous feats; and when -the mother, carried away by her feelings, tossed her baby in the air, -who fell into her arms crowing and laughing, this little touch of -nature roused the audience to a pitch of the wildest enthusiasm. They -called for three cheers for the baby, and three for the mother, and -three more on the top of those, and some of the men left money at the -bars of the Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle, to buy sweets and cakes for -the youngster. - -"A great success," remarked Mr. Hart; "no one can say now that she is -not entitled to her share. It will be as well to repeat baby every -evening until further notice. We will make a feature of baby. She will -draw." - -Baby did "draw," and the performances went on bravely. Full houses -every night. At the end of the week, after paying expenses, there were -nearly six hundred pounds to divide. The money was shared on the -Saturday night, after the performance. Mr. Hart, with his share -tightly clasped in his hand walked into his bedroom and locked the -door. Then he lit a candle, and out of a small trunk took a little -packet of letters and a portrait. He knelt by the bed, and read the -letters with slow delight; they were short, and the earlier ones were -written in a large straggling hand. He opened the portrait-case, and -gazed lovingly on the picture of a beautiful girl; a child, with -laughing hazel eyes and light curls. He kissed it again and again; and -taking from his share of the money he had received a sum barely -sufficient for his necessities, he deposited the balance in a safe -corner of the trunk. - -"For you, my darling, for you," he murmured, speaking to the pretty -picture before him. "God preserve and bless you, and make your life -happy!" - -Tears came into his eyes, and rolled down his cheeks; and sweet -remembrance brought his darling into his arms, where she lay as she -had lain on the last day he saw her, seven years ago. - -"My darling must be almost a woman now," he mused, with a yearning -heart. - -And so he knelt and dreamed, and garlanded his heart's treasure with -loving thoughts. Many a rough hard life is in this way sweetened and -purified. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -MR. HART SEARCHES FOR A GOLDEN REEF. - - -Gold was first discovered in the alluvial soil in the gullies, a few -feet beneath the surface. In some cases the metal was picked up on the -surface, and tracked into the bowels of the earth. Sometimes the gold -gutter ran across great plains, which soon were riddled with holes, -and covered with hillocks of pipe-clay soil; sometimes it ran into -hillsides, where the miners tracked it, until the sinking became too -deep for profitable labour, or until the "lead," as it is called, was -lost. Some of the richest patches of gold that had been found in the -colony were found here and there in Silver Creek. In Sailors' Gully, -for instance, there was a famous claim, where one gold lead crossed -another; the fortunate men who happened to light on this rare junction -were runaway sailors, and they made no secret of the fact that they -washed fourteen hundred ounces of gold out of twelve buckets of earth -in one day. In the same week, the man who was working at the windlass -(there were only two partners in this concern) began to turn the -handle, and found that the weight at the other end of the rope was -greater than he anticipated. He knew that it was only a bucket of -earth he was winding up, for he heard it bump against the sides of the -shaft. When he caught sight of the bucket he almost let the handle of -the windlass slip from him in his excitement. It was not earth he was -hauling up, it was gold; and it proved to be the richest bucket of -earth that was ever found in Silver Creek. It yielded thirteen hundred -ounces of the precious metal; no less. The fortunate sailors -celebrated the occasion, decorated the shaft with as many flags as -they could get together, fired off their revolvers for an hour as -rapidly as they could load them, bought up all the grog in the gully, -and invited all the diggers round about to join them in drinking it. -That bucket of gold and dirt was almost the death of them, for the -carouse was a wild one; but they recovered themselves in a day or two, -and set to work again soberly and sensibly, and retired, after ten -weeks' labour, with a fortune of seventeen thousand pounds between -them. - -After a time men began to look for gold in the hills. It was settled -years ago by the miners that all the gold that was found in the -gullies was washed down from the ranges. Before many days had passed, -quartz reefs were found with great lumps of gold in the stone; and one -Saturday the principal gold-broker in Silver Creek displayed in his -window a mass of quartz which could not have weighed less than two -hundred pounds, and which was literally studded and veined with gold. -It was labelled "From Pegleg Reef," so named because it was discovered -by a man with a wooden leg. Then commenced a craze, and everybody went -mad on quartz. This brings us to a day when Mr. Hart, who, with his -company, had now been in Silver Creek for three weeks, winning money -and laurels, was walking over the ranges, at some distance from the -township, with a short-handled pick over his shoulder, a hammer in his -hand, and a "fossicking" knife in his belt. The craze for discovering -a quartz reef had infected him, and he was looking for a trail. - -If you can love this man as you proceed with the story, I shall be -glad; for he was a large-souled man, who had never been guilty of a -meanness. That he was always poor came from the generosity of his -nature, which frequent disappointments had not been able to sour; he -could never stoop to trickery for money. In his younger days he had -frequently been heard to despise money; but I think, now that he was -old, his views were beginning to experience change. Else why should he -be toiling over the hills on this hot sultry day, with his eyes -eagerly bent to the earth, in search of gold? - -He came to the ridge of a range, and he paused for a few moments to -look back on the township. The air was still; the heavens were full of -beautiful colour; the white tents of the diggers shone in the sun. A -world in miniature was before him. Gold had lately been discovered in -a large plain which with its busy life was stretched beneath him. -Although he was at a great distance from it, he could see it clearly -from the height on which he stood. At the farthermost edge of this -plain were a dozen puddling machines at work, and two or three dams -filled with clear water which had not been polluted. The water gleamed -and glittered like sheets of burnished silver; the tiny horses walked -round and round, yoked to their wheels; the tiny men flitted here and -there across the plain, and bent over heaps of auriferous soil, and -worked at toy windlasses, with ropes no thicker than thread; thin -wreaths of smoke curled from the rear of the tents, where the smallest -women in the world were washing and cooking; lilliputians were cutting -down trees for firewood with bright sharp axes which were indicated by -thin keen flashing edges of light as they were flourished in the air. - -Mr. Hart turned his back upon these signs of busy life, and descended -the range on the other side. On and on he walked, without discovering -any indications of gold, although he paused to crack many a score -pieces of the quartz which studded the hills. He smiled curiously at -his ill-success. "Well," he mused, as if arguing with himself, "but I -should like to find a golden reef! Let me see. A golden reef, yielding -say twenty, thirty ounces to the ton. Ah, Gerald, Gerald! don't be -greedy. Say fifteen ounces and be satisfied. A hundred tons--fifteen -hundred ounces; six thousand pounds. And then, Home! Home! Home! Ah, -my darling, how my heart yearns to you! But you are happy, thank God, -and if I never look upon your sweet face, if I never hold you in my -arms!----" He paused suddenly, with an aching feeling in his breast. -"I must see her--I must see her!" he murmured; and stretching forth -his arms, cried half seriously, "Come, Fortune, and take me to her!" - -He was alone, and no one heard him. For an hour he had seen no -evidences of human life about him; Silver Creek township was entirely -shut out from view. On he walked, not stopping to chip now, for he -thought that he might have a better chance of finding a golden reef if -he went farther afield. He must have walked fully two miles farther, -when he saw before him at a distance of a few hundred yards a thick -clump of trees arranged by nature almost in a straight line, and -entirely obscuring the view that lay beyond it. He plunged into the -thicket--for it was no less--and through it, and found himself before -another thicket of trees similarly arranged. Between the two thickets -there were not more than two hundred feet of clear ground. The -intervening space was level and bare, and the trees between which he -stood were of a great height. The light came through the uppermost -branches in slanting devious lines, which, as he moved, darted hither -and thither, as though imbued with life. The ground was all in shadow, -and so solemn was the stillness and so dim the light in this place, -that it seemed like a page out of another existence. - -Lost in admiration, Mr. Hart paused for awhile, and then plunged into -the second thicket, and found it denser than the first. In a quarter -of an hour he emerged into the open unobscured sunlight again. - -Before him rose a vast range with masses of outcropping quartz. He -considered within himself whether it was worth his while to climb this -range; the quartz looked tempting. There were traces of iron pyrites -in it, and he had heard that the richest reefs were sometimes found on -such heights. Moreover, it seemed to him as though the hill had never -been prospected. He decided that he would mount the range. - -It was a difficult task that he had set himself; the range was higher, -steeper, than he had imagined, and the day was very hot. He was -compelled to stop and rest. "Shall I go to the top or turn back?" he -asked of himself. He was inclined to retrace his steps, until he -thought of his darling at home; he took her picture from his pocket, -and kissed it many times. "I will go up," he said "to the very top. I -might hear one day that a golden reef had been found on the summit of -this hill, and then I should never forgive myself." - -Little did he suspect how much hung upon that moment of hesitation. -Little did he suspect that simply by mounting this hill, the means of -bringing into his daughter's life its greatest joy and happiness were -to be put into his hands. But even had he suspected it, his wildest -dream would not have afforded a clue to the manner of its -accomplishment. - -He mounted the hill; he reached its summit. Then he found that others -had been before him. - -A shaft had been sunk; a windlass was erected. Mr. Hart judged, from -the great hillock of earth by the side of the claim, that the pit -could not be less than a hundred feet deep. A tree, split in two, was -on the ground close by, with its inner surfaces exposed. - -Mr. Hart went to the windlass, thinking at first that the shaft was a -deserted one, for he saw no person on the hill. But the sound of metal -upon stone which came to his ears from the bottom of the pit was -sufficient to convince him that his idea was wrong, and that a miner -was working in the shaft. - -A little heap of quartz lay within a yard or two of him. He examined -it, and found gold in it. He took up piece after piece, and in every -other piece there were traces of gold. He cast greedy glances, not at -the quartz he was examining, but along the brow of the hill, beyond -the boundary pegs which marked the area of the prospectors' claim. -Then turning, he jumped back with a loud cry, for a man whom he had -not before observed was lying on the ground at his feet, and he had -almost trodden on his upturned face. But another thing that he saw -held him for a moment motionless from fear. - -The man was asleep, and in his hair was moving a long brown reptile, -with, as it seemed, numberless legs, which were all in motion, -stealthily and venomously. Two slender horns protruded from its head, -and behind its horns its eyes gleamed with spiteful fire. Mr. Hart -knew immediately that it was a centipede--a very large one of its -species--and that its sting might bring death to the sleeper. It had -crawled out of the centre of the split tree which lay near, and was -now crawling from the hair on to the face of the sleeping man. Taking -his handkerchief in his hand for protection, Mr. Hart, with a swift -and sudden movement, plucked the crawling reptile from the sleeper's -hair, and threw it and his handkerchief a dozen yards away. - -"Holloa, mate!" cried the man, aroused by the action, and jumping to -his feet, "what are you up to?" - -He was a young and handsome man, with a noble beard hanging on his -breast, and with his hair hanging almost to his shoulders. His eyes -were blue, his hair was brown. His skin was fair, as might be seen, -not on his face, nor on his neck where it was bared to the sun, but -just below the collar of his light-blue serge shirt, the top button of -which was unfastened. In age probably twenty-five or six. In height, -five feet ten inches, or thereabouts; a model of strength, beauty, and -symmetry. Such a form and figure as one of the old painters would have -loved to paint, and as might win the heart of any woman not in love -and that way inclined--as most women are, naturally. - -Impetuous, fiery, aggressive, his first thought was that the stranger -had attacked him in his sleep. He did not wait for a second thought, -but pulled a revolver from his belt, where it was slung, covered by a -leathern sheath, and levelled it at Mr. Hart. In new goldfields these -weapons were necessary for self-defence; like vultures after carrion -(although the simile does not entirely hold good), the most desperate -characters flew to the new goldfields on the first scent of gold, -resolved to get it by hook or by crook. - -Mr. Hart held up his hand and smiled deprecatingly. - -"I think I have done you a service, young sir," he said. "I saw a -centipede crawling in your hair on to your face as you were lying -asleep, and I plucked it away. That is all. I was once stung in the -arm by such a reptile, and was disabled for three months. I fancied -you might not relish a like experience; your face is far too handsome -to be spoiled in that way. If you will lift my handkerchief gently and -carefully--I did not care to seize the beast with naked fingers--you -will see for yourself." - -The young man had no need to lift the handkerchief. The long ugly -thing was wriggling out of it; half its body was exposed. - -"By Jove!" exclaimed the young man, seizing a spade and cutting the -creature in a dozen pieces, all of which immediately began to crawl -away in different directions, north, south, east, and west, with the -intention of commencing independent existences. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -PHILIP'S RIDE FOR FLOWERS FOR MARGARET. - - -"Thank you," said the young man to Mr. Hart, replacing his revolver in -his belt. - -"Thank _you_," returned Mr. Hart drily, "for cutting up my -pocket-handkerchief." - -The young man laughed. - -"Take mine," he said, offering a red-silk handkerchief to Mr. Hart. - -Red was a favourite colour in the diggings in the matter of personal -adornment. Red handkerchiefs, red serge shirts, red scarves and -sashes, red tassels and bindings, were much coveted. - -Mr. Hart shook his head. - -"No; I will keep my own as a remembrance." - -He gazed admiringly at the young man, and with curiosity, for he saw -that the young fellow was superior to the general run of gold-diggers. - -"What are you looking at?" asked the young man merrily. - -"At what seems to me an anomaly." - -"That's me." - -"That is you. What made a gold-digger of you?" - -The young man shrugged his shoulders. - -"A thirst for freedom and adventure. That answer will do as well as -another, I suppose. I was cramped up in the old country, so I thought -I would come where there was room to move and breathe." - -"You find it here." - -"Rather!" - -He inflated his lungs, and expelled the air with vigorous enjoyment. - -"What part of the old country do you hail from?" There was an -unconscious tenderness in their tones as they spoke of their native -land. - -"Devon--dear old Devon. Oh, for a tankard of real Devonshire cider!" - -Mr. Hart sighed. "You have home ties, then?" - -"Yes, I have an old father at home, who is old only in years. Let us -drink to him." He took a tin saucepan half filled with cold tea, and -handed it to Mr. Hart, who drank from it, and returned it. "He is -about your age, I should say. Have you been long in the colony?" - -"Seven years." - -"Ah! I haven't served my apprenticeship yet. Now, what brought _you_ -over these hills to-day?" - -Mr. Hart stammered and hesitated; no man on the goldfields liked to -confess that he had been wasting hours and days in the wild hope of -discovering a golden reef, simply by wandering about and chipping up -stones, although every man did it at some time or other, in secret. -However, Mr. Hart blurted out the truth. - -"Well," said the young man, "that's the way I and my mate discovered -this reef. We found a vein of quartz with gold in it, cropping out on -the surface, and we followed it down until we came to another vein -about two feet thick, and this we are working now. We're down a -hundred and two feet. You see we have about twenty tons of quartz up -now; it will go about twelve ounces to the ton, I should say. But -we're stuck for a machine to crush it." - -"There's one being put up in Iron Bark Gulley." - -"Yes; that's nine miles off," said the young man fretfully; "how are -we to get the stone to the machine over the ranges, unless we carry it -on our backs? A nice job that would be, and would cost as much as the -stone's worth!" - -"When Mahomet found that the mountain wouldn't' come to him----" Mr. -Hart said, and paused. - -"By Jove!" exclaimed the young quartz miner, "you're a gentleman. It -does one good to talk to a man who _can_ talk. Well, then Mahomet went -to the mountain. That is to say, as we can't take the stone to a -machine, we must bring a machine to the stone. But that would cost -money, and we're on our beam ends." - -Many a gold-miner has been in the same strait--with wealth at his -feet, staring him in the face, and no money in his pocket--a rich -beggar. - -Mr. Hart considered. Should he offer his savings for a share in the -claim? He had a hundred and twenty pounds in the corner of his trunk. -The chance was a good one. He made the offer. The young man laughed at -him. - -"We should want twenty times as much," he said. - -"I shall mark out a claim for myself, then," said Mr. Hart. - -"All right, mate; but you'll have to go a mile away for it. The reef -is pegged, north and south, for quite that distance." - -This was true; Mr. Hart, with regret, gave up the idea. He looked at -the sun, and saw that if he wished to get back to the theatre in time -for the performance he must start at once. He bade the young man -good-day. - -"What's your hurry?" - -Mr. Hart explained. - -"By Jove!" cried the young man, his face flushing scarlet. "I thought! -recognised you. How I should like to go behind the scenes." - -"Come then; I shall be glad to see you. This will admit you." And he -took a card from his pocket, and wrote some words in pencil upon it. -"What name shall I say?" - -"Rowe." - -"Here is the open sesame. Admit Mr. Rowe by the stage-door. Hart's -Star Dramatic Company.--Signed, John Hart.'" - -"You're a brick!" said the young fellow, looking at the card with a -flushed face. If it had been an enchanted wand, it could not have made -his heart beat more quickly. "I'll be there to-night." - -He was as good as his word. What made him so eager was that he had -been to the theatre three times, and had fallen dead in love with the -singing and dancing Chambermaid. Such an opportunity to make her -acquaintance was not to be thrown away. At eight o'clock he stood by -the wings, as handsome as Apollo, as strong as Hercules. When he was -introduced to the singing and dancing Chambermaid, he was as shy as a -sensitive plant, and would have looked foolish but that his beard -prevented him. Many a man has to thank his beard for similar grace. -The Chambermaid, as good a girl as she was beautiful, saw the state of -affairs at once, and knew, by feminine instinct, that she could twist -him round her little finger. Nevertheless, she fell in love with him. -Nature will not be denied, and he was a man to be fallen in love with. -Her name was Margaret. His was Philip. - -After the performance, John Hart and Philip Rowe had a glass together. -They spoke of the old country. - -"I'll give you a toast," said Philip Rowe. "Here's to the Silver -Flagon." - -"To the Silver Flagon," responded John Hart. Philip Rowe drank another -toast, but did not utter it: To Margaret. - -He went to the back of the stage on the following night, and many -nights after that, and made friends with the company. All the men -liked him; he was free-hearted and free-handed. But the Leading Lady, -after a night or two, looked upon him with displeasure, for he paid -her less court than her state demanded. Her displeasure was the -greater because she had shown that she was inclined to be gracious to -him. It was incredible that a lady who enacted Pauline, and Juliet, -and Lady Macbeth, should be overlooked for a chitling who played -simple chambermaids, and could dance a little. But then Philip Rowe -was blind--which was not a valid excuse for him. The Leading -Lady--being a woman as well as a Leading Lady--would have been well -pleased to receive the attentions of so handsome a young man, who was -evidently a gentleman, and she snubbed Margaret one night, and was -spiteful to her, because of her good fortune. Philip Rowe, going -behind the scenes, found his Margaret in tears, in a convenient -corner. She had a spare half-hour, and he coaxed her to tell him the -cause of her distress. - -"Never mind, Margaret," he said tenderly. "Don't cry!" - -She looked up shyly at this. It was the first time he had called her -by her Christian name. If brevity be the soul of wit, it is also -frequently the soul of love. Margaret was comforted. - -When Philip Rowe came face to face with the Leading Lady, he glared at -her. She glared at him in return. He felt awkward and hung down his -head. Her glare was more potent than his; she had to glare often on -the stage, and was an adept at it. Besides, her face was smooth; his -was hairy. - -Margaret coaxed him to do something that night; she knew where and how -to plant a dagger in her rival's bosom. She whispered to Philip and he -ran out of the theatre in a glow of ecstatic delirium, for her lovely -lips had almost touched his ear. Her warm breath on his neck made him -tremble. - -She had asked him to get a bouquet of flowers, to throw on the stage -to her in the last piece, in which both she and the Leading Lady -appeared. Flowers have before now been used for purposes as sharp. - -But where to get the flowers? A bouquet of flowers was unheard of in -Silver Creek township. Where to get them? Where? - -Could not love grow them? - -Where to get them? Ah, he knew! Six miles away on the main road to the -metropolis, there was a--yes, call it so--a garden; a little plot of -ground tended by a woman with country memories. In less than two -minutes he was in the saddle, galloping in that direction, and right -in front of him, all the way, shone Margaret's face and Margaret's -eyes and hair. No will-o'-the-wisp was ever more alluring. Margaret -lurked in the bushes, glided among the trees, shone in the open -spaces, and Philip's heart beat fast and joyously. The six miles of -bush road, so soft and pleasant to the horse's feet, were soon -traversed, and there was the garden with a few--not many--flowers in -it. Philip Rowe leaped off his horse, with joyous exclamations. A -woman came to the door. - -"Here, Jim!" she cried, to her husband, running into the house, -thinking that a bushranger (_Anglicè_, highwayman) was paying them a -visit. - -Jim promptly appeared, with a gun in his hand. "Now then?" he -demanded, nothing daunted. - -"Oh! it's all right, mate," said Philip; and in a few moments he -explained the motive of his visit. - -"About a dozen flowers done up in a bunch are all I want. This for -them." - -He held up two pieces of rich quartz, in which there were probably two -ounces of gold. - -Jim was agreeable, coveting the specimen; his wife was not, loving her -flowers. But when Philip pleaded, and told his story, she relented. - -"Oh, if it's for that!" she said with a sly smile, and took a good -look at Philip, and thought that the woman was to be envied who had -won so fine a young fellow. - -While she cut the flowers the two men had a nip of brandy each, which -Philip paid for. The place really was a sly grog-shop. - -Soon Philip was galloping back to Silver Creek township in a glow of -triumph. He arrived in time, and paid for admission into the body of -the theatre, hiding the flowers in the breast of his dandy serge -shirt. He was a bit of a dandy in his way, and especially so when he -expected to see Margaret. He followed her instructions to the letter; -she had told him at what point to throw the flowers, and plump at her -feet they fell, at the precise moment she desired. The audience stared -at first at the unusual compliment, and then applauded loudly. -Margaret curtseyed, at which they applauded still more vociferously; -the beautiful girl was a pet of theirs, and they approved of the -tribute. The Leading Lady turned pale, and clutched at her bosom -tragically. The dagger had been deftly planted, and she felt the -smart--as only a woman would feel it. Margaret placed the flowers in -the bosom of her dress, and sent a look straight into the eyes of -Philip, which made every nerve in his body tingle. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -ROMEO AND JULIET. - - -The Leading Lady was fond of money, and the theatre was doing so well -that her dividend every week was a very handsome one, three times as -much as she could expect to get elsewhere; but what woman is prudent -when her vanity is hurt? A man with a large bump of caution -occasionally hangs back, and calculates consequences. A woman never -does. The Leading Lady in a towering passion confronted Mr. Hart, the -manager, at the end of the performance. - -"Here comes a tragedy," thought he, as he looked into her wrathful -eyes. There was a smile on his face, nevertheless. - -"I leave the company!" she said abruptly, with heaving bosom. - -"My dear lady!" remonstrated the manager. - -"To-morrow. I shall take a place in the coach that starts at eight -o'clock." - -She knew well enough what the result would be if she left; the company -would collapse. A man might be spared, and his place filled, or his -parts doubled, but the loss of a woman would inflict irreparable -injury upon the prospects of the theatre. Mr. Hart knew this also. - -"You don't forget," he said gravely, "that we have your signature, and -that if you leave without consent we can make you pay heavy damages!" - -"That for my signature! that for your heavy damages!" Each time she -snapped a disdainful finger. - -"My dear lady," he said, in a soothing tone, "you are excited, you are -overstrained. We have taxed you a little hardly. We'll play light -pieces for a night or two, and give you a rest." - -Inconsiderate man He could not more successfully have fanned the flame -in her breast. - -"You'll play no light pieces to give me a rest! Play light pieces, and -give _her_ the opportunity of taking leading characters! The shameless -hussy! Not if I know it!" - -Mr. Hart began to understand. This colloquy was taking place on the -stage; the theatre was clear, the curtain was up. Down the stairs -which led to the ladies' dressing-room tripped Margaret, fresh, and -bright, and happy, with her bunch of flowers in her hand. - -"Good night, Mr. Hart," she cried gaily. - -In the shadow of the door which led on to the stage a man was waiting -for her--Philip. They met, clasped hands--her supple fingers lay in -Philip's great palm as in a nest, and he imprisoned them, be -sure!--and walked out, side by side, chatting confidentially, with -their heads close together. The Leading Lady saw this, and her anger -rose higher; but still it was bitter gall to her to reflect that if -she went away, the field would be clear for her rival. - -Mr. Hart felt that he was on the horns of a difficulty; he could spare -neither one nor the other of the ladies. - -"You're the manager of this company," said the Leading Lady, "and you -ought long ago to have put down such shameless goings on. Did you see -the way they went out together, and do you think people are blind? We -shall be the talk of the town; but I'll not be implicated in it. My -name musn't be used lightly." The manager smiled grimly. "I leave -to-morrow. Understand that." - -"I decline to understand it. You will fulfil your engagement, and if -it is necessary for me to take steps to prevent your departure, I must -do so for the sake of the others. I will swear a declaration against -you!" - -He was aware that he was talking the most arrant nonsense, but he -relied on the feminine mind to assist him with its fears, and with its -ignorance of legal subtleties. - -"I shall be sorry to do so against a lady whom I esteem and respect so -much, and of whose talents I have so high an opinion, but no other -course will be open to me. If I allowed you to go, the diggers would -rise against me. And quite right they would be! Why, my dear lady," he -said, cunningly, "you know as well as I do that we are nothing without -you--that you are the soul of the company--that there is not your -equal on the colonial stage!" - -The Leading Lady began to soften beneath the influence of such gross -flattery, but it would not do to give way at once. - -"I will _not_ stop to be insulted!" - -"No one _shall_ insult you." - -"But some one has--you know who--and she shall not do so again--no, -not if you swear a million declarations!" - -"Come, now, tell me all about it," said the manager, taking her arm, -and walking slowly with her up and down the stage. "By the way, the -Honourable Mr. Simpson, the Warden of Moonlight Flat, said last -night, when you were playing Ophelia--you know him; he was in the -theatre with the Commissioner of the Goldfields and the Resident -Magistrate----" - -"Yes, yes," said the Leading Lady impatiently, "what did he say?" - -"That your Ophelia was equal to anything he had seen on the London -stage, and that he believed you would create a sensation there. He is -first cousin to the Earl of Badmington, you know, who has a theatre in -London. I thought you would like to hear it. He is very anxious to -make your acquaintance--as all gentlemen of taste and refinement would -be." - -He glanced slyly at the Leading Lady, whose head was nodding gently up -and down, in sweet contentment. - -"And now, my dear lady, tell me your grievance." - -"It's yours as well as mine, but if you like to stand it, I shan't. If -bouquets of flowers are to be thrown on the stage, they must be thrown -to me--do you understand, sir? to _me_, as the Leading Lady, and as -the star of the company!" - -It happened that Mr. Hart had been busy elsewhere during the episode -that had very nearly brought the ship to wreck, and had heard nothing -of it. He asked the Leading Lady for an explanation, which was given -to him. - -"And if you don't stop these shameful goings-on," were her concluding -words, "I give you fair warning, I will not stay with you. _I_ have a -character to lose, thank God!" - -Which was to be construed in so many queer ways, that Mr. Hart could -scarcely refrain from laughing. "Confound Master Philip!" he thought, -and said aloud, "Well, well, my dear creature, I will see to it. And -no flowers shall be thrown--by Mr. Philip Rowe, at all events--on the -stage to any one but you." - -This difficulty being soothed over, he went in search of Philip Rowe, -and found him leaning against a fence outside the hotel, gazing up at -a light in a bedroom window on the first floor. - -"Rehearsing 'Romeo and Juliet?'" asked Mr. Hart kindly, taking the -young man's arm. - -Philip blushed, and stammered some unintelligible words. - -"That _is_ her window, Philip," said Mr. Hart, "so you will not make -the same ridiculous mistake that I did for a fortnight together, -gazing up every night at the light in my lady's bedroom, and working -myself into a state of gushing sentimentalism over the slender waist -and the graceful turn of the head I saw shadowed on the blind, until I -discovered that I had been watching the bedroom window of a black -footman." - -This was a piece of pure invention on the part of Mr. Hart. - -Philip, having nothing to say in reply, shifted one foot over another -restlessly. If he could have retired with a good grace, he would have -done so, but Mr. Hart had hold of his arm. Mr. Hart continued: - -"Putting sentiment aside, a nice scrape you were almost getting me -into to-night. Ah! you may stare, but I should like to know what you -mean by throwing flowers to my singing Chambermaid--who is not by any -means clever, let me tell you, and will never make her fortune on the -stage--when we have in our company a lady who plays leading -characters, and who knows every line of Juliet's part?" - -"Ho, ho!" laughed Philip; "Juliet was a girl of sixteen or seventeen, -and your Leading Lady is forty." - -"Woe for your life if you said so in her presence!" exclaimed Mr. -Hart, with a quiet chuckle; "it would not be worth a moment's -purchase. Forty, sir! and what if she is forty?--which she is not by -five years--she is the only woman that can play Juliet to your Romeo." - -"Hush!" whispered Philip. "She is opening the window." - -Margaret, alone, in her white dress, was indeed opening the window. -She did not know--not she!--that her lover was below, nor that her -form could be seen, for she had extinguished the light in the room. -Her shadow might be discerned, but what is there in a shadow? She sat -down by the window, and rested her head on her arm. The graceful -outlines of her arm and neck and bended head were clearly visible, and -the lover feasted his eyes upon them. She held in her hand the -flowers which Philip had thrown her! Her lips were upon the tender -leaves--sweets to the sweet. He saw her kiss the flowers, and his soul -thrilled with rapture. The night was beautifully still; not a sound -was stirring; and as far as eye could see the white tents of the -diggers were gleaming. So Margaret sat and mused, and Philip looked on -and dreamed. Here, in the new world, but yesterday a savage waste, the -old, old story was being enacted with as much freshness as though the -world were but just created. What wonder? Because the sun has risen a -few million of times, is the dew on the leaves less sweet and pure in -the early morning's light than on that wondrous day when Adam awoke -and found Eve by his side? - -So Margaret sat and mused, and Philip looked on and dreamed; and I -think that Margaret peeped through the lattice-work of her fingers, -and saw with her cunning eyes that her lover was there, worshipping -her. - -How long they would have thus remained, Heaven only knows. Mr. Hart -gave them at least twenty minutes, and then touched Philip's arm. -Philip started, and Margaret at the window started also, and with a -swift happy glance outwards, and with wave of the pretty hand and arm, -closed the window. Philip was standing in the light, and Mr. Hart, -like a kind and careful friend, had crept backward in the shade; so -that Margaret, when she cast that straight swift glance in her lover's -direction, saw only him. Surely as the hand--love's white flag of -recognition--waved towards him, it had touched her lips first, and she -had sent a kiss into the air--which he received in his heart. It -stirred tender chords there, and through his veins crept love's fever, -which turns dross into gold, and makes a heaven of earth! - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -AH, PHILIP, MY SON! I, ALSO, HAVE A GIRL WHOM I LOVE. - - -Then said Philip, as he and Mr. Hart moved slowly away--then said -Philip softly, as though but a moment had passed since his companion -last spoke: - -"Her name is Margaret, not Juliet. I have no need to play Romeo to -Margaret. Margaret!" he whispered to himself, finding a subtle charm -in the name; "My Margaret!" and then aloud, "Has your Leading Lady -ever played such a character?" - -"Yes," replied Mr. Hart, without any direct meaning, "in 'Faust.'" - -Philip's face flushed scarlet, not at the words, but at the tone, -which was sad and significant, without the speaker intending it to be -so. - -"I know you to be a gentleman----" pursued Mr. Hart. - -"I thought you to be one," interrupted Philip hotly. - -"I hope you will see no reason to change your opinion," said Mr. Hart. - -"I see a reason already." - -"Let me hear it," asked Mr. Hart, secretly pleased at the young man's -ill-humour. - -"You associated my Margaret's name--" - -"Your Margaret!" exclaimed Mr. Hart. "My Margaret, if you please!" - -"Mine!" cried Philip, in a loud voice. - -"Mine!" echoed Mr. Hart, in a calmer tone. - -"Call her down and ask her!" demanded Philip in his rashness, without -considering; and, for the life of him, Mr. Hart could not help -laughing long and heartily. - -"O that you were twenty years younger!" said Philip. - -"O that I were!" exclaimed Mr. Hart, with grave humour. "Then you -would really have cause for uneasiness when you hear me call her -mine." - -"How do you make her yours?" - -"I stand to her in the light of a father," replied Mr. Hart more -seriously. "When I persuaded her mother in town to let her accompany -us, I promised that I would look after her and protect her. Therefore -she is mine, because I am her father." - -"And without any 'therefore,'" responded Philip, "she is mine, because -I am her lover." - -"Ah," said Mr. Hart, with a bright smile, "here is a case to be -settled, then. But if every pretty girl was her lover's, then one -might belong to fifty, or more, for there are hearts enough. Why, you -rash-head! do you know how many men in Silver Creek might call your -Margaret theirs by the same right as that by which you claim her?" - -"No," said Philip, a little sulkily, "I don't know." - -"Then I'll tell you. To my certain knowledge, sixty-nine; to my almost -as certain conviction, some five hundred. She had forty-two offers of -marriage the first week, and has had twenty-seven since. Come now, -divide her between the sixty-nine lovers who have declared themselves; -what part of her is yours?" - -"You talk nonsense," said Philip roughly. - -"Well, suppose you talk sense," said Mr. Hart blandly. - -"It is hardly believable," cried Philip, clenching his fist. -"Sixty-nine offers of marriage! She never told me, and I'm her lover." - -"She has told me, and I'm only her father." - -"By proxy," corrected Philip. - -"Well, by proxy." - -"Why should she tell you and not me?" asked Philip, more sulkily -still. - -"Because, my dear Philip," said Mr. Hart, laying his hand kindly on -the young man's arm, "up to the present, as I have said, she is mine, -and not yours; and because she has a frank open nature, and must -confide in some one. As I come first, she confides in me. She has -given me all the letters to read, and a rare collection they are. If -they were printed they would be a curiosity." - -"I should like to see them, and the names at the bottom of them." - -"So that you might fight all the writers for falling in love as you -have done! Well, you would have enough to do, for you would have to -fight according to the fashion of different countries. I have made an -analysis, my dear Philip. Seven Frenchmen, four Germans, one Spaniard, -three Americans, fifty-three Englishmen, Irishmen, and Scotchmen, and -one Chinaman, have offered marriage to--I will say--_our_ Margaret." - -"A Chinaman! Good heavens! such a creature to raise his eyes to my -Margaret! Tell me, at least, _his_ name, that I may cut his pigtail -from his dirty crown!" - -"There's an Ah in it and a Sen in it and a Ping in it; and if you can -find him out by those signs you are very welcome. But why should a -Chinaman not love? Hath he not eyes, hands, organs, dimensions, -senses, affections, passions? His letter is the greatest curiosity of -the lot, and he has evidently educated himself in the English -language. I know his proposal by heart. Here it is: 'You welly good -English girl; me welly good Chinaman. You mally me, welly good -match. Roast pig and m'landy (brandy) for dinner every day. M'lenty -gold--make m'lenty more. Me take you to my country, by bye. Chinaman -welly good man.' Then comes the Ah and the Sen and the Ping. But let -us be serious, although this is true enough that I have told -you--truth with a comical side to it. You were angry with me a little -while ago." - -"Yes, for associating my Margaret's name with mine in the character of -Faust." - -"I had no distinct intention in my mind, Philip; the conversation -happened to take that turn. It would pain me very much to have to -think of you in that way. But Margaret is a simple good girl, and it -is my duty to look after her. I never knew till to-night that you were -paying marked attention to her." - -"Who told you?" - -"Our Leading Lady." - -Philip Rowe smiled: he had his vanities. - -"O, indeed!" he said, with assumed carelessness. - -"And that will bring me back presently to a subject I mentioned when I -surprised you to-night. First, however, there is another thing to be -settled. You must cease your attentions to Margaret." - -"Not if I know it!" said Philip, with a defiant shake of his head. "I -mean to marry her. If you throw any obstacles in the way I'll run away -with her to-morrow, in spite of your teeth." - -He laughed confidently: he knew his power. - -"But you are a gentleman," remonstrated Mr. Hart. "And she is a lady," -quoth Philip. - -If love's guild could give titles, a peasant would rank higher than a -duchess. Not that there was anything common about Margaret. She was -born of humble parents, it is true; but she was a good girl, and that -is enough for any man. - -It was enough for Mr. Hart. He gazed at Philip in frank and honest -admiration; but he determined to apply a test. He was not a suspicious -man, but he had a duty to perform. - -"Suppose there is an obstacle already in the way," he said, looking -Philip steadily in the face; "suppose she is already married." - -Philip staggered, and the blood deserted his face. "Good God!" he -cried. "Then she has been playing me false!" - -Mr. Hart wished he had not applied the test; he was satisfied of -Philip's sincerity. - -"Not so fast!" he cried, in a cheery tone, "not so fast! I only said -'suppose;' I didn't say it was so. How you young hot spirits jump at -conclusions." - -But it was a few minutes before Philip recovered himself. - -"You frightened me," he said, with a feeble smile. "Then it is not -true! If I had considered a moment, I should have known; for if truth -and innocence have a home in this world, they have it in Margaret's -breast. But you came upon me suddenly." - -Mr. Hart thought, "Ah! youth, youth, what a painter you are!" And -said aloud, "Here is my hand; knowing that you mean honourably by -Margaret, I give my consent to your seeing her as usual." - -"I'll marry her to-morrow," said Philip, taking the hand offered him. - -"Softly, softly; there are conditions." - -"I'll have no conditions!" shouted Philip impetuously. - -"You'll have this and you'll have that!" said Mr. Hart, in a tone of -gentle sarcasm. "You won't have this, and you won't have that! Very -well, then. I wish you good-night." And he turned away. - -"What!" cried Philip, turning after him, "desert me when I want you to -be my friend!" - -The old man's heart warmed to the young fellow; he admired everything -in him--his hot blood, his impetuosity, his obstinacy, his generous -imperiousness. - -"I am your friend," said Mr. Hart, "and I will continue to be so if -you will let me. But when a man says of something that is mine, as -Margaret is--ah, shake your head! it doesn't affect _me!_--when a man -says of something that is mine, and that he wants to be his, that -he'll have no conditions, he compels me to act in self-defence. Attend -to me, young sir! Be reasonable, or to-morrow I take Margaret back to -her mother, a hundred and forty miles away, and you shall not speak -another word to her, as sure as my name's Hart." - -"Ho! ho! you speak boldly; but it doesn't matter--you're a man in a -thousand. In a thousand! in ten thousand. I'm glad you're not younger, -or you might prove dangerous." Mr. Hart took off his cap, and bowed -lowly at this compliment. "You'll not let me speak to her, will you -not? I'll borrow a speaking-trumpet, and shout to her that you are -parting us for ever. But there! give me your hand again. I'm not -frightened of you. I am in such spirits that I must do something -desperate. As you value your life, give me a back!" - -With the readiness of a boy, Mr. Hart stooped and rested his hands on -his knees. Philip took a run backward, then darted forward like a -deer, and, lightly touching the stooping man's back, flew over him -like a bird. Then stooped himself, and folded his arms; and old as Mr. -Hart was, he took the leap. - -After that they had a hearty laugh together. - -"By Jove!" exclaimed Philip, "you are as young as I am, and yet I -should say you are over sixty." - -"I am," said Mr. Hart proudly, straightening his back. - -"I don't mind giving way a little to such a man. Name your -conditions." - -"You want to marry Margaret?" - -"I do--to-morrow!" - -"Nonsense. You want to marry her." - -"I do--I will; stop me who can!" - -"She has a mother." - -"God bless her, and all belonging to her!" - -"Bravo--a good mother, mind." - -"All that belongs to Margaret must be good." - -"Her mother must be consulted." - -Philip scratched his head. "Must?" he asked dubiously. - -"Must." - -"How is that to be done?" - -"By letter." - -Philip counted rapidly on his fingers. - -"Why, we shall have to wait a week!" - -"For the consent. And then perhaps she'll not give it." - -"It will be all the same. We'll marry without it." - -"But you'll have to wait longer than a week, Philip. You'll have to -wait until our three months' engagement at the theatre is at an end." - -"Impossible." - -"It must and shall be. Why, without Margaret we are nothing." - -"I know it," chuckled Philip. - -"She is the soul of the company." The wily old fellow was using the -very words he had used to the Leading Lady, and he thought nothing of -contradicting what he had said a few minutes before, when he declared -that Margaret was not clever, and would never make her fortune on the -stage. "Do you hear me? She is the soul of the company." - -"I know it," chuckled Philip again. - -"Well, then, do you think I am going to let you ruin our prospects, -and rob us, as you propose doing?" - -"Gently, gently there! Not so fast with your robbing!" - -"It is the truth that I am speaking, and you know it; you have said so -yourself. Margaret is the soul of the company--she is our greatest -draw. If she goes without my being able to get another girl as pretty -in her place----" - -"You can't do that; I defy you." - -"Hold your tongue, hot-head!--without our getting another girl -_nearly_ as pretty in her place----" - -"That's better," interrupted the incorrigible Philip; "but you'll have -a rare hunt even for such a one. They don't grow on gooseberry -bushes." - -"Our business is as good as ruined without her, or some one in her -place; and do you suppose I'll stand quietly by and see that done? -Besides, think of the money Margaret herself is saving----" - -"_That_ for the money!" said Philip, with a snap of his fingers. -"Money-making's a man's business, not a woman's." - -"That's true, and I like you the better for saying so. But leaving -Margaret out of the question, there are persons in our company the -happiness of whose life hangs upon their being able to save a certain -amount of money within a certain time. Not only their happiness but -the happiness of helpless ones who are dearer to them than their -heart's blood, depends upon this." - -"By Jove! you speak strongly. Mention one of them." - -"One of them stands before you now." - -Philip turned and looked Mr. Hart straight in the face. Tears were -gathering in the old man's eyes, and the young man turned away again, -so that he should not see them. - -"Forgive me, mate," he said softly; "I am so wrapt up in my own -happiness that I am forgetful of the feelings of others." - -"Ah, Philip, my son"--there was so tender an accent in the old man's -tone, that the tears rose to Philip's eyes as well--"I also have a -girl whom I love. See here, my dear boy. This is my daughter. She is -at home in England, and I am here sixteen thousand miles away." - -He had taken the picture of his darling from his pocket, and now he -handed it to Philip. The young man looked at it in the clear -moonlight. A round fresh face, open mouth with rosy lips, bright -ingenuous eyes, fair curls around her white forehead. She was standing -within an ivy porch, and one little hand was raised as though she were -listening. - -"It was taken seven years ago," said Mr. Hart; "she was twelve years -old then." - -"She is beautiful, beautiful!" exclaimed Philip enthusiastically. "And -you haven't seen her since then?" - -"No--and my old heart aches for a sight of her. This money that I am -earning will take me to her." - -"By Jove! and I was going to step in your way! Brute that I was! -Margaret shall stop. I'll wait till the end of the time. I can see her -every night; and I can build a wooden house for her in the meantime. -God bless you, old boy! Give me your hand again. Next to my own -father, you are the man I love and respect the most." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -GOD BLESS EVERYBODY. - - -"But I haven't finished yet," said Mr. Hart, after a short pause. "I -have another condition." - -"Another!" exclaimed Philip, with an inclination to turn ill-humoured. -"You are insatiable! And how many more after that, pray?" - -"None." - -"That's a mercy. Out with your last condition--which I'll not comply -with." - -"Which you will comply with, or I'll know the reason why." - -"Ah, ah! my Cornishman, go on with your conditions." - -"Where did you get those flowers from?" - -"Where did I get them from? I gave Nature an order for them, and they -grew for me--and bloomed for Margaret. I rode a dozen miles for them, -and I'd ride a thousand if she bade me." - -"Or fly to the moon, or swim, or dive in the fire, or ride on the -clouds, no doubt!" - -"Yes, if she wanted me to. She has but to speak." - -"Quite right," said Mr. Hart, turning his face from Philip, so that -the smile on his lips should not be seen "but that's not my concern. -This is. Mind what I say, sir. I'll have no more flowers thrown to my -singing Chambermaid." - -"O," retorted Philip, "now it's you'll not have this, and you'll not -have that! Very well, then. I wish you good-night." - -And off he went, taking huge strides purposely, and stretching his -legs to their utmost. - -"No, no, Philip!" cried Mr. Hart, running after Philip, and laughing -heartily at the wit of the retort. "No, no; I'm serious." - -"And so am I," said Philip, stopping so that Mr. Hart might come up to -him. "No more flowers, eh! Why, I'll smother her with them every -night. I'll compel you to engage some one to carry them off the stage. -No more flowers! I'll show you! Why, I'm going to scour the country -for flowers, and I shall set seeds all round my tent." - -"If you wait for the flowers to grow, I shall be satisfied. You can't -make them come up by blowing on them with your hot words and -hot breath. But seriously, Philip, there _must_ be no more -flower-throwing." - -Briefly he explained the reason why, and then upshot of it all was -that Philip promised. Then Mr. Hart said that Philip had better return -with him to the Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle Hotel; it was too late for -him to walk back to his reef. - -"I can give you a shake-down in my bedroom," said Mr. Hart. - -"All right!" said Philip, and thought with ecstasy, "I shall be near -Margaret; I shall sleep under the same roof as Margaret." - -"Have you anything to drink?" asked Philip when they were in Mr. -Hart's room. - -Mr. Hart wanted Philip to sleep in his bed, which was but a stretcher, -barely wide enough for one fair-sized man, but Philip would not hear -of it; so they obtained a straw mattress, and laid it on the floor, -and Philip tossed off his clothes, and stretched himself upon his hard -bed (and slept upon it afterwards as soundly as if it had been made of -eider-duck's feathers), in a state of complete satisfaction with -himself and every one in the world. It was while he was lying like -this, and while Mr. Hart, more methodical than his companion, was -slowly undressing himself, that Philip had asked if he had anything to -drink. - -"I'll get something," said Mr. Hart, and left the room, and returned -with a bottle and glasses. - -While he was gone, Philip looked about him, and soon discovered that -his Margaret's bedroom was immediately above him. He gazed at the -ceiling with rapture, and sent kisses thitherward. A single partition -parted him from his sweetheart. He fancied that he could hear her soft -breathing. The same roof covered them. It was as yet his nearest -approach to heaven. - -"Here's to Margaret," said Philip, holding up his glass. - -"To Margaret," responded Mr. Hart, "and happiness to you both." - -"Another toast," said Philip; "to my old dad and the dear old Silver -Flagon." - -They drank the toast. - -"What is the Silver Flagon?" asked Mr. Hart. - -"One of these fine days perhaps I'll tell you," replied Philip. - -But Philip never told him. One of these fine days Mr. Hart discovered -for himself. - -The light was out, and Mr. Hart knelt by a corner of his stretcher, -and prayed for a few minutes. He was praying for his daughter, and -thinking of her; he beheld her pretty face very plainly in the dark -room. Philip saw the shadow of the kneeling man; it made him very -tender towards Mr. Hart. - -"Heathen that I am!" he whispered to himself. "I haven't knelt at my -bedside for many a long month." - -Then he prayed in silence, without getting out of bed. - -"Are you comfortable, Philip?" asked Mr. Hart presently. - -"I am very happy," replied Philip. "Good night--God bless you." - -"And you, my boy. Good night." - -Philip thought, "I am glad my Margaret has had such a protector. God -bless everybody." - -The next moment he was asleep. - -He was up an hour after the sun, and off to his reef. Things were -looking well there. Mr. Hart had spoken to the proprietor of the Rose, -Shamrock, and Thistle, whose name, by the way, as something has to be -said concerning him, it may be as well to mention. You will have heard -it before--it was Smith. Mr. Hart had spoken to Mr. Smith about -Philip's reef, and showed him some pieces of golden quartz, saying -what a pity it was that there was no crushing-machine near such rich -stone; and what a fortune a man might make who had money and -enterprise enough to erect one. Mr. Smith had both. Four years -ago---- But no, common as his name is he deserves a chapter to -himself, and shall have it. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -A MAN OF METTLE. - - -Not longer than four years ago, Mr. Smith was a bricklayer in the old -country, earning an average wage of thirty shillings a week, out of -which he supported himself and his old mother; and one day, for want -of something better to do--he was out of work at the time--he -emigrated almost by accident. This is a literal fact. He arose early -in the morning, with no intention of leaving the country, but somewhat -sad at heart because he had no work to do. (When he related the story -in after days he said that his hands felt like lumps of lead as they -hung by his side.) On this morning, then, he strolled to the London -Docks, and saw a ship making ready to start for Australia; was told -that it would sail for Gravesend in the afternoon; idly inquired the -price of a steerage passage, and found that he had just money enough -in his pocket, and a trifle over, the scrapings and savings of ten -years' bricklaying; and had a chat with an enthusiast, who painted -Australia in the colours of the rainbow, and then painted England in -ditch colours. - -"What is the use of wearing one's life away in such a country as -this?" demanded the enthusiast. "What has a man got to look forward to -when he's old, and not fit to work?" - -Mr. Smith considered. What _was_ the use of grinding one's life away -in such a country as England? What was there to look forward to, to -hope for, to work for? A poor man's grave. Perhaps a pauper's funeral. -Born a bricklayer, died a bricklayer; that might be his epitaph, if he -left money enough to pay for one. - -"Australia's the place for such men as us," continued the enthusiast. -"Australia's the land of gold, and milk, and honey. England's no -country for men of spirit; it's used up, sir--used up. And there's the -new land waiting to make poor men rich--holding out its arms for -them." - -"I should like to go with you," said Smith. - -"Come, then," said the enthusiast. - -"I'm afraid there's not time," said Smith; "there's my old mother. I -couldn't leave without saying good-bye to her." - -"What's your name?" asked the enthusiast. - -"Smith," replied Smith. - -The enthusiast gave a start, and uttered an exclamation. - -"What's the matter?" asked Smith. - -"Nothing," said the enthusiast; "only I was thinking that I _should_ -like you to come." - -"But how is it to be managed?" inquired Smith, glancing at the name of -the vessel, with his mouth watering. It was a nine-hundred-ton ship, -called the Gold Packet. "But how is it to be managed? A man that I -know emigrated a year ago, and he had to buy bedding, and tin cups, -and soap and towels, and I don't know what else; those things ain't -got by whistling for them." - -"I'll manage it for you," said the enthusiast. "You go home and say -good-bye to your mother. Be back here at one o'clock. By that time -I'll have your passage-ticket, and your berth, and bedding, and tin -cups, and soap and towels, and everything else ready for you. What do -you say?" - -"What do I say? There's my hand upon it, and thank you. I'll do it." - -And with quickened pulses he hastened home, kissed the amazed old -woman--who was so dumbfoundered that she could do nothing but look at -her son, and cry--promised to send her plenty of money from Australia -and to make a lady of her in five years, and was back to the Gold -Packet at one o'clock. - -"You're a man of mettle," said the enthusiast; "you're just the sort -for the gold-diggings; it's such men as you they want. You'll make -your fortune there as sure as eggs are eggs. Here's your ticket. Come -down-stairs; I'll show you your berth and things." - -"How much does it all come to?" asked Smith. The enthusiast pencilled -some figures on a piece of paper, and gave it to Smith, who looked at -the items, and added them up. Everything was correct; he handed the -enthusiast the money, and had exactly two shillings and fourpence left -to conquer the new world with. Smith went down-stairs (to speak -courteously of the descent; but there are worse, we are taught) into -the den where the steerage passengers were packed, and the enthusiast -showed him his berth, his bedding, his tin cups, his bar of yellow -soap, and other necessary paraphernalia. The enthusiast showed these -things to Smith, but Smith could scarcely see them, the place was so -dark. Smith was not daunted because the place was dismal, and because -it was filled with women crying, and children screaming, and men -growling--a very pit of discomfort. His soul rose to the occasion; he -had a spirit above a bricklayer's; with his passage ticket in his -hand, and two shillings and fourpence in his pocket, he felt himself a -king. There was work before him to do, and he was happy in the -prospect of no more idle days. When he went on to the deck he did not -see the enthusiast, but he did not miss him, he was so interested in -what was going on about him, the hurrying to and fro, the shouting, -the singing of the sailors, the loosening of the sails, the hauling of -ropes. In an hour the ship was off, winding its way through such a -complicated labyrinth of boats and ships and ropes, that the wonder -was how it disentangled itself safely. Smith watched the man[oe]uvres -with admiration. Then he glanced at the passage ticket. "Holloa!" he -said, "they've made a mistake in my Christian name. I'm William Smith, -not John." - -(Let me mention here, briefly, that our Smith never set eyes again on -the enthusiast, whose name was also Smith, prefixed by John. It was -his passage ticket, indeed, that our Smith held in his hand. All the -time he had been painting in the most glowing colours the glowing -attractions of the goldfields on the other side of the world, he had -been filled with the most gloomy forebodings. His courage had failed -him at the last moment, and seizing the opportunity which had so -fortunately presented itself of giving the new world another Smith -instead of himself, he had sold his passage ticket and bedding and -cooking utensils to the bricklayer, and after receiving the money for -them, bade good-bye to the Gold Packet and all the fair promises it -held out.) - -With his two shillings and fourpence in his pocket, William Smith -started on the voyage, and made himself so useful, and was altogether -so cheerful and shrewd and bustling, that he soon became a prime -favourite with the passengers and crew. In ninety-two days from the -date of sailing, the ship passed through Port Philip Heads, and from -that day Fortune smiled upon William Smith. In a fortnight he was on -the goldfields; in six months he was a speculator; in twelve, he had -saved a thousand pounds. And now he was proprietor of a fine hotel and -a theatre, and had a dozen other irons in the fire, not one of which -did he allow to grow cold. - -I think I shall be pardoned for this digression. This story is of the -Mosaic kind, and although there are some strange bits in it, I hope -none will be found incongruous, but that they will all fit in one with -another, and form a complete and original whole. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -TO-MORROW IT IS ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. - - -Mr. Hart, then, had spoken to William Smith about Philip's golden -reef, and what a capital chance there was for a crushing machine. His -words did not fall upon listless ears. The same day William Smith -walked to the reef, examined the stone, went down the shaft, chipped -here and there, putting two, or three bits of gold and stone in his -pocket, as treasure-trove, came up from the hole, strolled about the -locality, Argus-eyed, and made up his mind. He spoke it to Philip and -his mate. Said he: "In three weeks I will have a machine erected here, -with twelve heads of stampers, which shall be working day and night, -and which shall crush forty tons of quartz every twenty-four hours. -You have raised, I should say, about one hundred and fifty tons of -stone. You shall put a dozen men at work in your claim--I will provide -the money for their wages, and for powder and fuse--and in three weeks -you shall raise another hundred tons. I will do all this on the -following terms: You shall contract to give me the first two hundred -tons of quartz to crush, and I will contract to crush it at the rate -of three ounces of gold per ton." (The shrewd speculator had seen -clearly enough that there was plenty of gold in the stone to pay him, -and leave a handsome margin; indeed, he calculated that the quartz -already raised from the bowels of the earth, and lying on the surface -of the claim, would yield not less than ten or twelve ounces to the -ton.) "The next two hundred tons I will crush for two and a half -ounces of gold per ton; the next two hundred for two ounces per ton." - -Some men are born with a genius for figures: William Smith was one; -and he had already totted up in his own mind that the crushing of -these six hundred tons of quartz would bring him in no less than -£6000; and that it could all be done in fifteen days. His £6000 would -pay all expenses of labour and the purchase and erection of the -machine, which in little more than a fortnight after it was put up -would stand him in nothing. There were many chances of this kind in -the goldfields for enterprising men. - -"After that," concluded William Smith, "we can make fresh -arrangements." - -Philip and his mate jumped at the offer. Then, practical William -Smith, to their astonishment and admiration, told them that although -he had been but a short time on the range--it could not have been more -than three hours altogether--he had settled on the very spot where the -machine was to be erected. He showed them the place. It was on the -slope of a natural basin, which, with a little labour, could be made -into a splendid reservoir for the rain. Here the machine was to be -erected; here the dam was to be built; here the sheds for the furnace -and for the washing-out and retorting of the gold were to be put up. -All was arranged. The only thing that would be wanted was water. "Pray -for rain," said William Smith; and fancying that he saw in Philip's -face an intention to fall on his knees that instant, cried out, in a -fright, "Not now, not now! In a fortnight, when the dam is ready." So -Philip deferred his prayer for two weeks. - -Now, it was manifestly impossible to get a crushing-machine from the -capital of the colony in time. But William Smith, when he made his -offer, knew what he was about. He knew of a machine on a neighbouring -goldfield not many miles away, which had been erected in a foolish -spot, where it was practically useless, for the quartz would not yield -sufficient gold to pay expenses of labour. Those who had bought and -erected the machine had done so on the credit of a small patch of gold -which they had found, and which they thought would lead them to -precious deposits. They found no more gold, or not sufficient to pay. -They built castles in the air--which practical William Smith never -did; he always went upon solid ground, and seldom made a mistake. -Before he was two days older he had bought the machine for a quarter -of its value, and fifty men were set to work on it, so that it was -almost literally torn down. But he had an experienced man at the head -of his workers, and everything was done right. Fifty more men were -working at the reservoir, digging out the earth, and piling up the -banks, and on the very day succeeding the scene which had taken place -between Philip and Mr. Hart the first portion of the crushing-machine -arrived on the ground. This kept Philip busy, and although he was -burning to get away to his Margaret, he could not do so until the -night. The first thing that he saw when he went behind the scenes was -one of the flowers he had bought the night before. He raised his eyes -from the flower to Margaret's face, for the flower was in her bosom. - -"Ah!" he sighed, flushing with delight. - -Of such simple thing are life's sweetest pleasures born. - -The bunch of flower's had, as a matter of course, formed a fruitful -subject of conversation among the members of the dramatic company, and -Margaret, being a woman, and womanly, was obliged to make a confidante -of some one of her own sex. The Leading Lady was out of the question; -so the First Old Woman, the mother of the baby who had proved such a -hit, on the first night, received Margaret's confidences, and being a -good-hearted, unselfish creature, and delighted at the opportunity of -indulging in a little bit of match-making, and also of revenging -herself upon the Leading Lady for her objection to baby being a -shareholder in the Star Dramatic Company, she listened, and smiled, -and congratulated the young girl. - -"To-morrow it is Saint Valentine's Day!" she sang. - -"You've come to silver Creek for something. Here, my dear, nurse my -baby, and get your hand in." - -Which caused Margaret to blush furiously. - -"O," cried Margaret, "but there's been nothing said between us!" - -"Nothing, my dear!" exclaimed the First Old Woman, with a mischievous -laugh. "Really nothing!" - -"Well, nothing _very_ particular." - -"Indeed!" said the First Old Woman, with good-humoured sarcasm. "Is -coming behind the scenes every night saying nothing? Was throwing you -the flowers saying nothing? Was standing outside your window last -night for a full hour and a half--I saw him with my own eyes, my dear! -I did; and envied you--was that saying nothing? I declare, then, I -shall set _my_ cap at him; I may as well take a chance in the lottery. -He's as handsome a young fellow as ever walked in two shoes, and if -you intend to disappoint him----" - -"O, but I don't," interrupted Margaret, apprehensively. - -Whereupon they fell to kissing one another, and baby came in for her -share. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -"I AM GOING TO SPEAK OUT," SAID PHILIP. - - -When Philip made his appearance that evening behind the scenes, the -First Old Woman smiled significantly at him, and once, when her cue to -go on the stage was given, she cried to him, of malice aforethought: - -"O, dear me! I'm wanted on the stage! Hold my baby, Mr. Rowe, till I -come off again." - -And before he had time to utter a word one way or another, baby was in -his arms, and the mother darted away, laughing to herself. - -Philip was not ashamed of his burden; he nursed the baby tenderly, but -somewhat gingerly, it must be confessed--fearful, perhaps, lest he -should break the little thing, or dislocate something. Margaret, who -was on the stage at the time, looked at him furtively as he was -kissing the mite, and her mind was in such a whirl, that for the first -time during her engagement she forgot the words she had to speak. -Observing which the First Old Woman made matters worse by whispering -sly nonsense in Margaret's ear. Little did the unconscious baby -suspect the important part she was playing in the sentimental comedy. - -Later on in the night, Philip said to Margaret: - -"I am going to speak out." - -This was the very thing she was pining for, and now that her wish was -about to be gratified, she exclaimed: - -"If you dare, sir!" saucily, mischievously, coquettishly. - -Then what did Margaret do but lead him into a more retired spot, -where, if he did speak out, no one but herself could hear him. - -"If you dare, sir!" she repeated, with a smile which magnetised him. -There was but little need for that; he was bewitched already. - -"Call me Philip," he entreated. - -"Philip," she sighed. - -It was like the whisper of a rose. - -He was radiant; the joy in his heart was reflected in his face. He -toyed with her fingers. Slender they were, and supple, and not strong. -But never were chains more potent. - -"Well, Philip?" said Margaret shyly. - -"Well, Margaret?" - -He could find at that moment nothing more sensible to say. He was -engaged watching the light of her eyes, and the colour come and go on -her cheek. - -"What is that in your hand?" said she. - -"A letter." - -"Ah, that's what you brought me here for! A letter! For me! Give it to -me!" She held out her little hand eagerly. - -He withheld the letter from her. - -"It is not for you." - -"O, indeed!" - -She tore her fingers from his grasp, for he had taken them and was -kissing them. - -"But you may read it," he said ruefully. - -She nestled to him, and gave him her hand again, and looked -remorseful. When she pleaded mutely for forgiveness, with her pretty -face upturned to his, and with her soft red lips within an inch of -his, what would you have done, had you been in his place? He did what -you would have done--and did it again--and again--and---- - -"No, sir," she cried, putting her hand upon her lips. "No, Philip, I -mean. You shall not--you must not! Some one will be coming this -way----" - -There was nothing for it, as her lips were covered, but to kiss her -neck; and he did so, until she lay in his arms panting. - -"You frighten me," she sighed; "and if you are not still, I'll run -away." - -And she meant it. Dramatic lovers she had had by the score, in silk -and fustian. She had been made love to a hundred times upon the stage, -but those were sham engagements, and her gentle breast was not -fluttered by them, nor was her sweet nature spoilt by them. This sort -of thing was quite different. - -"And I've a great mind to be angry with you," she said, not moving -from his embrace. - -"Why?" - -"You have brought me no flowers." - -He looked disconsolate. "If I had known you wanted them!" - -"If you had known, sir! You must guess things. You must look into my -face, if you think it will not frighten you, and you must say, -Margaret wants this; Margaret wants that----' No, no, Philip I did not -say I wanted _that!_" - -"But you told me I must look into your face, and guess things, and I -did!" - -"Then I'll take back all that I have said, for men are such foolish -creatures." She gave him the tenderest smile, to strengthen the words. -"And indeed, and indeed, I've a good mind to be angry with you." - -"Be angry with me after you have read my letter." - -"How can I read it when you will not let me go?" - -Certainly his arms were round her, but she did not make the least -effort to get away from them. - -"_Shall_ I let you go?" - -"If you like." - -"I don't like." - -He pressed her closer to him. - -"Tell me, first, how you got my flowers last night." - -"Why, you puss, I have told you twice already." - -"I forget it, I want to hear it again." - -These small deceptions are permissible between lovers, when they are -used to such felicitous purpose. He told her again, and her bosom -panted, and her heart beat, and a proud and tender light shone in her -eyes as he described the mad gallop he had taken; how her face was -ever before him, urging him on; how he had won the flowers; the way -the woman had said, "O, if it's for that!" then the ride back, singing -as he rode---- - -"Singing!" she exclaimed, interrupting him. "O, you didn't tell me -that last night. I knew you had left something out." - -"I did sing, and the trees heard me." - -"What song was it, sir?" - -"Philip!" - -"Philip, then. What song did you sing?" - -"No song at all--yes, the sweetest song! A song with only one word to -it." - -"With only one word to it! Dear me I know some, and I don't know -that--and the sweetest song, you say." - -"The sweetest, the dearest, the best word in the world." - -"What word was it?" - -"Margaret--Margaret--Margaret!" - -"O Philip! And everybody heard it!" - -"I left it behind me--no, I didn't; I wouldn't part with it. Part with -it! Never, while my heart beats! Yet I did lose it too, for an echo -stole it--and I heard it singing Margaret as I rode on." - -They were talking together in the open; there was a light in the sky, -but the moon had not yet risen. Ten minutes afterwards he said: - -"Now read my letter." - -"I can't see it," placing her eyes close to it; "it's too dark." - -"Not for my eyes." He bent his head to hers; their cheeks touched. -"'Dear madam,' he commenced, 'my name is Philip Rowe----'" - -"What a stupid commencement!" she said, laughing. - -"Is it? Wait. Perhaps it will improve farther on. 'My name is Philip -Rowe. I am twenty-six years of age, and I am an Englishman, born in -Devonshire. I have a half share in a rich claim on a rich quartz reef. -I love your daughter----'" - -"O, O," she cried, trembling from happiness. "It's to my mother. And -you're from Devonshire. Mother has friends in Devonshire. One in -particular, that she has often talked of. I've never been there. Go -on, Philip. 'I love your daughter.' Do you, do you, Philip?" - -"Do I, my darling?" he said passionately. "Listen to my heart. What -does it beat but Margaret, Margaret? I came here to find my life, and -I have found her. I love you with all my soul. I never knew what a -beautiful thing life was until I saw your dear face." - -This was heaven to her to hear. Presently, "Go on, Philip, -I love your daughter.'" - -"'And she loves me.'" - -"O, Philip, who told you? What are you doing, sir?" - -"I am listening to your heart, My darling." - -"And what does it say! As if it could speak! What does it say, sir?" - -"I think I hear it. I think it beats for me." - -So inexpressibly tender was his tone, that her arms crept round his -neck, and she sighed, "It does, Philip; it does!" - -It was the proudest, happiest moment in his life. A blissful silence -encompassed them. - -"I haven't much more to read," he said, and added cunningly, "Where -did I leave off?" - -"You know, Philip." - -"No, but tell me." - -"'And she loves me,'" she whispered. - -"My darling! 'I love your daughter, and she loves me. I cannot make a -lady of her, for she is that already, thanks to you.' Isn't that -good?" he asked, breaking off. - -"Yes. Go on; go on. I want to hear the end." - -"'I will do all in my power to make her happy; and I write with her -permission, to ask you to allow me to subscribe myself, in every -letter that follows this, your affectionate son, Philip Rowe.' There!" - -"And how can you see to read such a bold letter, sir? My eyes are as -good as yours, and there's no light." - -"I did not read with my eyes, dear Margaret." - -"With what then, Philip? You are full of riddles." - -"With my heart, my darling." - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -"PRAY FOR RAIN, MY DARLING." - - -"We are getting along finely," said William Smith, rubbing his hands -briskly as he looked about with satisfaction upon the busy scene. The -crushing machine was nearly fixed. It was a Berdan's, with twelve -stampers to pound the stone to dust. The steam-engine was in fine -order. The glistening white quicksilver was ready for the work of -amalgamation with the bright red gold. The dam was built and ready for -water. - -William Smith had good reason to feel proud, for by his enterprise he -had peopled this hitherto deserted spot. A hundred tents of drill, and -a few more pretentious with walls built of slabs, were scattered -about, and by a wave of his hand three hundred strong men had found -profitable employment. Some had their wives with them, and goats and -children scampered about the gullies and over the adjacent hills. The -stores, the principal one of which and the most favoured by the -gold-diggers belonged to William Smith, were doing a roaring business. -A wise man, William Smith; no half-hearted worker; what he did was -thoroughly done. He was an honest straightforward man too, driving a -hard bargain always, and always to his own advantage; but those he -dealt with had their gains also, and they knew that his words were to -be depended upon down to the last letter. Wherever he competed he took -the lead, and deservedly. His hotel was the best in Silver Creek; the -best accommodation was to be found there, the best liquors were to be -obtained there. His theatre was a model of comfort. His store on the -Margaret Reef (I have not had time before to tell you that Philip had -christened it the "Margaret," immediately he knew the name of his -sweetheart) was as complete as it was possible for a store on the -gold-diggings to be. He sold the best of everything--the best and -nattiest water-tight boots with square toes and clean-cut nails in the -soles, the strongest laces, the stoutest and soundest drill and calico -for tents and flies, the trustiest steel for gads, the most -serviceable serge and Scotch twill shirts, the finest pea-jackets, the -most expensive cabbage-tree and Panama hats, the best tobacco, and -everything else of the first quality. His store was the post-office, -and there was a corner in it where the gold-diggers could write their -letters and read the _Silver Creek Herald_ and the _Silver Creek -Mercury_. He had planned roads, and had some idea of using his -influence for the laying-out of a township by the Government. In his -way, William Smith was a small Moses; with room and opportunity and a -thousand men at his back he could have laid the solid foundation of a -great nation. He had the true legislative faculties for such an -undertaking, and I am sure that he would have looked after Number One. -The bricklayer who could only earn thirty shillings a week in England, -might have become a ruler of men. - -The scene, altogether, that was to be witnessed day and night on the -Margaret Reef was such as never can be witnessed in an old country. In -civilised countries men seem to go about their work with a sadness -upon them, and as if they were labouring under some kind of -oppression. In such-like places as I am describing, men rise in the -morning and set about their work with smiles and vigour, and hearty -cheerfulness. In the old country it is, "It's a hard thing to have to -work like this! Alas!" In the new country it is, "Come along, boys, -with a will! Hurrah!" - -I have said that the dam was built and ready for water. William Smith -said the same thing to Philip at the conclusion of a conversation. He -was in high spirits; there were two hundred and fifty tons of quartz -waiting to be crushed, lying in great heaps near the shaft. Half of it -was burnt, and was ready for the machine; the other half was piled on -the wood kilns and was blazing away, filling the air with not the -pleasantest arsenical fumes. New shafts were being sunk along the -brow of the Margaret Reef, and one or two were beginning to yield -gold-bearing stone. - -"What do you think it will crush?" asked Philip of William Smith, as -they stood by a heap of the quartz which had been burnt. - -William Smith poked about the stone and averaged it, a piece from one -place, a piece from another, a piece from another. He saw plenty of -gold in it. - -"About nine ounces to the ton, I should say," replied William Smith. -"We'll first crush fifty tons, and wash up and see what the yield is. -Then we'll go straight on with two hundred tons, and get the biggest -cake of gold that has ever been seen in Silver Creek and exhibit it in -High Street. It'll do the diggings good." - -"When shall we commence to crush?" - -"We shall be ready in three days. All we want is water in the dam. Now -is the time to pray for rain." - -Philip went straight to Margaret, as one goes to one's high-priest. - -"Pray for rain, my darling," he said, "pray for rain;" and told her -the reason why. - -Margaret prayed for rain, obediently, as she had been bidden, and -prayed for it so hard that, whether you will believe it or not, such a -downpour commenced on Silver Creek at ten o'clock that night as had -never been witnessed by the oldest inhabitant--a veteran of two years -or less. Silver Creek overflowed its banks, and the lower parts of the -township were flooded. Philip was wild with joy. - -"You duck!" he said to Margaret--he was in the theatre when the rain -commenced--"this is all your doing!" - -We sober-going persons know, of course, that it was only a -coincidence. Margaret, however, smiled demurely. She was quite ready -to take the credit of it; she would not have been a woman else. But it -_was_ rather a stretch on Philip's part. - -William Smith looked anxious. He wanted rain, but he was a little bit -afraid of such a downpour as this, thinking that the dam might not be -strong enough to bear it. Philip ran to Margaret, and told her of -William Smith's fears. - -"The dam not strong enough!" she exclaimed. "O, but it is!" - -Philip was satisfied. The most profound logic could not have so -convinced him of the soundness of the dam. He could not convince -William Smith, however, for Smith was not in love. That enterprising -person wanted to set out at once for the Margaret Reef, but it was -impossible to get there in such a storm. Raging torrents were in the -way. Smith fretted that he could not whistle them aside. But he did -not fret long; he accepted the inevitable with a grimace. Philip -accepted it in a very different fashion; but then it was pleasant to -him, for it compelled him to remain for the night in the hotel where -Margaret was. He blessed the rain that kept him by Margaret's side. He -had also a little private business to do with Mr. Hart. Margaret had -related to him the incident on the road which had led to the baby -becoming a shareholder in Hart's Star Dramatic Company, and how that -it was Mr. Hart who had suggested it. She enacted the entire scene, -and burlesqued the Leading Lady in fine style. Philip, who was fond of -children, was mightily pleased, and was loud in his praises of Mr. -Hart, and Margaret chimed in. She loved the old man; and, indeed, they -both had occasion to be grateful to him. Between them they had -concocted a plan--that is to say, Philip had concocted it, and -Margaret had said, "Yes, yes," to everything; which, in Philip's eyes, -made her the author of it. What that plan was will now be seen. - -The performances concluded at eleven o'clock: The roof of the theatre -was made of zinc, and the rain fell on it so heavily and loudly that -not a word could be heard within the walls. But the actors went on -with their parts nevertheless, and to keep the audience in good -humour, introduced dances in the piece, and played such impromptu -antics that the gold-diggers were rather pleased with the storm than -otherwise. - -When the performances were at an end, Philip and Margaret stood at the -side-scenes, talking softly over their plan concerning Mr. Hart. What -they really had to say about it might have occupied two minutes--but -it took them twenty, they were such bunglers. - -"Now I shall go to Mr. Hart," said Philip, and kissed Margaret. - -The part he was playing in those happy days was full of cues for -kisses. There may have been meaning in the kisses; there was certainly -none in the cues. - -I think that Philip must have spoken this particular cue, "Now I shall -go to Mr. Hart," at least a dozen times (invariably, of course, using -it as a fresh cue) before he attempted to stir from Margaret's side. -But at length he did say, with something like determination: - -"Now I must really go." - -Margaret replied with a sigh, "Yes, Philip, you must." - -Even then, I think, he would not have gone, if they had not been -disturbed in their love-making. - -"When it is all settled," said Margaret, "run up to my room and knock -at the door; then I will come down and give Mr. Hart a good hug and -half-a-dozen kisses." - -Philip looked blank at this. - -"You goose!" said Margaret. "I have kissed him I don't know how many -times. Why, he's over sixty! and don't you think he deserves it, sir, -for the care he has taken of me." - -"Of course," responded Philip, the cloud in his face clearing. "I _am_ -a goose. I know you wouldn't kiss a younger man--unless it was me." - -"Not a much younger man," replied Margaret with a merry laugh, as she -ran away from him. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -"WHAT IF THERE ARE VILLAINS AND SCOUNDRELS IN THE WORLD?" HE CRIED, -"WE WILL NEVER LOSE OUR FAITH IN GOD AND MAN--NEVER! NEVER! NEVER!" - - -Philip watched until Margaret was out of sight, and then walked slowly -to Mr. Hart's room, and knocked at the door, but received no answer. -He strolled into the bar of the hotel, but could not see Mr. Hart. - -"He must be in his room," quoth Philip to himself. "There was a light -there." - -He knocked at the door again, and still receiving no answer, turned -the handle, and found the door unfastened. He entered the room, and -saw Mr. Hart sitting before his little table with his head buried in -his hands. - -"Ah! you're there," said Philip, closing the door behind him, and -drawing a chair to the table. "I want to say something particular to -you." - -Mr. Hart, with a wave of his hand, motioned the young man to proceed. - -Philip was flushed and excited, and somewhat nervous as to how his -mission would be received; and being in this condition he did not -observe any change in Mr. Hart's face or manner. - -"This is how it is," he continued. "You made me an offer for a share -in my claim once, and I refused it. Well, I was wrong in refusing, and -I want to accept it now. Don't think there's any favour in it, or that -the claim is any better or any worse than it was. The stone is looking -splendid, and now that the rain is falling the dam will be filled, and -we shall commence to crush directly it clears up. I want you to give -me two hundred and fifty pounds for a quarter of my half-share. That -is an eighth part of the claim, and it sets the claim at a good -price--two thousand pounds; and I'll make you a bet of three hundred -pounds, and stake the money, that in less than six weeks your share of -the profits will amount to three times as much as I ask you for it. -There, that is how it is. Now say 'Done!' like a good fellow, and -place me under an obligation to you for life. I know you have the -money." - -He blurted out these words, not coherently and smoothly as they are -written here, but in as bungling a manner as can well be imagined. He -stammered, he hesitated, he repeated his words, but at length he had -explained himself. Mr. Hart had listened quietly, the only motion he -made being one which would hide his face more effectually from Philip. -When Philip had finished his lame speech and was waiting for an -answer, he noticed that Mr. Hart's trunk was open, and that all its -contents were scattered about the floor; indeed the whole room was in -a state of confusion. Mr. Hart spoke in a low tone. - -"You offer me a fourth of your share for two hundred and fifty -pounds." - -"Yes, and I have the agreement in duplicate in my pocket, with my name -to it. I had it drawn out to-day by a lawyer. It only wants your -signature, and the thing is settled." - -"And you will bet me three hundred pounds, staking the money, that in -less than six weeks I shall receive back for my share of the profits -three times as much as I give you for it." - -"That's it." - -"With whom will you stake the money?" - -"With you." - -"So that I shall really have in hand fifty pounds more than you ask -for the share." - -"That's it; but why so many words? Say, 'Done and done!'" - -Philip was on thorns while the matter was unsettled. - -"I must clearly understand," said Mr. Hart, in the same low tone, -which, indeed, he preserved throughout this part of the conversation -"before I can say anything to the offer. I want to be certain that you -mean honestly by me. The world is full of thieves. There is plenty of -roguery about." - -"That's true," replied Philip complacently; "I'm a bit of a rogue -myself." - -"And," proceeded Mr. Hart, with a strange hesitation in his voice, -"supposing the claim to be utterly worthless, at the end of six weeks -I shall be sure to be fifty pounds in pocket?" - -"You will be more than that in pocket. The claim's a good one; there's -no telling how much gold is in it." - -Mr. Hart paused, to steady himself. "I'm not much of an arithmetician; -I was always a bad hand at figures; but I can see that I must be a -gainer if I accept your offer." - -"I hope you will be." - -"Your claim is a rich one. All the diggers say so." - -"We shall make a fortune out of it in three months," replied Philip, -with a bright smile--"you, and all of us." - -"On the first day I saw you----" - -"When you pulled the centipede out of my hair," interrupted Philip. "A -lucky day for me, that was. Good luck to you, old fellow! Yes: on the -first day you saw me--go on." - -"I offered you, if you remember, a hundred and twenty pounds for a -small share in the claim." - -"I remember." - -"And you refused, saying you would want twenty times as much." - -"I spoke like a fool; I didn't know you then." Again Mr. Hart paused. - -"Philip," he said presently, in a tremulous tone, "why do you make me -this offer?" - -Philip hung his head upon his breast, and with a slight trembling of -his lower lip, replied softly: - -"Because I love you." - -A sudden rush of tears came into Mr. Hart's eyes, and he laid his head -upon his arm. - -"For God's sake don't do that!" cried Philip, rising hurriedly, and -looking about him in distress. "If I've said anything to hurt you, -forgive me. I'm a great hulking brute; Margaret will never look at me -again. There, there, old fellow!" - -And Philip, whose heart was as tender as a woman's and whose first -intention had been to fly from the room, and dash through the storm, -knelt by the side of Mr. Hart, and used words as gentle, and actions -as fond as though he were kneeling by the side of a child. And all the -time he did this his great limbs were trembling, and the tears were -running down his strong beard. Mr. Hart raised his head, which was now -on a level with Philip's, and with no more shame or awkwardness than a -child would exhibit, put his arms across Philip's shoulders and kissed -him. - -I draw a veil over the next few moments; neither of them spoke during -that time, but their hearts were throbbing with eloquent and tender -emotion. - -Then said Mr. Hart, when he was calmer: - -"Philip, my son, you have taught me a lesson; you have made my heart -green again. It was turning bitter against all men, and you have -softened it, and restored my faith. Ah, how proud your father must be -of such a son!" - -Philip groaned. "I ran away from him; I was a scapegrace at home, and -I caused the dear old fellow many a heartache. Never mind. I will -repay him; I know better now." - -"You did nothing wrong, my dear boy, I am sure." - -"I almost broke his heart, I think. I tried his patience sorely. He -sent me to Cambridge to do honour to his name, and I did my best to -disgrace it. I went home with a long tail of debts behind me; he paid -them, and said, 'Never mind, my lad; promise me that you will not do -so again; see here, I will double your allowance.' I promised him, and -took the double allowance, and got into debt again. It hurt him--I saw -that. That I should break a promise to him, who had never broken one -to me, who had never said a harsh word to me, made him wince. Again he -paid my debts; again I promised; again I broke my word. More than -that: I involved the son of a friend of his, who gave his name for me -to the money-lenders. Well, I couldn't face him the third time. I sent -him a list of my debts, and I ran away. The best thing I could do--and -the worst, I think, for he loved me, the dear old dad!" - -"You will live to repay him." - -"I will do my best. I will go home to him, with my dear Margaret on my -arm, and say--and say, 'Dear old dad----'" - -But he broke down here, and it was Mr. Hart's turn to console him. He -was not long in this mood. He jumped to his feet, and with a great -shake of his shoulders cried: - -"Enough about me! You are in trouble. What is it?" - -"I cannot buy the share you offer me, Philip." - -"Why? You have money enough, and you _shall_ buy it. You shall! I'll -drag the money out of your box. O, I know where you keep it, and I'm -strong enough to do what I say." - -"You'll find no money there, Philip," said Mr. Hart, sadly. - -"You don't mean to say you've been speculating and lost it!" said -Philip, pulling a long face. - -"No, I have not lost it by speculation, but it is gone all the same. -See here, Philip, my son. I had saved nearly four hundred pounds, and -I had almost made up my mind to go home and see my daughter at the end -of this three months' engagement. It would have been madness to do so -when, by staying here for three months longer, I might have doubled my -savings, which are all for her; but I am yearning to hold her in my -arms, and press my darling to my heart. Ah, Philip! you don't know -what a father's love is--you may, one day, my boy, and then you will -understand my feelings. Prudence said, 'Stay a little while longer;' -but my heart's yearning beat prudence out of the field. It said to me, -'You are an old man; young as you feel, you may break down. Let your -daughter see you when you are strong, and able, old as you are, to -protect and advise her. Don't wait till you are decrepit and feeble, -when she cannot have faith and confidence in you. You have saved money -enough three times during the last seven years, and each time you have -stayed a little longer, and lost it. Go now, and don't tempt bad -fortune again.' About my having saved money enough three times, -Philip, it is true, and true that I have lost it, lost it by trusting -friends, who deceived me, and played me false. Well, I began to get -frightened by these reflections, and to-day, you know, the letters by -the Overland Mail camp up to Silver Creek. Among them was a letter for -me by my daughter, a letter filled with such expressions of love and -affection that I should have been less than a man not to have hungered -for a sight of her. I resolved; I would go home when the engagement -here terminated. I reckoned that I could land in England with six -hundred pounds. After the theatre was closed, I came into my room, and -opened my box, to count my money as a miser does. How often have I -done it, and with what different feelings from those which must -animate a miser! Imagine my despair, my boy, when I found that I had -been robbed. Philip, I haven't a shilling in the world! Once more I am -left a beggar. It was while I was contemplating the dreary prospect -before me that you came in. In my heart I was cursing all mankind, and -a terrible feeling of doubt of higher things was creeping into my -mind. But your noble offer has restored my faith again. What if there -are villains and scoundrels in the world!" he cried, standing up -before the admiring Philip. "Let them creep, and crawl, and plunder, -and grow rich; and then die their death of shame! We will never lose -our faith in God and man--never, never, never! Ay, though our dear -heart's wishes may never be gratified, we will bow our heads -reverently, and believe in goodness, and hope to the last!" - -He held out his hand, and Philip took it. The grasp was to the younger -man as though he were pledging himself to a life of honour and -integrity. - -"In my young days," continued Mr. Hart, with a soft light in his eyes, -"I had a friend; in my young days I loved a woman as truly as you love -Margaret. I have not seen my friend for thirty years. I have not -received line or message from him, nor he from me, and he is still my -friend, and I am his. The woman I loved did not love me, and I went -from her sight. But though in after years I loved another woman who -became my wife, and who gave me my daughter, the memory of the first -has never left me, and I think of her with tenderness still. These and -other remembrances have in a measure sustained my faith, and, I humbly -hope, purified my life. Shall I turn a misanthrope now in my old age, -and snarl at mankind because I have been deceived for the dozenth -time? No, Philip, no! It would be robbing life of all its sweetness." - -But in spite of this generous outburst, his grief was too powerful to -be thus suddenly conquered, and his lips quivered again with emotion -as he thought of his loss. - -"Leave me now, Philip," he said. "I cannot accept your offer, but -while my heart beats, you have a place in it." - -He had barely uttered these words when the storm without grew more -furious. The rain came down like a flood. The wind rattled about the -wooden walls of the hotel to such an extent that it seemed as though -the building could not possibly hold together. A flash of lightning, -so vivid that it almost blinded them, pierced the ground, and at its -heels followed a peal of thunder so terrible that it shook the very -foundation of the earth. They stood spell-bound. When sight and -hearing were restored to them, they heard what sounded like a great -crash outside, mingled with human cries; but their attention was -diverted from these by the appearance of Margaret, white and -trembling, at the door. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -"THIS IS LIKE THE DAWN OF LIFE, MY SWEET." - - -"I am frightened," she murmured, and ran into her lover's arms, and -hid her face in his breast, and tremblingly asked if the world was -coming to an end. - -Philip, who was really startled by the fury of the storm, recovered -his self-possession the moment he saw Margaret. Lovers are not only -proverbially, but actually selfish. As Philip embraced Margaret, and -pressed her to his breast, I do not believe he cared a pin for the -storm--nor Margaret either. She felt quite safe in his arms, but, -womanlike, she still expressed her fears. - -"O, Philip!" - -Clinging closer to him. - -"There is nothing to be frightened at, darling," said he. - -"It is coming to an end, I know," she murmured (meaning the world), -"but it is a comfort to die in your arms!" - -"It will be a greater comfort to live in them," replied Philip, half -gaily. - -She reproved him, asking, "How could he, at such a time?" and murmured -that it was wicked to think of such things (never mentioning what -things) in the midst of such terrible goings-on. I doubt if any other -two persons in the hotel, speaking so softly; could have heard one -another, but these two were lovers, and their lips almost, perhaps -quite touched. The storm was raging so furiously, and there was such a -din and confusion all around them, wind blowing, thunder thundering, -and people shouting, that Mr. Hart had to raise his voice very high -when he spoke, so that Philip might hear it. - -"Something has occurred," he said; "did you hear the crash?" - -Philip nodded that he had heard it. - -"It was not all thunder. Mischief has been done; I shall go out and -see." - -"I will go too," said Philip. - -"And leave me?" cried Margaret. - -He would have found it difficult to do so, she clung to him so -closely. - -"No," he answered; "come along with us." - -Philip caught up a blanket, and wrapped his Margaret in it from head -to foot. All was dark outside, except when the lightning lit up the -scene. - -"Keep close, Margaret," said Philip. - -As if she needed telling! - -"A black night, indeed," said Mr. Hart, holding his hand before his -eyes; "a black night, in every sense of the word. One wants sailors' -eyes at such a time. Why, where's the theatre?" - -A flash of lightning had revealed to him the space where the theatre -had stood, but the roof was no longer visible. Their forms had been -recognised in the flash. - -"Is that you, Hart?" cried a hearty voice. - -It was William Smith who spoke, and his voice was as cheery and as -ringing as the blast of a silver trumpet. - -"Yes." - -"Who is that with you?" - -"Philip." - -"Ah, Philip! if the dam has stood, our fortune's made, Philip." - -"The dam's all right!" shouted Philip. - -(Please to remember that there _could_ be no doubt about the safety of -the dam, Margaret's lips having insured it.) - -"I hope so," shouted William Smith. "It'll be a bit of good luck to -make up for a bit of bad. Mr. Hart, the theatre's down!" - -Mr. Hart groaned. - -"It needed but that," he murmured. - -"You could play a piece now with real thunder and lightning," -continued William Smith, at the top of his voice. "Why don't you -speak? I suppose you're down in the mouth because your theatre's all -to pieces! Never say die, man!" - -Mr. Hart said nothing. This stroke of bad fortune coming so close upon -the loss of his savings almost crushed him. - -"We'll have it up again in less than a week," cried the plucky -speculator. "William Smith's hard to beat!" - -He really seemed to enjoy it. If those who had known him in London -could have seen and heard him now, they would scarcely have believed. -In the old country he was a mouse; in the new country he was a man. -The wind was enough to blow them away, and it was impossible for them -to remain longer in the open. They were already wet through, so they -turned into Mr. Hart's room; and presently William Smith joined them, -smiling, and fresh as a flower, with the rain glistening on his face -and in his hair. He did not stop with them long, for he had his -business to look after; his bars were thronged with gold-diggers, -drinking the lightning and thunder down. Margaret ran up-stairs to her -room, to change her dripping clothes, and when she presented herself -again, she was dressed in a loose gown, and her long brown hair was -hanging down her back. - -"By Jove!" said Philip, under his breath, gazing at her in silent -admiration. - -There was nothing sham about his Margaret, he thought; she was genuine -to the very roots of her hair. What had he done to deserve such a -prize? Had any other man in the world ever been so blessed? - -Margaret smiled coyly; she knew what was passing through her lover's -mind, and was not sorry for the opportunity to show herself. So these -small bits of sentimental comedy were played, while the tragedy of the -storm was being enacted without. - -"We'll make a night of it," said Philip. - -All this while he had forgotten Mr. Hart's loss, but it flashed upon -him suddenly in the sad look that dwelt in the old man's eyes. - -"Margaret," said Philip, "go and sit in that corner, and shut your -eyes. Mr. Hart and I have a little bit of private business to -transact; it won't take five minutes." - -Obedient Margaret moved a few paces away, and closed her eyes, and -raised the picture of her lover, handsome, and brave, and noble, to -feast upon mentally. Philip stole to her, kissed her fresh lips, and -whispered a word in her ear. Then he looked about him for pen and ink, -and brought them to the table. - -"Now," he said, in a low tone to Mr. Hart, "please to sign these -papers." - -He took from his pocket the duplicate agreements, by which he sold, -and Mr. Hart bought, a fourth of his share in the claim on the -Margaret Reef. Mr. Hart gently shook his head. But Philip would not be -denied. He pressed and argued, and argued and pressed, and even -threatened, until all that Mr. Hart could do was to sit still and -listen. But still he would not sign. - -"Margaret," said Philip, "come and help me." - -Up jumped Margaret, and ran to the table. - -"This is how it is," said Philip, appealing to her, but Mr. Hart -interrupted him. - -"No, no; let me explain." - -"Stop his mouth, Margaret!" - -Margaret placed her small hand on Mr. Hart's mouth, having to encircle -his neck with her soft arm to do so. He could not quarrel with the -necklace, and he kissed her hand. - -"O, you may kiss it!" said she. "Philip will not be angry, nor will -I." - -"I angry!" exclaimed Philip, "with him or you. Keep your hand there, -and let him kiss it as often as he likes." - -She gave Philip her other hand as a reward, and he warmed it in his. - -"This is how it is, Margaret----" and Philip explained the matter to -her. - -She was grave and silent when his story was finished, out of sympathy -for Mr. Hart's loss, and also out of gratitude for her lover's -goodness. There was nothing sordid in either of their souls. - -"It amounts to this," said Margaret, in unconscious imitation of -Philip's style, "that Mr. Hart wants to part us." - -"My dear child!" he remonstrated. - -"You do! You know you do! for if you don't sign, and become a -shareholder in the Margaret Reef, Margaret and Philip will never be -married. No, Philip; I'm resolved! I'll never marry you unless I have -my own way in this." - -"Do you hear what she says?" shouted Philip, triumphantly. "And do you -intend to part us for ever?" - -The upshot of it all was that Mr. Hart was compelled to yield; but he -declared, in broken words, and with tears in his eyes, that he yielded -only under compulsion. It might have been, for at the last moment, -before signing, he was about to dash the pen away, when Margaret -stayed his hand, and with her fingers upon his guided them to sign his -name. It would not make a bad picture this; and one almost as good -followed, for Philip seized Margaret round the waist, and they waltzed -round the old man, singing and laughing, while the storm howled -without, and the tears were running down Mr. Hart's face. - -"God bless you, my dears!" said Mr. Hart, and would have continued his -expressions of gratitude, had not Margaret drowned his voice with her -tra-la-la. It was arranged that the share should be paid for with the -first two hundred and fifty pounds that would come to Mr. Hart out of -the division of profits. - -"So after all," said Philip, "it's only lending you the money for a -week or two." - -"It is giving me the gold," observed Mr. Hart. - -"You gave me Margaret," replied Philip softly; "and do you think she's -not worth more than all the gold in the world! I am your debtor still, -and shall be all my life." - -Delicious words, both to utter and hear. - -They sat together until sunrise, and Margaret fell asleep in her -lover's arms. Lives there the man who has not enjoyed some such -heavenly minutes as these? Philip tasted then the most perfect -happiness in his life. - -When the sun rose, the storm cleared away. Margaret awoke, and sighed -and blushed, and looked tenderly at Philip, and Mr. Hart found -something so interesting at his window that he was compelled to keep -his back to them. They forgave the rudeness; and presently came also -to the window, and looked out upon a glorious sight. The skies were -glowing with grand colour. Broad masses of golden light fringed with -purple, which changed gradually to crimson, rose from the dip of the -horizon. Brightly shone the sun in its bed; the sky was dotted with -feather-clouds of rosy red in the east, and fairy islands of the -loveliest shades of blue, flecked with white, moved towards them from -the west. Raindrops seemed to hang, like glistening eyes, between -cloud and land; the heavens laughed; all was sweet, and fresh, and -beautiful. - -So, in another land, which lay beneath them, and on another morning, -when summer was waning, the old man shall stand, after a strange and -eventful night, gazing on the sunrise with grateful eyes and grateful -heart, embracing her who is dearer to him than his heart's blood. - -"This is like the dawn of life, my sweet!" whispered Philip to -Margaret. - -"Of _our_ life, Philip," she whispered. - -Mr. Hart heard them. - -"A happy dawn," he prayed. "May it bring a happy day!" - -But prayers could not avert what was soon to come. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -PHILIP IS CONVINCED OF THE EFFICACY OF MARGARET'S PRAYERS. - - -William Smith, the practical, the indefatigable, the restless, the -dauntless, the man of action, who seemingly could do without sleep, -and who had become a hero by contact with opportunity--(well, -that is my opinion, and I alone am responsible for what is here -written)--William Smith, I say, burst into the room, crying: - -"Come, Philip, come! To the Margaret reef!" - -Margaret darted out of Philip's arms; she would not let all the world -see. Smith knew how matters stood between Philip and Margaret, and he -winked at Mr. Hart, and did not look at the lovers--that is, -significantly. - -"Ah!" said Philip, reluctantly coming back to earth--and water, I -might say; "the dam!" - -"Yes," said William Smith, "the dam. I told you you might pray for -rain. Now pray for the dam." - -"I know a prayer," thought Philip and prayed; "Margaret!" - -"You get to bed, my girl," said William Smith to Margaret; "all the -danger's over now, and all the harm's done. The horses are outside." - -"I shall want one," put in Mr. Hart. - -"You!" exclaimed William Smith. "What interest have you in the dam? -See to your theatre." - -"What interest!" said Philip. "Why, he happens to be a shareholder in -the Margaret Reef. Didn't you know?" - -"No; but I'm glad to hear it. Good luck to the Margaret, and all -concerned in it. I'll have a horse ready for you in a jiffy." (A new -kind of conveyance for a horse to be harnessed to.) - -Out he went again, and before he returned, Margaret had disappeared, -first telling Philip that she was going to pray for the dam. Philip -was satisfied that her praying was better than the best of puddling. -Before the men mounted, they had a look at the theatre; it was a mass -of ruins. The wind only had not only blown it down, but had blown -pieces of it miles away. In a gully, four miles from the spot, into -which a pick had not yet been stuck, the first thing that was found -some months afterwards by men who went to seek for gold was a scratch -wig belonging to the Low Comedian: which puzzled the prospectors. They -did not go to that gully to find scratch wigs. Some part of the -wardrobe belonging to the actors was buried beneath the ruins of the -theatre, but a great deal had been blown away. Most of it was brought -back, at odd times, by diggers and their wives, who had rare laughs -over the queer vestments. Some of them made a great commotion in the -township one day, by marching into High Street, dressed most absurdly. -Charles the Second, in a red wig and with Macbeth's shield on his arm, -was followed by Clown, with heavy eyebrows, moustaches, and Lord -Dundreary whiskers; behind him came one who was half Roman and half -Scotchman; and a perfect piece of patchwork brought up the rear. A -fine jollification followed, you may be sure, when they halted at the -Rose, Shamrock and Thistle. - -As William Smith and his companions were gazing on the ruins of the -theatre, a dozen labourers came up, and under the direction of one -began to clear away the fallen timber. Mr. Hart and Philip looked to -William Smith for an explanation. He gave it them. While the storm was -raging, he had made a contract for a new theatre. It might almost be -thought that he slept with one eye open. Mr. Hart said as much. -William Smith laughed. - -"It would be a useful thing to be able to do," he said. "But what are -you wondering at? William Smith never loses a day." - -He was a kind of man to put heart into men when misfortune overtook -them. He would say, "If bad fortune gives me a slap in the face, I -don't lay down and whimper." (He was not particular as to his grammar, -although he had a proper respect for knowledge and education.) "I -don't lay down and whimper," said he; "I tuck up my sleeves, and set -to--with a will." - -When they were in the saddle, and riding along towards the Margaret -Reef, they saw evidences of the same kind of spirit in other men. -Numbers of tents had been literally torn into shreds by the storm; -valuable shafts had fallen in; tools and windlasses and puddling -machines had been swept away by the flood, which in many places had -made hills of gullies and gullies of hills. All was confusion, but men -were working everywhere, with goodwill, to repair the damage. Very -different were the faces of these men and women from the faces of some -poor people I saw a short time since, in the crowded city in which -these words are written, after an extraordinary high tide in the -river, the waters of which had overflowed its banks, and washed into -the cellars where they lived and slept. In the new country the men and -women bustled about vigorously, with faces almost cheerful; in the -old, they stood, banging their heads dolefully, and with not spirit -enough amongst them to make one good worker out of a hundred. But the -cases are different. - -As William Smith and his companions rode along, looking this way and -that, Philip suddenly cried "O!" as though he was shot, and turned his -horse's head to the west, whereas the Margaret Reef lay to the north -of them. Away he galloped, as though for dear life, with no thought of -the Margaret Reef in his mind, and William Smith and Mr. Hart followed -him. They went only some five hundred yards, but the horses had to -make some big leaps over new watercourses in that short distance. -Philip jumped off his horse, and tying the animal to a fallen tree, -set to work helping some men to dig the earth away from a tent which -had been nearly buried by the caving in of a hill. Seeing what was the -matter, William Smith, who was at first disposed to grumble, jumped -off _his_ horse, and in another minute he and Mr. Hart were by the -side of Philip, with their sleeves tucked up. Philip worked like a -young Hercules, and when sufficient of the earth was cleared away, he -cut a great gash in the canvas roof, and, stooping over with a rope -tied round his waist, tenderly lifted two children from the chasm, and -handed them to the gold-diggers. He was like a steam hammer, that can -come down one minute with an awful thump and beat ten tons of metal -into shape, and the next can come down with a tap gentle enough to -fashion a thin leaf into the likeness of a delicate flower. After the -two children came a woman, whom he raised in his arms as though she -weighed about an ounce, and at sight of whom the gold-diggers, seeing -that she was alive and comparatively unhurt, raised a great shout. And -one, her husband, who was lying on the ground, crippled, burst into a -passion of grateful tears. I should like to tell you the story of this -family, but I have not time just now. Philip and his companions could -scarcely escape from the persons they had helped to rescue, but they -had other work to look to, and having ascertained that there was no -more human life to be saved, they mounted their horses, and resumed -their course. At the foot of the range, on the other side of which the -dam lay, Philip paused for a moment to breathe the spell of Margaret's -name, but William Smith dashed straight on. The first things that met -their sight were wrecks of canvas tents and broken tent-poles lying -about. William Smith bit his nether lip, but said not a word. He was -already calculating the cost of another and a stronger dam; what he -chiefly regretted was the waste of time and water. The panting horses -reached the brow of the range, and the men leaped off. William Smith -did not stop to ask questions of his workmen, but ran swiftly onward, -to see with his own eyes. He was an older and a weaker man than -Philip, who raced at his heels, but he was the first to reach the dam. - -"Hurrah!" he screamed. "Hurrah! hurrah!" And Philip followed suit, and -made the hills resound again with his joyous shouts. - -A fair sheet of water lay before them, winking in the eyes of the sun. -The head man--I cannot call him master; there was no such thing, in -the sense that we in England understand it--met William Smith with a -smiling face, and they shook hands. But both of them sobered down -within a minute. - -"A tolerable piece of work this of yours," observed William Smith, in -an off-hand way. - -"Middlingish," was the reply, in an indifferent tone. - -This implied that making such a dam as this was nothing to him. Give -him a real difficult job to accomplish, such as joining two seas, or -levelling a mountain a few thousands of feet in height, or making a -new river within a week or so, and then you might be able to see what -he could do. To construct such a dam as this, however, was really no -joke. It was a masterly piece of work, and it was executed in a -masterly manner; there was not a flaw in not it, a crack in its sides. -They examined it carefully, critically. - -"If it will stand such a storm as last night," said William Smith, "it -will stand anything." - -Philip, as you may guess, was overjoyed; but he was unjust. He gave -all the credit to Margaret. He complimented the responsible man in a -cool way, which implied, "It is capitally done; but you have Margaret -to thank for it, you know." - -Philip's faint praise did not affect the contractor. He was not -vain-glorious; he had undertaken a piece of work, and had done it -well, and was satisfied, having been well paid for it. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -THE CHRISTENING OF THE WILLIAM SMITH. - -Before two days had passed, the fires were lighted in the boiler, and -the quartz-crushing machine commenced its merry rub-a-dub-dub. The -ugly black rooks that were wont to cluster in huge flocks in the once -deserted woods and make night hideous with their rusty voices, ceased -for a time their harsh cawing and their seemingly interminable -circular flights--wondering, doubtless, as the sound reached their -ears, what new and strange monster it was that had invaded their -domain. For it was evening when the iron-shod stampers first began to -thump. It was but a trial. Before actual work commenced, a little -ceremony had to be performed. The quartz-crushing machine had to be -christened. - -William Smith mentioned this to Philip, saying it was a necessary -ceremony. - -"All right," said Philip, and ran straight to his princess. - -The First Old Woman was with Margaret; they were snipping up old -dresses, and making them into late new ones. A new piece was to be -played at the theatre that evening. - -"Margaret," said Philip, "we are going to have a christening." - -"O, O!" cried the First Old Woman, and set off laughing. - -Philip did not condescend to notice her, nor would he so much as smile -at a mock baby she fashioned in a moment out of the dress pieces, and -dandled in her arms. Margaret did, and pulled it away from her. - -"We are going to christen the machine, Margaret." - -"Who is to be godmother?" inquired the First Old Woman briskly. - -"Who!" exclaimed Philip. "Why, who but Margaret, I should like to -know." - -Margaret's eyes sparkled more brightly. The proposition delighted her. - -"You'll have to break a bottle of Moselle against the machine, -Margaret. You would like to do it, wouldn't you?" - -Margaret nodded, and gave Philip a bright look. "O, don't make a -stranger of me!" cried the First Old Woman. - -The remark was suggested by Philip's stooping over Margaret under the -pretence of whispering to her, but really to kiss her--being tempted -to do so by the look she had given him. William Smith joined the -party. - -"We've settled it all," said Philip to him. - -"All what?" - -"About the christening. Margaret will set the machine a-going." - -But William Smith had settled it another way. "Margaret can christen -the next machine," he said. "The Warden's lady will christen this." - -"The Warden's lady will do no such thing!" cried Philip. - -"She has promised to do so," replied William Smith calmly. "Don't be a -fool, Philip. Who has it in his power to be our best friend in the -Margaret Reef? The Goldfields Warden. Who grants leases, who settles -all disputes as to boundaries and encroachments, who, in short, rules -Silver Creek? The Goldfields Warden. Who rules the Goldfields Warden? -His wife. Nothing can be clearer." - -Dissatisfied Philip refused to see the logic of the argument. But -William Smith was wise in his generation; he was very desirous of -ingratiating himself into the good graces of the lady who was at the -head of society in Silver Creek, knowing the value of her influence. -He made further efforts to convince Philip, but Philip would not be -convinced. Love and prudence were at daggers drawn within him. William -Smith appealed to Margaret. - -"You are a girl of sense. It is for Philip's good." - -"Mr. Smith is right," said Margaret to Philip. "I don't care a pin -about it." - -She said this with a pang of disappointment, for she did wish to -christen the machine; but she recognised the soundness of William -Smith's arguments. So Philip was overruled. - -I said it was to be a little ceremony. William Smith made it a big -one. - -He prepared a great feast, and invited all the bigwigs of Silver Creek -township to come to the christening. No infant was ever more honoured -than this iron baby with its twelve heads of stampers and its iron -cradles ready to receive and imprison the gold. Not one person refused -the invitation, and a great many came who were not invited, and who, -being cordially welcomed, went home in the evening with a skinful and -a bellyful. The Goldfields Warden, the police magistrate, the chief of -the police, the commissioners, the lawyers, the editors of local -papers, and all the lesser luminaries of Silver Creek were present. -William Smith had captured a Judge, who happened to be passing that -way, within twenty miles of the township; and he was there, in all his -glory, and right well was he treated, and right well did he speak, and -did not say a cross word even when William Smith slapped him -familiarly on the shoulders. - -Talk of your laying of foundation-stones by princes and nobles and -members of parliament, with their set speeches and stale platitudes! -The present christening beat all such ceremonies out of the field. -Never could such a sight as this be seen in the old countries. Free -hand, free heart; everybody served alike; all standing together, -shoulder to shoulder, man to man. Be thankful that I have not time to -describe the entire proceedings in detail. Those who wish to read of -it more fully can send to Silver Creek for the _Herald_ and the -_Mercury_, where (supposing the copies not to be all sold) they will -find fourteen columns of description--no less; and in small type, too. -There was a supplement to each paper, and William Smith bought a -thousand copies of each, and scattered them broadcast over the land -and over the seas. When his old mother in London received the papers, -and had the accounts of the grand doings read to her, she could at -first hardly believe that she had borne him; but she soon recovered -herself, and related to the gossips who sat about her, and whom she -was regaling (being quite a lady now with the money William Smith -regularly sent her), insignificant incidents in her son's baby life -which shadowed forth the great position he was one day to make for -himself. If he had heard them, they would have been new to him, for he -had no remembrance of them. But when does a mother ever forget the -smallest trifle relating to the baby she suckled at her breast? In the -glowing reports of the christening in the _Silver Creek Herald_ and -_Mercury_ William Smith's name was mentioned ninety-seven times, and -there was a wonderful unanimity in the praise bestowed upon him for -his enterprise. He deserved all the good things that were said of him, -for such men as he are the life and soul of new communities. - -And all this time I have not told you the name of the machine. Well, -not a soul knew it before the words passed the lips of the Judge, who -acted as spokesman on the occasion. Truth to tell, no one thought of -it. Being requested by William Smith to perform the ceremony, the -Judge rose, and standing on an eminence before the great baby, said it -struck him as a strange thing that when he asked William Smith what -was to be the name of the infant, William Smith scratched his head, -and said he did not know. - -"It shows the modesty of the man," said the Judge, assuming a judicial -attitude--"and true greatness lies in modesty--not to have thought of -the only name which this iron infant can appropriately bear." (William -Smith chuckled slyly at this. The idea of calling him modest! A man -who could laugh in the face of a storm, as he could and did!) "I can -say nothing in praise of William Smith," continued the Judge, "that he -does not deserve. He is a representative man; in him enterprise, -industry, forethought, and that truly British quality, Pluck, are -typified. Although I have only been in this thriving township a few -hours, I have heard enough of him, and seen enough of him, to make me -wish to hear and see more; and I look forward to the day when I shall -welcome him as a member of the Legislative Assembly which makes the -laws for this prosperous colony. I hear that William Smith has made up -his mind that this machine shall turn out the largest cake of retorted -gold which the gold-diggings have yet produced. He will do it, if he -has made up his mind to it, for nothing can check or frustrate -determination when it is in partnership with common sense and sound -judgment--as it is in this case. In christening this machine the -'William Smith,' I pay a fitting tribute to the man by whose -enterprise it was placed on this spot;" et cetera, et cetera, et -cetera. - -No occasion to speak of the cheers with which the Judge's oration was -received; but loud and deafening as they were, they were nothing to -the volleys that were given when the wife of the Goldfields Warden, as -the leader of fashion in Silver Creek, broke the bottle of champagne -against the machine, and dubbed it the William Smith. Then, everything -being prepared, the first shovelful of golden quartz out of Philip's -shaft was thrown beneath the stampers by the Judge, and the machine -commenced its music, and every man and woman present drank success to -it, in sparkling Number Two Moselle. With three times three! And three -times three again! And again! And again! - -After the lady of the Goldfields Warden broke the bottle of champagne -against the machine, cunning William Smith begged her acceptance of -the handsomest specimen of quartz and gold which had been found in -Philip's claim. She thanked him and smiled sweetly on him, and -conversed with him, telling her husband afterwards that William Smith -was a most superior man, and had evidently moved in good society in -the old country. - -You understand that Margaret was at the ceremony of the christening. -She looked lovely, not only in Philip's eyes, but in the eyes of all -the men and the unfashionable women. Would you like to know how she -was dressed? Her gown was of pale-blue muslin, daintily trimmed with -ribbons of the same colour. Around her white throat and slender wrists -were frillings of delicate lace. And on her head was the sweetest hat, -whispers of which must have floated across the seas and set the -fashion here, notwithstanding that other ladies may claim the credit -of designing it. It was a broad flapped Leghorn hat, turned up -coquettishly on one side with a bunch of cornflowers, with a -blue-gauze veil floating behind it. And if any lady quarrels with -Margaret's taste, or with my description, and says I am wrong in my -particulars, I shall be glad to hear from her. - -The few fashionable ladies--numbering not more than half-a-dozen--who -were present, acted as they act in more civilised circles. They put up -their gold spectacles, and surveyed Margaret as they would have -surveyed a curiosity, and canvassed and appraised her features and her -clothes. They rendered her a kind of patronising justice; they said -she was pretty, and dressed in fair taste, but they spoke of her in a -tone that plainly proclaimed she was not of their order. Margaret -cared not a whit for their looks; she was very happy. The gold-diggers -regarded her with pride and admiration, making it a sort of boast--as -though it reflected credit upon themselves--that Silver Creek could -show the prettiest girl on any gold diggings; so Margaret was -surrounded with friends and admirers. She was presented to the Judge, -who said many fine things to her, and she not only carried off the -palm in beauty, but also in manners and conversation. Philip's joy and -delight in her knew no bounds; he discovered fresh charms in her in -every new dress that she wore, and if she had not restrained him, he -would have made open love to her before all the people. She was -compelled to give him a few moments now and then, so that he might -have opportunities for secretly pressing her hand. She was as proud of -him as he was of her, for as she was the handsomest woman he was the -handsomest man there. - -The fine ladies were more than gracious to him, sighing, no doubt, -that Heaven had made them such a man; but he had no eyes for any but -Margaret. The Judge conversed with him, and in conversation showed off -his learning, as even such high and mighty persons as judges are glad -of the opportunity of doing, by introducing a quotation from Horace. -Philip immediately capped it by another; and the judge, after his -first surprise, there and then set his stamp upon Philip, and said in -the hearing of the fine ladies that if Philip happened to come to -town, he would be glad to see him at his private house. This flew -round, and Philip became a king; even William Smith paled before him. -But William Smith was not to be hurt by this; so long as his -speculations were going on all right, he was satisfied. He longed to -hear the music of his machine, beating out of the quartz the bright -gold, so much of which would fall to his share; for after it was -christened, it was only set going for a few minutes; then it was -stopped, so that the workmen engaged on it might make merry with the -others. - -If you had seen the jolly faces of the jolly crowd of gold-diggers and -their wives and children, and the pleased and more sober faces of the -gentlemen and their ladies; if you had seen the new tents with their -decorations which William Smith had put upon the ground; if you had -seen the leaping, and racing, and other sports which William Smith -improvised, giving handsome prizes to the winners; if you had seen the -attendants carving away at the beef and mutton, under the shadow of a -great canvas roof, without walls, for the purpose of showing, mayhap, -that every one was free to enter, and welcome to partake of the good -cheer provided; if you had seen the waving of flags and heard the -laughter and clapping of hands--you would have thought you were at an -English merrymaking of the very finest description. And a couple of -years ago the spot in which it was held was a wild tract of country, -over which the feet of twenty white men had not passed. Now hundreds -of men were working vigorously there from sunrise to sunset, working -and hoping and scheming and living their lives, and thousands more -would soon flock around them; now the hollows echoed their shouts, and -the forests of trees fell beneath their axes; now the eyes of forges -were glowing in their lairs, and the music of the anvils rang along -the hills; now diggers sat around the blazing trees of a night, and -smoked their pipes, and told their stories, and spoke of their -chances, or in more tender tones, of dear friends in the old land so -many thousands of miles across the sea; now the women, as with -grateful hearts they looked at their healthy well-fed children running -about the hills or lying asleep in their cots, thought of the future -with hope and pleasure; now men were on the earth and in its bowels, -tearing the golden rock from its bed; now steam was doing its wondrous -work, and gold was being sent down to the ports, to make men rich in -the old countries, and to pay better wages to the working man. - -Some who were on the Margaret Reef on that day thought of these -things. The Judge for one; William Smith for another; our dear friend -Mr. Hart for another; Philip for---- But no. I must be veracious; -Philip thought of no such thing; he had enough to do with Margaret. - -When the bustle of the ceremony was over, and people were more free to -act in accordance with their whims and fancies, Philip conducted -Margaret to his tent, and played the host to her. It was a small -house, measuring, I should say, not more than ten feet by sixteen, -white as snow outside, with a chimney the apex of which was neither -more nor less than a whisky barrel, with the ends knocked out of it. -The tent was lined inside with green baize, and Indian matting was -laid down by Philip especially for the occasion; there was a little -cupboard with two shelves in it fixed up in a corner, with an oilcloth -flap which served for a door. In another corner there was a little -shelf of books. The mantelpiece was of deal, covered with baize, and -in the very centre was Margaret's picture, smiling demurely at you; -and it deeply touched the living Margaret to see her picture garlanded -with fresh green leaves and a few simple wild flowers. On either side -of the picture were pipes and two or three dandy gimcracks which -Philip had brought away with him from Cambridge. The bed was a -stretcher, with an innocent-looking white counterpane covering its -imperfections--covering also a life-preserver and a revolver, which -Philip had put out of sight, for fear of frightening his girl. The -chairs were two stools and part of the trunk of a tree, polished in -its seat and of a comfortable height. You may be sure that everything -was sweet and clean, or Philip would not have brought his Margaret -there. She looked about in every corner, making grand discoveries and -uttering little screams at this and that. - -"I declare, sir," she exclaimed, "you are more comfortable than I -thought you were! I wonder why you want to change." - -"Wouldn't you," he asked gaily, "in my place?" She considered deeply, -making wrinkles in her forehead. - -"No," she said, in a decided tone, "I really don't think I should. If -I were in your place, I would change my mind." - -"You would not--if you were in my place." - -"I would! unless I was a very foolish creature." - -He shook his head with fond seriousness. - -"My name is Constancy," he said: and was proceeding, when she -interrupted him quickly with: - -"Constancy's a woman; I'll take that name, if you please, sir." - -All the time they were in the tent together he did not kiss her; a -feeling of delicacy restrained him. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -NATURE PUNISHES THE THIEF. - - -The festivities at the Margaret Reef did not conclude the celebration -of the christening. In the night a ball was given by William Smith to -the gentry of the district. He had a marquee put up especially for the -occasion, and so that the fine ladies of Silver Creek might not think -it a trade affair (they were mighty particular in some matters, let me -tell you), he had requested permission to erect the tent on the ground -where the Government Camp buildings were. Of course it was granted, -with smiles; one of the small results of William Smith's wisdom in -asking the Warden's lady to christen the quartz-crushing machine. The -ball was a complete and most brilliant success. The Judge was there, -and danced in the first quadrille, and so far forgot himself when he -saw Margaret that he asked for the honour of her hand for the second: -a proof that judges are human. Many a lady there envied Margaret the -honour, and wondering what the Judge could see in her, did not wonder -at themselves for wondering at his good taste. - -If Margaret was lovely in the morning at the Reef, what shall I say of -her in the night at the ball? and what shall I say of her dress? -Again, but in a lesser degree, I lay myself open to the criticism of -the ladies. Margaret's dress was composed entirely of clouds of fleecy -tulle, looped and caught back by tufts of feathery ferns and grasses. -And a long trail of bright grass was in her beautiful hair. This is -all that I saw, for her charming face took away my eyes from all the -rest, and I should scarcely have been surprised to see her floating -away on a cloud. Entranced Philip was fairly dazzled by her appearance -as she came sailing in on the arm of Mr. Hart, who looked what he was, -every inch a gentleman. Everybody shook hands with everybody, as -though they hadn't seen one another for weeks. When Mr. Hart resigned -Margaret to Philip's care, Philip trod on air. He danced with her, and -afterwards said: - -"I shall keep possession of you the whole of the night." - -Just then the Judge came up to her, and Philip moved a little aside, -never thinking that so sedate a man, and one in such a position, would -dance with a girl like Margaret. - -"Now I am happy," said Margaret to Philip, after the dance, "I have -danced with a judge That's one of the things I shall keep on saying -all my life. I've danced with a judge!--I've danced with a judge!" - -Then came another and younger man, and Margaret waltzed away with -_him_. Seeing jealousy in Philip's face, Margaret whispered: - -"Be good. I love only you." - -He tried hard to be good, but strive as he might, he could not help -feeling a little bit wicked. He contrived, however, to obtain many -crumbs of consolation during the night. Crumbs! Slices, I ought to -say; for the night was lovely, and now and then between the dances -Philip stole into the open with his sweetheart on his arm. Being in -the shade once he wanted to embrace her. - -"Be quiet, sir," she said, coquettishly. "I'm only to be looked at -to-night. How _do_ I look, Philip!" - -His eyes answered her, and he became more demonstrative. - -"No, Philip, no!" she cried. "I must not be crushed." - -"Why," answered Philip, with tender adroitness, "when I am dancing -with you, I put my arm round your waist--so!" - -"Ah!" she said, with a most delicious little laugh, "that's more -neatly done." - -"And my face, then, is close to yours--so!" - -He had his way, and she became an accomplice. Being fired to -emulation, she showed him that she was not to be outdone in -tenderness. When a woman is in love, she forgets her cunning. - -William Smith said rather a good thing. The Judge had a crisp short -habit of speaking. - -"I like that judge," said William Smith. "He must be a merciful man. -He speaks in short sentences." - -At midnight Smith came to the side of Philip, and pulled out his -watch. It was exactly twelve o'clock, and at that moment he had -arranged that the William Smith quartz-crushing machine should be set -going. - -"They've commenced to dance," he said gleefully. - -He referred to the stampers of his machine. - -Philip, gazing at Margaret and a handsome partner, who were whirling -away from him, muttered somewhat moodily: "_I_ see them!" - -William Smith glanced at Philip in surprise. - -"My imagination doesn't carry me as far as yours," said William Smith; -"but I daresay you are as impatient as I am." - -Philip scarcely heard the words. William Smith continued: - -"Mr. Hart and I are going to steal away for an hour; we shan't be gone -longer. Play the host while I am absent, and if they ask for me, say -I'll be back in a minute or two." - -Philip nodded, and presently Mr. Hart and William Smith were in the -saddle, galloping away over the hills in the direction of the Margaret -Reef; the horses did the distance in twenty-five minutes. - -"Do you hear them--do you hear them?" cried William Smith exultantly, -as they breasted the hill. - -The music of the stampers fell on their ears. They halted at a -distance of a couple of hundred yards from the machine. Sparks were -flying from the chimneys; the fires were roaring; the machine was -thumping away, beating the gold out of the quartz; dark forms of men -were moving busily about in the shade and lurid light. - -William Smith had good cause for triumph; many a man has won a name in -history for doing less than he had done. - -But in the midst of his exultation a tender sadness came upon him. - -"What would you suppose I am thinking of?" he asked of Mr. Hart. - -"I can't guess," replied Mr. Hart, who had thoughts of his own. - -"I am thinking of my old mother at home," said William Smith, "and -wishing she was here to see this day's doings. How proud she would be -of her Billy, as she calls me!" - -Mr. Hart was also thinking of a dear one at home and of the time, soon -to come he hoped, when he should fold her in his arms. He blessed the -music of the stampers; he gazed with tearful eyes upon the bright -sparks flying upwards from the chimneys. They would give him the means -of seeing his darling daughter in her bloom of womanhood, of sharing -her life, of administering to her happiness. - -At that moment, also, Philip was talking to Margaret of his father. - -So beneath the stars, the old country and the new were joined by the -tenderest heart-links that love can forge. - - -* * * * * * - - -A word as to the money which had been stolen from Mr. Hart. The thief -was no other than the Walking Gentleman and Treasurer of the dramatic -company. It has already been seen that he was ignorant of arithmetic; -he might have pleaded this as an excuse, had he been called before a -human tribunal to answer for his crime. He carried out his character -of Walking Gentleman consistently to the end, by walking off with Mr. -Hart's money and other money as well. But it was the last opportunity -he had of playing a part on this earthly stage. I am inclined to the -opinion that nearly every man in the course of his life has an impulse -of, and the opportunity for, dishonesty. Another opinion as to the -proportion of those who fall to those who conquer I keep to myself. -The Walking Gentleman fell--but fell with the distinct intention in -his mind of leading an honest life afterwards, if he escaped with his -spoil. How many men do you know within the circle of your acquaintance -who are leading respectable lives on stolen money, or money as good, -or as bad, as stolen? The thief that we have to do with had planned -everything carefully. He had so much money of his own; he appropriated -Mr. Hart's savings, having learned where the trustful old man was in -the habit of depositing them; he had, as treasurer, more than three -hundred pounds in hand belonging to the company. A ship was to sail -from Hobson's Bay for England in four days; he could do the distance -to the port very well in that time. Then on to the ship, and away for -home, with nearly a thousand pounds of stolen money in his purse. - -All was accomplished an hour before the storm; he played only in the -first part of the performances on that night, and at nine o'clock he -was off, dashing away from Silver Creek on the back of a fleet horse. -He had taken the precaution to disguise himself so that he might not -be recognised. It was his intention to ride all night, and to catch up -Cobb's coach at a certain point in the morning. All went well for an -hour; but then the skies blackened, the thunder began to growl, the -lightning to flash, and presently the storm fell upon him. He went on, -nothing daunted, thinking it impossible that such a downpour could -last. But it did last, as we know, and increased in fury. The thief -began to wish that he had chosen another night, and he cursed his bad -luck; but curses did not avail him, and there was now no turning back. -On he galloped, with his head sunk on his breast, and the heavy rain -beat down on him, and caused a singing in his head. It was at first -only an indistinct buzzing that he heard, but it took shape presently, -and the words, "Thief! thief! fool! thief!" hissed and plashed in his -ears. On and on he galloped, and conscience filled the air with -accusing shapes and sounds, which pursued and surrounded him, and made -him sick and faint. Once raising his eyes, his heart almost leaped out -of his throat as he saw a tall thin form bending towards him, with the -intention of clutching him. It was but a slender tree, bent by the -force of the wind, and he escaped it without really knowing what it -was. And now, every branch that swayed brought new terrors to him, and -he began to wish that he had remained honest. He was in the bush, with -not a tent in sight, having chosen the remotest track, so that he -might not be seen; but had a human habitation been within twenty yards -of him he would not have been able to see it, for by this time he was -enveloped in blackness. He stumbled on, not knowing now whither he was -going. For a little while he had strength and sense enough to keep a -tight rein on his horse, but a frightful flash of lightning, and a -more frightful peal of thunder, so unnerved him that the rein -slackened in his grasp. The horse dashed madly forward--over fallen -timber, through light thickets of bush, into great pools of water, -that plashed up and blinded the runaway. The branches of the trees -caught at his clothes and tore them in fragments from his body. His -wig had been the first thing to go, and the brown paint with which he -had striven to hide his villany was washed from his face with, as it -seemed to him, stinging whips of water. A pitiable sight he presented -to the lightning, every flash of which caused him to scream with -terror, as he clung with wild desperation to the horse's neck. Torn, -bleeding, and literally in rags, with the stolen money in a belt -fastened round his waist, he rode on madly, a thief confessed. Louder -shrieked the storm; over the ranges and through the uneven valleys -dashed the maddened horse. A raging torrent was before them, and the -animal leaped into it, and in the leap the thief was unhorsed. While -he was struggling in the surging waters, and while the only thing that -was certain was death in a few seconds he repented most heartily of -his crime, and I leave it to priests to say of what value were the -choked words and the agonised thoughts that typified repentance. - -When the next flash of lightning lit up the wild scene, it illumined -the furious waters rolling onwards, and, for the millionth part of a -second, the lifeless body of a thief justly punished. - -In this way he played his last part in life, and was never more heard -of. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -WILLIAM SMITH'S AMBITION. - - -Merrily worked the William Smith quartz-crushing machine. Day and -night the stampers kept thumping and pounding. The first rest given to -it was when the first fifty tons of stone had been passed beneath the -stampers. Then the iron baby was quiet for awhile. - -The iron cradles were emptied of their treasure in strong -washing-tubs--hogsheads sawn in two, and made stronger by the -blacksmith with additional belts of iron. The treasure consisted of -finely-pounded stone and water, amongst which rolled three or four -hundred weight of quicksilver. No gold was to be seen; it was hidden -in the quicksilver. - -Now commenced the process of washing-up. The deposit in the tubs was -panned off in ordinary gold-washing dishes, the quicksilver with its -precious treasure being put into a separate tub, and the waste earth -which the quicksilver refused to embrace thrown aside in a little -heap, as though it were of no account. This waste refuse was -considered to belong, by right, to the proprietor of the crushing -machine, and consisted chiefly of iron pyrites; it was a valuable -privilege, producing a good many ounces of gold to the ton sometimes. -The quicksilver, having all been extracted, lay in a silky white mass -in the large tub. The strongest man could not have lifted it. The -precious liquid was ladled carefully into skins of chamois leather, -which, when fairly filled, were squeezed tight over buckets of clear -water. The quicksilver which did not contain gold oozed out in silver -tears, and wept into the water; it might truly be said that it was -alive, _argentum vivum_. There then remained a thick solid mass of -white metal. If you took up a handful of it, you could feel the beaten -lumps and nuggets of gold which it concealed from view. The last -process was the retorting of the metals. The quicksilver and the gold -were deposited in the retort, a spherical vessel, to the cover of -which was fixed a slender curved tube, up which the heated quicksilver -ascended, as smoke ascends a chimney. This retort, with its precious -treasure, was plunged into a fiery furnace, and heated to a white -heat. Through the curved tube the boiling quicksilver rose in a silver -stream, and rained into the tub of water which lay to receive it; -gradually the stream grew less, and when the last few globules of -pretty silver spray had fallen, the retort was unscrewed, and a large -mass of molten gold, lit up by the most lovely colours, that seemed to -flash and play upon its breast with fairy's touch, was exposed to -view. - -When Margaret, who was present, saw the pretty sight, she clasped her -hands, and cried, "O! O! O!" which round circles stand for as much -delight and admiration as could be expressed in three pages. - -Philip and the rest looked on with sparkling eyes. "What's the weight -of it?" asked William Smith. Philip, who was a novice in the matter of -cakes of gold, guessed it at four hundred ounces. - -"At four pounds an ounce," said William Smith, ever ready for a -bargain, "that's sixteen hundred pounds. I'll give two thousand pounds -for it as it stands." - -Philip would have consented right away, but his more experienced mate -laughed at William Smith, and with a knowing look said it would be a -thousand pities to make him a loser by his enterprise. William Smith -nodded cheerfully, and winked at the shrewder man, as much as to say, -"We two are a match for each other!" Then they stood in silence about -the retort, waiting for the metal to cool, and gazing at it with an -interest as great as that of a fond father who gazes at the cot in -which his child is sleeping. When all the rainbow-colour had died out -of the gold, and it had become solidified, the cake was put into the -scales. It turned fifty-six pounds troy--six hundred and seventy-two -ounces. Deducting one hundred and fifty ounces, that being William -Smith's payment for crushing the fifty tons of stone, at three ounces -per ton, there remained five hundred and twenty-two ounces of pure -gold, which Philip sold at sixpence less than four pounds an ounce, -receiving in hard cash two thousand and seventy-four pounds nineteen -shillings. William Smith obtained threepence an ounce more for his -hundred and fifty ounces. - -This business being satisfactorily concluded, Philip went to the Rose, -Shamrock, and Thistle, and made out a fair statement, showing the -value of Mr. Hart's share in the gold obtained, Margaret looking over -his shoulder the while. - -"Just listen to me, Margaret," said Philip. - -They laid their heads together for five minutes, at the expiration of -which Margaret ran away, and returned enveloped in a large overcoat, -which reached to her heels, and with a billycock hat slouched over -her head. In that disguise she, followed by Philip, went in search of -Mr. Hart. They found him on the stage, giving directions to the -property-man. - -"Rowe _versus_ Hart," said Margaret, in a gruff voice, tapping him on -the shoulder, and thrusting the balance-sheet into his hand in the -form of a writ, "suit for two hundred and fifty pounds. If not paid. -in five minutes, instant execution is ordered." - -Mr. Hart peered beneath the slouched hat, and recognised Margaret. His -lips being very close to Margaret's laughing face, he took an unfair -advantage of her, and kissed her. - -"What's the fine for that, Philip?" cried Margaret. "This," replied -Philip, shaking a bag of money vindictively at Mr. Hart. "Here you -are, old fellow;" and he handed Mr. Hart two hundred and fifty-nine -pounds odd, being an eighth share of the gold. "For this unwarrantable -assault, you will instantly pay me the two hundred and fifty you owe -me. I don't intend to wait three minutes for the money." - -Mr. Hart paid Philip with a grateful sigh; he knew that it would be -useless to remonstrate with the young man. Had Mr. Hart been alone in -the world, with no ties, he would not have accepted Philip's -generosity; he would have quarrelled with him first. But you see how -it was with him, and you will not blame him, I am sure. - -The theatre was open again, and was thronged as usual. The actors and -actresses were much concerned as to the fate of the missing treasurer; -none of them, with the exception of Mr. Hart, suspected him. (Mr. Hart -had enjoined secrecy upon Philip and Margaret, and no one but the -three knew of his loss.) As they never received any tidings of him, -they settled that he had been lost in the storm, and they mourned him -as one who had come to an undeserved end. - -Silver Creek township throve and flourished. New discoveries were made -every week, and new leads of gold found in gullies and plains. William -Smith, always playing his cards well, knew that now the township was -becoming a settled thing, there must soon be a Government land sale, -and he began to build and let, and to buy up rights of land wherever -he could. Depend upon it, he bought in the proper places, having -settled, after careful survey, where it was imperative that the -streets would be laid out. You would have thought he had enough to do, -what with one thing and another, but he seemed never to have his hands -full. He was not of an envious disposition, but he did covet one -thing: Philip's quartz claim. It was yielding finely, and he believed -he saw a colossal fortune in it. Not to be made out of it in the way -Philip and his mates were working it. No; he would put up machinery. -He would sink new shafts. The stone should be drawn from the bottom of -the shafts not by hand, but by steam-power; the men should be lowered -by steam; he would have a steam-engine below, if it was necessary; -everything should be done by steam, and labour should be economised. -Would that reduce the number of men necessary to work the claim? Not -at all. Where there were a hundred men at work now William Smith would -have five hundred. What he would do really would be to get ten times -as much gold. He would open the claim to its fullest extent; he would -buy up as many claims as he could get hold of north and south of -Philip's land, and would pay for them all liberally. - -You may ask why William Smith wanted to do this. He was making so -rapid a fortune, that if things continued as they were for twelve -months, he would be at least a fifty-thousand-pounds man. And in three -years these figures would be doubled. A hundred thousand pounds! When -he was a bricklayer at home working for a bare pittance, on high -scaffoldings at the risk of his life, the very idea of possessing such -a sum would have been enough to take away his breath. Now he thought -nothing of it. But he wanted Philip's claim. For this reason: he -burned to be a master of men, not of twenty, or fifty, or a hundred. -He wanted to be a master of not fewer than five hundred men, all doing -well under him, all living comfortably and being well paid, and if he -had Philip's claim he saw his way to it. Then when he went home to the -old country, he could say to his old master, "You thought it a great -thing to have eighty men under you, each of whom could earn about a -guinea and a half a week. Why, I, one of those eighty, went into a new -country and employed five hundred men, and every one of them had a -house of his own and was well clothed, and could give his family meat -for breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper; and after paying for -everything, and more besides, could put by thirty shillings a week in -the savings bank--in the savings bank, which I started and am trustee -of!" You see, the master used to cry out that working men in the old -country were better off than they were in any other part of the world. -William Smith wanted to show him that he was wrong. - -So William Smith yearned to be king of five hundred men, and the -proper complement of women and children--to be master of five hundred -pairs of hands--to see peace and plenty and industry all about him--to -walk among his workmen, and chat and smile with them--to walk among -the women and children, and pat the youngsters on the head, and pass -kind words with the mothers. He had all these thoughts. It was not a -bad ambition. - -He offered money for Philip's claim--a large sum. Philip and his mate -shook their heads. Mr. Hart would have been glad to sell his share; if -he had one-eighth of what William Smith offered, the white sails -should spread for him over the seas, for Home, dear Home! But he -decided that it would be base to sell; it would be like deserting -Philip. "I'll wait yet a little while," he thought. "A few months will -soon pass." - -William Smith tempted him. Philip stood by. - -Mr. Hart declined, and saw in the look of joy which flashed into -Philip's face what pleasure his refusal had given the young man. - -The largest retorted cake of gold that had been produced for many a -score of miles round was produced from a great crushing out of -Philip's claim. It weighed no less than two thousand two hundred -ounces. It was exhibited in the principal gold-broker's window on a -Saturday, which was the busiest day in the township. On that day all -the gold-diggers and their wives and children came in from the hills -and gullies, and made their purchases. A more bustling scene of its -kind could not be witnessed in any other part of the world. All day -long the diggers and the women poured in, from east, from west, from -north, from south. Where a storekeeper took ten pounds on another day, -he took fifty on a Saturday. You should have seen the theatre on -Saturday nights. - -The people stood round and about the gold-broker's window, and those -who were nearest stared and stared, and those who were farthest away -peeped over their neighbours' shoulders, at the great beautiful cake -of gold, duly labelled. Two thousand two hundred ounces It made every -one's mouth water. - -But on the Monday morning following this splendid exhibition, Philip -arriving at his claim--he had spent the Sunday with Margaret--found -the miners standing about in idleness: which was not the way of the -men. A part of the shaft had fallen in, and they were waiting to know -what to do. - -"Do!" exclaimed Philip. "Go down, of course." - -And down he went, and made an anxious and critical examination. When -he came up again he decided to get the Government mining surveyor to -report upon the condition of the shaft. This was done, and the -surveyor gave certain directions. The shaft would have to be slabbed -round all its sides for fifty feet from the surface--boxed in as it -were. Until then it was not safe to work below. The slabbing was done; -it occupied a week, and cost some money. - -Philip fretted at the delay, and no one was glad but William Smith. He -rejoiced. He had not one particle of malice in his nature, but he said -quietly to himself, "I'd like that shaft to cave in from top to -bottom. Perhaps they'd sell it to me then." - -Margaret heard of the disaster--from William Smith's lips, I think. -She turned white, and clung to Philip on the night she heard the news. -He was annoyed that she knew, but what was there to be frightened at? -he asked. - -"Frightened at!" she cried. "Oh, Phillip! how can you ask? The shaft -will fall in again----" - -"How do you know that?" - -"I know it--I feel it! And you will be underneath, perhaps!----" - -She could not proceed for her terror. He could not but feel glad at -this solicitude for him, and he used lover's arguments to prove that -there was no danger. These arguments were sweet and delicious to her, -but they had a contrary effect from that which he intended. Making her -love him more, they made her more anxious for his safety. - -"Promise me not to go down," she begged. "Promise me to work at the -top. - -"And let another man be crushed in my place?" he said proudly. She -shuddered, and held him closer to her. "Not if I know it!" - -"Then you don't value my life?" she cried, with womanly tact and -womanly unreason. - -"Your life, my dearest! not value your life, when a single hair of -your head is more precious to me than all the gold in Silver Creek!" - -"No," she persisted, "you don't value my life, when you are determined -to risk it in this way." - -"What are you talking about, Margaret? _I_ risk _your_ life!" - -"Yes," she cried, "you are about to do it. For if anything happens to -you, I shall die." - -To pacify her he was compelled to promise that he would not go down -below, but he did not keep his word. It was not often he broke it, but -here his manhood was in question. He was not going to shirk his fair -share of risk. He did not deceive Margaret long, however. She coaxed -Mr. Hart to take her to the Reef one day, and did not scruple to say -that Philip expected her. When they arrived at the shaft, she was told -that Philip was below. White from apprehension, she walked a few yards -away, and sat down upon a trunk of a tree, while the workmen from a -distance gazed at her lithe and graceful form with respectful -admiration. - -"Phil Rowe's a lucky fellow," they said. - -Mr. Hart passed the word down for Philip to come up, and up he came, -strong and handsome, with the veins standing out on his bare arms and -throat: a fair sight for a woman who loved him. But Margaret turned -from him, and repulsed him, secretly admiring him all the while for -his courage. - -"This is the way that men deceive women," she said--"promising one -thing and doing another!" - -Had she been a scholar, she might have flung at him the proverb, -"False in one thing, false in all," but she was only a woman in love. -Besides, she would have known that there would have been no truth in -the proverb, in this case. Perhaps that would not have mattered, -though. Women are queer logicians; their logic comes from the heart, -not from the head. - -"What can I do?" he asked, after listening to her reproaches. "You -don't want people to think me a coward, do you?" - -"If they dared to say so!" she exclaimed, with a motion which implied -that she would defend him. - -"They will say so if I do as you wish," he said; her hand was in his -now: he did not mind the workmen seeing. "No, no, Margaret. Your word -shall be law in everything but this, Women don't understand these -matters." She tossed her head disdainfully. "Besides, don't I want to -get rich for my Margaret's sake?" - -"Rich!" she exclaimed. "Why, you have thousands of pounds!" - -"I want thousands more to throw into your lap." - -She wavered a little, for just three seconds. - -"No," she said then. "You don't want thousands more, if your life is -to be risked in the getting of them, Philip," and she looked at him -earnestly, "if you were a beggar, I should not care." - -"Do you mean to say you would love me all the same?" - -"Yes; and work for you, if it was necessary." - -She meant it. However, she did not persuade him to act as she wished. -But things were working in her favour. - -Within a few hours of this conversation, Philip, still working below, -made a disheartening discovery. They were preparing for a blast. He -was holding the gad, while a workman was striking it on the head with -his hammer. Half an inch this way or that, and Philip would have been -maimed for life, but it was seldom a man was so unskilful as to cause -an accident in this way. The hole for the gunpowder was two feet deep, -and Philip lifted up the gad and spooned out the dust. It came up in a -liquid state; Philip looked anxious, and more anxious still, when the -whole was cleared, to see water bubbling up. They had struck a small -stream. It was not very serious at first. They continued working -during the day, and fired the blast the last thing in the evening, -before knocking off work. When Philip went down the shaft the next -morning, he stepped up to his waist in water. They set to manfully, -and baled it out; more than half the working hours of the day were -lost in this necessary labour. They dug a shaft within the shaft, to -serve as a well, and so managed to keep themselves tolerably dry; but -the water came in faster and faster. - -William Smith smiled and rubbed his hands. The claim was already as -good as his; he began already making bids for other claims, north and -south. In his mind's eyes he mapped everything out. He saw himself -king of this great range. He saw a happy village springing up. Here -should be this; there should be that. Tents for the gold-diggers here; -a wooden house for himself there. On this spot should be a church; on -that a school-house. He saw a well-dressed and happy congregation, his -workmen and their families, walking from the church on the Sabbath -day, smiling and talking together: he saw the children trooping out of -the school-house after school hours, and the schoolmaster standing in -the porch, with his cane under his arm: joy stirred in his heart as he -fancied these things, and as he heard the shouts and hurrahs of the -youngsters. There should be gardens too; yes, every tent should have -its garden. He saw the cabbages and peas coming up; flowers also. He -went to the highest point of the range, and folding his arms, looked -down upon his kingdom. It had been a pleasure to him hitherto to make -money, but he had not thought much of it. He had made it so easily, -that his heart had scarcely been fluttered by the success of his -speculations. But now, as he contemplated the realisation of his pet -scheme, money was really sweet to him for the first time. - -The quartz-crushing machine hammered away as steadily as ever, the -water in Philip's claim increasing in volume every day. It served one -good purpose. A race was made from the shaft to the dam, and a -continual stream of water was running down it. - -"You ought to pay us for the water," said Philip's mate. - -"You ought to pay me for taking it," said William Smith. - -Matters were growing serious. Out of every twelve hours they could -work in the quartz but three. - -Yet I do not think that William Smith would have obtained the claim, -if it had not been that a woman was on his side. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -MR. HART DECIDES TO WAIT A LITTLE LONGER. - - -Margaret had a tender, yielding nature, but she was firm withal. It is -surprising how determined these soft weaker vessels can be! And they -generally get their way. If men, in addition to their naturally -greater strength of character, possessed woman's delicate cunning, -great results would be accomplished. But men are deficient in -_finesse_. The nature of many a great diplomatist has assimilated -closely to that of a woman. A clever man can do fine things, but a -clever woman with the same opportunities would beat him hollow. - -William Smith, then, found an ally in Margaret. She ran up her colours -by the side of his, and declared war against Philip. Innocent, -unsuspicious Philip knew nothing of the confederacy; and this is the -way his treacherous Margaret undermined the fortress of his -resolution. - -On one day, "Am I not growing pale?" she asked of him, in a plaintive -tone. - -Philip, gazing at her in tender solicitude, saw that she _was_ a shade -paler than usual. - -"And thin, Philip. Feel my arm." He obeyed her. "I'm wasting away," -she said. - -Now, that Margaret was a little paler than usual is not to be -disputed. She had contrived it; by what means, I am not sufficiently -in the mysteries to state. - -That she was any thinner, I deny. Yet Philip thought differently from -me. But he was in love with Margaret; while I---- No, I must not write -what was about to glide off my pen. The pen tells many untruths, and I -will not add one to the number on this occasion. I also love Margaret. - -"You are working too hard," said Philip. - -"No, it is not that," sighed she. - -"You want a rest, my darling." - -"It would do me no good, Philip." - -"You are worrying yourself about something." - -She sighed. It was a most eloquent affirmative. Then Philip paused. He -felt that he had touched dangerous ground. Seeing that Philip did not -speak, she used her tongue. - -"Yes, I am indeed worrying myself about something. It will be the -death of me, Philip." - -"Nonsense, my darling, nonsense." - -"I should not speak of _your_ death in that way, Philip!" - -The ground was crumbling beneath him. - -"You are in low spirits, Margaret. You must rouse yourself for my -sake." - -She shook her head. "I would do anything for your sake, Philip. But I -seem to have no strength left." - -"Ah! that's it," he said eagerly, catching at a straw; "you are weak -and low; you must eat strengthening things." - -(Soft-minded fellow! as if, in her languid condition, she was not -stronger than the strongest man!) - -"Strengthening things!" she echoed, in a tone of soft reproach. - -"And you must drink bottled stout. A bottle every day," he said -uneasily. - -"Bottled stout!" she echoed, in the saddest of tones, which, although -she did not say so in as many words, conveyed a distinct denial that -bottled stout was a cure for a breaking heart. - -On another day it was--"I had a dreadful dream the night before last, -Philip." - -"There! there! frightening yourself with fancies." - -"They are killing me, Philip. I dreamt about you and the shaft. You -were working at the bottom. I don't know where I was standing, but -dreams are such curious things you know, Philip. I was standing there, -and saw you below, and I saw the men at the top, also, working. I saw -right down the shaft, Philip, and all at once there was a great crying -and screaming, and the men flew wildly about. The shaft had fallen in, -and you were buried beneath tons and tons of earth. I could see you -even then, holding out your hands to me, and crying to me to help -you!" - -Margaret's eyes were full of tears, and she shivered and cowered. And -I declare I do not know how much of this was acting and how much was -genuine. - -What could a man do under this sort of persecution? What can he do but -yield? - -"But, Margaret," said Philip, "we are young, we are strong. It would -be folly to go away from Silver Creek, where we are making so much -money." - -"I don't want to go away from Silver Creek," she replied, her heart -beating a little more quickly. "I love the place; if it had not been -for Silver Creek, we might never have met, Philip. I can show you a -way to make more money than you are making at the Margaret Reef. Ah, -how good of you to name it after me! Yes, I can show you how to make -more money." - -"You show me a way how to make money, little woman! Why, what is there -in that pretty little head of yours?" - -He took it between his hands and kissed her lips. - -"Look straight into my eyes, Philip. Don't they sparkle?" - -"Sparkle, my dear little woman! They are the stars in my heaven!" - -"But more than usual, Philip? Are they not brighter than usual?" (She -made them so.) "Well, now, what makes them so bright just at this -moment? I'll tell you without asking. I know you are going to say yes -to what I shall propose, and that fills my heart with joy. My heart is -in my eyes, because--because, Philip---- Turn yours away, sir! I don't -want you to look at me---- Because, I think we might be married next -week." - -He caught her in his arms, and tried to raise her face to his; but she -hung her head, and murmured that she would never be able, for shame's -sake, to look at him again if he did not consent at once to what she -was about to propose. - -"Well, what is it, Margaret? What is it?" he asked, in a rapture of -happiness. - -"I can't tell you, Philip," she murmured, with her lips close to his -ear, "unless you say 'Yes' beforehand." - -"Yes, then," he cried. "Yes, a thousand times over!" - -Who was the weaker vessel? Margaret or Philip! Really, we have -accustomed ourselves to believe in some very fine delusions. - -"Well, then," she said, "buy Mr. Smith's hotel and theatre. You will -make more money in twelve months than you can get out of your claim in -three years." - -He was staggered at the suggestion, and was not displeased at it. But -after a little consideration he said he was sure that Mr. Smith would -not sell a property so valuable. Margaret knew better. All the while -William Smith was dropping quiet hints to her as to the dangerous -condition of the shaft in which Philip was working, the eyes of -Margaret's mind were piercing him through and through. - -William Smith himself would have been surprised if he could have heard -her summing-up of him. But it is the way of this kind of woman--and -let me tell you her name is legion. You and she are in the same room -for five minutes, and she never raises her eyes to your face, and when -you go out she can make an inventory of you, from the way you part -your hair down to the style of your shoe-strings. She knows a great -deal better than you whether your clothes fit well or ill, and whether -your hands and feet are nice, and I do not think you would care to -consult her physiognomically. If you knew what was going on within -that little head while her eyes are directed demurely towards the -carpet, it might make you uncomfortable. How she gained the power of -discovering occult things is a deep unfathomable mystery. - -Margaret was one of this kind of women. She had read William Smith -through and through, and she talked and talked to Philip until he said -he would consult Mr. Hart. Mr. Hart was called in. He thought the idea -a fine one; he was filled with grave doubts of the safety of the shaft -in which Philip was working, and in a lesser degree shared Margaret's -apprehensions. He also thought that William Smith would be willing to -come to an arrangement. - -Suddenly Philip said: - -"I'll do it on one condition, supposing it can be done. Mr. Hart must -join us, and become a partner. You want to go home, I know, old -fellow, but if you will stay with us for six months and see us fairly -afloat, I'll put you on the ship myself at the end of that time with a -clear four thousand pounds in your pocket, and wish you good-bye and -God speed, and in less than two years Margaret and I will be after -you, and we'll all settle down together in a spot I know of, you and -your darling, and I and mine." - -Margaret clapped her hands in delight. - -"I say 'Yes' for him!" she cried. - -"I say 'Yes' for myself," said Mr. Hart, without hesitation. - -He knew that the share of gold he had received out of the claim would -be required in the transaction of the business, and he considered that -Philip had a right to dispose of it. - -He was appointed agent to moot the proposal to William Smith, and -carry it through if it was well received. Philip had not a -sufficiently calm head for the transaction. Mr. Hart did his work -well; William Smith entertained the scheme, chuckling quietly while it -was being propounded, and of course made a good bargain. There was no -delay. In four days (William Smith having bought out Philip's mate) -William Smith was master of the quartz reef, and Philip was the -proprietor of the Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle Hotel and Restaurant and -the Theatre Royal, Silver Creek. As Mr. Hart had supposed, his money -was required for the completion, of the purchase. Philip entered into -his property free from debt, and with a good stock in hand, but with -very little ready cash. William Smith, had swept it all into his -pocket. But it was a fair bargain. The hotel was doing a famous -business, and money began to tumble in the first day. On that day the -name of the hotel was changed. The new sign-board hoisted up had on it -the words, - - -"The Silver Flagon." - - -And the place was crowded with friends and acquaintances drinking -success to it. - -So for the fourth time during the last seven years, Mr. Hart, having -saved sufficient money to carry out the project nearest to his heart, -decided to stay a little longer, and make a little more, before he -took ship for home. But in this last instance, he could scarcely help -himself. Gratitude called upon him to act as he had done, and he was -satisfied that he would be well rewarded for his patience. It was a -consolation and a pleasure to reflect that the date of his departure -was fixed. He had only six months to wait, and he would carry with him -a well-filled purse. He counted the days, and, making his -calculations, he wrote home to his daughter that, in such and such a -month he hoped, with God's blessing, to fold her to his heart, and -that he would never leave her again. - -Within a few days of Philip's taking possession of the hotel, he and -Margaret were married. I leave you to imagine the festivities on the -occasion; how handsome, strong, and brave Philip looked upon that -happy morning, and what a fairy vision burst upon his gaze when -Margaret appeared before him in her bridal dress. Margaret's mother--a -short pale woman (what lovely daughters many of these small thin women -have)--was there, approving of everything. She had also been an -actress in her time, and, having had her ups and downs, was glad to -see her daughter well and comfortably settled in life. But Margaret -was a prize which any man might have been proud to win. The ceremony -was a quiet and sober one, but there was plenty of feasting -afterwards. In the hotel there were well-spread tables during the -whole day, free to all comers. There was a private breakfast, at which -Margaret's mother shed tears, and William Smith and Mr. Hart made fine -speeches. Philip, in his speech, broke down most ignominiously; he -could not utter six words in smooth order. But his face was eloquent, -if his tongue was not. The bride was radiant. A handsomer pair -never was seen. They drove away amid the cheering of a thousand -gold-diggers. - -In the evening they sat together on the banks of a beautiful river, -rather low in its bed at the time because of the heat. On the distant -hills cattle were browsing and smelling for water. The only sound that -reached their ears was the sound of the woodman's axe. That came -through the air sharp and clear, although the woodman was a long way -off. The lovers, now man and wife, talked in low tones of their -future, and laid their plans. All was smooth before them. No rough -roads, no sickness, no misfortunes. Sunshine was in their hearts, and -there was no shadow in the bright clouds that floated above them. - -"All your acting days are over now," said Philip. "Well," replied -Margaret, "I must act at home." - -"All right," responded Philip; "one stipulation, though. No more than -two characters in any of our pieces." - -She laughed at this. - -"Philip, I hope you love mother!" - -"I do love her; she is a dear little woman." - -"Do you know that when she was young she was the most beautiful -creature that ever was seen?" - -"How could she have had such a lovely daughter if she had not been -lovely herself?" - -"Nonsense, Philip; but she was. She has the remains of it now. Have -you noticed her teeth? They are like pearls. And her hands? Much smaller -than mine. She must have been a beautiful actress, too; she has had -verses written about her in the papers. She acted in the Plymouth and -Exeter theatres and was a wonderful favourite. She had dozens and -dozens of offers, and what do you think one of her lovers was, Philip? -Well, but you would never guess. He was a Jew, and I really think mother -was fond of him a little, little bit, from the way she talks about him. -He must have been a god man, but of course mother couldn't marry a Jew. -Wasn't it a mercy she didn't, Philip, for then what would have become -of me--and you? I want you to love her very, very much; more than you -do me, Philip." - -"I can't do that, my darling; but I do love her, and will, both for -her own sake and yours, my dearest, dearest! And so we are man and -wife, darling! can scarcely believe in my happiness. You'll not melt -away out of my arms, will you, Margaret?" - -"Not if you're very good to me, Philip," she replied, with a tender -nestling motion. "Look at that beautiful cloud, dear." - -"It's coming over us, and it is shaped like an angel. I want to hear -you say you love me, Margaret." - -"Philip!" - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -THEY FLEW LIKE MADMEN INTO THE TOWN. - - -Mr. Hart took some interest in home politics--that is to say, in the -politics of the old country; Philip took none, not from lack of -sympathy, but because he had no room. Every nook and corner of his -mind was filled by one idea, which presented itself in a hundred -different shapes; that idea was Margaret. - -The Overland Mail came into Silver Creek once a month, pretty -regularly, with letters and papers from home; and if you had seen the -post-office on the day the four-horse coach brought the mails, you -never would have forgotten the sight. Crowds stood around the doors -and windows of the wooden building, for up to the present time every -building in Silver Creek township was either drill, calico, or wood. -There was some talk of a stone building, and when this was once up, -you may be sure that others would soon follow. Well, around the wooden -post-office, hundreds and hundreds of men and women were assembled -when the Overland Mail arrived, waiting for the windows to open so -that they might receive their letters. If the mail came in somewhat -later than usual, the clerks at the post-office would be kept at work -until late in the night sorting the letters and the newspapers, to -allay the anxiety of the people. News from home! Ah, you who have not -been a wanderer, and parted from friends and relations and all whom -you love, do not know what those words mean! For many hours after the -arrival of the Overland Mail, Silver Creek was filled with tender -memories. The faces of those who received letters from home through -the little window lit up with joy; they laughed at the well-known -handwriting and their eyes filled with tears. Ah! this is from mother. -Dear old mother! What a queer hand she writes! And this from the old -boy! And this from Jim! And this from Arthur! And these from Mary, and -Fanny, and Nelly, and Kate, and Maggie, and I don't know whom all -besides! God bless them every one! There was electricity in the very -envelopes, which went from the tips of the fingers, when the paper was -touched, into the palm of the hand--where hers, and hers, and hers, -lay once upon a time--up the arm, straight into the heart, and -illumined faces there. Very plainly illumined them, I can tell you. -Old faces, young faces, wrinkles and cheeks of peach, eyes dim and -bright, parched lips and lips sweetly fresh, horny fingers and soft, -white hair and brown--all were plain and visible, looking, smiling, -speaking to those who held their letters in their hands. They did not -take their letters home to read; they opened them there and then, and -stood about reading; and their eyes sparkled, and they grew sad, and -tender, and joyous, and pensive, as the news moved them. Those who -received no letters walked slowly and mournfully away. - -Always for two or three days previous to the arrival of the mail Mr. -Hart became restless and anxious and impatient. Perhaps it would come -in a day or two earlier, and he was always hoping that it would. The -coach stopped at the hotel, and Mr. Hart would run to the door, and -cry out to Levy the driver, "Brought the mail, Lee?" - -He was in that state now, some six weeks after the marriage of Philip -and Margaret. The mail really was due, and the coach had come in -without it. When Levy, who had driven all the way this time, left town -for Silver Creek, the mail-ship was not signalled at the Heads. It was -a great disappointment to Mr. Hart. - -Everything was going on well. Since Philip had bought the hotel, the -business had increased, as it would have done under William Smith's -management. Silver Creek was growing more prosperous every day, and -these things were natural. Philip was a favourite; so was Mr. Hart. As -for Margaret, the gold-diggers would flock to the hotel, and hang -about, and talk, and drink, only on a chance of catching a sight of -her; and Margaret knew this, and did not disappoint them. "There she -is!" they would say. The sight of her did them good. And when she -walked out, admiring eyes followed her at every step. No lady in the -world was more genuinely respected and more highly thought of. - -I was almost forgetting to state a little incident. Upon Philip's -return from his honeymoon, he said to Mr. Hart, when they two were -alone together: - -"I want you to take care of this packet for me, and to promise me one -thing." - -He handed Mr. Hart a sealed envelope, on which no name or address was -written. There was an enclosure in it, somewhat bulky. - -"What is the promise, Philip?" asked Mr. Hart, taking the envelope. - -"That you will not, under any consideration, give it to me until we -meet in the old country. I don't want to be tempted." - -These singular questions caused Mr. Hart to ask questions, but Philip -would not answer them. - -"I want you to accept this trust unconditionally," he said; and as he -was evidently very anxious in the matter Mr. Hart gratified him, and -placed the envelope in a safe corner of his pocket-book. - -Philip had commenced business on a straight plan, of which Mr. Hart -fully approved. He took no credit, and when he sent an order to town -he sent the money with it. Being desirous to make money fast, he cast -his eyes further afield than selling grog and beer retail to the -diggers. Why should they not become wine and spirit merchants! He -consulted Mr. Hart; the old man was satisfied to leave everything to -Philip, who went to work with the spirit of William Smith. In a very -short time a great wooden shell was built, and large orders were sent -to town for wines and spirits. On the day the mail was expected, a -long string of bullock-drays wound its way slowly along High Street, -Silver Creek, and stopped at the great wooden shell, which was the new -wholesale wine and spirit store, belonging to Philip and Mr. Hart. The -bullock-drays contained the stock, the invoices of which had totted up -to no less than eight thousand pounds. Philip had been sending money -through the post every day in payment of this fine stock of goods; -about one thousand pounds remained to be paid, and on the day -following the arrival of the bullock-drays, a draft for this amount -was sent to the merchants. Every shilling in the place had to be -scraped together to make up the sum. - -"Now we're all right," said Philip cheerfully; "we don't owe a -shilling in the world, and we have at least eleven thousand pounds -worth of stock in hand. The hotel, theatre, and goodwill are worth -another ten. We'll open the new store to-morrow. Maggie, my dear! in -twelve months we'll be on our way to Devonshire." - -That evening the mail from home arrived at Silver Creek. Mr. Hart was -soon at the post-office. There was a letter for him from his darling -child, a letter which made his eyes run over. William Smith had sent -in during the day from the Margaret Reef, asking Mr. Hart to inquire -if there were any letters for him at the post-office. There was one -from William Smith's mother, and Mr. Hart started off to the Margaret -Reef to deliver it to his old friend. He called in at the hotel to ask -if there was any message for William Smith. - -"Tell him," said Philip blithely, "that I think we've got the best of -the bargain." - -"At all events," said Mr. Hart, "I shall tell him that you are quite -satisfied with it. Any message, Margaret?" - -"Give him my love," replied Margaret, "and say we're all coming to -dine with him next Sunday, and that he's to get something nice for -dinner." - -Mr. Hart nodded and walked away. He was in a tender and serious mood. -The letter from his daughter had somewhat disturbed him. Its tone was -as affectionate as usual; but hidden in its words, like the scent of a -flower in its leaves, was a confession of unhappiness. It was not -expressed in so many words. The writer told him this and that, as she -was in the habit of doing, and a stranger reading it would have said, -"It is a happy girl who wrote this letter." But Mr. Hart read with the -heart of a father, and he saw what would not have been visible to -others. He seemed to hear his daughter whisper to him to come home and -counsel and advise her--to come and love and protect her. It made him -terribly uneasy. - -"When the six months are up," he thought, "I will not wait another -day. Father and daughter should be together; she is just of the age -when a girl most needs a father's love and care. Thank God, there is -not long to wait; in a little more than four months I shall turn my -back on Silver Creek." - -And yet the thought brought a certain regret with it. Silver Creek had -been a good place for him, and he had cause to bless the day he -entered it, with his company of actors and actresses and his -weak-kneed horse. He paused at the foot of the Margaret Range, and -thought of the first day he had seen it, and how he had debated -whether he should ascend it or not. - -"The happiness of our lives hangs upon chance," he said. "If I had not -ascended this hill I should not have made the acquaintance of Philip -in the way I did. We should not have been together now, and I should -not have had the means of joining my child and making her life happy. -Four thousand pounds! Aha! Gerald! Fly away, time!" - -He called it out to the hills, as a light-hearted boy might have done. - -He found William Smith in all his glory. The hill was alive with men. -Philip's claim was in full work; a steam-engine was at the top of it, -puffing and blowing day and night, pumping up the water. The William -Smith quartz-crushing machine was thumping away merrily. New veins of -golden quartz had been discovered, and were being worked. Some of -the workmen's slab huts were already erected, and the plots for -kitchen-gardens laid out. Two or three score of goats were scampering -about; in the fowl-houses roosted five hundred head of poultry; women -were hanging clothes on the lines to dry; children were running after -one another and playing. William Smith was supremely happy and -satisfied with himself. He stood there, dusty and brown, with his -sleeves tucked up, a king. He conducted Mr. Hart over the ground, and -showed him what he had done, and told him what he intended to do. -Everything was planned and arranged in an admirable way. William -Smith, in this carrying out of his ambition, was an enthusiast, but he -was no dreamer. He was a practical man to the edges of his nails. - -"I will ride back with you," he said to Mr. Hart, "and sleep at the -Silver Flagon to-night, if you will stop with me till ten o'clock." - -Mr. Hart consented, and went among the workmen, and talked with them -while William Smith read his mother's letter. They had supper -together, and a pipe afterwards, and sat outside William Smith's -wooden house, which had a fine broad verandah all round it. - -"See this place in twelve months," said William Smith, "and you'll not -know it." - -"I shall be away then," said Mr. Hart, "and shall be hearing one day -that you are at the head of the Government." - -It was not by any means a wild supposition. William Smith would not -have been the first working man who was gazetted prime minister in the -colonies. - -Night came on. The day-men were at home enjoying their ease; music was -heard in various tents. Their was no moon. At a little before ten -o'clock it was dark. No part of Silver Creek township could be seen -from the Margaret Range. Exactly at ten o'clock Mr. Hart and William -Smith were in the saddle. - -They rode slowly. Over one range, over another, along a valley, up -another range. - -"We shall see the township soon," said William Smith. "What are you -stopping for?" - -Mr. Hart had reined up suddenly. - -"I don't know," replied Mr. Hart; "something in the air. Look yonder; -what is that light in the sky?" - -A pale red light was coming in the clouds. - -"The moon rising," said William Smith. - -"There is no moon to-night." - -"Ah! no; I forgot." - -They rode up the range; it was steep and stony, and their horses -stepped carefully; the light in the sky became stronger--more lurid; -up they toiled; they were nearly at the top. They spoke not a word to -each other, but their anxious eyes were fixed upon the sky. Deeper and -deeper grew the colour, wider and wider it spread; and a sound like a -muffled roar came to their ears. - -"Now then," cried William Smith to his horse, and gently touching it -with his whip. "Up with you, my lad!" - -The horses leaped onwards, and when they reached the top of the ridge, -stopped suddenly, in obedience to the action of their riders. - -"Great God!" cried Mr. Hart; "the township is on fire!" - -They saw now the meaning of the lurid sky. A vast sheet of flame was -before them extending this way and that, licking up everything before -it. They could hear the dull roar of the fire and the cries of the -people, who were rushing wildly about. They paused but for one -instant. The next they were galloping madly towards the township; -their horses needed no urging, they flew like the wind. - -"Are you insured?" shouted William Smith. - -"Not for a penny," answered Mr. Hart, with a spasm in his throat. - -"The stores will burn like tinder," muttered William Smith between his -clenched teeth. - -They flew like madmen into the town. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -DRIVEN BY LOVE INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH. - - -By the time Mr. Hart and William Smith reached the township, there was -a straight sheet of fire, more than a mile in length. At least three -hundred stores were in flames. Silver Creek could boast of a volunteer -fire brigade, and the brave fellows worked at their two small -fire-engines with the perspiration pouring down their faces in -streams, but they might as well have pumped water into the creek for -all the good they did. However, they worked away, approaching as close -as they dare to the immense body of flame; those who were closest to -the burning stores directed their hose towards the blazing rafters, -whilst their comrades pumped upon them to prevent their catching fire. -The shouting, the screaming, the confusion were terrible; loud cries -ran along and about the crowd with the rapidity of the flame itself, -and every few moments another store on each side of those already on -fire caught light. Strange to say, no attempt was made to stop the -fire by pulling down the buildings on either side, and so create a gap -across which the flames could not leap. The only thought that people -had was to save their goods; but even as it was, very little was -preserved from destruction. - -When Mr. Hart and his companion plunged into the crowd, their first -thought, of course, was of the hotel and theatre. - -"Ah," said one and another, "here's Mr. Hart! Here's William Smith!" - -They made way for these two men, who ran rapidly along, and found that -the hotel had just caught fire. - -"Where's Margaret? Where's Philip?" cried Mr. Hart, with anxious -glances around. - -At that moment he cared not one pin for the destruction of his -property; he saw the flames beggaring him, but he paid no heed to -them. Time to think of that afterwards. All that he cared for now was -the safety of Margaret and Philip. - -"Where's Margaret? Where's Philip?" he cried. - -Some man among the crowd answered, that Margaret had last been seen -going into the hotel before the fire had reached it, and that she had -not come out. - -"Good God!" groaned Mr. Hart, and would have plunged into the flames -but that they held him back. - -At that moment Philip, who had been working half a mile away, saving -life and property with the strength of a young Hercules, was running -towards the hotel. Amidst the excitement of rushing into the blazing -stores, and pulling sleeping children and weak women out of the jaws -of death, he had not thought of his own property, and did not know -that it was on fire. Indeed, no man would have conceived it possible -that the flames could have reached the hotel in so short a time. Now, -Philip said to himself, he must get to his own place, and see what was -best to be done. He was a little bit concerned about Margaret. "I must -get her away from this," he thought. "When I see her in a place of -safety, I can come back and do my work." But as he ran towards his -hotel, the rumour ran from it that it was burning. - -"The Silver Flagon's caught!" shouted the gold-diggers, one to -another, and the news was carried along past Philip, who received it -as he ran. - -"Ah!" he muttered, with a great sigh, "there's an end to that. We are -ruined men. Poor Mr. Hart, poor Mr. Hart! And I persuaded him to -stop." - -The thought that he himself was ruined scarcely disturbed him. Ruined -How could he be ruined, when he had Margaret? His heart was almost -light as he thought of his darling woman, but in the same moment his -hair seemed to rise from his head with horror as he heard some one -say: - -"The Silver Flagon's down, and Mrs. Rowe's inside!" - -"What what!" he muttered, dazed for a moment, and then he screamed: - -"O my God!" - -And, with a cry so terrible as to startle all who heard it, he plunged -madly towards the spot where he had last seen his beloved. - -He reached it, hot, black, panting, with his hair streaming to his -shoulders, and his blue eyes gleaming wildly. - -"Keep him back! Keep him back!" they shouted and laid hands on him. - -But he dashed them aside as though they had been so many feathers, -and, with knitted brows and lips tightly closed, and breast that -heaved as though it would burst, he ran with swift desperation into -the flames. A spasm of horror rose to the throat of every looker-on, -and kept him silent for a moment. During that brief moment, which -seemed an hour, their eyes were strained in the direction of Philip's -flying form. They could see him beating the flames away with one hand, -while his other arm was raised to save his eyes from the fire. Only -for a moment was their attention thus occupied; the sound of a -familiar voice fell upon their ears; they turned, and to their -amazement, saw Margaret moving among them. Her hair was hanging loose, -and she was seeking for Philip's face among the throng of bearded men. -She knew all the faces that were about her, but she did not recognise -one of them until she saw Mr. Hart's. To him she ran, and asked if he -knew where Philip was. The men still had their hands upon Mr. Hart, -and the look of horror in his face answered her. Following the -direction of his eyes, which were fixed upon the burning hotel, she in -her turn saw the outline of her Philip's form struggling through the -flames. All this was the work of two moments. - -"Philip Philip!" she screamed, and ran towards him. - -It was useless now to attempt to hold Mr. Hart; he broke from the -prison of their arms as easily as Philip had done, and wound his -around Margaret. - -"O merciful God!" she screamed, tearing at the air. "Philip! Philip! I -am here! Margaret is here!" - -All on fire as he was, her voice reached him; he made an effort to -escape, and by love's instinct in the direction where Margaret was. -But he fell among some falling rafters, and seemed to be of them; and -as he fell, a gasp of mingled anguish and joy escaped his bursting -heart; it sounded like "Margaret!" Then Mr. Hart, with swift and -furious action, resigned Margaret to the arms of the miners, and flew -into the flames towards his friend. All the strength and dexterity of -his youth came back to him; he had marked the exact spot where Philip -had fallen, and he darted to it with an eagle's keen sight, and rushed -out of the flames, dragging Philip's insensible form after him. They -were both on fire; but fifty blankets were flung over them with -lightning rapidity, and a hundred pitying arms were stretched forth to -bear them tenderly to a place of safety. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -"DEAR OLD FELLOW! GOD BLESS MARGARET -AND YOU!" - - -THE sun rose next morning upon a sad sight. High Street, Silver Creek, -was nothing but a long line of ruins. More than five hundred stores -had been burnt to the ground. All over the gold-diggings work was -suspended, and the diggers flocked in to see the sight. They did not -stand idly by; they tacked up their sleeves, and every European and -American there gave a day's work for nothing. William Smith sent -orders to the Margaret Range; the William Smith quartz-crushing -machine was stopped, and all the workmen came in to lend a helping -hand. They did wonders under William Smith's directions; he was to -many what sound wine is to enfeebled bodies. He strengthened, -sympathised, encouraged, all in a breath, and set a fine example by -working as zealously as the most zealous. It was not with him "Do as I -say," but "Do as I do." The first duty of the workers was a solemn -one: to find the ashes of those who had been burnt to death in the -fire. Five persons were known to have perished--among them Margaret's -mother. Strangely enough, no one had thought of her while the fire was -raging; in the larger interest that centred around Margaret and Philip -this poor little quiet woman had been forgotten. Very tenderly and -gently were the remains of the dead gathered from the ruins; they were -but blackened cinders, which crumbled almost at the touch; and awe and -grief were on the faces of the rough men as they deposited the sad -heaps on ground made sacred by its burden, and covered them over with -blankets. This duty performed, their thoughts turned to other and more -cheerful matters, and they bustled briskly about. - -Before noon twenty canvas tents were up, at a little distance from the -street--the ground there was as yet too hot to build upon--and twenty -burnt-out storekeepers had recommenced business. So great were the -bustle and animation, that the sufferers really had no time to be -faint-hearted. Every man's example was an encouragement to his -neighbour; emulation was excited, and all strove to outvie each other. -But we must away from the scene--nearer ties claim our attention. In a -week Silver Creek township will seem scarcely the worse for its -terrible conflagration. Business will be carried on as usual and the -building of new stores will be going on from one end of High Street to -the other. None will be put up of canvas. Most of them will be built -of wood, and a few of stone. Thus cities are made. Experience teaches. - -In a large tent, on the Camp Ground where the Government buildings are -erected, are three persons. Mr. Hart, with his left arm in a sling, is -standing by the side of a low bed, gazing mournfully down. So rapidly -was his noble task accomplished, when he rushed into the flames to -save his friend, that he escaped with very little injury. He was -scorched and burnt, but not seriously, his left arm being the part of -him which had suffered the most. The physical part of him, I should -say; for all that was mental in him was quivering with anguish. - -At his feet, on the ground, sits Margaret. - -Our Margaret? Yes; although you would not have believed, had you -only your own eyes to trust for confirmation. Her flesh is so -colourless that every drop of blood seems to have left her body; -but your imagination will supply a better picture of this hapless -broken-hearted young creature than my pen can draw. On the low bed by -which she is sitting, with misery and despair in her heart and face, -lies a blackened mass which once was Philip, which is Philip still for -a few brief hours. - -For he was not dead when Mr. Hart dragged him from the flaming walls; -the life had not been quite burnt out of him; but he was dying fast -now. "Before the sun rises," said the doctors, with sad meaning in -their voices. It was most merciful that it should be so; for had he -lived the full span of man's life he would never again have seen the -light, nor could any person have looked upon his face without a -shudder of pain. - -They could do nothing for him except to shed upon him the light of -their pitiful love; and blackened and burnt as he was, this sweet and -divine compassion, in some strange way, reached his senses, and if his -lips could be said to smile, they smiled in grateful acknowledgment. -"Poor Philip! Poor soul! Dear, dearest love!" they murmured, and their -words were not lost. They were to him as water, cold and sweet and -clear, is to a parched mouth. Even in the darkness through which he -was struggling blind, impotent, helpless, glimpses of delicious light -broke upon his suffering soul. - -A hundred times Margaret was on the point of giving way, but Mr. Hart -whispered to her: - -"Be strong, my dear child, be strong! Your voice is to him as the dew -to a flower." - -"As the dew to a flower!" she murmured. "My flower! The only one! God -pity him! God pity me! He was my life, and he is going." - -"To another world, dear child," he said to her, in a beautiful soft -voice, "where we shall join him in God's good time." - -And as though he had a thing to do which was necessary for Philip's -comfort, the old man went swiftly out of the tent, and groaned and -wept there, where Margaret could not see him. Then raised his eyes -from the earth, and mutely prayed that peace might come to Margaret's -troubled soul. - -She, moistening Philip's lips with pure spring water, never moved from -her husband's side, and prayed that she might die with him. "If God is -merciful," she thought, "He will take me also." - -William Smith came to the tent, but when Margaret saw him she -shivered, and held her hands before her eyes to shut him from her -sight. The man needed no other sign; straight from the tent he walked -and sat outside, talking to Mr. Hart. He was not angry with her; his -heart was very tender to her and Philip. - -"It is natural that she should not wish to see me," he said to Mr. -Hart; "it was in the house that once was mine that Philip met his -death. If I had not wanted Philip's claim, they might have lived -together happily." - -After this touch of sentiment he became practical. "Have you any -money?" - -"A few shillings." - -William Smith put a hundred pounds into Mr. Hart's hands. - -"Let him want nothing," he said. - -"He will want nothing presently," sighed Mr. Hart, beneath his breath. - -You who know what beautiful tenderness lies in human nature can -imagine in what ways it was shown to Margaret and Philip. Women came -with sweet offerings during all the day. Had fifty men been dying -instead of one, there would have been supplies for them all. Milk, -honey, flowers, jellies, broths, were sent from all quarters; they -were laid aside, for there was no use for them, but they were good -tokens to give and to receive. - -In the night, about eleven o'clock, Mr. Hart observed Margaret's head -move closer to Philip's lips; he knelt on the ground on the other side -of Philip's bed, and heard the dying man whisper: - -"Margaret, my beloved--my darling--Margaret, my heart! Margaret, I -love you--love you--love you!" - -For an hour these were the only words he murmured, at intervals, in -many different ways. - -"Do you know me, dearest?" she asked: "do you hear me? It is Margaret -who is speaking. Your Margaret." - -"My Margaret!" he whispered. "My soul! My beloved!" - -His voice was like the murmurs of the softest breeze. Margaret, with -open lips, received his dying words in her mouth. With what pangs of -love and anguish did she receive them! - -Mr. Hart, during an interval of silence, motioned to Margaret. Might -_he_ speak to Philip? Margaret's hand crept across the bed to the old -man's. Lover and friend were joined above Philip's breast. - -"Philip, my dear boy," said Mr. Hart, "do you know my voice?" - -"Dear old fellow!" came presently from Philip. "Noble old fellow! I -saw you. God bless Margaret and you! Dear friend, were you hurt much?" - -"Not at all, my dear lad." - -"It delights me to hear that. God is very good!" - -All their strength was required for composure; they checked their -sobs, so that the sound of them might not disturb him; he could not -see the tears that ran down their faces. - -Later in the night, as death approached nearer and nearer, Philip's -voice grew stronger, and the broken words he sighed denoted that he -knew they were by his side, and that he was dying. In a few sobbing -words uttered at long intervals, he thanked Mr. Hart for attempting to -save him. - -"Take care of Margaret," he whispered; "be a father to her." The -utterance of the word brought other memories. "Dear old dad! I hoped -to see you, and show you my darling. But John Hart will bring her to -you. Dear old dad! love Margaret!" - -Then his thoughts wandered, and he murmured expressions of affection -towards the Silver Flagon--the dear old Silver Flagon--and always in -connection with Margaret. All his thoughts clustered about the one -supreme image that dwelt in his mind, the image of Margaret. - -Mr. Hart whispered to Margaret to ask him the address of his father in -the old country, for strange to say he had never told them; but all -that they could get from him now were fitful words, in which his -darling Margaret, the Silver Flagon, his dear old dad, and his -faithful friend, were mentioned without connection. - -An hour later, his whispered words denoted that his memory was -wandering to the happy hours he had spent behind the scenes with -Margaret; then he was riding for flowers for Margaret. - -"O, if it's for that!" he murmured, repeating the words of the woman -who had sold him the flowers; and then, "An echo stole it, and I heard -it singing Margaret as I rode on. I listened to her heart, and she -said it beat for me. She loves me! she loves me!" - -He murmured these last words, as though in happier days he had been in -the habit of whispering them as a charm. Then his memory travelled on -to the evening of his wedding-day, when he and his darling were -sitting by the banks of the river, talking of the future. "We saw a -cloud above us," he whispered, "and it was shaped like an angel. I see -it now--I see it now! Shelter Margaret! Daddy! Margaret!" Presently -his feeble fingers seemed to be seeking for something, and Mr. Hart, -divining that he was seeking for the flowers he had bought for -Margaret, placed near to his face a bunch that had been brought to the -tent as a love-offering. A sigh escaped from the poor burnt bosom, and -after that Philip did not speak again. - -So the night crept on, and silence reigned within and without the -tent. They could scarcely hear Philip's breathing; and when the -morning's light was trembling below the horizon, and the quivering in -the skies denoted that day was awaking, he lay an inanimate mass -before them. They did not know it for a long time. William Hart was -the first to discover it. With a solemn look, he drew up the white -sheet, and softly, tenderly covered the face of his friend. With white -lips and bursting pupils, Margaret watched the action, and when the -form of what once was Philip was only indicated by the outlines of the -white sheet which covered him, her strength gave way, and with a groan -of anguish she sank upon the ground. Then it was that Mr. Hart felt -the need of woman's help. He went out of the tent to obtain it, and -found William Smith sitting on the ground a few yards away. He had sat -there throughout the whole of that sad night. - -"It is all over," said Mr. Hart, with sighs and sobs. - -"Poor Philip! Poor dear lad!" said William Smith, and made no effort -to keep back the tears. - -They went together to the camp, and brought back a woman with them, -who raised Margaret from the ground, and otherwise attended to her. -Her state was truly pitiable; and the worst aspect of it was that her -grief seemed to have dried up the fountain of her tears. - -"If she would only cry!" thought Mr. Hart, as she gazed at him with -her despairing, tearless eyes. - -He was her sole comfort. She turned from all others with shuddering -aversion, and had she been able, she would have refused, and not with -gentleness, their kind offices. Truth was, she hated the place in -which her love had died, and hated the people who lived in it. It was -unreasonable in her, but it was so. - -She asked for her mother, and they were compelled to tell her the sad -truth. She grasped Mr. Hart's hand convulsively. - -"You are my only friend now," she said; "you tried to save my Philip. -You were always good to him--ah, yes! he told me all, and was never -tired of speaking of you. Do not you desert me, or I shall go mad!" - -"I will take care of you, child. I promised Philip." - -She kissed his hand with her dry lips. - -On the day of Philip's funeral, all the stores in Silver Creek closed -their doors, and the storekeepers and the diggers and their wives, to -the number or three thousand and more, followed to the grave the body -of a man whom all had loved and respected. - -In the evening, Mr. Hart sat, sad and alone, outside his tent, and for -the first time since the death of his friend, thought of himself. -Again he was a beggar, and the image of his daughter seemed to recede -in the clouds as he gazed at them mournfully, and a plaintive whisper -of Farewell seemed to come to him from over the hills. "I shall never -have the heart to commence again," he said to himself, "never, never! -My life is over; my hopes, my dreams, have come to an end." - -"What are you thinking of?" asked a kind voice. - -It was William Smith who spoke. To this man Mr. Hart told his grief. - -"Didn't I tell you to come to me if you wanted anything?" cried -William Smith in reproachful tones. "And here you are, throwing me -over, and saying you haven't a friend in the world! You want to go -home and see your little girl--well, it's natural, and I wish I could -accompany you and see my old mother. But you shall go and see her -instead, and you shall tell her that you came straight from her Billy, -and you shall paint before her old eyes a picture of the Margaret Reef -and the William Smith quartz-crushing machine, bang-banging away, -pounding out the gold for W. S. Here are ten twenty-pound notes; get -gold for them, and start for the port to-morrow. O, don't fret! I -never give away nothing for nothing. I want a picture of my old -mother's face, just as you see it, a day or two after you land in the -old country. You're a painter, and can paint it, and here's payment in -advance. There aren't many men in the world that William Smith would -trust, but you're one of them. No wonder Philip loved you. I love you! -As I hope to be saved, I love you! And--there!--I don't intend to say -another word. Good-bye, dear old fellow, and God Almighty bless you!" - -And William Smith pressed the old man in his arms, and ran down the -hill in a stumbling fashion, for he was almost blinded by his tears; -while Mr. Hart, like one in a dream, gazed after his retreating figure -until it was lost to his sight. Another besides himself watched this -man running away: - -Margaret, who had heard every word that had passed. - -"You're going home," she said, with her hand pressed to her bosom. - -"Yes, ah! yes," he replied. "I have waited too many times. Home, dear -home!" - -"And me?" she asked, in a low supplicating tone. "What is to become of -me?" - -"You, Margaret You, my dear child! You go with me, of course! What did -I promise Philip? I will be a father to you until I place you in his -father's arms. Ah, Margaret, let us kneel down and thank God for all -His goodness! for He is good, dear child, in the midst of our greatest -afflictions. Ah, that's good--that's good!" For her tears were flowing -now for the first time since Philip's death, and she lay in his arms, -sobbing. - -The next day they bade good-bye to Silver Creek; and shortly -afterwards they were on board the _Good Harvest_, and the white sails -of the ship were spread for England. - - - - -END OF THE FIRST PART. - - - - - -Part the Second. - -HOME. - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE CURTAIN FALLS FOR A BRIEF SPACE. - - - -For a brief space, let the curtain fall. - -The _Good Harvest_ made a fine passage home. It was one of those -famous clipper ships, at once the glory and the pride of commerce, -which occasionally made a run of four hundred knots in the twenty-four -hours. On those occasions after the heaving of the log, the skipper -rubs his hands joyously, and walks the deck in a state of beaming -satisfaction. Then is the time to ask a favour of him. - -For a little while after Mr. Hart stepped on board this good ship his -spirits were weighed down by melancholy. The tragic death of Philip -had affected him powerfully. During their brief acquaintance he had -grown to love the young man most deeply and sincerely, and he felt -like a father who had lost a darling son. I have already said that Mr. -Hart, although he was over sixty years of age, was a young-looking -man. He had lines and furrows in his face, but they did not bring a -careworn or despondent expression there, as is generally the case. His -gait, his voice, his manner, the brightness of his eyes, were those -which naturally belong to three decades of years instead of six. What -more pleasant sight is there in human nature than to see old age thus -borne? For the first few days, however, after the sailing of the _Good -Harvest_, Mr. Hart looked his years. - -But to stand upon the deck, holding on by spar or rope, while the -noble ship rushed bravely onwards through the grand sea, now riding on -the white crests of great water ranges, now gliding through the -wondrous valleys on the wings of the wind, was enough to make an old -man young again. It made Mr. Hart young. The salt spray and the fresh -exhilarating breezes drove youth into his pores, and his heart danced -within him as day after day passed, and he was drawn nearer and nearer -to the shores of old England. They brought back to him also his -natural hopefulness and cheerfulness of heart. The great secret of -this change for the better lay in himself. He had faith; he believed -in the goodness of God and in a hereafter. He did not love Philip less -because he grieved for him less. "I shall see Philip again," he -thought; and his heart glowed as he looked at the sea and the heavens, -and saw around him the wondrous evidences of a beneficent Creator. - -Every soul on board the _Good Harvest_--with the exception of two or -three passengers who had made their fortunes in the gold country, and -whose natures had been soured in the process--had a smile and a good -word for the cheerful and genial old man, who seemed to be always on -the look-out to do his neighbours a kindness; he was an -exemplification of Macaulay's saying, with reference to a voyage in a -passenger ship, "It is every day in the power of an amiable person to -confer little services." He was unremitting in his attention to -Margaret, whom, however, he could not win to cheerfulness. It was well -for her, during this darkened period of her life, that she had by her -side such a faithful friend as Mr. Hart; for as the constant dropping -of water makes an impression even on a stone, so the unwearied care -and constant sympathy of this good friend had a beneficial effect upon -Margaret's spirits. At present the effect was shown only in a negative -way; while Mr. Hart's efforts failed to brighten her outwardly during -the voyage, they prevented her from sinking into the depths of -despair. At first she was loth to speak of Philip, and when Mr. Hart -mentioned his name, she looked at him reproachfully; but, knowing that -it would be best for her, he wooed her gently to speak of her lost -love. These efforts were made always at seasonable times: in the -evening when all was quiet around them, and they two were sitting -alone, looking over the bulwarks at the beautiful water; when the -evening star came out; later on in the night, when the heavens were -filled with stars; when the moon rose; when the clouds were more than -usually lovely. The memory of Philip became, as it were, harmonised -with these peaceful influences, and his name, gently uttered, brought -no disquiet to her soul. She grew to associate Philip with all that -was most beautiful and peaceful in nature; and although she would -occasionally in the dead of night awake from her sleep in terror with -the sight and sound of furious flames in her mind, and with Philip's -form struggling in their midst, these disturbing fancies became less -frequent as time wore on. One night she awoke, smiling, for she had -dreamt of Philip in association with more soothing influences; she and -he had been walking together on a still night, with bright stars about -them. - -She began to be aware of the selfishness of her grief, and to reproach -herself for her ingratitude to Mr. Hart. She expressed her penitence -to him. - -"Well," he said, kindly and seriously, "that is good in one way. It -shows that you are becoming a little more cheerful." - -She shook her head. - -"I shall never again be cheerful; happiness is gone out of my life for -ever." - -"Philip does not like to hear you say so, Margaret." - -Mr. Hart purposely used the present tense. Margaret pondered over the -words. "Philip does not like!" That would imply that Philip heard her. - -"He does hear you, my dear," said Mr. Hart. "If I believed that you -would never see Philip again I should bid you despair; but you and -Philip will meet in a better world than this, and that is why I want -you to be cheerful, as he would ask you to be, if you could hear his -voice." - -In this way Mr. Hart aroused to consciousness the religious principle -within her, and it may with truth be said that, although Margaret had -lived a pure and sinless life, she had never been a better woman than -she was now, notwithstanding the deep sorrow which had fallen upon -her. - -When the _Good Harvest_ had been seventy days out, the skipper said to -Mr. Hart that he smelt England. "If all goes well," he said, "we shall -be in Victoria Dock in seven days from this." - -Mr. Hart immediately went below into his cabin. He mapped out his -programme of proceedings. His first task--one of duty--was to see -William Smith's old mother. She lived in London, and if he got ashore -before midday, he would be able to put Margaret in lodgings, and see -the old woman the same day. Then he would draw before her eyes the -sketch of the picture which William Smith had paid him to paint, of -the Margaret Reef and the William Smith quartz-crushing machine -"banging away," and he would delight the old woman's heart by telling -her of the grand doings of her son. Mr. Hart calculated that he could -accomplish this by the evening, when he would take his sketch away -with him and paint the picture from it in the course of the next three -or four weeks. His second task was one of love; he would go to see his -daughter. Curiously enough, she was in Devonshire, whither he should -have to direct his steps in Margaret's interests. Philip's father -lived in "dear old Devon," to use Philip's own words; but that and the -allusions to the Silver Flagon which had been adopted as the sign of -their hotel in Silver Creek, were the only clues which Mr. Hart -possessed towards finding old Mr. Rowe. Faint as these clues were (and -he had discovered that Margaret could not supply him with any more -definite), it was clearly his duty to do his best with them. Margaret, -of course, would accompany him to Devonshire, and become acquainted -with his daughter Lucy, whose name is now for the first time -mentioned. Seated in his cabin, Mr. Hart took out his pocket-book, and -wrote in it the order of his proceedings. This being done, he looked -over the contents of the book, and came across a blank envelope with a -bulky enclosure in it. At first he did not remember how this envelope -came into his possession, but he was only in doubt for a moment or -two. It was the packet which Philip had given into his charge on his -return from his honeymoon. Mr. Hart recalled the conversation that had -taken place between them on the occasion, and the promise Philip had -exacted from him that he would not give up the envelope until they met -in the old country. He sighed as he thought that that meeting could -never take place, and he went into the saloon where Margaret was -sitting. He asked her if Philip had spoken to her about this trust; -she answered, "No," and that she was in complete ignorance of it. - -"Now that poor Philip's wish cannot be fulfilled," said Mr. Hart, "you -had better take possession of the packet." - -He held it out to her; she refused to accept it. - -"It was given into your charge," she said, "by my poor lost darling. -Every word he spoke is sacred to me." Her tears began to flow. - -"At all events," said Mr. Hart, "we will see what is inside." - -He opened the envelope, and found that it enclosed another, well -sealed, on the cover of which was written: - - -"_The Property of Gerald, and to be opened only by him_." - - -This complicated matters. - -"Gerald," thought Mr. Hart; "my name!" and said aloud, "Do you know -who Gerald is?" - -"My poor darling," replied Margaret, "has spoken to me of a friend he -had named Gerald." - -"Then this must be he." Mr. Hart replaced the envelope in his -pocket-book. "We may have the good fortune to find him. Gerald may -have been a college friend." - -So that now there was another task, with the slightest of clues, to be -fulfilled. - -Mr. Hart had noticed, with great inward satisfaction, that during the -past two or three weeks Margaret was looking brighter; she had not, it -is true, recovered her old animation of speech and manner, but comfort -and consolation had come to her in some way. More than once she had -seemed to be on the point of confiding something to this dear friend, -who was now all in the world she had to cling to, but the words she -wished to speak would not come to her tongue. On this night, however, -as they stood upon the deck, talking of Philip, of home, of the -future, in subdued tones, Mr. Hart learned Margaret's secret. She -hoped to become a mother. - -"Heaven pray that it may be so," thought Mr. Hart; "it will be a joy -and a solace to her bruised heart." - -Another day went by, and another. The _Good Harvest_ sailed smartly on -to England's shores. The sailors sang blithely at their work; the -skipper paced the deck in a joyous frame of mind, thinking of his wife -and children at home; and almost at the very hour named by him, the -long voyage was at an end, and London smoke was curling over the -masts. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -"THE WORLD IS FULL OF SWEET AND BEAUTIFUL PLACES." - - -On a day in June, when the roses were blooming, there sauntered -through one of the sweetest of all the sweet country lanes in England -an elderly man, whose hair was white, and whose dress and bearing -denoted that he was a gentleman. The lane was a long one, with many -windings, and the few persons whom the gentleman met touched their -hats and bowed to him as they passed, with varying degrees of -deference, according to their station; he, on his part, receiving all -these greetings with uniform courtesy, and with the accustomed air of -one to whom homage of this kind was familiar. Walking toward him, at a -distance of three or four hundred yards, at the moment his figure -first appears upon the scene, was a man of about the same age, whose -inquiring looks this way and that proclaimed either that the locality -was strange to him, or that he was renewing acquaintance with it after -a lapse of years. His dress was composed of much commoner materials -than was that of the gentleman he was approaching, and there were a -careless freedom and an assertion of independence in his manner which -only those exhibit who have travelled about the world. - -In the minds of these two men, one holding a high, the other a humble, -station in life, there was no thought of each other; but the threads -of their lives, which had been so wide apart, and for so long a time -as to make it appear almost an impossibility that they should ever -again be connected, were approaching closer and closer with each -passing moment, and would soon be joined, never more to be unlinked. -They knew not of it, thought not of it; but it was most sure. What is -it that shapes our lives--chance, or a wise ordination? Say that, -invited by a faint smell of lilac or by the fluttering of a -butterfly's wings with a rare colour in them which we would behold -again, we turn aside but for one moment from our contemplated -course--can it be possible that we are such slaves of circumstance -that this simple deviation (if it may be so called) may change the -current of our lives from good to ill, from bad fortune to prosperity? -How often does a breath of air change a comedy into a tragedy! Blindly -we walk along, and presently may be struggling in the dark with grim -terrors, or may be walking among flowers, surrounded by everything -that can make life sweet. - -In a very narrow part of the country lane, where the hedgerows were -most fragrant, was a stile, upon the top bar of which the stranger -rested his foot, and turning, gazed with pleased and grateful eyes -over the fair vista of field and wood which the hedgerows shut out -from the view of those who walked on the level path. Although he was -between sixty and seventy years of age, his eyes were bright, and his -face was the face of one who was prone to look upon the best side of -things. - -"How fair and beautiful it is!" he murmured gratefully. "What is there -in the world half so sweet as these dear old English lanes and -fields?" He paused to reflect upon his question; and then, with the -whimsically-serious air of one who was accustomed to commune with -himself, exclaimed, "Nonsense, Gerald, nonsense! The world is full of -sweet and beautiful places." - -Gentle undulations of land, beautified by various colour, were before -him; shadows of light passed over the landscape like waves, and stole -from it the sadness which is ever an attribute of still life. There -were farmyards in the distance, and sheep, with bells hung to their -necks, trudging with patient gait to where the most tempting herbage -lay. The sheep were at a great distance from the stranger, and by a -curious trick of the fancy he listened to the tinkling of the bells, -although it was impossible that the sound could reach him. Other -sounds he could hear plainly: the cry of the woodpecker, and the more -melodious note of the cuckoo, beautifully clear, notwithstanding its -slightly plaintive ring. - -"And full of sweet sounds, too," mused the stranger, pursuing the -current of his thoughts; and added immediately, with the same -whimsically-serious air, and as if in comical defence of a prejudice, -"Certainly no birds sing like English birds." - -"I beg your pardon." - -The threads of their lives had met, never more to be unwoven, and the -threads of other lives were presently to be joined to theirs, for weal -or woe, as fate might determine. From this chance meeting rare -combinations were to spring. - -"I was remarking," said the stranger, turning to the gentleman who was -standing by the stile, waiting to cross, "and not with justice, that -no birds sing like English birds." The gentleman did not answer him, -and then he comprehended that the words uttered by the gentleman had -been used not in contradiction of his statement, but as a request that -he would move aside. He descended from the stile with a courteous -smile, and said, "I beg _your_ pardon, I am sure, both for blocking up -the road-way and for misunderstanding you; but I was so rapt in the -beauty of the scene and in my own thoughts, that I misinterpreted the -intention of your words. Notwithstanding which, I should like to have -your opinion as to whether I am right or not." - -The gentleman had bent his head in acknowledgment of the half apology, -and when the stranger ceased speaking, was standing on the other side -of the stile. The gentleman gazed at the stranger, and recognised at a -glance that although he was commonly dressed his manners and speech -were not those of a common person. To have proceeded on his way -without a word would have been churlish; therefore he said, in a -courteous tone: - -"Right as to the birds?" - -"Yes, as to the birds," replied the stranger, with vivacity. - -"I cannot say; I have not travelled. Some of our best woodland singers -are migratory. But I should say--although I am not in the least way an -authority--that it would be no easy matter to find more melodious -woods than our English woods." - -"That is true; then I _was_ right. Though whether I meant that English -birds were or were not better singers than birds of other countries, -it would puzzle me to say. But as to the English woods--they are the -sweetest and fairest. There again! I have lain in the Australian -woods, and my soul has been thrilled by their beauty. Yes, I was -right. The world is full of sweet and beautiful places." - -The gentleman smiled at these contradictory utterances, but the -stranger's words could not have been more at variance with one another -than were his speech and his attire. His words were scholarly, and his -clothes were patched. - -"You look and speak like an Englishman," said the gentleman. - -"I am one." - -"From your words I should judge that this part of England is strange -to you." - -"It is more than thirty years since I was last in Devonshire." - -"That is a long time--you must find it changed somewhat." - -"Somewhat." - -While these words were being exchanged, their observance of each -other, which had been slight at first, grew closer and more searching, -and into their eyes stole a pondering look so curiously alike that one -seemed to be a reflection of the other. But for the influence which -this close observance exercised upon him, the gentleman would not have -stopped to converse with an unknown man, and with one so far beneath -him, from a worldly point of view. The stranger repeated thoughtfully: - -"Yes, I find it somewhat changed." - -"It is in the nature of things," said the gentleman, "to change as we -grow older." - -"Not so. I find it changed because _I_ have changed. Old eyes and -young eyes see the same things differently. Are the clouds less bright -than they were when we were young? Are the flowers less beautiful? -When Jacob courted Laban's daughters o' nights (how they must have -laughed in their sleeves, if they wore them, at the old man's craft!) -were the nights less lovely than the nights are now?" - -The gentleman passed his hand lightly before his eyes, as if to clear -away a vapour. - -"I am corrected," he said, with the air of a man whose thoughts were -travelling one road, while his words travelled another; "we sometimes -say things without consideration." - -"Either because they sound well, or because they seem to savour of -wisdom. That comes from our vanity. When men grow as old as we are, -they often ape the philosopher. The lark changes into an owl. They try -to shape their words so that they may sound like proverbs." - -"They utter one occasionally, perhaps." - -"Perhaps," said the stranger in a tone of dubious assent; "but the -odds are heavy against it. Even if they do, what then?" - -"Proverbs are good and useful utterances," observed the gentleman, -adding, in unconscious illustration of the stranger's words, "nuts of -wisdom." - -The stranger laughed scornfully. "A proverb on proverbs! Nuts of -wisdom indeed!" - -"Are they not?" - -"No; the proverb holds a false position in language. It is used -invariably in a general sense, whereas it has only a special -application for the time being; then, having served its purpose, loses -its value, and should be laid aside until another special circumstance -calls for it." - -"It would be difficult to establish that." - -"Most easy. I will prove it in a practical way. Repeat a proverb--any -one that occurs to you; the more familiar the better--and I will mate -it with another, equally familiar, which gives it the lie." - -The gentleman might have accepted the challenge, but that a labourer, -approaching them from his side of the stile, seemed to remind him that -he was losing dignity in conversing with one who wore patched clothes, -and who was unknown to him. Bidding the stranger "Good day," and -slightly bending his head in acknowledgment of the labourer's -deferential bow, he walked slowly away. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -CUSTOS ROTULORUM. - - -As the labourer crossed the stile, the stranger accosted him. - -"Hodge!" - -"Who be Hodge?" quoth the labourer uncivilly, but disposed for -conversation and argument. "You--in a collective sense." - -"Then ye've gotten the sow by the wrong ear." - -"Supposing I have gotten a sow at all," said the stranger -complacently. "Will you present to me the right ear?" - -Not understanding the nature of the request, the man continued playing -on the same string. - -"Hodge bain't my name!" - -And grinned with the triumph of a philosopher. "What may be your name, -then, my most veracious hair-splitter?" - -"I be no splitter. Who be ye a-callin' names? As for my name, that -I'll keep to myself." Saying which, the labourer fastened a loose -button with an air of determination. - -With a chuckle, the stranger replied, "Like yourself, O tiller of the -soil!--for such you are, I opine, and, as such, the noblest work of -God--like yourself, I am but a poor player, who struts and frets his -hour upon the stage." - -"Eh! a player I was thinking ye didn't look like a worker! I know en -when I see en;" and the labourer grinned again at his own wit. - -"But 'tis not of ourselves I wish to speak," said the stranger in a -tone which he purposely made grandiloquent; "tis of another--of the -gentleman to whom you doffed your cap, and who has just left us." - -"What do you want of en!" demanded the labourer, in a sharp tone, -cocking his ears like a terrier. - -"His name." - -"Eh! More names! D'ye come down here to rob us of en? But there be no -harm a-tellin' of ye. It may be a warnin' to ye. 'A's name be Mister -Weston." - -All the stranger's light manner was gone. - -"Weston!" he cried, seizing the man's arm. - -The labourer shook himself free, and in a severe tone corrected the -stranger. - -"Mister Weston, I told ye." - -"I ask your and Mr. Weston's pardon. A well-to-do man this Mr. -Weston?" - -The labourer scanned the stranger's clothes; the mental result was not -favourable. - -"That be his business, 'a b'lieve," he said suspiciously. - -Apparently in an absent mood, the stranger drew from his pocket a -handful of articles, among which were a short pipe, a tobacco-pouch, -and some money. Somewhat ostentatiously he picked out a few silver and -copper pieces, and held them loosely in his left hand. The labourer, -who was about to slouch away, altered his mind, and lingered -patiently. - -"Good cider about here, my man?" asked the stranger. - -"That there be," replied the labourer, drawing the back of his hand -across his mouth. "The best in the county." - -"I passed an old-fashioned hostelry--more like a gentleman's house -than an hotel--about half a mile from this spot----" the stranger -paused. - -"Up along there," said the labourer, pointing with his finger. - -"Yes; in that direction." - -"With a bit o' garden round en?" volunteered the labourer. - -"Ay, with a garden round it." - -"And a swing gate before en----" - -"'Tis so. And a swing gate opening into the garden. Apple-trees before -the house----" - -"Standing back from the road the house be?" said the labourer, moving -his lips as one might do preparatory to the imbibing of a deep draught -of the best cider in the county. - -"It _is_ warmish," said the stranger, with a look of sly enjoyment. -"Yes, standing back from the road the house is." - -"That be the Silver Flagon." - -The stranger leaped off the stile with a sudden cry. - -"A day of wonders!" he exclaimed. "Providence must have led me in this -direction." A sad and tender reminiscence brought the tears to his -eyes. "The Silver Flagon! The dear, old Silver Flagon. And the -proprietor's name is Rowe, an old man and a gentleman!" - -"That 'a be--as wold a man as ye, 'a should say. A rare fine place -'tis." - -"It looks it." The stranger's eyes glittered with joy. - -"Too fine for the likes of----" ("we," he was about to say, but the -sight of the stranger's money caused a correction)--"me. 'A can get -rare fine cider in another place." - -"Doubtless." The stranger could scarcely restrain his excitement. "But -to come back to what we were speaking of just now"--(rattling the -money in his hand)--"this Mr. Weston---- By the way, though, let us -give him his full name; Mr. Richard Weston, of course." - -"Ay, that be his name." - -The labourer would have used the word "full," but that it stood in his -mind for "foolish." - -"I was asking--a well-to-do man, Mr. Weston?" - -"Well-to-do!" exclaimed the labourer, thirstily. "They say he have -no end o' money." - -"Highly respected, no doubt?" - -"That 'a be," replied the labourer, becoming very parched indeed. "If -ye'll stand atop the stile, ye'll see the chimneys of his house. 'Tis -a rare fine house." - -The stranger stood upon the top bar of the stile, and gazed in the -indicated direction. "I see them, and I make my obeisance to them." -Saying which he doffed his hat, and bowed with a curiously-fantastic -tenderness. He quite forgot the labourer, who was standing by his -side, greedily and humbly expectant, but a cough and a kick at the -stile recalled him to himself. He turned, and, with a negligent nod -and a half smile at the labourer, dropped the money carelessly into -his pocket, and proceeded to charge his pipe. - -A minute or two passed in silence; then the labourer coughed again, -and scraped his foot, and shifted his body restlessly; but the -stranger puffed at his pipe calmly, and did not appear to notice him, -although really he was enjoying the man's discomfiture. The labourer -went through a certain mental process. First, he was mystified, and -his mind was clouded; then a glimmer of light broke into the clouds, -and a dim suspicion stole upon him that he had been beaten into -civility by a trick. With a sense of helplessness, and of submission -to the superior cunning by which he had been conquered, he was about -to move away, when the passing of his tongue over his lips made him -ireful and vindicative. A thought struck him, and he proceeded to give -it expression. - -"'A say!" he cried, in his uncivillist tone. - -The stranger removed his pipe from his lips, and raised his eyes -towards the man. - -"Ah! you have an idea, evidently. Stand, then, and deliver!" - -The man started back, having some notion of the meaning of the words; -he clapped his hand on his trousers-pocket, to protect three -half-pence and--his idea. - -"Don't be alarmed," said the stranger; "nothing of that sort was in my -mind. Proceed, my friend." - -"No friend o' yours, that 'a know of," retorted the labourer. "You'd -best take care!" - -"I will endeavour to do so." - -The labourer searched his mind for a colloquial stone with which to -smite his foe. He found one. - -"Ye don't look too respectable." - -"You deserve a reward for your perspicacity," said the stranger, much -amused--and the labourer, at the unfamiliar word, started again--"if -not for your civility. You have a keener scent than our friend--I beg -your pardon once more--than Mr. Weston." - -"Well, take care, then. He be a justice." - -"A little one or a big one, my man? A frog or an ox? For there are -justices and justices." - -"A big un. Take care!" This iteration appeared to assuage his thirst. - -"Custos rotulorum, eh?" - -"'A thought you was no good--cussin' and swearin'. 'A've a good -mind----" - -"I hope so, I'm sure. May it long remain uncontaminated!" - -"'A've a good mind to go and tell en." - -"You've a good mind to go and tell him you've a good mind?" queried -the stranger, in a quiet bantering tone. - -"To tell en ye're up to no good; seeking to know all about en--whether -he be rich and where he lives. Danged if I don't b'lieve ye're one o' -them London chaps come down along here wi' designs!" - -"A peripatetic architect," said the stranger, laughing heartily. -"Thank you for the compliment, my rustic sage. I am nothing so -dignified as that, believe me. But allow me to correct you. You -yourself volunteered the information as to the whereabouts of Mr. -Weston's house; the information may be useful to me." - -"May en! Danged if I _don't_ go and tell en!" - -The stranger stood aside to allow the labourer to cross the stile. - -"Come after me if ye dare!" cried the labourer. - -"I dare do all that may become a man," replied the stranger; and also -crossing the stile, he leisurely followed the labourer, who took care -to keep at a fair distance. - -They had not to walk far. Round another bend in the lane, where it -broadened unexpectedly, and where great tufts of feather-grass were -swinging their fairy bells over a brook, they came upon Mr. Weston -resting himself. He turned towards them at their approach. The -labourer took off his cap, and pawed the ground servilely with his -left foot; and then found himself in a difficulty. He had not the wit -to lead up to the attack gently, and with the consciousness upon him -of the stranger's superior flow of speech, he felt himself at a -disadvantage. If the stranger would speak first, he could take up his -words; but the stranger stood provokingly calm and silent. - -"Well," said Mr. Weston. - -The sense of injury under which the man laboured gave him courage. - -"This chap here," he blurted out, with a back scrape of his right -foot, "be up to no good, your honour." - -Mr. Weston looked at the stranger, and waited for farther explanation. - -"'A be a London chap come down along here wi' designs. 'A don't deny -en. 'A be cravin' all sorts of questions about your honour. 'A wanted -to know whether your honour was rich, where your honour's house be, -and how much money your honour keeps in it. I conceived it my duty to -come along and tell your honour." - -"O most mendacious Hodge!" exclaimed the stranger, shaking his head in -sad and smiling reproof. - -"That be the way 'a's been talkin' all the time; and swearin' and -cussin' as well, and callin' your honour a frog. When 'a'd drawed out -o' me that your honour was a justice, 'a cussed and rotted your -honour." - -"Custos rotulorum," said the stranger. - -"They be the words--cussin' and rottin', your honour!" - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -IT WAS JUST SUCH A DAY AS THIS; AND THE AIR -WAS SWEET, AND LIFE WAS SWEET. - - -Mr. Weston smiled, and the stranger smiled also. These smiles were -like question and answer, and appeared to be given and accepted as a -satisfactory defence to the labourer's accusations. At the same time -there stole into Mr. Weston's eyes the same curiously pondering look -which had dwelt in them when he and the stranger were first -conversing. - -"It cannot be," he answered. - -"Why not?" asked the stranger. "More wonderful things have happened." - -Suddenly he cast aside his nonchalant air, and said earnestly: - -"Look into the brook." - -As though compelled by an influence he had no power to withstand, Mr. -Weston gazed into the brook, and saw reflected there his own face and -the face of the stranger who was bending over the water by his side. -Their backs were turned towards the labourer, who, not doubting the -stranger's sinister designs, prepared himself for any emergency by -spitting on his hands and smoothing his side-locks. He was aware of -the responsible position he occupied, and he settled with himself that -in the event of the stranger pushing Mr. Weston into the water, the -first thing for him to do would be to run away and cry, "Fire!" - -"Take my hand," the stranger said, in a sad sweet tone. They joined -hands, and the hand-clasp was reflected in the brook. "Why cannot it -be? It is not always that the words which make a friendship are as -intangible as the shadowy semblance of it which we see before us. -Words are not all air--spoken, forgotten, lost for ever. Why cannot it -be? Here we two old men stand, looking into the past; it might really -be so. How many years ago was it--forty?--that two young men stood -beside a brook as we stand now, looking into the future?" Mr. Weston's -hand tightened upon that of his companion. "They loved each other -then--do they love each other now! I can answer for one. They were -friends in the best meaning of the word--are they friends now? Thirty -odd years have past. It was just such a day as this; and the air was -sweet and life was sweet. Do you remember?" - -They raised their faces to each other; their lips quivered; their eyes -were suffused with tears. - -"Gerald!" - -"Richard!" - -"It is like a dream," said Mr. Weston, with his hand to his eyes. - -In the meanwhile the labourer stood dumbfoundered at the strange turn -the scene had taken; the word "Fire" hung upon his tongue, and he -swallowed it disgustedly. He had wit enough to perceive that he had -made a deplorable mistake, and he was about to slink away, hoping not -to be noticed, when the stranger's voice arrested his steps. - -"Well, my friend!" he said, with sly twinkles. - -The labourer scratched his head penitentially; the expression in his -face conveyed an unmistakable appeal to the stranger not to hit a man -when he was down. - -"Dense is no word to express the condition of the rustic mind," said -the stranger, with a full enjoyment of his victory. "There is but one -way of imparting intelligence to it." He took a small piece of silver -from his pocket, and the labourer's eyes followed the motion of his -hand, and the labourer's lips grew parched again. "There, my friend; -drink Mr. Weston's health in the best cider in the county." - -The labourer took to his heels, and slouched off, rarely mystified. - -"Custos rotulorum!" cried the stranger after him; and at those dread -words the labourer took to his heels, and was soon out of sight. - -Left to themselves, the two old men, who had been friends when they -were young, gazed at each other in silent wonder at this strange and -unexpected reunion. They said but little at first; words were slow -a-coming. - -"Did you know I was here?" asked Mr. Weston. - -"I had no suspicion of it." - -"It will be a long time before I get over the surprise of this -meeting, Gerald," said Mr. Weston; "I scarcely thought we should ever -meet again in this world." - -"We speculated on the after-life when we were boys," answered Gerald; -"but whenever I thought of you, you were not dead to me. I believed, -as I hoped, that you lived and were prosperous." - -"You thought of me, then? I am glad to know that. Gerald, I am truly -pleased to see you." - -"Not more than I am to see you." - -"And you have really thought of me often; but you were always -faithful." - -"You have obtruded yourself upon me in the midst of the strangest -scenes. There have been times, of course, when the affairs of life -were most pressing, that you have not been present to my mind; but you -have come back to me invariably, and sometimes in strangely-familiar -connection with circumstances of which you could not possibly have had -any knowledge, not knowing where I was, or what path of life I was -pursuing." - -"The same old Gerald," said Mr. Weston, pressing his friend's hand -with affection; "and the same old way of talking." - -"Not quite clear, eh? You used to say, 'Say that again, Gerald;' but -you understand me now?" - -"Perfectly." - -Gerald laughed, and Mr. Weston laughed with him, without apparent -cause, as he had often done in the time gone by. But there was -something contagious in Gerald's laugh, and, indeed, in his whole -manner; especially when he was serious, as he was now, he seemed to -possess the power of compelling his friend to be of his humour. - -"Perfectly, you say! Well, but I scarcely understand myself. That is -so always with me when I generalise." - -"It used to be so with you in the old days--or you used to say it -was." - -"When I specialise, I can make the thing clearer, so I will specialise -now. Once being in Australia----" - -"Ah, you have much to tell me!" - -"I am working with two mates on the goldfields--working from sunrise -to sunset, in the hope of catching a golden reef, following a -will-o'-the-wisp deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth, and -never catching it, mind you. Being down a hundred and forty feet, -we--my mates and I--are misled by a thin vein of quartz that takes a -horizontal direction, and we resolve to drive a tunnel in its -direction. There is a theory among the miners that these thin veins -must lead to the reef itself, bearing the same relation to the prize -they work for as the veins in the human body bear to the heart. One -day I am alone in this tunnel, where no glimpse of daylight can be -seen. Two candles throw a dim light around. I am a hundred and forty -feet below the surface of the earth, and but for the human aid at the -top of the claim, I am completely cut off from the world, for we are -the only workers on this hill. In my eager hunt after gold I have not -thought of you for many months. Suddenly, as I am working with my -short pick, sitting on the floor of the tunnel--for there is not room -to stand upright--a stone drops from above into a little pool of water -which has gathered at the bottom of the shaft, and as the sound of the -plash falls upon my ear, your image comes to my mind in connection -with a time when we stood side by side dropping stones into a stream. -Now I have made my meaning clear to myself." - -"You have made it very clear to me." - -"Tell me: when I have been in your mind, in what way have I presented -myself? As I was?" - -"Always as you were, Gerald--with your bright eyes and brown curly -hair----" - -"That is it. Not with white hair, as ours is now. I have thought of -you in the same way. Memory does not reason. So that it really is -something of a shock to come upon each other after so long an -interval, and after so great a change." - -They fell into silence. Tender memories were stirred to life, and -visions of scenes in which they had played prominent parts rose before -them. Old as they were, romance was not dead in their hearts. But -suddenly, as they traced the current of their early lives, they gazed -at each other with sad meaning. Each knew instinctively that the -thoughts of the other had halted at a certain momentous epoch in their -careers. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -A STRANGE STORY. - - -"Gerald," said Mr. Weston, "you went away very suddenly and strangely; -I often wondered as to the cause." - -"And never suspected?" - -"I think not the right cause. I imagined a hundred things in my -endeavours to fathom the mystery, but without success. It is a mystery -still to me." - -"You imagine such things as----" He paused for Mr. Weston to take up -his words. - -"As whether you were in any money difficulties, for one." - -Mr. Hart shook his head. If my readers have failed to guess that the -stranger and he are one and the same person, I have been unskilful in -my narration. - -"No," he said, "when I left I owed no man a shilling, and I had money -in my purse." - -"I cannot recall now the various constructions I put upon your -disappearance. It must have been a powerful reason that caused you to -desert your friend without a word of explanation." - -"It was a powerful reason. Would you like to hear it, Richard?" - -"Yes, indeed." - -"We are old men now," said Mr. Hart, in a musing tone, in which there -was a touch of solemnity, "and I can speak of it, and you can hear it, -without pain. But tell me first about Clara." - -His voice faltered as he uttered the name. - -"She is dead," murmured Mr. Weston softly, "many, many years ago." - -A cuckoo flew past them, singing as it flew, and seemed to echo -plaintively, "Years ago!" - -"You loved her, Richard?" - -"With my whole soul, Gerald." - -"I knew it, and I read, the announcement of your marriage in the -papers. You were happy in your marriage?" - -"Very, very happy. Our only grief during the first two years was that -we had no children. But that blessing, which brought with it also the -keenest sorrow of my life, was bestowed upon us after seven years. -Clara placed a child in my arms, and died a few hours afterwards." - -"It must have been a bitter blow, dear friend." - -"I had a consolation, Gerald. Her last words to me, as she placed her -arms about my neck, were that she had lived with me in perfect -happiness, and that we should meet each other again." - -"Her child lives?" - -"You shall see him, Gerald. I named him after you; it was Clara's wish -before our child was born, that if we were blessed with a boy he -should be called Gerald. He is a handsome young fellow--a man -now--good, noble, and high-minded." He spoke with the pride of a fond -father. - -"I am sure he would be." - -"My most earnest hope with regard to him is that he may make a good -alliance. He may look high, for he will be rich. But to your -confession, Gerald; we have wandered away from it." - -"You will not say so when you have heard it." Mr. Hart placed his hand -upon the hand of his friend. "Have you still no suspicion of it?" - -"No, Gerald, I hold no clue." - -"I kept my secret well, then. Dear friend, I loved Clara." - -Mr. Weston turned to Mr. Hart, with a startled look. - -"And I knew," continued Mr. Hart, "that you loved her, and that she -looked upon me only as a friend of the man to whom she had given her -heart. Fearful lest my secret should, in an unguarded moment, become -known to you and her, and knowing that the disclosure would bring an -unnecessary grief into your lives, I adopted the only safe course -which was open to me. I did not envy you your happiness, Richard, -but I felt that I could bear my sorrow more bravely away from -you--therefore I deserted you." - -"Dear Gerald," said Mr. Weston tenderly, "it was like you. How blind I -must have been! but I can see it now. Noble heart! Dear noble friend! -I think I never fully valued you till now." - -"You would have done the same by me, Richard," said Mr. Hart. - -"I do not know--I do not know; I doubt if I should have had the -courage to fly. If I had been in your place--you with your higher -gifts were the first in everything, Gerald; I was content always to -walk behind you--I am afraid that I should have stopped and tried my -fortune." - -"No, no," said Mr. Hart, in gentle remonstrance; "I know you better -than you know yourself. You would have acted as I did. Your friendship -was as honest as mine. There could be no rivalry in love between us." - -"I honour you more than ever, Gerald." - -"It was a sacrifice, Richard, you can understand that; but I said to -myself, this sunny spot in life which I laid out for myself, and in -which I hoped to bask and lie in happiness--I had that hope, Richard, -before I discovered that Clara loved you--is not to be mine; it is my -friend's; but I will be revenged upon him; and who knows, dear friend, -but that I may yet be!" - -His tone was very sweet as he uttered these words, the deep -significance of which was not comprehended by either of them. The time -was soon to come when they bore strange fruit. - -"I bless her memory," Mr. Hart continued. "Her goodness and purity -made many things sweet to me. That I loved her and left her--conscious -that it was imperative upon me to do so for the sake both of love and -friendship--did not make me a despairing man. In course of time my -grief was softened; I formed other ties, one of which remains to me -now, thank God; and through all my wanderings I never lost faith in -woman or woman's purity. If, in a cynical mood, it ever came upon me -to doubt, I thought of her, and the doubt was dissolved. It may be, -Richard, that in the wise ordination of things, her spirit can see us -now!" - -In the silence that followed, the thoughts of both these men dwelt in -tenderness on the memory of the gentle girl who had parted them. Mr. -Hart was the first to break the silence. - -"Where is she buried, Richard?" - -"I will take you to her grave." - -They walked hand-in-hand, as boys might have done, beguiling the way -with conversation. - -"Clara and I often spoke of you," said Mr. Weston, "and always with -affection you may be sure. And not long after you disappeared, a -singular thing happened. Clara received notice from a lawyer that a -legacy had been left to her--it was not a very large one, some -fourteen hundred pounds." - -"There is nothing singular in that," said Mr. Hart, calmly. - -"No, but in the manner of it. We never knew the name of the person who -left the money. It was expressly stipulated that the name of the -legator should not be revealed. I went to the lawyer on Clara's -behalf, being curious to ascertain the name of her generous -friend--and mine, I may say--but the lawyer was steadfast. His -instructions were definite, he said, and he could not go beyond them. -The only information he was empowered to make--if any inquiry was -made--was that the legacy was a legacy of love. It puzzled us a great -deal." - -A peculiar smile passed over the face of Mr. Hart, which his friend -did not perceive. - -"You must have been fortunate in other ways, Richard, to have -prospered as you have prospered: For you are a prosperous man." - -"Thank God, yes. I am a rich man, Gerald." - -"Rich! Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Hart, wistfully and almost hungrily. - -"I owe much of my good fortune to luck, and not to my deservings. A -legacy was also left to me, in a very wonderful way; but in this case -I knew the name of the person, who died in a foreign country, and who -made me his executor. It is a strange story." - -He looked over his shoulder with an air of fear. Mr. Hart noticed the -motion with surprise. - -"You used not to be nervous," observed Mr. Hart. "Why do you say -that?" asked Mr. Weston. - -"You looked over your shoulder just now so strangely and nervously. -Almost as though you expected to see a ghost." - -Mr. Weston shuddered. "I can tell you the story as we walk on. It will -take but a short time, although it commences more than twenty years -ago. A relative whom I had seen but once in my childhood died in a -distant land, and made me his executor. He was a very wealthy man, and -his will was a singular one. I was the only relative to whom he left a -legacy, and indeed I believe the only relative who was living. He -divided his money between me and twelve other persons. All these -others were strangers to him, and he became acquainted with their -names in the following manner. It seems that he loved his mother with -a very deep affection; when she died, he discovered that she had left -a diary, and in its pages he learnt that she had suffered much in her -early days, before her son was born. She had led a wandering life in -her youth, every particular of which was set down in her diary, and in -it she mentioned the names of persons who had been kind to her in her -wanderings; in one page of her diary occurred the words: 'It would -render me very happy to be able to repay them for their great goodness -to me. What did the son do when he grew rich but place himself in -communication with a London lawyer, who was instructed to trace all -these persons, and to ascertain the fullest particulars of themselves -and their circumstances? Some had died and left no issue; some had -died and left children; he kept himself acquainted with all their -careers, and shortly before his death he made a will, devising the -whole of his wealth to these persons, and naming me as his executor. -You must remember, Gerald, that he had never seen one of these -persons, and that he was totally unacquainted with their characters; -when, by-and-by, you hear the full particulars, you will know why I -mention this; I will only say here that two young persons, a young -lady and a young gentleman, were left in the guardianship of a man -whom I cannot think of without a shudder. They fell in love with each -other; but their guardian, to whom their share of the money left would -revert in case of their death, set himself resolutely against their -union; he held absolute control over them, and the result of his -conduct was that they met with a tragic end; they drowned themselves, -and were found dead, clasped in each other's arms. But I am wandering -from the thread of the story. This will came home to me, and all the -persons interested in it were summoned together. The place of meeting -was a principal room in the Silver Flagon; and at the appointed time -we met. It was a strange gathering; we were all strangers to one -another; yet you can understand that the circumstance of our being -brought together made us friends at once. When the will was read every -person present found that he had become rich, in a strange and -wonderful manner. There were in all thirteen of us. Exhilarated by the -pleasantness of the occasion, and excited by its novelty, we ordered -dinner at the Silver Flagon, and sat down to dinner--thirteen in -number. Upon this number being ascertained, the usual theme was -started: one of the thirteen was sure to die before twelve months had -passed. Said one, a Merry fellow, Reuben Thorne by name, 'Let us prove -the falseness of this old-time absurdity. Here we are made rich and -comfortable for all our lives; here we are brought together by an -extraordinary circumstance, and forced into friendship by the -gratitude of a man whose money we are going to spend in the enjoyment -of the good things of this life. One of the best things in life is a -good dinner; another of the best things in life is good companionship. -Let us enter into a compact to dine here all together in this very -room in the jolly Silver Flagon, every year, on the anniversary of -this happy day.' Now, in the will there was a sentence to the effect -that the legator would be glad if those to whom he bequeathed his -money would become friends; and this proposal of Reuben Thorne's -seemed to open a way to this consummation. Elated and excited, we -there and then entered into a solemn compact, drawn up and signed by -every one of us, to meet regularly every year, and dine together as we -were doing on that day. And furthermore we solemnly pledged ourselves -to have no more than thirteen at the table, and that, as one and -another died, his chair and place at the table should be kept for him, -and that the vacant chair should receive all the attention which would -be given to it if a living person occupied the seat. This compact, -solemnly made, was solemnly kept. Year after year we met; one died, -another died; the young lovers I have mentioned were found dead in the -river; chair after chair became vacant; and still every year the -dinner for thirteen was served in the old room in the Silver Flagon. -Gerald, I have outlived them all; for two years I have dined alone. Of -all those thirteen I am the only one left." - -"A strange story indeed," remarked Mr. Hart; and respecting his -companion's evident desire not to speak further on the subject, he -preserved silence--a silence broken presently by Mr. Weston saying: - -"A little while ago, Gerald, you made a remark which surprised me. You -spoke of your eager hunt after gold. If I have grown somewhat nervous, -you also are changed in this respect, supposing you meant what you -said." - -"I did mean it. All my body and soul, all my pulses were wrapt up in -the hunt. Ah! you little know what the gold fever is." - -"But that _you_ should have it, Gerald! You of all men in the -world--you who once despised money, and set it at naught!" - -"As I despise it and set it at naught now, in comparison with other -and better things. Truly, I believe that there was a fair excuse for -my giving way to the fever. I wanted money, Richard--not for myself, -for another. Yes, no purely selfish motive influenced me. But you -shall hear all by-and-by--that is, if----" - -"Speak, Gerald." - -"If you are not changed--if you are the same Weston as of old. If you -are changed, but nod your head at me, and I will shake you by the hand -once more, and go my way." - -"Gerald! Gerald!" expostulated Mr. Weston. - -"Nay, I mean what I say. It would be human nature. I should be sorry -that I had met you again, but I should fling the memory of this -meeting from me with all the force of my will, and would strive my -hardest to reinstate you, unsullied, in my heart." - -He spoke with earnest vehemence, and if an uneasy impression was in -Mr. Weston's mind as to the manifest difference in their stations in -life--judging from outward appearances--it vanished for the time at -Mr. Hart's words. - -"Recall for me," he said, "some words I spoke to you once when we were -opening our hearts to one another." - -"Special words?" - -"Special words, with reference to our friendship," replied Mr. Weston, -in a tone of anxiety lest his friend should fail to remember them. - -"So many," pondered Mr. Hart; "but I can speak the words that are in -your mind, I think. 'Once my friend, always my friend; remember that, -Gerald.'" - -"Those are the words, and I say to you now, 'Once my friend, always my -friend; remember that, Gerald.'" - -They clasped hands again. - -"Well said, and well remembered. Yet you are a magistrate, custos -rotulorum"--Mr. Hart laughed at the remembrance of the -labourer--"and I--well, I am something very like a vagabond. Look at -my patched clothes--see my wealth." He pulled out of his pocket all -the money he had in the world, amounting to less than twenty pounds, -and counted it over half merrily and half wistfully. "If you knew how -precious these bits of gold are to me, Richard, you would wonder." - -"I wonder as it is, Gerald." - -"Well you may. Do you think I care for this dross for my own sake? -Thank God, no! But lately--only within these last few weeks--I have -grown to know the pitiless power of money, and to thirst for it!" - -"I will help you, Gerald," said Mr. Weston, strongly moved by his -friend's passion; "I will help you." - -"It is for my daughter," murmured Mr. Hart, "not for myself; for my -daughter, dearer to me than my blood, than my life! Let me but see her -happy, and and sheltered from storms, and I can say good-bye to the -world with a smile on my lips." - -They were standing now by the side of the grave with fresh flowers -about it. A plain tombstone was raised above it, with the simple -inscription: - - - To the Memory of - - CLARA. - - Love sweetens all, - Love levels all. - - -"A good creed," said Mr. Hart, gazing with moistened eyes upon the -inscription; "truly, love sweetens life, and love, like death, makes -all men equal." - -And over the grave of the woman whom they both had loved the friends -again joined hands. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -MR. LEWIS NATHAN INTRODUCES HIMSELF. - - -A few words are necessary to fill up the gap in our story. Directly -Mr. Hart arrived home, he sought out William Smith's mother, and -executed his friend's commission. This done, to the extravagant -delight of the old woman (you may be sure that Mr. Hart was not -sparing in his praises of William Smith), Mr. Hart and Margaret set -off for Devonshire. Years ago, when his darling Lucy was a little -child, he had confided her to the care of friends, so called, who had -promised to look after her as a daughter. How they had fulfilled their -trust may be judged by the circumstance that when, after his long -absence, her father was announced, the gentle girl ran into his arms, -sobbing, and begged him never again to leave her. He then discovered -that she had for the last two years led an unhappy life in the house, -and that she was nothing less than a dependent there. He chid her -gently for allowing him to remain in ignorance of the true state of -affairs, and he released her at once from her bondage. - -"We will never be parted again, my darling," he said, with fond -caresses; "your father will protect you now." - -She clung to him affectionately. The old man was proud of his -daughter, and already she was proud of him. - -"I will make you happy, child," he said. - -"Will you, papa?" she asked, with a little sob; but seeing that this -made him look sorrowful, she dried her tears, and gazed into his face -with a smile on her lips. - -"That's right, my darling," he said; "be brave, be brave." - -She shook her head seriously. - -"Ah! but I am not brave," she replied; "not a bit--not a little tiny -bit! That is why I am so glad you have come home to take care of me." - -He took her at once to Margaret, and told her that Lucy was his pride, -his heart, the flower of his life. Before they were in each other's -company an hour, these two girls--for Margaret, although a woman in -sorrow, was but a girl in years--were like sisters. Mr. Hart's face -was radiant as he saw them sitting together, and observed their -affectionate demeanour. Their natures, however, were different. -Margaret, as you have seen in her happier days, was sparkling, -vivacious, restless; Lucy was timid, yielding, more passive. The -passions that agitated Margaret's breast were at once seen on the -surface, in all their strength; those by which Lucy was moved were -unrevealed except to the eyes of love in their quieter aspect, whether -of joy or sorrow. These two girls fell immediately into their natural -positions. Margaret assumed the office of protector, and Lucy, to whom -dependence was a pleasure, accepted with gratefulness the shield which -her new friend threw before her. Each, in her way, thanked Mr. Hart -for giving her such a friend. - -They had lodgings in the heart of Plymouth. Margaret and Mr. Hart, -setting out in quest of them, saw in a shop-window the announcement -that rooms were to be let in that house. The shop was a clothes-shop -of not the best kind, and at the door stood a man of Jewish aspect, -who was evidently attracted by Margaret's face. - -"Did you notice how that man stared at you, Margaret?" asked Mr. Hart. - -"No," was the reply, in an indifferent tone. - -She turned, and saw the man still staring at her. He was loosely and -somewhat slovenly dressed, but his eyes were so wonderfully sparkling, -and his handsome face (although he was at least fifty years of age) -wore such a cheerful and almost philanthropic expression, that the -chances were if your eyes rested once upon him you would turn again to -look. - -The man came forward. - -"I beg your pardon," he said, in a slightly guttural tone, "but you -are strangers in Plymouth?" - -He did not look at Mr. Hart. - -"We are strangers," replied Mr. Hart. - -"I thought so--I thought so. Can I do anything for you? - -"No, thank you," said Mr. Hart, "we don't want any clothes." - -"That's a pity; I could have served you cheap. But I didn't mean in -that way, though I'm always ready for business--always ready. I know a -customer when I see one. I'm an old resident here, and there is -something you might want to know." - -"We are looking for lodgings." - -The shopkeeper replied eagerly, "I have the very thing you want, the -very thing. Two rooms or four--made for you, made for you." - -"You sell all your things ready-made," observed Mr. Hart, with a -humorous look. - -"Yes, yes," said the shopkeeper, with a good-humoured smile, rubbing -his hands slowly over one another, as though he were washing them with -invisible soap; "all ready-made, all ready-made." - -What most attracted you towards this man were his eyes. They fairly -sparkled with humour. But for their remarkable brightness Mr. Hart -would have passed on, had he been allowed to do so; for the matter of -that, however, the shopkeeper might have barred his way, being, as are -all of his race, singularly tenacious in the negotiation of a bargain. -And here there was a bargain in question; the strangers wanted -lodgings; he had lodgings to let. To hesitate with such a man is to be -lost. Mr. Hart hesitated. - -"Come and see them," said the shopkeeper, and did not wait for -acquiescence in words, but led the way. - -They followed him, like sheep. There was magnetism in the man. He -would make you buy a thing if you did not want it. That you did not -want it did not matter to him; he had it to sell. To sell it was his -business; and in his business he, as a representative man, beat the -world. - -Mr. Hart and Margaret walked through the shop, the shelves of which -bent beneath the weight of ready-made clothes, up a flight of stairs -to the first floor. There were four rooms on the floor comfortably -furnished. - -The shopkeeper revelled in his description of the rooms; to have heard -him you would have believed the house was a palace. "Look at the -view," said he, pointing to the dingy other side of the way, and -making it bright by a magic wave of his hands; "look at the furniture; -look at the couch--sit on it, it won't hurt you; real horsehair. Now -just oblige me, and sit in this arm-chair--just to oblige me! What do -you think of it? Is it easy, is it comfortable? Look at the pictures; -look at the piano--run your fingers over it; look at the carpet. Here! -sound the walls" (as though there was music in them); "look at the -loftiness" (as though there was magic in the ceiling); "look at the -ornaments; look at the fireplace." - -And all the while he dilated upon the excellences of the apartments he -washed his hands with invisible soap, and his face beamed with -geniality. Such capital fellows at a bargain as he never betray -anxiety. - -"They are really very comfortable," said Mr. Hart, apart, to Margaret; -"what do you say to them?" - -"If you are satisfied, I am," she replied listlessly. - -She could not be roused to take interest in anything. - -"I am afraid he is a Jew," said Mr. Hart in a confidential whisper. - -The shopkeeper heard the remark, and he smiled--a superior smile. - -"Don't be afraid," he said good-humouredly, showing a fine set of -white teeth. "I _am_ a Jew, but I shan't bite you." - -Mr. Hart was remorseful; he had no wish to hurt the man's feelings. - -"I beg your pardon," he said, flushing up. - -"For what?" asked the shopkeeper. "For saying you were afraid I was a -Jew? My dear sir, I'm proud of it, proud of it." And then he made this -singular statement: "If I hadn't been a Jew, I shouldn't have spoken -to this young lady." - -"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Hart, in a tone which invited an explanation. - -"You wouldn't take me for a Jew from my appearance," continued the -shopkeeper, thus giving utterance to a strange hallucination indulged -in by many of the race, for the speaker's Jewish cast of features was -unmistakable; "but perhaps my name over the shop-door was enough for -you?" - -"No," said Mr. Hart; "I did not observe your name." - -"The letters are big enough any way; every man and woman in Plymouth -knows Lewis Nathan." - -Margaret looked up with a sudden exclamation of surprise, and advanced -a step towards Mr. Nathan. - -"What name did you say?" she asked, with a strange fluttering at her -breast. - -"Lewis Nathan, my dear," he replied, in an earnest fatherly tone; and -then, more earnestly still, "Have you heard it before, my dear?" - -She did not reply to him, but drew Mr. Hart aside, and whispered a few -words to him in an agitated manner. His countenance expressed -surprise. - -"We will take the rooms," he said to Mr. Nathan, "if the terms are -suitable; we are bound to consider our circumstances, for we are not -rich. We have only been in England a few days, and we don't know how -long we may stop; so we cannot take them for any definite time." - -"The terms will suit you; I'll make them suit you," said Mr. Nathan, -with a strange obliviousness of self-interest. "You can take -possession at once--you and your daughter." - -"This lady is not my daughter. I have a daughter who will live with -us; I will bring her here to-day." - -"And is that all--only three?" - -"Only three of us. You seem disappointed that there are no more." - -"I thought--I thought," said Mr. Nathan, hesitating, "that this young -lady had a mother." - -"She he is dead, poor soul!" murmured Margaret, with tears. - -Mr. Nathan turned aside, trembling somewhat, and when he addressed -them again, his voice was softer and his eyes were dim. - -"Don't think me impertinent, my dear," he said drawing closer to -Margaret, "but was your mother--God rest her soul!--ever in Plymouth?" - -"She lived here for a long time." - -"I have lived here all my life; I thought I recognised your face, -though you are taller, but not prettier. No, my dear, not prettier. -Did she--forgive me if I am wrong--did she have anything to do with -the stage?" - -"She was an actress, sir, and I have often heard her mention your -name." - -"Kindly, my dear?" - -"Always kindly, always." - -Mr. Nathan sat down, and hid his face. Margaret approached him, and -placed her hand on his shoulder; he looked up with tears in his eyes. - -"And you're her daughter," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. -"She was a good creature, rest her soul! What is your name?" - -"You must call me Margaret." - -"So I will, my dear, so I will. Why, it's like old times come again -What a piece of luck it is that you passed my shop! I'm as pleased as -if I'd done a fine day's business." - - -* * * * * * - - -It was in this way that Margaret came to the house of her mother's -Jewish lover; and there they lived together, she and Lucy and Lucy's -father, for many weeks before the day on which Mr. Hart discovered -where the sign of the Silver Flagon was hung, and on which he met with -the old friend of his youth. Those few weeks were full of anxieties. -Margaret was still very despondent; his daughter Lucy was growing thin -and pale, and his own funds were running short. The prospect was not a -cheerful one, and he scarcely knew which way to turn. Fortunately for -all of them, at this juncture an unexpected friend presented himself -in the person of Mr. Lewis Nathan. When he had possessed himself of -the true state of affairs, he offered to lend Mr. Hart money to go on -with, and offered it without interest, be it stated. - -"Suppose I am not able to pay you?" asked the old man. - -"It wouldn't break my heart," was the reply. - -"No," said Mr. Hart, without any expression of surprise at the offer, -for he had already learned to estimate Mr. Nathan at his proper worth, -"I'll not borrow money from you yet awhile. I am able to earn it--or -should be." - -"In what way?" - -"I am an actor," replied Mr. Hart; and thereupon, to Mr. Nathan's -great delight, related to him the history of Hart's Star Dramatic -Company. - -"I know the proprietor of the theatre here," then said Mr. Nathan; "I -often lend him costumes. Margaret's mother played on his stage. I'll -get an engagement for you." - -He was as good as his word, and once more Mr. Hart was on the boards, -playing old men this time; while Mr. Nathan sat in front and led the -applause. He played under the assumed name of Hunter, and kept it as -long as he could from Lucy and Margaret. One night he found them both -waiting outside the theatre. Mr. Nathan was with him. - -"I've a good mind never to forgive you," said Margaret to Mr. Nathan. - -Mr. Nathan would have meekly borne the blame, but that Mr. Hart told -Margaret the real state of affairs. "My purse was almost empty, -Margaret, and Mr. Nathan wanted to fill it. But I couldn't accept his -money while I was able to work. And really the engagement is not a bad -one, and I am already a great favourite with the audience and the -company." - -"I should think you were," she cried; "who could help loving you?" - -"Nay, nay, my dear child----" - -She interrupted him impetuously. "I mean it! I mean it! You are always -doing noble things--always! Do you think I shall ever forget how you -risked your own life to save that of my darling Philip? In vain, alas! -in vain. And before that too! Did you not save him from being stung to -death? But if you are strong enough to work, how much stronger am I? I -will go on the stage again, and earn money for us. I will! I will!" - -He would scarcely listen to the proposition; but she was so determined -that he could only pacify her by promising her that if they could not -find Philip's father before the end of three months, she should be -allowed to have her own way. When the contest was over, she went to -Mr. Nathan, and took his face between her pretty hands and kissed him. - -"I don't wonder my poor dear mother was fond of you," she said. "And -now tell me why you have never married." - -"I never saw any one but your mother that I cared for, my dear," -replied Mr. Nathan; "she would have married me if I had turned -Christian." - -"And you would have married her if she had turned Jewess?" - -"Yes, it is so." - -"You are as good a man as any Christian," cried Margaret. - -"I hope so, my dear," said Lewis Nathan, with outward meekness; -believing in his heart, I have no doubt, that he was much better. But -that's none of our business. - -And here I must say some special words. Very few, if any one, of my -readers would have supposed that Mr. Nathan was a Jew, if the fact had -not been disclosed to them in the preceding lines. They would not have -supposed so, simply because he speaks in fairly good English, and -because it has hitherto been the invariable rule in English fiction to -represent a Jew as speaking a kind of jargon, which has its source -only in the imagination of the writers, who are either prejudiced or -not well informed upon the matter. It is time the fallacy was -exploded. The "S'help me's!" the "Ma tear's!" and the "Vell! vell! -vell's!" which in English fiction and on the English stage are set -down as indispensable in the portrayal of an English Jew are -ridiculous perversions of fact. They do not belong even to the lowest -class of English Jews, who, as a rule, speak their language pretty -correctly. The English complain, with justice, that they are never -properly represented upon the French stage; the English Jews may, with -equal justice, and equal truth, assert that their position in English -fiction is as much a caricature as is the representation of the -typical Englishman in a French theatre. - -Now, our Mr. Lewis Nathan spoke exceedingly good English, and small as -is the part he plays in this fiction, it is quite worth while that he -should be faithfully represented. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -MARGARET TAKES THE HELM. - - -We now come to the day when Mr. Hart discovered the Silver Flagon, and -met once more his old friend, Mr. Weston. - -Mr. Hart rushed into the room where Lucy and Margaret were sitting, -and blurted out the news most interesting to Margaret. He had found -the Silver Flagon; he had been to the house, and had seen Philip's -father, without, however, saying a word of Philip or Margaret. - -"That can be done to-morrow or the next day," he said; "it is a matter -that requires delicate handling." - -"I think," said Margaret slowly, "that we will wait a little while -before we go to him." - -"No, no," exclaimed Mr. Hart, "we will go to-morrow. My child, it is -for your good. Delays are dangerous. Ah, I know well how dangerous -they are!" - -This with a tender look at his daughter. - -"We don't know how he will receive us," persisted Margaret. - -"In what other way can he receive you, my dear child, than with open -arms?" - -"Still," said 'Margaret firmly, "I think we will wait for a little -while. You will not turn me away, will you?" - -"Child! child! I love you. Have I not two daughters?" - -"And I love you," she said softly, "and I cannot bear the idea of -separation." - -She opened her arms to Lucy, who threw hers around her friend's neck, -and rested her head on Margaret's shoulder. - -"I'll not allow it! I'll not allow it!" cried Mr. Hart, pacing the -room with agitated steps. "Duty--duty, before all!" - -"No," responded Margaret; "love--love, before all! Lucy, go away; I -must speak to this obstinate hard-hearted father alone." - -"Ah! no," murmured Lucy, taking shelter now in her father's arms, who -folded her to his heart, and held her there, and kissed her sad face -many times "I have no hard-hearted father." - -"Go out--go out!" exclaimed Margaret impetuously. "I'll not have two -to one against me." - -She pushed Lucy out of the room with affectionate force, kissing her -first very, very tenderly. Then she began to cry, not quietly, but -stormily; Mr. Hart was no less agitated than she, but he suppressed -his emotion and observed her in silence. - -"Now," she said, when she was sufficiently calm, "I am better, and can -talk to you." - -"What is the meaning of this?" questioned Mr. Hart, in a tone so low -that he might have been speaking to himself. - -"Dear friend," she said, drawing him to a seat by her side, and -holding his hands in hers, "let me have my wilful way; I have a reason -for it, a strong reason." - -"Yes, yes," he muttered somewhat impatiently, "a woman's reason." - -"A woman's reason, if you like," she said, humouring him; at another -time she would have fired up, and have given him a Roland for his -Oliver. "But apart from that, I love Lucy--and cannot you see that -Lucy loves me?" - -"I know, I know," he replied; "but I must not lose sight of your -welfare. I am poor; I can place you at once in comfort; a plain duty -is before me." - -"Do you remember how my darling Philip, with his dying breath, asked -you to be a father to me? And do you want now to drive me from you?" - -"I do remember. I do not want to drive you from me. But our dear -Philip, with his dying breath, bade me take you to his father. That -was his charge to me, and I shall obey it." - -"And you _shall_ obey it--by-and-by; not now; not now!" - -"At once--without delay! I paltered with my own happiness by delaying; -I will not palter with yours in the same way." - -He spoke in a tone so firm and decided that she was driven almost to -despair. - -"Obstinate, obstinate!" she murmured: "hard and unkind!" - -"Margaret--Margaret!" he cried, "do you want to break my heart?" - -"No," she replied, with sudden vehemence; the words seemed to come -from her without any will of her own; "I want to save it from -breaking!" - -Terror and doubt were expressed in his face. - -"Speak plainly," he said, breathing quickly; "it is about Lucy?" - -"It is about her. What is your dearest wish?" - -"Her happiness." - -"Drive me from her, and I'll not answer for the consequences. O, this -is no piece of cunning on my part, so that I may have my own way! It -is the truth. Do you not see that she is growing paler and thinner -every day?" - -"I have seen it--I have tried to believe it was a trick played upon me -by my fears; but I see it now that it is as you say. It must be the -confinement in this narrow street, in this close town----" - -"It is not the confinement," interrupted Margaret; "Lucy would thrive -in a cage if her heart were not disturbed. A secret sorrow is wearing -her away--a sorrow that she keeps to herself, and which only one -person in the world has the power to wean from her. No, that person is -not you--it is I, Margaret! She has not told me yet, but she will! I -want but to know the name of the man!" - -"The name of the man!" echoed Mr. Hart in a bewildered tone. "In -Heaven's name, what man?" - -"The man she loves, and who has led her to believe that he loves her." - -"You know all this?" - -"By instinct only--a fine teacher; better than reason." (He had not -the heart to play with her words, or he would have said, "None but a -woman can utter them;" but this new grief was too deep for light -thought.) "She is a woman, and wants a woman's heart to rest upon in -this crisis. She has no mother or sister. Dear friend, that I love -with all my strength! that I honour with all my soul! let me be sister -and mother to your Lucy! You cannot deny me this! It may be in my -power to repay you, in some small way, for your fatherly care of me, -for your love and devotion to my darling Philip, and you will not rob -me of the opportunity. If I can bring back the smile to your Lucy's -lips, the roses to her cheek--if I can bring joy to her heart, I shall -again taste happiness which I thought I had lost for ever." - -If his stake had been smaller in her matter, he could not have -resisted her pleading; as it was, he yielded without another word of -remonstrance. He was so broken down by this disclosure that Margaret -was compelled to entreat him to hide his sorrow from Lucy's eyes. - -"She must not know or suspect that we have been speaking of her," said -Margaret; "this sensitive flower that we both love so dearly must be -dealt with very tenderly--and wisely too, and cunningly, if needs be." - -His words in the conversation that followed showed that he had lost -faith in himself, and that he placed his hope solely in this -affectionate woman, to whom sorrow had come so early. Up to this point -he had not told her of the strange meeting with his boyfriend, Richard -Weston, and presently, when he was more composed, he related the -incident to her. - -"We are to go to his house to-morrow," he said, "Lucy and I." - -"And I go with you of course," said Margaret. "I shall contrive to -make myself welcome. Tell me. When you took Lucy away from the house -of the person with whom she lived for so many years, did you let them -know your present address?" - -"No; I was anxious to sever all possible connection in the future with -such false friends." - -"Then," said Margaret, with a wise look, "how could _he_ (Lucy's _he_, -I mean) come to see her, when you as good as hid her from him? There -is hope--there is hope--I see hope already!" She kissed him blithely. -"Another thing--about myself this time. Mr. Weston's son is named -Gerald! Does not that strike you as strange?" - -"It was a mark of affectionate remembrance of an old friend, my dear." - -"I know that; but strange in another way. Have you forgotten the -packet which my darling Philip confided to your care? The property of -Gerald, and to be opened only by him. What if your Mr. Weston's Gerald -should be Philip's Gerald? It isn't so very unlikely. Mr. Weston's -house is not very far from the Silver Flagon, and my Philip was the -equal of any man. This Gerald must be nearly Philip's age--a little -younger perhaps. And my poor darling went to college. Do you not see?" - -She spoke very excitedly, and Mr. Hart gazed at her in admiration. - -"There is reason in what you say, Margaret. These broken links may -form a chain." - -"So now all is settled," she said, "and I am to have my own way in -everything." - -"Yes, my dear," he replied; "you are more fit to take the helm than I. -I am breaking down fast--I feel it." - -"Lucy, Lucy," cried Margaret, going to the door. "Here is our father -threatening to become melancholy. Come and help me to cheer him up. -Ah! I know what we'll do. First we'll have a kiss all round, and then -I'll ask Mr. Nathan to take us out for a drive. He'll do it." She held -up her little finger. "I can twist him round this, my dear." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -"SHE NEVER TOLD HER LOVE." - - -Old Mr. Weston, a great magnate in his neighbourhood, a wealthy man, -the owner of a fine estate, a justice of the peace, and what not, had -been surprised out of himself by the sudden meeting of his friend, -Gerald Hart, from whom he had been separated when they were almost -boys, or at all events before either of them had experienced those -trials and temptations, the reception and handling of which give the -true stamp to a man's character. Our dear friend, Mr. Hart, had passed -through the fire unscathed. His fine, honest nature shone steadily in -the midst of every temptation; it never flickered or wavered when -brought into contact with opportunity which by dishonesty or trickery -could be turned to his advantage at another person's expense. His -conscience was a touchstone, and he was guided by it; rogue could -never be written on the sleeve of his jacket. That he was occasionally -worsted by knaves distressed him, but did not embitter him; nor did it -cause him to swerve. He was--to use a phrase I once heard from an -American, who was speaking of a person he admired--emphatically a -straight man. - -To all outward appearance, Mr. Weston, when he was a young man, bade -fair to rival his friend in genuineness and honesty of character; but -the result falsified the promise. Money had spoiled him, as it spoils -many a thousand men and women every year of our lives, and it is -strictly true to state that he would have been a better man had he -been less prosperous. I sometimes think what a dreadful world this -would be if every person in it had more money than was needed for his -requirements. Great prosperity is a heavy burden, and one can keep -one's moral balance much better amid the storms of misfortune than -when all his worldly desires are satisfied. More men are wrecked upon -golden sands than upon sterile rocks of stone. So, in course of time, -the young man who had won the love and esteem of Gerald Hart became -over-weighted by prosperity, and over all the finest qualities of his -nature crept a crust of worldliness which hardened and grew firmer -with his years. These changes in character are common enough. I have -in my eye now a young man whom I have known for a few years; a meek, -quiet lad he was, with a mild and gentle face, advancing his opinions, -when he could muster sufficient confidence, with a timid and -unassuming air, which seemed to be the natural outcome of a kind and -modest soul. This young man, having had a start in life, is fast -developing beneath my observation into a solemn humbug, and he is -already, with a seriousness which would be laughable if it were not -lamentable, dealing very largely in a certain kind of stereotyped -milk-and-water religious sentiment, which he parades (having the -opportunity) with a long, sedate, and melancholy face, with all the -authority of a Solon, before men and women who have grown grey in the -service of the years. If I have the good fortune to live a dozen -years, and then to meet this wretched prig (for I know exactly what he -will grow into) dealing out his milk-and-water platitudes, I dare say -I shall wonder what has become of the meek, modest lad whose gentle -face first attracted my notice and won my favour. - -As, in the same way, shall Mr. Hart presently wonder what has become -of the frank and generous friend he knew in his youth, and whom he had -cherished in his heart for so many, many years. - -How, then, to account for the part Mr. Weston played in the interview -which took place in the sweet Devonshire lane, where the fairy bells -of the feather-grass were swinging to and fro in the clear waters of -the brook? As I have said at the commencement of this chapter, he was -surprised out of himself by the strange and sudden meeting; old -memories had penetrated the crust of worldliness which now overlaid -the better part of his nature, and for a little while the present was -forgotten, and unconsciously set aside. He found it, indeed, a -pleasant sensation to yield to the sweet waves of youthful remembrance -which the appearance of Gerald Hart had conjured up, and worldly as he -was, he honestly resolved to help his friend a little. Still when, in -the latter part of the day, he thought over the interview, he -confessed to himself that it would have been much more agreeable to -him if his friend had been well-dressed and well-to-do. - -Nevertheless, he gave Mr. Hart a cordial welcome to his house, a great -part of his cordiality arising from a sense of satisfaction at being -able to show his friend how well he had got on in the world. - -"And this is your daughter?" he said, taking Lucy's hand; "I may use -an old man's privilege." - -When he took her hand, Lucy gave a little start of surprise, which -only one person noticed. - -Then he turned to Margaret, and shook hands with her. At her own -request, she was introduced to him by her maiden name. "I don't want -to be known yet as Mrs. Rowe," she had said. - -It did not occur to Mr. Hart that there was any change in the nature -of his old friend, as they stood gazing into each other's face, where -lines and wrinkles were. It was one of his tricks to judge others by -himself. - -"You look ten years younger than I," observed Mr. Weston. - -"I have not been harassed by the cares of property," replied Mr. Hart, -with a smile, in which there was no envy. - -Mr. Weston sighed--an eloquent sigh, which expressed, "Ah, you little -know how harassing those cares are!" and at the same time a proud sigh -at the possession of them. - -Then said Margaret, the tactician, after a few minutes chat, during -which she had been acting a part towards the old gentleman: - -"You old friends must have a great deal to say to each other, and the -presence of two foolish women will not help you." - -"I would not hear your enemy say so," said Mr. Hart. - -"Say what?" - -"That you are a foolish woman." - -"Well quoted, Gerald, well quoted," acquiesced Mr. Weston gaily. - -Margaret made a demure curtsey, and continued, addressing Mr. Weston: - -"As we are to spend the day in your beautiful house----" - -"Nay," he interrupted, "you are to spend a week or two at least with -me." - -"Ah!" rejoined the wily Margaret, to make her ground sure, "but you -did not count upon an additional incumbrance in the shape of Me." - -"An incumbrance, my dear young lady!" exclaimed Mr. Weston, completely -won over, as she intended he should be--she hadn't been an actress for -nothing. "Have at her with another quotation, Gerald!" - -"Thou shalt have five thousand welcomes," said Mr. Hart, readily -"without the fivepence, Margaret." - -"Bravo! bravo!" cried Mr. Weston. "My friend's friends are mine. I -shall be delighted with your society." - -Indeed, he was unexpectedly pleased with the two girls; they were well -dressed, and bore themselves like ladies--as they were--and this -gratified the old worldling. - -"Very well, then," said Margaret, with a bewitching smile; "I could -not say No on less persuasion. So I propose that you two gentlemen run -way and chat, and leave Lucy and me to amuse ourselves, if you are not -afraid to trust us." - -Mr. Weston, thinking to himself, "Really a very charming creature!" -made a gallant reply, and taking his friend's arm, walked with him -into the garden. - -Margaret and Lucy sat or strolled in the balcony which fringed the -windows of the first floor of the house. Margaret, in her tender -watchfulness of Lucy, had observed the little start of surprise which -Lucy had given on seeing Mr. Weston, and she found a difficulty in -accounting for it. - -"Lucy," she said, "have you met Mr. Weston before to-day?" - -"No, Margaret," was Lucy's answer. "What makes you ask?" - -"Something in your face--that's all." - -There was something in Lucy's face while these few words were being -uttered--a blush, which quickly died out, leaving her paler than -before. Margaret instantly began putting two and two together. An easy -task, some of you may think. You are much mistaken. It is a task which -requires, and often defies, abstruse calculation, and where a man will -succeed in it once, a woman will succeed a hundred times. There are -three great discoveries yet to be made in the world--perpetual motion, -how to square the circle, and how many beans make five. Depend upon -it, if they ever are discovered, they will be placed to the credit of -women. - -Less difficult, certainly, than any of these, was the task upon which -Margaret was at present engaged. But shrewd as she was, she was far -from seeing her way clearly. The sum was not completely set before -her. There was a figure wanting. - -"I don't quite know, Lucy," she said, "whether I like Mr. Weston." - -Lucy looked at Margaret reproachfully. Not like her father's old -friend! Why, what could Margaret be thinking about? But Margaret, had -she pleased, could have justified herself. She had, or fancied she -had, observed an expression of uneasiness and dissatisfaction on Mr. -Weston's face when his eyes rested on his friend's clothes. They were -decent, but not new; and if they had been new, they would not have -been fine. This uneasy glance lasted only for an instant, but it had -made an impression on Margaret's mind not easily to be effaced. -"Trifles light as air are to the jealous confirmation strong as proofs -of holy writ;" and Margaret was a woman who judged by trifles. It is -strange that this should be rare when the waving of a straw proclaims -how the wind blows. - -It was a lovely summer's day, and the beautiful grounds which -surrounded Mr. Weston's house were bright with colour. Every material -comfort that could make life enjoyable was to be found within this -pretty estate. The house was luxuriantly furnished; the gardens were -carefully tended; and evidences of good taste met the eye on every -side. Noticing these substantial signs of comfort and refinement, -Margaret noticed, also, that Mr. Weston was directing the attention of -his friend to the beauty of the place. To her eyes there was -ostentation in his manner. "He is proud of his wealth," she said, and -fell again to the study of her sum of two and two. While thus -employed, her eyes wandered to Lucy's face. It was very sad and -pitiful. Margaret had played the part of Maria in "Twelfth Night," and -Viola's word came to her mind: - - - She never told her love, - But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, - Feed on her damask cheek; she pined in thought. - - -As Lucy was pining now. Margaret, from her woman's instinct, knew full -well that a secret sorrow born of love was preying on the heart of -this tender girl, and she was striving to find a way into her friend's -confidence, when, at that very moment, chance befriended her, and the -clue for which she was seeking was put into her hands. A sudden flame -in Lucy's face, a sudden glad light in her eyes, a sudden exclamation -of pleasure in which her misery seemed to die, a sudden uprising of -the girl's form towards the framework of the balcony, and the secret -was revealed, and the sum was done. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -LUCY'S PRINCE APPEARS ON THE SCENE. - - -Following the direction of Lucy's eyes, Margaret saw a young gentleman -walking towards the two old men in the grounds below. He paused, and -Mr. Weston spoke some words; the next moment Mr. Hart and the young -gentleman shook hands warmly. - -"Ah!" thought Margaret, with secret satisfaction, "here is our prince. -Now all the rest is easy." She was vainly confident of her powers. -"So, my dear," she said aloud to Lucy, "we have discovered the grand -secret." - -The flame in Lucy's cheek grew stronger, and she hid her blushes on -Margaret's shoulder. - -"You will not tell?" she whispered. - -"Not I," replied Margaret, with tender caresses; "but do you know, my -dear, you have been making me very unhappy? Keeping a secret, and such -a secret, from me!" - -"Why, Margaret? You did not suspect me?" - -"Oh! no, of course I suspected nothing, being naturally dull-witted, -and not being a woman. Well, but now it is all right. I shall know -everything--I must know everything, from A to Z. If you keep a single -letter of the alphabet from me, I shall run and tell them all about -it." - -There was but little to tell. Chance had taken the young gentleman, -Gerald Weston, to the house in which Lucy lived before, her father's -return home, and having seen Lucy, something more than chance had -afterwards directed his steps thither very frequently. I am afraid -there had been secret meetings out of the house; girls and young men -_will_ do these things now-a-days. Ah, nonsense! What do I mean by -now-a-days? Have they not done them from time immemorial? Think of the -delicious secret meetings that must have taken place between Jacob and -Laban's daughters in the old patriarchal times! And you, my dear lady, -whose eyes may haply light upon these lines, cannot you look back upon -such-like stolen minutes? So these two young persons met and met -again, and Cupid led the way with his torch. Gerald Weston's love for -Lucy was an honest love, and it was long before he confessed it, and -received in return a confession of love from her lips. The simplest of -stories. - -"But since my dear father has been home," said Lucy, "I have never -seen Gerald." And then her joy at beholding her hero vanished, and -with sad sighs she said, "He has forgotten me, Margaret." - -"That is a discovery r must make for myself, Lucy. I'll wait till I -see him closer; then I shall be able to judge. I can tell the signs, -and I can read honesty. As for your not having seen him, you darling! -how was that possible except by some strange accident, when our dear -stupid father never told the persons you were living with where he was -taking you to?" - -Lucy's face grew bright again. - -"Are you sure of that--sure?" - -"Sure, you little simpleton!" exclaimed Margaret affectionately. "Am I -sure that I am speaking to you now? Am I sure that everything will -come right and that my darling Lucy will be a happy wife before -long--as I was once, alas! But never mind me; I've something else to -think of, and I must put my sorrow by for a time. Lucy, Lucy! he's -coming this way, not knowing that you are here, of course! Well, I -declare he is a handsome young fellow! Shall I go away?" - -"No, no, Margaret; don't leave me!" - -For all that, Margaret contrived to slip out of the room the moment -before Gerald Weston entered it. Her intention was to keep guard -outside, and to prevent either of the fathers entering and disturbing -the lovers. With this design, she stationed herself at the door of the -house which led to the grounds, and presently Lucy's father came -towards her. Mr. Weston was not with him. - -"Where is he? where is he?" inquired Margaret eagerly. - -"He!" echoed Mr. Hart, smiling at her eagerness. "Which he are you -anxious about? The young he must have passed you on the staircase. Did -you notice him, Margaret? A fine young fellow." - -"Yes, yes," cried Margaret impatiently; "but I mean the old he. Is -there a back way by which he can get in?" Margaret really had the idea -of running to the back of the house and taking old Mr. Weston captive. -She was a faithful tiler--a word I use not with reference to building -tiles, but in the Freemason sense. Ladies who do not understand it had -best ask a Freemason friend for an explanation. - -"You enigma!" exclaimed Mr. Hart. "My old friend has been carried off -by a man of business. He is overwhelmed, my dear, by the cares of -property. By the way, Margaret, I have accepted an invitation to stay -here a month. It will do Lucy good." - -"That it will," said Margaret, with a quiet little laugh to herself. -"Am I included in the invitation?" - -"Of course, my dear. Mr. Weston is charmed with you. You've a trick of -winning hearts, Margaret, old and young. But I shall have to run away -every night to the theatre." - -"Have you told him that?" - -"No, but I shall presently." - -"Will you be guided by me? But what a question to ask! You must -be. There cannot be two captains in one ship, and I am captain -here--absolute captain, mind you." - -"Very well, my dear." - -"Therefore you will not inform Mr. Weston that you are an actor, and -are engaged at the theatre. You will invent some other excuse for your -absence every night; or if you are not equal to it, I will invent one -for you. No remonstrance! I am captain, and I _will_ be obeyed. I have -my reasons, and you will approve of them when you hear them--which you -will not do till I think fit." - -"Tyrant!" he cried. "I _must_ obey you, then. Now we will join Lucy." - -"We'll do nothing of the sort. Don't bother your head about her; she -is quite safe and comfortable. I accept all responsibility." (Which -sounded very like Greek to Mr. Hart, but he had full confidence in -Margaret, and his anxiety about Lucy was lulled by her gay tone.) "Now -tell me everything you two old fogies have been talking about." - -"Chiefly of old times. I have heard some strange things from him. He -has had at least one very strange incident in his life; and he -has--incline your head, my dear--a Bluebeard's room in the house, a -room that no one enters but himself. Now, don't you wish you had the -key?" - -"No; Bluebeard's room can wait. I want to hear something more. You -talked of yourselves and your prospects." - -"Naturally, my dear; and each dilated upon the subject nearest to his -heart." - -"You upon Lucy." - -"And he upon Gerald, his son. My old friend has great views for that -young gentleman, who has been giving him deep cause for anxiety -lately. Ah, these children, these children! how they vex and gladden -our old foolish hearts!" - -"Deep cause for anxiety! Dear me! In what way, now?" - -"Well, it isn't a secret, Margaret. No, I am wrong there. It must be a -secret, for it is almost a family matter; so I'll not mention it." - -"But you will! You will!" cried Margaret vehemently. "I'll not -have any secrets kept from me. Now promise me, conceal nothing -from me. I am prudence itself, though I am a woman. I must know -everything--everything! Have you not yet learned to trust me?" - -Startled by her earnestness and vehemence, for which he could find no -cause, he replied that he _had_ trusted her with what was most dear to -him. Had he not, in a measure, placed his daughter's happiness in her -hands? - -"You have," she replied, "and I hope you will live to bless the day -that you put such trust in me. There, now; you called me an enigma a -moment ago. Think me one, if you like, but you will know better -by-and-by, and you will find there's method in my madness. I tell you -that as you value what you have intrusted me with, you must hide -nothing from me." Seeing still some signs of irresolution in him, she -stamped her foot impatiently, and said, "I should not expect even Mr. -Nathan to treat me as you are treating me, and there would be an -excuse for him, while there's none for you; for he belongs to a -stiff-necked race. You are a thousand times worse than he. I ask you -again--can't you trust a woman who loves you as I do?" - -He was overcome by her torrent of words. "You will have your way, I -see. I yield." - -"Now you are sensible again. Well, then, as you were saying--the young -gentleman has been giving his father deep cause for anxiety lately. A -love affair, of course!" - -"You are a witch, Margaret," said Mr. Hart admiringly. - -"You see, I know things without being told. Go on." - -"It seems, my dear, that young Gerald has entangled himself in some -way; that is to say, he has entertained some sort of a fancy for a -young girl far below him in station----" - -"Stop! Are these your words, or your friend's?" - -"My friend's." - -"I am glad to hear that. Some sort of a fancy, indeed, for a girl -below him in station! Oh, if I---- But go on, go on!" - -"--And in every way unworthy of our Gerald----" - -"His words again?" - -"His words again." - -"Wait a moment--let me get my breath." - -Margaret, indeed, required time to cool herself. Had Mr. Weston -witnessed her condition, he would have said, "This young person I -thought so charming has certainly an ungovernable temper." She turned -presently to Mr. Hart, and bade him proceed. - -"But, fortunately," continued Mr. Hart, much perplexed by Margaret's -proceedings, "the little affair has come to an end by the sudden -disappearance of the young lady?" - -"Indeed! The little affair has come to an end, has it? Pray did your -friend mention the name of the young lady?" - -"He doesn't know it, Margaret. In consequence of some warm words used -by his father, the young scapegrace wouldn't disclose her name. They -had a bit of a quarrel over it. 'Let me bring her to you,' said young -Gerald, 'and you will see that she is goodness and modesty itself.' -The father flatly refused to see her. 'In that case,' said Gerald, 'I -will not even I mention her name to you unless you consent to receive -her here as your daughter.'" - -"Bravo, young Gerald!" cried Margaret, with nods of approval. "Bravo! -I begin to like you. If you were here, I would throw my arms round -your neck and kiss you." - -Mr. Hart stared at her; Margaret laughed at him. - -"You think I am going out of my senses, I dare say. But your story -isn't finished yet." - -"Yes, it is; the sudden disappearance of the young lady finishes it." - -"It isn't finished, I say," said Margaret gaily; "it is only the end -of the first chapter, and is to be continued in our next. Shall I turn -over the page?" - -"Well, you are right, Margaret; it isn't finished. There's the other -young lady to be brought into the story." - -"The other young lady?" exclaimed Margaret. "Oh, the Don Juan!" - -"You don't understand. I mean the young lady the father intends Gerald -to marry. A young lady of fortune, with great family influence, and I -don't know what all. But putting her out of the question----" - -"Put her out, by all means. I'll see to that! young lady of fortune, -indeed!" - -"There is something still I have not told you. My old friend asked for -my opinion as to whether he had acted rightly." - -"Which opinion," interrupted Margaret eagerly and vivaciously, "you -didn't give." - -"I did, in one way. He put it to me in this fashion: 'Gerald,' he -said, 'say that it was your daughter'--he was only putting a -supposititious case, Margaret--'say it was your daughter my boy had -fallen in love with or taken a fancy to, I am sure you would not allow -her to receive his attentions against the wishes of his father; I am -sure you would not allow her to marry him unless he obtained his -father's consent.' Well, Margaret, knowing that all my old friend's -hopes and aspirations are bound up in his boy, and knowing that my -Lucy's happiness was not involved in this imaginary case (see how -selfish we old fathers are, my dear!) I said that I certainly would -not allow my daughter to marry his son without his consent." - -Margaret threw up her arms in dismay. "You said that!" she cried. - -"Yes, my dear. He rather pressed me for an answer, and I gave it in -decided terms, to soothe him, for he was much agitated. What is the -meaning of that expression in your face, Margaret? For Heaven's sake, -don't torture me any longer with mystery!" - -He turned from her with quivering lips and moistened eyes as he made -this appeal. - -"I don't want to torture you," exclaimed Margaret; "but I can't help -my face telling what is in my heart--that is, when I am taken off my -guard, as I am at this moment. Why, oh! why did you give that promise? -Why did I let you out of my sight? No man is fit to be trusted -alone--no man, no man! If I hadn't left my Philip's side on that fatal -night, we should have been together to-day. My darling! my darling!" -Her tears began to flow here, but she checked them sternly, and said, -"I mustn't wander. I have something else to think of--something else -to do. I have to repay you for all your goodness to me and him, and if -a living woman can do it, I will. Courage, Margaret, courage! Set your -wits to work, and prove yourself a match for the wily old worldling." - -She paced to and fro in her excitement, and Mr. Hart waited with -gnawing impatience for an explanation. She gave it him presently. - -"Listen. This girl for whom your old friend's son entertains some sort -of a fancy----" - -"Yes, yes, Margaret." - -"And who is far below him in station, and in every way unworthy of -him----" - -"Yes, yes; go on." - -"Is your daughter Lucy. Is our darling girl Lucy, whose heart has been -very nearly broken because she feared her lover had deserted her." - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE THEORY OF FRIENDSHIP. - - -Margaret was not prepared for the manner in which her words were -received by Mr. Hart. She thought he would have been dismayed and -staggered at the disclosure, and she was ready to comfort him, and -instil courage into him. But the radiant face that met her eyes -astonished her. - -"Why then," cried Mr. Hart, with bright looks and in a blithe tone, -"all is well--all is well! If your news is true----" - -"It is true," she said, in calm wonderment; "they are together now. I -came to the door to keep guard, so that no one should disturb them." - -"Then I am the happiest man and the happiest father in Christendom! -Why, Margaret, if I had been asked which man in all the wide world I -should wish my daughter to marry, I should select the very man who has -won her heart! God bless them! Now, indeed, my mind is at rest, and I -care not what happens to me. My business with the world is over. All -is well with Lucy. We shall see the roses on her cheeks again, my -dear--we shall! Kiss me, Margaret, and wish me joy." - -She kept him back with her hand, and in her eyes dwelt a look in which -pity and admiration were equally blended. - -"It is my turn now," she said, "to ask for an explanation." - -"An explanation of what, my dear? Is not everything as clear as the -noonday sun, as bright as this beautiful day? Ah, it is a good world, -a good world! Thank God for it, and for the happiness this day has -brought to me!" - -"It would be ungenerous to pretend to misunderstand you," said -Margaret, in a gentle tone. "You think there are no difficulties in -the way of Lucy's union with Gerald." - -"Think!" he exclaimed, in a reproachful tone. "Nay, am I not sure that -matters could not have turned out more happily? Difficulties, my dear -child! What difficulties? Here are we, two old men, who pledged our -faith to each other when we were young--who exchanged vows--who were -and are the most faithful of friends--who, if circumstances had not -parted us, would have walked hand in hand through life, cheering, -consoling, encouraging each other. There is no envy in our friendship, -and no selfish feeling mars it. How often in my wanderings have I -thought of him? How often have I lived the old days over again, and -recalled the memories of the happy times we spent together? Margaret, -I think that even love pales before the beauty of a faithful -friendship. There is something holy in it; it is a pure sentiment, fit -for the hearts of angels. You cannot conceive what comfort and -consolation the mere memory of the friendship between me and Richard -Weston has brought to me; it has brightened hours which otherwise -would have been very dark. And now, when we are old men, and, after so -long a parting, are so strangely reunited, our children fall in love -with each other! One might almost say it is the reward of -faithfulness." - -So spoke this old man, whom the world's trials and disappointments had -been unable to sour. And Margaret felt humbled and abashed as she -listened to the noble outburst, and even as she listened she debated -within herself whether she should plunge the dagger of doubt into his -heart. - -"We should change places," she said; "you are younger than I. I am -old, calculating, unbelieving; you are young and trustful. Ah, if men -and women were all like you, how much better and happier the world -would be! Where you see cause for joy, I see cause for sorrow. Where -you believe, I doubt. Your heart is like a bank of sweet moss where -fresh flowers are always growing; mine is a heart of flint. Dear -friend, I love you more every day that I know you." - -"Pleasant words to hear, dear child, but you shall not do yourself an -injustice. I will not have you speak in such terms of yourself. You -must work yourself out of this sad humour, for my sake, for Lucy's -sake. Believe me there is sweetness in life for you yet, -notwithstanding your great sorrow. All is clear sailing before us now. -Lucy and Gerald will marry. You will go to the Silver Flagon, and take -your proper place as Mr. Rowe's daughter, and we shall all live -pleasantly together." - -"How happy I should be if things turned out in that way!" exclaimed -Margaret, having now resolved upon her course of action. "But in the -meantime you will not take the helm out of my hands. I am still -captain, and I'll have no mutineering. So I give you this order. Not a -word of what we have said must pass your lips, nor must you speak upon -this subject to any person but me for at least a fortnight from this -day." - -"But why, my dear, why?" - -"I will not be questioned; I want to make sure; the stake is a serious -one, and we must not run the risk of losing by acting rashly. Least of -all must you whisper a word to old Mr. Weston." - -"You mistrust him, Margaret; I can see that clearly; but you are -mistaken in him." - -"I fervently hope I may be. At all events, I have made up my mind to -be obeyed in this matter. Let things work their way naturally." - -"But if Gerald or his father speaks to me about Lucy?" - -"That will alter the case entirely; then you will act according to -your judgment." - -It required, however, a great deal of coaxing from Margaret before Mr. -Hart would agree to her stipulation. But in the end she had her way, -as most women have when they are resolved upon it. - -Later in the day, Margaret said to Mr. Weston: - -"You do not know, I suppose, that we met an old friend almost on the -first day of our arrival in Plymouth." - -"No," he replied, "I have not heard of it." - -"We did; and Mr. Hart has business with him every night for two or -three weeks, which will deprive us of his society from seven o'clock -every evening. That is a pity, isn't it?" - -"Yes," said Mr. Weston, "but your presence will be some compensation." - -"That is a very gallant speech. Upon my word, I think only old -gentlemen know how to pay a graceful compliment to a lady." - -In this way she tickled Mr. Weston's vanity, and contrived to account -for Mr. Hart's absence during the night without disclosing the cause. - -Margaret, indeed, was in her element, and every moment of her time was -busily occupied, now in wheedling Mr. Weston, now in screening the -proceedings of Lucy and Gerald from the old gentleman's observation. -"I am the watchdog," she said to herself. She waited for a fitting -opportunity to speak to Gerald privately about Lucy, and also -concerning another matter; the letter which poor Philip had given to -the charge of Mr. Hart, and which she had requested him to give her. - -An hour with Gerald had made a wonderful change in Lucy; all her -sadness was gone, and the joy of her heart was reflected in her face. -She introduced Gerald to Margaret, and said: - -"You must love her, Gerald. She is my dearest friend." - -"Do you hear, sir!" cried Margaret merrily; "you are to love me." - -"It will not be difficult to do that," he replied, "after what Lucy -has told me about you. But how wonderful all this is! I have not yet -recovered from my astonishment." - -"Lucy," said Margaret, "will you spare Gerald for half an hour? I have -something very particular to say to him." - -Lucy smiled an assent, and Margaret, taking Gerald's arm, bade him -lead her somewhere where they could flirt undisturbed. He led her to a -retired part of the gardens. - -"No one will disturb us here," he said, wondering what this strange -young lady could have to say to him. If he had entertained any idea -that she was serious in asking him to flirt with her, he was soon -undeceived. They were no sooner alone than all her light manner -vanished, and a sad expression came into her face. - -"I am going to confide a secret to you," she said; "I may, with -confidence, may I not? What I say to you now you will not speak of -without my permission?" - -"Certainly not, if you wish it," he replied, wondering more and more. - -She paused for a moment, to master the emotion she experienced at the -very thought of Philip, of whom she was about to speak. - -"Don't think my questions strange," she said, "you will soon -understand them. You have been to college?" - -"Yes." - -"At Cambridge?" - -"Yes." - -"You had friends there?" - -"Yes." - -"Among those friends was there one who left suddenly----" - -He caught her hand. "Of whom do you speak? I had a friend who went -from us suddenly--a friend whom I loved more than all others." - -"Oh, my heart! Nay, do not mind me. Speak his name." - -"Philip Rowe--good heavens! what have I said?" - -He caught her sinking form, and, amidst her tears and grief at the -sound of that beloved name, she kept fast hold of Gerald's hand, -fearful that he might leave her and call for assistance. - -"I shall be better presently. Ah, Philip, my darling! He was my -husband, Gerald, and often spoke of you with love and affection." She -could not proceed for her tears. - -"_Was_ your husband!" he echoed. - -"He is dead--my darling, your friend, is dead! Keep close to me; I -shall soon be well. And you loved him more than all the others! Bless -you for saying it. But who could help loving that noble heart? I will -tell you all by-and-by; these words between us are in sacred -confidence until I unseal your lips." - -They were both too affected to speak for several minutes, and then -Margaret placed in Gerald's hand the letter which Philip had given -into Mr. Hart's charge. He opened it in her presence. Hungering to see -her Philip's writing, she looked over his shoulder. There was no -writing inside; Gerald drew out a packet of bank-notes, which he held -in his hand with a bewildered air. They looked at each other for an -explanation. - -"Nay, it is you that must unriddle it," said Margaret. - -He counted the notes; they amounted to a large sum, four hundred -pounds. Margaret saw, by a sudden flash in Gerald's eyes, that he -could explain the mystery. After much persuasion he told her briefly -that when he and Philip were at college together he had signed bills -for Philip for four hundred pounds, which he had to pay. - -"My Philip repays you now," said Margaret, in a grateful tone. "And -yet when I spoke of him you used no word of reproach towards him; -others to whom he might have owed the money would not have been so -forbearing." - -"He was my friend," said Gerald, "and I loved him. Poor dear Philip!" - -She took his hand and kissed it; then she thought of Lucy. - -"And now I want to speak to you about Lucy," she said. "If your father -knew that it was the daughter of his oldest friend you loved, would he -give his consent to your engagement?" - -The words in which he answered her were a sufficient confirmation of -her fears. - -"I can marry without my father's consent." - -The voice of Mr. Weston himself, who had approached them unseen, -suddenly broke up their conference. - -"Ah! you have made the acquaintance of this big boy of mine," said the -old gentleman to Margaret; "don't lose your heart to him; he is the -most desperate deceiver in the world. See how the rascal blushes!" - -"I _was_ making love to him," said Margaret archly; "but as you tell -me it is of no use, I had better employ my time more profitably." - -And she took the old gentleman's arm, and straightway commenced to -flirt with him in the most outrageous manner. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -A PEEP INTO BLUEBEARD'S ROOM. - - -Thanks to Margaret's tact, everything went on smoothly for a little -while. No person but herself knew how hard she worked during this -time. She was for ever on the alert, and she managed so skilfully that -Mr. Weston did not even suspect that Gerald and Lucy were lovers. -These young persons would have betrayed themselves a dozen times a day -to Gerald's father had it not been for Margaret's vigilance: she took -the old gentleman in hand, as she termed it, and entertained him so -admirably that he found real pleasure in her society. She afterwards -declared that she had never played so difficult a part, and had never -played any part half so well. But Margaret, as we know, had a great -idea of her own capabilities. - -With womanly cunning, she sounded Mr. Weston to the very bottom of his -nature, and she was compelled to admit to herself that there was not -the slightest probability of his ever, with his eyes open, giving his -consent to Gerald's union with a girl who had neither wealth nor -position. He had set his mind upon a certain worldly position for his -son, and he was not to be diverted from it by sentimental feelings. -Gerald was to marry money, was to enter Parliament, and to make a name -in society. The old gentleman respected nothing but position; he felt -a glow of pride when people touched their hats to him in the streets, -and without a suspicion that this mark of outward respect was paid to -his wealth and not to himself, he was convinced that it was worth -living for and worth working for. But notwithstanding that he was -emphatically a purse-proud man, and that when he sat upon the bench as -a magistrate his bosom swelled with false pride, he had one estimable -quality, which better men than he often do not possess. He was a man -of his word, and had never been known to depart from it. What he -pledged himself to, he performed. His promise was better than any -other man's bond. Now this would cut both ways, as Margaret knew, and -it was with dismay she thought that if the old gentleman once refused -in plain words to sanction an engagement between Gerald and Lucy, it -would take a greater power than she imagined she could ever possess to -induce him to revoke his decision. If, on the other hand, she could -manage, insidiously or by straightforward dealing, to induce him to -sanction such an engagement, she believed she could compel him to -stand by his word. But she saw no way to arrive at so desirable a -consummation. - -Every day she confessed to herself that her task was becoming more -difficult. The fortnight during which she had extracted a promise from -Lucy's father to keep his lips sealed was fast drawing to a close, and -no one but herself knew that a storm was approaching which would bring -a deathless grief to those she loved. She knew that she could obtain -no assistance, even in the shape of advice, from any of the friends -around her. Mr. Hart was too trustful of his friend; he would listen -to nothing against him. Lucy was too simple! Gerald was too rash and -sanguine. These reflections were perplexing her as she stood before -the glass one morning, and when she came to the end of them she -frowned and stamped her foot. - -"My dear," she said, nodding her head violently to herself in the -glass, "all these people are too guileless and innocent to be of the -slightest use to you. You are the only wicked one among them." - -And then she thought she would go and consult her mother's old lover, -Mr. Lewis Nathan, the clothes-seller. But she was frightened to leave -the house with Mr. Weston in it, and no watchdog over him. Fortune -befriended her, however, for over the breakfast-table Mr. Weston -mentioned that business would take him away from them until the -evening. Margaret's eyes sparkled. - -"We shall be quite dull without you," she said. - -She had so ingratiated herself into the old gentleman's good graces -that he really believed her. Little did he suspect that he was nursing -a serpent in his bosom. Margaret saw him safely off, and then, telling -Lucy that she had business in town, put on her bonnet and shawl. - -"What business, Maggy?" asked Lucy. - -"I am going shopping," replied Margaret, with face of most unblushing -innocence. - -"Oh! I'll come with you," cried Lucy eagerly. - -(I take the opportunity of parenthetically stating my belief that -women like "shopping," even better than love-making.) - -"I don't want you, my pet," said Margaret demurely; "I am going to -meet my beau, and two is company, you know." - -Away she posted to Mr. Lewis Nathan, who welcomed her right gladly. - -"I was afraid I was going to lose you, my dear," he said; "I thought -you had forgotten me." - -"I never forget a friend," replied Margaret; "I am like my poor -mother, Mr. Nathan. Did she ever forget you?" - -She chattered about odd things for a few minutes before she came to -the point. She even took a customer out of Mr. Nathan's hands, and -sold the man a coat and a Waistcoat for half as much again as Mr.. -Nathan would have obtained for them; true, she sweetened the articles -with smiles and flattering words, and sent the customer away, dazed -and entranced. Mr. Nathan looked on with undisguised admiration. - -"What a saleswoman you would have made!" he exclaimed, raising his -hands. "You talked to the man as though you had been born in the -business, my dear--born in the business." - -"The fact is, Mr. Nathan," said Margaret, with brazen audacity, "I am -a very clever woman; and, besides, I am an actress, and know how to -wheedle the men." She sighed pensively and added, "But I am a fool -with it all. I can sell a coat, but I can't serve my dearest friends. -Oh, that I were a man and had the brains of a man!" - -With a humorous look Mr. Lewis Nathan placed his hands to his head. - -"Here is a man's head," said he, "and a man's brains, very much at -your service, my dear." - -"Come along, then," she cried. "It is hard if you and I can't win when -we go into partnership. What do you say, now? _Shall_ we become -partners?" - -"My dear," said the old rascal, "I should like to take you as a -partner for life." - -"It is a good job for me," said Margaret archly, "that you are not -thirty years younger. As it is I have almost lost my heart to you." - -This incorrigible creature could no more help flirting than she could -help talking--and she had a woman's tongue to do the latter. - -Binding him over to secrecy, she told him the whole story; he listened -attentively. - -"As I was doing my hair this morning," said Margaret in conclusion, -"and looking into the glass----" - -"I wish I had been behind you, my dear," interrupted Mr. Nathan. - -"Be quiet, Lothario! As I looked into the glass this morning I said to -myself, 'Margaret, there is only one person among your acquaintance -who is clever enough to assist you; that person is Mr. Nathan.' But -before I flew to you, I had a good look at the crow's feet which this -trouble is bringing into my eyes. I am growing quite careworn." - -"I should like to see those crow's feet." - -"Well, look at them;" and she placed her face close to his. - -Mr. Nathan gazed into her sparkling eyes, which flashed their -brightest glances at him, and then laughed at her outright. - -"You're a barbarian," cried Margaret. - -"You had better call me an unbelieving Jew at once," said Mr. Nathan -rubbing his hands. "You're thrown away as a Christian, my dear, -completely thrown away! You ought to have been one of the chosen -people." - -She rose and made him a mocking curtsey. - -"Thank you, I am quite contented as I am. But let us be serious. Say -something to the point. You have heard the story." - -"It is an old story," he observed; "love against money. Here is money; -here is love." He held out his two hands to represent a pair of -scales, one hand raised considerably above the other. "See, my dear, -how money weighs down love." - -"I see. Your hand with love in it is nearest to heaven; your hand with -money in it is nearest to the--other place." - -"Perhaps so; perhaps so; but the plot of this play is to be played out -on earth, my dear, isn't it? I have seen it a hundred times on the -stage, and so have you." - -"And love always wins," she said vivaciously. "Yes," rejoined Mr. -Nathan drily, "on the stage, always. In real life, never." - -"I won't have never!" she cried impetuously. "It does sometimes win, -even in this sordid world. And if it never has done so before, it must -win now. Why, if your cunning and my wit are not a match for a greedy, -worldly, hard-hearted old man, I would as lief have been born without -brains as with them!" - -"Hush, hush, my dear. Let me think a bit." - -He pondered for a little while. - -"There was a mathematician--what was his name?--ah! Archimedes--who -said he would move the world if he could find a crevice for his lever. -My dear, we have neither lever nor crevice. We must get the lever -first, and find the crevice. Now where does this old gentleman keep -his skeleton?" - -She stared at him in amazement. "His skeleton!" she exclaimed. - -"His skeleton, my dear; that's what we want. He keeps it somewhere. -I've got mine, and I keep it where no eye but my own can see it. We've -all got one. If we could get hold of this old gentleman's we might do -something. It is in his house, depend upon it." - -"If it is, I've not heard of it. Oh! yes," she cried excitedly, -contradicting herself; "Bluebeard's room! He has a Bluebeard's room in -the house. Mr. Hart told me of it." - -Mr. Nathan chuckled. "What is in that room, Margaret?" - -"How should I know? I have never been in it." - -He gave her a reproachful look. - -"If you hadn't told me so yourself I should not have believed it. A -Bluebeard's room in the house and you've never seen it A clever woman -like you! You'll tell me next, I shouldn't wonder, that you have never -peeped through the keyhole." - -"I do tell you so; I never have peeped through the keyhole." - -It was evident from Mr. Nathan's tone that Margaret had fallen several -degrees in his estimation. - -"My dear," he said, "that room may contain the very thing we want--the -lever." - -"But suppose he keeps it locked up?" - -"Then locks, bolts, and bars must fly asunder." Mr. Nathan sang these -words in a fine bass voice, and rising with a brisk air said, "You -must get me into that room, Margaret." - -"I must first get you into the house." - -"I am coming with you now. The old gentleman is away, you say; no time -like the present. We'll strike the iron while it's hot, my dear. I -constitute myself your friend Gerald's tailor, and I am going to take -his measure. As you have never peeped through the keyhole, I suppose -you have never tried the handle of the door?" - -"Never." - -"I will take long odds it is unlocked. Come along, my dear." - -At another time Margaret might have had scruples, but her interest in -the stake she was playing for was so great that she was determined to -leave no stone unturned to win the day. So she accompanied Mr. Nathan -to Mr. Weston's house, where they found only Lucy--Gerald, for a -wonder, being absent from her. Acting under Mr. Nathan's instruction, -Margaret got rid of Lucy, so that the two conspirators might be said -to have had the house to themselves. - -"Now, my dear," said Mr. Nathan, "take me to the room. Of course you -know where it is." - -"Not for a certainty," replied Margaret, "but I suspect." - -She led Mr. Nathan to a door at the end of a passage, the last room -but one in which was Mr. Weston's study. She tried the handle of the -door, and it turned within her hand; the door was unlocked. - -"I told you so," said Mr. Nathan, with a quiet chuckle. "Sister Ann, -Sister Ann, do you see any one coming?" - -"I am frightened to go in," said Margaret, shrinking back. - -"Nonsense, my dear, nonsense; we shan't have our heads cut off." - -She followed him into the room, but saw nothing to alarm her. There -was but little furniture; two chairs, a. table, and a desk, all in a -very dusty condition. The windows had not been cleaned for some time, -and it was evident that no use was made of the room. Mr. Nathan opened -a cupboard--it was empty; tried a desk--it was locked. If it was a -Bluebeard's room, the secret was well hidden; the only thing to excite -comment was that a number of pictures were hanging with their faces -turned to the wall. - -"To preserve them from the dust, I should say," observed Mr. Nathan; -"one--two--three--thirteen of 'em, my dear. We'll have a peep at them -at all events." - -They were all portraits, and were all painted by the same hand. Mr. -Nathan seemed to find some cause for curiosity in this circumstance. -One of the portraits, Margaret said, was like Mr. Weston when he was a -young man. - -"Taken a good many years ago," said Mr. Nathan, placing the pictures -in their original position. "There is something in it, my dear. If the -old gentleman has a secret, it lies in those pictures." - -"What is to be done now?" asked Margaret in despair. - -"Well, my dear, it's a puzzle. But we'll try and work it out. We must -put our heads together, and use stratagem. Don't be downcast; nothing -is done without courage. We won't be beaten if we can help it. Come -and see me to-morrow, and in the meantime get at the story of these -pictures if you can. I dare say the old gentleman has told Mr. Hart -something about them." - -They left Bluebeard's room in not a very hopeful frame of mind. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -MR. HART DECLARES THAT HONESTY HAS DIED OUT OF -THE WORLD. - -Events, however, were brought to a climax somewhat suddenly, without -Margaret's intervention. On the day following the peep into -Bluebeard's room Mr. Weston announced that he intended giving an -evening party, and that he had already invited his friends. The party -would take the form of an early dance. - -"Really early," said Mr. Weston, "for I don't like late hours. They -have all promised to be here by half-past eight o'clock." - -He told Gerald privately that Miss Forester and her family would be -among the guests. Miss Forester was the young lady whom he wished his -son to marry, and he requested Gerald to pay her particular attention. -The young fellow listened in silence. - -"You will not leave us this evening," said Mr. Weston to Mr. Hart. - -But Mr. Hart was compelled to go to the theatre. It happened, however, -that he had but a small part to play, and that he could attend the -party by ten o'clock. Mr. Weston had been very curious to know the -nature of the business that took his friend away every evening, and -Mr. Hart had found it difficult to parry the questions. - -Margaret knew beforehand that some great magnates of the county would -be present, with their wives and daughters, and she determined that -Lucy should not be eclipsed by any she in Devonshire. She dressed Lucy -with exquisite taste, and no fairer flower was ever seen. Lucy had -improved wonderfully during the past fortnight; love had brought the -roses to her cheeks. It was strange that the affectionate bearing of -the young lovers towards each other should have hitherto escaped Mr. -Weston's notice; but this was partly owing to the fact of the old -gentleman being exceedingly short-sighted. On many occasions, when -Lucy and Gerald were together in the grounds, he perhaps with his arm -around her waist, Mr. Weston seeing them from a distance, had said, -"That must be Lucy and Gerald;" and when he fussed about for his -glasses, and prepared to fix them on his nose, Margaret, who was -invariably by his side, turned his attention adroitly, blessing the -circumstance that he could not see a dozen yards before him. I am -afraid that she had been guilty more than once of secreting his -glasses, to the old gentleman's infinite annoyance; she did not mind -his pettishness; as you know, she was thoroughly unscrupulous. Once, -when Lucy and Gerald were within twenty yards of them in the garden, -suspiciously close together, Margaret unblushingly took Mr. Weston's -glasses--which he was rubbing with his bandana preparatory to putting -them to use--from his hand, and the ribbon from his neck, and saying, -"Really, now, can one see with these things!" fixed them on her own -nose, and looked about like an old grandmother, making so pretty a -picture that the old gentleman was absorbed in admiration; during -which little piece of comedy Lucy and Gerald escaped. At other times, -Margaret twitted him with wearing his glasses constantly. - -"They make you look so old," she expostulated. - -"I _am_ old, my dear," he replied. - -"You old! Nonsense! You're a young man yet." - -And although Mr. Weston deprecated the assertion, he was not -displeased with it, and suffered much by frequently depriving himself -of the artificial aids to sight. What he was ignorant of was clear to -the eyes of every other person in the house. All the servants talked -of the love-making that was going on between Gerald and Lucy, and, as -the old gentleman seemed to sanction it, the servants decided that it -would be a match. They thoroughly sympathised with their young master -and their mistress that was to be, for Cupid was as busy in the -kitchen as in the drawing-room. A most impartial young god. I have -seen him busily at work, in rooms high and low, with fine ladies and -common kitchen wenches, bestowing his attentions equally upon silk and -cotton; I have seen him where silk and cotton are not appreciated, at -the other end of the world, walking saucily by the side of dusky -savages in grand old woods. If I had the time I would write a chapter -on this theme; it is a temptation, because the subject is so new and -novel; but space will not permit of it. - -Mr. Weston, however, was not short-sighted on the evening of his -party. The guests arrived, and the rooms were very brilliant. Lucy was -the loveliest girl among them. Margaret ranked second, although she -was dressed very simply in black. But she had the art of "putting on -things" becomingly, an art which not all the members of her sex -possess. Miss Forester was present, with her mamma, beautifully -dressed, and very stately. Miss Forester's mamma was aware of Mr. -Weston's wish, and approved of it. Gerald was in every way a suitable -match for her daughter, and she was prepared to be exceedingly -gracious to the young gentleman. Not so Miss Forester; she had an -attachment elsewhere of which her mamma was ignorant, and being a -young lady of spirit and determination, she had quite made up her mind -that she would not mate with Gerald Weston; but she kept her -sentiments to herself. So, when the music struck up for the first -dance, these little wheels were in full motion, and gradually produced -an unexpected result. In the opening dance, Mr. Weston saw Gerald -walking to the set with Lucy on his arm. Now Mr. Weston had -particularly wished Gerald to dance this first set with Miss Forester; -it would have looked significant. Mrs. Forester was also a close -observer, and was disappointed by Gerald's conduct. Miss Forester was -perfectly satisfied with it. Gerald and Lucy, quite unconscious of the -working of these small wheels, enjoyed the dance to its full; they -were in a heaven of delight, and the persons around them might have -been so many dummies, they were so lost in their feelings for each -other. Mr. Weston consoled himself by the reflection that Gerald might -have deemed it proper to pay his first attentions to this lady-guest -in his father's house and the daughter of an old friend. He waited for -the second dance. Gerald danced with Margaret. Mrs. Forester bit her -lips, and calm agitation stirred her breast. This lady was never -violent in her emotions. - -"Your father is watching us," said Margaret to Gerald. - -Gerald made no reply; he was dancing with Margaret, but his thoughts -were with Lucy, and his eyes were upon her. Margaret repeated her -observation. - -"Ah! yes," he then said, detecting no meaning in it. - -"I think," said our shrewd conspirator, "that he would have preferred -you to dance with Miss Forester." - -"I prefer to dance with Lucy--and you." The last two words were added -as an afterthought. - -Margaret was not offended; she was alarmed; she did not like Mr. -Weston's looks. - -"You must ask Miss Forester to dance immediately," she said to Gerald. - -Gerald obeyed her. He asked Miss Forester to dance. Miss Forester was -engaged. Very contented, Gerald strolled away to Lucy, and the next -moment the lovers were again in sentimental labyrinths. Margaret -understood the task of soothing and amusing Mr. Weston, and she -succeeded for a time. Then she devoted herself, for a certain purpose, -to Miss Forester; she wished to discover the state of that young -lady's affections. But she met her match; after a quarter of an hour's -confidential small-talk conversation, Margaret was no wiser then -before. At ten o' clock Mr. Hart came, and for a little while Mr. -Weston lost sight of his disturbance. But he planted a thorn in the -breast of his friend. He introduced him to Miss Forester, and said -privately to Mr. Hart, a few minutes afterwards: - -"That is the young lady Gerald will marry." - -Every trace of colour left Mr. Hart's face. He turned to see how Lucy -and Gerald were engaged. They were not together. Gerald was now -dancing with Miss Forester; their faces were very bright and animated; -indeed, to tell you a secret known only at this time to those two, -they had come to a little private understanding, arrived at without -direct words, I assure you, which had given satisfaction to both. If -words _had_ been spoken, they would have run something in this way: - -_Miss Forester_. "I love another person, and notwithstanding my -mamma's wishes, I shall not marry you." - -_Gerald_. "I love another person, and, notwithstanding my father's -wishes, I shall not make love to you." - -Not one word of this dialogue was spoken, but nothing could have -been more plainly expressed. Thereupon Gerald and Miss Forester -immediately became greater friends than they had ever been, and were -absolutely--in the judgment of outsiders--flirting together most -conspicuously. In Mr. Hart's eyes it was not flirtation, it was -love-making. But Lucy's face was bright also; there was not a cloud on -it. He turned to Margaret; their eyes met, but he could not read the -expression in her face. Truth to tell, she was anxious and nervous, -and was beginning to lose confidence in herself. - -All this while we have left Mr. Weston, with the words hanging on his -lips: - -"That is the young lady Gerald will marry." - -"Is it settled, then?" inquired Mr. Hart, striving, and striving in -vain, to master his agitation. - -"Quite settled," replied Mr. Weston, without a twinge. - -Mr. Hart was bewildered. Could Gerald have been playing his girl -false? It looked like it. There was only one thing that would give the -lie to this--the possibility that Margaret was mistaken when she -declared Gerald and Lucy to be lovers. He groaned involuntarily as he -thought that all evidence was against this possibility. He was -awakening from a bitterly beautiful dream, a dream which had clothed -his daughter's life with happiness; again was the future dark before -him. Mr. Weston told the lie intentionally; he had heard remarks -during the evening upon the open attentions which Gerald was bestowing -upon Lucy, and he did not choose that his old friend should remain in -doubt of his opinion upon such proceedings. - -"When you and I were talking about my son's prospects, I told you that -he had entangled himself in some way with a girl far below him--you -remember, Gerald?" - -"I remember very well." - -"That fancy is over, I am glad to say; he has evidently forgotten all -about it. The fact is, my boy is impressionable, and cannot resist a -pretty face. Why, some people might fancy he was making love to Lucy! -But I know him, I know him! It is his way. If he saw a new and pretty -face to-morrow, he would begin admiring it immediately; he couldn't -help it; it is in his nature. He will cool down presently; when he is -married I shall indeed be a happy man. You will come to the wedding, -Gerald--you, and Lucy, and Margaret. Then we must get Lucy married. Do -you know"--and here he peered, not without anxiety, into his friend's -face--"that many another father would have been disturbed by what I -have heard to-night. One or two foolish persons have said--you'll not -mind my repeating the words!--that it looked as though Gerald were -making love to Lucy. But we know better, eh, old friend? we know -better. He means nothing by it--absolutely nothing--and Lucy, of -course, understands that. A girl easily sees, and instinctively judges -between earnestness and lightness. And then I remember what you said -when we were talking upon this matter; you would not allow your -daughter to receive Gerald's attentions without my consent; you would -not allow her to marry him without my consent. Those were your words, -Gerald?" - -"Those were my words," said Mr. Hart coldly and mechanically. - -"And you never broke a promise--never, old friend?" - -"Never." - -"And you would not break this?" - -"Not if it broke my heart," replied Mr. Hart, with a shudder of pain. - -"And my consent is given elsewhere," proceeded Mr. Weston, with -nervous satisfaction; "given elsewhere, as I told you. As for your -bright little Lucy--you noticed how she has improved during the last -fortnight, Gerald? I really think the visit has done her good--as for -her, we will get her comfortably settled presently; and for yourself, -Gerald, anything in the way of money----" - -"For God's sake," cried Mr. Hart, almost blind with grief, "don't talk -to me about money! I must go and speak to Lucy." - -He looked about for his darling, but he could not see her. Indeed, she -had left the room with Gerald, and the two were now in the garden, -little dreaming of the storm that was gathering. Mr. Weston was -somewhat shaken by his friend's agitation, but deemed it prudent not -to comment upon it. A diversion occurred, and Mr. Weston gladly seized -the opportunity of changing the subject. A tall gentleman, very red in -the face and very pompous in his manner, approached them. - -"Ah," said Mr. Weston, "Mr. Majendie! Delighted to see you. Let me -introduce my friend, Mr. Hart." - -The gentlemen bowed to each other. - -"I intended to be here earlier," said Mr. Majendie, "but there was a -benefit at the theatre, and, as my patronage had been obtained, I -thought the people would expect to see me." - -"No doubt, no doubt," observed Mr. Weston. - -"The benefit was for the hospital, and I was compelled to put in an -appearance. Not that I approve of such places, but one must make -sacrifices." - -Here he turned his attention to Mr. Hart, and regarded him with a look -of doubt and surprise. - -"I beg your pardon; I did not catch this gentleman's name." - -"Mr. Hart--one of my oldest friends." - -"Hart! Hart Not Hunter?" - -He put this in the form of a question, and it had the effect of a cold -shower-bath upon Mr. Hart; it dispelled all vapours for a time. - -"What if it be?" he asked proudly, returning Mr. Majendie's now -steadfast gaze. - -A word as to Mr. Majendie. A bag of clothes stuffed with money. -The richest man in the district, and the meanest souled and -narrowest-minded; a man who wore frills to his shirts, and strutted -along with his head in the air like a turkey-cock, and looked down -with profound contempt upon the "lower orders." The pride of money -oozed out of the corner of his eyes, out of his thick-lipped mouth, -out of his voice, out of his manners. Policemen, parochial beadles, -female paupers, and charity children regarded him with awe. Altogether -he was one of the most contemptible embodiments of money among a crowd -of such. - -"In that case," replied Mr. Majendie, with his loftiest air, "I should -inquire if there was any connection between you and the Plymouth -Theatre, and I should express my surprise at Mr. Weston asking my wife -and daughters--leaving me out of the question--to meet a common actor -on terms of equality!" - -"No, no, Mr. Majendie!" said Mr. 'Weston very warmly. "I assure you, -you are wrong; you are mistaking my friend, Gerald Hart--my old and -dear friend, Mr. Majendie--for another person." - -"Pardon me," said Mr. Hart gently and proudly, and smiling sadly on -Margaret, who, observing that something stirring was taking place, had -hurried to his side, "Mr. Majendie has made no mistake. If any has -been made, it is I who am in fault. Your surmise is a correct one, -sir; I am an actor, and am acting under the name of Hunter at the -Plymouth Theatre. But Mr. Weston was not aware of it until this -moment." - -Mr. Majendie turned on his heel, and in his most stately manner left -the room with Mrs. and the Misses Majendie, who were all tainted with -his disease. - -Mr. Weston was hurt in a very tender point; truly it was a most -unpleasant incident. Only for one moment did Mr. Hart look into Mr. -Weston's face; he saw sufficient in that brief glance to shatter the -hope and belief of a life. - -His friend was false to him, unworthy of him. - -In that moment, also, his own nature seemed to undergo a change. - -"Where is Lucy?" he asked, loudly and sternly, of Margaret. - -Margaret, without answering him, led him from the room, and he -supposed she was about to lead him to his daughter. But Margaret's -first intention was to remove him from the observation of the guests, -who were already beginning to talk of the incident. That girl the -daughter of an actor! they said to one another. Well, it was, no -wonder she was so pretty! They know how to make themselves up, my -dear! As for Gerald Weston, his attentions to her were now easily to -be understood. But they were astonished at old Mr. Weston introducing -such people. The girl and her friend had been living in the house for -a fortnight Indeed! And so on, and so on. - -Fortunately for them, and for Mr. Hart also, he was out of hearing of -this gossip. Margaret led him into the air, and the first persons they -saw were Lucy and Gerald strolling toward the house. Mr. Hart's mind -was thrown off its balance by grief and passion. He tore Lucy from -Gerald's arm, and cried: - -"Gerald Weston, are you a coward or a villain?" - -"Mr. Hart!" exclaimed Gerald, confounded by this startling address. - -"Dear friend," entreated Margaret, "be calm." - -Lucy looked imploringly from one to the other. - -"No more fair words," cried Mr. Hart; "I have had enough of them! -Honesty has died out of the world." - -He turned to Mr. Weston, who, fearing a scene, had followed his old -friend into the garden, and said in a bitter, passionate tone: - -"Never more will I hold out the hand of friendship to you, never more -will I set foot beneath your roof, until you have atoned for the wrong -you have done me and mine! Go you to your wife's grave, and erase the -words you have written on her tomb; they are a mockery there, and rise -up in judgment against you. Come, my child, this is no place for us. -We must look elsewhere for truth and faithfulness!" - - - -END OF THE SECOND PART. - - - - - -Part the Third. - -THE DINNER OF THIRTEEN. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -STRANGE PREPARATIONS FOR THE DINNER. - - -In one of the prettiest nooks in Devonshire, the garden of England, -where the hedges and hill-slopes are filled with apple-trees, stands, -where has stood beyond the memory of living man, the Silver Flagon, an -old-fashioned, delightful hotel, irregular in shape, as all pleasant -hostelries should be, and so embellished with quaint turrets and -gables and mullioned windows, as to make it appear more like the -retreat of a wealthy gentleman than a house of public entertainment. -The principal entrance stands fully thirty yards away from the public -road or path, and to reach it you have to pass through an antique -wooden gate, and a carefully-attended garden, as delightfully -irregular as the house to which it is attached. There is not a square -room in the entire establishment, and although from time to time -additions have been made to it in the shape of a wing here and a wing -there, modern innovations and modern ideas of comfort have not been -allowed to spoil its character. Imbedded in the midst of its own -grounds, in the rich soil of which flowers and fruit-trees are -abundant and beautifully luxuriant, the Silver Flagon is a standing -reproach to those Tower of Babel hotels, which it is the fashion now -to build. - -Fortunately for those to whom it is known, and who enjoy and -appreciate its comforts, its proprietor, Gideon Rowe, was, in his -ideas, as old-fashioned as his hotel. The Silver Flagon had been in -the family of the Rowes for many generations, and had been handed down -from father to son for more than a century; and the various members -regarded it with so much pride and affection that it had grown to be -looked upon more in the light of an heir-loom than a speculation. -Gideon Rowe, at sixty-five years of age, was a pleasant, -even-tempered, good-looking gentleman, straight as an arrow, with a -clear eye and a wholesome colour in his face--caught, mayhap, from -some of his famous apples--and with every probability of twenty more -good years before him. He was a man of independent property, and he -carried on the business of the Silver Flagon as much for pleasure and -occupation as for profit. It was probably for this reason that the -majority of those who frequented it were gentlemen, who were fond of -drinking their old ale and cider, and sometimes their wine, out of the -old-fashioned silver flagons, which it was the whim of Gideon Rowe's -great-grandfather to have made, and of which there were no fewer than -one hundred and twenty in the hotel. - -It was seldom that any signs of bustle were to be noticed in the -Silver Flagon; but on a certain Wednesday in the middle of -August--some few weeks after the occurrence of the incidents -heretofore narrated--there were signs of unusual activity in the lower -story of the hotel. The cooks were busy, and and there was much -hurrying to and fro; it was evident that there was a larger number of -attendants than usual in the hotel, and that something important was -going on. The principal room of the Silver Flagon, which was in shape -of an irregular oblong, and sufficiently commodious to accommodate a -large number of guests, was situated on the ground-floor, and at six -o'clock on the evening of this Wednesday in August presented an -appearance which it is necessary to describe. - -The table was laid for a distinguished dinner-party. That it was to be -a dinner of the best kind was evident from the furnishing of the -table, which comprised the finest plate of the Silver Flagon and a -brilliant display of glass. A number of attendants, dressed in court -suits of black, were perfecting the details, under the direction of -their chief, before the arrival of the guests. - -Although it was still daylight the candles in the handsome candelabra -were already lighted, the effect of which was not only to darken the -room, but to throw corners almost completely into shade. Pictures hung -upon the walls--not landscapes, nor scenes of rural or domestic life: -the subjects were neither historical nor allegorical; every picture -was a portrait. Counting them, you would find that there were exactly -thirteen portraits, all of the same size and all handsomely and -uniformly framed. That they were painted by one hand was not to be -doubted, and being so, and being of a uniform size and uniformly -framed, it might reasonably have been supposed that they represented -members of the same family; but it was clear that this was not the -case. With here and there an exception, they bore no likeness to each -other, and in some instances the contrast in the faces and general -character of the individuals, as indicated by outlines and expression, -was very remarkable. The originals were of various ages, from eighteen -or nineteen to sixty mayhap. Casting your eyes around the walls, you -would instinctively have paused at the picture of a stern-looking man, -the lines in whose face spoke of invincible determination; his dress -was pretentiously plain and sombre; one hand, which grasped the back -of a chair, grasped it so firmly that the veins were seen to stand -out; his lips were set, and there was a frown in his eyes. Whether by -accident or design, his picture was so hung as to cause his cruel eyes -to bear directly on two faces of a very opposite character from his. -They were the portraits of a young lady and a young gentleman--she -probably not more than nineteen years of age, he some three or four -years older. The girl was in the full flush of youthful beauty, a rose -whose leaves were opening to the sunlight of life, delicately nurtured -evidently, and whose face was almost spiritualised from its extreme -sensitiveness. In this respect the young man, who was also handsome -and well-formed, singularly resembled her, and yet there was no -likeness between them. These young persons were smiling on each other. -Your eyes would also have dwelt with interest upon the portrait of a -man about thirty years of age, with a kind and even benevolent face, -fair, and with bright blue eyes. Then there was the portrait of one -whom you would instantly set down as an old maid, from the precise -and severely-demure fashion of her clothes, from the set of her -poke-bonnet, and from the sharp but not ill-natured expression on her -face. Beside her was a portrait of a very different character--that of -a rakish, genial, full-blooded man, with the pleasantest of mouths, -and the merriest of eyes, out of which joviality beamed; his hat was -set on one side of his head, and between his fingers dangled a cane -with a dandy tassel. All these persons were attired in the fashion of -a bygone generation. - -The room was well supplied with choice flowers. Two folding windows -which faced the west opened upon a veranda-terrace, the steps of which -led into the gardens by which the Silver Flagon was surrounded. This -terrace was also freely and beautifully decorated with flowers, and -being comfortably furnished with easy and other chairs and convenient -small tables, and a couple of fur rugs spread on the ground, formed -the most luxurious and delicious after-dinner lounge it is possible to -imagine. - -Exactly as a quarter past six o'clock was proclaimed in thin, silvery -notes, by the black marble clock on the sideboard, Gideon Rowe, the -landlord and proprietor of the Silver Flagon, entered the room. He was -in evening dress, and there was a natural dignity in his bearing which -proclaimed him master. There was an air upon him which betokened the -approach of an event of a grave nature. With attentive eyes--and yet, -with something of a sad abstraction in his manner--he examined the -appointments of the room, and saw that everything was in its place. -With his eyes he made the circuit of the table, and counted the chairs -which were placed for the guests. - -"One--two--three--four--five--six--seven--eight--nine--ten--eleven ---twelve--thirteen." - -Therefore it was clear that thirteen persons were expected to dine. -Then he ran his eyes over the attendants, and counted them, from one -to thirteen. One of these was the chief, and addressing him by the -name of Steele, Gideon Rowe called him to his side. - -"Your arrangements seem to be perfect, Mr. Steele." - -"I think you will find them so, sir," replied Mr. Steele. - -"This is--let me see--the eighth year you have officiated." - -"This makes the eighth year, sir." - -"We have seen some changes, Mr. Steele." - -"We have, sir." - -"I know I can depend upon you to carry out the affair with discretion, -whatever happens." - -"Thank you, sir." - -There was the slightest tinge of surprise in Mr. Steele's tone, which -did not escape Mr. Rowe's observation. Mr. Rowe made no remark upon -it, however, but repeated: - -"Whatever happens. After all, it is an exceedingly simple affair, and -I shall be glad to see everything well and discreetly done. You have -the entire superintendence. Even if I wished, I could not undertake -the management, being, as it were, one of them." - -This with a glance at the portraits on the wall. - -"You shall have no reason to complain, sir." - -"The dinner will be served at seven precisely. There must be no -mistake about that especially. When the clock strikes, we will -commence." - -"It shall be done, sir." - -"Have the men been instructed in their duties?" - -"Yes, sir." - -But Mr. Rowe deemed it necessary to address a few words to them -collectively. He called them together. - -"Mr. Steele has explained to you what your duties are. You all of you -understand them?" - -"We do, sir." - -"There is something for you to understand more necessary than the mere -detail of your duties, and that is the manner of their performance. -What is required of you is implicit silence and attention. At whatever -occurs you will exhibit no wonder or astonishment, but you will -steadily and decorously follow out the instructions given to you by -Mr. Steele. It is a simple matter, but I wish to impress it strongly -upon your minds. You understand me, I dare say." - -"Yes, sir." - -"Then I need say nothing more to you." - -Gideon Rowe did not consider that his manner of addressing the -attendants, no less than his words, was sufficient to arouse within -them a curiosity which they otherwise would not have felt. - -He turned his attention again to Mr. Steele, and asked about the wine. -Mr. Steele pointed to the iced pails, liberally supplied with bottles, -and to other bottles which did not require icing; these were placed -behind a screen at the extreme end of the room. There were, besides -the folding windows which opened on to the terrace and the gardens, -three entrances to the room. One door, at the south end where the -screen was, led to the kitchen and the adjoining apartments where the -dinner was being prepared; another, at the north end, immediately -behind the chair at the head of the table, could be approached, on the -outside, only by way of the veranda, so that any person who wished to -enter by this door must of necessity pass the folding windows; the -third and last door opened on the general passage of the Silver -Flagon. This door Gideon Rowe locked, putting the key into his pocket. -As he did so, the silver tongue of the black marble clock proclaimed -half-past six. - -"Is the doorkeeper here?" asked Mr. Rowe. - -"He is without, sir." - -"Let me see him." - -Mr. Steele hesitated a moment. - -"I have been disappointed in the man I wished to engage for the -service." - -"But you have another?" said Mr. Rowe quickly. - -"Oh! yes." - -"And a dependable man?" - -"Quite dependable, to all appearance, and from his credentials." - -"That is all that is necessary. His duties are onerous, but not -burdensome. Let me see him." - -Mr. Steele went out by the door behind the screen, and returned with -an elderly man, dressed like the others. His hair, almost white, was -cropped close to his head, and there was a forced composure in his -face, as though he had been schooling himself for his task. Gideon -Rowe scrutinised him keenly. - -"Your name is----" - -"Michael Lee." - -"You answer promptly, like a soldier." - -"I am not one, sir." - -"You are an elderly man--about my own age, I should say. Is your -eyesight good?" - -"Fairly good for my age." - -"I ask because in the place where you will stand the light is rather -dim. I must test you." - -He looked around for a newspaper or other printed matter, and finding -none, drew a letter from his pocket. It was in a man's writing, and a -spasm came into his face as he gazed at it. He held it open at a -little distance from Michael Lee. - -"Are your eyes good enough to read this?" Michael Lee changed colour, -and his lips trembled as his eyes fell upon the writing. - -"You can read it?" - -"I can read it quite well," replied Michael Lee, and continued, in a -gentle, sad tone, reading from the letter: "So now, my dear old dad, -good-bye, and God bless you. With fondest love, your affectionate -scapegrace of a son, Philip Rowe." - -Gideon Rowe paused before he spoke again. - -"That is a good credential for your eyes." - -"The letter is from your son," observed Michael Lee respectfully. - -"Yes, from my poor boy. Written a long time ago. He is dead. Thank you -for that mark of your sympathy." - -"I also am a father." - -"You can understand then the kind of grief that oppresses a man when -he loses an only child, whom he loved very dearly. But we are -wandering from the point. For the business before us, you are all the -better for not being too young." - -Michael Lee made an effort to shake off his sad humour, and answered -somewhat briskly: - -"So that some good comes to one for being old. Though I should rather -say that I should be all the better for being a little younger. I -should have no objection to my ripening time coming over again. But -time that ripens us, withers us; time that withers us, kills us." - -"Ah, well," said Gideon Rowe, with reflective nods, and gazing in -surprise at Michael Lee, "we must drop away and make room for others." -He cast a strangely-serious look at the thirteen chairs arranged round -the table. "You are a superior man, I perceive." - -Still striving to rally his spirits, Michael Lee said: - -"One other man besides yourself, sir, has sometimes thought so." - -"Any one whom I know?" - -"Yes, sir; you know him slightly." - -"Who may he be?" - -"I, myself." - -Gideon Rowe smiled. - -"Mr. Steele did well to select you. Now pay careful heed to what -I am about to say. Your duties to-night are not heavy. You are to -stand as doorkeeper, and all you have to do is to act strictly in -accordance with the instructions I give you. Your position will be -there"--pointing to the door at the north end of the room, which led -on to the veranda. "You will stand outside that door, and admit only -those who establish their right to enter. And only those have the -right of entrance whose names are written on this paper." - -Michael Lee received the paper from Gideon Rowe, and read the names -aloud: - - - Reuben Thorne. - James Blanchard. - Henry Holmes. - Rachel Holmes. - Thomas Chatterton. - Ephraim Goldberg. - Dinah Dim. - Stephen Viner. - Caroline Miller. - Edward Blair. - Clarence Coveney. - Frederick Fairfax. - Richard Weston. - - -"You will keep the paper as a guide," said Gideon Rowe, over whose -countenance shades of varying expression had passed as the names were -read, the most noticeable being one of sad pity at the name of -Caroline Miller. "Not another person but those whose names are set -down there must be allowed to pass in under any pretence. But you may -still be liable to make a mistake, as you have never seen these ladies -and gentlemen. That contingency is provided for; examine this." - -He placed in the hands of Michael Lee a small piece of ivory in the -shape of a heart. Michael Lee examined it with curiosity. Gideon Rowe -continued: - -"You will neither admit nor announce any lady or gentleman who does -not produce a heart shaped like this in ivory, with his or her name -written upon it in red letters." - -"That is lucky," observed Michael Lee. - -"What is lucky?" - -Michael Lee quickly answered: "My grandmother wore an ivory charm, -with signs upon it, which was given to her by a gipsy woman; she had a -superstitious regard for it." - -Gideon Rowe considered for a few moments whether Michael Lee's words -were intended to be taken in jest or earnest, but he could not resolve -the point. - -"Very well," he said, "now you can go to your post. Here is a seat, -you see. You may find your work somewhat dull, but you will contrive -not to fall asleep." - -"When all the persons," said Michael Lee, "whose names are set down -here have arrived, will it be necessary for me to keep to my post?" - -"No," replied Gideon Rowe, with another strange look; "when all the -persons whose names are on that paper have arrived, your duties are at -an end." - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -ARRIVAL OF BUT ONE GUEST AT A DINNER FOR THIRTEEN. - - -Leaving Michael Lee at his post outside the door, Gideon Rowe went to -the folding windows, and drew the curtains over them. He lingered at -the window to inhale the faint perfume of lavender which the breeze -brought into the room. - -"Summer is dying," he murmured. - -Beautiful as was the evening, there was something inexpressibly sad in -the appearance of this room, with its dim light, and the black -clothing of the attendants, who moved about like shadows. - -"Mr. Steele," said Gideon Rowe, "you understand that the first guest -who arrives will preside at the head of the table. I will wait upon -him myself." - -"As heretofore, sir?" - -"As heretofore." - -All the arrangements being completed, the attendants stood in silence -behind the chairs, forming a black hedge around the table. Gideon Rowe -glanced anxiously at the clock. The hands indicated eighteen minutes -to seven. That he was singularly and powerfully agitated was evident, -but he controlled his excitement by a strong effort. Another minute -passed and another. The clock struck three-quarters past six, steps -were heard on the veranda, and almost immediately afterwards Michael -Lee opened the door by which he was stationed, and advancing a step, -called out: - -"Mr. Richard Weston." - -The sound of Michael Lee's voice afforded relief to every person in -the room, for all were beginning to be oppressed by the gloom and -silence which prevailed. Mr. Weston, as he entered, glanced before him -with a shrinking, air, and, grasping Gideon Rowe's hand firmly, as -though he derived comfort from the contact, shaded his eyes with his -left hand, and peered timidly at the attendants, whose faces he could -not see in the uncertain light. - -"Only the servants," observed Mr. Rowe, answering the look; "I am glad -to welcome you." - -"Thank you, Mr. Rowe, thank you," said Mr. Weston. "I am the first -then?" - -"You are the first," replied Mr. Rowe gravely. - -"I am almost ashamed to confess it," said Mr. Weston, "though I don't -know why I _should_ be ashamed to confess it to you, for we are old -cronies, eh, Rowe? old cronies--but before I entered the room, and -indeed for many days past, I have had a fearful and unreasonable fancy -that, that----" - -Gideon Rowe, with a serious smile, supplied the words which Mr. Weston -was at a lost to utter. "That some one might have been before you, and -deprived you of your position at the head of the table." - -"It was so, I assure you," assented Mr. Weston; "but I have been much -upset lately--crossed and thwarted on all sides, and where I had the -best right to expect obedience." - -"I have heard something--rumour is many-tongued, you know." - -"Yes, yes; and tells lies, and invents, and makes black white. I can -speak to you as an old friend. Tell me what you have heard." - -"It is an impertinence for people to speak of these things, for they -are family matters; and, indeed, it is difficult to bring vague -rumours into definite words. Briefly as I understand it, Gerald----" - -"My son--yes." - ---"Refuses to marry the lady you have chosen for him, loving another -lady, and having pledged himself to her. That much has reached my -understanding, through the rumours I have heard. Is it true? Has -Gerald really pledged himself to a lady of whom you disapprove, and -does he really love her?" - -"Love her! No. It is a fancy which will be gone in a few weeks. The -boy doesn't know his own mind." - -"That is not the impression I have formed of Gerald. He is somewhat -obstinate in his likes and dislikes. And he really has pledged himself -to this lady, and she really is a lady?" - -"She is the daughter of an old friend of mine," replied Mr. Weston, -with nervous hesitation; "of an old friend who has inflicted great -pain upon me. She is a good girl--a good girl, I do believe--but not -the wife for Gerald." - -"Why not? Because she is poor?" - -"Ah! you have heard, then. Can you not see that Gerald has a position -to maintain, and there are duties which society exacts from us? -Classes must be kept apart. But do not speak any further of this now; -it is not the time. On the anniversary of this night my mind is -occupied by but one subject." He glanced at the table. "It might be -but yesterday! The same old silver--the same old service--and some of -the same old wine, eh, Mr. Rowe? the same old wine." - -"The same, Mr. Weston: there is but little of it left. But it will -last our time, and then will come new wine, new fashions, new men and -women, new everything, to grow old as we have grown old, and to make -way for other fashions and other men and women, as our fashions and -ourselves are making way for them." - -"There are some things that do not seem to change," said Mr. Weston, -looking towards the clock, and feeling in his pockets. "The same old -clock, too. But I cannot see the hands. Ah, here they are!" He had -been searching his pockets for his spectacles, and he now produced the -case. "Looking at my eyes now, you wouldn't think that I am growing -more short-sighted every day, eh, Mr. Rowe?" - -"Your eyes are as bright as they were thirty years ago." - -"So they may appear, but they deceive me--as everything else does. -Bless my soul! they are gone!" - -He referred to his spectacles; his spectacle-case was empty. - -"Shall I send for them?" asked Gideon Rowe. - -"No, no; they would not be found, perhaps. I must do without my eyes -to-night. The clock is right, eh? What does it mark now?" - -"Thirteen minutes to seven." - -"Thank you. As I was saying, there are some things that do not change. -The Silver Flagon, for instance--there is no change in that." - -"There is no change in it from my first remembrance of it. I should -like it never to change. I used to wish that it might be carried on in -exactly the same way, and in the same old fashion, as it has been -carried on during this last hundred years. But it is in the nature of -things to change, and my wish will not be fulfilled. Had other things -turned out as I hoped, my desire would almost certainly have been -frustrated by the new scheme for the branch railway that is being -talked about. I am told that its course is designed immediately in the -rear of the garden." He looked regretfully towards the folding -windows, through the transparent curtains of which the western sky -could be seen reddening in the light of the declining sun. "One might -fancy one's self almost out of the world here; but if the railway -scheme be carried out, good-bye to the charm of perfect peacefulness -which rests upon the Silver Flagon. Good-bye, perhaps, to the Silver -Flagon itself. The thought hurts me, but not as much as it would have -done had my dear boy been alive." - -"Rowe!" exclaimed Mr. Weston, in a sympathising, wondering tone, "you -have had news of Philip, then?" - -"He is dead, poor lad! You know how I loved the boy, and how my heart -was bound up in him. I cherished the hope that, when his wild fit was -over, he would come and take my place here. The dear lad was working -to bring home a hatful of money to repay me for what I had done for -him. As though I needed repaying! Shame drove him away, and kept him -away while he was poor. He did not know his father's heart." - -"How did the news come?" asked Mr. Weston softly. - -"His wife brought it--a dear good girl. She is in the house now, and -will remain here as my daughter. You shall see her in good time, and -hear the sad story from her own lips. I think the news would have -killed me but for her." - -"My Gerald and your Philip were good friends," murmured Mr. Weston. -"Gerald will grieve, indeed, when he hears the news." - -"Life is full of disappointment, full of changes. Man proposes, God -disposes. I hope that I should die with my Philip by my bedside in -this peaceful spot, and he dies at the other end of the world, sixteen -thousand miles away, while I am still a hale old man. I have the -comfort of knowing that his heart was beating with love for me--the -dear lad!" He paused for a moment. "Notwithstanding this grief, I -still have something to be grateful for, and I bow with submission to -the Divine will. I have a new daughter, such a girl as I would have -chosen for him, and mayhap a great blessing will be bestowed upon me -in the course of a couple of months, and my Philip may live again in -his son. And have I not still the dear old Silver Flagon? I look upon -it almost as part of my own flesh and blood. My life is wedded to it -by sweet and solemn memories. Why, I remember these old flagons when I -could scarcely toddle! I used to look at my face in them when I was a -boy; there was one with a long dent in it--here it is now on the -sideboard--which seemed to split my face in two." He gazed wistfully -into its polished surface. "It isn't the same face as it was then." - -"What does the clock mark now?" - -"Eight minutes to seven." - -"How slowly the time passes! The moments are clogged with lead." - -"It is only the years that fly," said Gideon Rowe. "We watch the -minutes and the days, and the years slip by without our heeding them. -But all at once we wake to the fact, and a sudden shock comes upon us. -Truly 'we are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our little life is -rounded with a sleep.'" - -There was nothing singular in the perfect familiarity that existed -between the speakers. Gideon Rowe came of an old family (though if he -had come from a new family--a phrase I cannot quite understand--it -would have been all the same) who had acquired their money honestly, -and he had lived a blameless life. Such a man is the equal of a king. -It was to be especially noted that the present conversation -was carried on with a careful avoidance--by Mr. Weston most -certainly--of a subject which must have been uppermost in their minds, -and that directly one paused, the other took up the cue, as though -they were desirous that not a moment should pass in silence. Another -thing to be noted was, that frequently in the middle of a sentence, -Mr. Weston--whether he or his companion was speaking--turned his head -over his shoulder toward the door by which Michael Lee was stationed, -with a timid, nervous, frightened look, as if expecting to see an -apparition there. Still more conspicuous was his studied avoidance of -the pictures that were hanging on the walls. If in an unwitting moment -he happened to raise his eyes towards the portraits, he turned them -away again with visible agitation. The attendants in the room -preserved silence while their superiors were conversing. They stood in -their places like statues. - -"And we fret ourselves so unwisely," continued Mr. Rowe, with -something of a wary look towards Mr. Weston. "We torture ourselves so -unnecessarily. Instead of enjoying the opportunities which good -fortune has placed in our hands, we bring unhappiness upon ourselves -by setting our minds upon the accomplishment of certain wishes which -we deem to be good, notwithstanding that they distinctly clash with -the hopes of those who are dearest to us. We forget that life is -short. Let me give you a bit of my philosophy, and apply it to -ourselves. Here we stand, having grown from youth to manhood, from -manhood to old age, marching from our very cradles into our graves. -The changes that come naturally upon us we bear, if we are wise, with -patience and resignation; with hope, also, that carries us in our -lives to the contemplation of other spheres beyond the grave. There is -a wonderful amount of goodness and sweetness in life, with all its sad -changes. What best rewards us--what brings us the most pleasure and -satisfaction--is to enjoy this good, in so far as it affects ourselves -and others, and to make the very best use of it which lies in our -power. You cannot deny that this is a sensible philosophy." - -"It sounds so." - -"It is not only a sensible, it is a wise philosophy. Let me apply it. -Say that I have a child whom I love"--the memory of his Philip brought -a touching sadness into his tone--"say that this blessing, which I -have unhappily lost, is mine. If by any action of mine I can make that -child happy, it is surely good and wise in me to do so, and adds to my -enjoyment of life. Say that this child, having grown to manhood, with -a man's intelligence and a man's hopes, has set his heart upon a -certain thing--say, plainly, that he loves a girl who is both virtuous -and good, whom he wishes to make his wife, and that I constitute it my -business to thwart him--it is surely unwise in itself, if only in the -fact that it brings discomfort to me, that it fills my days with -uneasiness, and makes my home unhappy. Now, this is a selfish view, -but it is one which occurs to me by way of illustration." - -"But say, for the sake of argument," said Mr. Weston, somewhat -uneasily, "only for the sake of argument, mind----" - -"Very well, for the sake of argument." - -"That this child's fancy was a foolish one, and unwise in every -sense." - -"I don't admit that; but we are only arguing. Pray proceed." - -"And that you, his father, saw another and a better way of bringing -happiness into his life." - -"Who judges that my way is the better way?" demanded Mr. Rowe. - -"Yourself." - -Mr. Rowe shook his head, and taking a pair of spectacles from his -pocket, asked Mr. Weston to use them. Mr. Weston put them on gladly, -but they did not suit his sight; all was dim before him. He returned -the spectacles to Mr. Rowe. - -"I cannot see through them," he said. - -"Nonsense, nonsense," replied Mr. Rowe; "you are mistaken. You can." - -"I tell you I cannot." - -"Yet that is just what you insist others can do. You insist that they -can see through _your_ spectacles." - -"I say nonsense, nonsense to you! I understand your trick, but it does -not apply in this case. I say that in the difference of opinion -between you and your son which you have spoken of you are the better -judge. You are the older of the two by forty years. You know the -world; you have experienced its trials, its temptations, its -disappointments; you have seen its follies, its delusions. Therefore -you have a perfect right to say to your son, 'My boy, you are wrong! -you must conquer your idea--your fancy. Be patient, and time will show -you its folly; and one day you will thank me for opposing your -wishes.' Why," exclaimed Mr. Weston, raising his voice slightly in his -excitement, "do you not love your son?" - -"That it is not to be doubted." - -"And what you do in this matter, is it not for his good?" - -"Ah, my friend, my friend! I may think so, in my obstinacy, but it is -I who am wrong. Let us speak plainly. You know it is of your Gerald we -are speaking----" - -"Of course I know it." - -"What more can you desire than his happiness? The girl he loves, and -has pledged himself to, is poor, it is true; but she is a lady, and is -in every way worthy of him. Why embitter your life and his by standing -in his way?" - -"One moment, Mr. Rowe," interrupted Mr. Weston; "how do you know all -this? Have you seen the girl?" - -"I have." - -"And her father, have you seen him?" - -"No, but I hope soon to do so. From what I have heard, he is a man -whom it would be a proud privilege to call friend." - -Mr. Weston made a movement of uneasiness. - -"The subject annoys me," he said, "let us cease discussing it." - -"We have no time to continue it," said Gideon Rowe, glancing at the -clock, "or, despite your wish, I should not allow it to drop. We -ourselves were young once, and looked at things with different eyes -from those with which we view them now." - -"How near to the time is it?" - -"But one minute." - -During this minute there was silence in the room. Michael Lee's voice -was not heard. Mr. Weston moved slowly to the head of the table. The -attendants stood in silence behind the empty chairs. Presently the -clock struck the hour of seven. As the sound of the last stroke was -dying away, Gideon Rowe said to Mr. Steele: - -"Serve the dinner." - -Mr. Richard Weston was the only guest. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -ARRIVAL OF UNEXPECTED GUESTS. - - -Standing behind the twelve empty chairs, the attendants performed -their duties with as much ceremony as could have been expected from -them had they been waiting on the most exacting and punctilious -guests; but it was not difficult to see that they did not like the -service in which they were engaged. From time to time they gazed -furtively at each other, and according to the susceptibility of their -temperaments, were more or less disturbed by the strangeness of the -scene. There was something so ghostlike in this silent dinner, that -when the attendants moved they stepped lightly, as though they were -fearful of raising the dead. The only persons who were not dismayed at -the sight of the empty chairs were Mr. Weston, Mr. Steele, and the -proprietor of the Silver Flagon. Indeed, that the chairs were empty -appeared to afford satisfaction to at least one of the party--Mr. -Weston. - -"What has become of your unreasonable fancy?" asked Mr. Rowe. - -"Gone, thank God!" replied Mr. Weston, with a sigh of relief, draining -his glass. "But I had it very strong upon me. We cannot help these -superstitious feelings, and in my case there is a distinct cause for -them, in words once uttered by Reuben Thorne." - -"Poor Reuben! He was the merriest soul I ever met." - -"A careless, ne'er-do-well!" exclaimed Mr. Weston. - -"No man's enemy but his own," added Mr. Rowe quickly. "The merriest -part of the table was always where he sat, during the few years he was -with us. What words do you refer to?" - -"It was on the fourth anniversary of this day, and all the thirteen -were present. Death had not taken one of our party. I was sitting next -to Reuben, and the conversation was loud and jovial. All were in high -spirits with the exception of three--Caroline Miller, Edward Blair, -and Stephen Viner. But that it is incumbent upon us to speak gently of -the dead, I could find it in my mind to couple the name of Stephen -Winer with bitter words." - -"You couple his memory with bitter thoughts. Why spare the words? He -was a cruel man, with an unfeeling heart." - -"Hush! hush! He has gone where he will be judged." - -"And where," said Mr. Rowe, in no way softened, "the spirits of -Caroline and Edward rise in judgment against him. I am glad you feel -as I do toward the man who destroyed the happiness of two young -persons whose only fault was that they loved each other too well." - -"You have made me," said Mr. Weston, with a heightened colour, "wander -from my theme." - -"You wandered from it yourself," retorted Mr. Rowe, "by mentioning the -name of Stephen Viner." - -"Were it not," said Mr. Weston, with marks of agitation in his face, -"that we are old friends, I should think you had a design to irritate -me." - -"I have a design to speak plainly. If we can learn a lesson from the -dead which it would be good to learn, it is worse than folly to reject -it. The parallel is a strange one. Caroline Miller and Edward Blair -are not the only young lovers who have been parted----" - -"Stop, Rowe," interrupted Mr. Weston, in a tone of suppressed passion. -"I desire that you will not continue the subject. It is unkind, cruel -of you, and the conclusions you draw do me great injustice." - -He again emptied his glass, and the next few moments were passed in -silence. - -"I beg your pardon," then said Mr. Rowe, more gently; "I was betrayed -out of myself. You were speaking of Reuben Thorne." - -"All at the table were conversing loudly together," said Mr. Weston, -continuing his reminiscence with visible effort: it was evident that -silence was oppressive to him, "when my attention was called to Reuben -by several voices crying, 'What was that you said, Mr. Thorne--what -was that you said?' 'I said,' he replied, that if I happen not to be -myself the last survivor of this party--and I hope not to be, for the -duty he will have to perform will be a dismal one--I promise to visit -him, whoever he may be, and drink wine with him once more. Will any -others join me?' Unthinkingly, those at the table responded, 'I will,' -and 'I will!' I raised my hand for silence. 'It is,' I said, 'too -grave a subject to jest upon.' But Reuben was not to be diverted from -his light humour. 'I have promised,' he said; and there was an end of -the matter. Little did I think, when those words were exchanged, that -I should be the last survivor, and that Reuben Thorne's promise would -make such an impression upon me." - -Mr. Weston ate very little, but he drank a great deal of wine, and -pushed his plate from him with nervous haste, wishful to bring the -solid part of the dinner quickly to an end. There were many courses, -however, and the serving and removing of them occupied some time. The -colours of the sunset could be seen through the folds of the curtains -which hung before the windows, changing from a clear rose-red, like -the blush on the face of a fair woman, to the deeper glow which -mantles the face of a brunette; from that to purple, fringed by -darkest blue; thence by delicate and sadder tints, melting one in the -other, into quieter shades, until the fiery sky grew calm, and -heralded a lovely and peaceful night. As daylight disappeared, -additional candles were lighted, and the room would have presented a -cheerful aspect but for the empty chairs and the serious faces of the -attendants. Then, for the first time, Mr. Weston purposely raised his -eyes to the portraits which hung upon the walls. - -"Ah, me!" he sighed. "And this is all that remains of them--painted -canvas! I cannot distinguish their faces without my spectacles, but I -can see them in my mind's eye. All dead, all dead, but ourselves!" - -"Few lived to our age," remarked Mr. Rowe. - -"How many--how many? Let me see. One--two--three; no more. You were -right when you said 'tis only the years that fly. And some died very -young. Whether was it for good or ill, Rowe, that we, strangers to one -another, should have been brought together by one unknown to all of -us?" - -"It can scarcely have been for good," replied Mr. Rowe. "Looking back, -as we can look back, upon the lives of those to whom the money was -left, to what one of all those who are dead can it be said to have -brought happiness? To some it brought a curse. Too well do we know the -story of those two hapless ones, Caroline and Edward, whom it drove to -an early grave. Left to the absolute guardianship of a man whose heart -was stone, those orphans met and loved. In all human calculation, no -lot in life could be happier than that of these lovers would have been -had they married. But to marry without Stephen Viner's consent -entailed upon them, according to the provisions of the will, absolute -beggary; and this consent their guardian refused to give. He cast a -strange spell upon his delicate, susceptible ward. His strong mind and -will dominated her sensitive nature absolutely. He won from her a -solemn promise that she would not wed without his consent. Dinah Dim, -that kindly old maid, told me that Viner made Caroline swear this upon -the Bible. Edward and Caroline were but boy and girl when they were -first given into the guardianship of this man--what wonder that they -loved as they grew to man's and woman's estate? We all knew of their -love, and interceded for them, vainly. Prayers, entreaties, -remonstrance--all were useless. You yourself were one of the most -earnest in your entreaties, but Stephen Viner turned a deaf ear, and -so arranged that the lovers were to be parted. Edward was to be sent -to India, 'where he would get over his foolish passion,' Stephen Viner -said. Of my own knowledge I am aware that Edward wanted Caroline to -marry him and defy her guardian. But her oath, which she was never -allowed to forget, was of too solemn a nature to permit of this; and -besides, she had a clear and painful remembrance of privations endured -by her parents when she was a child, and, knowing that they had -married for love against the wish of their friends, she refused to -bring a similar suffering as her dowry to Edward. You know the sad -ending. Driven to despair, the young lovers drowned themselves--at -least, so it was supposed, when their bodies were found in the river. -You remember the gloom the news cast over our party when we met, and -the savage looks and words which were cast at Stephen Viner. Who that -is acquainted with this sad story can doubt that the money left so -strangely brought a curse to these two innocent young souls?" - -By this time it was night. The dessert was now on the table, which -required but guests around it to make a very charming scene. Mr. -Weston had drunk a good deal of wine, and was in a feverish, excited -condition. Michael Lee still kept watch outside the door. The only -voices that were heard were the voices of Mr. Weston and Mr. Rowe. -This latter person was evidently determined not to lose sight of the -principal object in his mind, and almost every word he uttered had -reference to it. - -"At such a time as this," he said, "it is but natural that our -thoughts should revert to those who are gone. I am thinking now of my -dead Philip, with reference to worldly things. Do you know, friend, -that I would cheerfully live the rest of my days in poverty if the -sacrifice of my worldly goods could bring my son to life?" - -"They are the natural feelings of a father," responded Mr. Weston. -"Were I in your place, I would surely feel the same." - -"And yet how strangely do we regulate our actions with reference to -those we love! While they live, we thwart their dearest hopes; when -they are gone, we are ready to make the extremest sacrifice upon the -altar of our affections. But then it is too late." - -He would have proceeded further but that a sudden spasm from Mr. -Weston diverted his attention. Following the direction of Mr. Weston's -eyes, he turned toward the folding windows. - -"Did you hear nothing?" asked Mr. Weston in a low tone. - -"No." - -"I fancied," murmured Mr. Weston, in explanation, "that I heard a step -upon the veranda." - -Mr. Rowe went to the window, and partly drew the curtains aside. The -moon was rising, and the soft light could be seen through the opening. - -"There is no one there," said Mr. Rowe, returning to Mr. Weston's -side. "As I was saying, when we have lost those whom we loved best in -the world, and whose natural and innocent desires we thwarted while -they lived, we beat our breasts and reproach ourselves----" - -Again he was interrupted. Michael Lee, the doorkeeper, entered the -room, and following Mr. Rowe's last word, came Michael Lee's -announcement: - -"Mr. Reuben Thorne." - -Mr. Weston's face grew white as the person announced approached and -bowed. - -"I am late," said the new-comer, dropping into a chair; "but better -late than never, they say." - -He poured out a glass of claret, and rising, said, with another bow to -Mr. Weston: "Your health;" and again resumed his seat. - -"Am I dreaming?" asked Mr. Weston, in a low tone of fear, addressing -himself to Mr. Rowe. - -Reuben Thorne heard the words, and before Mr. Rowe could speak, -himself replied: - -"No, faith; it is I who have been dreaming--dreaming for many years. -Life is a dream; and death!--but we will not speak of that. Live and -learn, they say. Let us correct the maxim. Die and learn, is -infinitely truer, as all men will find. If we could live and unlearn, -it would be better for us. 'Tis a conflict, from the cradle to the -grave--heart against head. And head wins, the rule is. Men would be -happier were it otherwise. Better for us to go back, and play at -children over again." - -He was so exactly the counterpart of one of the portraits on the wall, -in every detail of dress and personal appearance, that he could not -have been more like had he actually been the living presentment of the -picture. But the portrait was there and the man was there, and the man -looked up at the painted likeness of himself with some kind of -satisfaction. - -"If my memory serves me," he continued, still addressing Mr. Weston, -"it was a good old fashion for the chairman to welcome his guests as -they arrived. You have not addressed to me one word of welcome. At all -events, we will drink wine together." - -He raised his glass, and Mr. Weston mechanically raised his. Bowing to -each other, they emptied their glasses simultaneously. Then Mr. Weston -spoke for the first time, in a hushed, awe-struck tone. - -"I remember the words you uttered on the anniversary of our fourth -gathering. I recalled them before you entered. You promised to visit -the last of the thirteen who was left and take wine with him. You -asked if the others would join you; all, or nearly all, promised to do -so." He shuddered as he spoke. - -"The promise will be redeemed by our friends," said Reuben Thorne, "as -it is redeemed by me. But I have another purpose in coming to-night." - -"What purpose?" - -"A purpose in which I am not the only one engaged. Others are with me. -You will know more presently. Do you see any change in me?" - -"None. You are to me the same as when I last say you. Not a day -older--not a day." He, also, glanced at the portrait for confirmation. - -"That is many years ago now. I see a change in you. Your hair is -white; you are an old man. Perhaps in another year you, too, will have -passed away from among men. It will be well for you if you have sown -no seeds of unhappiness, which may grow into life-miseries when you -have gone. Even I, with no human ties, even I, who had no wife or -child, would, if I could, live my time over again." - -"Yet you were the merriest of all our company," said Mr. Weston, -nerving himself by a strong effort to sustain his part in the -conversation, gaining courage to do so from the wine, which he drank -freely; "you can have no regrets." - -"I have one." He looked toward the portrait of Stephen Viner with -anger. "If I had known what was to occur through that man's -villainy--if I had known the end of those two young lives, the -melancholy fate of Caroline Miller and Edward Blair, I would have -saved them despite the penalty I would have had to pay." - -"How would you have saved them?" - -"I would have killed the man," said Reuben Thorne, quietly, "who by -his cruelty destroyed two innocent lives. I would have killed one to -save two." - -Mr. Weston scarcely heard these last words; a step upon the veranda -drew his attention from Reuben Thorne. Again Michael Lee's voice was -heard: - -"Clarence Coveney." - -A man fifty years of age entered, dressed as Reuben Thorne was -dressed, in the fashion of a bygone generation. He bowed to Mr. Weston -and took his seat. - -"Once more," he said, nodding to Reuben Thorne. - -"Once more," responded Reuben Thorne. "We were speaking of Stephen -Viner." - -"He is not here." - -"No; but he will come." - -Other steps upon the veranda, and Michael Lee's voice again: - -"Henry Holmes. Rachel Holmes." - -Two, whose names only proclaimed them brother and sister, entered with -the same ceremony, and took their seats. They were unlike each other -in appearance, and the lady, who was young, was the more composed of -the two. - -"It is so long since we met," she said in a soft tone to Mr. Weston, -"that Henry was doubtful of the welcome we should receive." - -"Why should he be doubtful?" said Reuben Thorne. "Every one here has a -claim to be present. Is it not so?" he asked, addressing himself to -Mr. Weston. - -"It is so," replied Mr. Weston. - -"And all are welcome," continued Reuben Thorne. - -"And all are welcome," continued Mr. Weston mechanically. The words -seemed to be forced from him. - -"Whether the proposition," said Reuben Thorne, "to meet once in every -year, as we did for many years--each more or less according to the -tenor of his life--was or was not a wise one, it was accepted by all -without demur. Let us, then, now that we have met once again, banish -all ideas of strangeness from our minds; let us be cordial and -friendly to one another, as we once were. This meeting will be the -last. Let us be merry; and let only those be sad who have no regrets." - -"Were that really exemplified in life," said Rachel Holmes, "there -would be less sorrow in it." - -"Somewhat of a philosophical paradox, that," observed the landlord of -the Silver Flagon. - -The circumstance of Mr. Rowe taking part in the conversation brought -relief to Mr. Weston. The scene in which he was playing a part -appeared to be less unreal, and he was less startled by the voice of -Michael Lee, the doorkeeper, who announced, in quick succession: - -"James Blanchard. Thomas Chatterton. Ephraim Goldberg." - -Mr. Weston, white and trembling, rose and bowed to them as they -entered. - -"There are eight of us now," said Reuben Thorne, in a cheerful tone; -"but five more remain. I remember well the occasion and the motive -that first brought us together." - -Another guest joined the party in the midst of the speech. - -"Frederick Fairfax." - -"Nine," continued Reuben Thorne. "If this meeting is less pleasant -than the first, it is not a whit less strange. Surely that is Dinah -Dim's step upon the veranda." - -They all turned turned their faces to the door. "Dinah Dim," called -out Michael Lee. - -An old woman, with snow-white hair, tall and bent, entered the room -with a light step, and looked briskly around. Her likeness to her -picture on the wall was something marvellous. Not a hair was out of -its place; of this there were five rows of curls on either side of her -head; mittens on her hands and wrists; her gown of old-fashioned -brocade; a scarf across her shoulders; eyes very bright; hands small -and white; a complexion like a peach. - -"So you are all before me," she said, in quick, silvery tones--"that -scamp, Reuben Thorne--how are you, my child?--and the Holmes's, and -Mr. Blanchard, and Coveney, and Fairfax, and Chatterton, and Goldberg. -Is that all? Ah, no; here is my child, Richard Weston." She curtseyed -to him, and held out her hand; he took it in his. "Why, child, you -forget what to do with it, you used to kiss it when you were younger." -He kissed her fingers. "Your hair is as white as mine, child; when I -first knew you it was bright and curly. I shall take my seat next to -you. And there is my friend, Mr. Rowe--as straight as an arrow. Now, -my dears, why do we want the attendants about us? We can help -ourselves and chat more freely. Send them away, Mr. Rowe, send them -away." - -At the sign from Mr. Rowe, the attendants, nothing loth, left the -room, and did not enter again. The old lady continued: - -"Now we can breathe. How many chairs are empty? One, two, three. -Stephen Viner, the monster, is not here; and those two poor -children--ah, me! Give me something to drink. No, not wine; water. I -hope none of you will drink too much. Reuben Thorne, put down that -glass! Drink is your ruin, and you know it. Who was speaking before I -entered?" - -"I," replied Reuben Thorne. - -"You always had plenty to say. Go on, then; I dare say I interrupted -you." - -"The subject was about our first meeting not being more strange than -this. Let me thank you for your presence here. You do not forget that -it was I who first proposed this gathering." - -"You have nothing to thank us for," said Rachel Holmes; "we are -controlled by independent forces." - -"Rachel Holmes," cried Dinah Dim, "your words were always intelligible -to sensible ears. Go on, Reuben." - -"I have nothing to go on with particularly, and nothing very -particular to say. My mind is filled, by but one subject just now." - -"What subject?" - -"The absent ones--two whom we loved, one whom we hated. Say--am I -right?" - -"We all share your feelings," said Dinah Dim. - -"I would prefer to hear each speak for himself," said Reuben Thorne, -his eyes travelling from one to the other of the strange company. - -One after another expressed their adherence to his sentiments with -reference to the three who were absent. - -"All but Mr. Weston have spoken," said Reuben Thorne. - -"If I know anything of Richard Weston," said Dinah Dim, "he agrees -with us with all his soul. Why, of all our company, he is the man who -was ever the most eloquent on the beauty of love! He married for love, -my children. I call upon you to drink to the memory of his wife." - -The guests rose and drank the toast, bowing to Mr. Weston as they did -so. He raised his glass, and drank with them. - -"Who," continued Dinah Dim, with vivacity, "has the best claim to -speak with authority upon this subject? It is not unknown to us that -in his married life he tasted the sweet happiness that springs from -mutual love. And when he lost his wife, did he not write upon her -tombstone, 'Love sweetens all; love levels all?' Honour to the man -who, not in theory but in practice, carried out this noblest of all -the creeds. It is fit that he should be the last survivor, and that he -should preside to-night. Dear children, you know I was the oldest of -the thirteen, and you always treated me with kindness. Well, it was -right that it should be so, for I might have been the grandmother of -some, when we first met. But it was my sad fate to dream only of the -happiness which I once fondly hoped would be mine. I do not remember -that I ever told you my story." She turned to Mr. Weston for -confirmation or correction. - -"I never heard it," he said. - -"It is soon told. The man I loved was drowned at sea before we were -married. That is the history of my life. Brief enough, is it not? He -was drowned, and I lost him. That is how I grew into an old maid, -living upon the memory of love. I found my consolation as all find it -who are faithful. Though," said Dinah Dim, her tones becoming lighter, -"I think that Reuben Thorne would have tried to tempt me to change my -name had I been ten years younger." - -"I might," assented Reuben Thorne, "had I not suspected that you were -Constancy." - -A shade of grief rested for a moment on Dinah Dim's face. - -"I had that word used to me once when my heart was beating with the -anticipation of a happy future." - -"By your lover?" - -"By my lover, lost to me for many years; lost when I loved him most." - -A heavy step was heard upon the veranda, and there was silence in the -room until the voice of Michael Lee was heard: - -"Stephen Viner." - -Almost before the words had passed his lips, the new comer had made -his way to the table, and without a motion or word of salutation -dropped into a chair. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -MARGARET'S TRIUMPH. - - -A dead silence reigned for many moments after the appearance of the -last comer. All eyes were turned upon him in anger and displeasure, -but he did not raise his face to meet their gaze. It was a cruel face, -with hard lines in it, a face which ordinarily was devoid of any -expression of kindness; but, although sternness was native to it, -irresolution and some signs of remorse were visible on this occasion. -That he heard no word of welcome was evidently--if one might judge -from appearances--distressing to him, and he sat in silence, with -hands tightly clenched beneath the table. - -It was now ten o'clock, and the moon was at its full. The curtains of -the window had been drawn aside by one of the guests, and the light of -a lovely moon added to the peacefulness and beauty of the night. The -landlord of the Silver Flagon regarded the guests watchfully and -warily, and with uneasiness; but his attention was principally -directed to Mr. Richard Weston. The old gentleman's face was flushed -with wine and excitement; after the first feelings of fear and dismay -at the appearance of these unexpected visitors, he had striven hard to -nerve himself, so that he might play his part in this strange scene in -a befitting manner; that his nerves, however, were highly strung was -shown by an occasional convulsive twining of the fingers, and by his -placing his hands before his eyes and then removing them, as though to -prove to the evidence of his senses that he was not dreaming. Dinah -Dim, who sat next to him, was also very attentive in her observance of -him, and now and again placed her hand on his, and took away the wine -glass which he would have raised to his lips. - -She was the first to speak. - -"The presence of this man," she cried, in an agitated tone, "is -contamination. Why is he here on this last night of our ever meeting?" - -Stephen Viner, with his eyes fixed still upon the table, waited in -expectation of some other person speaking. As no one answered Dinah -Dim's question, he did so. - -"I was constrained to come," he said. - -"For what reason?" she retorted. "For your own pleasure or ours? -Friends, I appeal to you. Did this man's presence ever bring one smile -to our lips, or engender one kindly thought or feeling?" - -"Never," answered Reuben Thorne; and "Never," answered the others. - -"His life was a curse to him, and to those whom a sad fortune placed -in his power. I ask again, why is he here?" - -"Your words are harsh," said Stephen Viner, raising his hand as if for -mercy. "Your tone is pitiless." - -Dinah Dim laughed scornfully. "This man talks of pity," she exclaimed, -"in whose cruel breast no spark of it ever dwelt. A pretty preacher, -truly!" - -"I have told you," he said, in a low tone, "that I was constrained to -come to-night. Say that I am here for judgment." - -"What kind of judgment," demanded Dinah Dim, "can you expect from -those who know you? Has not your own heart punished you sufficiently?" - -"It has," he replied, placing his hand to his breast with a gasp of -passion. "Can I not make atonement?" - -"What atonement, after all these years?" - -"I can ask their forgiveness; I can tell them, as I tell you, that I -repent of my cruelty, and that if the years could roll back--alas for -me that they cannot! I would act differently." - -"See you now, my children," said Dinah Dim, rising--"see you now, -Richard Weston, who have tasted the priceless blessing of pure devoted -love--this man who deliberately destroyed the happiness of two young -lovers, comes before us when it is too late, and repents when it is -too late. A pretty atonement truly is this that he proposes to make by -asking the forgiveness of two innocent young creatures whom he drove -to their death, and whose only crime was that they loved. What -judgment should we pass upon him--what judgment does he deserve? As -you sow, you shall reap. Let this man reap as he has sown. Would any -one here hold out to him the hand of friendship?" - -"Not one," answered Reuben Thorne, and every person echoed his words. - -Even Mr. Weston, towards whom Dinah Dim looked for assent, was -compelled to say:-- - -"Not one." - -"Shall the curse of money," proceeded Dinah Dim, "for ever outweigh -love--love that humanises the world? The man who, for money's sake, -deliberately drags two loving souls asunder--the man who, for money's -sake, deliberately poisons the lives of two young creatures whose -hearts are drawn together by the holiest sentiment which sweetens -life--brings desolation upon his soul here and hereafter. Who among us -has done this?" - -"Stephen Viner," said Reuben Thorne, and again they all echoed his -words. All but Mr. Weston, over whose face a convulsive shudder -passed. - -Dinah Dim looked at him for a moment, and observing his agitation did -not press him to join in the general condemnation. - -"Let Stephen Viner, then," said Dinah Dim sternly, "go from among us. -His presence brings shame upon us." - -The man thus judged and condemned gazed appealingly around, but saw no -pitying sign. As he rose to go, Dinah Dim held up a warning hand, and -Michael Lee's voice was heard for the last time: - -"Caroline Miller. Edward Blair." - -The lovers entered, side by side. Dinah Dim moved from her place, and -passed her arm round the waist of the young girl, who appeared to need -support. They approached with slow and hesitating steps, and Mr. -Weston turned towards them; but he did not see their faces. The -excitement of the scene had completely overpowered him, and, with a -wild motion of his hands, he sank to the ground in a state of -insensibility. - - -* * * * * * - - -When he recovered he was lying on the veranda, and Gideon Rowe was -kneeling by his side. Uncertain whether he was awake or asleep, he -closed his eyes, and seemed to fall naturally into a quiet dream--but -a dream in which he was conscious of though not actually interested -in, all that passed around him. It was as he lay thus, with his eyes -closed, that he felt the influence of a womanly presence, in soft -touches and murmured words, and a tenderness of action not to be -expressed. Opening his eyes he saw no woman, but only his friend, -Gideon Rowe, the landlord of the Silver Flagon by his side. - -"That is well, that is well," said Gideon Rowe gently. "You are better -now." - -Mr. Weston held his hands for a little while before he spoke. - -"I do not feel ill. Why am I here? What has occurred? Ah," he cried, -with a shudder, as his eyes fell upon the folding windows of the room, -"I remember. Are they still there?" - -"They! Who?" - -"They! Who?" echoed Mr. Weston, wonderingly and weakly. "Can you -ask?--you were by my side?" - -"Come, come," said Gideon Rowe, in a soothing tone, "you must not -distress yourself with fancies. Why do you look so strangely toward -the room? No person is in it. You were overcome, and you fainted. But -you are strong now. Come, let us see if you can walk a bit. That's -right, that's right." - -He assisted Mr. Weston to rise, and they paced the veranda slowly, -Gideon Rowe purposely pausing by the window which led to the room, to -give Mr. Weston assurance and to dispel his fears. - -"Will you go in?" - -"No, no," cried Mr. Weston, "we will sit here; the night is very -beautiful. Rowe, do you believe in omens?" - -"Has any serious one ever occurred to you?" - -"None, in my remembrance." - -"Were you not telling me of poor Philip's death some time to-night?" - -"Yes," replied Gideon Rowe, with a heavy sigh. - -"How did he die? What was the cause of his death?" - -"Poor lad! he died by fire. It is a dreadful story." - -The father's voice was shaken by grief. - -"If it will not distress you too much to tell me," said Mr. Weston, -taking Gideon Rowe's hand, "I should like to hear more about him. Do -not think me unkind, but I am in a strange mood. I feel like a child. -What o'clock is it?" - -"Past midnight." - -"About Philip, now; indulge me. I loved the boy myself." - -"Your Gerald loved him; they were true friends. Had Philip lived, they -would have found much joy in their friendship, but fate willed it -otherwise. Poor Philip died in the goldfields, in Australia--but I -promised that you should hear the story from the lips of the widow. -Will you see her? She is very near." - -"I fancied just now, when I awoke, that a woman was near me." - -"It was Margaret." - -"Margaret!" echoed Mr. Weston. - -The name brought with it reproachful remembrances. - -"That is the name of the girl Philip married." - -"Yes, I will see her. One moment; I must not miss saying what was in -my mind. I was speaking of omens. You had no foreshadowing of Philip's -death?" - -"None; the poor lad was dead many months before I heard the news." - -"But omens come occasionally to some persons." - -"I have read and heard so." - -"Gideon, one has come to me; it may foreshadow my death. I have seen -the dead." - -Gideon Rowe made no comment upon this, but went to the end of the -veranda, and called "Margaret!" - -Margaret--_our_ Margaret--herself appeared, simply dressed. She -approached Mr. Weston, with a serious expression on her beautiful -face. - -"It _is_ you," he exclaimed, gazing at her in wonder. - -"Yes," she said, "poor Philip was my husband." - -"Why did you not tell me this before, Margaret?" - -"I had my reasons. I was not sure that I could trust you." - -"Margaret," interposed Gideon Rowe, "Mr. Weston wishes to hear the -particulars of our poor boy's death; I promised that you should tell -him." - -Margaret turned her head; her lips trembled; tears rushed to her eyes. - -"Nay, nay," said Mr. Weston; needing sympathy, he was in the mood to -give it; "another time. It will pain her too much." - -But Margaret had a purpose in telling the story, and she related the -particulars of Philip's death in simple language and in feeling tones. -She felt every word she spoke; she was not acting now, and natural -pathos it was that drew tears from Mr. Weston. - -"I saw my devoted darling in the flames," said Margaret, between her -sobs, "looking for me with blind eyes. I tried to get to him, but they -held their arms round me, and I could not escape from them. But there -was one--ah, there was one!--who, seeing my despair and Philip's -peril, rushed into the flames to save his friend. Too late, alas! He -dragged my darling out of the burning house, but could not save his -life; yet he gave my Philip to me for a few blessed hours." - -Overcome by her emotion, Margaret paused. - -"A noble action!" said Mr. Weston. "A noble man!" - -Margaret nerved herself to proceed. "He and I nursed Philip, and -watched the life die out of him. Every word my darling uttered is -graven on my heart. 'Dear old fellow!' he said, with feeble gasps, to -this dearest of friends. 'Noble old fellow! God bless Margaret and -you!'" - -"Indeed, indeed," said Mr. Weston, "a blessing should fall upon such a -man!" - -"'Take care of Margaret,'" whispered my Philip; "'be a father to her. -Dear old dad I hoped to see you, and show you my darling. But he will -bring her to you.' He uttered but few words after that," continued -Margaret, who standing now between Mr. Weston and Philip's father, -held a hand of each, "but they all referred to his noble friend and to -me, and you, sir" (to Gideon Rowe), "whom he loved most tenderly. So -my Philip died. Perhaps he hears me tell the sad story of our love on -this solemn, beautiful night. Philip, my darling!" she murmured -softly, raising her tearful eyes to the bright heavens; "if you can -help me bring the blessing you invoked on our dear friend's head, you -will bring a blessing also to your Margaret, in whose heart you will -live till she joins you in a better world than this!" - -"Is this friend, then, unhappy?" asked Mr. Weston. - -"Most unhappy--most undeservedly unhappy. Ah, sir, if you had it in -your power, would you not help him--would you not be proud to bring -joy into the life of such a man? You were right in calling him noble. -Such a nature as his ennobles the world! And yet at this moment he is -stricken down by grief." - -"He is here, then--in England?" - -"He is here, in England, in Devonshire, within sound of my voice." - -"What is his name?" - -"I must relate an accident of his early life before I tell you, in -proof that this act of devotion toward my Philip was not the only act -of sacrifice and devotion he has performed. Not the only one, did I -say? His life is full of noble deeds. When he was young he had a -friend--nay, do not take your hand away; he and his friend loved the -same girl. He saw that the girl's heart was given to his friend, whom -he had kept in ignorance of the state of his affections, out of -consideration for him. Listen, now, to what this man did when he fully -learned the truth. Loving this girl, he could not remain near her -without betraying himself. Knowing that the revelation of his love -would bring distress both to his friend and the girl he loved, he went -from them suddenly. He did more than this; his friend at that time was -not rich. He himself had some little store of money--between one and -two thousand pounds, as near as I can learn; he placed this money--the -whole of his fortune--in the hands of a lawyer, to be given to the -girl, with strict instructions that neither she nor his friend should -know from whom it came. It is now for the first time that his friend -hears of this act of sacrifice and unselfishness. Why do you turn from -me?" - -"Let me be, child, for a few moments," said Mr. Weston, in broken -tones; "I might have guessed--I might have guessed! Where in the world -could I find another such noble heart as Gerald's? I have wronged -him--deeply wronged him." - -"A fault confessed is half atoned for," said Margaret, pursuing her -advantage. "Complete the atonement. You can do so." - -"Child, my promise is given elsewhere. You do not know what strange -things have happened this night, Margaret, that, apart from what you -have told me, would induce me to complete the atonement. Margaret, I -have been visited by the spirits of the dead--by men and women who -passed out of the world years and years ago, and whose faces I have -seen only in my dreams. _They_ came to warn me, as it seems--but I -cannot speak of it." - -Margaret assisted him to a chair, and knelt by his side, Gideon Rowe -standing a few paces away. - -"Do not disregard their warning," she said sweetly, "if you disregard -my pleading--for I do plead, and you know for whom." - -"I know--I know; but my promise stands in the way." - -"What promise?" - -"Gerald is promised to another--I cannot depart from my word." - -Margaret smiled tenderly. - -"What is the name of the young lady?" - -"Miss Forester. You saw her on the unhappy night on which my friend -left my house with his daughter." - -"It was an unhappy night for all of us. Did this promise not bind -you----" - -He took up her words. - -"Did this promise not bind me, I would, if I could find the courage to -do so, and were I assured that Gerald and Lucy truly loved each other, -go to my friend--of whose goodness every time that I speak of him -brings fresh proof--and ask the hand of his daughter for my son." - -Such happiness stirred Margaret's heart at these words that he felt -her warm tears upon his hand as she kissed it again and again. - -"I cannot express my joy," she said, "for I know that you never yet -forfeited a promise. Father," she called Gideon Rowe to her side, and -whispered a few words of instruction in his ear. He nodded smilingly, -and left her. "Dear Mr. Weston, if such a sentiment as pure loves -exists--and we know it does--it exists in the hearts of Lucy and -Gerald. As for Miss Forester, here she is to speak for herself." - -If Miss Forester and Rachel Holmes were one and the same person, then -Mr. Weston might have believed that Miss Forester was there to speak -for herself; for the lady who came now upon the scene was dressed in -the old-fashioned garments worn by Rachel Holmes when she made her -appearance at the dinner, an unexpected and certainly unwelcome guest. -Finding no clue to the enigma, and sorely disturbed by the late -occurrence, Mr. Weston grasped Margaret's hand in deep agitation. - -"She is no phantom," said Margaret, with a smile; "she is really and -truly flesh and blood, as you and I are. I see that you are filled -with wonder, and if you will say, Margaret, I forgive you,' I will -explain what is now a mystery to you, and will relieve your mind of -the fears which oppress you." - -"Could you do that," he responded, "I would say freely 'Margaret, I -forgive you,' whatever it is that you have done." - -Again Margaret called Gideon Rowe to her side, and again, with a few -whispered words, despatched him to do her bidding. - -"I have played the part of a scheming woman to-night. The truest friend -I ever had or ever shall have, the noblest soul I have ever known, is -_your_ friend, Gerald Hart. He has rendered me such services as no man -or woman could possibly forget; he risked his life for me and mine, -and my heart is filled with gratitude towards him. At Silver Creek, -where I first met my poor Philip, I learned that Mr. Hart had a -daughter whom he loved with a tender and beautiful love. She was the -pulse of his life; as she suffered and enjoyed, he suffered and -enjoyed, and her happiness was nearest and dearest to his heart. You -have heard the story of our lives at Silver Creek, and of my darling -Philip's death, and you can understand with what feelings of true -regard and veneration I look up to this steadfast friend. We came -home, and he had the happiness of embracing his Lucy, whom he had left -a child, and who was now grown into a beautiful woman. And as good and -as pure, sir, as she is beautiful. But I discovered that Lucy had a -secret grief which would soon send her to her grave, unless it were -dispelled. Ah, sir, you do not know the truth, the constancy, the -depth of tenderness which dwell in that dear girl's soul! We came to -your house as visitors. I was the first who saw that your Gerald and -my Lucy were lovers--that they had been lovers before her father's -return home--and I did my best to aid them. We had to keep this secret -from you, for you were bent upon other views for Gerald, and I learned -to my dismay that certain words which passed between you and Mr. Hart -would cause him to sacrifice his own and Lucy's happiness rather than -that she should marry your son without your consent. Then came that -unhappy night when your friend went from your house, with his heart -almost broken by the belief that he had been deceived where most he -trusted. Now, sir, I had pledged myself to bring Lucy and Gerald -together, and to obtain--what I have already (see, sir, how bold I -am!)--your consent to their union. In the face of all the -difficulties, how was I to accomplish this? I flew to a friend, by -name Lewis Nathan, an old sweetheart of my mother's. I had heard that -you had a Bluebeard's room in your house, and acting upon Mr. Nathan's -suggestion, we entered the room during your absence, and discovered -thirteen portraits hanging on the walls--nothing more. When Mr. Hart -and Lucy left your house I was in despair, for I saw no way of -accomplishing my desire. I made myself known to Philip's father in -this dear old Silver Flagon, and I won my way to his affection. - -"I had not been in the Silver Flagon a week before I found myself in a -room hung round with portraits--thirteen of them--exact duplicates of -those which line your Bluebeard's room. Curious to know, I coaxed the -story of these pictures out of Mr. Rowe, and then I thought I saw a -way to win your consent. I consulted Mr. Nathan, and we planned the -scheme. It was a desperate expedient, dear sir, but I am a bold -creature, as you know, and I alone am responsible for all that has -occurred to-night. I am an actress, and some of those who presented -themselves to you at the dinner are actors whom I engaged from the -theatre. All your guests were not professionals, sir. This lady, Miss -Forester--who is Miss Forester no longer, for, determined not to be -forced into a distasteful union, she was privately married to the -gentleman to whom her heart is given--entered with fervour into my -scheme, and personated Rachel Holmes; her husband personated Henry -Holmes. See, sir, some of your late guests are in the garden. Here are -your spectacles; I could not afford that you should wear them before; -I was fearful lest your sight should be too sharp for me. Did we play -our parts well, sir? Reuben Thorne was enacted by my trusty friend, -Mr. Lewis Nathan. And I, sir, am Dinah Dim, very much at your -service." - -Mr. Weston revolved this explanation in his mind during many moments -of silence. I am not disposed to follow the current of his thoughts; -he was a worldly man, and an analysis might detract from the grace of -the act which he presently performed. He was compelled to confess that -he had been conquered, and he found some consolation in the -inexpressible relief he experienced in being relieved of his fears. He -had a question or two to ask, however. - -"Who was Stephen Viner?" - -"An actor." - -"And Caroline Miller and Edward Blair?" - -"Lucy and your son, sir. I was doubtful of them from the first, afraid -that their feelings might betray them." - -"Rowe," said Mr. Weston to the landlord of the Silver Flagon, "you had -a doorkeeper?" - -"Yes--Michael Lee by name." - -"Where is he?" - -Margaret interposed. "That is one of my secrets, sir. My father had -not seen your friend, Gerald Hart, until he introduced himself -to-night." - -"Until he introduced himself to-night!" exclaimed Gideon Rowe. "Nay, I -have never yet seen Mr. Hart." - -"You have," replied Margaret, with a smile; "he is Michael Lee." - - -* * * * * * - - -Thus, by this strange and bold device, our Margaret won the day. -Truly, it was a triumph of love. As Richard Weston and Gerald Hart -stood face to face clasping hands once more, and as they turned -towards their children, who were radiant with joy, Margaret murmured -to herself the name of "Philip," and looked up to heaven, not -unhappily. They remained together until morning broke. As the wondrous -colours came into the sky, Margaret said to Mr. Hart: - -"Do you remember the night of the storm in Silver Creek, when you were -robbed of your money, and when you and Philip and I stood at the -window watching the day break?" - -"I do, dear Margaret--dear daughter!" - -"God bless you!" she said, with a sob. - -"And you, my dear," he softly answered. "You have accomplished the -supreme happiness of my life." - - - -THE END. - - - - -PRINTED BY TAYLOR AND CO., -LITTLE QUEEN STEET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS. - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's At the Sign of the Silver Flagon, by B. L. 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