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diff --git a/old/53724-8.txt b/old/53724-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3c89c75..0000000 --- a/old/53724-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16487 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jessie Trim, 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: Jessie Trim - -Author: B. L. Farjeon - -Release Date: December 12, 2016 [EBook #53724] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JESSIE TRIM *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page images provided by -Google Books (Mercantile Library, New York; New York Public -Library) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: This edition of Jessie Trim was published by -Tinsley Brothers (London) in two installments in the following issues -of Tinsleys' Magazine: - - Vol. XIV. From January to June 1874. Chapters I.-XXV. - https://books.google.com/books?id=Dj8xAQAAMAAJ - (Mercantile Library, New York; New York Public Library) - - Vol. XV. From July to December 1874. Chapters XXVI.-LI. - https://books.google.com/books?id=1-kRAAAAYAAJ - (Mercantile Library, New York; New York Public Library) - - - - - - -TINSLEYS' MAGAZINE - - - -LONDON: -ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W. - - - - - - -TINSLEYS' MAGAZINE. - - - ----------- -VOL. XIV. -From January to June 1874. ----------- - - - -LONDON: -TINSLEY BROTHERS, -8 CATHERINE STREET, STRAND, W.C. -[_All rights of translation and reproduction reserved_.] - - - - - - -CONTENTS. -JESSIE TRIM. By B. L. Farjeon, Author of Blade-o'-Grass,' -'Golden Grain,' Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses,' 'Grif,' 'London's -Heart,' and 'Joshua Marvel:' - - - - -CONTENTS - -Chap. - - I. My Grandmother's Wedding. - II. I am frightened of my Shadow. - III. My Grandmother's Long Stocking. - IV. I murder my Baby-brother. - V. I play the Part of Chief Mourner. - VI. In which a great Change in my Circumstances takes place. - VII. In which a Fairy in a Cotton-Print Dress is introduced. - VIII. A Postman's Knock. - IX. Uncle Bryan introduces himself. - X. Our new Home. - XI. In which I take part in some lawless Expeditions. - XII. A singular Episode in our quiet Life. - XIII. A sudden Shock. - XIV. The World becomes bright again. - XV. Jessie's Rosewater Philosophy. - XVI. The Stone Monkey Figure gives up its Treasures. - XVII. The true Story of Anthony Bullpit. - XVIII. Uncle Bryan commences the Story of his Life. - XIX. Strange Revelations in Uncle Bryan's Life. - XX. Uncle Bryan concludes his Story. - XXI. I receive an Invitation. - XXII. I am introduced to a Theatrical Family. - XXIII. The Sunday-night Suppers at the Wests'. - XXIV. Turk, the First Villain. - XXV. Holding the Word of Promise to the Ear. - XXVI. We enjoy a deceitful Calm. - XXVII. The Storm breaks. - XXVIII. Colour-blind. - XXIX. Preparations for an important Event - XXX. Jessie's Triumph. - XXXI. My Mother expresses her Fears concerning Jessie. - XXXII. Jessie makes an Explanation. - XXXIII. Mr. Glover. - XXXIV. Turk West's Appearance at the West-end Theatre, and its - Results. - XXXV. Jessie's Birthday. - XXXVI. I speak plainly to uncle Bryan. - XXXVII. Turk makes a Confession. - XXXVIII. Mr. Glover declines to satisfy me. - XXXIX. A new Fear. - XL. What the Neighbours said. - XLI. Josey West declares that she has got into her proper - Groove. - XLII. From Frances to her Husband, Bryan Carey. - XLIII. A happy Recovery. - XLIV. At Rehearsal. - XLV. Old Mac expresses his Opinion of Mr. Glover. - XLVI. A strange Dream. - XLVII. Exit Mr. Glover. - XLVIII. Josey West laments her crooked Legs. - XLIX. Uncle Bryan again. - L. Josey West disturbs us in the Middle of the Night. - LI. My Mother's Bible. - - - - - - -_TINSLEYS' MAGAZINE_. -January 1874. - - -JESSIE TRIM. - -BY B. L. FARJEON, - -AUTHOR OF 'BLADE-O'-GRASS,' 'GOLDEN GRAIN,' 'BREAD-AND-CHEESE AND -KISSES.' 'GRIF,' 'LONDON'S HEART,' AND 'JOSHUA MARVEL.' - - - - -CHAPTER I. -MY GRANDMOTHER'S WEDDING. - - -As my earliest remembrances are associated with my grandmother's -wedding, it takes natural precedence here of all other matter. I was -not there, of course, but I seem to see it through a mist, and I have -a distinct impression of certain actors in the scene. These are: a -smoke-dried monkey of a man in stone, my grandmother, my grandfather -(whom I never saw in the flesh), and a man with a knob on the top of -his head, making a meal off his finger-nails. - -Naturally, this man's head is bald. Naturally, this man's nails are -eaten down to the quick. I am unable to state how I come to the -knowledge of these details, but I know them, and am prepared to stand -by them. Sitting, as I see myself, in a very low armchair--in which I -am such an exact fit that when I rise it rises with me, much to my -discomfort--I hear my grandmother say: - -'He had a knob on the top of his head, and he was always eating his -nails.' - -Then a solemn pause ensues, broken by my grandmother adding, in a -dismal tone: - -'And the last time I set eyes on him was on my wedding-day.' - -The words are addressed not so much to me as to the smoke-dried monkey -of a man in stone, which had occupied the place of honour on the -mantelpiece in my grandmother's house, and which she had brought with -her as a precious relic--(Jane Painter, I remember, always called it a -relict)--when she came to live with us. The head of this stone figure -is loose, and wags upon the slightest provocation. When something -falls in the room, when the door is slammed, when a person walks -sharply towards it, when it is merely looked at I sometimes fancy. I -am not prepossessed in its favour, and I regard it with uneasy -feelings, as probably possessing a power for evil, like a -malevolently-inclined idol. But my grandmother, for some mysterious -reason, values it as a very precious possession, and sits staring -dumbly at it for hours. I watch her and it until, in my imagination, -its monkey-face begins to twitch and its monkey-lips to move. At a -certain point of my watch, I fancy that its eyes roll and glare at me, -and I cover mine with my hands to shut out the disturbing sight. But I -have not sufficient courage to remain blind for more than a very few -moments, and I am soon fascinated into peeping at the figure through -the lattice of my fingers. My grandmother observes me, and says: - -'I see you, child! Take your fingers away.' - -I obey her timidly, and with many a doubtful glance at the monkey-man, -I ask: - -'Does _it_ see me, grandmother?' - -My grandmother regards it with a gloomy air; evidently she has doubts. -She does not commit herself, however, but says: - -'It will belong to you, child, when I am gone. It must be kept always -in the family.' - -The tone in which she utters these words denotes that evil will fall -upon the family when this heirloom is lost sight of. I am not grateful -for the prospective gift. It has already become a frightful incubus; -it weighs me down, and is a future as well as a present torment. I -think it has lived long enough--too long--and that when my grandmother -goes, she ought to take it with her. Happening to catch the eye of the -figure while this thought is in my mind, I am convinced that it shows -in its ugly face a consciousness of my bad feeling towards it; its -eyes and lips threaten me. It would have terrified, but it would not -have surprised me to find it suddenly gifted with the power of speech, -and to hear it utter dreadful words. But happily for my peace of mind -no such miracle happens. I look at my grandmother, and I begin to -fancy that she, from long staring at it, bears in her face a -resemblance to the face of the monkey-man. For how much longer will my -grandmother sit and stare at it? For how many more days and weeks and -years? She has frequently told me that naughty boys were invariably -'fetched away' to a dismal place by Some One wearing horns and a tail. -She made no mention of naughty girls; and sometimes when she has been -delighting me with these wholesome lessons, a sort of rebellion has -possessed me that I was not born a girl. Now, if Some One were to come -and 'fetch' my grandmother away, it would not grieve me; I should -rejoice. But I dare not for my life give utterance to my thought. Says -my grandmother, with a nod at the stone figure, which, suddenly -animated by a mysterious influence, returns the nod: - -'I had it in my pocket on my wedding-day.' - -The circumstance of its being a guest at my grandmother's wedding -invests it with an additional claim to my protection when she is gone. -How happy I should be if it would fall into the fireplace, and break -into a thousand pieces! - -'Grandmother!' - -'Well, child.' - -Was the man with the knob on the top of his head----' - -My grandmother interrupts me. - -'You mean the gentleman, child.' - -'Yes, I mean the gentleman--and who was always eating his nails,--was -he like that?' Pointing to the stone monkey-figure. - -'Like that, child! How can such an idea have entered your head? No; he -was a very handsome man.' - -A pure fiction, I am convinced, if nothing worse. How _could_ a man -with a knob on his head, and who was always eating his nails, be -handsome? - -'Your grandfather used to be very jealous of him; he was one of my -sweethearts. I had several, and nine proposals of marriage before I -was twenty years of age. Some girls that I knew were ready to scratch -their eyes out with vexation. He proposed, and wished to run away with -me, but my family stepped in between us, and prevented him. You can -never be sufficiently grateful to me, child; for what would have -become of you if I had run away and married him, goodness only knows!' - -The reflection which is thus forced upon me involves such wild -entanglements of possibilities that I am lost in the contemplation of -them. What _would_ have become of me? Supposing it had occurred--should -I ever have been? - -'He told me,' continues my grandmother, revelling in these honey-sweet -reminiscences, 'after I had accepted your grandfather, that life was -valueless without me, and that as he had lost me, he would be sure to -go to the Devil. I don't know the end of him, for I only saw him once -after that; but he was a man of his word. He told me so in Lovers' -Walk, where I happened to be strolling one evening--quite by -accident, child, I assure you, for I burnt the letter I received from -him in the morning, for fear your grandfather should see it. Your -grandfather had a frightfully jealous disposition--as if I could help -the men looking at me! When we were first married he used to smash a -deal of crockery, with his quick temper. I hope he is forgiven for it -in the place he has gone to. He was an auctioneer and valuer; he had -an immense reputation as a valuer. It was not undeserved; he fell in -love with me. Oh, he was clever, child, in his way!' - -Although I am positive that I never saw my grandfather, I have, in -some strange way, a perfect remembrance of him as a little man, very -dapper, and very precisely dressed in a snuff-coloured coat and black -breeches and stockings. Now, my grandmother was a very large woman; -side by side they are, to my mind, a ridiculous match. I have grown -quite curious concerning my grandmother's lover, and I venture to -recall her from a moody contemplation of the monkey-figure into which -she is falling. - -'But about the man with the knob, grandmother?' I commence. - -'Child, you are disrespectful! The man with the knob, indeed!' - -'The gentleman, I mean, who wanted to marry you. What was his name?' - -'Bullpit. He was connected with the law, and might have become Lord -Chancellor if I hadn't blighted him.' - -'Did he behave himself at your wedding, grandmother?' - -'Save the child!' she exclaims. 'You don't suppose that Mr. Bullpit -was at my wedding, do you? Why, there would have been murder done! -Your grandfather and he would have torn each other to pieces!' These -latter words are spoken in a tone of positive satisfaction, as adding -immensely to my grandmother's reputation. - -'But I thought you said that the last time you saw him was on your -wedding-day?' - -'So I did, child; but I didn't say he was _at_ the wedding. We were -coming out of church---- Deary, deary me! I can see it as if it was -only yesterday that it took place! The church was scarcely three -minutes' walk from mother's house, and the expense would not have been -great, but your grandfather, who was a very mean man, did not provide -carriages, and we had to go on foot. It was the talk of the whole -neighbourhood for months afterwards. I never forgave him for it, and I -can't forget it, although he is in his grave now, where all things -ought to be forgotten and forgiven. Remember that, child, and if you -have anything to forget and forgive, forget and forgive it. Animosity -is a bad thing.' - -My grandmother gives me time to remember if I have anything to forget -and forgive. I feel somewhat remorseful because of the hard thoughts I -have borne towards her, and I mentally resolve that when she is in her -grave I will endeavour to forget and forgive. - -'We walked,' she continues, from mother's house to the church, and -from the church back again. It was like a procession. There were five -bridesmaids, and mother and father, and your grandfather's mother and -father,'--(I am a little confused here with so many mothers and -fathers, and, notwithstanding my efforts to prevent it, they all get -jumbled up with one another)--'whom we could very well have done -without, and the Best Man, who did not know how to behave himself, -making the bridesmaids giggle as he did, as if my wedding was a thing -to be laughed at! and a great number of guests with white favours in -their coats--all but one, who ought to have known better, and who was -properly punished afterwards by being jilted by Mary Morgan. Everybody -in the town came to see us walk to church, and when the fatal knot was -tied, the crowd round the church door was so large that we could -scarcely make our way through it. The Best Man misbehaved himself -shamefully. He pretended to be overcome by grief, and he sobbed in -such a violent manner as to make the mob laugh at him, and the -bridesmaids giggle more than ever. I knew what they did it for, the -hussies! They thought he was a catch; a nice husband he turned out to -be afterwards! When we were half way between the church and mother's -house, our procession met another procession, and for a minute or two -there was a stoppage and great confusion, and several vulgar boys -hurrayed. What do you think that other procession was, child?' - -I ponder deeply, but am unable to guess. - -That other procession, child, was made up of policemen and riff-raff. -And in the middle of it, with handcuffs on, was Anthony Bullpit. He -had been arrested on a warrant for forgery. What with the confusion -and the struggling, the processions got mixed up together, and as I -raised my eyes I saw the eyes of Anthony Bullpit fixed upon me. Such a -shock as that look of his gave me I shall never forget--never! I knew -the meaning of it too well. It meant that all this had occurred -through me; that life without me was a mockery; that he had arranged -everything so that we should meet immediately the fatal knot was tied; -and that he was on his road to ---- where he said he would go.' - -'He must have been a very wicked man, grandmother.' - -'A wicked man, child! How dare you! He was as innocent as I was, and -he did it all to punish me. I fainted dead away in the middle of the -street, and had to be carried home, and have hartshorn given to me, -and brown paper burnt under my nose. When I came to, I looked more -like a blackamoor than a bride, and my wedding dress was completely -spoilt. And nothing of all this would have occurred, child, if it had -not been for the meanness of your grandfather. If he had provided -carriages _we_ should never have met. When poor Mr. Bullpit was put -upon his trial he would not make any defence. Your grandfather said -the case was so clear that it would only have aggravated it to defend -it. But I knew better. When he pleaded guilty, I knew that he did it -to spite me, and to prove that he was a man of his word. I wanted to -go to the trial, but your grandfather objected; and when I said I -_would_ go, he locked all the doors in the house, and took the keys -away with him. Your grandfather has much to answer for. Mr. Bullpit -was transported for twenty-one years. Some wicked people said it was a -mercy he wasn't hanged. If he had been, I should never have survived -it. Poor Anthony!' - -I was too young to exercise a proper judgment upon this incident in my -grandmother's life, but it is imprinted indelibly upon my memory. I -knew very well that I did not like my grandmother, and that I did not -feel happy in her society. Often when I wished to go out into the -sunshine to play, she would say, - -'Bring the boy in here, and let him keep me company. It will do him -more good than running about in the dirt.' - -And her word being law in the house, I used to be taken into the room -where she sat in her armchair, staring at the monkey-man on the -mantelshelf, and used to be squeezed into my own little armchair, and -placed in the corner to keep her company. For a certain sufficient -reason I deemed it advisable to be companionable; for once I had -sulked, and was sullen and ill-tempered. Then my grandmother had said: - -'The child is unwell! He must have some physic.' - -She herself prescribed the medicine--jalap, which was my disgust and -abhorrence--and the dose, which was not a small one. Out of that -companionship sprang my knowledge of the man with the knob on the top -of his head, and who was always eating his nails. By some process of -ratiocination I associate him with the smoke-dried monkey of a man in -stone, and I hate them both honestly. As for Anthony Bullpit being -innocent of the crime for which he was transported, I smile scornfully -at the idea. He is my model for all that is disagreeable and bad, and -I never see a man whose nails are bitten down to the quick without -associating him--often unjustly, I am sure--with meanness and -trickery. - -There was a reason for my being doomed to the companionship of my -grandmother, and for my being made her victim as it were. Our family -circle comprised five individuals: my grandmother, my father and -mother, myself, and a baby-brother. My parents had, through no fault -of their own, drifted into that struggling-genteel class of persons -whose means never quite come up to their efforts to make an -appearance. We had been a little better off once upon a time, but -unfortunately my father's health had failed him, and at the period of -which I am writing he was confined to his bed, unable to work. My -mother, what with her anxiety and her ignorance of the world, was to a -certain extent helpless. Therefore, when my grandmother proposed to -come and live with us, and bring her servant, and pay so much a week -for board and lodging, her offer was gladly accepted. It was a current -belief that my grandmother had a 'long stocking' somewhere, with -plenty of money in it, and to this long stocking may be attributed -much of my unhappiness at that time. For it had come to be recognised -that I was to be my grandmother's heir, and that her long stocking -would descend to me. It was, perhaps, regarded as a fair arrangement -that, as my grandmother's property was to be mine when she was dead, I -was to be my grandmother's property while she was alive; and I have no -doubt that care was taken that her whims with respect to me should be -carefully attended to, so that my inheritance might not be -jeopardised. My mother did not know that I was unhappy; I was as a -child somewhat secretive by nature, and I kept my thoughts and -feelings much to myself. Besides, I had an intuitive perception of the -state of affairs at home, and I felt that if I offended my grandmother -my parents might suffer. - - - - -CHAPTER II. -I AM FRIGHTENED OF MY SHADOW. - - -I have already mentioned the name of the servant whom my grandmother -brought with her to our house; it was Jane Painter. She had -been with my grandmother for many years, from girlhood I believe, -and she was now about thirty years of age. In appearance she was -a thin, sharp-featured, pale-faced woman; in manners she was a -viciously-minded creature, fond of pinching children on the sly in -tender places, assuming the while, to deceive observers, an expression -of amiability, which intensified the malignity of her conduct. From -the moment she entered our house she became the enemy of every person -in it, and waged open and secret war upon all of us. Her service with -my grandmother had been a very easy one, but things were different -when her mistress changed her residence. She had to do double the work -she had been accustomed to, and as we were the direct cause of this, -she was not slow in showing resentment. My mother, patient as she -always was, made light of the woman's infirmities of temper, believing -that she was necessary to my grandmother; Jane Painter, however, -declined to accept the olive-branch which my mother held out to her, -and would certainly not have remained in the house but for one -inducement. This was made clear to us a very few days after the -change. My mother had occasion to remonstrate with her for some -piece of impertinence, and Jane Painter ran into my grandmother's room -in a fury, and demanded to know if she was to be treated like a -galley-slave. My mother stood quietly by, listening to the servant's -complainings. Said my grandmother, - -'You must do what my daughter desires you to do, Jane. I told her you -would help her in the house.' - -'I won't be ordered about as if I was a bit of dirt!' exclaimed Jane -Painter, gasping. - -'O Jane!' remonstrated my mother. - -'Don't O Jane me!' and then followed the unreasoning argument. 'I'm -flesh and blood the same as you are!' - -'Jane,' said my grandmother, 'I mustn't be worried; my nerves won't -stand it. I sha'n't be here long, and you know what I have promised -you.' - -'Whose servant am I--yours or hers?' - -'Mine, Jane, and a very good servant you've been. I hope for your own -sake you are not going to be different now.' - -'Haven't I served you faithfully?' asked Jane Painter, sobbing herself -into a quieter emotional stage. - -'Yes, Jane, yes; and you shall be remembered for it.' - -'Haven't I waited on you hand and foot?' - -'Yes, Jane, yes; and you shall be remembered.' - -'When you was took bad with the spasms,' blubbered Jane, didn't I stop -up with you all night till I was fit to drop?' - -'Yes, Jane; and I haven't forgotten you for it. You shall be -remembered, I tell you.' - -By being remembered, my grandmother meant that Jane Painter was set -down in her will for a certain portion of the contents of her long -stocking; and but for this inducement it was pretty clear that Jane -Painter would have taken her departure. The war she waged against us -from this time was passive, but bitter. I, as the recognised heir to -the long stocking, and as being likely, therefore, to diminish her -portion, came in for the largest share of her ill-temper and -animosity, and she showed much ingenuity in devising means to torment -me. Parting my hair on the wrong side, brushing it into my eyes, -rubbing the soap in my mouth and only half-wiping my face after I was -washed, buttoning my clothes awry, running pins into me, holding me -suspended by one arm as we went down stairs; these were the smallest -of my sufferings. An incident, laughable in itself, but exceedingly -painful in its effect upon me, comes vividly to my remembrance here; -and it afforded Jane Painter an opportunity of inventing a new -torture, and of inflicting upon me the sharpest and most terrible -distress I ever experienced. It occurred in this way: - -Whether it was that the dull companionship of a peevish old woman was -having its due effect upon me, or whether it sprang from my natural -constitution, I was growing to be very nervous. I was frightened of -being alone in the dark; a sudden noise startled me painfully; any -unusual exhibition of tenderness brought tears to my eyes. One bright -summer afternoon I was sitting with my grandmother. Everything about -me was very quiet; my grandmother had not spoken for a long time, and -I listened to the regular sound of her breathing which told me she was -asleep. I tried all kinds of devices to while away the time. I looked -at the wall and traced the pattern of the paper; I tried to stare the -monkey-man on the mantelshelf out of countenance; I closed my eyes and -placed the tips of my forefingers on them, and then opened them to -assure myself that the world had not come to an end; I counted the -rise and fall of my grandmother's capacious bosom till I grew so -confused that the billows before me seemed to swell and fill the room. -There was no pleasure to be gained from any of these tasks, and I felt -weary and dispirited. The sunshine streaming in at the parlour-window -seemed to say, 'Why are you stopping in that dull room? Come out and -play.' I gazed wistfully at the light, and thought how nice it would -be outside. I felt that I _should_ like to go. But I knew from rueful -experience how cross my grandmother would be if I made a noise and -awoke her; and I was so tightly fixed in my little armchair that I -could not extricate myself without a struggle. I dared not attempt to -wrench myself free from its embrace in the room; it might fall to the -ground. There was nothing for it but to try and escape from the room -with the chair fixed to me. The sunshine grew brighter and brighter, -and more and more tempting. My grandmother really seemed to be fast -asleep. I stretched out my hand and touched her dress: she always -dressed in silk, and sat in state. Her steady breathing continued. I -coughed, and whispered, 'Grandmother!' but she did not hear. I spoke -more loudly. 'Grandmother!' There was no response, and then I thought -I would venture. I rose, with my chair attached to me--the firmest and -closest of friends--and crept slowly and softly out of the room into -the passage. There I released myself, and then ran out into the -sunshine. In aglow of delight I flitted about like a butterfly escaped -from prison. I was in the full height of my enjoyment, when turning my -head over my shoulder, I saw my long ungainly shadow following me, and -in sudden unreasoning fright I ran away from it. I screamed in terror -as I saw it racing fast at my heels, as if trying to leap upon me and -seize me, and my mother happening at that moment to come to the -street-door, I flew towards her in a paroxysm of terror, and, -clutching tight hold of her, hid my face in her gown. In that position -my mother, with soothing words, drew me into the house, and I was only -pacified by being assured that the 'black man' who had frightened me -had disappeared; and certainly, when I was persuaded to look around I -saw no trace of him. My grandmother, awakened by my screams, did not -fail to give me a solemn lecture for my bad behaviour in stealing from -the room, and she improved the occasion by making me tremble with new -fears by her dreadful prophecies as to what the 'black man' would do -to me if I dared to be naughty again. The incident had a serious -effect upon me, and I was ill for a week afterwards. The doctor who -was attending my father said that I was of a peculiarly sensitive -temperament, and that great care must be taken of me. - -'The nervousness,' he said, which has been the cause of his fright -may, if not counteracted, produce bad results by-and-by. The lad's -nature is essentially womanly and delicate. None the worse for -that--none the worse for that!' - -He laid his hand upon my head in a very kind manner, and tears rushed -to my eyes. Seeing these, he immediately removed his hand, and gave my -cheek a merry pinch. - -'He will grow out of it?' questioned my mother, anxiously. - -'Oh, yes,' was the reply, cheerfully uttered, 'he will grow out of it; -but you must be careful with him. Don't let him mope; give him plenty -of exercise and fresh air.' - -'I should like a pony,' I said. My mother's troubled eyes sought the -floor. If she could only have seen a magic pumpkin there! - -'Then,' continued the doctor, until he is older and stronger I would -fill his mind with cheerful fancies. Tell him as many stories as you -please of fairies, and princesses, and flowers, and such-like; but -none about ghosts. You would like to hear about beautiful fairies -rising out of flower-bells, and sailing in the clouds, and floating on -the water in lilies, would you not, my lad?' - -I nodded gaily; his bright manner was better than all the medicine. - -'Do they really do all these things, sir?' - -'Surely; for such as you, my boy.' I clapped my hands. 'You see!' he -said to my mother. - -Many a time after this did my mother ransack her mental store, and -bring forth bright-coloured fancies to make me glad. She told Jane -Painter what the doctor said, and asked her to tell me the prettiest -stories she knew. Jane Painter replied with one of her sweetest -smiles. It was part of her duties to put me to bed every night, and -one night, soon after I was well, she came into my room in the dark, -as I was lying half awake and half asleep. She crept up the stairs and -into the room so stealthily that I had no consciousness of her -presence until a sepulchral voice stole upon my ears saying, - -'Ho! Mister Friar, Don't be so bold, For fear you should make My -'eart's blood run cold!' - -My heart's blood did run cold at these dreadful words, and I uttered a -cry of fright. Then Jane Painter spoke in her natural tone. - -'I knew a boy once, and his name was Namby-Pamby. He was the greatest -coward that ever breathed, and he was always telling tales. I know -what happened to him at last. You're like him. Perhaps it'll happen to -you. A fine boy you are! You ought to have been born a rabbit. I -suppose you'll tell your mother. All cowards do.' Here she must have -put her head up the chimney, for her voice sounded very hollow as she -repeated, 'Ho! Mister Friar, Don't be so bold, For fear you should -make My 'eart's blood run cold!' - -I cannot describe my terror. I wrapped the counterpane tightly round -my head, and lay all of a tremble until Jane Painter thought fit to -take her departure. From that night she inflicted the most dreadful -tortures upon me. The first thing she did after putting me to bed was -to blow out the candle; then she would calmly sit down and tell me -frightful stories of murders and ghosts. Blood was her favourite -theme; she absolutely revelled in it, and to this day I cannot look -upon it without a shudder. She would prowl about the room, muttering: - -'I smell blood! I smell blood!' - -And then: - -'Let him be alive, Or let him be dead, I'll have his blood to make my -wine, I'll grind his bones to make my bread.' - -After that she would grind her teeth, and make sounds as though she -were drinking. - -'Serve him right, too, the little coward! Grind his bones on two large -stones. His blood and brine I'll drink for wine.' - -I suffered this martyrdom in silence. I would not tell my mother, as -all cowards did. What the effect on me would have been if -circumstances had allowed Jane Painter to continue her persecution I -am afraid to think; but fortunately for me the event occurred which -she was waiting for. My grandmother died very suddenly. The last words -she was heard to utter were, Poor Anthony!' I was not sorry when she -died. I tried to look sad, as everybody else looked, but I knew that I -was a dreadful hypocrite. - - - - -CHAPTER III. -MY GRANDMOTHER'S LONG STOCKING. - - -There was a friend of the family of whose name I have no -remembrance, and whom, from a certain personal peculiarity, I must -denominate Snaggletooth. He was a large man--very tall, and round in -proportion--with a glistening bald head, a smooth full-fleshed face, -and clear gray eyes. In repose, and when he was not speaking, he was -by no means an unpleasant-looking man; his face was benignant, and his -clear gray eyes beamed kindly upon you. But directly he smiled he -became transformed, and his features were made to assume an almost -fiendish expression by reason of a hideous snaggle-tooth which thrust -itself forward immediately he opened his mouth. It stuck out like a -horn, and the change it effected in his appearance was something -marvellous. - -As the friend of the family, Snaggletooth came forward and offered his -assistance. My father being confined to his bed by sickness, there was -no man in the house to look after the funeral of my grandmother, and -Snaggletooth's services were gladly accepted. I fancy that he was fond -of funerals, from the zealous manner in which he attended to the -details of this and a sadder one which followed not long afterwards. -Setting this fancy aside, he proved himself a genuine and -disinterested friend. We had no near relatives; my mother was an only -daughter, and my father had but one brother, older than he, whom I had -never seen, and who had disappeared from the place many years ago. He -was supposed to be dead; and from certain chance words which I must -have heard, I had gained a vague impression that he was not a credit -to the family. - -It was a strange experience for me to sit in my grandmother's room -after her death, gazing at her empty armchair. I could not keep away -from the room; I crept into it at all hours of the day, and sat there -trembling. I mentally asked the stone monkey-figure what it thought of -my grandmother's death, and I put my fingers in my ears lest I should -hear an answer. Jane Painter found me there in the evening when she -came to put me to bed, and stated that my grandmother's spirit was -present, and that she was in communication with it. She held imaginary -conversations with my grandmother's ghost in the dusk, speaking very -softly and waiting for the answers. The effect was ghastly and -terrifying. These conversations related to nothing but poor me, and -the exquisite pain Jane Painter inflicted upon me by these means may -be easily imagined. - -The first thing Snaggletooth did after my grandmother's funeral was to -search for her long stocking and the treasures it was supposed to -contain. Taking the words in their literal sense, I really thought -that the long stocking would be found hidden somewhere--under the bed -perhaps, or among the feathers, or up the chimney--stuffed with money, -in shape resembling my grandmother's leg, which I knew from actual -observation to be a substantial one. - -'Perhaps she made a will,' observed Snaggletooth to my mother. Jane -Painter was present, hovering about us with hungry jealous eyes, lest -she should be cheated. - -'She did make a will,' said Jane Painter, 'and I'm down in it.' - -'Then we will find it,' said Snaggletooth cheerfully. - -My grandmother's desk was opened, and every piece of paper in it was -examined. No will was there, nor a word relating to it. Her trunk was -searched with a like result. - -'Never mind,' said Snaggletooth, with a genial smile, 'we shall be -sure to find the old lady's long stocking.' - -And he set to work. But although a rigid search was made, no long -stocking could be found. Snaggletooth became immensely excited. Very -hot, very dusty and dirty, and with his shirt-sleeves tucked up to his -shoulders, he gazed at vacancy, and paused to take breath. -Disappointed as he was up to this point, his faith in my grandmother's -long stocking was not shaken; he had it not, and yet he saw it in form -as palpable as the lisle-thread stockings of my grandmother, which -were scattered about the room. A closer and more systematic search was -commenced. The hunt became more and more exciting, and still not a -glimpse of the fox's tail could be seen. Under Snaggletooth's -instructions the bedstead was taken down, the pillows and mattresses -were ripped open (Snaggletooth being determined not to leave a feather -unturned), the posts were sounded to discover if they were hollow, and -the strictest examination was made of every vestige of my -grandmother's clothing without a satisfactory result. Dirtier and -hotter than ever, and covered with fluff and feathers, Snaggletooth -looked about him with an air of 'What next?' His eye fell upon my -grandmother's armchair. Out came the stuffing that it contained, and -nothing more. My grandmother's footstool: a like result. Her portly -pincushion: nothing but bran. Up came the carpet, and almost blinded -us with dust. And then Snaggletooth sat down in the midst of the wreck -and said disconsolately: - -'I am afraid we must give it up.' - -So it was given up, and the mystery of my grandmother's long stocking -took honourable place in the family records as an important legend for -ever afterwards. - -Jane Painter passed through many stages of emotion, and ended by being -furious. She vowed--no, she swore; it is more appropriate--that she -had been robbed, and openly declared that my mother had secreted my -grandmother's long stocking, and had destroyed the will. Nay, more; -she screamed that she had seen the treasure, which consisted of new -Bank of England notes and a heap of gold, and that in the will my -grandmother had left her three hundred pounds. - -'Woman!' exclaimed Snaggletooth, rising from the ruins, 'be quiet!' - -'Woman yourself!' screamed Jane Painter. 'You're in the plot to rob a -poor girl, and I'll have the law of you; I'll have the law, I'll have -the law!' - -'Take it and welcome,' replied Snaggletooth. 'I hate it.' - -But he was no match for Jane Painter, and he retired from the contest -discomfited; did not even stop to wash his face. - -My mother was sad and puzzled. I did not entirely realise at the time -the cause of her sadness, because I did not know how poor she really -was, but I learnt it afterwards. She gathered sufficient courage to -tell Jane Painter that of course she could not stop in the house after -what she had said. - -'If every hair in your head was a diamond,' gasped Jane Painter, 'I -wouldn't stop. No, not if you went down on your bended knees! I'll go -to-morrow.' - -Then she pounced upon two silk dresses and some other articles of -clothing, and said that my grandmother had given them to her. My -mother submitted without a word, and Jane Painter marched to her room -and locked them in her box. She did as much mischief as she could on -her last evening in our house; broke things purposely and revenged -herself grandly on poor little me. After undressing and putting me to -bed as usual, and after smelling about the room, and under the bed, -and up the chimney for blood, she imparted to me the cheerful -intelligence that my grandmother's ghost would come and take me away -exactly at twelve o'clock that night. Near to our house was a church, -and many a night had I lain awake waiting for the tolling of the hour; -but I never listened with such intensity of purpose as I listened on -this night. As midnight drew near, I clenched my fists, I bit my lips, -I drew my knees almost up to my nose. I trembled and shook in the -darkness. I would not look, I thought; and when the hour tolled, every -note seemed charged with terrible meaning, and I shut my eyes tighter -and held my breath under the clothes. But when the bell had done -tolling, my state of horrible curiosity and fear compelled me to peep -out, and there in the middle of the room stood a tall figure in white. -So loud and shrill were my hysterical cries that my mother ran into -the room, there to find Jane Painter in her nightdress. I think the -woman herself; fearful lest she had gone too far, was glad to quit the -house the following day without being called to account for her -misdeeds. She did not leave without a few parting words. She called us -all a parcel of thieves, and said that a judgment would fall upon us -one day for robbing a poor servant of the money her dead mistress had -left her. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. -I MURDER MY BABY-BROTHER. - - -Misfortunes never come singly, and they did not come singly to us. It -was not for us to give the lie to a proverb. Often in a family, death -is in a hurry when it commences, and takes one after another quickly; -then pauses for a long breath. - -In very truth, sorrow in its deepest phase had entered our house, and -my mother's form seemed to shrink and grow less from the day she put -on mourning for my grandmother. But if my mother had her troubles, I -am sure I had mine; and one was of such a strange and terrible nature -that, even at this distance of time, and with a better comprehension -of things, a curiously-reluctant feeling comes upon me as I prepare to -narrate it. It is summarised in a very few words. I murdered my -baby-brother. - -At least, such was my impression at the time. For a long while I was -afflicted by secret remorse and by fear of discovery, and never till -now have I made confession. There was only one witness of my crime: -our cat. I remember well that my father was said to be sinking at the -time, and my mother, having her hands full, and her heart, too, poor -dear! placed me and my baby-brother in the room in which I used to sit -with my grandmother. My task was to take care of the little fellow, -and to amuse him. He was so young that he could scarcely toddle, and -we had great fun with two oranges which my mother had given us to play -with. It required great strength of mind not to eat them instead of -playing with them; but the purpose for which they were given to us had -been plainly set down by my mother. All that I could hope for, -therefore, was that they might burst their skins after being knocked -about a little, when of course they would become lawful food. We -played ball with them; my baby-brother rolling them towards me, not -being strong enough to throw them, and I (secretly animated by the -wish that they would burst their skins) throwing them up to him, with -a little more force than was actually necessary, and trying to make -him catch them. I cannot tell for how long we played, for at this -precise moment of my history a mist steals upon such of my early -reminiscences as are related in this and the preceding chapters--a -mist which divides, as by a curtain, one part of my life from another. -My actual life will soon commence, the life that is tangible to me, as -it were, that stands out in stronger colour and is distinct from the -brief prologue which was acted in dreamland, and which lies nestled -deep among the days of my childhood. Cloud-memories these; most of us -have such. Some are wholly bright and sweet, some wholly sad and -bitter, some parti-coloured. When the dreamland in which these -cloud-memories have birth has faded, and we are in the summer or the -winter of our days, fighting the Battle, or, having fought it, are -waiting for the trumpet-sound which proclaims the Grand Retreat, we -can all remember where we received such and such a wound, where such -and such a refreshing draught was given to us, at what part of the -fight such and such a scar was gained, and at what part a spiritual -vision dawned upon our souls, captivating and entrancing us with hopes -too bright and beautiful ever to be realised; and though our blood be -thin and poor, and the glory of life seems to have waned with the -waning of our strength, our pulses thrill and our hearts beat with -something of the old glow as the remembrance of these pains and -pleasures comes upon us! - -To return to my baby-brother. The dusk steals upon us, and we are -still playing with the oranges. The cat is watching us, and when an -orange rolls in her direction she, half timidly, half sportively, -stretches out her paw towards it, and on one occasion lies full-length -on her stomach, with an orange between the tips of her paws, and her -nose in a straight line with it. I hear my baby-brother laugh -gleefully as I scramble on all-fours after the orange. The dusk has -deepened, and my baby-brother's face grows indistinct. I throw the -orange towards him. It hits him in the face, and his gleeful laughter -changes to a scream. I absolutely never see my baby-brother again, and -never again hear his voice. All that afterwards refers to him seems to -be imparted to me when it is dark, and so strong is my impression of -this detail that in my memory I never see his face with a light upon -it. My baby-brother is taken suddenly ill, I am told. I go about the -house, always in the dark, stepping very gently, and wondering whether -my secret will become known, and if it does, what will be done to me. -Still in the dark I hear that my baby-brother is worse; that he is -dangerously ill. Then, without an interval as it seems, comes the news -that my baby-brother is dead, and I learn in some undiscoverable way -that he has died of the croup. I know better. I know that I gave him -his death-blow with the orange, and I tremble for the consequences. -But no human being appears to suspect me, and for my own sake I must -preserve silence. Even to assume an air of grief at my baby-brother's -death might be dangerous; it might look as if I were too deeply -interested in the event; so I put on my most indifferent air. There -are, however, two things in the house that I am frightened of. One is -our old Dutch clock, the significant ticking and the very ropes and -iron weights of which appear to me to be pregnant with knowledge of my -crime. Five minutes before every hour the clock gives vent to a -whirring sound, and at that sound, hitherto without significance, I -tremble. There is a warning in it, and with nervous apprehension I -count the seconds that intervene between it and the striking of the -hour, believing that then the bell will proclaim my guilt. It _does_ -proclaim it; but no person understands it, no one heeds it. I lean -against the passage wall, listening to the denunciation. Snaggletooth -comes in and stands by my side while the clock is striking. I look up -into his face with imploring eyes and a sinking heart. He taps my -cheek kindly, and passes on. I breathe more freely; he does not know -the language of the bells. The other thing of which I am frightened is -our cat. I know that she knows, and I am fearful lest, by some -mysterious means, she will denounce me. If I meet her in the dark, her -green eyes glare at me. I try to win her over to my side in a covert -manner by stroking her coat; but as I smooth her fur skilfully and -cunningly, I am convinced that she arches her back in a manner more -significant than usual, and that by that action she declines to be a -passive accessory to the fact. Her very tail, as it curls beneath my -fingers, accuses me. But time goes on, and I am not arrested and led -away to be hanged. When my baby-brother is in his coffin I am taken to -see him. The cat follows at my heels; I strive to push her away -stealthily with my foot, but she rubs her ear against my leg, and will -not leave me. I do not see my baby-brother, because I shut my eyes, -and I sob and tremble so that they are compelled to take me out of the -room; but I have a vague remembrance of flowers about his coffin. I am -a little relieved when I hear that he is buried, but the night that -follows is a night of torture to me. The Dutch clock ticks, 'I know! I -know!' and the cat purrs, 'I know! I know!' and when I am in bed the -shade of Jane Painter steals into the room, and after smelling about -for blood, whispers in a ghastly undertone that _she_ knows, and is -going to tell. Of the doctor, also, I begin to be frightened, for -after his visit to my father's sick-room, my mother brings him to see -me--being anxious about me, I hear her say. He stops and speaks to me, -and when his fingers are on my wrist, I fancy that the beating of my -pulse is revealing my crime to him. - -But more weighty cares even than mine are stirring in our house, and -making themselves felt. My father's last moments are approaching, and -I hear that he cannot last the day out. He lasts the day out, but he -does not last the night out. As the friend of the family, Snaggletooth -remains in the house to see the end of his old comrade. He and my -father were schoolboys together, he tells me. 'He was the cleverest -boy in the school,' Snaggletooth says; 'the cleverest boy in the -school! He used to do my sums for me. We went out birds'-nesting -together; and many and many's the time we've stood up against the -whole school, snowballing. A snowball, with a stone in it, hit him in -the face once, and knocked him flat down; but he was up in a minute, -all bloody, and rushed into the middle of our enemies, like a young -lion--like a young lion! He was the first and the cleverest of all of -us--I was a long way behind him. And now, think of him lying there -almost at his last breath, and look at me!' Snaggletooth straightens -himself as he walks upstairs, murmuring, 'The cleverest boy in the -school! And now think of him, and look at me!' - -Snaggletooth's wife is in the house, and helps my mother in her -trouble. In the night this good creature and I sit together in the -kitchen--waiting. My mother comes in softly two or three times; once -she draws me out of the kitchen on to the dark landing, and kneels -down, and with her arms around my neck, sobs quietly upon my shoulder. -She kisses me many times, and whispers a prayer to me, which I repeat -after her. - -'Be a good child always, Chris,' she says. - -'I will, mother.' And the promise, given at such a time, sinks into my -heart with the force of a sacred obligation. - -Then my mother takes me into the kitchen, and gives me into the charge -of Snaggletooth's wife, and steals away. Snaggletooth's wife begins to -prattle to amuse me, and in a few minutes I ascertain that she in some -way resembles Jane Painter; for--probably influenced by the -appropriateness of the occasion for such narrations--she tells me -stories in a low tone about the Ghost of the Red Barn, and the -Cock-lane Ghost, and Old Mother Shipton. The old witch is a favourite -theme with Snaggletooth's wife, and I hear many strange things. She -says: - -'One night Mother Shipton was in a terrible rage, and she told the -grasshopper on the top of the Royal Exchange to jump over to the ball -on St. Paul's Church steeple. And so it did. Soon after that, London -was burnt to the ground.' - -I muse upon this, and presently inquire: 'Was it an accident?' - -'The fire? No; it was done on purpose.' - -'Was it because the grasshopper jumped on to the steeple that London -was set on fire?' - -'Of course,' is the reply. 'That was Mother Shipton's spite.' - -Snaggletooth's wife tells so many stories of ghosts and witches that -the air smells of fire and brimstone, and I see the cat's tail stiffen -and its eyes glow fearfully. Then I hear a cry from upstairs, and -Snaggletooth's wife rises hurriedly, and looks about her with restless -hands, and the whole house is in a strange confusion. Snaggletooth -himself comes into the room, and as he whispers some consoling words -to me--only the import of which I understand--his great tooth sticks -out like a horn. He looks like a fiend. - - - - -CHAPTER V. -I PLAY THE PART OF CHIEF MOURNER. - - -Notwithstanding her limited means, my mother had always managed to -keep up a respectable appearance. Popular report had settled it that -my grandmother was a woman of property and that my father had money; -and the fact that my grandmother's long stocking had proved to be a -myth was most completely discredited. We are supposed, therefore, to -be well to do, and the scandal would have been great if my father had -not received a respectable funeral. Public opinion called for it. My -mother makes a great effort, and quite out of love, I am sure, and not -at all in deference to public opinion, buries my father in a manner so -respectable as to receive the entire approval of our neighbours. -Public opinion called for mutes, and two mutes--one with a very long -face and one with a very square face--are at our door, the objects of -deep and attentive contemplation on the part of the sundry and -several. Public opinion called for four black horses, and there they -stand, champing their bits, with their mouths well soaped. Public -opinion called for plumes, and there they wave, and bow, and bend, -proud and graceful attendants at the shrine of death. Public opinion -called for mock mourners, and they are ready to parody grief, with -very large feet, ill-fitting black gloves, and red-rimmed eyes, which -suggest the idea that their eyelids have been wept away by a long -course of salaried affliction. Never all his life had my father been -so surrounded by pomps and vanities; but public opinion has decided -that on such solemn occasions grief is not grief unless it is -lacquered, and that common decency would be outraged by following the -dead to the grave with simple humility. - -The interior of our house has an appearance generally suggestive of -graves and coffins. The company is assembled in the little parlour -facing the street--my grandmother's room--and in her expiring attempt -at respectability my mother has provided sherry and biscuits. The -blinds are down although it is broad day; a parody of a sunbeam flows -through a chink, but the motes within it are anything but lively, and -float up and down the slanting pillar in a sluggish and funereal -manner, in perfect sympathy with the occasion. The cat peeps into the -room, debating whether she shall enter; after a cautious scrutiny she -decides in the negative, and retires stealthily, to muse over the -uncertainty of life in a more retired spot. The company is not -numerous. Snaggletooth is present, and the doctor, and two neighbours -who approve of the sherry. These latter invite Snaggletooth's -attention to the wine, and he pours out a glass and disposes of it -with a sadly resigned air; saying before he drinks it, with a tender -reference to my father as he holds it up to the light, Ah! If _he_ -could!' Conversation is carried on in a deadly-lively style. I think -of my baby-brother, and a wild temptation urges me to fall upon my -knees and make confession of the murder; but I resist it, and am -guiltily dumb. Snaggletooth, observing signs of agitation in my face, -pats me on the shoulder, and says, 'Poor little fellow!' The two -neighbours follow suit, and poor-little-fellow me in sympathising -tones. After this, they approach the decanter of sherry with one -intention. There is but half a glass left, which the first to reach -the decanter pours out and drinks, while the second regards him -reproachfully, with a look which asks, On such an occasion should not -self be sacrificed? Before the lid of the coffin is fastened down, I -am taken into the room by Snaggletooth to look for the last time upon -my father's face. I see nothing but a figure in white which inspires -me with fear. I cling close to Snaggletooth. He is immensely affected, -and mutters, 'Good-bye, old schoolfellow! Ah, time! time!' As I look -up at him, his bald head glistens as would a ball of wax, and -something glistens in his eyes. - -When the coffin is taken out of the house, there is great excitement -among the throng of persons in the street. They peep over each other's -shoulders to catch a glimpse of the coffin and of me. I cannot help -feeling that I am in an exalted position. A thrill of pride stirs my -heart. Am I not chief mourner? - -I stand by the side of a narrow grave, dug in a corner of the -churchyard, and shaded from the sun's glare by a triangular wall, the -top of which is covered with pieces of broken bottles, arranged with -cruel nicety and precision, so that their sharp and jagged ends are -uppermost. Standing also within the shadow of the triangular wall are -a number of tombstones, some fair and white, others yellow and -crumbling from age, which I regard with the air of one who has -acquired a vested interest in the property. I do not understand the -words the clergyman utters, for he has an impediment in his speech. -But as the coffin is lowered, I am impelled gently towards the grave, -from which I shrink, however, apprehensive lest I shall be thrust into -it, and buried beneath the earth which is scattered on the coffin with -a leaden miserable sound. When the service is ended, I hear -Snaggletooth mutter, 'Think of him lying there, and look at me! And we -were schoolfellows, and played snowball together!' Snaggletooth shows -me my grandmother's grave, and the grave of my baby-brother. I dare -not look upon the latter, knowing what I know. Then Snaggletooth, -still with head uncovered, stands before a little gave over which is a -small marble tombstone, with the inscription, 'Here Lieth our Beloved -Daughter.' Seeing that his tears are falling on the grave, I creep -closer to him, and he presses me gently to his side. I read the -inscription slowly, spelling the words, 'Here Lieth our Beloved -Daughter,' and I look at him inquiringly. - -'My daughter,' he says; 'the sweetest angel that ever breathed. She -was three years and one day old when she died, nearly five years ago. -Poor darling! Five years ago! Ah, time! time!' - -As we pass out of the churchyard I notice again the broken glass on -the top of the wall, and I say, - -'Isn't that cruel?' - -'Why cruel?' asks Snaggletooth. 'No one can get in without hurting -himself.' - -Snaggletooth regards me with an eye of curiosity. - -'And who do you think wants to get into such a place, my little -fellow?' - -I do not answer, and Snaggletooth adds, - -'The angels, perhaps. Good--good. But they come in another way.' - -'No one can get out without hurting himself,' I suggest. - -'That is a better thought; but if they lived good lives----' - -'Yes, sir.' - -'Walls covered with broken glass won't hurt them.' - -Snaggletooth looks upwards contemplatively. I look up also, and a -sudden dizziness comes upon me and overpowers me. Snaggletooth catches -me as I am falling. - -'You are not well, my little fellow.' - -'No, sir; I feel very weak, but the doctor says I shall get over it.' - -Snaggletooth lifts me in his arms, and I fall asleep on his shoulder -as he carries me tenderly home. - -Here we are, my mother and I, sitting in the little parlour. My mother -has been crying over me, and perhaps over the sad future that lies -before us. Not a sound now is to be heard. My condition is a strange -one. Everything about me is very unreal, and I wonderingly consider if -I shall ever wake up. All my young experiences come to me again. -I see my grandmother and myself sitting together. There upon the -mantelshelf is the figure of the smoke-dried monkey of a man in -stone, wagging his head at me; there is the man with the knob on the -top of his head--what is his name? Anthony--yes, Anthony -Bullpit--making a meal off his finger nails. In marches my -grandmother's long stocking, bulged out with money to the shape of a -very substantial leg, just as I had fancied it--that makes me laugh; -but my flesh creeps as I hear Jane Painter's voice in the dark, -telling of blood and murder. The last word, as she dwells upon it, -brings up my baby-brother, and I hear the Dutch clock tick: 'I know! I -know!' But it ticks all these fancies into oblivion, and ticks in the -picture of the churchyard. I see the graves and the tombstones, and I -read the inscription: 'Here Lieth our Beloved Daughter.' How it must -grieve her parents to know that their beloved daughter is lying shut -up in the cold earth! I raise a portrait of the child, with fair hair -and laughing eyes, and I wonder how she would look now if she were dug -up, and whether her parents would know her again. Night surprises me -confined within the triangular wall of the churchyard. The gates are -closed, and I cannot pass out. The moon shines down icily. The cold -air makes my fevered blood hotter. I _must_ get out! I cannot stop -confined here for ever! I dig my fingers into the wall; desperately I -cling to it, and strive to climb. Inch by inch I mount. With an -exquisite sense of relief I reach the top, but as I place my hands -upon it they are cut to the bone by the broken glass, and with a wild -shudder I sink into darkness and oblivion! - - - - -CHAPTER VI. -IN WHICH A GREAT CHANGE IN MY CIRCUMSTANCES TAKES PLACE. - - -When I recovered from the fever of which the experiences just recorded -were the prelude, I found that we had removed from the house in which -I was born, and that we were occupying apartments. We had removed also -from the neighbourhood; the streets were strange, the people were -strange; I saw no familiar faces. Hitherto we had been living in -Hertford, and many a time had I watched the barges going lazily to and -fro on the River Lea. The place we were in now was nothing but a -village; my mother told me it was called Chipping Barnet. I cannot -tell exactly what it was that restrained me from asking why the change -had been made; it must have been from an intuitive consciousness that -the subject was painful to my mother. But when, after the lapse of a -year or so, we moved away from Chipping Barnet, and began to live in -very humble fashion in two small rooms, I asked the reason. - -'My dear,' said my mother, 'we cannot afford better.' - -I looked into her face; it was pale and cheerful. But I saw, although -no signs of repining were there, that care had made its mark. She -smiled at me. - -'We are very poor, dear child,' she said; and added quickly, with a -light in her eyes, 'but that is no reason why we should not be happy.' - -She did her best to make me so, and poor as our home was, it contained -many sweet pleasures. By this time I had completely lost sight of -Snaggletooth and all our former friends and acquaintances. I did not -miss them; I had my mother with me, and I wished for no one else. -Already, my former life and my former friends were becoming to me -things of long ago. My mother often spoke of London, and of her wish -to go there. - -'I think it would be better for us, Chris,' she said. - -'Is London a very large place?' I asked. 'As large as this?' -stretching out my arms to gain an idea of its extent. - -My mother told me what she knew of London, which was not much, for she -had only been there once, for a couple of days, and I said I was sure -I should not like it; there were too many people in it. My idea of -perfect happiness was to live with my mother in some pretty country -place, where there were fields and shady walks and turnstiles and -narrow lanes, and perhaps a river. I described the very place, and -artistically dotted it with lazy cattle listening for mysterious signs -in earth or air, or looking with steady solemn gaze far into the -horizon, as if they were observing signs hidden from human gaze. I -also put some lazy barges on the river, 'Creeping, creeping, -creeping,' I said, 'as if they were _so_ tired!' - -'And we would go and live in that very place, my dear,' said my -mother, 'if we had money enough.' - -'When you get money enough, mother, we _will_ go.' - -'Yes, my dear.' - -Other changes were made, but not in the direction I desired. Like a -whirlpool, London was drawing us nearer and nearer to its depths, and -by the time I was twelve years of age we were nearly at the bottom of -the hill down which we had been steadily going. My clothes were very -much patched and mended now; all our furniture was sold, and we were -living in one room, which was rented to us ready furnished. The -knowledge of the struggle in which my mother was engaged loomed -gradually upon me, and distressed me in a vague manner. We were really -now in London, although not in the heart of the City; and my mother, -whose needle brought us bread and very little butter, often walked -four miles to the workshop, and four miles back, on a fruitless -errand. Things were getting worse and worse with us. My mother grew -thinner and paler, but she never looked at me without a smile on her -lips--a smile that was often sad, but always tender. At night, while -she worked, she taught me to read and write; there was no free school -near us, and she could not afford to pay for my learning. But no -schoolmaster could have taught me as well as she did. She had a thin, -sweet voice, and often when I was in bed I fell asleep with her -singing by my side. I used to love to lie thus peacefully with closed -eyes, and float into dreamland upon the wings of her sweet melodies. I -woke up sometimes late in the night, and saw her dear face bending -over her work. It was always meek and cheerful; I never saw anger or -bad passion in it. - -'Mother,' I said one night, after I had lain and watched her for a -long time. - -She gave a start. 'Dear child; I thought you were asleep.' - -'So I have been; but I woke up, and I've been watching you for a long, -long time. Mother, when I am a man I shall work for you.' - -'That's right, dear. You give me pleasure and delight. I know my good -boy will try to be a good man.' - -'I will try to; as good as you are. I want to be like you. Could I not -work now, mother?' - -'No, dear child; you are not strong enough yet.' - -'I wish I could grow into a strong man in a night,' I thought. - -My mother came to the bedside and rested her fingers upon my neck. -What tenderness dwells in a loving mother's touch! I imprisoned her -fingers in mine. She leant towards me caressingly and kissed me. Sleep -stole upon me in that kiss of love. - -I saw a picture in a shop window of a girl whose bright fresh face -brought my mother's face before me. But the girl's face was full of -gladness, and her cheeks were glowing; my mother's cheeks were sunken -and wan. Still the likeness was unmistakably there, and I thought how -much I should love to see my mother as bright as this bright girl. I -spoke to her about it, and she went to see the picture, which was in -the next street to ours. She came back smiling. - -'It _is_ like me, Chris,' she said; 'as I was once.' - -'Then you must have been very, very pretty,' I said, stroking her -cheek. - -My mother laughed melodiously. - -'When I was young, my dear,' she said with innocent vanity, blushing -like a girl, 'I was thought not to be ugly.' - -'Ugly, indeed!' I exclaimed, looking around defiantly. 'My mother -couldn't be ugly!' - -'What do you call me now, Chris?' - -'You are beautiful--beautiful!' with another defiant look. My mother -shook her hand in mild remonstrance. 'You are--you are! But you're -pale and thin, and you've got lines here--and here.' I smoothed them -with my hand. 'And, mother, you're not old!' - -'I'm forty, Chris.' - -'That is not old. Tell me--why did you alter so?' - -'Time and trouble alter us, dear. We can't be always bright.' - -I thought that I might be the trouble she referred to, and I asked the -question anxiously. - -'You, my darling!' she said, drawing me to her side and petting me. -'You are my joy, my comfort! I live only for you, Chris--only for -you!' - -I noticed something here, and, with a touch of that logical -argumentativeness for which I was afterwards not undistinguished, I -said: - -'If I am your joy and comfort, you ought to be glad.' - -'And am I not glad? What does my little boy mean by his roundabouts?' - -'You cried when you said I was your joy and comfort.' - -'They were tears of pleasure, my dear--tears that sprang from my love -for my boy. Then perhaps they sprang from the thought--for we will be -truthful always, Chris--that I should like to buy my boy a new pair of -boots and some new clothes, and that I couldn't because I hadn't money -enough.' - -'You would buy them for me if you had money?' - -'Ah! what would I not buy for my darling if I had money!' - -How delicious it was to nestle in her arms as she poured out the love -of her heart for me! How I worshipped her, and kissed her, and patted -her cheek, and smoothed her hair. - -'You are like a lover, my dear,' she said. - -'I am your lover,' I replied, and murmured softly to myself, 'Wait -till I am a man! wait till I am a man!' - -That night I coaxed my mother to talk to me of the time when she was -young, and she did, with many a smile and many a blush; and in our one -little room there was much delight. She picked out the daisies of her -life, and laid them before me to gladden my heart. Simple and -beautiful were they as Nature's own sweet flower. She showed me a -picture of herself as a girl, and I saw its likeness to the picture -I had admired in the shop window. She sang me to sleep with her dear -old songs, full of sweetness and simplicity. How different are our -modern songs from those sweet old airs! The charm of simplicity is -wanting--but, indeed, it is wanting in other modern things as well. -The spirit of simplicity dwells not in crowded places. - -Then commenced my first conscious worship of woman. I held her in my -heart as a devotee holds a saint. How good was this world which -contained such goodness! How sweet this life which contained such -sweetness! She was the flower of both. Modesty, simplicity, and truth, -were with her invariably. To me she became the incarnation of purity. - -Time went on, and low as we were we were still going down hill -steadily and surely. It is a long hill, and there are many depths in -it. Work grew slack, and in the struggle to make both ends meet, my -mother was frequently worsted; there was often a great gap between. I -do not wonder that hearts sometimes crack in that endeavour. Yet my -mother ('by hook and by crook,' as I have heard her say merrily) -generally managed in the course of the week to scrape together some -few coins which, jealously watched and jealously spent, sufficed in a -poor way to keep body and soul together. How it was managed is a -mystery to me. The winter came on: a hard winter. Bread went up in -price; every additional halfpenny on a four-pound loaf was a dagger in -my mother's breast. We rubbed through this hard time somehow, and -Christmas glided by and the new year came upon us. A cold spring set -in, and work, which had been getting slacker and slacker, could not -now be obtained. Still my mother did not lie down and yield. She tried -other shops, and received a little work--very little--at odd times. -There came a very hard week, and my mother was much distressed. On the -Friday night I heard her murmuring to herself in her sleep as I -thought, and I fancied I heard her sob. I called to her, but she did -not answer me. Her breath rose and fell in regular rhythm. Yes, she -was asleep, and the sob I thought I heard was born of my fancy. I was -thankful for that! - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -IN WHICH A FAIRY IN A COTTON-PRINT DRESS IS INTRODUCED. - - -The next day was Saturday, and my mother went out early in the -morning, and returned at two o'clock with the saddest of faces. - -'No work, mother?' I asked. - -'No, my dear,' she replied; 'but come, my child, you must be hungry.' - -There was little enough to eat, but my boy's appetite, and the cunning -way my mother had of placing our humble fare before me, made the plain -food as sweet as the best. - -I noticed that she ate nothing, and I tried to persuade her to eat. - -'I have no appetite, my dear,' she said, and added in reply to my -sorrowful look, 'My little boy doesn't know what I've had while I was -out this morning.' - -Deeper thought than usual seemed to occupy her mind during the -afternoon, and she suddenly started up, and hurriedly threw on her -bonnet and shawl. - -'Are you going to try again, mother?' - -'Yes, my darling; I must try again.' - -She did not return until late, but she returned radiant, and said, as -she took my face between her two hands, and kissed me: - -'Child, dear child! God bless those who help the poor!' - -She did not bid me repeat the words; but some deep meaning in her -voice impelled me to do so, and I said in a solemn tone, what the -words seemed to demand, - -'God bless those who help the poor!' - -She nodded pensively as she knelt before me, and as I looked at her -somewhat earnestly, her face flushed, and she rose, and bustled about -the room, putting things in order. I think she tried to hide her face -from me, and that her bustling about was a pretence. - -'And now, Chris,' she said presently, drawing her breath quickly, as -though she had been running, 'let us go out and get something nice for -supper, and for dinner to-morrow. Put on your cap, dear; you must be -hungry.' - -I was; and I was glad, indeed, to hear the good news, and to accompany -her on such an errand. She consulted me as to what she should buy, and -made me very proud and happy with her 'What do you say to this, dear?' -and 'Would you like this, my darling?' We returned home loaded with -meat, potatoes, and one or two little delicacies. I was in a state of -great satisfaction, and we made quite merry over the trifling incident -of a few potatoes rolling out of my mother's apron down the stairs in -the dark. Bump, bump, bumping,' I said, as I scrambled down after -them, 'as if they knew their way in the dark, and could see without a -candle.' - -'Potatoes have eyes, my dear,' said my mother; and we laughed blithely -over it. - -My mother's mood changed after supper. We always said a very simple -grace after meals. It was, 'Thank God for a good breakfast!' 'Thank -God for a good dinner!' or whatever meal it was of which we had -partaken. Our 'Thank God for a good supper!' being said, most -earnestly by my mother, she cleared away the things, and said, - -'Now we will see how rich we are.' - -We sat down at the table, side by side, and my mother took out of her -pocket what money it contained. I thought that our all had been -expended in our frugal purchases, but I was agreeably mistaken. There -were still left two sixpences and a few coppers. My mother selected a -battered halfpenny, and regarded it tenderly--so tenderly, and with so -much feeling, that her tears fell on it. I wondered. A battered -halfpenny, dented, dirty, bruised! I wondered more as she kissed it, -and held it to me to kiss. - -'Why, mother?' I asked, as I kissed. - -In reply, she told me a story. - -'My dear, there lived in a great forest a poor woman who had no friend -in the world but one--a bird that she loved with all her heart and -soul, and who, not being big enough or strong enough to get food for -himself, depended, because he couldn't help it, upon what this poor -woman could provide for him. There were other birds that in some way -resembled the bird that belonged to this poor woman, and that she -loved so dearly, and many of these were also compelled to wander about -the great forest in search of food; but they found it so difficult to -obtain sufficient to eat, and they met with so many sad adventures in -their search, that their wings lost their strength, and their hearts -the brightness that was their proper heritage--for they were young -birds, whose time for battling with the world had not arrived. The -poor woman did not wish her dear bird to meet with such sad -experiences until he was strong and able to cope with them. I can't -tell you, my dear, how much she loved her bird, and how thoroughly her -whole heart was wrapped up in her treasure. Once she had friends who -were good to her; but it was the will of God that she should lose -them, and she and her bird were left alone in the world. She had many -difficulties to contend with, being a weak and foolish woman----' - -I shook my head, and said, 'I am sure she wasn't; I am sure she -wasn't!' My mother pressed me closer to her side, and continued, her -fingers caressing my neck: - -----'And the days were sometimes very dark for her, or would have been -but for the joy she found in her only treasure. A time came when her -heart almost fainted within her--for her bird was at home hungry, and -there was no food in the nest, and she did not know which way to turn -to get it. She wandered about the forest with rebellious thoughts in -her mind--yes, my dear, she did!--and out of her blindness and -wickedness--hush, my dearest!--out of her blindness and wickedness, -she began almost to doubt the goodness of God. She thought, foolish -woman that she was! that there was no love in the forest but the love -which filled _her_ breast; that pity, compassion, charity, had died -out of the world, and that she and her bird were to be left to perish. -But she received such a lesson, my dear, as she will never forget till -her dying day. While these despairing thoughts were in her mind, and -while her rebellious heart was crying against the sweetest attributes -with which God has endowed His children, a fairy in a cotton-print -dress came to her side----' - -Mother!' - -'It is true, my dear. A fairy in a cotton-print dress came to her -side, and with a sweet word and a sweeter look put into her hand a -talisman--call it a stone, my dear, if you will--a common, almost -valueless piece of stone; and the touch of the pretty little fairy -fingers to the poor woman's hand was like the touch of Moses's rod to -the rock, when the waters came forth for the famished people. And she -prayed God to forgive her for doubting His goodness, and the goodness -of those whom He made in the image of Himself. Then, as she looked at -the common piece of stone which the fairy had given to her, she saw in -it the face of an angel, and she kissed it again and again, as I do -this.' - -After a little while my mother wrapped the halfpenny in a piece of -paper, and put it by, saying she hoped she would never be compelled to -spend it. - -During the whole of the following week my mother was unsuccessful in -obtaining work. It was not from want of perseverance that she did not -succeed, for she came home every day weary and footsore. - -'The sewing-machines are keeping many poor women out of work,' she -said. - -'Then they are bad things,' I exclaimed; 'I wish they were all burnt!' - -'No, my dear; they are good things; they are blessings to many poor -creatures. Why, Chris, if I had one, we should be quite rich!' - -But she did not have one, and her needles were at a discount, so far -as earning bread for us was concerned. On the Saturday she went out -again early, and did not come home until late at night. Good fortune -had again attended her, and she brought home a little money. - -'Have you seen the fairy in the cotton-print dress?' I asked gaily. My -mother nodded sorrowfully. Saturday's a lucky day, mother,' I said, -rubbing my hands. - -'Yes, my child,' she answered, with a heavy sigh. - -She added another halfpenny to the one she had kissed and put by last -week, and we went out again to make our purchases. Another week -followed, and another, with similar results and similar incidents. -Then my mother fell sick, and could not, although she tried, keep the -knowledge of her weakness from me; a sorrow of which I was not a -sharer was preying on her heart. I did not know of it; but I saw that -my mother was growing even paler and thinner, and often, when she did -not think I was observing her, I saw the tears roll down her cheek, -and her lips quiver piteously. Friday night found us with a cupboard -nearly empty, and with but one halfpenny in our treasury--the first -battered and bruised halfpenny, which my mother hoped she would never -be compelled to spend. Those she had added to it had gone during the -week. She looked at it wistfully: - -'Must we spend it, Chris?' - -'Is the angel's face there?' I asked. - -'Yes, I see it.' And she kissed the battered coin again. - -'Then we must keep it,' I said stoutly. - -When I awoke the next morning, my mother was kneeling by my bedside, -and when she saw my eyes resting on her face, she clasped me in her -arms, and so we lay for fully half an hour, without a word being -spoken. There was a little milk left for breakfast, and this my mother -made into very weak milk-and-water. The bread she cut into four -slices. One she ate, two she gave to me, and one she put into the -cupboard. She laid the battered halfpenny on the mantelshelf. - -'Now, Chris,' she said, as she put on her poor worn bonnet, 'when you -are hungry you can eat the slice of bread that's in the cupboard; and -if I am not at home before you are hungry again, you can buy some -bread with that halfpenny. Kiss me, dear child.' - -'But, mother,' I remonstrated, you are too ill to go out. You ought to -stay at home to-day.' - -I dare not, child. I _must_ go out. Why, doesn't my Chris want his -supper to-night, and his dinner to-morrow? And don't I want my supper -and dinner, too?' - -'Are you going to the workshop, mother?' - -'I am going that way, child.' - -But I begged her to promise that she would try and be home early, and -she was compelled to promise, to satisfy me. With faltering steps she -left the room, and walked slowly downstairs. I felt that there was -something wrong, but I did not understand it, and certainly would have -been powerless to remedy it. I was soon hungry enough to eat the slice -of bread; and then I went out, and strolled restlessly about the -streets. It was a cold day, and I was glad to get indoors again, -although there was no fire. In the afternoon I was hungry again, and -mother had not returned. Should I spend the halfpenny? I took it from -the mantelshelf. The gift of a fairy in a cotton-print dress! I turned -it this way and that, in the endeavour to find some special charm in -it. It was as common a halfpenny as I had ever looked upon. I saw no -angel's face in it. But my mother said there was, and that was enough. -No; I could not spend it. Then I thought that it was unkind of me to -let my mother, ill and weak as she was, go out by herself. I -reproached myself; I might have helped her on. She promised to return -soon; perhaps she was not strong enough to return. These reproachful -thoughts and my hunger grew upon me, and my uneasiness increased, -until I became very wretched indeed. As dusk was falling, I made up my -mind that a certain duty was before me. I must walk into the City to -the shop for which my mother used to work, and seek for her. I had -been to the place two or three times to take work home, and I knew my -way pretty well. Perhaps I should meet my mother on the road. Off I -started on my self-imposed task. My increasing hunger made the -distance appear twice as long as it really was, and I could not help -lingering and longing for a little while at a fine cook-shop, the -perfume which pervaded it being more fragrant to me at the time than -all the perfumes of Arabia would have been. When I arrived at the -workshop, it was closed. There was nothing for it but to turn my face -homeward. Weary, hungry, and dispirited, I commenced my journey back; -I was anxious to get home quickly now, to lessen the chance of my -mother returning while I was absent. In my eagerness and confusion I -missed my way, and it was quite ten o'clock at night when I found -myself in a street which was familiar to me, and which I knew to be -about two miles from the street in which we lived. The neighbourhood -in which I was now was a busy one; a kind of market was held there -every Saturday night, in which poor people could purchase what they -required a trifle cheaper than they could be supplied at the regular -shops. There were a great glare of lights and a great hurly-burly of -noise which in my weak condition confused and frightened me. I -staggered feebly on, and stumbled against a man who was passing me in -a great hurry. He caught hold of my arm with such force as to swing me -round; and without any effort on my part to escape, for I was almost -unconscious, I slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground. I think -I heard the words, Unmanly brute uttered in a female voice; but my -next distinct remembrance is that I was standing on my feet, swaying -slightly, and held up by the man I had run against. He spoke to me in -sharp tones, and demanded to know where I was running to. I begged his -pardon humbly, but in tones too faint to reach his ear, for he -inquired roughly if I had a tongue in my head. There were a few -persons standing about us, and one or two women told the man he ought -to be ashamed of himself, and asked him what he meant by it, and why -he didn't leave the boy alone. In sneering reply he called them a -parcel of wise women. - -'Did you ever see a thief of his size?' he asked. - -'I am not a thief,' I said, in a faint tone. 'Let me go. I want to get -home.' - -I raised my eyes to his face as I spoke. I could not distinguish his -features, for everything was dim before me, but he seemed to see -something in my face that occupied his attention, for he looked at me -long and earnestly. - -'Have you been ill?' - -'I am tired and hungry. Let me go, please,' I implored. - -He released his hold of me. Glad to be free, and intent only on -getting home as soon as I could, I walked from him with uncertain -steps. But I did not know how weak I really was; and I was compelled -to cling to the shop-fronts for support. I must have stumbled on in -this way for fifty or sixty yards, when stopped to rest myself. Then,' -without raising my eyes, I knew that the man against whom I had -stumbled was standing by me again; he must have followed me out of his -course, for when we first met his road was different from mine. - -'Did you see me following you?' he asked. - -I was frightened of him; his voice seemed to hurt me. I had scarcely a -comprehension of the meaning of his words; and I was fearful that, if -I disputed anything he said, I might arouse his anger, and that he -would detain me again. He repeated his question; and I answered, -almost without knowing what I said, - -'Yes, sir.' - -My reply appeared to dissatisfy him. - -'Then you have been shamming weakness?' - -'Yes, sir.' - -I looked about me timidly and nervously for a means of escape. -Standing in the road, close to the kerbstone, and facing a portion of -the pavement which was partly in shade, was a beggar-woman, with her -face hidden on her breast. One hand held her thin shawl tightly in -front of her; the other hand was held out supplicatingly. What it was -that caused me to fix my eyes on her I cannot tell; perhaps it was -because I recognised in her drooping form and humble attitude -something kindred to my own pitiable condition. As I gazed at her, a -little girl, very poorly dressed, and with a basket on her arm, -stopped before the woman, and put a coin into her outstretched hand. -The woman curtseyed, and stooped and kissed the little girl. As the -child, her act of charity performed, walked away, I saw her face; and -it was so sweet and good, that my mother's words with reference to the -battered halfpenny came to my mind: 'I see an angel's face in it.' I -watched her until she was lost in the throng; and then I turned to the -beggar-woman again, and saw, as in a flash of light, my mother! Was it -shame, was it joy, that convulsed me, as crying, 'Mother! mother!' I -ran and fell senseless at her feet? - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. -A POSTMAN'S KNOCK. - - -It seemed to me as if I had closed my eyes and opened them with -scarcely a moment's interval; and yet I was at home in our own little -room, and my mother was bending over me tenderly. I could not -immediately realise the change. The busy streets, and the glare in -them, and my fear of the man who had accused me of being a thief, were -still present to my mind. I clung closer to my mother. - -'What is my darling frightened of?' she said soothingly. 'He is at -home, and safe in his mother's arms.' - -'At home!' I looked around apprehensively. 'Where's the man?' - -'What man, dear child? The man who carried you home?' - -I had no remembrance of being carried home. - -'The man who carried me home!' I exclaimed; and repeated wonderingly, -'Carried me home! No, I don't know him.' - -'There is no one here, dear child, but you and I. Taste this.' - -She held a cup of tea to my lips, and I drank gratefully; and ate a -slice of bread-and-butter she gave me. - -'There, my dear! My darling feels better, does he not?' - -'Yes.' As I looked at her, the scene I had witnessed, of which she had -been the principal figure, dawned upon me. I could not check my sobs; -I felt as if my heart would burst. 'O mother! mother!' I cried. 'I -remember now; I remember now!' - -She held me in her arms, and caressed me, and pressed me to her heart. -My tears flowed upon her faithful breast. - -'How did you find me, dear child? Unkind mother that I am to leave my -darling hungry and alone all the day!' - -'Don't say that, mother. You mustn't; you mustn't! If anybody else -said it, I would kill him!' - -'Hush, dear child! You must not excite yourself. Come, you shall go to -bed; and you shall tell me all in the morning, please God.' - -'No, I want to tell you now; I want to talk to you now. I want to lie -here, and talk quietly, quietly! Oh, but I am so sorry! so sorry!' - -'For what, dear child?' - -Through my sobs I murmured, 'That you should have to stand in the -cold, and beg for me!' My arms were round her, and I felt her shrink -and tremble within them. 'Now I know what the poor woman in the forest -did when she went to look for food for her bird. If any one saw you -that knew you, would you not be ashamed? Would you not run away?' - -Sadly and tearfully she replied, 'No, my own darling, I do not think I -should. Who would be so cruel as to say I ought to be ashamed of doing -what I do?' - -'But, mother, you stand with your head down, as if you wanted to hide -your face!' - -The blood rose to her face and forehead pitifully. - -'I cannot help it, dearest,' she said with trembling lips; it comes -natural to me to stand so. I do not think of it at the time. And O, -Chris! don't despise your poor mother now that you have found out her -secret!' - -She would have fallen at my feet if I had not kept my arms tightly -around her. In the brief pause that ensued before she spoke again, I -closed my eyes, and leant my head upon her shoulder, the better to -think of her goodness to me. I saw all the details of the picture -which now occupied my mind. I saw my mother approach the spot where -she had decided to stand, to solicit charity for me; I saw her -hesitate, and tremble, and look around warily and timidly, as though -she were about to commit a crime; and then I saw her glide swiftly -into the road and take her station there, with her dear head drooping -on her breast from shame. Yes, from shame. And it was for me she did -this! - -'If I could get work to do,' she presently said, in low meek tones, -such as one who was crushed and who despaired might use if wrongfully -accused, 'I would not beg. Heaven knows I have tried hard enough; I -have implored, have almost gone on my knees for it, in vain. What was -I to do? We could not starve, and I would not go to the parish; I -would not bring that shame upon my darling's life, until everything -else in the world had failed. I did not intend my child to know. I -tried to keep the knowledge from him--I tried, I tried! O, my dear -boy! my heart is fit to break!' - -I listened in awe, and could say no word to comfort her. - -'It is no shame to me to do as I have done,' she said half -appealingly, half defiantly. 'It is for bread for my dear child's -life. I should stand with my face open to the people, if I had the -courage. But I am a coward--a coward! and I shrink and tremble, as if -I were a thief, with terror in my heart!' - -She a coward! Dear heart! Brave soul! Her voice grew softer. - -'And O, Chris, my child! since I have stood there I have learnt so -much that I did not know before. It has made me better--humbler. Never -again, never again can I doubt the goodness of God! What good there is -in the world of which we are ignorant, until sorrow brings us to the -knowledge of it! When I first stood there, the world seemed to pass -away from me, so dreadful a feeling took possession of me. In my -fancy, harsh voices clamoured at me, cruel faces mocked me from all -sides; I did not dare raise my head. But in the midst of my soul's -agony, soft fingers touched mine, and the sweet voice of a child -brought comfort to my heart. And then poor women gave, and I was -ashamed to take. I held it out to them again, begging them with my -eyes to take it back again; and they ran away, some of them.' - -The floodgates of my mother's heart were open, and she was talking now -as much to herself as to me, recalling what had touched her most -deeply. - -'Two weeks ago a young woman came and stood before me. God knows what -she was thinking of as she stood there in a way it made my heart ache -to see. She was very, very pretty; very, very young. She stood looking -at me so long in silence that I began almost to be afraid. I dared not -speak to her first. I have never yet spoken unbidden in that place; I -seem to myself to have no right to speak. But, seeking to soften any -hard thought she may have had in her mind for me or for herself, I -returned her look, kindly I hope, and pityingly too. "I thought I'd -make you look at me," she said in a hard voice that I felt was not -natural to her; "beggars like you haven't much to be proud of, I -should say. Thank the Lord I haven't come to that yet!" I tried to -shape an answer, but the words wouldn't leave my lips, and I could -only look at her appealingly. Poor girl! she seemed to resent this, -and tossed her head, and went away singing. But there was no singing -in her heart. I followed her with my eyes, and saw her stop at a -public-house; but she hesitated at the door, and did not enter. No; -she came back, and stood before me again. "What do you come here for?" -she asked, after a little pause. "For food," I answered. She sneered -at my answer, and I waited in sorrow for her next words. "Have you got -a husband?" "No," I said, wondering why she asked. "No more have I," -she said. My thoughts wandered to a happier time, and pictures of -brighter days which seem to have passed away for ever came to my mind; -but the girl soon brought me back to reality. "Are you a mother?" she -asked. "Oh, yes!" I answered, with a sob of thankfulness, for the dear -Lord has made my boy a blessing to me. "So am I," she said, with a -little laugh that struck me like a knife. "Here--take this; I was -going to spend it in drink." And she put sixpence in coppers into my -hand, and ran away. But I ran after her, and entreated her to take the -money back; but she would not, and grew sullen. I still entreated, and -she said, "Very well; give it to me; I'll spend it in gin." What I -said to her after this I do not know, I was so grieved and sorry for -her; but I told her I would keep the money, and she thanked me for the -promise, oh! so humbly and gratefully, and began to cry so piteously -and passionately, that my own sorrows seemed light compared with hers. -I drew her away to a quiet street, and kissed her and soothed her, and -although we had never met before, she clung to me, and blessed me with -broken words and sobs. Then, when she was quieter, I asked her where -her little one was, and might I go with her and see it? She took me to -her room, and I saw her baby--such a pretty little thing!--and I -nursed it till it fell asleep, and then tidied up the room, and put -the bed straight. Ah, my darling! I could not repeat all that the poor -girl said. I went out and spent fourpence of the sixpence she gave me -in food for the baby, and she was not angry with me for it. I have -been to see her and her baby twice since that night, and my heart has -ached often when I have thought of them. If I were not as poor as I -am, I would try to be a friend to them. But, alas! what can I do? Yet -there is not a night I have stood in that place that I have not lifted -my heart to God for the goodness that has been shown to me. How good a -thing it is for the poor to help the poor as they do! God sweeten -their lives for them!' - -We were silent for a long time after this. I broke the silence by -whispering, - -'Mother, I didn't spend the halfpenny; it is on the mantelshelf now.' - -'Dear child! I am sorry and glad. It is the first halfpenny I ever -received in charity, and it was given to me by a little child.' - -'Let me look at it, mother.' - -She took it from the mantelshelf, and placed it in my hands. - -'I can see the angel's face now,' I said. 'It is the fairy in a -cotton-print dress.' - -My mother nodded with a sweet smile. - -'And the fairy is a little girl?' - -'Yes, dear.' - -'And she came every Saturday night afterwards, with a basket on her -arm, and gave you a halfpenny?' - -'Yes, dear. How do you know?' - -'I saw her to-night, and I guessed the rest. I am so glad you kissed -her! Mother, we will never, never spend this halfpenny!' - -'Very well, my darling; but you haven't told me yet how it was you -found me out.' - -I had barely finished my recital when a knock came at our door. On -opening it, our landlady was discovered, puffing and blowing. A great -basket was hanging from her hand. Benignant confidence in her lodger -reigned in her face; curiosity dwelt in her eye. As she entered, the -air became spirituously perfumed. - -'O, them stairs!' she panted. They ketch me in the side! If you'll -excuse me, my dear!' And she sat down, still retaining her hold of the -basket. She went through many stages before she quite recovered -herself, gazing at us the while with that imploring look peculiar to -women who are liable to be 'ketched in the side.' Then she brightened -up, and spoke again. 'I thought I'd bring it up myself,' she said; the -stairs ain't been long cleaned, and the boy's boots are that muddy -that I told him to wait in the passage for the basket. If you'll empty -it, I'll take it down to him. Oh,' she continued, seeing that my -mother was in doubt, I don't mind the trouble the least bit in the -world! If all lodgers was as regular with their rent as you, my dear, -I shouldn't be put upon as I am!' - -Still my mother hesitated; she did not understand it. I saw that the -basket was well filled, for the lid bulged up. The landlady, declaring -that it was very heavy, placed it on the table, and was about to lift -the lid, when my mother's hand restrained her. - -'There is some mistake; these things are not for me.' - -'Why, my dear creature!' exclaimed the landlady, growing exceedingly -confidential, 'didn't you order 'em?' - -'No, I haven't marketed yet. My poor boy has been ill, and I haven't -been able to go out.' - -'Well, but there can't be any mistake, my dear;' and the landlady, -scenting a mystery, became very inquisitive indeed; here's your name -on a bit of paper.' - -The writing was plain enough, certainly: 'For Mrs. Carey. Paid for. -Basket to be returned.' - -'Do you know the boy who brought them?' asked my mother. - -'To be sure I do, my dear creature! He belongs to Mrs. Strangeways, -the greengrocer round the corner.' - -'I should like to speak to him. May he come up?' - -'Certainly, my dear soul!' - -And the landlady, in her eagerness to get at the heart of the mystery, -disregarded the effect of muddy boots on clean stairs, and called the -boy up. But he could throw no light upon the matter. All that he knew -was that his mistress directed him to bring the things round to Mrs. -Carey's, and to make haste back with the basket. 'And please, will you -look sharp about it?' he adjured in a tone of injured innocence, -digging his knuckles into his eyes, and working them round so forcibly -that it almost seemed as though he were trying to gouge out his -eyeballs; if you keep me here much longer, missis'll swear when I get -back that I've been stopping on the road playing pitch and toss.' - -The landlady, whose curiosity had now reached the highest point, -protested that it would be flying in the face of Providence to -hesitate another moment, and whipped open the basket. - -'Half a pound of salt butter,' she said, calling out the things as -she placed them on the table; half a pound of tea; sixpennorth of -eggs--they're Mrs. Chizlett's eggs, my dear, sixteen a shilling--I -know 'em by the bag; a pound of brown sugar; a cabbage; taters--seven -pound for tuppence, my dear; and a lovely shoulder of mutton--none of -your scrag! There!' - -My eyes glistened as I saw the good things, and my mother was -gratefully puzzled. The garrulous landlady stopped in the room for a -quarter of an hour, placing all kinds of possible constructions upon -the mystery, and inviting, in the most insinuating manner, the -confidence of my mother, whom she evidently regarded as a very artful -creature. It was sufficient for me that the food was lawfully ours, -and I blessed the generous donor in my heart. On the following day my -mother took me for a walk in the Park, and we arrived home in time to -get the baked dish from the baker's, which my mother had prepared. We -had a grand dinner, and we fared tolerably well during the week. On -the Saturday, however, our cupboard and treasury were bare, and my -mother was once more racked by those pin-and-needle anxieties which, -insignificant as they seem by the side of matters of public interest, -form the sum of the lives of hundreds of thousands of our fellow -creatures. My mother watched me very nervously. I knew what was in her -mind. She was striving to gather courage to bid me stop at home while -she went out to beg. My heart was very full as, watching her -furtively, I saw her put on her bonnet and shawl. Then she stood -irresolutely by the mantelshelf. I crept to her side. - -'Mother?' - -'My child!' - -'Let me go with you,' I implored. - -'No, no, dear child! No, no!' she cried, and she knelt before me, -and twined her arms around my neck. She was entreating me in the -tenderest manner to stop at home, when the simplest thing in the world -changed the current of our lives. A postman's knock was heard at the -street-door, and a minute afterwards the landlady came running -upstairs, almost breathless. My mother started to her feet. In one -hand the landlady held a letter by the corner of her apron; the other -hand was pressed to her side; and she panted as if her last moments -had arrived. - -'O them stairs!' she exclaimed. 'They'll be the death of me! For you, -my dear.' And she held the letter towards my mother. - -A circumstance so unusual as the receipt of a letter threw us all into -a state of excitement. It was certainly an event in my life. My mother -was very agitated as she looked at the address, and the landlady took -a seat, and waited in the expectation of hearing the news. But the -letter was not opened until that worthy woman had retired, which she -did in a very dignified, not to say offended, manner, as a proof that -she had not the slightest wish--not she! to pry into our private -concerns. - -'There's no mistake, mother,' I said. - -'No, my dear; it is addressed to me.' - -Then, with great care, she opened the letter, and read aloud: - - -'14 Paradise-row, Windmill-street. - -'Emma Carey,--Personally you will have not the slightest knowledge of -me, for I do not think you ever set eyes on me; but you will know my -name. I was not aware until a few days ago that your husband was dead. -I am poor, but not as poor as you are. I offer you and your boy a -home. You can both come and live with me if you like. If you decide to -come, you must not expect much. I am not a pleasant character, and my -disposition is not amiable. But the probability is, if you accept my -offer, that you and your boy will have regular meals, such as they -are. I keep a shop; you can help me in it. You can come at once if you -like--this very day. I don't suppose it will take you long to pack up. - -'Bryan Carey.' - - -I started when I heard the name, for it was our own. - -'It is from your uncle Bryan,' said my mother; 'your dear father's -elder brother, who disappeared many years ago.' - -'I thought he was dead, mother.' - -'We all supposed so, never having heard from him.' - -'Was he nice, mother?' - -'I have no idea, child; I never saw him. But he says that he is -neither amiable nor pleasant.' - -Two words in the letter had especially attracted my attention. - -'Regular meals,' I murmured, somewhat timidly. - -My mother rose instantly. Unless she accepted the offer, there was but -one alternative before her; and no one knew better than I how her -sensitive nature shrank from it. It was the bitterest necessity only -that had driven her to beg. - -'I will go at once and see your uncle, my dear. I don't know where -Paradise-row is, but I shall be able to find it out. I will be back as -soon as possible. Keep indoors, there's a dear child!' - -She was absent for nearly three hours. - -'Well, mother?' I said, running to the door as I heard her step on the -stairs. - -She drew me into the room, and sat down, with her arms round my neck. - -'We will go, dear,' she said, and my heart beat joyfully at the words. -'it will be a home for us. Situated as we are, what would become of my -dear child if I were to fall really ill? And I have been afraid of it -many times. Yes, we will go. Your uncle Bryan keeps a grocer's shop. I -told him I should have to give a week's warning here, and he gave me -the money to pay the rent, so that we might go to him at once.' - -My mother looked about her regretfully. It belonged to her nature to -become attached to everything with which she was associated, and she -could not help having a tender feeling even for our one little room in -which we had seen so much trouble. - -'Now, Chris, We will pack up.' - -As uncle Bryan predicted in his letter, it did not take us long. -Everything we possessed went into one small trunk, and there was room -for more when everything was in. The smoke-dried monkey of a man in -stone--the precious relic I had inherited from my grandmother--had -been carefully taken care of, and now lay at the bottom of the trunk. -It had not brought us much luck, and I regarded it with something like -aversion. - -From the inscrutable eye of a landlady living in the house nothing can -be concealed, and our landlady hovered in the passage, divining (with -that peculiar inspiration with which all of her class are gifted) that -something important was taking place. My mother called her in, and -paid her the week's rent in lieu of a week's notice. She was deeply -moved, after the fashion of landladies (living in the house), when -lodgers who have paid regularly take their departure. The fear of -another lodger not so punctual in paying as the last harrows their -souls. As my mother did not enter into particulars, not even -mentioning to the landlady where we were moving to, the inquisitive -creature invited confidence by producing from a mysterious recess in -her flannel petticoat a bottle of gin and a glass. My mother, however, -declined to be bribed, much to the landlady's chagrin; after this she -evidently regarded us with less favour. - -'Uncle Bryan sent a boy with a wheelbarrow, Chris,' said my mother, -'to wheel your trunk home. He's waiting at the door now.' - -'_With_ the wheelbarrow?' I asked gaily. I was in high spirits at the -better prospect which lay before us. - -'Yes, dear. _With_ the wheelbarrow.' - -I could not help laughing, it seemed to me such a comical idea. My -mother cast an affectionate look at the humble room we were leaving -for ever, and then we carried the trunk down to the street door, the -landlady _not_ assisting. There stood the boy with the wheelbarrow. -The trunk was lifted in, and we marched away, the boy trundling the -barrow, we holding on in front, for fear the trunk should fall into -the road. All the neighbours rushed into the street to look at the -procession. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. -UNCLE BRYAN INTRODUCES HIMSELF. - - -The boy took no notice of the neighbours, but wheeled straight through -them, regardless of their legs. Neither did he take any notice of us, -except by whistling in our faces. But he trundled the wheelbarrow -cheerfully, and with an airy independence most delightful to witness. -It was a long journey to Paradise-row, and it occupied a long time; -but the boy never flagged, never stopped to rest, although in the -course of the journey he performed some eccentric antics. He was not -as old as I, but he was much more strongly built. I envied him his -strong limbs and broad shoulders. It was a cold day, and he was -insufficiently clad; his toes peeped out of his boots, and his hair -straggled through a hole in his cap, and a glimpse of his bare chest -could now and then be seen through a rent in his waistcoat, which was -made to serve the purpose of a jacket by being pinned at the throat; -but the boy was not in the slightest degree affected by these -disadvantages. The wind, which made me shiver, seemed to warm him, and -he took it to his bosom literally with great contentment. His eyes -were dark and bright, his nose was a most ostensible pug, and the -curves of his large well-shaped mouth and lips spoke of saucy -enjoyment. Indeed, he was full of life, noting with eager curiosity -everything about him, and his dirty face sparkled with intelligence. -As he drove the barrow before him, he whistled and sang without the -slightest regard to nerves, and if any street lad accosted him -jocosely or derisively, he returned the salutation with spirited -interest. He appeared to be disposed to pause near the first -organ-grinder we approached; but he resisted the inclination, and -after a short but severe mental struggle, he compromised matters by -trundling the barrow three times round the unfortunate Italian, making -a wider sweep each time. My mother remonstrated with him; but the boy, -with the reins of command in his hand, paid no other attention to her -remonstrance than was expressed in a knowing cock of his eye, implying -that it was all right, and that he knew what he was about. For the -safety of our trunk we were compelled to accompany him in his circular -wanderings, and I felt particularly foolish as we swept round and -round. But the third circle completed, the boy drove straight along -again contentedly, whistling the last air the organ-grinder had played -with such force and expression as to cause some of the passers-by to -put their fingers to their ears. This man[oe]uvre the boy -conscientiously repeated with every organ-grinder we met on the road; -repeated it also, very slowly and lingeringly, at a Punch-and-Judy -show, afterwards conveying to the British public discordant -reminiscences through his nose of the interview between Punch and the -Devil; and with supreme audacity repeated it when we came to a band of -negro minstrels, proving himself quite a match for them when they -threatened him with dreadful consequences if he did not immediately -put a stop to his circular performance. Indeed, when one of the band -advanced towards him with menacing gestures, he ran the wheelbarrow -against the opposing force with such an unmistakable intention, that -to save his legs the nigger had to fly. In this manner we came at -length to the end of our journey. - -I found Windmill-street to be a mere slit in a busy and bustling -neighbourhood, and Paradise-row, where uncle Bryan lived, a distinct -libel upon heaven, being, I fervently hope, as little like a -thoroughfare in Paradise as can well be imagined. Uncle Bryan's shop -was at the corner of Windmill-street and Paradise-row, and uncle Bryan -himself stood at his street-door, seemingly awaiting our arrival. - -'Been loitering, eh?' was uncle Bryan's first salutation; sharply -spoken, not to us, but to the boy. - -'Never stopped wheelin', so 'elp me!' returned the boy, in a tone as -sharp as my uncle's, yet with a doubtful look at my mother. 'Never -stopped to take a breathful of air from the blessed minute we started. -Arks 'er!' - -My mother, being appealed to by uncle Bryan, confirmed the boy's -statement, which was strictly correct, and, to his manifest -astonishment, made no reproachful reference to his circular flights. -His astonishment, however, almost immediately assumed the form of a -satisfied leer. - -'How much was it to be?' asked uncle Bryan, not at all satisfied with -my mother's assurance. - -'Thrums,' replied the boy, readily. By which he meant threepence. - -Uncle Bryan regarded him sourly. - -'Say that again, and I'll take off a penny.' - -'Well, tuppence, then. I got to pay a ha'penny for the barrer. What's -a brown, more or less?' - -The question was not addressed to any of us in particular, so none of -us answered it. Uncle Bryan paid him twopence; and the boy, with never -a 'thank you,' spun the coins in the air, and caught them deftly; -then, with a wink at my mother as a trustworthy conspirator, he walked -away with his empty barrow, whistling with all his wind at mankind in -general. - -Now, when uncle Bryan first spoke, I started. I thought it was not the -first time I had heard his voice. It sounded to me like the voice of -the man with whom I had had the adventure on the previous Saturday -night. The boy being out of sight, uncle Bryan turned to me. - -'Why did you start just now?' - -'I thought I knew your voice, sir,' I said. - -'Call me uncle Bryan. Knew my voice! It isn't possible, as you've -never set eyes on me, nor I on you, till this moment.' - -This was intended to settle the doubt, and I never again referred to -it, although it remained with me for a long while afterwards. The -trunk had been left on the doorstep, and uncle Bryan assisted us to -carry it upstairs to the bedroom allotted to us. A little bed for -me--uncle Bryan made it over to me in three words--was placed behind a -screen. - -'I thought,' he said to my mother, 'you would like your boy to sleep -in the same room as yourself. The house is a small one, but we can -find another place for him if you wish.' - -'Thank you, Bryan,' replied my mother simply, 'I would like to have -him with me.' - -Uncle Bryan was evidently no waster of words, and my mother entered -readily into his humour. - -'You must be tired,' he said, as he was about to leave the room; 'rest -yourself a bit. But the sooner you come downstairs, the better I -shall be pleased.' - -My mother laid her hand on his arm, and detained him. - -'Let me say a word to you, Bryan.' - -'You will never repeat it!' he exclaimed, with a quick apprehension of -what she wished to say. - -'Never, without a strong necessity, Bryan.' - -He laughed; but it was more like a dry husky cough than a laugh. - -'When a man locks the street-door,' he said, 'trust a woman to see -that the yard-door's on the latch.' - -'I want to thank you, Bryan, for the home you have offered me and my -boy.' - -'Perhaps it won't suit you.' - -'It will suit us, Bryan, if it will suit you to allow us to remain.' - -He seemed to chew the words, 'allow us to remain,' silently, as if -their flavour were unpleasant to him; but he said aloud: - -'Wait and see, then.' And although my mother wished to continue the -conversation, he turned his back to us, and abruptly left the room. - -My mother sank into a chair; she must have been very tired, for she -had walked not less than twelve miles that day. - -'You must be tired too, my dear,' she said, drawing me to her side. - -'Not so tired as you, mother.' - -'I don't feel very, very tired, my dear!' - -I knew why she said so; hope dwelt in her heart. - -'I think your uncle Bryan is a good man,' she said. - -I did not express dissent; but I must have looked it. - -'My dear,' she said, answering my look, 'you will find in your course -through life that many sweet things have their home in the roughest -shells. Uncle Bryan has a strange rough manner, but I think--nay, I am -sure--he is a good man. Do you know, Chris, I believe those things -that came home for us last Saturday night were sent by him. No, my -dear, we will not ask him, or even speak of it. He will be better -pleased if it is not referred to. And yet I wonder how he found us -out!' - -The room which was assigned to us was a back-room, small, and commonly -but cleanly furnished. Immediately beneath the window was the -water-butt, and beyond it were numbers of small back-yards--so many, -indeed, that I wondered where the houses could be that belonged to -them. The general prospect from this window, as I very soon learned, -was composed of sheets, shirts, stockings, and the usual articles of -male and female attire in the process of drying: of some other things -also--of washing-tubs, and women and little girls wringing and washing -and up to their arm-pits in soap-suds. Occasionally I saw men also -thus engaged. A variation in the prospect was sometimes afforded by -small children being brought into the yards to be slapped and then set -upon the stones to cool, and by other small children blowing -soap-bubbles out of father's pipes. The peculiarity of the scene was -that the clothes never appeared to be dried. They were eternally -hanging on the lines, which intersected each other like a Chinese -puzzle, or were being skewered to them in a damp condition. I can -safely assert that existence, as seen from our bedroom window, was one -interminable washing-day. - -When we went downstairs uncle Bryan was in the shop, weighing up his -wares and attending to occasional customers. Attached to the shop were -a parlour, in which the meals were taken and which served as a general -sitting-room, and a smaller apartment in the rear. My mother called me -into the smaller room. Do you see, Chris?' she said, pointing to some -flowers on the window-sill. There were two or three pots also, in -which seeds had evidently been newly planted. In my mother's eyes, -these were a strong proof of my uncle's goodness. A rickety flight of -steps led to the basement of the house, in which there was a gloomy -kitchen (very blackbeetle-y), which could not have been used for a -considerable time. The cobwebs were thick in the corners, and a -prosperous spider, a very alderman in its proportions, peeped out of -its stronghold, with an air of 'What is all this about?' The -appearance of a woman in that deserted retreat did not please my -gentleman; it was a sign of progress. In the basement were also two or -three other gloomy recesses. - -Our brief inspection ended, we ascended to the parlour. The fire was -burning brightly, and the kettle was on the hob. My mother went to the -door which led to the shop. - -'At what time do you generally have tea, Bryan?' she inquired. - -'At half-past five,' he replied. - -It was a quarter-past five by an American clock which stood in the -centre of the mantelshelf. The clock was a common wooden one, with a -glass door in front, on which was engraved a figure of Father Time -with a crack down his back. One of his eyes was damaged, and his -scythe also was mutilated; taking him altogether, as he was there -represented, damaged and with cracks in him, old Father Time seemed by -his disconsolate appearance to be of the opinion that it was high time -an end was made of _him_. Without more ado, my mother opened the -cupboard, and finding everything there she wanted, laid the table, and -prepared the meal. Exactly at half-past five uncle Bryan came in, and -we had tea. He did not express the slightest approval of my mother's -quickness, nor did she ask for it; and when tea was over, he went into -the shop again, and my mother cleared up the things. She asked him -about to-morrow's dinner, and took me with her to market with the money -he gave her. While we were looking about us we came across the boy who -had fetched our trunk in the wheelbarrow. He was standing with others -listening to a hymn which was being sung by two men and a woman. One -of the men was blind, and he played on a harmonium, while his -companions sang. He joined in also, having a powerful voice, and I -thought the performance a very fine one. - -The boy saw us; approached my mother, and said in a tone of strong -approval: - -'You're a brick. I say, we sold old Bryan, didn't us?' - -My mother could not help smiling, which heightened the favourable -opinion he had of her. - -'What are you going to do?' he asked. - -My mother explained that she was going to market. - -'I'll show you the shops,' he said; and his offer was accepted. - -He proved useful, and took us to the best and cheapest shops, and gave -his candid opinion (generally unfavourable) of the articles my mother -purchased. When the marketing was finished, he volunteered to carry -the basket, and did not leave us until we were within a yard or two of -uncle Bryan's shop. He enlivened the walk with many quaint and -original observations, and when he had nothing to say he whistled. He -took his departure with good-humoured winks and nods. Upon my mother -counting out her purchases to uncle Bryan, and returning him the few -coppers that were left, he said, - -'We'll settle things on Monday, Emma. You'll have to take the entire -charge of the house, and to keep the expenses down, and we'll arrange -a certain sum, which must not be exceeded. If anything is saved out of -it, you can put it by in this box,' pointing to a stone money-box -shaped like an urn, which was on a shelf. You can do anything you like -to the place, but don't disturb my flower-pots.' - -'What have you planted in the new pots, Bryan?' - -'Some of the new Japan lilies; they'll not flower till summer. Don't -touch them; you don't understand them.' - -My mother was very busy that night, dusting and cleaning, and I think -I never saw her in a happier mood. Now and then she went into the -shop, and stood quietly behind the counter, noting how uncle Bryan -attended to his business. He took not the slightest notice of her; did -not address a single word to her. Once she came bustling back, with an -air of importance. 'I've served a customer, Chris,' she said -gleefully. - -Uncle Bryan's shop was stocked with small supplies of everything in -the grocery line, and in addition to these, he sold a few simple -medicines for clearing the blood--some of them, I afterwards learned, -of his own concoction and mixing. Friday was the day fixed for the -preparation and making-up of these medicines, for Saturday was the -great night for the sale of the mixtures to working people, who -purchased them in halfpenny and penny doses. I discovered that uncle -Bryan's pills were famous in the neighbourhood. I calculated that on -this Saturday night he must have served at least fifty customers with -his medicines. The little parlour presented quite a different -appearance when my mother had finished cleaning and dusting. I looked -for some expression of approval in uncle Bryan's face when he came in -to partake of a bread-and-cheese supper; but I saw none. During the -night my thoughts wandered to the little girl who had given the first -halfpenny to my mother. I spoke about her. - -'Do you think she will be sorry or glad, mother, because she will not -see you to-night?' - -'Sorry, I think, Chris; she will fancy I am ill.' - -'But this is a great deal better, mother.' - -'Infinitely better, dear child: and remember, we owe it all to uncle -Bryan.' - -Neither my mother nor I felt at all strange in our new home, and I -slept as soundly as if I had lived in the house for years. Before we -went to bed, my mother and I had a delicious ten minutes' chat; the -storm in our lives which had lasted so long, and which had threatened -to wreck us, had cleared away, and a delightful sense of rest stole -into our hearts. - -On the Sunday no business was done. After breakfast, uncle Bryan -brought his account-book into the parlour, and busied himself with his -accounts, adding up the week's takings, and calculating what profit -was made. My mother asked him if he was going to church. - -'I never go to church,' was his reply. - -My mother looked grieved, but she entered into no argument with him. - -'You have no objection to our going?' she said timidly. - -'What have I to do with it? I dictate to no one. If you think it right -to go to church, go.' - -'Is there one near, Bryan?' - -'Zion Chapel isn't two minutes' walk.' - -Uncle Bryan asked no questions when we returned, and the day passed -quietly. He devoted the evening to smoking and reading. My mother did -not like the smoke at first, but it was not long before she schooled -herself to fill uncle Bryan's pipe for him. So, with a pair of horn -spectacles on his nose, and his pipe in his mouth, uncle Bryan read -and enjoyed his leisure. Occasionally he took his pipe from his mouth, -and read a few words aloud. At one time he became deeply engrossed in -a book which he took from a shelf in the shop, and he read the -following passage aloud: - -'That the consciousness of existence is not dependent on the same form -or the same matter is demonstrated to our senses in the works of the -Creator, as far as our senses are capable of receiving that -demonstration. A very numerous part of the animal creation preaches to -us, far better than Paul, the belief in a life hereafter. Their little -life resembles an earth and a heaven, a present and a future state; -and comprises, if it may be so expressed, immortality in miniature.' - -'Immortality in miniature!' repeated my mother, in a puzzled tone. -'What is that from, Bryan?' - -'The _Age of Reason_,' he answered. - -There was a long pause, broken again by uncle Bryan's voice: - -'If we consider the nature of our condition here, we must see there is -no occasion for such thing as revealed religion. What is it we want to -know? Does not the creation, the universe we behold, preach to us the -existence of an Almighty Power, that governs and regulates the whole? -And is not the evidence that this creation, holds out to our senses -infinitely stronger than anything we can read in a book that any -impostor might make and call the word of God? As for morality, the -knowledge of it exists in every man's conscience.' - -Presently he laid the book aside, and my mother took it up. Uncle -Bryan stretched forth his hand with the intention of keeping it from -her; but he was too late. He gazed at her furtively from beneath his -horn spectacles, as she turned over the pages. After a few minutes' -inspection of the book she returned his gaze sadly, and, with a -protecting motion, drew me to her side. I had not liked uncle Bryan's -laugh, and I liked it less now. - -'Chris, my dear child,' said my mother, in a tone of infinite -tenderness, 'go upstairs and bring down my Bible.' - -I did as she desired, and my mother caressed me close, with her arm -round my waist. Uncle Bryan sat on one side of the fireplace, reading -the _Age of Reason_; my mother sat on the other side, reading the -Bible. - - - - -CHAPTER X. -OUR NEW HOME. - - -A day or two afterwards I surprised my mother and uncle Bryan in the -midst of a conversation which I supposed had reference to myself. My -mother was in a very earnest mood, but uncle Bryan, except that he -listened attentively to what she was saying, seemed in no way stirred. -In all my life's experiences I never met or heard of a man who was -more thoroughly attentive to every little detail that passed around -him than was uncle Bryan; but although he gave his whole mind to the -smallest matter for the time being, he evinced no indication of it, -and persons who did not understand his character might reasonably have -supposed him to be utterly indifferent to what was going on. - -'You will promise me, Bryan,' my mother said. - -'I will promise nothing, Emma,' he replied; 'I made a promise once in -my life, and I received a promise in return. I know what came of it.' -He smiled bitterly, and added, his words seeming to me to be prompted -more by inner consciousness than by the signs of distress in my -mother's face, 'But you can make your mind easy. It is not in my -nature to force my views upon any one. Force! as if it were any matter -of mine! What comes to him must come as it has come to me--through the -light of experience.' - -'Do you not believe, Bryan----' - -He interrupted her, almost vehemently. 'I believe in nothing! If that -does not content you, I cannot help it.' - -'If I could assist you, Bryan--if I could in any way relieve you----' - -'You cannot. I am fixed. Life for me is tasteless.' - -Something of desolation was in his tone as he said this, but its -plaintiveness was not designed by the speaker. Rather did he intend to -express defiance, and a renunciation of sympathy. - -'But, Bryan,' said my mother, with a tender movement towards him---- - -'I must stop you,' he said, 'for fear you should say something which -would compel an explanation from me. Let matters rest I am but one -among hundreds of millions of crawlers. Once I saw other than visible -signs--or fancied that I saw them, fool that I was! The time has gone, -never to return; the power of comprehension has gone, never to return. -You must take me as you find me. There is very little in the world -that I like or dislike; but I can heartily despise one thing: -insincerity. Have you anything more to say?' - -'No, Bryan;' and I could see that my mother was both pained and -relieved. - -'I have; two or three words. A question first. You can be satisfied to -remain here?' - -'Yes, Bryan, if it satisfies you. I can do no better.' - -A gleam came into his eyes. 'That is sincere,' he said, with a -pleasanter smile than the last. 'Very well, then; it does satisfy me. -What I want to say now is, that there must be no break. You must not -remain, and let me get accustomed to you, and then leave me for a -woman's reason.' - -'I will not, Bryan.' - -With that, the conversation ended. In the night, when my mother and I -were alone in our bedroom, I said, - -'Do you think uncle Bryan is a good man now, mother?' - -'Is it not good of him, Chris, to give us a home?' - -'Yes,' I said; but I was not quite satisfied with her answer. 'His -shell is very rough, though.' - -My mother laughed. I loved to hear her laugh; it was so different from -uncle Bryan's. His laughter had no gladness in it. - -'We shall find a sweet place here and there, Chris,' she said. - -She tried to, I am sure, and she brightened the house with her -pleasant ways. One night we were sitting together as usual; I was -doing a sum on a slate which uncle Bryan had set for me; he was -reading; my mother was mending clothes. We had been sitting quiet for -a long time, when my mother commenced to sing one of her simple songs, -very softly, as though she were singing to herself. In the midst of -her singing she became aware that uncle Bryan was present, and with a -rapid apprehensive glance at him she paused. He looked up from his -book at once. - -'Why do you stop, Emma?' he asked. - -'I thought I might disturb you.' - -'You do not; I like to hear you.' - -The charm, however, was broken for that night, and my mother knew it, -and sang but little. Two or three nights afterwards, when uncle Bryan -was engrossed in his book, my mother began to sing again over her -work. I knew every trick of her features, and I think she was -designing enough to watch her opportunity, for there was never a more -perfect master than she of the delicate cunning which kindness to -rough and cross natures often requires. It was with much curiosity -that I quietly observed uncle Bryan's behaviour while my mother sang. -He held his book steadily before him, but he did not turn a page; and -to my, perhaps, too curious eyes there appeared to be, in the very -curve of his shoulders, a grateful recognition of my mother's wish to -please him. I could not see his face, but I liked him better at that -time than I had ever yet done. Truly, my mother was right; here at -least was one sweet place found in the rough shell. She continued her -singing in the same soft strains; and often afterwards sang when we -three were sitting together of an evening. - -Exactly three weeks after we had taken up our quarters with uncle -Bryan, my mother and I paid a visit to the neighbourhood in which she -had made the acquaintance of the fairy in the cotton-print dress; but -although it was Saturday night we saw no trace of the little girl. My -mother was much disappointed; and then she went to the house in which -the young woman lived who had given her sixpence, and learned that she -had moved, the landlady did not know whither. I was glad to get away -from the neighbourhood, although I was almost as much disappointed as -my mother was at not finding our little fairy. - -Our new life, having thus fairly commenced, went on for a long time -with but little variation. Uncle Bryan allowed my mother to do exactly -as she pleased, and she, without in the slightest way disturbing his -regular habits, made the house very different from what it was when -she first entered it. Every room in it, down to the basement, where -she did the cooking, was always sweet and clean. We also had flowers -on the sill of our bedroom window, and their graceful forms and bright -colours were a refreshing relief to the dark back wall. It delights me -to see the taste for _growing_ flowers cultivated by the poor. Flowers -are purifiers; they breed good thoughts. Quite a rivalry was -established between uncle Bryan and my mother in the care and -attention which they bestowed on their respective window-sills. It -went on silently and pleasantly, and my mother was not displeased -because uncle Bryan was the victor. He trained some creepers from the -window of his little back room to the window of our bedroom, and my -mother watched them with intense interest creeping up, and up, until -they reached the sill. 'They are like a message of love from your -uncle, my dear,' she said. It is by such small precious links as these -that heart is bound to heart. Yet the feelings with which uncle Bryan -inspired me were by no means of a tender nature. He made no effort to -win my affection; as a general rule, his bearing towards me was -sufficiently cold to check tender impulse, and the words, 'I believe -in nothing!' which I had heard him address sternly to my mother, had -impressed me very seriously. I regarded him sometimes with fear and -aversion. - -I was sent to a cheap school, a very few pence a week being paid for -my education. My career in the school is scarcely worthy of record. -All that was taught there were reading, writing, and arithmetic; and -when these were learned our education was completed. The master never -allowed himself to be tripped up by his pupils. Arithmetic was his -strong point, and the rule-of-three was his boundary. - -In that happy hunting-ground we bought and sold the usual illimitable -quantities of eggs, and yards of calico, and firkins of butter; and -there we should have wallowed until we were old men, had we remained -long enough, without ever reaching another heaven. My principal -reminiscences of those days are connected with the bully of the -school; who, whenever we met in the streets out of school-hours, -compelled me to make three very low and humble bows to him before he -would allow me to pass. I have not the satisfaction of being able to -record that he met with the usual fate (in fiction) of school -bullies--that of being soundly licked, and of being compelled to eat -humble pie for ever afterwards. He was a successful tyrant. His -position occasionally compelled him to fight two boys at a -time--one down, the other come up--but he was never beaten. A tyrant -he was, and a tyrant he remained until I lost sight of him. In his -career, virtue was never triumphant. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. -IN WHICH I TAKE PART IN SOME LAWLESS EXPEDITIONS. - - -In his letter which offered us a home, uncle Bryan had stated, truly -enough, that he was a poor man. Although he purchased his stock in -very small quantities, he often had as much as he could do to pay his -monthly bills. I remember well a certain occasion when he was -seriously perplexed in this way. My mother, who had been attentively -observant of him during the day, said in the evening: - -'You are troubled, Bryan.' - -'I am short of money, Emma,' he replied; and he went on to say that he -had to pay Messrs. So-and-so and So-and-so to-morrow; and that his -last week's takings were two pounds less than he had reckoned upon. - -How much short are you, Bryan?' - -He adjusted his horn spectacles, and brought forward his account-book, -and his file of bills, and every farthing the till contained. In a few -minutes he had his trouble staring him in the face in black and white, -in the shape of a deficit of two pounds eighteen shillings--a serious -sum. My mother, with a grateful look in her eyes, produced the stone -money-box, in which he had said she might put by anything she was able -to save out of the money he gave her to keep house with. She shook it; -what was in it rattled merrily. It was a hard job to get the money -out, the slit in the box was so narrow; but it was managed at last by -means of the blade of a knife, and a little pile of copper and silver -lay on the table. I think the three of us seated round the table would -not make a bad picture; but then you could not put in my mother's -delicious laugh. She had saved more than three pounds. I could -scarcely tell whether uncle Bryan was sorry or pleased. He bit his -lips very hard, but said never a word; and, taking the exact sum he -required, put the balance back into the box. - -The chief difficulty uncle Bryan had to contend with in keeping his -stock properly assorted was brown sugar. Indeed, brown sugar may be -said to have been the bane of his life; to me, it was a most hateful -commodity, and I often wished there was not such an article in the -world. Uncle Bryan had to pay ready money for sugar, and he could not -purchase at the warehouse less than a bag at the time--about two -hundredpounds weight, I believe. Sometimes he had not the money to go -to the sugar market with, and the stock on the shelves had dwindled -down almost to the last quarter of a pound. Then commenced a series of -dreadful expeditions which I remember with comical terror. One of the -first instructions given by uncle Bryan to my mother had been, never, -under any pretext, to serve even the smallest quantity of sugar to a -strange customer unless he or she purchased something else at the same -time. The reason for this was that there was no profit on sugar; it -was what was called a leading article in the trade, and by some -mysterious trade machinations, arising probably out of the fever of -competition, had come to be sold by the large grocers at exactly cost -price. The small grocers, of course, were compelled to follow in the -wake of the large ones; if they had not, their customers would have -deserted them. Not only, indeed, did the small grocers make no profit -on the sugar they sold, but, taking into consideration the draft -necessary to turn the scale ever so little when weighing out quarter -and half pounds, there was an absolute loss; even the paper in the -scale would not make up for it, for it cost as much per pound as the -sugar. Hence the necessity for not serving strangers with sugar by -itself, and hence it was that I not unnaturally came to look upon it -as a desperate crime for any stranger to attempt to purchase sugar -over uncle Bryan's counter without asking at the same time for a -proper quantity of tea or coffee, or some other article upon which -there was a profit. My feelings, then, can be imagined when uncle -Bryan (being short of sugar, and not having sufficient funds to -purchase a bag at the warehouse), bidding me carry a fair-sized market -basket, took me with him one dark night--and often afterwards on many -other dark nights--to purchase brown sugar, and nothing else, in -pounds, half pounds, and quarters. The plan of operation was as -follows: uncle Bryan, selecting a likely-looking grocer's shop (an -innocent-looking fly, he being the spider), would station me at some -distance from it, bidding me wait until he returned. Then he would -enter the shop boldly, and come out, with the air of one who resided -in the neighbourhood, holding in his hand a quarter or half pound of -feloniously-acquired moist. This he would deposit in the basket (which -had a cover to it, to hide our villainy), and we would wander to -another street, in which he pounced upon another grocer's shop, where -the operation would be repeated. Thus we would wander, often for two -or three miles, until the basket was filled with packages of sugar, -with which we would return stealthily, like burglars after the -successful accomplishment of daring and unlawful deeds. When the -basket was too heavy for me to carry, uncle Bryan carried it, and -would place me in a convenient spot--always at the corner of two -streets, so that in case of pursuit we could make a rapid -disappearance--with the basket on the ground. While thus stationed, I -have trembled at the very shadow of a policeman, and have often -wondered that we were not marched off to prison. Uncle Bryan was not -always successful. On occasions he would pause suddenly in the middle -of a street, and wheel sharply round. 'Can't go into that shop,' he -would say; 'was turned out of it the week before last;' or, 'They know -me there; swore at me when they served me the last time; mustn't show -my face there for another month;' or, with a laugh, 'Come away, Chris, -quick! That woman wanted to know what I meant by imposing on a poor -widow who was trying to get an honest living.' These remarks, of -themselves, would have been sufficient to convince me that we were -committing an offence against law and morality. At first I was a -passive accomplice in these unlawful operations, but in time I became -an active agent. - -'Chris, my boy,' said uncle Bryan to me one night, in an insinuating -tone; he was out of spirits, having met with a number of continuous -failures; 'do you think you could buy a quarter of a pound in that -shop?' - -'I'll try to, uncle,' I said, with a sinking heart, for I had long -anticipated the dreaded moment. - -'Go into the shop in an offhand way, as if you were a regular -customer. I'll wait at the corner for you.' - -Go into the shop in an offhand way! Why, if I had been the greatest -criminal in the world, I could not have been more impressed with a -sense of guilt. I showed it in my face when I stepped tremblingly to -the counter, and I was instantly detected by the shopkeeper. - -'Do you want anything else besides sugar?' he demanded sternly. - -'N-no, sir,' I managed to answer. - -'Do you know, you young ruffian, that there's a loss on sugar!' I knew -it well enough--too well to convict myself by answering. 'What do you -say to two ounces of our best mixed at two-and-eight,' he then -inquired, with satirical inquisitiveness, 'or half a pound of our -genuine mocha at one-and-four?' - -As I did not know what to say except, 'Guilty, if you please, sir!' -and as I suspected him of an intention to leap over the counter and -seize me by the throat, I fled precipitately, with my heart in my -mouth, and the next minute was running away, with uncle Bryan at my -heels, as fast as my legs would carry me. When we were well out of -danger's reach, uncle Bryan indulged in the only genuine laugh I had -heard from him; but he soon became serious, and we resumed our -unlawful journey. This first attempt was not the last; I tried again -and again; but practice, which makes most things perfect, never made -me an adept in the art. Dark nights were always chosen for our -expeditions, and sometimes so many streets and thoroughfares were -closed to uncle Bryan, that he was at his wits' end which way to turn -to fill the basket. - -Things went on with us in the same way until I was fourteen years of -age. Long before this, I had learned all my schoolmaster had to teach -me, and I was beginning to be distressed by the thought that I was -doing a wrong thing by remaining idle. It was time that I set to work, -and tried to help those who had been so good to me. I spoke about it, -and uncle Bryan approved in a few curt words. - -'I'm afraid he's not strong enough,' said my mother. - -'Nonsense!' exclaimed uncle Bryan; and I supported him. - -'I want to work,' I said; 'I should like to.' - -'A good trade would be the best thing,' said my mother. - -Weeks passed, and I was still idle. My mother had been busy enough in -the mean while, but her efforts were unsuccessful. She learnt that a -good trade for me meant a good premium from my friends; and that of -course was out of the question. It would have been a hard matter to -scrape together even so small a sum as five pounds, and the lowest -premium asked was far above that amount. I thought it behoved me to -look for myself; and I began to stroll about the streets, and search -in the shop windows for some such announcement as, 'Wanted an -apprentice to a good trade: no premium required; liberal wages;' -followed by a description which fitted me exactly as the sort of lad -which would be preferred. But no such announcement greeted my wistful -gaze. I saw bills, 'Wanted this,' Wanted that,' and now and then I -mustered sufficient courage to go in and offer myself; but at the end -of a month's experience I could come to no other conclusion than that -I was fit for neither this nor that. My manner was against me; I was -shy and timid, and sometimes could scarcely find words suitable for my -application; but I had that kind of courage which lies in -perseverance, and my aspirations were not of an exalted nature; I was -willing to accept anything in the shape of work. I know now that I -applied for many situations for which I was totally unfitted, but I -was not conscious of it at the time; and I know also that for a few -days I was absurdly and supremely reckless in my estimate of my -fitness for the employers who made their wants public. It was during -this time that I found myself standing before one of those exceedingly -small offices which squeeze themselves by the force of impudence and -ingenuity into the very midst of really pretentious buildings which -frown them down, but cannot take the impudence out of them. In the -front of this office was a large black board, on which were wafered, -in the neatest of round-hand, the most amazing temptations to persons -in search of situations. The first temptation which assailed me was, -'Wanted a Gardener for a Gentleman's Family. Must have an -Unexceptionable Moral Character. Apply within.' The doubt I had with -reference to this announcement was not whether I would do for a -gardener (this was during my reckless days, remember), but whether my -moral character was unexceptionable. I had never before been called to -answer a declaration of this description, and now that it was put to -me in bold round-hand, I was stung by the share I took in the lawless -sugar expeditions. Not being able to resolve the doubt as to my moral -character (although sorely tempted by the exigences of my position to -give myself the benefit of it), I laid aside the gardener for future -consideration. The next temptation was, 'Wanted a Cook. High Church.' -I discarded the cook. Reckless as I was, it exceeded the limits of my -boldness to declare myself a High-Church Cook. I was not even aware -that I had ever tasted food cooked in that way; the very flavour was a -mystery to me. The next was, 'Wanted a Groom, Smart and Active. Seven -Stone. Apply within.' I debated for some time over seven stone before -I decided that it must apply to the weight of the groom. A stone was -fourteen pounds. Seven fourteens was ninety-eight (I did the sum on a -dead wall with a bit of brick I picked up in the road.) That I was -perfectly ignorant of the duties of a groom did not affect me in the -slightest degree; my only trouble was, did I weigh ninety-eight -pounds? I immediately resolved to ascertain. I strolled into a -by-street, and discovering a mysterious-looking recess wherein was -exhibited a small pile of coals and a large pair of scales to weigh -them in, I considered it a likely place to solve the problem. I had -two halfpennies in my pocket, and I thought I might bargain to be -weighed for one of them. So I walked into the recess, and tapping upon -the scales with a halfpenny, as a proof that I meant business, waited -for the result. The result came in the shape of a waddling woman with -a coaly face and an immense bonnet, who said, 'Now then?' Timidly I -replied, 'I want to be weighed, ma'am; I'll give you a halfpenny.' I -was not prepared for the suddenness of what immediately followed. -Without the slightest warning the woman lifted me in her arms with -great ease, and laid me across the scales, which were shaped like a -scuttle, with great difficulty, although I tried honestly to suit -myself to the peculiarity of the case. Presently she threw me off as -if I were a sack of coals, and tossing the weights aside, one after -another, as if they were feathers, said, 'There you are!' Her words -did not enlighten me. '_Am_ I seven stone, ma'am?' I asked, as I -handed her the coin. 'About,' was her reply. I retired, dubious, in a -very grimy and gritty condition, and walking to the little office -where the black board was, I boldly entered, and asked the young man -behind the counter (there was only room for him and me) if he wanted a -groom. _His_ reply was, 'Half a crown.' This was perplexing, and I -asked again, and received a similar answer. I soon understood that I -should have to pay the sum down before I could be accommodated with -particulars, and as a halfpenny was the whole of my wealth, I was -compelled to retire, much disheartened. - -However, I was successful at length. I obtained a situation as -errand-boy, sweeper, and whatnot, at a wood-engraver's, the wages -being three shillings a week to commence with. How delighted I was -when I told my mother, and with what pride I brought home my first -week's wages, and placed them in her hand! In the duties of my new -position, and in endeavouring, not unsuccessfully, to pick up a -knowledge of the business, time passed rapidly. My steady attention to -everything that was set me to do gradually attracted the notice of my -employer, and he encouraged me in my efforts to raise myself. I was -fond of cleanliness for its own sake, and my mother's chief pleasure -was to keep my clothes neat and properly mended. I can see now the -value of the difference between my appearance and that of other boys -of my own age in the same position of life as myself, and I can more -fully appreciate the beauty of a mother's love when it is deep and -abiding--as my mother's love was for me. - -And here I must say a word, lest I should be misunderstood. Some -kindly-hearted readers may suppose that my life and its surrounding -circumstances call for pity and commiseration. I declare that they are -mistaken, and that I was perfectly happy, contented in the present, -hopeful in the future. What more could I desire? Poor as our home was, -it was decent and comfortable; the anxieties which invaded it were -not, I apprehend, of a more bitter nature than the anxieties which -reign in the houses of really well-to-do and wealthy people. Well, I -had a home which contented and satisfied me; and dearer, holier, -purer, than anything else in life there was shed upon me a love which -brightened my days and sweetened my labour. Life was opening out to me -its most delightful pages. Already had I learned to love books for the -good that was in them; I was also learning to draw, and every hour's -leisure was an hour of profitable enjoyment. I began to see things, -not with the eyes of a soured and discontented mind, but with the eyes -of a mind which had been, almost unconsciously, trained to learn that -sorrow and adversity may bring forth much for which we should be truly -and sincerely grateful, and which, but for these trials, might be -hidden from us. And all this was due to the influence of Home, and of -the love which life's hard trials had strengthened. Sweet indeed are -the uses of adversity. But for it, the milk of human kindness would -taste like brackish water. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. -A SINGULAR EPISODE IN OUR QUIET LIFE. - - -At this point I am reminded that I have not described uncle Bryan. A -few words will suffice. A tall spare man, strongly built, with no -superfluity of flesh about him; iron-gray hair, thick and abundant; -eyebrows overlapping most conspicuously, guarding his eyes, as it -were, which lurked in their caverns, as animals might in their lairs, -on the watch. He wore no hair on his face, his cheeks were furrowed, -and his features were large and well formed. He possessed the power of -keeping himself perfectly under control; but on rare occasions, a -nervous twitching of his lips in one corner of his mouth mastered him. -This always occurred when he was in any way stirred to emotion, and I -knew perfectly well, although he tried to disguise it from me, that it -was one of his greatest annoyances that he could not conquer this -physical symptom of mental disturbance. He was not only scrupulously -just in his dealings as a tradesman; he exercised this moral sentiment -with almost painful preciseness in his intercourse with my mother and -me. He had no intimates, and he determinedly rejected all overtures of -friendship. His habits were regular, his desires few, his tastes -simple. He appeared to be contented with everything, and grateful for -nothing. If love resided in his nature, it showed itself in a fondness -for flowers; in no other form. - -I was nearly eighteen years of age, and the days--garlanded with the -sweet pleasures which spring naturally from a mother's love--followed -one another calmly and tranquilly. Nothing had occurred to disturb the -peaceful current of our lives. Uneventful as the small circumstances -of my past life were in the light of surrounding things, each scene in -the simple drama which had thus far progressed was distinctly defined, -and seemed to have no connection with what preceded it or followed it. -The first, which had occurred in the house where I was born, and which -ended with my father's death; the second, in which my mother had taken -so mournful a part, and which contained so strange a mingling of joy -and sorrow; the third, which was now being played, and which up to -this period had been the least eventful of all. A certain routine of -duties was got through with unvarying regularity. Uncle Bryan's trade -yielded, with careful watching, sufficient profit for our wants; but -I, also, was earning money now, and it was with an honest feeling of -pride that I paid my mother so many shillings a week--I am almost -ashamed to say how few--towards the expenses of my living. And so the -days rolled on. - -But in the web of our lives a thread was woven of which no sign had -yet been seen, and chance or destiny was drawing it towards us with -firm hand--a thread which, when it was linked to our hearts, was to -throw strong light and colour on the tranquil days. - -A very pleasant summer had set in, and uncle Bryan's flowers were at -their brightest. It had grown into a custom with my mother to come for -me two or three times a week during the fine weather, in the evening, -when my day's work was done. She would wait at the corner of the -street which led to my place of business, and we generally had a -pleasant walk, arriving home at about half-past nine o'clock, in time -for supper, a favourite meal with uncle Bryan. Now, my mother and I -had been for some time casting about for an opportunity to present -uncle Bryan with a token of our affection in the shape of a pipe and a -tobacco-jar; he was so strange a character that it was absolutely -necessary we should have a tangible excuse for the presentation. My -mother found the opportunity. With great glee she informed me that she -had found out uncle Bryan's birthday, and that the presentation should -take the form of a birthday gift. 'It will be an unexpected surprise -to him, my dear,' she said, 'and we will say nothing about it -beforehand.' On a fine morning in August I rose as usual at half-past -five, and made my breakfast in the kitchen; I slept now in the little -back-room on a line with the shop and parlour. Eight o'clock was the -hour for commencing work, and I generally had a couple of hours' -delightful reading in the kitchen before I started. Sometimes, -however, when we were busy, I was directed to be at the office an hour -or so earlier, and on this morning I was due at seven o'clock. I -always wished my mother good-bye before I went to work. Treading very -softly, so as not to disturb uncle Bryan, and with my dinner and tea -under my arm--invariably prepared the last thing at night, and packed -in a handkerchief by my mother's careful hands--I crept upstairs to -her room. She called me in, and I sat by her bedside, chatting for a -few minutes. This was the anniversary of uncle Bryan's birthday, and -our purchases were to be made in the evening. - -'I must be off, mother,' I said, starting up; 'I shall have to run for -it.' - -'Good-morning, dear child,' she said; 'I shall come for you exactly at -eight o'clock.' - -I kissed her, and ran off to work. My mother was punctual in the -evening, and we set off at once on a pilgrimage to tobacconists' -windows. Any person observing us as we stood at the windows, debating -on the shape of this pipe and the pattern of that tobacco-jar, would -at once have recognised the importance of our proceedings. At length, -after much anxious deliberation, our purchases were made, and we -walked home to Paradise-row. My mother had suggested that I should -present uncle Bryan with the birthday gifts, and in a vainful moment I -had consented, and had mentally rehearsed a fine little speech, which -I prided myself was perfect in its way. But, as is usual with the -amateur, and sometimes with the over-confident, on such occasions, my -fine little speech flew clean out of my head when the critical moment -arrived, and resolved itself into about a dozen stammering and -perfectly incomprehensible words. Covered with confusion, I pushed the -pipe and tobacco-pouch towards uncle Bryan in a most ungraceful -manner. My mother saw my difficulty. - -'We have brought you a little birthday present, Bryan,' she said, -'with our love.' - -He made a grimace at the last three words, and I thought at first that -he was about to sweep the things from him; but if he had any such -intention, he relinquished it. - -'How did you know it was my birthday?' - -'I found it out.' - -'How?' - -'Oh,' replied my mother, with a coquettish movement of her head, which -delighted me, but did not find favour with uncle Bryan, 'little birds -come down the chimney to tell me things.' - -'Psha!' he muttered impatiently. - -'Or perhaps I put this and that together, and found it out that way. -You can't hide anything from a woman, you know.' - -Her gay manner met with no sympathetic response from uncle Bryan. On -the contrary, he gazed at her for a moment almost suspiciously, but -the look softened in the clear light of my mother's eyes. Then, in a -careless, ungracious manner, he thanked us for the present. I was hurt -and indignant, and I told my mother a few minutes afterwards, when we -were together in the kitchen, that I was sorry we had taken any notice -of uncle Bryan's birthday. - -'He would have been much better pleased if we hadn't mentioned it,' I -said. - -'No, my dear,' said my mother, 'you are not quite right. Your uncle -will grow very fond of that pipe by and by.' - -My mother always won me over to her way of thinking, and I thought the -failure might be due to the bungling manner in which I had presented -the birthday offerings. I walked about the kitchen, and spoke to -myself the speech I had intended to make, with the most beautiful -effect. It was a masterpiece of elegant phrasing, and every sentence -was beautifully rounded, and came trippingly off the tongue. Of course -I was much annoyed that the opportunity of impressing uncle Bryan with -my eloquence was lost. When we reëntered the room, uncle Bryan's head -was resting on his hand, and there was an expression of weariness in -his face, which had grown pale and sad during our brief absence. My -mother's keen eyes instantly detected the change. - -'You are not well, Bryan,' she said, in a concerned tone, stepping to -his side. - -'There are two things that disagree with me, Emma,' he replied, with a -grim and unsuccessful attempt at humour; 'my own medicine is one, -memory is another. I've been taking a dose of each. There, don't -bother me. I have a slight headache, that's all.' - -But although he tried to turn it off thus lightly, he was certainly -far from well; for he asked my mother to attend to the shop, and -leaning back in his chair, threw a handkerchief over his face, and -fell asleep. My mother and I talked in whispers, so as not to disturb -him. Uncle Bryan was not a supporter of the early-closing movement, -for he kept his shop open until eleven o'clock every night. Very -dismal it must have looked from the outside in the long winter nights, -lighted up by only one tallow candle; but it had always a home -appearance for me, from the first day I entered it. The shop-door -which led into the street was closed, and so was the door of the -parlour in which we were sitting. The upper half of this door was -glass, to enable us to see into the shop. My mother's hearing was -generally very acute, and the slightest tap on the counter was -sufficient to arouse her attention; but the tapping was seldom needed, -for the shop-door, having a complaining creak in its hinges, never -failed to announce the entrance of a customer. On this night, -customers were like angels' visits, few and far between. It was nearly -ten o'clock; uncle Bryan was still sleeping; my mother, whose hands -were never idle, was working as usual; I was reading a volume of -_Chambers's Traits for the People_, from which many a young mind has -received healthy nourishment. I was deep in the touching story of -'Picciola, or the Prison Flower,' when an amazing incident -occurred--heralded by a tap at the parlour-door. - -Whoever it was that knocked must not only have opened the street-door, -but must have silenced its watch-dog creak (by bribery, perhaps); or -else my mother's hearing must have played her very false. Again, it -was necessary to lift the ledge of the counter and creep under it, -before the parlour-door could be reached. - -My mother started to her feet; and opened the door. A young girl, with -bonnet and cloak on, stood before us. I thought immediately of the -fairy in the cotton-print dress; but no, it was not she who had thus -mysteriously appeared. The girl looked at us in silence. - -'You should have tapped on the counter, my dear,' said my mother. - -'What for?' was the answer, in the most musical voice I had ever -heard. 'I don't want to buy anything.' - -This was a puzzling rejoinder. If she did not want to buy anything, -why was she here? - -'This is Mr. Carey's? asked the girl. - -'Yes, my dear.' - -'Who are you?' - -Now this was so manifestly a question which should have come from us, -and not from her, that I gazed at her in some wonder, and at the same -time in admiration, for her manner was very winning. She returned my -gaze frankly, and seemed to be pleased with my look of admiration. -Certainly a perfectly self-possessed little creature in every respect. -Uncle Bryan still slept. - -'Who are you?' repeated our visitor, to my mother. - -'My name is Carey,' said my mother. - -'Oh, indeed!' exclaimed the girl. 'That is nice. And who is he?' -indicating uncle Bryan. - -'That is my brother-in-law, Bryan.' - -'Mr. Bryan Carey. I've come to see him.' And she made a movement -towards him. My mother's hand restrained her. - -'Hush, my dear! You must not disturb him.' - -'Oh, I am not in a hurry. But I think you ought to help me in with my -box.' This to me. 'If I was a man, I wouldn't ask you.' - -Her box! Deeper and deeper the mystery grew. When the girl thus -directly addressed me, my heart beat with a feeling of intense -pleasure. Hitherto I had been mortified that she had evinced no -interest in me. - -'Come along!' she exclaimed imperiously. - -I followed her to the door, like a slave, and there was her box, -almost similar in appearance to the box we had brought with us. It was -altogether such an astounding experience, and so entirely an -innovation upon the regular routine of our days, that I rubbed my eyes -to be sure that I was awake. My mother had closed the door of the room -in which uncle Bryan was sleeping, and now stood by my side. I stooped -to lift the box, and found it heavy. - -'What is in it?' I asked. - -'Books and things,' our visitor replied. 'I'll help you. Oh, I'm -strong, though I _am_ a girl! I wish I was you.' - -'Why?' - -'Then I should be a boy. There! You see I am almost as strong as you -are.' - -The box was in the shop by this time. My mother was perfectly -bewildered, as I myself was; but mine was a delightful bewilderment -The adventure was so new, so novel, so like an adventure, that I was -filled with excitement. - -'How did the box come here?' I asked. - -'Walked here, of course,' she said somewhat scornfully. - -'Nonsense!' I exclaimed; although if she had persisted in her -statement, I was quite ready to believe it, as I would have believed -anything from her lips. - -'Oh, you don't believe in things!' - -'Yes, I do; but I don't believe that thing. How _did_ it come?' - -'A boy carried it. A strong boy--not like you. Isn't that candied -lemon-peel in the glass bottle?' - -'Yes.' - -'I should like some. I'm very fond of sweet things.' - -Quite as though the little girl were mistress of the establishment, my -mother went behind the counter, and cut a slice of the lemon-peel. - -'What a small piece!' exclaimed the girl, sitting on the box, and -biting it. 'I could put it all in my mouth at once; but I like to -linger over nice things.' - -And she did linger over it, while we looked on. When she had finished, -she said: - -'I suppose I am to sit here till he wakes.' - -'No, my dear,' said my mother, who had been regarding her childlike -ways with tenderness; 'you had better come inside. It will be more -comfortable. But, indeed, indeed, you have bewildered me!' - -The girl laughed, soft and low, and my mother's heart went out to her. -The next minute we were in the parlour again. My mother motioned that -she would have to be very quiet, and pointed to a seat. Before our -visitor sat down, she took off her bonnet and mantle, and laid them -aside. The presence of this slight graceful creature was like a new -revelation to me; the common room became idealised by a subtle charm. -But how was it all to end? An hour ago she was not here; and I -wondered how we could have been happy and contented without her. She -was exceedingly pretty, and her face was full of expression. That, -indeed, was one of her strongest charms. When she spoke, it was not -only her tongue that spoke. Her eyes, her hands, the movements of her -head, put life and soul into her words, and made them sparkle. Her -hair was cut short, and just touched her shoulders; its colour was a -light auburn. Her hands were small and white; I noticed them -particularly as she took from the table the book I had been reading. - -Are you fond of reading?' she asked, in a low tone. - -'Yes,' I answered. It really seemed to me as if I had known her for -years. 'Are you?' - -'I love it. I like to read in bed. Then I don't care for anything.' - -Soon she was skimming through 'Picciola;' but looking up she noticed -that my mother's eyes were fixed admiringly upon her. She laid the -book aside and approached my mother, so that her words might not be -lost. - -'It makes it strong to cut it, does it not?' was the first question. - -'Makes what strong?' My mother did not know to what it was our visitor -referred. I made a shrewd guess, mentally, and discovered that I was -right. - -'The hair. To cut it when one is young, as mine is cut, makes it -strong?' - -'Yes, my dear. It will be all the better for being cut.' - -'Why do you call me your dear?' - -My mother replied gently, with a slight hesitancy: 'I won't, if you -don't like me to.' - -'Oh, but I like it! And it sounds nice from you. It will be all the -better for being cut! That's what _I_ think. It was nearly down to my -waist. Do you like it?' - -'It is very pretty.' - -'And soft, is it not? Feel it. When I was a little child, it was much -lighter--almost like gold. I used to be glad to hear people say, "What -beautiful hair that child has got!"' - -'It will get darker as you grow older.' - -'I don't want it to. I'll sit in the sun as much as ever I can, so -that it sha'n't grow darker.' - -'Why, my----' - -'Dear. Say it, please!' - -'My dear, have you been told that that is the way to keep hair light?' - -'No, but I think it is. It must be the best way.' This with a positive -air, as if contradiction were out of the question. - -'If you are so fond of your hair, what made you say just now that you -wished you were a boy?' - -'Because I do wish it. I think it is a shame. Persons ought to have -their choice before they're born, whether they would be boys or -girls.' - -'My dear!' - -'Yes, they ought to have, and you can't help agreeing with me. Then I -should have been a boy, and things would have been different. All that -I should have wanted would have been to grow tall and strong. Men have -no business to be little. But as I am a girl, I must grow as pretty as -I can.' - -And she smoothed her hair from her forehead with her small white -hands, and looked at us and smiled with her eyes and her lips. All -this was done with such an utter absence of conscious vanity that it -deepened my admiration of her, and I was ready to take sides with her -against the world in any proposition she might choose to lay down. -That she saw this expressed in my face, and that she, in an easy -graceful way, received the homage I paid her, as being naturally her -due, and did her best--again without conscious artifice--to strengthen -it, were as plainly conveyed by her demeanour towards me as though she -had expressed it in so many words. It struck me as strange that my -mother did not ask her any questions concerning herself, not even her -name, nor where she lived, nor what was her errand; and although all -of these questions, and especially the first, were on the tip of my -tongue a dozen times, I did not have the courage to shape them in -words. My mother not saying anything more to her, she turned towards -me. - -'Are you generally rude to girls--I mean to young ladies?' - -'No,' I protested warmly, ransacking my mind for the clue. - -'You were to me just now. You said that I spoke nonsense.' - -'I am very sorry,' I stammered; I beg your pardon; but when you said -your box walked here----' - -'You shouldn't have asked foolish questions. Never mind; we are -friends again.' She gave me her hand, quite as though we had had a -serious quarrel, which was now made up. Then she nestled a little -closer to me, and proceeded with 'Picciola.' - -Nothing further was said until the scene assumed another aspect. I was -looking over the pages of the story with her, when, raising my eyes, I -saw that uncle Bryan was awake. His eyes were fixed on the girl, with -a sort of bewilderment on his face as to whether he was asleep or -awake. He looked neither at my mother nor me, but only at the girl. -Her head was bent over the book, and he could not see her face. I -plucked her dress furtively under the table, and she looked up, and -met my uncle's gaze. Then I noticed his usual sign of agitation, the -twitching of his lips. - -'What is this, Emma? he demanded, presently, of my mother. - -My mother had been waiting for him to speak. 'This young----' - -'Lady,' added the girl quickly, as my mother slightly hesitated, and -rising with great composure. 'Say it. I like to hear it. This young -lady----' - -Completely dominated by the girl's gentle imperiousness, my mother -said, 'This young lady has come to see you.' - -He glanced at her uncovered head; then at her bonnet and mantle. A -flush came into her cheeks, and she exclaimed, - -'Oh, I don't want to stop, if you're not agreeable. I only like -agreeable people. But if you turn me out to-night I don't exactly know -where to go to; and there's my box----' - -'Your box!' - -'Yes, with all my things in. It's in the shop. You can go and see if -you don't believe me. But if you do go, I sha'n't like you. You have -no right to doubt my word.' - -Her eyes filled with tears, and these and the words of helplessness -she had spoken were sufficient for my mother. She drew the girl to her -side with a protecting motion. - -'Are you a stranger about here, my dear?' - -'I don't know anything of the place,' replied the girl, in a more -childlike tone than she had yet used. 'I have no idea where I -am--except that this is Paradise-row. I shouldn't like to wander about -the streets at this time of night.' - -'There is no need, my dear, there is no need. There, there! don't -cry.' - -'But of course,' continued the girl, striving to restrain the -quivering of her lips, 'I would sooner do that than stop where I am -not wanted.' She would have said more, but I saw that she was fearful -of breaking down, and thus showing signs of weakness. I looked -somewhat angrily towards uncle Bryan; my mother's arm was still around -the girl's waist. With a quick comprehension he seized all the points -of sentiment in the picture. - -'Ah,' he growled, this is more like a leaf out of a story-book than -anything else. You'--to the girl--'are injured innocence; you'--to my -mother--'are the good genius of the oppressed; and I am the dragon -whom St. George here'--meaning me--'would like to spit on his lance.' - -'I am sure, Bryan--' commenced my mother, in a tone of mild -remonstrance; but uncle Bryan interrupted her. - -'Don't be sure of anything, Emma. Let me understand matters first. How -long have I been asleep--days, weeks, or years?' - -'Nearly two hours, Bryan.' - -'So long! There was a man once who, at the bidding of a magician, but -dipped his head into a bucket of water----' he paused moodily. - -'Yes, yes!' exclaimed the girl eagerly, advancing a step towards him, -with a desire to propitiate him. 'Go on. Tell me about him. I'm fond -of stories about magicians.' - -He stared at her. 'Injured innocence,' he said, 'speak when you're -spoken to.' She tossed her head, and retreated, and uncle Bryan again -questioned my mother. 'How long has this little----' - -'Young lady,' interposed the girl, with rather a comical assertion of -independence. - ---'This little girl--how long has she been here?' - -'About an hour, Bryan.' - -'Long enough, I see, to make herself quite at home.' He seemed to be -at a loss for words, and sat drumming his fingers on the table, moving -his lips as if he were holding converse with them, and with his eyes -turned from us. - -In the silence that ensued, the girl stole towards him. My mother's -footstool was near his chair, and she sat upon it, and resting her -hand timidly on his knee, said, in a sweet pleading voice, - -'I wish you would be kind to me.' - -Her face was upturned to his. He looked down upon it, and placing his -hands on her shoulders, said in a tone which was both low and bitter, -which was harsh from passion and tender from a softer emotion which he -could not control, - -'For God's sake, child, tell me who you are! What is your name?' - -'My name is Jessie Trim.' - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. -A SUDDEN SHOCK. - - -'Emma,' said my uncle, 'can you find something to do for a few -minutes? Chris can shut up the shop.' - -We went out of the parlour together, and I put up the shutters, and -bolted them. Then my mother and I went downstairs to the kitchen, and -my mother set light to the fire, and warmed up what remained of the -day's dinner. Our usual supper was bread-and-cheese. - -'She must be hungry,' said my mother, and I think it will please your -uncle.' - -'I am glad she is going to stay, mother. Do you think she will stop -altogether with us?' - -'I have no idea, child.' - -'Jessie Trim! It's a pretty name, isn't it? Jessie, Jessie! Mother, -why didn't you ask her her name when she came in?' - -'She came to see your uncle, Chris. We must never forget one thing, my -dear. This is his house, and he has been very kind to us.' - -'He would be angry if he heard you say so.' - -'That is his nature, and I should not say it to him. The least we can -do in return for all his goodness is to study him in every possible -way in our power. To have asked her all about herself might have been -like stealing into his confidence. He may have secrets which he would -not wish us to know.' - -'Secrets! Do you think _she_ is one of them?' - -'How can she be? But let you and me make up our minds, my dear--I made -up mine a long time ago, Chris--not to be too curious concerning -anything your uncle does. If he wished us to know anything, he would -tell us of his own free will.' - -'I don't suppose he has anything to tell,' I said, with not the -slightest belief in my own words. - -'Perhaps not. Anyhow, we'll not say anything--eh, Chris?' - -'Very well, mother. She is very pretty, isn't she?' - -'Very, very pretty.' - -'Such beautiful hair--and such white hands!' - -I was proceeding with my raptures, when my mother tapped my cheek -merrily, which brought the blood into my face strangely enough. 'At -all events,' I said, I hope she will stay with us always.' - -'You stupid Chris! What has got into your head? I really don't suppose -she will stay very long.' - -'But she has brought her box--and--and--' - -My mother suddenly assumed a look of perplexity. 'Really, really now,' -she said, sitting down, and holding me in front of her, 'I know every -mark upon you. You have got a brown mole on your left side, and a -little red spot like a currant on the back of your neck, and another -one just here----' and then she paused. - -'Well, mother?' - -'Well, Chris, I really _cannot_ remember that I have ever seen a note -of interrogation anywhere about you. Have you got one, my dear? And -where is it?' - -'But, mother,' I said, laughing, and kissing her, 'I must be -inquisitive and I must ask questions.' - -'Only of me, dear child.' - -'Well, then, only of you. Now wouldn't you grow quite fond of her?' - -'I am sure I should, dear.' - -'Well, wouldn't it be too bad, directly you got fond of her, for her -to go away? Now wouldn't it?' - -'But life is full of changes, my dear!' - -'That's not an answer, mother. You're fond of me;'--an endearing -caress answered me--'very, very fond, I know, and I am of you. Now, -supposing _I_ was to go away!' - -'Child, child!' cried my mother, kneeling suddenly before me and -clasping me in her arms. If I were to lose you, my heart would break!' - -I was frightened at the vehement passion of her words, and at the -white face upon which my eyes rested; but she grew more composed -presently. Then the voice of uncle Bryan was heard at the top of the -stairs, calling to us to come up. - -'What can we do with our visitor to-night, Emma?' he said, thus -indicating that matters had been arranged during our absence. - -'She can sleep with me. You won't mind, my dear?' - -'I shall like to,' replied Jessie. He's ever so much nicer than he -was, although I can't say that he's at all polite.' This referred to -uncle Bryan, who made a grimace. 'I couldn't help coming.' - -'The least said,' observed uncle Bryan, with all his usual manner upon -him, 'the soonest mended, young lady.' - -She pursed up her lips: Young lady! That was all very well when we -were distant. You may call me something else now, if you like.' - -'Indeed! Well, then, Miss Trim.' - -She laughed saucily. How funny it sounds as you say it! Miss Trim! I -think we are quite intimate enough for you to call me Jessie.' - -'You think!' retorted uncle Bryan, with some sense of enjoyment. - -'You are given to thinking, I have no doubt.' - -'Oh, yes; I think a good deal.' - -'Upon my word What about?' - -'All sorts of things that wouldn't interest you.' - -I quite believe you, young lady.' - -'Oh, if you like to call me that,' she said, with a shrug of her -shoulders, you can. 'But I think it's a pity when people try to make -themselves more disagreeable than they naturally are.' - -For the life of him, uncle Bryan could not help laughing. This little -play of words was to him what the world is always looking out for -nowadays--a new sensation. - -'Then I am naturally disagreeable, you think?' - -She did not reply. - -'What else do you think about me?' - -'I think it must be uncomfortable for the others for you to go to -sleep every night, with a handkerchief over your face.' - -'If I had known you were coming----' he said, with mock politeness; -but she interrupted him with wonderful quickness. - -'Don't say unkind things. I feel when they are coming; my flesh begins -to creep.' - -'Do you think anything else about me?' - -'Yes; I think you might give me some supper. You can't know how hungry -I am; and I have always a good appetite.' - -My mother was so intent upon this unusual dialogue, and was probably -so lost in wonder (as I myself was) at the appearance of uncle Bryan -in a new character, that she had entirely forgotten the supper; but at -Jessie Trim's mention of it she ran downstairs, and it was soon on -the table. - -'Ah,' exclaimed Jessie, with approving nods; 'that smells nice.' - -Uncle Bryan stared at the unexpected fare. - -'You see what it is to be a young lady,' he said; hitherto we have -always been contented with bread-and-cheese.' - -'This is much nicer,' said Jessie, beginning to eat; 'are you not -going to have some?' - -'No. Give me some bread-and-cheese, Emma.' - -The girl was too much occupied with her supper to bandy words with -him; she ate heartily, and when she had finished, asked uncle Bryan if -he did not feel in a better humour. - -'_I_ always do,' she remarked, 'after meals. There is only one thing I -want now to make me feel quite amiable.' - -'Then,' said uncle Bryan sententiously, 'all the trouble in the world -would come to an end.' - -She nodded acquiescently. - -'And that one thing is----' he questioned. - -'Something I sha'n't get. I see it in your face; it is really too much -to ask for.' - -'To put an end to all the trouble in the world, I would make a -sacrifice.' - -'No,' she said, shaking her head, I really haven't courage to ask.' - -'What is it?' demanded uncle Bryan impatiently. - -Then ensued a perfect piece of comedy-acting on the part of Jessie -Trim; who, when she had worked uncle Bryan almost into a passion, made -the prettiest of curtseys, and said that the only thing she wanted to -make her feel quite amiable was a piece of candied lemon-peel. - -'I always,' she added, with the oddest little twinkle in her eyes, -'like something sweet to finish my meals with.' - -The expression on uncle Bryan's face was so singular that I did not -know if he was going to laugh or storm. But Jessie got her piece of -candied lemon-peel, and chewed it with great contentment, and with -many sly looks at uncle Bryan. - -'Now, then,' he cried, 'it is time to go to bed.' - -'It isn't healthy,' observed Jessie, who seemed determined to upset -all the rules of the house, 'to go to bed the moment after one has -eaten a heavy supper.' She spoke with perfect gravity, and with the -serious authority of a grown-up woman. - -'Then we are to sit up after our time because you have over-eaten -yourself.' - -'I have not over-eaten myself: I have had just enough. I wish you -wouldn't say disagreeable things; you would find it much nicer not to. -If you think I am not right in what I say about going to bed -immediately after supper, of course I will go. You are much older than -I, and ought to be much wiser.' - -'But I think you _are_ right,' he growled. - -'Why do you make yourself disagreeable then?' she asked, sitting down -on the stool at his feet. - -Not a word was spoken for half an hour; at the end of which time our -visitor rose, just as if she were the mistress of the house, and -remarked that now she _did_ think it time we were all in bed. - -'Good-night,' she said, giving him her hand; 'I hope I haven't vexed -you.' She held up her face to him to be kissed, but he did not avail -himself of the invitation, and retired to his room. - -'He is a very strange man,' she said to us, and I don't quite know -whether I like him or whether I don't. Good-night, Chris.' - -'Good-night, Jessie.' - -My mind was full of her and her quaint ways as I undressed myself, and -I found myself unconsciously repeating, 'Good-night, Jessie! Jessie! -Jessie!' Her name was to me the sweetest of morsels. 'I am glad she -has come,' I thought; 'I hope she will stop.' I had not been in my -room two minutes before I heard her knocking at the door of the room -in which uncle Bryan slept. I crept to the wall to listen. - -'Do you hear me?' she said. 'You can't be asleep already.' - -But no response came from uncle Bryan. - -'Do answer me!' she continued. 'If you think I have been rude to you, -I am very sorry. I shall catch my death of cold if I stand here long. -Say, good-night, Jessie!' - -'Good-night.' - -'Jessie!' she called out archly. - -'Good-night, Jessie. Now go to bed, like a good--little girl.' - -And then the house was quiet, and I fell asleep, and dreamt the -strangest and sweetest dreams about our new friend. - -The following morning when I rose I moved about very quietly, and I -debated with myself whether I ought to bid my mother good-morning as -usual. I stole softly upstairs, and put my ear to the door. - -'Good-morning, mother.' - -I almost whispered the words, but the reply came instantly, in clear -sweet tones, - -'Good-morning, dear child.' - -She must have been listening for my step. - -Is that you, Chris?' inquired a voice which, if I had not known the -speaker, I should have imagined had proceeded from a little child. - -'Yes, Jessie,' I answered, with a thrill of delight. - -'Where are you going?' - -'I am going to work.' - -'Good-morning.' - -'Good-morning.' - -I had never been so happy in my work as I was during this day, and yet -I wanted the hours to fly so that I might be home again. When eight -o'clock struck, I whipped off my apron eagerly, and ran out of the -office. My mother was at the gate. - -'I didn't expect you, mother.' - -'No, dear child. I wished to leave your uncle and Jessie together for -a little while. She wanted to come with me, but I thought it best to -leave her at home. Shall we take a walk, my dear?' - -'Yes, but not a long one. Mother, who is she?' - -'I do not know, my dear; and your uncle hasn't said a word--neither -has she.' - -'Not a word! Why, mother, she couldn't keep quiet!' - -'I don't think she could, dear,' said my mother, with a smile. 'I mean -not a word as to who she is. I think she gave your uncle a letter, for -he has been writing to-day with one before him; but I am not sure.' - -'I have been thinking about her all day, and I can't make her out. -Anyhow, I hope she will stop with us. The house is quite different -with her in it. Don't you think so? She is as light-hearted and as -sparkling as a--a sunbeam.' I thought it a very happy simile. 'She -couldn't be anything else.' - -'My dear,' said my mother gravely, she was sobbing in her sleep last -night as if her heart would break.' I looked so grieved at this that -my mother quickly added, But she has been talking to your uncle to-day -just as she did last night. She is like an April day; but then she is -quite a child.' - -'A child! Why, mother, she must be--how old should _you_ think?' - -'About fifteen, I should say, Chris.' - -'So how can she be quite a child? And she doesn't talk like a child.' - -'She does and she doesn't, my dear. I shouldn't wonder,' she said, -with her sweet laugh, that because you are nearly eighteen, you think -yourself quite a man.' - -'I _am_ growing, mother, am I not?' And I straightened myself stiffly -up. Why, I am taller than you!' - -'You will be as tall as your father was, my dear.' - -'I am glad of that. She said men had no business to be little.' - -'_She_ said!' repeated my mother, laughing; and she tapped my cheek -merrily, as she had done on the previous night, and again I blushed. -Jessie ran into the shop to welcome us when we arrived home. - -The evening passed very happily with me, Jessie entertaining us with -her light talk. Her marvellous ingenuity, in twisting a few simple -words so as to make them bear sparkling meanings, afforded me endless -enjoyment. Uncle Bryan said very little, and notwithstanding the many -challenges she slyly threw out to him, declined to be drawn into -battle; but now and then she provoked him to answer her. He needed all -his skill to hold his own against her, and he spoke rather roughly to -her once or twice. On those occasions she became grave, and edged -closer to my mother, having already learned that nothing but what was -gentle could emanate from her tender nature. When Jessie went to bed -with my mother, she did not hold up her face to be kissed, as she had -done on the previous night. I do not think she debated the point with -herself, whether she should do so; she gave him a rapid look when she -wished him good-night, and decided on the instant--as she would have -decided the other way had she seen anything in his face to encourage -her. A week passed, and no word of explanation fell from uncle Bryan's -lips as to the connection that existed between these two opposite -beings; but I could not help observing that he grew more and more -reserved, more and more thoughtful. In after days I recognised how -strange a household ours really was during this period, but it did not -strike me at the time, so entirely was I wrapped up in the new sense -of happiness which Jessie Trim had brought into my life. Of the four -persons who composed the household only Jessie and I were really -happy. My mother was distressed because of uncle Bryan's growing -moroseness; with unobtrusive gentleness she strove, in a hundred -little ways, to break through the wall of silence and reserve which he -built around himself, as it were, but she could scarcely win a word -from his lips. It did not trouble me; my mind, was occupied only with -Jessie. What Jessie did, what Jessie said, how Jessie looked and felt -and thought--that was the world in which I moved now. A second week -passed, and there was still no change. One night my mother said that -she would come for me on the following evening. - -'And bring Jessie,' I suggested, taking advantage of the opportunity -which I had been waiting for all the week; 'a walk will do her good.' - -Jessie's eyes sparkled at the suggestion. - -'I should like to come,' she said, with a grateful look; 'I haven't -had a walk since I came here. What are you thinking about?' to my -mother. - -'I am thinking,' replied my mother, 'whether there will be any -objection to it.' - -'On whose part?' I asked. 'Uncle Bryan's? Why, what objection can he -have?' - -'I am sure,' said Jessie, he won't care, one way or another; he -doesn't care about anything, and especially about me. Why, how many -words do you think he has spoken to me all this day, Chris?' - -'I can't guess, Jessie.' - -She counted on her fingers. One, two, three--sixteen. "I don't know -anything about it! Be quiet! You're a magpie--nothing but chatter, -chatter, chatter!" and he didn't speak them--he growled them. So he -can't care. I shall come, Chris,'--pressing close to my mother -coaxingly--'and we'll take a nice long walk.' - -'Very well, my dear,' said my mother, with a smile; 'but I _must_ ask -your uncle, Chris.' - -I mapped out in my mind the pleasantest walk I knew, and on the -following night, when work was over, I hastened into the street; but -neither my mother nor Jessie was there. I looked about for them, and -waited for a quarter of an hour, and then raced home. Only my mother -was in the house. - -'Why didn't you come, mother?' I asked. 'I've been waiting ever so -long. And where's Jessie?' - -'My dear,' replied my mother, with her arm around my waist, 'Jessie -has gone.' - -'Gone! Oh, for a walk with uncle Bryan, I suppose?' - -'No, my dear; she has gone away altogether.' - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. -THE WORLD BECOMES BRIGHT AGAIN. - -'Gone away altogether!' - -I echoed the words, but the news was so sudden and unexpected that for -a few moments I did not quite understand their meaning. I had never, -until the last fortnight, had a friend so nearly of my own age as -Jessie; and the companionship had been to me so sweet and delightful, -and so altogether new, that to lose it now seemed like losing the best -part of my life. I released myself from my mother's embrace, and ran -upstairs to her bedroom, to look for Jessie's box. It was gone, and -the room was in all respects the same as it had been before Jessie's -arrival. Until that time it had always worn a cheerful aspect in my -eyes, but now it looked cold and desolate; the happy experiences of -the last two weeks seemed to me like a dream--but a dream which, now -that it had passed away, filled my heart with pain. - -'Her box is gone,' I said, with quivering lips, when I rejoined my -mother. - -'It was taken away this morning, my dear.' - -'That shows that she is not coming back; and I shall never, never see -her again!' - -My mother did not reply. The feeling that now stole upon me was one of -resentment towards uncle Bryan. Who was to blame but he? From the -first he had behaved harshly towards her. He saw that we were fond of -her, and he was jealous of her. He was always cold and unsympathetic -and unkind. Every unreasonable suggestion that presented itself to me -with reference to him, I welcomed and accepted as an argument against -him; and to this effect I spoke hotly and intemperately. - -'Chris, Chris, my dear!' remonstrated my mother; 'you should not have -hard thoughts towards your uncle.' - -'I can't help it; he almost asks for them. He won't let us like -him--he won't! I don't care if he hears me say so.' - -'He can't hear you, my dear; he went away with Jessie this morning.' - -'Where to?' - -'I have no idea, Chris; he did not tell me.' - -'And wouldn't, if you had asked,' I said bitterly. - -My mother sighed, but said, with gentle firmness, 'I had no right to -ask, my dear.' - -'Then we are alone in the house, mother.' - -'Yes, my dear, for a little while. Sit down, and I will tell you all -about it.' - -I sat down, and my mother sat beside me, and took my hand in hers. - -'It came upon me as suddenly as it has come upon you, my dear, and I -am almost as sorry as you are. But life is full of such changes, my -dear child.' - -'Go on, mother.' In my rebellious mood her gentle words brought no -comfort to me. - -'When I said last night that I would come for you this evening, I had -no idea that anything would have prevented me. I intended to bring -Jessie, and I looked forward with pleasure to the walk we intended to -take. I did not tell your uncle that Jessie would come with me; I -thought I would wait till teatime. Lately I have considered it more -than ever my duty to study him, because of the change that has taken -place in him--you have noticed it yourself, my dear--since Jessie -came so strangely among us. For it was strange, was it not, my -dear?--almost as strange as her going away so suddenly, and as -unexpected too; for I am certain your uncle did not expect her, and -that he was as much surprised as we were. He is not to blame, -therefore, for what has occurred now. It is not for us, dear child, to -find fault with him because he is silent and reserved with us; the -only feeling we ought to have towards him is one of deep gratitude for -his great kindness to us. You don't forget our sad condition, my -darling, on the morning we received your uncle's letter.' - -'No, mother, I don't forget,' I said, somewhat softened towards uncle -Bryan. - -'He did not deceive us; he spoke plainly and honestly, and the -brightest expectations we could have entertained from his offer, and -the manner in which it was made, have been more than realised. Is it -not so, dear child?' - -In common honesty I was compelled to admit that it was so. - -'I shudder when I think what might have become of my dear boy if it -had not been for this one friend--this one only friend, my darling, in -all the wide, wide world!--who stepped forward so unselfishly to save -us. And we have been so happy here, my darling, so very, very happy, -all these years! If a cloud has come, have we not still a little -sunshine left? There, there, my dear!' returning my kisses, and wiping -her eyes; 'as I was saying'--(although she had said nothing of the -kind; but she was flurried and nervous)--'and as I told you once -before, I think Jessie gave your uncle a letter, and that I saw him, -the day after she came, writing, with this letter before him. Every -morning since then I have observed him watch for the arrival of the -postman in the neighbourhood, and every time the postman passed -without giving him the letter which I saw he expected, he grew more -anxious. This morning he reminded me that I had some errands to make; -I was away for nearly two hours, and when I came home he and Jessie -were in the shop, dressed for walking. What passed after that was so -quick and rapid that I was quite bewildered. Your uncle, beckoning me -into the parlour, said that he and Jessie were going away, and that I -was to take care of the shop while he was absent. "I want you not to -ask any questions," he said, seeing, I suppose, that I was about to -ask some. "I shall be away for two or three days, perhaps longer. Do -the best you can. You had better wish Jessie good-bye now." I could -not help asking, "Is she coming back with you?" And he said, "No." I -was so grieved, Chris, that when I went into the shop, where Jessie -was waiting, I was crying. "You are sorry I am going, then," she said. -"Indeed, indeed, I am, my dear," I replied, as I kissed her. She -kissed me quite affectionately, and said she was glad I was sorry, and -that I was to give her love to you----' - -'Did she say that, mother? Did she?' - -'Yes, my dear. "Give my love to Chris," she said, "and say how sorry I -am to go away without seeing him." And the next minute she was gone. I -thought of her box then, and I ran upstairs, as you did just now, and -found that it had been taken away while I was out. And that is all I -know, my dear.' - -'It is very strange,' I said, after a long pause. Mother, what do you -think of it, eh?' - -'My dear, I don't know what to think. The more I think, the more I am -confused. And now, my dear----' - -'Yes, mother.' - -'We must make ourselves happy in our old way, and we must attend to -the business properly until your uncle returns.' - -Make ourselves happy in our old way! How was that possible? The light -had gone out of the house. The very room in which we three--uncle -Bryan, my mother, and I--had spent so many pleasant days before Jessie -came, looked cold and comfortless now. Even the figure of my dear -mother, bustling cheerfully about, and the sweet considerate manner in -which she strove, in many tender ways, to soften my sorrow, were not a -recompense for the loss of Jessie. I opened my book and pretended to -be occupied with it, and my mother, with that rare wisdom which -springs from perfect unselfish love, did not disturb my musings. The -evening passed very quietly, and directly the shop was shut, I went to -bed. I was in a very unhappy mood, and it was past midnight before I -fell asleep. I did not think of my mother, or of the pain she was -suffering through me. My grief was intensely selfish; I had not the -strength which often comes from suffering, nor was I blessed with such -a nature as my mother's--a nature which does not colour surrounding -circumstances with the melancholy hue of its own sorrows. Unhappily, -it falls to the lot of few to be brought within the sweet influence of -one whose mission on earth seems to be to shed the light of peace and -love upon those among whom her lot is cast, and to whom, unless we are -ungratefully forgetful, as I was on this night, we look instinctively -for comfort and consolation when trouble comes to us. In the middle of -the night, I awoke suddenly, and found my mother sitting by my bed; -she was in her nightdress, and there was a light in the room. - -'Why, mother!' I exclaimed, confused for a moment. - -'Don't be alarmed, dear child,' she said; 'there's nothing the matter; -but I could not sleep, knowing that you were unhappy. You too, my -dear, were a long time before you went to sleep.' - -Then I knew that she must have watched and waited at my bedroom door -until I had blown out my candle. - -'What time is it, mother?' - -'It must be three o'clock, my dear.' - -'O, mother! And you awake at this time of the night for me!' - -She smiled softly. Something of worship for that pure nature stole -into my heart as I looked into her dear eyes. But there was grief in -them, too, and I asked her the reason. - -'Do you know, my darling,' she said, with a wistful yearning look, and -with a sigh which she vainly strove to check, that you went to bed -to-night without kissing me? For the first time in your life, dear -child; for the first time in your life!' - -In a passion of remorse I threw my arms around her neck, and kissed -her again and again, and asked her forgiveness, and said, 'How could -I--how could I be so unloving and unkind?' But she stopped my -self-reproaches with her lips on my lips, and with broken words of joy -and thankfulness. She folded me in her arms, and there was silence -between us for many minutes--silence made sacred by love as pure and -faithful as ever dwelt in woman's breast. Then I drew the clothes -around her, and she lay by my side, saying that she would wait until I -was asleep. - -'This is like the old time, mother,' I whispered, 'when there was no -one else but you and me. But I love you more than I did then, mother.' - -'My darling child!' she whispered, in return; 'how you comfort me! But -I won't have my dear boy speak another word, except good-night.' - -We looked out on the following day for a letter from uncle Bryan, but -none came, nor any news of him. It was the same on the second day, and -the third. My mother began to grow uneasy. - -'If he had only left word where he was going to!' she said. 'I am -afraid he must be ill.' - -The business went on very well without him, thanks to my mother's -care and attention, except that on Saturday night the supply of 'uncle -Bryan's pills,' as they had got to be called in the neighbourhood, ran -short, which occasioned my mother much concern. Sunday and Monday -passed, and still no tidings of him. On the Tuesday--I remember the -day well: we were very busy where I was employed, and I did not come -home until past ten o'clock--the shop was shut--a most unusual thing. -I knocked at the door hurriedly, and my mother, with happiness in her -face, opened it for me. - -'Uncle Bryan has come home!' I cried, in a hearty tone. - -She nodded gladly, and I ran in, and threw my arms about him. I think -he was pleased with this spontaneous mark of affection; but he looked -at me curiously too, I thought. We sat down--the three of us--and a -dead silence ensued. We all looked at each other, and spoke not a -word. - -'What's the matter, mother?' I asked, for certainly so strange a -silence needed explanation. - -A sweet laugh answered me, and my heart almost leaped into my throat. -I darted behind the door, and there stood Jessie Trim, bending -forward, with eager face, and sparkling eyes, and hand uplifted to her -ear. But when she saw that she was discovered, her manner changed -instantly. She came forward, quite demurely. - -'Are you glad?' she asked gravely, with her hand in mine. - -My looks were a sufficient answer. - -'And now,' she said, sitting down on the stool, and resting her hands -on her lap, we are going to live happily together for ever -afterwards.' - - - - -CHAPTER XV. -JESSIE'S ROSEWATER PHILOSOPHY. - - -Her voice was like music to my heart. With Jessie on one side of me, -and my mother on the other, there was not a cloud on my life, nor room -for one. I sat between them, now patting my mother's hand, now turning -restlessly to Jessie, and looking at her in delight. But the change in -the aspect of things was so sudden and unexpected, that it would not -have much amazed me to see Jessie melt into thin air. This must have -been expressed in my face, for Jessie, who was a skilful interpreter -of expression, whispered, - -'It is true; I have really come back.' - -'I was doubting,' I said, in a similar low tone, 'whether I was asleep -or awake.' - -'Don't speak loud,' she said mockingly, 'don't look at me too hard, -and don't blow on me, or you will find that you're only dreaming. -Shall I pinch you?' - -'No; I am awake, I know. This is the most famous thing that ever -happened.' - -'You were sorry when I went away, then?' - -'I can't tell you how sorry; but you are not going away again?' - -'I suppose not; I have no place to go to.' - -There was a change in her manner; she was more thoughtful and sedate -than usual, and her face was pale; but I noted these signs only in a -casual way. To be certain that everything was right, I went out of the -room to see if her box had been brought back. It was in its old place -in my mother's bedroom. My mother had followed me. - -'So you are happy again, my dear,' she said, as we stood, like lovers, -with our arms around each other's waist. - -'I _am_ glad, mother,' I replied, pressing her fondly to me; 'and so -are you too, I know. But tell me how it all happened.' - -'There is very little to tell, dear child. I was as surprised as you -were. I was having tea when your uncle and Jessie came in suddenly; it -gave me quite a turn, for Jessie, as you see, is in mourning.' (I had -not noticed it, and I wondered at my blindness.) 'Your uncle looked -worn and anxious, and they were both very tired, as if they had come a -long distance. "I have not quite deserted you, you see," your uncle -said. I told him how glad I was he had returned, and how anxious we -had been about him. "And Jessie, too," I said. "I was afraid I was not -to see her again." "You will see a great deal of her for the future," -said your uncle; "she will live with us now. She must sleep with you, -as there is no other room in the house for her." And that is -positively all I have to tell, Chris, except that Jessie has been very -quiet all the evening, and only showed her old spirits when your knock -was heard at the street-door.' - -'And Jessie has told you nothing, mother?' - -'Nothing, dear child; and I have not asked.' - -'You don't even know whom she is in mourning for?' - -'No, my dear.' - -Jessie was displaying more of her old spirits when my mother and I -went downstairs; as we entered the room she was saying to uncle -Bryan, - -'I wish you would tell me what I _am_ to call you. I can't call you -Bryan, and I don't like Mr. Carey. I could invent a name certainly, if -I wanted to be spiteful.' - -'What name?' he asked, in his rough manner. - -'Never mind. You'd like to know, so that you could bark and fight. -What _shall_ I call you?' - -'Call me what you please,' he answered. - -'Well, then, I shall call you uncle Bryan, as Chris does; I daresay I -shall get used to it in time.' - -Soon after this point was settled I found an opportunity to touch -Jessie's black dress, and to press her hand sympathisingly. She -understood the meaning of the action, and her lips quivered; she did -not speak another word until she went to bed. The events of the -evening had for a time driven from my head news which I had to tell, -and which I knew would be received with pleasure. My errand-running -days were over. My employer, whose name was Eden, satisfied with the -manner in which I had performed my duties, had placed me on the -footing of a regular apprentice, and I was to learn the art of -wood-engraving in all its branches. A fair career was therefore open -to me. It is needless for me to say how these glad tidings rejoiced my -dear mother. - -'Mr. Eden,' I said, 'has often asked to see my little sketches, and -has been pleased with them, I think. He told me that he commenced in -the same way himself, and he has given me every encouragement. He says -that in three years I shall be able to earn good wages. Who knows? I -may have a business of my own one day.' - -And you have only yourself to thank for it, my dear child; said my -mother, casting looks of pride around. - -'No, mother; you are wrong. I have kept the best bit to the last. Mr. -Eden has spoken of you a good many times--he has often seen you, you -know, when you came for me of an evening--and I have told him all -about you. When he called me into his office this afternoon, he said -that I had you to thank for this promotion, and that I was to tell you -so, with his compliments.' - -'Why, my dear!' exclaimed my mother; Mr. Eden has never spoken one -word to me.' - -'But he has seen you,' interrupted uncle Bryan, the tone and meaning -of his words being strangely at variance, and that is enough. Mr. Eden -is right, Chris. Whatever good fortune comes to you in life, you have -only one person in the world to thank for it.' - -'I think so too, uncle.' His words softened me towards him, and I went -to his side, and said gratefully, 'You have been very good to me, sir, -also.' - -'Psha!' he said, with an impatient movement of his head. 'Emma, if you -will fill my pipe for me, I will smoke it.' - -The pipe we had presented to him on his birthday had not yet been -used, and my mother took it from the mantelshelf, filled it, and -handed it to him. He received it with a kind of growl, implying that -he had been conquered unawares, but he smoked it with much inward -contentment nevertheless. - -I was so excitedly happy when I went to bed that I was as long getting -to sleep as I was on the night of Jessie's sudden disappearance. Here -and there life is dotted with sunny spots, the light of which is but -rarely entirely darkened, and had Jessie never returned, she might -have dwelt in my mind as one of these; or--so surrounded with romance -was her appearance and disappearance--I might have grown to wonder -whether she was a creation of my fancy, or had really belonged to my -life. But now that she was among us again, and was going to live with -us, I felt as if a bright clear stream were flowing within me, -invigorating and gladdening my pulses--a sweet refreshing stream -within the range of which sadness or melancholy could find no place. -Reason became the slave of creative thought, and within my heart -flowers were blooming, the beautiful forms and colours of which could -never wither and fade. Jessie had struck the key-note of my certain -belief when she said, 'And now we are going to live happily together -for ever afterwards.' - -Curious as I was to know why she had returned to us in mourning, I -held my tongue, out of respect for my mother's wish that we should ask -no questions. Jessie's quieter mood soon wore away; little by little -she introduced colour into her dress, and in three months she was out -of mourning. I fancied now and then, as these alterations in her dress -were made, that her manner towards uncle Bryan indicated an -expectation that he would speak to her on the subject. But he made no -remark, and noticed her the least when most she invited notice. - -She changed the entire aspect of our house. It belonged to her to -brighten, apparently without conscious effort, everything which came -in contact with her. The contrast between her and my mother was very -great. My mother's tastes, like her nature, were quiet and unassuming. -Her hair was always plainly done, and, within my experience, she had -never worn cap or flower; her dress was always of one sober tint; and -her pale face and almost noiseless step were in keeping with these. If -she had had the slightest reason to suppose that by placing a flower -in her hair, and wearing a bit of bright ribbon, or by any other -innocently-attractive device, she could have given me or uncle Bryan -pleasure, she would have done so instantly; but, out of her entire -disregard of self, no such thought ever entered her mind. Now Jessie -was fond of flowers and ribbons, and was gifted with the rare faculty -of knowing where a bit of colour, and what colour, would prove most -attractive. From the most simple means she produced the most exquisite -results. Her box was a perfect Pandora's box in its inexhaustible -supply of adornments, and she was continually surprising us with -something new, or something which she made to look like new. And she -was by no means disposed to hide her light under a bushel. Everything -she did must be admired, and if admiration did not come spontaneously, -she was very prompt in asking or even begging for it. It was amusing -to watch the tricksy efforts by which she strove to attract attention -to anything she was wearing for the first time, however trifling it -might be, or to the slightest change in the arrangement of her dress. -Then, when her object was attained, she would ask, 'And do you really -like it? Are you sure now?' or 'Would it look better so?' or 'What do -you think of its being this way--or that?' I was the person whom she -consulted most frequently; but I could see nothing to find fault with, -and could never suggest any improvement; whereas uncle Bryan would -shrug his shoulders, and mutter disparaging remarks, which never -failed to provoke warm replies from Jessie. Then he would smile -caustically, and hit her hard with words still more spiteful, or -retire into his shell, according to his humour. - -'We will have a world made especially for you, young lady,' he -said--whenever he was disposed to be bitter, he called her young -lady'--'a world full of ribbons and flounces and flowers and silk -dresses and satin shoes, and everything else you crave for.' - -'That would be nice,' she observed complacently. - -'And you shall live in it all alone, so that your title to these nice -things shall not be disputed.' - -'That wouldn't do,' she answered promptly; 'what is the use of having -nice things unless you get people to admire them?' - -'We will have people made to order for you, then; people who shall be -always admiring you and praising you and flattering you.' He rung -changes on this theme for five minutes or so, and when he paused, she -made a grimace, as if she had been compelled to swallow a dose of -medicine. But this kind of warfare did not alter her nature. She -coaxed my mother to buy a pair of pretty ornaments for the -mantelshelf; she coaxed uncle Bryan--how she managed it, heaven only -knows! but she was cunning, and she must have entrapped him in an -unguarded moment--to allow her to buy a piece of oil-cloth for the -table, and she herself chose the pattern; and in many other ways she -made it apparent that a new spirit was at work in our household. She -made the bedroom in which she and my mother slept the prettiest room -in the house; pictures were hung or pasted on the wall; her own -especial looking-glass was set in a framework of white muslin, -daintily edged with blue ribbon. 'Blue is my favourite colour,' she -said, as she stood, the fairest object there, pointing out to me some -trifling improvement; 'it suits my complexion.' It is not difficult to -understand how popular she soon became in the neighbourhood; admiring -eyes followed her whenever she appeared in the narrow streets round -about, and I would not have changed places with an emperor when I -walked out with her by my side. If any one quality in her could have -made her more precious to me, it was her feeling towards my mother. - -'No one can help loving her,' said Jessie to me, in one of our -confidential conversations. 'Is she ever angry with any one?' - -'I think not,' I replied. 'Where another person would be angry, she is -sorry. There isn't another mother in the world like mine.' - -'Would you like me to be like her? Would it be better for me, do you -think?' - -I like you as you are, Jessie; I shouldn't like you to alter. There -are different kinds of good people, you know.' - -'I am not good.' - -'Nonsense! you not good!' - -'Your mother is, Chris; she never goes to bed without kneeling down -and saying her prayers.' - -'I know it, Jessie. And you?' - -'Oh, I often forget--always when I go to bed before her. When we go -together, I kneel down, and shut my eyes; but I don't say anything. I -see things.' - -On one occasion Jessie met me at the street-door when I came home from -work, and led me with an air of importance into the sitting-room, -where my mother sat in a new dress and a cap with ribbons in it. My -mother blushed as I looked at her. - -'She _would_ make me do it, Chris,' she said apologetically. - -'Now doesn't she look prettier so?' asked Jessie. - -There was no denying it; I had never seen my mother look so -attractive, and I kissed her and told her so. - -'That makes it all right,' cried Jessie, clapping her hands. 'All the -time I was persuading her, she said, "What will Chris say?" and, "Will -not Chris think it strange?"' - -And Jessie pretended that something was wrong with the cap, and spread -out a ribbon here and a ribbon there, and fluttered about my mother in -the prettiest way, and then fell back to admire her handiwork. - -'I want a new nightcap,' growled uncle Bryan, adding with a sarcastic -laugh, 'but the ribbons in it must suit my complexion.' - -The next night Jessie gravely presented him with a nightcap gaily -decorated with ribbons. 'It will become you beautifully,' she said, -with a demure look. When he crossed lances with her, he was generally -vanquished. - -Jessie explained to me the philosophy of all this. - -'I like everything about me to look nice,' she said; 'what else are -things for? Everybody ought to be nice to everybody. What are people -sent into the world for, I should like to know--to make each other -comfortable or miserable?' - -I subscribed most heartily to this rosewater philosophy. Certainly, if -Jessie had had her way, there would have been no heartaches in the -world; no poverty, no sickness, no rags, no rainy days. The sun would -have been eternally shining where she moved, and everything around -her would have been eternally bright. The world would have been a -garden, and she the prettiest flower in it. - -In the mean time I was making rapid progress in my business. My great -ambition was to become a good draughtsman; and I had learnt all that -could be learnt in the school of art, which I had attended regularly -for some time. - -'Now sketch from nature,' the master said; 'I can do nothing more for -you. You have a talent for caricature, but before that can be properly -developed, you must learn figure drawing from the life.' - -These words fired me, and I commenced my studies in this direction -with my mother, who was always ready to stand in any uncomfortable -position for any length of time, while I laboured to reproduce her. -Perhaps I would come suddenly into the room while she was stooping -over the fire, or standing on tiptoe to reach something from the top -shelf of the cupboard. 'Stand still, mother,' I would cry; 'don't -move!' And the dear mother would stand as immovable as a statue until -I released her; and then, dropping her arms, or rising from her -stooping posture, with a sigh of relief which she could not suppress, -she would fall into ecstasies with my work, whether it were good or -bad. Uncle Bryan was a capital study for me, and would smile cynically -when I produced any especially ill-favoured sketch of his face or -figure. It was but natural that I should make the most careful studies -of Jessie; and she, not at all unwilling, posed for me half a dozen -times a week, until my desk was filled with sketches of her in scores -of graceful attitudes and positions. Her face was my principal study; -and I sketched it with so many different expressions upon it, that -before long I knew it by heart, and could see it with my eyes -shut--smiling, or pouting, or looking demurely at me. Jessie inspected -every scrap of my work, and very promptly tore into pieces anything -that did not please her, saying she did not want any ugly likenesses -of herself lying about. I made studies of her eyes, her lips, her -ears, her hands; and we passed a great deal of time together in this -way, to our mutual satisfaction. We were allowed full liberty; but I -sometimes detected uncle Bryan observing us with a curiously pondering -expression on his face. This did not trouble me however. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. -THE STONE MONKEY FIGURE GIVES UP ITS TREASURES. - - -I had been for some time employed on a large drawing of Jessie, in -crayons. It was my first ambitious attempt in colours; and it arose -from Jessie's complaint that I could not paint her as she was. - -'I am all black and white,' she said; 'I am tired of seeing myself so. -Now if you could show me my eyes as they are---- What colour are they, -Chris?' - -Thereupon it was necessary that a close investigation should be made, -which was not too rapidly concluded: these matters take a long time to -determine, especially when one is an enthusiast in his art, as I was. -The next day I bought crayons, and practised secretly; and secretly -also commenced the sketch of Jessie above mentioned. I was never tired -of contemplating my work, which promised to be a success; and one -Sunday, when it was nearly completed, I went to my room to examine it. -I kept it carefully concealed in my box, and, after a long -examination, I was about to replace it, when I was startled by -Jessie's voice, asking me what I was hiding. She had entered the room -softly and slyly, on purpose to surprise me, she told me. - -'I am certain,' she said, 'that you are doing something secretly. For -the last three or four weeks you have shut yourself in here night -after night, for hours together. Now I want to know all about it.' - -I did not wish her to see the sketch until it was quite finished; but -as she knelt by my side, and as my box was open, I could not prevent -her from discovering it. - -'O Chris!' she cried. It's beautiful!' - -And she expressed such praise of it that my heart thrilled with -delight. - -'You think it's like you, then, Jessie?' - -'Like me! It's _me_--me, myself! Set it on the box there; I'll show -you.' - -And with a rapid movement she altered the fashion of her hair to suit -my picture, and assumed the exact expression I had chosen. She looked -very bewitching as she stood before me, the living embodiment of my -work. Then she knelt before the box again, and praised the picture -still more warmly, analysing it with exclamations of pleasure. - -While she was talking and admiring herself; she was tossing over the -contents of my box, when she came upon the only legacy my grandmother -had left me--the smoke-dried monkey of a man in stone, which the old -lady had solemnly confided to my care. From the day I had entered -uncle Bryan's house it had lain in my box, and by this time I had -almost forgotten it; but as Jessie held it up and turned it about, my -mind was strangely stirred by those reminiscences of my early life -with which it was inseparably connected. - -'What a curious image?' exclaimed Jessie. 'How long have you had it?' - -'All my life, Jessie. Put it away; it's the ugliest thing that ever -was seen.' - -'I don't think so. It's funny; look at it, wagging its head. Why, you -seem quite frightened of it! Well, then, I shall take it, and keep it -in my room.' - -'No, I mustn't part with it. It was given to me by my grandmother, and -she said that it must be kept always in the family. Not that I think -much of what she said.' - -Jessie shifted her position, and seated herself very comfortably upon -the floor. - -'Now you've got something to tell me,' she said, pulling me down -beside her. 'I've never heard of your grandmother before, and you know -how fond I am of stories.' - -'But mine is not a story, And there's nothing interesting to tell.' - -'Oh, yes, there is; there must be. Everybody's life is full of -stories.' - -'Yours, Jessie?' I put the question somewhat timorously. - -'Perhaps,' she answered gravely; and added, after a short pause, 'But -we're not speaking of me; we're speaking of you. I want to know -everything.' - -But it was long before she could coax me to speak of my early life. -There was much that I felt I should be ashamed for Jessie to know; and -a burning blush came to my cheeks as I thought of the time when my -mother used to beg for our living. To escape too searching an inquiry -I began to tell her of my grandmother, which led naturally to the -story of my grandmother's wedding. Of course the man with the knob on -the top of his head, and who was always eating his nails, was -introduced, he being the principal figure at the wedding. - -'There!' cried Jessie. You said you hadn't any story to tell. Why, -you've told me half a dozen already. I can see your grandmother as -plain as plain can be; and that disagreeable man, too--I wonder what -became of him, after all? What was his name, Chris?' - -'Anthony Bullpit' - -'I hate the name of Anthony. Go on; I want to hear more.' - -I gave a description of Jane Painter, at which Jessie laughed -heartily, and clapped her hands. - -'I shall come into your bedroom one night with a sheet over me, and -frighten you.' - -'I shouldn't be frightened of you, Jessie; besides, I'm not a boy now, -and I'm not afraid of anything. Then your voice----' - -'Well!' - -'Your voice is musical. How could you frighten anybody with it?' - -Jessie edged a little closer to me. - -'Go on, Chris. Anything more about Jane Painter? What a wretch she -must have been!' Then came an account of my grandmother's death, and -the legend of the long stocking, in which Jessie was immensely -interested. - -'And you never found any money after all, Chris?' - -'No; and I'm sure we searched for it everywhere. We looked up the -chimney, and ripped the bed open, and pulled the armchair all to -pieces.' - -'I'd have had the cellar dug up,' cried Jessie excitedly; I'd have had -the paper taken off the walls, and the flooring taken away bit by bit. -I am certain the money was hidden somewhere.' - -I shook my head. - -'Or Jane Painter stole it,' she continued. 'I sha'n't sleep to-night -for thinking of it. I do so like to find out things! And I'd like to -find out this thing more than any other.' - -'Why, Jessie?' - -'Such a lot of money, Chris! Hundreds and hundreds of pounds there -must have been hidden away, or stolen. Hundreds and hundreds of -pounds!' - -'Would you like to be rich, Jessie?' - -'Chris,' she replied, looking at me seriously, 'I think I would do -anything in the world for money.' - -A miserable feeling came over me, and for the first time in my life I -repined at my lot. What would I not have sacrificed at that moment if -I could have filled her lap with money! All this time Jessie had been -playing with the stone monkey figure, and now she suddenly uttered an -exclamation of surprise. - -'Look!' she cried. 'The head comes off. It isn't broken; here's the -wire it hangs upon. Why, Chris----' - -She seized my hand in uncontrollable excitement, and hid the figure in -her lap. - -'What's the matter, Jessie?' - -'There's something inside. It's stuffed full of paper. What if it -should be your grandmother's money?' - -The amazing suggestion almost took away my breath. - -'It's just the kind of place,' continued Jessie, panting, 'she would -have hidden it in. She kept it all in large bank-notes, and stuffed -them in here, where nobody could possibly suspect they were, and where -she could have them under her eye all the day. O Chris! feel how my -heart beats!' - -My excitement was now as great as her own. - -'Quick, Jessie! Let us look!' - -'No,' she cried, covering the figure with both hands, 'let us wait a -bit. This is the best part of things: knowing that something wonderful -is coming, and waiting a little before it comes. How much is it? A -hundred pounds! Five hundred pounds! It can't be less, for you say she -always wore silk dresses. What will you do with it? We'll all have new -clothes. I know where there's such a lovely blue barege, and I saw a -hat in a window yesterday, trimmed with blue ribbon, and with lilies -and forget-me-nots in it, that I'd give my life for. O Chris! I can -see myself in them already.' - -So she went on for full five minutes, building her castles; then with -a long-drawn breath she said, - -'Now, Chris!' - -The inside of the figure was certainly full of paper, which I fished -out very easily with one of Jessie's hairpins, and amid a little cloud -of dust--emblematical of Jessie's castles, for the paper was utterly -valueless. She refused to believe at first, and when she was -convinced, her disappointment took the form of anger against my -grandmother; she declared that the old lady had done it on purpose, -and that she was a spiteful, wicked, deceitful old creature. I was -quite as disappointed as Jessie was, more for her sake than my own, -and I tried to talk her into a better mood. Thinking there might be -writing on some of the paper, I smoothed it out, piece by piece; but -there was nothing written or printed on any of it with the exception -of one long slip, which was evidently a cutting from a newspaper. It -was headed, 'Remarkable Discovery of a Forger by the Celebrated -Detective, Mr. Vinnicombe.' And glancing down the column, the name of -Anthony Bullpit attracted my attention. I became interested -immediately. - -'Here's something, at all events,' I said; 'something about my -grandmother's nail-eating lover. Listen, Jessie.' - -'I don't want to hear anything about him,' replied Jessie, in a pet, -leaving the room. - -So I read this 'Remarkable Discovery' quietly by myself. It ran as -follows: - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. -THE TRUE STORY OF ANTHONY BULLPIT. - - -Among the cases tried at the late assizes was one not only of local -interest, but exceedingly remarkable, because of the extraordinary -circumstances attendant upon the arrest of the prisoner, who, after -the commission of his crime, had absconded. We throw the particulars -of this case into the form of a narrative, as being likely to prove -more interesting to our readers. The three principal characters in the -story are Mr. James Pardon, a Solicitor; Mr. Anthony Bullpit, his -confidential clerk; and Mr. Vinnicombe, a detective. These terse -definitions would be sufficient for dramatic purposes, but a -more comprehensive description is necessary here for the purposes -of our story. Mr. James Pardon is the head of the well-known and -highly-respected firm of solicitors in High-street, and to his care is -intrusted a vast amount of important business. Not only as a -solicitor, but as a man and a churchwarden his name commands universal -respect. He employs a large staff of clerks, conspicuous among whom -was Anthony Bullpit, who had been in his service from boyhood, and -whose face is familiar to most of our townsmen. Mr. Vinnicombe, we -need scarcely say, is the name of the celebrated detective whose -unerring instinct, in conjunction with a powerful and keen intellect, -has been the means of bringing many a criminal to justice. In his -profession, Mr. Vinnicombe is _facile princeps_. There is a fourth -character, who plays a minor but important part, and whom it will be -sufficiently explicit to describe as Mr. Vinnicombe's friend. Now for -the story. - -To all outward appearance trustworthy and attentive to his duties, -Anthony Bullpit rose step by step in the office of Mr. James Pardon -until he had arrived at the position of head clerk; his manners were -civil and plausible, and not the slightest suspicion was entertained -of his honesty. He had access to the safe and cheque-book of the firm, -and was intrusted with much confidential business. On the twenty-first -of last month Mr. James Pardon had occasion to go to London on a -matter of great importance; he expected to be absent for at least -three weeks, and Anthony Bullpit was left to superintend the affairs -of the firm. It fortunately happened that Mr. Pardon's business in -London was transacted more rapidly than he had anticipated, and he -returned to Hertford, without warning, after an absence of fourteen -days only. His confidential clerk was absent; and to his astonishment -he was informed that, three days before his return, Anthony Bullpit -had stated in the office that he had received a letter from Mr. -Pardon, desiring his immediate attendance in London, to render -assistance in the matter on which Mr. Pardon was engaged. As Mr. -Pardon had sent no such letter to Anthony Bullpit, his suspicions that -all was not as it should be were naturally aroused, and he at once -made an examination of the affairs of the business. A very slight -inquiry was sufficient to justify his suspicions: not only had all the -money which had been received during his absence been abstracted, but -a cheque for seven hundred pounds, taken from his cheque-book, and -purporting to be signed by James Pardon, had been presented to the -bank, and cashed without hesitation. The signature was a most skilful -imitation, and Mr. Pardon acknowledges that any person might have been -deceived by it. Thus far the story is, unhappily, but an ordinary one -in the history of crime; but now come the extraordinary incidents -which elevate it almost into the sphere of romance. Mr. Pardon's -indignation was extreme, and being determined to bring the delinquent -to justice, he went at once to the police-court, and laid his charge. -While it was being taken down a person, who did not appear to be -particularly interested in the narration, was sitting by the fire, -apparently deeply engaged in a newspaper which he held in his hand. -When Mr. Pardon had finished, he gave expression to his indignation, -and to his determination to inflict upon the forger the utmost -punishment of the law. The person who was reading by the fire said -aloud, 'First catch your hare, then cook it.' Mr. Pardon, not being -aware whether the stranger was quoting from the paper he was reading -or was making an independent observation, asked, in his quick manner, -whether the words were addressed to him. 'To any one,' answered the -stranger. 'And you said----' prompted Mr. Pardon. 'I said,' repeated -the stranger, 'first catch your hare, then cook it. You see,' added -the stranger, 'the first thing you have to do is to catch your clerk; -then you can cook him--not before. Now how are you going to do it?' -Mr. Pardon confessed that he did not know how it was to be done, but -he supposed that the police---- The stranger interrupted him. 'This -clerk, Anthony Bullpit, is more than a match for the police. You -acknowledge that your name was so skilfully forged that you might have -been taken in by it yourself. Now, the skill which enabled Anthony -Bullpit to write your name in such a way as might deceive even you, -was not acquired in an hour or a day. He has been secretly practising -your signature for years, and has been secretly practising, I don't -doubt, many other things you're not acquainted with, which might come -useful to in one day or another. What does this imply? That Anthony -Bullpit is a shallow bungling sort of criminal, or an artful, -scheming, designing sort of criminal?' Mr. Pardon, himself the -shrewdest of lawyers, was struck by the shrewd intelligence of the -stranger, and admitted that it was clear that Anthony Bullpit was a -scheming, artful, designing scoundrel. 'But he had a quiet way with -him,' said Mr. Pardon, 'that any person might have been taken in by.' -The stranger smiled. 'One of your sneaking kind,' he said; 'I know -them. They're the most difficult to deal with, and the most difficult -to catch. The chances are that Anthony Bullpit had all his plans well -laid beforehand. And don't forget that he's got three days' start. -Why, you don't even know what road he has taken!' Mr. Pardon -acknowledged the reasonableness of these observations. 'May I ask,' he -said, 'with whom I have the pleasure of conversing?' 'My name is -Vinnicombe,' replied the stranger, rising. 'Mr. Vinnicombe, the famous -detective!' exclaimed Mr. Pardon. 'The same,' was the answer. Mr. -Pardon immediately made a proposition to Mr. Vinnicombe, and the -result was that, within an hour, Mr. Vinnicombe presented himself at -Mr. Pardon's office, saying that he was ready to take the case in hand -at once. What follows is from the eminent detective's own lips, -_verbatim et literatim_, taken down in our own office by the editor of -this paper:[1] - - -[Footnote 1: It is evident, from the manner in which he presented his -report of the case to his readers, that 'the editor of this paper' was -in advance of his times; he would have made an admirable descriptive -reporter in these days. Mr. Vinnicombe also, as is apparent from the -style of the narrative, was an advanced detective; but the qualities -which are necessary for the making of a good detective, and the spirit -which animates the class, do not differ, whatever the year.--Author.] - - -'The first thing Mr. Pardon wanted me to do,' said Mr. Vinnicombe, was -to trace the notes; but I said, No; the thief first, the property -afterwards. If I could trace him by the property, all right; but there -was no time to lose in ascertaining what road he had taken, and where -he was bound to. In a very short time I discovered by what means and -by what road Anthony Bullpit had left the town. That road did _not_ -lead to Liverpool, and immediately I learnt this, I decided that -Liverpool was the port which he intended to reach. Why port? you ask. -Well, it wasn't likely that a cunning card like this Bullpit was going -to remain in England. I picked up a bit of gossip concerning him, and -I found out that he had had a love affair with a young lady--I mention -no names, and I only mention it professionally--and that her family, -not liking his sneaking ways, had shut their doors on him; I found out -also that this young lady was soon to be married to a gentleman who -was more worthy of her. That was one reason why it wasn't likely he -was going to remain in England; having filled his pockets with another -man's money was another reason. But there were stronger reasons than -these. He had peculiar marks about him, and if he wasn't found out -to-day by these marks, he would be to-morrow; and he knew it. So what -he had to do was to get out of the country as quick as he could. Now, -there's only two ports in England from where a man as wants to go can -go to all parts of the world, civilised and uncivilised. These ports -are London and Liverpool. - -'Bullpit wouldn't go to London. Why? Mr. Pardon was there. He'd go -naturally to Liverpool, because Mr. Pardon was _not_ there. Now, I'll -tell you about these peculiar marks of his. First, he had--a knob on -the top of his head. But the knob couldn't be seen, you'll say, -because he had a bushy head of hair. That's right enough, but it don't -do away with the knob; he had it, and that was enough for me. I don't -know as ever I had any business in connection with a man as had a knob -on his head, and that circumstance made the case interesting to me. I -like to do with all sorts. Second, he had a peculiarity with his -teeth. The two middle ones in the top jaw--I hope you don't think I'm -going to swear or use bad language; but jaw's a word, and when a -word's got to be used, I use it--the two middle teeth in his top jaw -had a slit between 'em, a slit as you could see daylight through, if -there was such a thing in his mouth. That slit ain't much, you'll say. -All right. Third, he had a habit of biting his nails. Well, now, that -ain't a crime, you say. _I_ don't say it is, but he had it, and that -was enough for me. These peculiarities and a general description of -Bullpit--as to how tall he was (a man can't alter _that_), how stout -(nor that), what kind of complexion, and other personal details--were -all I had to go upon. I tracked him, without ever making a miss, in -the contrary direction of Liverpool, and then back again by another -road in the direction of Liverpool, and there I lost sight of him -completely. But I knew he must be there, and that was enough for me. I -had travelled faster than he had, and I reckoned I had gained a day -and a half on him. According to my calculation, he hadn't had time to -get away yet; he could only have been in Liverpool two days, and as -Mr. Pardon wasn't expected home for a week after he left, there was no -need for him to put on any show of hurry; it might look suspicious. -Now, what should I do? Bullpit would be sure to disguise himself--clap -on a pair of false whiskers and coloured spectacles perhaps, cut his -hair short, wear a wig; he would certainly not walk about in the -clothes he run away in. Thinking of these things I felt that Bullpit -might prove more than a match for _me_. There was the knob on his head -certainly; but I couldn't go up to every suspicious-looking stranger, -pull off his hat, and feel for the knob; people might resent it as a -liberty, and treat it accordingly. There was his habit of biting his -nails; but he would be sure to restrain himself, though it is about -the most difficult thing in the world for a man to keep from, when -he's been accustomed to it all his life. I don't see what there is in -nails except dirt to make people fond of 'em. They ain't sweet and -they ain't tasty. Well, but Bullpit. He'd be cunning enough to -restrain himself from biting his nails, knowing it was a mark to go -by; still nails don't grow in a day, and they'd be short on _his_ -fingers naturally. But he'd wear gloves. Then the slit between his -teeth. Well, that couldn't be altered; but he could keep his mouth -shut. Now if I was to tell you everything I did in the first two days -I was in Liverpool, it would fill a book, and that's what you don't -want; what you _do_ want is for me to come to the point, and that I'll -do in a jiffy. I went down to the docks, and took up my lodgings near -there; I didn't stop in any particular place, but shifted from one -eating-house to another, and mixed with the customers, and talked to -the waiters; no ship sailed out of the Mersey without my being on it -at the last minute, with my eyes wide open; I communicated with the -captains and the ship-agents; I watched every new arrival at the -eating-houses, and drank with them, and did a hundred other -things--and at the end of the fourth day I was as far off as ever; I -hadn't picked up a link. Now, that nettled me; it did--it nettled me. -I had set my heart on catching this Bullpit; he was worth catching, he -was such a sly cunning customer; I looked upon it as a match between -us, and I wanted to win, and here was I four days in Liverpool, with -never a link in my hands for my pains. On the fifth day I met--quite -by accident--a professional friend, who had come down to Liverpool to -say good-bye to a relative of his who was going to America. The ship -was to sail that afternoon; it was called The Prairie Bird. We had a -bit of dinner together in the coffee-room, where other men were -dining. Over dinner I told my friend what had brought _me_ to -Liverpool; I spoke in a low tone, so as not to be overheard, and I was -not sorry when the man who was eating at the next table to ours went -away in the middle of my story; he was a little too close to us. Well, -we finished dinner; my friend insisted on paying the reckoning, and I -moved a step or two towards the next table, where the man who went -away in the middle of my story had been dining. The waiter was -clearing the table, when I saw something that set me on fire. Now, -what do you think it was? You can't guess. I should think you -couldn't, if you tried for a week. What do you say to a piece of -bread? You laugh! Well, but that piece of bread was enough for me. It -wasn't a link. It was the chain itself. In what way? I'll tell you. -You see, that piece of bread was partly eaten, and the man who had -been dining had put it down after taking his last bite at it. The -marks of his teeth were in it, but the only mark I saw was a little -ridge in the centre of the bite--just such a ridge as would be left by -a man who had a slit between two of his upper teeth, as Anthony -Bullpit had. Would that little mark have been enough for you? - -'Now I had seen this man a dozen times; a most respectable-looking man -he was, with leg-of-mutton whiskers, and most respectably dressed, -something like a clergyman; and I knew he was a passenger by The -Prairie Bird. I had never for one moment suspected him. Anthony. -Bullpit was a pale-faced man; this man had a high colour. There was -nothing particular in Anthony Bullpit's walk; this man dragged one leg -behind the other slightly. Anthony Bullpit's hair was black; this -man's hair was sandy. Anthony Bullpit had good eyebrows; this man had -no eyebrows at all to speak of. Ah, he's a cunning rascal is Anthony -Bullpit, and was worth catching. I put things together very quickly in -my mind, and I settled it--if it wanted settling after the first sight -of that piece of bread--that this man, and no other, was the man I -wanted. There was only one thing that puzzled me, and that was his -nails; they were long. However, I wasn't going to let that stop me, so -I laid a little plot with my professional friend, and we went aboard -The Prairie Bird--not in company, because of the little plot I laid, -but one a minute after the other. There was my respectable customer, -standing by himself; I was puzzled even then as I looked at him, he -was so well disguised; but his height was there, and his bulk was -there, with a little added to it, which might be padding. Well, while -I stood a little distance away, with my eye on him, but not in an open -way, my professional friend walks up to him from behind, until he gets -close, and this is what my professional friend whispers to him: "Don't -start," whispers my professional friend, most confidentially; "don't -turn your head, or it might attract notice. My name's Simpson, and I -cashed the cheque for seven hundred pound for you in the Hertford -Bank. I was in the bank for six years, and I've done a little bit of -business on my own account, and have got clear away. Twelve hundred -pounds I've got about me, and I'm a fellow passenger of yours; when -The Prairie Bird gets to America, what's to hinder you and me going -partners and making our fortunes? Two such heads as ours'll be sure -to make a big one. I sha'n't speak another word to you till we're -safely off, but I'm glad I've got a friend on board." With that, my -professional friend slips quietly away. Now, if my respectable-looking -customer hadn't been the man I wanted, he would have turned round on -my professional friend, and hit him in the eye perhaps; at all events, -he would have kicked up a row. But he listened to every word, with his -eyes looking down on the deck, and the only movement he made was a -kind of twitching with his fingers, and a rising of them to his lips, -as if he wanted to set to work on his nails. He didn't get so far as -his mouth with them; he had himself too well in hand; but I was sure -of my man--his own cunning was the trap in which he was caught. I -waited until the last minute, until those who weren't going to the -other side of the Atlantic in The Prairie Bird were scrambling away -lest they should be taken by mistake; and I saw my respectable friend -give one triumphant look around, being sure then he was safe. At the -same moment, as if he couldn't stand it any longer, up went his -fingers to his lips; his longing to get at those nails of his must -have been something dreadful. Then I stepped up to him suddenly, and -before he knew where he was I had the handcuffs on him. "It's no use -making a noise about it," I said; "I want you, Anthony Bullpit. Here's -the warrant." And quick as lightning I passed my hand over his head, -and felt the knob. He saw it was all over with him, and I could see -that he turned deadly white, for all his false colour. "You sha'n't be -done out of a voyage across the sea," I said; "but it'll be a longer -voyage than the one to America. Botany Bay'll be the place as'll -suit _you_ best, I should think." He never spoke a word; I got his -trunk, and found the money in it--all changed into gold it was, the -cunning one. Well, everything was comfortably arranged, and I was -about to guide him down the ladder to the boat, when he whispered to -me, "There's another man on board as you'd like to have. He's a better -prize than I am. If you'll make it easier for me, I'll tell you who it -is." "What man?" I asked, with a quiet chuckle. "A man as has robbed -the bank of twelve hundred pound." Just then my professional friend -came to my side. "That's him," said Anthony Bullpit "And you and him's -going partners when you get safe across," I said, with a wink at my -professional friend; "he cashed that cheque for you, didn't he? Lord! -you're not half as clever as I took you to be!" He was clever enough -to understand it all without another word, for he only gave a scowl; -and when me and him and my professional friend was in the boat, he -fell-to on his nails without restraint, and before the day was out he -had eaten them down to the quick. He only asked one question, and that -was how I had discovered him. I pulled the piece of bread from my -pocket, and pointed to the marks of his teeth in it, and to the ridge -the slit in his teeth had left. I brought my man safely back, and you -know what has become of him. If I live till I'm a hundred--which isn't -likely--I shall never forget the feeling that came over me when I saw -that piece of bread with the ridge in it that brought Anthony Bullpit -to justice.' - -We have only to add to Mr. Vinnicombe's statement that Anthony -Bullpit, when placed in the dock, pleaded guilty, and was sentenced to -twenty-one years' transportation. The sentence would have been for -life, but for Mr. Pardon's intercession, who pleaded for mercy for the -infamous scoundrel who had abused his trust. We have occupied more -space than we otherwise should have done with the details of this -case, for the purpose of pointing out how often the most trivial -circumstance will lead to the detection and punishment of the most -cunning criminals. - - -Apart from the circumstance of this Anthony Bullpit being one of my -grandmother's lovers, the narrative was interesting to me from the -really remarkable manner in which the forger was discovered. I -refolded the printed paper carefully, and replaced it in the interior -of the stone figure; and in the course of a couple of days I made a -drawing of Anthony Bullpit, as I imagined him to be, a sneaking -hang-dog figure of a man, with a hypocritical face, gnawing his -finger-nails. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. -UNCLE BRYAN COMMENCES THE STORY OF HIS LIFE. - - -'Chris is growing quite a man,' observed my mother one evening to -uncle Bryan. - -Her words attracted uncle Bryan's attention, and he regarded me with -more interest than he usually evinced. We three were alone. Jessie was -spending the evening with some neighbours, and was not expected home -before ten o'clock. The family she visited was named West. I did not -know them personally, but I was curious about them, not only because -Jessie's visits to their house had lately grown very frequent, but -because they were a theatrical family. They were, in a certain sense, -famous in the neighbourhood because of their vocation, which lifted -them out of the humdrum ordinary course of common affairs. During the -whole time we had lived in Paradise-row, I had made no friends among -our neighbours. It was different with Jessie: before she had been with -us six months, she knew and was known by nearly every person in the -locality. She informed me that she was fond of company, and she -accepted invitations to tea from one and another. But lately she had -confined her intimacy to the Wests, and whenever I came home, and she -was absent, I was told she was spending an hour at their house. Many -weeks before the observation which commences this chapter was made, -Jessie and I had had a conversation about the Wests. She introduced -their name, and after informing me that she was going to have tea with -them on the following evening, asked me if I would come for her at -nine o'clock and bring her home. But I demurred to this, as being -likely to be considered an intrusion. - -'What nonsense you talk!' she exclaimed. They are the most delightful -persons in the world.' - -'Your friendships are quickly made, Jessie,' I said, with a jealous -pang. - -'Directly I see persons I know whether I like them or not. Don't you?' - -'I can't say,' I replied sententiously; 'I have never considered it.' - -'Well, consider it now. Don't be disagreeable. Directly you saw me, -didn't you like me?' - -'Oh, yes.' - -'Very well, then; that shows you _do_ make up your mind properly about -these things, as a man ought to do.' - -I thrilled with pleasure at this cunning compliment. - -'But you are different, Jessie, from any one else.' (What I really -wanted to say was, 'You are different in my eyes from any one else;' -but the most important words oozed away, from my want of courage.) - -'Am I?' she cried softly and complacently, as was her way when she -felt she was about to be flattered. How different? In what way? Tell -me.' - -'You are prettier and nicer. There's no one in the world like you.' - -'That's what you think.' - -'That's what everybody must think.' - -'Why, Chris!' she exclaimed, making a telescope with her two hands, -and peeping at me through them, I declare your moustachois are -coming.' - -I blushed scarlet. 'Are they?' I inquired, with an effort at -unconsciousness, notwithstanding that I had already many times -secretly contemplated in my looking-glass, with the most intense -interest, these coming signs of manliness. 'But never mind them, -Jessie; tell me about the Wests.' - -'They are the most wonderful people, and the most delightful. I'm in -love with all of them.' - -My blushes died away; jealous pangs assailed me again. - -'Are there many of them?' I asked gloomily. - -'Ever so many; but you must see for yourself. You will come for me, -then? You mustn't knock at the door and say, "Tell Miss Trim I am -waiting for her;" you must come right into the house.' - -But being angry with the Wests, and beginning to hate them because -Jessie was so fond of them, I insisted that it would not be proper, -because I had never been invited; and after a little quarrel, in which -I deemed it necessary, as an assertion of manliness, to become more -and more obstinate in my refusal, Jessie said with a pout, 'Oh, very -well; if you're determined to stand upon your dignity, you'll see that -other people can do so as well as you.' Thus it fell about that it -became a point almost of honour with me not to go to the Wests, nor to -express any desire to go; but I suffered agonies in consequence, and -was tempted many times to humble myself. Jessie knew as well as -possible what was going on in my mind; but she was offended with me on -the subject, and would not assist me--would not even give me an -opportunity of humbling myself. - -But all this while I have left uncle Bryan regarding me, as I have -said, with more than usual interest. From me he turned his attention -to the wall, upon which hung the picture of Jessie, in crayons, which -I had finished. I said nothing, but proceeded with my work. - -'What are you drawing now, Chris?' asked my uncle. - -Of course it was a sketch of Jessie. I murmured some words to the -effect that it was nothing particular, and was about to put it in my -desk, when uncle Bryan expressed a wish to see it. I could not refuse, -and I handed it to him. It happened to be one of my happiest efforts; -it would have been difficult to find a more winsome face than that -which uncle Bryan gazed upon. He contemplated it for a long time -without speaking--for so long a time that I asked him if he liked it, -so as to break the awkward silence. He did not answer me. With the -sketch still in his hand he said to my mother, - -'Emma, I have not treated you fairly.' - -My mother looked up from her work in surprise. Uncle Bryan continued: - -'What I am about to tell you ought to have been told before; but -probably no better time than this could be chosen. By the time I have -finished, you will perhaps understand my motive for saying so; but -whether you do or not, it is due to you that I should clear away some -part of the mystery which hangs around Jessie.' - -Although I was burning with curiosity, I rose to leave the room, -thinking from his manner that what he was about to say was intended -only for my mother's ears. - -'Nay, Chris,' he said, you can stay. 'You are almost a man, as your -mother says, and you may learn something from my words. I am about to -read some pages in my life.' - -He turned from us, so that we could not see his face; and full five -minutes elapsed before he spoke. I was awaiting to hear with so much -eagerness what he had to tell, that the five minutes seemed an hour. -With his face still averted, he addressed my mother. - -'Emma, you know the house in which I was born?' - -'Yes, Bryan.' - -'And you knew my family--my father and mother?' - -'Yes.' - -'They are not alive?' - -I could scarcely restrain an exclamation of surprise at such a -question from the lips of a son concerning his parents. My mother's -tone was soft and pitiful as she replied, - -'They have been dead many years, Bryan. They died within a year of my -marriage with your brother.' - -'During the time you and my brother courted, and afterwards indeed, my -name must have been occasionally mentioned.' - -'It was, Bryan.' - -'In what terms?' - -He paused for a reply, but my mother held her tongue. - -'Be frank and candid with me, Emma; it will not hurt me. What you -heard was not to my credit?' - -He was determined that the subject should not be evaded; and my mother -was wise enough not to thwart him. - -'It was said that you had a violent temper.' - -'It was doubtless true; but,' said uncle Bryan somewhat grimly, 'time -must have softened it. No one now can accuse me justly--if there is -such a thing as justice in the world--of showing violence, in the -ordinary meaning of the word.' - -'I can bear witness to that, Bryan.' - -'Go on; there was more.' - -'And that it was impossible to agree with you, or your opinions.' - -'My opinions! That is one of the things I wanted to arrive at. -Remember, Emma, that after I left home, I held no communication with -my parents; that I was as one dead to them. What was said of my -opinions? Nay, nay; you hurt me more by your silence than you can -possibly do by anything you can say.' - -'I heard that, as a boy, you associated yourself with a society of -Freethinkers, who openly boasted of their infidelity.' - -'I can guess the rest; I was wanting in respect to my elders, and in -obedience and duty. They did not spare me, evidently. When I left home -I was seventeen years of age; I ran away--no, I walked away, in fact, -for they did not care to stop me--as much displeased with the -narrow-minded views of those who were nearest to me in blood, as they -were doubtless with my violent temper and my independent expression of -opinion. A free exercise of the reasoning powers with which we are -endowed was, in their eyes, a sacrilege. Still, when I was fairly -gone, they might have let me rest. Of my after career they had no -knowledge.' - -These last words he did not put as a question, but as a satisfactory -reflection. The simplest assent from my mother would have contented -him; but she was too truthful to give utterance to it, and all his -suspicions were aroused by her silence. - -'I repeat--of my after career, they had no knowledge.' - -She would have spared him, but he would not allow her to do so. - -'They had!' he exclaimed, his rapid breathing showing how deeply he -was moved.' What did they know?' - -'The rumour was very vague, Bryan----' - -'But discreditable. To what effect?' - -'I really cannot explain, nor could they have done so, I believe.' My -mother was much distressed. 'If Chris were not here----' - -'Say no more.' I could not see his face, but his tone indicated that -he had recovered his composure. 'I can fill up the blanks. Chris is -older than I was when I threw myself upon the world, and it will be -best for him to hear the story I shall relate.' - -'Whatever impression I might have gained,' said my mother -solicitously, 'from the vague rumours I heard has been entirely -obliterated since I have known you. Believe me that this is so, dear -Bryan.' - -'Thank you for saying so much. But I doubt whether my parents would -ever have believed that I was not the blackest of black sheep. They -were hard and intolerant to me from the first, and I have no -pleasurable recollections of even my earliest days. I do not know if -it was the same when you were first introduced into it as it is in my -remembrance, but the home in which I was born and reared was ruled by -cold and formal laws, and by a cold and formal master. How it came -about is a mystery I have never tried to solve, but it is a plain fact -that I was not a favourite with my parents. My brother--your -husband--was; he was much younger than I, but I saw it clearly. His -nature was a more pliable one than mine; he could be easily led, not -because he was weak, but because he was sympathetic and amiable. I was -neither. Perhaps I imbibed some drops of gall with my mother's milk; -but I don't pretend to account for my cross grain. My parents might -have loved me after their fashion, but their mode of showing their -love deprived it of all tenderness. It is a blessing to a man to be -able to think of his mother with affection and veneration when she has -passed away from him. Such a feeling, and the roads he must have -trodden to acquire it, are a counterfoil to much that may be bad in -his own nature; but this feeling is not mine. My mother was a -weak-minded woman, entirely dominated by the strong mind of her -husband. She had no will of her own; she followed the current of his -likes and dislikes, of his opinions, of his commands, without question -and without inquiry, as a spaniel follows its master. Many persons -would see a kind of virtue in this submission; I do not. My father was -dogmatic and stern; I could have forgiven him that, if he had been -honest-minded. But he was a hypocrite, and I knew it, and he knew that -I knew it. With great appearance of candour, he, when conversing with -acquaintances in the presence of my mother and myself, would give -expression to sentiments in which he did not believe; then, when we -were alone, he would take off his mask of dissimulation, and go over -the ground again according to his own conviction, and justify his -deceit. If my mother ever thought of these things, she must have been -bewildered; I did think of him, and I was indignant. Most especially -was he a hypocrite in religious matters; his prayers and his practice -were utterly at variance. I could not respect one who professed to -believe that charity was a good thing, and who declined to practise -it. He was intolerant to a degree; his was the only right way--all -others were wrong. It was my evil fortune--I suppose I must call it -so--to possess a mind which led me to sift things for myself; I -_could_ not accept established doctrines, and this, in my father's -eyes, was not only a great presumption but a great crime. It is not -necessary for me to state how, little by little, I became estranged -from such parental affection as might have been bestowed upon me had I -been docile and obedient--as might have been mine if I had tried to -win it. I sought for congenial companionship away from the social -circle in which my parents moved; it is true that I found associates -among men who, doubtless with more reason than myself, were -dissatisfied with things as they were, and that I identified -myself--being, as a youth, proud of the connection--with a body of -so-called Freethinkers, whose chief crime was that they were groping -to find truth by the light of reason. My father, hearing of this -connection, sternly commanded me to relinquish it, and when I refused, -threatened me. He declared he would drive the evil spirit out of me, -and he tried to do so by blows; but he hurt only my body--my spirit he -strengthened. About this time a circumstance occurred which for ever -destroyed all chance of peace between us. We had a servant at home, a -poor half-witted creature--an orphan without a friend in the world. -One would have supposed that my father, being so fond of his prayers, -would have been kind to this servant because of her utterly dependent -condition, and because she performed her work as well and as -faithfully as her dull wits allowed her. Had this been so, I think I -might have been inclined to waver in my estimate of him; but the -contrary was the case. My father, through his unvarying harshness -towards the poor girl, made her life a torture to her. I constituted -myself her champion, and stepped between her and his blows many a -time. Boy as I was, he chose to place misconstruction upon my -championship, and each became more embittered against the other. I fed -my bitterness by contemplation of the girl's misery, and the unhappy -war went on until it was terminated by a tragic circumstance. One day -the servant was missing; the next, the body was found in the river. -The idea fixed itself firmly in my mind that my father was accountable -for her death; I even hinted as much to him when my blood was boiling -with a new injustice inflicted upon myself. What passed between us -after that, it will be as well not to recall; the result was that I -left my home, and no hand was held out to stay me. I never saw my -parents from that day, nor have I ever mentioned them until this -evening. Whether I have done them injustice cannot now be decided; but -I have no doubt, if the world were to judge between us, the verdict -would be against me. - -'I retained my name because, in my opinion, I had done nothing to -disgrace it, and because I abhor deceit. I was neither elated nor -depressed at the step I had taken. It is said that the springtime of -life is bright with sunshine. The springtime of my life was joyless -and gloomy. I had no hope in anything, no belief in anything, no faith -in anything. I had no special ambition and no desire to become rich; -all that I desired was to earn a decent living by the labour of my -hands and the exercise of my abilities. I determined to make no -friendships, and to live only in myself and by myself. Although I had -no thought of it at the time, I can see now that the rules I laid down -for myself were just the rules, with fair opportunities, to lead to -success in life. - -'In my determination to sever myself entirely from my family, I -wandered away from my native place until I was distant from it -hundreds of miles. Then, a stranger among strangers, I applied myself -to the task of obtaining a situation. I could read, I could write, and -I was a fair bookkeeper; but these qualifications did not avail me, -and I was driven to hard shifts. Had I been shipwrecked on a lonely -land I should have fared better. I did nothing dishonest, nor would I -have done it to save my life; but I shrunk from nothing to earn a few -pence. I accepted employment in whatever shape it was offered; no toil -was too low for me, so long as it would buy me bread. The hardships -which the world dealt out to me did not dishearten me, did not humble -me; I bore them with pride, and in my bitter frame of mind I found a -certain pleasure even in misery. My unmerited sufferings were -arguments to convince me that I was right in my estimate of things. -Look where I would, I could nowhere find morality and humanity -exercised in their larger sense; where charity was most due, it was -least given; virtue and goodness were terms; all over the civilised -world religious precepts were being preached; all over the civilised -world religious precepts were being violated; what was good in the -Bible was turned to bad account--its power was so used as to teach -people to fear, not to love. During these days I used to creep into -the churches and laugh at the moralities there laid down. It was a -hard bitterly-sweet time; I did not repine; in my pride I exulted in -my condition. Many a night did I walk the streets homeless and hungry, -laughing at my sufferings. Life had no attractions for me, and I did -not desire to live. But I was part of a scheme--I recognised that, -although I could not solve the problem--and I would do nothing to -myself; I would simply wait. From men and women in as miserable a -position as myself I rejected all overtures of friendship; I had -nothing in common with them. But on a starless night I met one to whom -was drawn by humanity, if you like to call it by that name. A woman -this, a girl indeed, homeless as I was, friendless as I was. Nay, you -may listen, Emma. I became like a brother to her, and she like a -sister to me. Neither knew how the other lived, neither asked; and -when we were specially unfortunate we wandered by instinct to a -certain street, and met by premeditated chance. Then we would talk -together for hours, or sit in silence in the shadow of a friendly -refuge. She told me her story--a pitiful story, but common: it -hardened me the more. I never saw her face by daylight; a dark shadow -encompassed her and her history. "I am so tired of life!" she said to -me; "these stones must be happier than I, for they cannot feel. Would -it be wrong to die?" I drove the thought from her mind. "Be brave, and -play your part," I said aloud, and added mentally, "It will not be for -long." I can hear now the faint echo of her dreary laugh at my words, -and the strangely-pitiful tone in which she repeated, "Be brave, and -play my part!" I knew she would not live long; a desperate cold had -settled on her lungs, and her cough, as we walked the desolate streets -or sat in them after midnight, was a sound to cause the stars to weep. -She died in my arms during one of these wanderings. I had no special -foreboding of her death, nor had she, I believe; she was seized with a -violent fit of coughing, and she clung to me, as she had often done, -for support, then suddenly she fell to the ground, and I saw blood -coming from her mouth. "Don't leave me," she sighed, almost with her -last breath; "you can do me no good. Thank God it is over!" An inquest -was held, and I gave evidence. Necessarily some particulars concerning -my own mode of life came out, and after the inquest a man offered me -money. I rejected it; I had resolved never to accept charity. The man -was surprised; questioned me; and learning that I was willing to work, -offered me employment. I remained with him long enough to clothe -myself decently and to save a little money, and then I turned my back -upon a place which had become hateful to me. It must have been a -rumour of my connection with the poor girl who died in my arms that -was twisted to my discredit in my native town, and it was your mention -of it that has caused me to drift into details which, when I -commenced, I had no intention of relating.' - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. -STRANGE REVELATIONS IN UNCLE BRYAN'S LIFE. - - -So, without a friend in the world, I wandered still further away from -the town in which I was born. I tarried here and tarried there, and -found no rest for the sole of my foot until I reached a city where, -before my means were exhausted, I obtained employment in the office of -an accountant. It was by the merest chance that I obtained the -situation, for there were many applicants; but I was quick at figures, -and that quality served me. The position was not a distinguished one; -I was not destined to occupy it long, however, for being coldly -interested in my work--simply because it enabled me to live--I -performed the tasks set for me to do, not only expeditiously, but with -the exactitude of a machine. This was precisely what was required of -me, and I rose into favour with my employer. Some of the clients who -came to us for advice in their difficulties were afflicted with a kind -of moral disease, which for their credits' sake it was necessary -should not be exposed to the world. It was not the business of our -office to be nice as to our clients' honesty and integrity, and it did -not trouble me to see rogues walking about in broadcloth. It was of a -piece with the rest. Many delicate matters of figures were intrusted -to me; my lonely habits, my reserved manner, and the circumstance of -my having no connections or friends, were high recommendations, and I -heard my employer say, more than once, to his clients, 'Mr. Carey is -as secret as the grave; you may confide anything to him.' No wonder, -therefore, that in the course of years I became manager of the -business. I began to save money, simply because I was earning more -than I required for my necessities. I had no extravagances, I never -went into society, and I did not see that any pleasure was to be -derived from following the ordinary pursuits of men of my own age. I -set down a rigid course of life for myself, and I spent my leisure in -solitude; walked and read and lived entirely in myself. One fancy -alone I indulged in; I loved flowers, and I made them my companions. -An occupation of some kind for my leisure was forced upon me, I -suppose, by natural necessity; the mind, if its balance is to be -maintained, must have something to feed upon, and I tended my flowers -and watched them through their various stages with much interest; I -had, and have a real affection for them. Every year that passed fixed -my habits more firmly, and I had no desire to change them. Apart from -my mute and beautiful friends, life was tasteless for me; there was no -sweetness in it that I could see. It consisted of dull plodding day -after day, of growing older day after day. I reflected upon it with -scornful curiosity, and made myself, as it were, a text for -speculative commentary. I knew what would be the end of it: in the -natural order of things I should live until I grew old, when, in the -natural order of things, I should die and pass away, fading into -absolute nothingness--that was all. It seemed to me a poor affair, so -far as it was presented to me in the different aspects with which I -had been made familiar. I often thought of the poor girl who had been -the only friend I had ever had in the world, and in that remembrance -was comprised all the tenderness I had ever felt towards my species. - -I hope I do not distress you by my words; but it has come upon me in -some odd way to give you as exact a portrait of myself, as I was at -that time, as I can produce; perhaps for the reason that I wish you to -understand the wonderful change that took place in me not long -afterwards. Years ago I buried as in a grave all the records of my -life, with the intention of never speaking of them, of never thinking -of them if I could help it. But man proposes, chance disposes. Even -to-night I intended to pluck out only one remembrance, but I have been -overpowered. - -When I was thirty years of age I was taken into partnership, and five -years afterwards my partner died, and I was sole master. Before I was -taken into partnership I had been a machine, paid to perform certain -duties; but when I was a partner I considered myself responsible for -the nature of the business we undertook, and I purified the office, -sending all clients away who came with a dishonest intent. This change -resulted, strangely enough, to my advantage, and the business -increased. I conducted it steadily, without in any respect changing my -mode of life. The money I was making was in every way valueless to me. -I had no one to whom I cared to leave it, and no pet scheme which I -wished to be carried out after my death. I remember thinking that it -would be a fine thing to fling the money into the sea before I died. - -I come now to the most eventful page in the history of my life. If I -could blot out the record, and could stamp it into oblivion, I would -gladly do so; but it is out of my power, and I can only look upon it -with wonder, and upon myself with contempt for the part I played in -it. - -It was a cold day in November, and a miserable sleet was falling. I -was sitting alone in my private office, looking over some papers, when -my clerk announced a Mr. Richard Glaive, who had written that he -wished to consult me upon his affairs. He entered--a tall sleek man, -well fed, well dressed, about fifty years of age--a man, I judged, who -had seen but little of the troubles of the world. But there was -trouble in his face on the occasion of my first introduction to him. -With the air of one who was suffering from a deep injustice, he -explained to me the nature of his inheritance. I learnt that he was, -as I had supposed, a man who had never worked, who had never done -anything useful, and who had lived all his life upon a moderate income -which he had inherited. Wishing to increase his income, for the -purpose, as I understood, of being able the better to enjoy -life--'surely an innocent and laudable desire,' he said--he had been -tempted to take a large number of shares in a company which had been -established with a great flourish of promises--had been tempted to -become a director for the sake of the fees; 'nothing to do, my dear -sir,' he explained to me, and so much a year for it; the very thing to -suit a gentleman.' His money hitherto had yielded five per cent, -invested in safe securities; the new company promised from twenty to -thirty. The temptation was too great to be resisted, and, blinded by -his cupidity, he had walked into the pit. As was to be expected, the -company was a bubble, the crash came, and the gulls were swooped upon -by the creditors. Lawyers' letters were pouring in upon him, and -actions were about to be taken against him. There were other -complications, also, in the shape of long-standing debts upon which he -had been paying interest, but a full settlement of which was now -demanded. There was a manifest sense of injury in his tone as he spoke -of these debts--'youthful follies,' he called them; adding -immediately, with an easy smile, 'youth must have its fling;' -conveying the idea that he did not consider himself responsible for -them, for the reason that they had been so long standing. Altogether -the case was a common one enough, and when he had concluded the -catalogue of his embarrassments, I said that the first thing to be -done was to prepare a statement of his affairs from his papers, so -that he might really see how he stood with the world. He thanked me -effusively, as though I had suggested something which would not have -occurred to an ordinary mind, and said that he had been advised to -consult me, as I should most certainly be able to steer him safely -through his difficulties. I replied that I would do the best I could, -and on the following day he brought to the office a mass of papers, -letters, and accounts. He had received other threatening letters since -our first interview, and he was in a fever of perplexity. 'I depend -entirely upon you, my dear sir,' he said. I suggested that I should -write to his creditors to the effect that he had placed his affairs in -my hands, and that in a short time he would be able to make a proposal -to them, asking them to be patient in the mean while. He assented, -saying, in words which sounded queerly in my ears, that all he wanted -was to be relieved of his liabilities, and to be allowed to go on -enjoying life in his old way; and before he left he asked me not to -intrust the business to the hands of my clerks, but to undertake it -personally myself. I promised that I would do so, and in a week I had -the statement prepared--a statement which showed his affairs to be in -the worst possible condition. He was insolvent to the extent of not -being able to pay one quarter of what he owed. I was surprised at this -result, for I had expected something very different from his manner -and statements. On the morning of the day on which it had been -arranged that Mr. Glaive should call, I received a note from him, -saying that he was very unwell, and that he would regard it as a -favour if I would come to his house and explain matters to him. In the -ordinary course of business I should have sent a clerk with the -statement; but I could not do so in this instance, as it was necessary -I should tell him what course he had best pursue. At seven o'clock in -the evening I was at his house, a pretty little villa in the suburbs -embedded in a garden. I was shown at once into what Mr. Glaive called -his study, where he sat expecting me. He glanced carelessly down the -columns of figures in the statement. - -'I don't understand figures,' he said; 'will you please explain them -to me?' - -I commenced an explanation of the statement, line by line, when he -interrupted me, saying, - -'Pray forgive me, but I can't keep these details in my head. Tell me -the result.' - -I told him in one word--ruin. Hitherto his manner had been so -indifferent that one might have supposed we were speaking of business -which did not concern him, but on mention of the word 'ruin,' a -deathly paleness came into his face. Before he had time to speak the -door opened, and a young man entered the room with the air of one who -was privileged in the house. - -'Uncle,' he said, 'Fanny told me--' - -'Don't you see that I'm engaged, Ralph?' cried Mr. Glaive. 'I can't be -disturbed. Go and wish Fanny good-night.' - -The young man muttered a word or two of laughing apology, and retired. -I saw him no more on that night, but, in the brief glance I cast at -him, I saw that he was singularly handsome. - -'Now tell me,' said Mr. Glaive, breathing quickly, 'what is your -meaning?' - -'My meaning is clear enough,' I answered. 'If these claims against you -are pressed--and they will be--your entire property will not be -sufficient to pay one-fourth of them.' - -'But why should the claims be pressed?' he asked, with a helpless -look. - -I almost laughed in his face. - -'You owe the money,' I said; 'that should be a sufficient -explanation.' - -'Do you mean to tell me,' he asked, 'that they would turn me out of -house and home?' And he looked around his comfortably-furnished room. - -'It is more than probable,' I replied. 'I know the lawyers with whom -you have to deal. This house is your own freehold, and its value is -included in the statement.' - -He clasped his hands despairingly; I was silent, despising his -weakness. - -'Can't you advise me?' he cried. 'If ruin came to you, what would you -do?' - -'Bear it,' I replied. I was growing weary of him. - -'Have you any children?' he asked. - -'No,' I replied. - -'Nor wife perhaps?' he continued. - -'Nor wife, nor child, nor friend,' I said, rising. - -'What are you going to do?' he cried. 'For God's sake, don't leave me! -You have undertaken the conduct of my affairs, and you will surely not -desert me when your services are most needed?' - -The observation was a just one, and I resumed my seat. I should not -have attempted to leave so abruptly had it not been that his manner of -addressing me had irritated me. He had spoken to me as though our -positions were not equal, almost as though I were a dependent, and it -was because of this that I had answered him roughly. His manner was -now changed; it became almost servile. He implored me to suggest a -plan by which he could be released from his liabilities, and he -revealed sufficient of his true nature to convince me that he would -have shrunk from no meanness to accomplish his desire. Perhaps, -however, I do him injustice; perhaps I should rather say that he -convinced me he had no sense of moral responsibility in the matter. I -resolved to come to the point at once, and I told him that I saw -absolutely no way but one in which he could free himself from his -liabilities, and that even that way, supposing his creditors were -hard, would be difficult and harassing. It was by offering to give up -the whole of his property on the condition of obtaining a clear -release. - -'But then I shall be beggared,' he exclaimed, pressing his hand to his -heart. 'It is cruel--merciless!' - -'It is just,' I said sternly. 'Your creditors have more right to -complain than you. 'There is another plan, certainly, by which you -might be enabled to keep possession of your house.' - -He asked me eagerly what it was, and I said that if he had a friend -who would come forward and advance the necessary sum, his creditors -would almost certainly accept it; but he informed me that he had no -such friend, and that he and his daughter were alone in the world. -Upon mention of his daughter, as if he had conjured her up, she -entered the room. I do not know how to describe the effect of her -appearance upon me. It was like the breaking of the sun upon one who -had lived in the dark all his life. Mr. Glaive, clutching my arm, drew -me close to him, and whispered to me that _that_ was the reason he -could not contemplate the ruin before him with a calm mind. - - -(Uncle Bryan paused. Hitherto he had spoken in a cold and measured -tone; when he resumed his story his voice was no longer passionless, -and he did not seek to hold it in restraint.) - - -As Mr. Glaive introduced me to his daughter I rose to go, and bowing -to her and saying that I would see him again, was about to take my -departure, when Miss Glaive said she hoped she had not frightened me -away. Not her words, nor the effect of her appearance upon me, but her -voice, arrested my steps; it was so exactly like the voice of the poor -girl of whose last agony I had been the only witness, that I turned -and looked steadily at her. There was no resemblance between them--my -lost friend was dark, Miss Glaive was fair. - -'You look at me,' said Miss Glaive, 'as if you knew me.' - -I managed to say that her voice reminded me of a dear friend. - -'Dear!' Miss Glaive exclaimed archly; 'very dear?' - -'Very dear,' I said gravely. - -'A lady friend?' she asked, with smiles. - -'She of whom I speak,' I said, 'was a woman.' - -'Was!' echoed Miss Glaive. - -'She is dead,' I explained. - -'I am sorry,' said Miss Glaive very gently; 'I beg your pardon.' - -I was strangely stirred by her sympathising words. There was a little -pause, and I moved again, towards the door, not wishing to leave, but -finding no cause to stay. Again her voice arrested me. - -'If you go now,' she said, 'I shall be quite sure that I _have_ -frightened you away. Papa declares that no one makes tea like me; I -tell him he knows nothing about it. Do you drink tea, Mr. Carey? You -shall be the judge.' - -'And after tea,' added Mr. Glaive with an observant look at me--he had -grown calmer while his daughter and I were speaking--'Fanny will give -us some music.' - -Miss Glaive did not ask for my verdict upon her tea-making, and soon -sat down to the piano and played. In this quiet way an hour must have -passed without a word being spoken. It was a new experience to me, and -it took me out of myself as it were. The peaceful room, the presence -of this graceful girl, and the sweet melodies she played, softly and -dreamily, seemed to me to belong to another and a better world than -that in which I was accustomed to move. It was strangely unreal and -strangely beautiful. The music ceased, and Miss Glaive came to my -side. - -'Papa is asleep,' she whispered; 'we must be very quiet now.' - -There were books on the table, and I turned the leaves of one without -any consciousness of what I was gazing upon. It did not occur to me -that this was the proper time for me to leave; I was as a man -enthralled. A movement made by the sleeping man (did he sleep? I have -sometimes wondered in my jealous analysis of these small details) -aroused me from my dream, and I wished Miss Glaive good-night. She -accompanied me to the street-door. - -'Papa is in trouble,' she said; are you going to assist him?' - -'He has asked for my advice,' I replied. - -'We must not talk now,' she said, 'for fear he should wake up and miss -me; he is irritable, and has heart-disease. May I call and see you -to-morrow? I know where your office is. I wrote the notes you received -from papa.' - -'I shall be glad to see you,' I said. - -'At three o'clock, then,' were her last words, and we shook hands and -parted. - -A heavy rain had set in during my visit, but I was scarcely conscious -of it as I walked into the town. Late as it was, I went to my office. -For what purpose do you think? To get the notes which I had received -from Mr. Glaive--the notes which now were precious to me because she -had written them. I took them home with me and read them, and studied -the delicate writing with senseless infatuation, and then placed them -under my pillow for a charm, as a schoolgirl might have done. At the -office the next morning I made another and a closer examination of Mr. -Glaive's affairs, with the same result as I had previously obtained. -Ruin was before him--before her. Punctually at three o'clock Miss -Glaive arrived. I met her at the door, and conducted her to my private -room. My impressions of the previous night were deepened by her -appearance; she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and her -charm of manner was perfect. It would be useless for me to attempt to -describe the feelings with which she inspired me; I have often -endeavoured to account for them and understand them, and have never -succeeded. - -'Papa is very ill to-day,' she said; 'the doctor has been to see him, -and says that he is suffering from mental disorder, which may prove -dangerous. I have come to you to ask you the nature of his trouble.' - -'Do you not think,' I asked, 'that he would be angry if he knew I had -made any disclosure of his private affairs?' - -'But he need not know,' she replied; 'I shall not tell him. Let it -be a confidence between us. I saw some papers which you brought last -night, but I do not understand them any more than papa does.' - -I could not resist her pleading, and I told her, awkwardly and -hesitatingly, what I had told her father. - -'And all this trouble is about money,' she said with smiles; 'I was -afraid it was something worse.' - -I told her that it could not well be worse, unless she knew where -money was to be obtained. She answered that she did not know, but that -she supposed it would be got somewhere. - -'You don't understand these matters of business,' I said; 'it is -perhaps better for you.' - -'That can't be,' she exclaimed; 'if I knew anything of business I -should know where to get the money from, and I would get it That is -what business men are for, is it not?' - -Charmed as I was by her simplicity--a simplicity which was utterly new -to me, and which it was delightful to hear from her lips--I deemed it -my duty to explain matters clearly to her. Steeling my heart, I did so -in plain terms, and showed her the position in which her father would -be placed within a very few days. - -'You frighten me!' she cried, as my words forced conviction upon her; -and overcome by the news or by my manner of telling it, she fainted. -If she had been fair before, how much fairer was she now as she lay -before me? Her childlike ways, her beauty, her helplessness, made a -slave of me. I feared at first that I had killed her, and I reproached -myself bitterly. Timidly I bathed her forehead with water, and when -she opened her eyes, and looked at me in innocent wonder, a feeling -that might have been heaven-born--to use a phrase--so fraught was it -with thankful happiness, took possession of me. I explained to her -what had occurred, and she lowered her veil to hide her tears. As I -witnessed her grief, it seemed to me as if I were the cause of her -father's misfortunes. - -'And there is absolutely no hope for us?' she sobbed. - -'There is only the hope,' I replied, 'as I explained to your father, -that some friend will come forward and serve him in this strait.' - -'Papa has no such friend that I know of,' she said. - -I thought of the young man whom I had seen at Mr. Glaive's house on -the previous night, and I mentioned him. - -'Ralph,' she said, 'my cousin. No, he is very poor.' She turned to me. -'I had a fancy last night that you were our friend.' - -I answered in a constrained voice: 'I never saw Mr. Glaive until a -fortnight ago; he called upon me only in the way of business.' - -'Forgive me,' she murmured; 'I was wrong to come, perhaps--but I did -not know.' - -'If I could serve you--' I said, and paused. The words came to my lips -and were uttered almost without the exercise of my will; not that I -repented of them. She threw up her veil, and moved towards me. - -'_If!_' she echoed. 'You could if you pleased, could you not? _You_ are -rich?' - -'I am not a poor man,' I said. - -'Help us,' she pleaded, holding out her hands to me. 'Be my friend.' - -I murmured something--I did not know what--and she clasped my hand; -the warm pressure of her fingers upon mine thrilled my pulses. The -next minute I was alone. I strove to concentrate my thoughts upon -certain matters of business which claimed my attention, but I found it -impossible to do so. I could not dispossess myself of the image of -Frances Glaive. In an idle humour I wrote her name, Frances Glaive, -over and over again; if I had been a boy, with all a boy's enthusiasm, -instead of a man hardened and embittered by cruel experience, I could -not have behaved more in accordance with established precedent. I saw -Frances Glaive sitting in the vacant chair at my table; I heard her -sweet voice; I gazed upon her face as it lay, insensible and -beautiful, before me. 'Be my friend,' she had said. I could serve her; -it was in my power to make her happy. I took out my bank-book and the -private ledger in which I kept the record of my worldly progress; I -was rich enough to pay all Mr. Glaive's liabilities, and still have a -considerable sum left; but I need not pay them in full. I knew that I -could easily settle with his creditors for a trifle over the value of -his estate. I did not value money, and yet I decided upon nothing; I -could not think calmly upon the matter; I thought only of Frances -Glaive, knowing full well that she, by a word, by a look, by a smile, -could make me do any wild or extravagant thing against all reason and -conviction. I craved to see her again, and so strong was this craving -that in the evening I found myself walking in the direction of Mr. -Glaive's house. I can recall the manner of that walk; I can recall -how, governed by an impulse stronger than reason, I still was -conscious of a curious mental conflict which was being waged within -me, independent of my own will as it seemed, and the most powerful -forces of which strove to pull me back, while I was really walking -along without hesitation. I _did_ hesitate when I stood before Mr. -Glaive's house, but only for a very few moments. Frances Glaive came -into the passage to receive me. - -'I thought you would come,' she said, her face lighting up. - -'And you are glad?' I could not help asking. - -'Very, very glad. Papa is in the study; he is dreadfully weak and ill, -and I have been counting the minutes. May I tell him that I have -brought him a friend?' - -'Yes,' I answered; 'a friend of yours.' - -All this while she had not relinquished my hand; and I too willingly -retained hers in mine. Well, well--at that time I would have thought -no price too heavy to pay for such precious moments. - -I will not prolong my story more than I can help; already it has far -exceeded the limits I proposed to myself; but when the floodgates are -opened, the tide rushes in. You can guess what followed; you can guess -that I served Mr. Glaive for the sake of his daughter. In a short time -he was a free man, and I was his only creditor. I grew to love Frances -Glaive most passionately, and her father saw and encouraged my -passion. My character underwent a wonderful change. Love transformed -all things. Through Frances Glaive's innocence and artlessness the -world became purified; through her beauty the world became beautiful -to me. By simple contact with her nature all the bitterness in my -nature was dissolved. The scales fell from my eyes, and I saw good -even in things I had most despised. The days were brighter; the nights -were sweeter. Life was worth having. Say that a man who had been born -blind, and who had no knowledge of the beauties of nature, is suddenly -blessed with vision; a new world is open to him, and he appreciates, -with the most exquisite enjoyment and sensibility, the light and -colour and graceful shapes by which for the first time he sees -himself surrounded. The spring buds, the bright sunshine of summer, -the russet tints of autumn, the pure snow with its myriad wonders, as -it lies on the hills, as it floats in the air, as it fringes the bare -branches--not alone these, but the tiniest insect, the smallest -flower, are revelations to him. It was thus with me, and all the fresh -feelings of youth came to me when I was a middle-aged man. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. -UNCLE BRYAN CONCLUDES HIS STORY. - - -I became a frequent visitor at Mr. Glaive's house. Three or four times -every week I spent my evenings there, and I was always welcomed with -smiles and good words. Mr. Glaive and his daughter had never mingled -in the gaieties of the city; neither had I. One night we were speaking -of a concert that was to be given at the largest public hall in the -city; a royal prince had promised his patronage, and Frances Glaive -was eager to see him. - -'I should like to go so much,' she said; 'I think I would give -anything to go.' - -'I would take you with pleasure,' said her father; 'but there are two -obstacles. One is the expense--that could be got over, I daresay; but -the other is insurmountable. The excitement would be too much for my -heart.' - -His heart was a favourite theme with him; he was not to be troubled or -irritated or excited because of it; he was to be petted and humoured -because of it. It enabled him to live the life he loved best--a life -of perfect indolence. - -The next time I visited them, I presented Frances Glaive with tickets -for the concert. It required courage on my part, for it was the first -step in a new direction. - -'What am I to do with them?' she asked. 'You are very good, but I have -no one to take me.' - -'I was going to ask Mr. Glaive,' I said, 'if he would intrust you to -my care.' - -Mr. Glaive replied in his heartiest manner, and his daughter was wild -with delight. If anything had been needed to complete the spell, -Frances Glaive's appearance on that night would have supplied it. For -beauty, for grace, for freshness, there was not a lady in the hall who -could compare with her. I experienced a new feeling of happiness as I -witnessed the admiring glances of the assembly, and Frances Glaive -herself was no less happy in the admiration she excited. From that -night we drifted into the gaieties of the city, and I became her -constant companion--necessarily, because I supplied the means. - -I must mention here that her cousin Ralph was also a constant visitor -at the house; but although he was on terms of affectionate intimacy -with Frances--which I set down, not without jealous feeling, to their -cousinship and to their having been much together during their -childhood--Mr. Glaive did not seem to care for his presence at that -time. I heard Ralph say to Frances at one time, when she spoke of an -entertainment to which we were going, - -'I would take you if I had money.' - -'Get rich, then,' she replied, 'like Mr. Carey; but you are too idle -to work.' - -I believed this to be pretty near the truth, although he chose to put -another construction upon his indolence by saying that it was his -misfortune to have been born a gentleman. He was barely twenty-two -years of age at the time, but he had learnt that fine lesson -perfectly. I came upon them then, and Frances Glaive said that she had -just told her cousin that he was too idle to work, and that he had -pleaded as an excuse that he had been born a gentleman. How I loved -her for her frankness and truthfulness! Ralph turned very red, and -said that he would work if he could obtain anything suitable. A little -while after this conversation, at the intercession of his cousin, I -obtained a situation for him, but he did not keep it many weeks. He -was altogether too fine for work. As I have said, I had a jealous -feeling towards him with reference to Frances Glaive; his youth, his -comeliness, his gayer manners made me uneasy sometimes, and my intense -love often magnified this feeling until it became torture. Was not -this pearl of womanhood too precious for me to hope to win? On one -side there was light; on the other, darkness. There was no medium. -Without her love, it was blackest night; with her love, it was -brightest day. I determined to know my fate, and soon; but before I -had mustered sufficient courage to speak, Mr. Glaive anticipated me. -My attentions to his daughter, he said, were becoming conspicuous; as -her only protector--a poor and helpless one, he added, with his -heart-complaint, which prevented his guarding her and watching over -her as he should--he was naturally anxious as to her future. I took -advantage of a pause to ask nervously if my attentions were -displeasing to him. Not at all, he answered eagerly; but as a father -he was bound to ask the precise meaning that was to be attached to -them. If ever I had a child of my own, I should be able to understand -his anxiety. He put his handkerchief to his eyes, and waited for me to -speak. A thrill of unspeakable happiness set my pulses quivering with -sweet music. A child of my own--of hers! If such a solemn charge were -given into my hands, how sacredly, how tenderly would I guard it! I -replied to Mr. Glaive, that my attentions could have but one meaning, -and that it was my dearest hope to make Frances Glaive my wife. Then -ensued a business conversation as to my means, as to how he himself -was to live, and other details. My answers must have satisfied him, -for he told me that the day on which I became his son-in-law would be -the happiest day in his life. - -'Take an early opportunity,' he said, 'of seeing Frances, and speak -for yourself.' - -'I would have spoken to her at once; but he told me that she was not -at home, and that he had designed this interview while she was out -lest we should be disturbed, or lest he had misunderstood the -attention I had paid to her. I appreciated the delicacy of his design, -and I waited until the following day. I was not destined to be -disappointed; Frances Glaive accepted me for her husband. I scarcely -dared to ask her if she loved me, but when she placed her hand in -mine, was it not sufficient? I bought the house which pleased her -best, and left her to furnish it according to her taste. It delighted -me to humour her in all her whims; nothing that she did, nothing that -she said, could be wrong. I changed my mode of life to please her; I -dressed to please her. What was right in her eyes was right in mine. -There was no questioning on my part. I had found my teacher, and I was -supremely satisfied to be led by her who had brought sunshine into my -life. She furnished the house with, exquisite taste; it cost three -times the money I had anticipated, but she said, - -'What does it matter? You are rich.' - -What _did_ it matter? What consideration of money could influence me -when I would have given her my heart's blood had she asked for it? - -Well, we were married. On the wedding-day I gave Mr. Glaive a full -release of what he owed me. - -'My father-in-law must not be my creditor,' I said. - -For a time I was very, very happy, and Frances herself seemed to be -so. If indulgence in every whim, in every desire, can produce -happiness, she must have been in possession of it, for I grudged her -nothing. It was very sweet to be led, and I did not count the cost. -Ralph, her cousin, lived almost entirely at our house. I found it -difficult to enter thoroughly into my wife's enjoyments, although I -strove honestly to do so. She was fond of society, fond of dress, fond -of being admired; if, now and then, a thought intruded itself that -there was frivolousness in her fancies, I crushed it down. What right -had I to judge? My life had been until now a life of misery, because -of my belief in my own convictions, because I had judged everything by -hard stern rules; and now, when happiness was in my possession, and I -had discovered the folly and the error of my ways, I would not allow -myself to relapse into my old beliefs. We were living at a rate that -outstripped my means, but it did not trouble me much. Money would make -no difference in our feelings: if we grew poor, it would be a good -test for our affection. I happened to mention casually to Mr. Glaive -that we were living at a high rate. - -'You surely do not mean to retrench!' he exclaimed. - -'I certainly have no such intention,' I replied, smiling, 'unless -Frances wishes it. She knows my position, and I am entirely satisfied -to be led by her.' - -'Quite right,' said my father-in-law, regarding me somewhat -thoughtfully I fancied; 'women know best about these matters--though -Frances after all is a mere girl, twenty years your junior at least, -eh?' - -'That is so,' I said, angry with myself for feeling uneasy at the -remark. - -'Yes, yes,' he continued; 'it would break her heart to give up any of -her little whims--she is like a child. The dear girl _must_ enjoy -life--now is her only time. By and by, when she becomes a mother, -perhaps--' - -I turned from him; it was my dearest hope, but it was fated not to be -gratified. - -'I tell you what it is, Bryan,' he said, 'you do not make a proper use -of your opportunities; were I in your position, I would treble my -income.' - -'By what means?' I asked. - -'By speculating, my dear Bryan; by speculating judiciously, as with -your abilities you would be sure to do. Think of the additional -pleasures you could offer my dear girl, and of the thousand ways in -which you could add to her enjoyment of life.' - -Money had never presented itself to me in this light before; Mr. -Glaive was right; it was a thing to be desired for what it would -purchase. I took heed of his counsels, and became a speculator. The -words he had spoken to me bore other fruit besides--bitter fruit, from -the distress they caused me. I was twenty-five--not twenty--years -older than Frances, and gray hairs were multiplying fast on my head. -The thought that in a very few years my hair might be quite white, -while Frances would be still a girl, gave me unutterable pain; but I -strove to banish it from my mind. We had been married nearly six -months, and with the exception of my own self-torturings, no cloud had -appeared to darken our lives, when a circumstance occurred. As -I was going home one evening, a woman stopped me--a poor ragged -creature--and addressing me by name, begged me to assist her. During -those few months I never paused to inquire into the merits of an -appeal for charity--my own happiness pleaded for the applicants, and I -gave without question. I gave this woman a shilling, and she accepted -it thankfully enough, but with the mournful remark that it would be -gone to-morrow. That, and the circumstance of her addressing me by -name--I having no knowledge of her--interested me, and I questioned -her. She was a stranger, she said, and had but newly arrived, having -walked many weary miles. Where did she come from? I asked; and she -mentioned the town where I had first tarried and suffered after -leaving my home. She told me that she saw my name over my place of -business, and had recognised it as belonging to one who had been most -kind to a young friend she knew years and years ago, and then she -mentioned the name of the girl who had died in my arms. - -'What were you?' I asked. 'I have no remembrance of you.' - -'Don't ask me what I was or what I am,' she faltered; 'but if you can -assist me to lead an honest life, do so for pity's sake.' - -In memory of the poor girl whom she had known, I determined to assist -this unfortunate creature--at this time a middle-aged woman--and I -obtained a respectable lodging for her at once. I told her that we -would never refer to the past, but that she should commence a new and -better life at once. And she did; and honestly fulfilled its duties. - -Everything seemed to be going on well and happily at home, and I was -in the full enjoyment of my fool's paradise, when I received a shock -which almost turned the current of my blood. It took place on a day -when I had been occasioned much annoyance by the circumstance of my -father-in-law drawing upon me, without my permission, for a sum of -money which was of consequence to me. It was not the first time he had -done this, and I had paid his drafts with but slight reluctance, for -they were for small amounts. But the amount of the present bill was -serious, and it came at an inconvenient time. I was so much annoyed -that, knowing Mr. Glaive to be at my house spending the evening, I -determined not to go home until late, for fear that angry words might -pass between us in the presence of Frances. So I sent a note to my -wife, saying that business detained me at the office; and I idled away -the time until ten o'clock, when I walked slowly home. My wife was not -in the usual room in which we sat of an evening, and I went to a -little room of which she was very fond, and which she called her -sanctuary. I heard voices there, hers and her cousin Ralph's, and the -words that he was addressing to her arrested my steps. I was guilty -then of the first mean action in my life--I listened. What I heard I -cannot here repeat, but I heard enough to know that I had been cheated -and cajoled. I did not wait for the end, but I stole away with a -desolate heart. My dream was over, and I was awake again, with a -desolate heart, and with all my old opinions and old convictions at -work within me in stronger force than ever. - -I said nothing; certain as I was of the ugly bitter truth, I resolved -to be still more certain of it, not from my own impressions, but from -outward evidence. I discovered to my astonishment that my wife's -vanity, her fondness for display, her love of the admiration of men, -her frivolity, her flirtations with her cousin Ralph, and my own -ridiculous infatuation and blindness were matters of common -conversation. Fool that I was to believe in goodness! I cast aside all -weakness, and resolved never to be deceived again. My heart was like a -withered leaf; and all the foolish tenderness of my nature died an -unredeemable death. Towards one person, and one alone, did I entertain -any feeling of kindness; that was the woman who had solicited my help, -and who had known the poor lost girl-friend of my younger days. I was -sick almost to death of my home; the sight of my wife's fair face was -unutterably painful to me; I was sick of the place in which I had been -worldly prosperous. I yearned to fly from it, and to find myself again -among strangers. The events that brought about the accomplishment of -this desire came quickly. Some of the speculations I had entered into -turned out badly; I could have saved myself from loss had I exercised -my usual forethought; but I was reckless and despairing, and it was -almost with a feeling of joy that I found, upon a careful examination -of my affairs, that I had barely enough to settle with my creditors. I -called them together secretly, letting neither my wife nor Mr. Glaive -know of my position. I enjoined secrecy upon those to whom I was -indebted, and made over to them everything I possessed in the world. -Upon that very day Mr. Glaive took me to task for my treatment of his -daughter, for my neglect of her. I listened to him calmly, and told -him I had good and sufficient reasons for my conduct. It was an angry -interview, and I ended it abruptly upon his saying that his daughter's -happiness would have been more assured if he had given her to one who -was more suitable to her. That same night a meeting of another -description took place between Ralph and myself. He was talking of his -pretty cousin in public, and of me in offensive terms. I have always -regretted that I took notice of him on that occasion, for he was in -liquor; but I was not master of myself. I left him after hot words had -passed between us, and went to my office. He sought me there, and -continued the quarrel, and boasted to my face that my wife loved him, -and would have married him but for my stepping between them. - -'You fool,' he said scornfully; you bought her!' - -It was a bitter truth. Had I been a poor man, Frances Glaive would -never have become my wife. But when he said that it was a bargain -between me and her father, I thrust him from the office, and shut the -door in his face. Everything was clear to me now, and I looked with -shame and mortification upon my childish folly; but I was justly -punished for it. I made my arrangements for departure, for I resolved -never to live with my wife again, never even to see her, for fear that -her fair false face should turn my senses again. The news of my -failure must soon become known, and I did not intend to remain a day -after its announcement. I wrote a letter to my wife, telling her that -I had discovered all, and that I could no longer live with her. I told -her that I was ruined, and that I was going to London to bury myself -in a locality where there was the least possibility of my becoming -known, and that it was useless her seeking me or sending to me, after -the shame and disgrace she had brought upon me. 'If,' I concluded, 'I -could make you a free woman, so that you might marry the man you love, -I would willingly lay down my life; but it cannot be done. The only -and best reparation I can offer is to promise, as I do now most -faithfully, to wipe you out of my heart, so that you may be free from -me for ever.' I had some small store of money by me, half of which I -enclosed in the letter. I knew that she was in no fear of want, and -that she would find a home if she wanted it in her father's house. -Before I left the town I went to see the woman I had befriended, and -to bid her farewell; she was earning her living by needlework. I gave -her some of the money I had left, and I might have been tempted to -believe, if I could have believed in anything good, that she at least -was grateful to me for the assistance I had rendered her. When I came -out of the house in which she lived, I saw Mr. Glaive and Ralph, -arm-in-arm, on the opposite side of the way. I avoided them, and the -next morning I shook the dust from my feet, and started for London. I -never saw them again. I came to this part of London, where there was -the least chance of my being discovered; shortly afterwards I learnt -that this business was for sale, and I found I had just sufficient -money to purchase it. You know now, thus far, the leading incidents of -my life, and that its crowning sorrow and bitterness arose from my -senseless worship of a vain, frivolous, and beautiful woman. I have -only a few words to add, and they refer to Jessie. - -I had no knowledge whatever of her, but on the first night of her -arrival something in her face, something in her ways, reminded me of -my wife. On the following morning she gave me a letter. It was from my -wife, and was dated six years ago. How she discovered my address I -cannot tell. It was to the effect that I should read it when she was -dead, and it asked me simply to give a home to the friendless child -who presented it. You can understand the effect it had upon me; -questioning Jessie privately, I learned from her that she was indeed -friendless and an orphan. I ascertained the place she came from, and -was relieved to know that it was not the town in which I had been -married. She had been stopping at an ordinary lodging-house, and I -wrote to the address she gave me, but received no answer. In the mean -time I feared that the quiet routine of the life I had led, and which -suited me, was likely to be interrupted by the introduction into the -house of another inmate. I resolved to take Jessie back to the friends -she had been stopping with before she came here, and to arrange for -her residence with them, undertaking to pay the expenses of her -living, although, as you are aware, I could ill afford it. On the -morning I took Jessie away, I gave her to understand that she would -not return; but when I reached the place I found that her friends had -left; I was told they had emigrated, and I made sure of the fact. It -does not come within the scope of what I intended to relate to you to -state why I was absent from home longer than I anticipated, nor what -consideration influenced me in bringing Jessie back with me. But it is -pertinent to say that I see in her the same qualities, the same -frivolities and vanities which I know existed in my wife, and which -entailed upon me the most bitter sorrow it has ever fallen to the lot -of man to suffer. She is here, however, for good or for ill; if it -turn out for good, it will be due to but one influence. - -I have nothing more to add except to exact from you the condition that -not one word of what I have said shall ever be told to Jessie. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. -I RECEIVE AN INVITATION. - - -Thus abruptly uncle Bryan concluded his story. Some parts of it had -moved me very deeply with sympathy for him; but the latter part, where -he spoke of Jessie in such a strangely unjust and inexplicable manner, -filled me with indignation. I had no time, however, to think about it, -for almost immediately upon the conclusion of his story, Jessie came -home, flushed and radiant, from her visit to the Wests. Our grave -faces checked her exuberant spirits, and, looking from one to another, -she sought for an explanation. - -'Are you angry with me for going out?' she asked, divining that she -was the cause of all this seriousness. - -'No, my dear,' replied my mother; 'no one is, I am sure. I hope you -enjoyed yourself.' - -'I always do,' said Jessie, her face clouding, when I go to the Wests. -Has anything disagreeable occurred?' - -'No, Jessie, nothing.' - -Jessie had a habit of shaking her head at herself when she was not -satisfied with things; it was the slightest motion in the world, but -there was much meaning in it. On the present occasion it expressed to -me very plainly, 'I know that you have been talking of me, and that I -have done something wrong which I am not to be told of.' My mother -understood it also, for with expressive tenderness she assisted Jessie -to take off her bonnet and mantle, and smoothed Jessie's hair in fond -admiration. I could have embraced my mother for those marks of -affection towards Jessie; they were an answer to uncle Bryan's unjust -words. - -'I think,' said Jessie, looking into my mother's face, that _you_ are -fond of me.' - -'My dear,' responded my mother, kissing her, 'I regard you almost as -my daughter.' - -'I like to be loved,' murmured Jessie, almost wistfully, with tender -looks at my mother, and keeping close to her as if for shelter from -unkindness. - -'Which would you rather have, Jessie,' I asked most suddenly, 'love or -money?' - -Heaven only knows how the words came to my tongue! They certainly were -not the result of deliberate thought. Perhaps it was because of some -unconscious connection between the words Jessie had just spoken and -those which she had spoken to me a little time before: 'Chris, I think -I would do anything in the world for money.' The words were often in -my mind, or perhaps they were prompted by an episode in the story I -had just heard. Uncle Bryan's keen eyes were turned upon Jessie -immediately the question passed my lips, and his scrutiny did not -escape Jessie's observation. - -'Ask me again, Chris,' she said, with a sudden colour in her cheeks. - -'I said, which would you rather have--love or money?' - -'How much money--a great deal?' - -'Yes, a great deal.' - -'What a question to ask! What does uncle Bryan say to it?' - -'Uncle Bryan is too old for such follies,' he replied roughly. - -'That is a crooked way of getting out of an argument,' she said -defiantly, as if being provoked herself, she wished to provoke him. -'Money is not a folly, and money can buy anything. So, Chris, I think -I would rather have money; for then,' she continued, with a disdainful -laugh, 'I could buy new dresses and new bonnets, and everything else -in the world that's worth having.' - -I listened ruefully, hoping she did not mean what she said, for she -spoke mockingly. My mother, seeing that the conversation was taking an -unfortunate direction, turned it by speaking of the West family, and -Jessie entertained us with lively descriptions of her friends, -throwing at the same time an air of mystery over them, which -considerably enhanced my curiosity concerning them. Soon afterwards -all in the house had retired to rest. - -But I knew that my mother would come down for a few minutes' quiet -chat, and that we should have something to say to each other about -uncle Bryan's wonderful story. It was in every way wonderful to me. I -had always imagined that he had led a quiet uneventful life, and -suddenly he had become a hero; but I could not associate the uncle -Bryan I knew with the man who had fallen in love with Frances Glaive, -and so I told my mother as we sat together half an hour later in my -quiet little bedroom. - -'His life has been a life of great suffering,' my mother said, 'and we -can never feel too kindly towards him. He has shown us his heart -to-night; and yet, my dear, I think I understand him better than you -do.' - -'I daresay, mother; that's because you _are_ better than I am.' - -'No, no, my dear,' she replied. 'Who can be better than my darling -boy? It is because I have more experience of the world. Chris, my -heart melted to him to-night more than it has ever done. I had a -curious fancy once when he was speaking. I wished that he had been a -boy like you instead of an old man, for I yearned to take him in my -arms and comfort him.' - -'But what person in the world,' I thought, 'would she not wish to -comfort if she knew that they needed it?' And I said aloud: 'If he had -had a mother like mine, it would have been different with him.' (Such -words as these were the natural outcome of my affection for this -dearest of women, and I did not know then, although I believe I have -learnt since, how sweet they were to her.) 'But, mother, I can't think -of him as you do, when I remember what he said about Jessie. And tell -me--would you like me to look on things as uncle Bryan does?' - -'God forbid, child!' she exclaimed warmly. 'It would take the -sweetness out of your life; but I pray that you may never be tried as -he has been. All that I want to impress upon you is to be tolerant to -him and kind, because of his great trials and troubles. And now, my -dear, I have something to tell you that you will be glad to hear. -Jessie, before she went to sleep, asked me not to believe what she had -said about money. "I couldn't help saying it," she said; "but I would -rather be loved than have all the money there is in the world." Jessie -puzzles me sometimes, my darling; but I have seen nothing in her -nature that is not good.' - -And with these sweet words of comfort my mother left me to my rest. - -The battle between Jessie and me with respect to the Wests still -continued. Jessie, standing upon her dignity, as she had declared she -would, did not ask me again to call for her when she visited them, and -as her visits were growing more frequent, my sufferings were -proportionately intensified. I felt that I could not hold out much -longer, and I was on the point of giving way and sacrificing my -manliness, when the difficulty was resolved for me by the following -note, which my mother placed in my hands with a smile: - -'Miss West presents her compliments to Mr. Christopher Carey, and will -be happy to see him at nine o'clock to-night.' - -I was greatly delighted, and I congratulated myself upon my powers of -endurance, thinking, naturally enough, that I had Jessie to thank for -the invitation. In obedience to the summons, and feeling really very -curious about the Wests--and most anxious also, I must confess, to be -where Jessie was--I presented myself at the house at the hour named to -the minute. There was no need to knock at the street-door, for it was -open. I tapped on the wall of the dark passage, and waited for an -answer. There was a great deal of laughter below, and my soft tapping -was not heard, so I advanced two or three steps, and knocked more -loudly. - -'Who's there?' a voice cried, and the laughter ceased. - -'It's me,' I answered; and I was about to announce myself more -explicitly, when my words were taken up mockingly. - -'Oh, it's Me, is it? Well, come downstairs, Mr. Me. Flora child, open -the door. Take care! Mind your head!' - -The warning came too late. I knocked my head smartly against a beam in -the ceiling, and stumbling down the stairs, entered the kitchen--the -door of which was opened, by Flora I presume, just in time to receive -me--in a very undignified manner. Screams of laughter greeted me as I -picked myself up, very hot and red at my loss of dignity. - -'Be quiet, children!' cried the voice which I had first heard. 'I hope -you haven't hurt yourself, Mr. Me! Come along and shake hands. Very -glad to see you. "And Jack fell down and broke his crown."'--This -quotation because I was rubbing my head, which I had bumped severely. - -'I am not hurt much, thank you,' I said, as I walked towards the -speaker, who was either a girl or a woman, or both in one, for I could -not guess her age within ten years. She was sitting on a bench before -a table; and as I gave her my hand, she placed her fingers to her -lips, and glanced expressively towards a curtain, made of two -patchwork quilts, which partitioned off a part of the kitchen. There -was something going on behind this curtain, for there was a shuffling -of feet there, and I heard low voices. - -'Don't speak loud,' said my hostess, as I guessed her to be. 'I'm Miss -West. Jessie's behind there; you'll see her presently. Don't let her -know you're here.' - -'Why, doesn't she know?' I exclaimed, in a maze of bewilderment. - -'Bless your heart, no! _I_ sent you the note without her knowing -anything of it. I thought you'd be glad.' As Miss West made this -remark she gave me a sharp look. - -'I _am_ glad,' I said. - -'I knew you would be. Rubbing your head again! Well, you _have_ raised -a bump! Shall I brown-paper-and-vinegar you?' - -'No, thank you,' I said, laughing; and then I looked round in wonder -upon the strange scene. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. -I AM INTRODUCED TO A THEATRICAL FAMILY. - - -I think if I had been suddenly plunged into Aladdin's cave, I should -not have been more amazed. There I should have expected to see the -rich treasures of gold and precious stones and the magic fruit growing -on magic trees with which that cave is filled, but for the strange -wonders by which I was here surrounded I was totally unprepared. These -loomed upon me only gradually, for the two tallow candles which threw -light upon the scene were but a dim illumination. The kitchen, which -comprised nearly the whole of the basement, was irregularly shaped, -and so large that the distant corners were almost completely in shade. -Lurking, as it were, in one of these distant corners was a man -strangely accoutred, whom I expected would presently step forward and -join our party, but not a motion did the figure make. I subsequently -discovered that it was a dummy man, in chain armour, which had once -played a famous part (the armour, not the man) in a famous drama of -the middle ages. Hanging upon the walls were numberless articles of -male and female attire, some mentionable, some un-ditto; but with rare -exceptions the dresses were not such as I was accustomed to rub -against in my daily walks. These that I saw hanging around the room, -covering every inch of available space from ceiling to floor, were -theatrical dresses of different fashions and degrees; many were of -silk and satin, very much faded, for persons of quality, and some were -of commoner stuff for commoner folks--which latter, from their -appearance, seemed to have worn better. Here the dress of a noble -Roman fraternised with the kilts of a canny Scotchman, and here the -satin cloak and trunks of a fashionable melodramatic nobleman -contemplated (doubtless with sinister designs) the modest bodice which -covered the breast of female virtue. High life and low life, in every -description of ancient, mediæval, and modern fashion, were here -represented, and to an eye more practised and fanciful than mine, the -room might have been supposed to be furnished with all the cardinal -vices and virtues in allegory. Here were long boots whose character -could not be mistaken--they represented villainy of the very deepest -dye, and they frowned upon the heavy hobnails of a model peasantry. -Here were the woollen garments and broad-buckled belt which had played -their parts in a hundred smuggling adventures; and here the breeches, -stockings, and natty shoes which had danced hundreds of jigs amidst -uproarious applause. Here was a harlequin's dress ready to flash into -life and play strange antics at the mere waving of the wand which hung -above the mask; and clinging to it on either side, as if in fond -memory of old triumphs, were the short skirts of dainty columbines. -Here was the dress of Wah-no-tee, feathers, bald scalp, moccasins, and -hatchet, all complete, side by side with the fripperies of my Lord -Foppington. Among the pots and pans on the dresser were polished -breastplates and gauntlets and shields of various patterns. There were -other dresses, very much bespangled and be-jewelled, and pasteboard -helmets and crowns of priceless value, and masks that had had a hard -life of it, being dented here and bulged there and puffed up and -bunged up in tender places, worse than any prizefighter's face after -the severest encounter. A donkey's head and shoulders hung immediately -above me, and by its side the plaster cast of a face without the -slightest expression in it, and which is popularly supposed to -represent an important branch of the histrionic art. Whichever way I -turned, these and a hundred other strange articles most incongruously -mixed together met my gaze. - -'Well, what do you think of us?' asked Miss West. 'We're a queer -bunch, ain't we?' - -'It's a strange place,' I said, thinking it best to avoid -personalities. 'I never saw anything like it.' - -'We're a theatrical family, my dear,' said Miss West complacently, -'born in the profession every one of us. Are you fond of theatres?' - -As a matter of fact, I had only been twice to a theatre, but it was a -place of enchantment to me, and I said as much to Miss West. - -'Ah!' she mused. 'It looks so from the front, I daresay; and a good -job for us that it does. But it is bright, and it _does_ carry you -away.' - -A familiar voice behind the curtain caused a diversion, and I turned -eagerly in that direction. Miss West gave me another of her sharp -looks. - -'Don't you wish you had eyes in your ears?' she said. 'You're one of -the bashful ones, I can see. Could you play the part of the Bashful -Lover do you think?' (This question was accompanied by a significant -dig in the ribs and a merry laugh.) - -'I don't think,' I stammered, very red and confused, 'that I should -ever be able to act.' - -'Not _that_ part!' exclaimed my good-natured tormentor. 'Well, then, -you _could_ play "The Good-for-nothing."' - -Which was an allusion I did not at all understand. Miss West -proceeded: - -'All you've got to do, my dear, is to stick to nature. Turk gets mad -with me when I tell him that. "Stick to nature!" he cries. "Why, then -every fool could act." I say to him, every fool _could_ act if he -stuck to nature. Then he rolls his eyes and glares, does Turk.' - -'Why does he do that?' I inquire. - -'He plays the heavy villains, my dear, at the Royal Columbia Theatre; -and what's a heavy villain without his glare? You should see him in -_The Will and the Way!_ It's a sight.' - -'I should like to see him; but you haven't told me who Turk is.' - -'Turk is my brother.' - -'He is not here?' I ask, with another glance at the curtain. - -'Oh, no; he is playing a new part to-night Poor Turk! the new school -of acting depresses him. Say, O.' - -'O,' I said, with a smile. - -'Ah, you should hear Turk say it! It would fill a large page. Do you -remember when you first learnt to write?' - -'Yes.' - -'And how, with your left arm sprawling over the table, and your left -ear listening for something you never heard, and your eyes as staring -wide open as ever they could be, and your tongue half out of your -mouth, you dug your pen into the copy-book to produce your first O, -which took about five minutes in the making, and then came out -squabbled? That's the way Gus says his O's. He takes a long time over -them. Now Brinsley's different.' - -'Brinsley?' - -'My brother. He's sensible. He plays walking gentlemen in the new -style, and rattles off what he has to say quite in the elegant way--as -if he didn't care a bit for it, you know. Turk sneers at him -(dramatically, my dear), and says that the new school of acting is the -ruin of the profession. But to come back to the Bashful Lover. You -shall play it, my dear. Gus shall write the piece.' - -'Gus?' - -'One of my brothers. Gus can write anything--tragedies, melodramas, -farces--and he shall write _The Bashful Lover_, after the style of -_The Conjugal Lesson_. One scene, and only two performers--you and -Jessie. That would be nice, as Jessie says. You shall quarrel, of -course, and make it up, and quarrel again, and snub each other, and -sulk, and say spiteful things (Gus will see to all that), but--don't -look so glum!--it shall all come right in the end. You shall drop into -each other's arms and kiss, and while you are folding her to your -heart (that's the style nowadays, my dear), the curtain shall fall. -We'll have a select audience--none of the boys, for that would spoil -it, eh? but Gus--he must be present as the author. There'll be me, and -Florry, and Matty, and Rosy, and Nelly, and Sophy, and we'll all -applaud at the right places, you may be sure.' - -Miss West counted the names on her fingers as she went over them; the -young ladies who bore them were all seated round the table and about -the room, engaged in various ways. One was cutting-out stars of paper -tinsel, and gluing them on to a gauze dress; another was making -dancing shoes; another was amusing herself with a cardboard stage and -cardboard characters, which she drew on and off by means of tin -slides. Miss West, who also had an article of female attire, in an -unfinished state, in her lap, which she worked upon in the intervals -of her conversation, called these young ladies by name, one by one, -and desired each to perform a magnificent curtsy to me, which the -little misses, the eldest of whom could not have been more than -fourteen years of age, did in grand style, worthy of the finest ladies -in the land. I was somewhat bewildered at the extent of Miss West's -family, and I asked if there were any more of them. - -'Heaps, my dear,' she complacently replied; 'there are nineteen of us -altogether--eleven boys and eight girls, and all straight made, with -the exception of me. I'm crooked. My legs are wrong. But I've been on -the stage too. I played an old witch for an entire season, and got -great applause. People in the house wondered how I could keep doubled -up almost for such a long time together; I was on in one scene for -twenty minutes; they didn't know I was doubled up naturally.' - -In proof of her words Miss West rose, and hobbled to the end of the -kitchen as if in search of something, and hobbled back, the most -genial and good-humoured of old witches. She was barely four feet in -height, and was a queer little figure indeed, but her face was bright, -and her eyes were bright I could not help liking the little woman, and -I told her so. - -'That's right, Master Christopher. We'll be friends, you and me. Well, -but to come back.' (This was evidently one of her favourite figures of -speech.) got two pound five a week for playing the old witch; it -lasted for twenty-two weeks, and it was almost the death of me. I had -to do it though.' - -'Why?' - -Her voice grew quieter and she spoke in subdued tones, so that the -little misses should not hear. - -'Mother and father died within a month of each other, and there were -the doctor's bills and the funeral expenses to be provided for. Then -there's a large family of us, Master Christopher, and taking us -altogether in a lump, we're no joke. The boys wouldn't hear of my -going on the stage again, and I don't see myself how I could do it -regularly, for there's a deal of business to look after indoors, -letting alone the household affairs. Though I like it! If -anybody--that is, anybody who's somebody--would write me a strong -one-part piece, I could make a big hit with my figure. 'Tisn't every -day you see such a figure as mine; it's worth a mint of money on the -stage if it was properly worked. They're all on the stage but me; -little Sophy there--she's the youngest, four years--spoke two lines in -the pantomime last year to rounds of applause. The people love to see -a clever child on the stage, though the papers write against it. But -what are the papers? as Turk says, with a glare.' - -'Of course,' I repeated, with a foolish air of wisdom, 'what are the -papers?' - -'Turk says, if they were what they ought to be, somebody that he knows -(that's himself, my dear) would be at the top of the tree.' - -'Turk is very clever, then?' - -He's the best murderer to slow music that _I've_ ever seen. But Gus is -the genius of the family. In the matter of that, we're all geniuses. -But blighted, my dear, blighted!' - -She gave me the merriest look, as little like a blighted being as can -well be imagined. - -'We're all of us very conceited, my dear, and very vain. What was that -thing in the fable that tried to blow itself out, and came to grief?' - -'The frog.' - -'We're all of us frogs, my dear. If people would only give us as much -room as we think we ought to have, the world wouldn't be big enough -for a quarter of us. And of all the conceited creatures in this -topsy-turvy world, actors and actresses are the worst. We're good -enough in our way, but we _do_ think such a deal of ourselves.' - -'Is Mr. Gus a good actor?' - -'Plays leading business; he's out of an engagement just now, He's -behind the curtain with Jessie.' - -I was burning to ask what they were doing there, but the words hung on -my tongue, and an inquiry of another description came forth. It was -concerning the wonderful collection of dresses and theatrical -properties with which the kitchen was filled. I wanted to know if they -were used solely for the adornment of the persons of the Wests. - -'Bless your heart, my dear, no,' was the reply. This is the -'stock-in-trade of our theatrical wardrobe business. We lend them out -for private theatricals and bal masques. It was a good business once, -but it has fallen off dreadfully. When bal masques were in fashion, -mother used to lend as many as twenty and thirty dresses a night -sometimes. If ever you want a dress for a bal masque--though there's -scarcely one a year now, worse luck!--come to me, and make you a -nobleman, or a chimney sweep, or a brigand, or the Emperor of -Russia, in the twinkling of a bedpost, and all for the small charge -of--nothing, to you. But to come back. You wanted to ask just now what -Gus and Jessie are doing behind that curtain. They're rehearsing a -scene, my dear, out of _As You Like It_. Not that she wants teaching; -Jessie's a born actress, and if she were on the stage, she'd make a -fortune with her face and voice. And as for her laugh--there, listen! -I never _did_ hear Mrs. Nesbit laugh--I'm not old enough to have seen -her act, my dear--but if her laugh was as sweet and musical as -Jessie's, I'll eat my stock-in-trade down to the last feather. And -there's another reason, Master Christopher--Gus is in love with her. -Bless my soul! how the boy changes colour! Why, they're all in love -with her. Turk is mad about her, and Brinsley is pining away before -our eyes. He doesn't mind it so much, because a slim figure suits his -line of acting. It wouldn't do for a walking gentleman to be fat.' -Miss West placed her hand upon mine, and said, with sagacious nods, -'My dear, if Jessie was on the stage, she would have ten thousand -lovers. Hark! there's the bell. They're going to play the scene. Are -you ready, Jessie?' - -'Yes,' cried Jessie, 'but we want some one for Celia; she only speaks -twice.' - -'Florry will do Celia,' replied Miss West. 'Go behind, Florry; we'll -commence the scene properly, and I'll read Jacques. Now, then. Act -four, scene one: The Forest of Arden. Up with the curtain.' - -The curtain was drawn aside, and disclosed a roughly constructed -stage, and absolutely an old scene representing a wood. - -'We have three scenes,' whispered Miss West: 'a chamber scene, a -street scene, and a wood. You'll see how beautifully Gus will play -Orlando. He'll be dressed for the part. Enter Rosalind, Celia, and -Jacques. Look over the book with me. Florry knows her part. I -commence: "I prithee, pretty youth--"' - -I looked up, and saw Jessie and Florry on the stage. Jessie, looking -towards us, did not appear to recognise me; her face was flushed, and -her eyes were brilliant with excitement. - -Miss West (as Jacques): 'I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better -acquainted with thee.' - -Jessie (as Rosalind): 'They say you are a very melancholy fellow.' - -Miss West: 'I am so; I do love it better than laughing.' - -Jessie: 'Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows, -and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards.' - -Miss West: 'Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.' - -Jessie: 'Why, then, 'tis good to be a post!' - -The raillery of the tone was perfect, and I was aglow with admiration. -I had never in my life heard anything more exquisitely intoned, and -this was but a foretaste of what was to follow. - -Jessie (to Miss West): 'A traveller! By my faith, you have great -reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see other -men's; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich -eyes and poor hands.' - -Miss West: 'Yes, I have gained my experience.' - -Jessie: 'And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool -to make me merry than experience to make me sad; and to travel for it, -too!' - -Here Gus West entered, dressed as Orlando. Very noble and handsome he -looked, and in the love scene that followed between him and Jessie, he -played much too well for my peace of mind. When Jessie said, 'Ask me -what you will, I will grant it;' and he answered, 'Then love me, -Rosalind,' he spoke in so natural a tone, and with so much eagerness, -that I could not believe he was acting, especially with Miss West's -words in my mind that he really was in love with her. I was heartily -glad when the scene was at an end. But I was somewhat comforted at -Jessie's unfeigned delight that I had at last found my way to the -Wests'. - -'I thought at first that I had you to thank for being here,' I said; -'but Miss West sent me an invitation without you knowing anything of -it, it seems.' - -'Miss West is a meddlesome--dear delightful creature! She's as good as -gold! And I'm a little bit glad that it has happened so; it was manly -in you not to give in, and I had a good mind to commence coaxing you -again to come.' - -'And I was beginning to be so miserable,' I said, adding my confession -to hers, 'at not being able to be where you were, that I was on the -point of giving way myself, and asking you if I might come without an -invitation.' - -'So the best thing you can do,' cried Miss West, who had overheard us, -'is to kiss and make friends.' - -Jessie laughed, and said, 'I didn't see you while I was acting, Chris. -I was so excited that I couldn't see a face in the room.' - -Not even Orlando's?' I suggested, with a furtive look at Jessie. - -'Oh, yes; his of course, but then we were acting to each other.' - -'Only acting, Jessie?' I inquired, with much anxiety. - -'Only acting, Jessie!' mimicked Miss West, whose sharp ears lost -not a word. 'Why, what else _should_ it be? Or else she's married to -Gus--Scotch fashion, my dear. "I take thee, Rosalind (meaning Jessie), -for wife," says Gus. "I do take thee, Orlando (meaning Gus), for my -husband," says Jessie. But she'd say that to any man who played -Orlando as well as Gus does--wouldn't you, Jessie?' - -'Of course I would,' replied Jessie, entering into her friend's -humour. - -'Why, my dear, I knew a young lady who was married a dozen times a -week (in two pieces every night) for more than six months. And her -sweetheart was the stage carpenter, and saw it all from the -wings--imagine his sufferings, my dear! Ah, but such marriages are -often a good deal happier than real ones; there's more fun in them, -certainly. Jessie, there's ten o'clock striking; it's time for you to -go. Now mind,' concluded Miss West, addressing me, 'no more standing -on ceremony; you're welcome to come and go when you like; we shall -look on you as we look on Jessie, as one of the family.' - -I promised to come very often, and Miss West said I could not come too -often. There was no mistaking the hearty sincerity of the invitation. -Jessie and I walked very slowly home, and she listened delightedly to -my praises of her acting. - -'I don't want them at home to know about it, Chris,' she said; 'at -least, not till I tell them.' - -'Very well, Jessie;' and we entered the little parlour together in a -very happy mood. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. -THE SUNDAY-NIGHT SUPPERS AT THE WESTS'. - - -In due time I was introduced to other members of the West family, and -grew so much attached to them, and so enamoured of their ways, that I -spent nearly all my leisure in their company. Uncle Bryan seemed to -resent this, growling that 'new brooms swept clean,' and asking me -sarcastically if I intended to adopt the fashion through life of -throwing over old friends for new ones. Jessie stepped in to defend -me, and said boldly that uncle Bryan was not so fond of our society as -to have reasonable cause to grumble at our absence. - -'How do you know that?' asked uncle Bryan sharply. 'You want people to -be like peacocks or jackdaws, always showing their feathers or -chattering about themselves.' - -The cause of this little disturbance was that we often stayed at the -Wests' until eleven or past eleven o'clock at night. - -Now that I have you to take care of me, Chris,' said Jessie, we need -not be so particular.' - -'You had better live with your new friends altogether,' observed uncle -Bryan. - -'I will, if you wish me to,' replied Jessie indignantly; 'I know that -I'm a burden to you.' - -'No, no, my dear,' interposed my mother; 'uncle Bryan does not mean -what he says.' - -And indeed uncle Bryan was silent, and retired from the contest. These -little quarrels were always smoothed over by my mother, and Jessie -herself not unfrequently played the penitent, and atoned indirectly to -uncle Bryan for the sharp words she used. It is needless to say that I -took sides with Jessie in the sometimes noisy, but more often quiet -warfare, which existed between her and uncle Bryan. As I grew older, I -recognised the helplessness of her position in uncle Bryan's house, -and I found bitter fault with him for his manner towards her. It was -wanting not only in tenderness, but in chivalry, and were it not for -the respect and consideration he showed for my mother, I have no doubt -I should have quarrelled with him openly. As it was, I looked forward -to the time when I should be able to offer my mother a home of my own, -where she and Jessie and I could live together in harmony. With the -Wests I became a great favourite. My talent as an artist contributed -to this result, and I drew innumerable sketches of them in their -various capacities. Miss West's Christian name was Josey (short for -Josephine), and by that familiar title she insisted that I should -address her. So it was Jessie and Josey, and Turk and Brinsley and -Chris, with us in a very short time, as though we had been on the most -intimate terms for years. The walls of all the rooms in the house, -with the exception of the kitchen, were soon adorned with portraits -and character sketches, with the artist's initials, C. C., in the -corner. The portrait of Josey West, as the Witch of the Blasted Heath, -as played by her &c. &c.; the portrait of little Sophy West, as -Celandine, in the _Fairy Dell_, as played by her &c. &c.; the portrait -of Augustus West, as Claude Melnotte (I would not take him as -Orlando), as played by him &c. &c.; the portrait of Brinsley West, as -Tom Shuffleton, as played by him &c. &c.; the portrait of Turk West, -as The Thug, as played by him &c. &c.; and numberless others, were -shown to admiring visitors, and contemplated by the admiring -originals, to the glory of 'the eminent young artist,' as Miss West -called me. It is necessary to add that in most of the superscriptions -at the foot of the pictures the word 'eminent' did good service. It -was the eminent tragedian, the eminent comedian, the eminent character -actor; and so on. Certainly the name of the West family was legion. -Three of them were married, and seemed from appearances to be -emulative of the example of their parents in the matter of children. -Sometimes on a Sunday evening the entire family would be assembled in -the one house, and as the married folk brought their broods with -them--the youngest three of which invariably were babies in arms--the -total number of brothers and sisters and uncles and aunts was -something alarming. The house was overrun with them. - -'If we go on like this for a hundred years,' Miss West said to me, in -confidence, 'we shall become an institution. Sheridan has seven -already, and his wife is quite a young woman; J. H. has five, and -Clarance four--and more coming, my dear!' - -That was the chronic condition of the wives. There were always more -coming. Sheridan, J. H., and Clarance were the eldest of Josey West's -brothers, and were well known to the British theatrical public in our -quarter of London. In the commencement of our intimacy the constant -introduction of members of the family, of whose existence I had been -previously ignorant, was very confusing to me, especially as Miss -West, without preliminary explanation, spoke of all her relatives by -their Christian names, and placed me on a footing of personal intimacy -with them. I used to write lists of the names, with descriptions -appended, and privately study them, so that I might not make mistakes -in addressing them, but some of them were always in a tangle in my -mind. The Sunday-night suppers were things to remember; every -available article of crockery in the house was pressed into service, -and as even the youngest members of the family were accustomed to late -hours and late suppers, the result may be imagined. Those for whom -there was no room at the table had their supper on chairs, on stools, -or on their laps as they sat on the ground. It was very rough and -undignified, but it was delightfully enjoyable. The chatter, the -laughter, the ringing voices of one and another trying to make -themselves heard, the good humour, the free-handed and free-hearted -hospitality of those merry meetings are present to me, as I recall the -reminiscence. There was always plenty to talk about, and plenty of -words spoken that were worth listening to. A theatre in which one of -the family was engaged was doing a bad business, and the actors were -compelled to work on half salaries; one or two others were going on a -provincial tour; another was out of an engagement; a manager had -failed and the theatre was closed; and so on, and so on. - -'There's always something,' said Miss West. Directly one saves -a bit of money--it's precious little one has the opportunity of -saving--something happens that sucks it up. But, bless your heart! -what else can be expected with such swarms of children as we've got in -the family!' - -'If a legitimate actor,' said Turk moodily, 'could be certain of a -regular engagement, it would be all right; but the public taste is -vitiated--vitiated! They want novelty; they're not satisfied with -legitimate business. Why, if any one of us had happened to be born -covered from head to foot with red pimples, with a green sprout -sticking in the middle of each of them, he could command his fifty -pound a week, while a man of sterling talent is compelled to vegetate -on a paltry fifty bob!' - -This sally was received with screams of laughter, and cries of Bravo, -Turk!' - -'I've got an idea,' cried Josey West; 'why don't we start a theatre -ourselves, on the sharing principle? Here we are, all ready-made: -leading man, walking gentleman, low comedy, genteel comedy, new style -of acting, old style of acting, old men and women, heavy villain' (a -general laugh at Turk, who joined in it readily), 'chambermaids, and -ballet, all complete.' - -'It's all very well,' interposed Gus West, but where's the theatre?' - -'It's all very well,' added Turk, but where's the capitalist?' - -'Advertise for one,' said Miss West. '"Wanted, a capitalist with five -thousand pounds to undertake the management" (tickle him with that, -eh, Turk?)--"to undertake the management of a highly talented -theatrical family, nearly forty in number (and more on the road), who -can play tragedy, comedy, melodrama, farce, ballet, burlesque, -and pantomime in an unrivalled manner. They are furnished with -well-stocked wardrobes, including wigs, and they will be happy to give -private exhibition of their abilities, in proof of their competency. -Included in their number is a dramatic author, who will be willing to -supply new pieces, if desired, to suit the capacity of the company. As -a proof that they are not pretenders, they have all been born in the -profession" (listen to that, Turk)--"they have all been born in the -profession. No objection to travel. In India and Australia they would -astonish the natives, and would be sure to create an immense -sensation. A certain fortune. Competition invited and defied." There! -would that catch a capitalist?' - -'And what should I do,' asked Jessie, laughing, if the capitalist were -to come and carry you all away?' - -'Come out with us as leading lady, to be sure,' replied Josey West -promptly; 'and Chris can come as scene-painter, and there we are, all -complete. Quite a happy family, my dear!' - -We made very merry over the fancy, and extracted many amusing pictures -from it. I was sorry when Josey West called to us that it was late and -time for us to go. It was a fine night, very quiet and very still, and -Jessie and I lingered and talked of the Wests and their merry -light-hearted ways. - -'They have plenty of trouble, though,' said Jessie; 'all that glitters -isn't gold.' - -'I have never seen any one happier than they are,' I said. 'Suppose -they had all the money in the world, could they have spent a merrier -evening?' - -'What makes you mention money, Chris?' - -'I don't know exactly, except that it came into my head to-night, that -if everybody had just a little more, everything would be right. But -then I suppose when they had just that little more, they would want -just a little more?' - -'That is in uncle Bryan's style. Chris, I think you are clever!' - -'I don't know, Jessie; Mr. Eden is pleased with me, and says I shall -get along very well. I would like to; I would like to be rich.' - -She mimicked uncle Bryan: 'You would like to be rich! You would like -the moon! Open your mouth, and what you would like will drop into it.' - -I laughed at the imitation, which was perfect, and said, 'Well, I -suppose it is all nonsense--wishing, wishing! Uncle Bryan would be -right if he said that, Jessie, and it's just what he _would_ say, if -he had the opportunity. Most of the great men I've read about had to -work and wait for success. The other night, when uncle Bryan was in -one of his amiable moods, he said that success was like the robbers' -cavern in _The Forty Thieves_, and that there was one magic key which -would always open it. When I asked him what that key was, he said, -Earnestness.' - -'That's one of the things that uncle Bryan would never give me credit -for.' - -'Uncle Bryan is very unjust and very unkind. Let us turn back and walk -a little. The night is so beautiful and I feel so happy at this minute -that I should like it to last for ever.' Jessie's hand stole into -mine, and I held it close; the silence that followed was broken by -Jessie. - -'Why would you like to be rich, Chris?' - -'For your sake, Jessie, more than for my own. If I could give you all -that you desired, I shouldn't wish for anything more.' - -'You are very good to me, Chris. Why?' - -'Because I love you, Jessie,' I replied. - -'Really and truly?' she exclaimed, half tenderly, half tantalisingly. - -'With all my heart and soul,' I said, in a low passionate tone. - -'When one loves like that' (she was speaking seriously now), 'what -does it really mean?' - -'I can only speak of myself, and I know that there is no sacrifice I -would not make for you. I am sure there is nothing you could ask me to -do that I would not do; if I could die to make you happy, I would do -so gladly, Jessie.' - -'But I don't want you to die, Chris; what should I do without you? -Then when one loves really and truly, and with one's heart and soul, -there is no selfishness in it? One doesn't think of oneself?' - -'I think of nothing but you, Jessie. I should like to be successful, -for your sake; I should like to be rich, for your sake. Now do you -understand?' - -She did not reply, and when presently I ventured to look into her -face, I saw that there were tears in her eyes. - -'You are not angry with me, Jessie?' - -'I should be an ungrateful girl indeed, if I were. No, Chris. I love -to hear you speak to me as you have done. I was only thinking that I -wished others were like you.' - -'You mean uncle Bryan,' I said, with a quick apprehension of the -direction of her thoughts. 'But he takes pains to make people dislike -him. Besides, he is at war with everything--he is, Jessie! He never -goes to church; he never opens a Bible. I believe,' I added, my voice -sinking to a whisper, 'that he is an atheist.' (And I said to myself -mentally, as I gazed into Jessie's sweet face, If he does not believe -in God, it is less strange that he does not believe in you.') - -I had given no thought to time, and now, when the church bells struck -one o'clock, I was startled at the lateness of the hour. With a guilty -look at each other, Jessie and I hurried home; before I could knock at -the street-door, it was opened for us by my mother. She put her finger -to her lips. - -'I heard your steps, my dear,' she said, with anxious tenderness; -'hush, don't make a noise. You might wake your uncle.' - -'We had no idea of the time, mother,' I said; 'it isn't Jessie's -fault. I kept her talking, and really thought it was no more than -eleven o'clock. I am so sorry we have kept you up! See what a lovely -night it is.' - -We stood at the door for a little while, my mother in the centre, -with her arms round our waists. When she kissed me and wished me -good-night, I saw that she had been crying; but her pale face -brightened as I put my arms about her neck, and held her to me for a -few moments. When I released her, I found that we were alone; Jessie -must have stepped upstairs very quietly, for I did not hear her leave -the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. -TURK, THE FIRST VILLAIN. - - -Of all the male members of the West family, Turk was the one I liked -best. Our intimacy soon ripened into friendship, and he made me the -confidant of his woes, and as I was a good listener, we got on -admirably together. It seemed that he had never had 'a chance,' as he -termed it, and that he had been condemned by fate to act a line of -business which he declared was distasteful to him--although I must -confess that my after experience of him convinced me that it was -exactly suited to him, and he to it--and in theatres where the -intellectual discernment of the audiences was proverbially of a low -standard. - -'Perhaps you will tell me,' he said to me, in one of our private -conferences, 'what there is in my appearance that I should have been -selected to play the first villain almost from my birth--from my -birth, sir, Chris, my boy. Do I look like a murderer? Do I look like a -man who had passed through a career of the deepest-dyed ruffianism, -and was eager to go on with it? Speak your mind--it won't hurt me; I'm -used to criticism, and I know what value to place upon it.' - -Turk was really a slight-made man, and as I had not seen him act at -the time of these utterances, I could not understand his sister's -praises of him as the best murderer to slow music that she had ever -seen. His appearance in private life was, to say the best of it, -insignificant, and as utterly opposed to that of a deeply-dyed ruffian -as can well be imagined. The only likeness to the description Josey -West had given of him that I could see was his 'glare,' and he -certainly did roll his eyes as he spoke, with an effect which was -nothing less than tremendous. I mentioned to him that I had heard the -greatest praises of his acting, and that he played the villain's part -to the life. - -'And what does that prove?' he asked, with an oratorical flourish. -'Does it prove that I am fit for nothing better, or that I am a -conscientious actor? When I have a part to play, I play it; I don't -play Turk West every night. See me play the Thug, and I defy you to -recognise me; see me as the First Murderer in _Macbeth_, and I defy -you to recognise the Thug. When I first played the Thug, my own mother -didn't know me; "That's something like acting," she said; and she -ought to have known, rest her soul! for she played a baby in arms -before she was out of long clothes, and spoke lines on the stage when -she was three years old. Why, sir, my struggle with old Martin, in -_The Will and the Way_, was said to be the most realistic thing ever -seen on the stage--and do I look as if I would murder a man? It was -art, sir, pure art. I am a conscientious actor--a conscientious actor, -sir, Chris, my boy--and what I have to play, I play. Give me a strong -leading part in a good piece, in a good theatre in the West-end--in -the West-end, sir, Chris, my boy, not in this heaven-forsaken -quarter--and then see what I can do! Why, sir, there are men occupying -leading positions in our best theatres who can't hold a candle to Turk -West--I'm not a vain man, and I say they can't hold a candle to Turk -West! There are men--whose names I'll not mention, for I'm not envious -and I only speak in the interests of art--men on the boards on the -other side of Temple Bar--where I've never been seen--who are drawing -large screws, and who have as much idea of acting as a barn-door fowl. -What do they play? They play _themselves_, never mind what characters -they represent. Dress doesn't make a character--it's the voice, and -the manner, and the bearing. Why, look at----never mind; I said I -wouldn't mention names. Directly he comes on the stage--whether he -plays a young man or a middle-aged man or an old man, a man of -this century or a man of the last century, or farther back if you -please--everybody says, "Ah, there's old So-and-so!" And he uses the -same action and the same leer and the same walk, as if the hundreds of -characters he has played in his time were written to represent _him_, -not as if, having taken to the stage, it was his duty to represent -_them_. Call that acting! It's death and destruction to art, that's -what it is. And the public stand it--stand it, sir, Chris, my -boy--being led by the nose, as asses are, by critics who have reasons -of their own for not putting their thumbs down on such incompetency. -That's the word, sir, Chris, my boy, that's the word--incompetency. -But wait-till I come out; wait till an author that I have in my eye-- -yes, sir, I have him; I know him, and he believes in me, and I believe -in him; we fight a common cause--wait till he has finished the piece -he is writing for me, a piece representing two passions; one is not -enough for Turk West. When that piece is performed at one of the -West-end theatres, with Turk West in the leading character, you may -mark a new era in the history of the stage. But mum, Chris, my boy, -mum! Not a word of this to any of my relations.' - -My acquiescent rejoinders were very pleasing to him, and he expressed -a high opinion of my judgment. - -'You shall come and see me play to-morrow night,' he said, 'at the -Royal Columbia. I'm engaged there for the heavy business. Can you get -away from work at half-past five o'clock? I'll come for you, if you -like, and we'll walk together to the shop' (thus irreverently -designating the Temple of Thespis). - -I said I thought I could get away, and he promised to call for me. - -'You will see, sir, Chris, my boy, the most villainous and -incomprehensible blood-and-thunder melodrama that ever was presented -on the stage--it is called _The Knight of the Sable Plume, or The -Bloodstained Banner_. Isn't the very title enough to drive intelligent -persons from the doors? But, sir, Chris, my boy, we play to a twopenny -gallery, and the twopenny gallery will have blood for its money, and -plenty of it. _The Bloodstained Banner_ is a vile hash put together -for a "star"--an arrant impostor, sir--who plays the leading part. -I'll say nothing of him--you shall see and judge for yourself. I play -Plantagenet the Ruthless; I don't slur my part because it's -impossible, absurd, and ridiculous--you'll find no shirking in Turk -West; he knows what duty is, and he does it. If I have lines given me -to speak in which there isn't an atom of sense, it isn't my fault; I -speak them because I'm paid to speak them, and I do my best to -illuminate--that's the word, sir, Chris, my boy--to illuminate a -character which is an insult to my intelligence. Necessity knows no -law, and if I'm compelled to knuckle-down to fate to-day, I live in -hopes that the sun will shine to-morrow.' - -I said that I sincerely hoped the sun would shine to-morrow, and that -it _would_ shine brightly for him; and Turk West wrung my hand, and -said that he wished the audiences he had to play to were as -intellectually gifted as I was, adding that then there would be hope -for the drama. - -I obtained permission to leave on the following evening at the time -mentioned by Turk, who was as good as his word in coming for me, and -we walked together to the Royal Columbia Theatre. - -'Prepare yourself, my boy,' he said, in the tone of one who was about -to initiate a novice in solemn mysteries; 'I am going to take you -behind the scenes.' - -I was duly impressed by the great privilege in store for me, and I -walked by the side of Turk West, glorified in a measure by his -importance. The theatre was not yet open, and a large number of -persons was waiting for admittance, some of whom, as regular -frequenters, recognised Turk and pointed him out to their companions, -who regarded him with looks of awe and wonder; others, unaware of the -great presence, were kicking vigorously at the doors. After lingering -a little and looking about him with an unconscious air (really, I now -believe, to enjoy the small tribute of fame which was descending upon -him; but I did not suspect this at the time), Turk preceded me down an -unobtrusive narrow passage, the existence of which could have been -known only to the initiated. This led to the stage-door, which to my -astonishment was the meanest, shabbiest, and most battered door within -my experience. We plunged at once into the dark recesses of the -theatre; and after bumping my head very severely against jutting -beams, and nearly breaking my neck by falling up and down unexpected -steps, which were nothing more nor less than traps for the unwary, I -found myself in a long barn-like room, full of draughts (which latter -feature, indeed, seems to be the chronic complaint of all theatres, -before and behind the curtain), and with a very low ceiling, which -Turk informed me was the principal dressing-room for the gentlemen of -the company. Therein were congregated seven or eight individuals, -making-up for the first piece; some were rubbing themselves dry with -dirty towels, some were dressing, some undressing, some painting their -faces. One, whom I afterwards discovered was the low-comedy man, was -sticking pieces of pluffy wool upon his nose and cheeks, and dabbing -them with rouge, with which he was also painting his eyebrows, so that -they might match his close-cropped, carroty-haired wig. Turk was -familiarly and merrily greeted by all these brothers-in-arms, who all -addressed him as 'Cully;' and as he returned the compliment and -'cullied' them, I presumed it was a family name which they all -enjoyed. Turk proceeded at once to disrobe himself, and I, filled with -wonder at the mysteries of which I was, for the first time, a -privileged observer, turned my attention to the other members of the -company. The room adjoining was also occupied, by the ladies of the -company, to judge from their voices; they were in the merriest of -spirits, and a smart rattle of jokes and saucy sayings passed from one -room to another. Turk was evidently a favourite with the ladies, who -called out 'Turk, my dear' this, and 'Turk, my dear' that, he -returning their 'dears' with 'darlings,' as became a man of gallantry. -When, after the lapse of a few minutes, I looked towards the place -where Turk was, I discovered in his stead an imposing individual with -a pair of magnificent moustaches on his lips, and such a development -of calf to his legs as I certainly never should have given Turk credit -for without ocular proof. I gazed at him in doubt as to whether it -really was Turk I saw before me, and his voice presently convinced me -that it was Turk, and no other. Over his herculean calves he drew a -pair of doubtfully-white cotton tights, and over these a pair of -yellow-satin breeches, rather the worse for wear; around his waist (no -longer slim, but bulky, as became the 'heavy man') he drew a flaming -red-silk sash, with enormous fringes, and a broad black belt, in which -were ominously displayed two great knives and three great pistols. -Then came a ballet shirt which had seen better days (or nights), then -a blue-velvet jacket, with slashed sleeves and large brass buttons, -and he completed his attire by throwing carelessly upon his head-- -which was framed in a wig of black ringlets--a peaked black hat, with -a stained red feather drooping over (I feel that I ought to say o'er') -his brow. - -'This is the regulation kind of thing, Chris,' he said to me in a low -voice--'this is the stuff that draws the twopenny gallery.' - -And he turned, with much affability, and accepted a pewter-pot offered -to him by a brother with a 'Here, Cully!' and drank a deep draught. -Then he took me into the passage, and asked some person in authority -to pass me into the theatre. The people were pouring in at all the -entrances, and in a short time the house was completely filled. They -were fully bent upon enjoying themselves, and began to kick and -applaud directly they were seated. When the lights were turned up and -a bright blaze broke upon the living sea of faces, there was a roar of -delight; and as the musicians straggled into the orchestra, they were -greeted with applause and exclamations of familiarity, which fell upon -ears supremely indifferent. I was placed in a good position, where I -had a capital view of the stage, and having purchased a playbill, I -began to study it. The programme was an imposing one, and the -occupants of the twopenny gallery could certainly not complain that -they did not have enough for their money. First, there was the -romantic melodrama of _The Knight of the Sable Plume_, in which that -distinguished actor, Mr. Horace Saint Herbert Fitzherbert (pronounced -by the entire press to be superior to the elder Kean, and to surpass -Garrick), would sustain the principal character. To be followed by the -thrilling drama of _The Lonely Murder at the Wayside Inn_. After -which, a comic song by Sam Jacobs, entitled the 'Jolly Drunken -Cobbler,' and the clog hornpipe, by Mr. Dicksey. The whole to conclude -with the stirring domestic drama of _The Trials and Vicissitudes of a -Servant-Girl_; winding up with a grand allegorical tableau in coloured -fires. The appetite that could have found fault with the quantity must -surely have been unappeasable. In due time the music ceases, a bell -rings, there is a moment's breathless expectation in the house, and -the curtain rises on _The Knight of the Sable Plume_. Scene the first: -A wood. In the distance, the battlemented castle of Plantagenet the -Ruthless. (So says the programme, but I cannot see the battlemented -castle, although I strain my eyes to discern it, being interested in -it as the family residence of my friend Turk.) Enter two ruffians in -leather jerkins and buff gloves. Times are very bad with them. They -want gold, they want blood, and--ahr! they want revenge (with a -redundancy of _r_'s). They roll their eyes, they gnash their teeth. -Yonder is the castle of Plantagenet. There sits the lordly tyrant who -grinds his vassals to the dust. Shall he be allowed to go on in his -ruthless course unchecked? No! Hark! a thousand echoes reiterate the -declaration. (I fancy the echoes.) No no! no! They kneel, and swear -revenge in dumb show. Who comes here? As they live, it is the lovely -Edith, the heiress to those baronial halls. The Fates are propitious. -They'll tear her from the domestic hearth, and bear her senseless form -to mountains wild. Exit ruffians elaborately. Enter Edith pensively. -She is pretty, and she receives a round of applause from all parts of -the house. She bows, and tells the audience that she has just -dismounted from her snow-white palfrey outside. This accounts for her -coming in without a hat, and with her hair hanging down her back over -a white-muslin frock. The sparkling foliage of the trees tempted her -to stroll along the mossy sward. She sighs. Who is the stranger she -met nine days ago upon this very spot? She did not speak to him, she -did not see his face, but the beating of her heart, the clouds athwart -the sky, the dew upon the grass, the whisper of the breeze, the -beauteous birds that warble delicious notes to scented flowers, all, -all whisper to her that she loves him. Ah, yes, she loves him! Could -she but see once more his manly form, she'd die content. Cue to the -musicians, with whose assistance Edith sings a plaintive song -expressive of her wish To quit the sordid world, And with her love be -whirled To other lands. On sorrow bent (she sings), I'd die content If -he were by my side. Oh, take me, love, To realms above, And let me be -thy bride. The ruffians enter at the back of the stage, and roam about -with stealthy steps. They draw their knives, and breathe upon them. -Expectation is in every eye. The ruffians advance. The high-born -maiden continues her song. The ruffians retreat. The high-born -concludes her song with a tra-la-la. The ruffians, having just made up -their minds at that point, advance again, with a quick sliding -movement. Seize her! Oh, spare me, spare me she cries. Spare you, -daughter of Plantagenet the Ruthless! spare you! Never! Did thy gory -sire spare my white-haired parent when, with his bloody sword, he -clove him from head to foot, and laid him writhing in the dust? Spare -you! Not if lightnings flashed and thunders rolled, not if all the -powers of earth and air interpose their forms protecting, shall you be -spared! Revenge! The music is worked up terrifically during the scene. -The ruffians drag the maiden this way and that, evidently undecided as -to which road they shall take to their mountains wild. They seem bent -upon rending her lovely form into small pieces and running off the -opposite sides of the stage with the fragments. Help, oh, help me! she -cries. A sudden tumult is heard without. Make way there, make way! is -heard, at least two yards from the spot. She shrieks more loudly. I -hear his lovèd step without! she cries. And the next moment a figure -clad in armour rushes in, and with one blow lays the two ruffians dead -upon the stage. His visor is down, and towering in his helmet is a -sable plume. It is he, the Knight of the Sable Plume! He supports -Edith on one arm; he raises the other aloft to the skies, and the -curtain drops upon the picture amidst the admiring plaudits of the -audience. Vociferous cries for Fitz! Fitz! bring that hero to the -front of the curtain, where he gracefully bows, and wipes his brow -languidly with a cambric handkerchief The second act introduces my -friend Turk West, in the character of Plantagenet. I am glad to find -that he is a favourite with the audience, who clap their hands, and -two or three profane ones cry out, 'Bravo, Turk! Go in and win!' I am -not aware whether this is a stimulant to him, but he certainly 'goes -in' with vigour. The scene in which he appears is described as the -grand hall in the castle, and its appointments are two chairs and a -brown wooden table of modern manufacture. Very ruthless and very -fierce indeed does Turk look, and he is accompanied by the pair of -dead ruffians, who now appear as retainers: I recognise them by their -buff boots. It is in vain that I endeavour to unravel the plot; the -threads slip from me directly I attempt to gather them together. From -a lengthy soliloquy indulged in by Plantagenet, I learn that he is not -the rightful owner of the battlemented castle. Seventeen years ago he -killed a noble prince in cold blood (which popular phrase cannot be a -correct one), and murdered his beautiful child, the last, last scion -of a noble race. (Here Turk grows magnificent, and 'goes in' with a -will.) Oh, agony! He beholds once more their mangled corpses, he sees -the death-sweat br-reaking on their brows! The demon of remorse is -tearing at his vitals. Oh, would he could recall the past, and restore -the two wooden chairs and the table to their rightful owner! During -the applause that follows, Turk winks at me, and I am delighted. The -low-comedy man and a waiting-maid in short petticoats and wearing an -embroidered apron, as was the fashion with waiting-maids in the days -of chivalry, play important comic parts in the piece, and send the -audience into convulsions of laughter. But the plot has quite baffled -me, and I have given up all hope of unravelling it. The Knight of the -Sable Plume has been thrown into prison by Plantagenet, after a -desperate fight with eight retainers (in slippers), and is released by -the hand of the lovely Edith, to whom he swears eternal fealty. The -last scene is the same as the first--a wood, with the (invisible) -battlemented castle in the distance. Plantagenet the Ruthless enters. -He is mad with rage. His prisoner has escaped. He gnashes his teeth. -He'll search the wide world through but he will find him. Usurper! ye -search not long. Behold him here! He enters, the Knight of the Sable -Plume. At length we stand front to front! Back to thy teeth thy lying -words! Villain! Defend thyself! They fight to music. One, two, up; -one, two, down; one, two, three, four, sideways. They turn round, and -when they are face to face, they clash their swords terrifically. They -lock their arms together, and fight that way. The gallant knight is -getting the worst of it. He is forced first upon one knee, then upon -the other. He fights round the stage in this position. By a herculean -effort he gains his feet. The swords flash fire. Ah, the usurper -yields! He stumbles. He lies prostrate on the ground. Over him glares -the knight. Recreant, beg thy miserable life! Never! Die, then, -remorseless tyrant! With a piercing shriek Edith rushes in, and cries, -Spare him, oh, spare him; he is my father! The Knight of the Sable -Plume is softened; his sword drops from his grasp. He kneels, and -supports the head of the Ruthless. It is too late; Death has marked me -for his own, says Turk. The knight raises his visor. Ah! what is that -scar upon thy brow? cries Turk. Avenging heaven! it is _his_ child. -These possessions are thine. Take them. Take my daughter. Her love -will compensate for her father's hate. He joins their hands, and -turning up the whites of his eyes (which elicits from the gallery -cries of 'Bravo, Turk!') and saying, 'I die hap-pappy!' proceeds to do -so in the most approved corkscrew style. Thus ended _The Knight of the -Sable Plume_, by far the most incomprehensible piece of romance it had -been my good fortune to witness. Mr. Horace Saint Herbert Fitzherbert -was called before the curtain at the end of the drama, and appeared; -there were calls also for Turk, but he did not appear. He gloomily -informed me, when the performance was over, that Fitzherbert was on a -'starring' engagement, and that it was in the agreement that in his -own pieces nobody should be allowed to appear before the curtain but -himself. On reference to the playbill, I found that in _The Lonely -Murder at the Wayside Inn_ Turk was the murderer, and I am afraid to -say how many times he deserved to be hanged for the dreadful crimes he -performed in _The Trials and Vicissitudes of a Servant-Girl_. In the -last piece the allegorical tableau in coloured fires may have conveyed -a good moral, but the smell was suggestive of the lower regions, where -good morals are not fashionable. - -Following out the instructions given to me by Turk, I made my way, -when the curtain fell for the last time, to the dressing-room at the -back of the stage, and whispered my praises of my friend's acting. -Before we went home, he and a number of his professional brethren -'looked in' at a neighbouring bar, where pewter pots were freely -handed about. There was no lack of animated conversation, and the -subject of course was the drama. One man, who had played a small -character in _The Knight of the Sable Plume_, and played it well, was -holding forth to two or three unprofessional friends on the peculiar -hardship of his case. As he had not played in the last piece, I -inferred from his condition that he had been regaling himself at the -bar for some time before we entered. He was an elderly man, and Turk -whispered to me that he had once been leading man in the theatre, but -that he had come down in the world. Those who addressed him by name -called him Mac. - -'Ah, Turk, my boy,' he said, giving Turk a left-handed grasp; his -right hand held his glass of whisky-toddy--'ah, my sons, come in to -drink? That's right. Drown dull care.' - -'You've tried to do that for a pretty considerable time, Mac,' said -Turk good-humouredly. 'Take a pull at the pewter, Chris.' - -'I have, my boy, I have,' returned Mac; I'm an old stager now, but, -dammee! there's life in the old boy yet. I'll play Claude Melnotte -with the youngest of you. I'm ready to commence all over again. Show -me a more juvenile man than I am on the boards, and dammee! I'll stand -glasses round I will--and pay for them if I can borrow the money!' - -A volley of laughter greeted this sally, in which Mac joined most -heartily. - -'Drown dull care!' he continued. 'I've tried to do it for a -pretty considerable time, as Turk says--dammee, my sons! I've -it all my life, and I'd advise you to do the same. Care killed a -cat, so beware. Before you came in, my sons, I was speaking to these -gentlemen'--indicating his unprofessional friends--'who kindly asked -me to take a glass with them--thank you, I don't mind; my glass _is_ -empty; another whisky-toddy--The cry is still they come! eh, my -sons?--I was speaking to these gentlemen, whose names I have not the -pleasure of knowing, but who take an interest in the profession. I was -speaking to them of myself, in connection with the noble art. I was -saying that I act for my bread----' - -'And sack,' interrupted a member of the company. 'And sack. Mac.' - -'Hang it, no, my son!' exclaimed the old actor, with a capital mixture -of humour and dignity. 'I act for my bread; I let my friends pay for -the sack. I may, or I may not, be an ornament to my profession; that -is a matter of public opinion and public taste; but whether I am or am -not, I am not ashamed to say I act for my bread. I was speaking to -these gentlemen also--your healths, gentlemen--of the decadence of the -drama. In the halcyon days of youth, in the days of the great Kemble -(I made him my model; I trust I do not tarnish his fair fame), the -drama was worth something. But now, when a fellow like this -Fitzherbert--a man who has been pitchforked, so to speak, into the -profession--comes in and takes all the fat of the piece, and when he -is puffed and posted and advertised into a successful engagement, and -when every other worthy member of the company is pushed into a corner, -and compelled, so to speak, to hold a variety of lighted candies to -show off his spurious brightness, it's an infernal hard thing to each -of us as individuals, and a degradation to the drama as an art.' - -'Bravo, Mac!' said one and another, some in sincerity, some to humour -the old actor. - -'You are certainly right, sir,' said one of the strangers, speaking -with the deference due to so eminent an authority. Your glass is -empty; will you fill again?' - -'Ay, till the crack of doom,' was the ready reply. 'Right, sir! of -course I'm right.' - -'But,' said another of the strangers, not quite so deferential as the -former speaker, some one must play second fiddle.' - -'Second fiddle, sir! Yes, I admit it, sir. Some one _must_ play second -fiddle--and third fiddle too, if you like. But let the man who plays -second fiddle _be_ a second fiddle, and not a first fiddle.' - -'Who is to blame for all this?' asked the deferential stranger. - -'Who's to blame, sir! The public, sir--the public. But what -consolation is that to me? I must live, sir, I suppose. I must feed my -family, or answer for it to the beak. Here am I, who will place my -Macbeth in comparison with any man's--who can play Hamlet, Lear, -Othello, Brutus, in a masterly manner--I don't say it _of_ myself; it -has been said of me--here am I compelled to knuckle-under to a man -young enough to be my son, and with not a tenth part of my brains or -experience. And what's the consequence? I haven't had a call for six -months, while he gets called on three times a night. Why, sir, I -remember the time when a discriminating audience called me on six -times in one piece! I've had a dozen bouquets thrown to me in one -night! And now, sir, these things are forgotten, and old Mac is -shelved, sir, shelved!' - -'The public ought to be ashamed of themselves,' said the deferential -stranger. - -But the public's not all to blame.. It's the managers, who allow -themselves to be led, like tame sheep, into the trap; they haven't the -moral courage to stand up against it. And what's a man, or a manager, -without moral courage? I wouldn't mind it so much, but what's the -consequence? A star is engaged upon shares, at an enormous screw, and -to make this up, all _our_ screws are reduced. That's where it comes -hard. I pledge you my dramatic word, my screw isn't so much by -seven-and-sixpence a week as it was six months ago. Who gets my -seven-and-six? Why, who but the star? And my poor children must starve -and perish, or go on the parish, if they hadn't a self-denying parent, -who would pawn his shirt before they should come to want. I'll take -another glass of whisky-toddy--my last, sir, my last to-night. Old Mac -knows when he's had enough. Turk, my son, a word in your ear.' - -Turk went aside with him, and I heard the jingling of coin. - -'He's a rum old fellow,' said Turk to me, as we walked home; 'a good -actor too, and might have got on well if he hadn't been so much -engaged all his life in drowning care.' - -'You gave him some money?' I said. - -'Lent it to him, Chris; only fourpence halfpenny. The old fellow never -borrows even money; it's always an exact sum for an exact purpose that -he wants--fourteenpence, or eightpence halfpenny, or sevenpence, or -some other odd amount. He was never known to borrow a shilling or a -half-crown. There's a good deal of truth in what he says, Chris.' - -'I am sorry for his wife and children,' I said. - -'The best of it is,' replied Turk, laughing, 'that the old fellow has -only two sons, and the youngest is thirty-four years of age, and in a -very good way. But it pleases old Mac to talk like that, and he has -talked like it so long, that I've no doubt he really believes that he -_has_ a destitute family somewhere, who would starve if he couldn't -borrow his fourpence-halfpennies and his sevenpences now and then. -It's one of the best things I know.' - -Altogether this night's entertainment was a most enjoyable one to me, -and gave me much food for reflection. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. -HOLDING THE WORD OF PROMISE TO THE EAR. - - -So far as I could judge from outward appearances, the coldness between -uncle Bryan and Jessie increased with time, rather than lessened. -Their natures seemed to be in direct antagonism, and every effort to -make things pleasant between them completely failed. My mother often -made such efforts in her quiet loving way; Jessie herself wooed him, -after her fashion, when the humour was on her; but he was implacable, -except on one occasion to which I shall presently refer. - -'He ought,' said Jessie to me, 'to be at the head of a monastery of -monks; he thinks it is a crime even to laugh. What sort of a young man -was he, I wonder?' - -I could have told her, but the seal of secrecy was on my tongue. I -need scarcely say that all my sympathies were with Jessie. I was an -attentive observer of the state of things at home, and I had many -confidential conversations with my mother concerning matters. Loving -Jessie as I did, I could not, in my heart, be tolerant and kind to -uncle Bryan, as she begged me to be; the hard and stern rules which he -had set down for himself, the following out of which by us might -possibly have won his favour, would have made life a burden. I applied -these rules to himself, and his own life was his own condemnation. -There was no question in my mind as to whether he was right or wrong. -But I could not win my mother to my way of thinking; nor did I -endeavour after a little while, for I saw that it gave her pain. Never -did a hard word pass her lips concerning him; she had affectionate -excuses for him in every fresh difference between him and Jessie. I -thought she was wrong, but I did not tell her so, nor did I distress -her by endeavouring to explain to her that her own conduct was a -contradiction to her words. That she never missed an opportunity to be -tender and gentle to Jessie was a sufficiently strong argument against -uncle Bryan. In her love for my mother Jessie never wavered; it seemed -to me to grow stronger every day. Sometimes when we were at home -together--it was not a very frequent occurrence now, for Jessie and I -were generally out of an evening at the Wests', or at a theatre for -which orders had been given to us--I observed Jessie watching us; but -when she saw my eyes upon her, she would turn hers away thoughtfully. -One night we had come home late; uncle Bryan was abed; my mother had -prepared supper for us. We sat down, and after supper fell into -silence; I do not know what I was thinking of, but we remained silent -for many minutes. Happening to look in the direction of my mother, I -saw her wistful eyes upon me, and at the same moment Jessie rose, and, -kneeling before my mother, drew her face down, and kissed it. I was by -their side in an instant, and the three of us were clasped in one -embrace; but Jessie quickly released herself, and left me and my -mother together. - -Time went on and there was no change, except that we were growing -older, and that Jessie was growing more and more beautiful. I was -getting along well, and as I was earning fair wages, I contributed, -with pride, a fair sum towards the expenses of the house. I was -enabled to make my mother and Jessie many little presents now, and I -sometimes coaxed my mother to buy Jessie a new dress or a new hat, and -not to let her know that they came from me. On the anniversary of my -twenty-first birthday we had a party at home, the four of us, and were -happier and more comfortable in each other's society than we had been -for a long time. Even uncle Bryan softened--not only towards me, but -towards Jessie. - -'Your boyhood is over,' said uncle Bryan; 'you are now a man, with a -man's responsibility, and a man's work to do in life. Do it well.' - -'I will try to, uncle,' I replied. - -'To perform one's duties,' continued uncle Bryan, 'taxes a man's -judgment very severely, and as a man's judgment is generally the slave -of his inclination, it is seldom that he can look back upon his life -with satisfaction.' - -'I don't quite understand that,' I observed; 'if a man's inclinations -are good----' - -Uncle Bryan interrupted me, for I had paused. He took up my words. -'Inclination is an idle selfish imp. Life is full of temptations, and -inclination leads us to them; we follow only too readily.' - -'All that we can do,' said my mother, caressing me fondly, 'is to do -our best; we are often the slave of circumstances, Bryan.' - -'In many cases,' he replied, 'not in all, a man can rise above them. -We do not exercise our reason sufficiently. We cry and fret like -children because things are not exactly as we wish.' - -'Do you?' asked Jessie quickly. He answered her evasively. 'I have my -sorrows.' - -'I am glad of that,' said Jessie, in a low tone. - -'There is more wisdom in your remark,' he said, with a thoughtful -observance of her, 'than you probably imagine. I give you credit for -using it in the best and kindest sense.' - -'I meant it in that sense,' said Jessie gently, drawing a little -nearer to him. - -'Will you tell me why you are glad that I should have sorrows?' - -'For one reason----' - -'Well?' - -'It does not remove you so far from us,' said Jessie, with less -confidence than she usually exhibited. - -'I try to do that?' he asked. 'I try to remove myself from you?' - -'I think so,' she answered. 'You are not angry with me?' - -'No, child,' he said, and the gentleness of his tone surprised me. - -'But for sorrow and trouble,' mused my mother, the tenderest qualities -of our nature would never be shown. God is very good to us, in our -hardest trials. Dear Bryan! I am thinking of the time when Chris and I -were in London without a friend. As I look upon my darling boy now, -and think of the happy future there is before him----' She did not -complete her sentence, but she went towards uncle Bryan, and stooped -and kissed him. - -'Say no more, Emma,' he said huskily; you do not know how vastly the -balance is in your favour.' - -'Notwithstanding your sorrows? questioned Jessie. - -'Yes,' he replied, with an approving nod, notwithstanding my sorrows. -You are sharp-witted, Jessie.' - -'Thank you, uncle,' she said merrily. - -It was almost like the commencement of a new and more harmonious era -in our relations with one another. - -'How old are you, Jessie?' I asked. - -'I shall be eighteen in a little more than three months. A girl -becomes a woman at eighteen, I am told. I shall expect to be treated -with dignity then, Chris.' - -The greatest wonder of the evening was reserved for its close. Uncle -Bryan was the first to rise and wish us good-night. He grasped my hand -warmly, and kissed my mother. He did not offer to shake hands with -Jessie, but wished her good-night, and lingered at the door, waiting -for her response; but it did not come. He turned to go, but before he -could leave the room, she was by his side. - -'Why are you so kind to others,' she asked, and so cold to me?' He -stood silent, looking upon the ground. I want to love you if you will -let me; I want you to love me. Say "Good-night, dear Jessie," and kiss -me.' - -He did exactly as she desired. 'Good-night, dear Jessie,' he said, and -they kissed each other. He drew his arm round her, and I saw a tender -light flash into his face, and rob it of its habitual sternness of -expression. But it was gone in a moment, and he with it. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. -WE ENJOY A DECEITFUL CALM. - - -The harmonious relations between uncle Bryan and Jessie which my -birthday seemed to have inaugurated continued for more than a -fortnight, a result entirely due to Jessie's untiring efforts to -conciliate him, and to 'keep him good,' as she expressed it. On the -day following that on which I came of age, he showed symptoms of -irritability at the tenderness into which he had been betrayed--for -that undoubtedly was the light in which he viewed it; he had a -suspicion that he had been played upon, and he was annoyed with -himself for his weakness. Having, I doubt not, thought the matter well -over during the night, and having quite made up his mind to vindicate -himself, he came down in the morning more than usually morose and -reserved, and received Jessie's affectionate advances in his coldest -and most repellent manner. But Jessie would not permit him to relapse -into his old cross humour; she charmed it out of him by a display of -wonderful submission and tenderness, and by answering his snappish -words with gentleness. In this way she disarmed him, and he, after -some resistance, and with a singular mixture of pleasure and -ungraciousness in his manner, allowed himself to be beguiled by her. -The truth of the proverb that 'a soft answer turneth away wrath' was -never better exemplified. If, when she had wooed him into a kinder -mood, she had shown any signs of triumph, her influence over him would -have come to an end immediately; he watched furtively for some such -sign, and detecting none, resigned himself to this new and pleasant -beguilement. Whether Jessie's conduct sprang from impulse or reason, -she could not have behaved more wisely. - -My mother was greatly rejoiced, and told me from day to day all that -passed between these opposite natures. That the links of home love -which bound us together were being strengthened was a source of -exceeding delight to her. - -'And it is all Jessie's doings, mother.' - -'It is, my dear. I scarcely believed her capable of so much gentleness -and submission.' (Here I thought to myself, 'I believe no one but I -knows of what Jessie is capable.') 'When your uncle is most -trying----' - -'As he often is,' I interrupted, 'and without cause.' - -'Well, my dear, if you will have it so. When he is most trying, she is -most gentle, and she wins him to her side almost despite himself. And, -Chris, I really think he likes it.' - -'Who would not,' I exclaimed, 'when wooed by Jessie?' - -'It is in her power,' said my mother, with a sweet smile of -acquiescence, 'to make a great change in him. There is an undercurrent -of deep tenderness in your uncle's nature, and Jessie is reaching it -by the most delicate means. If she will only have patience! for it -will take time, my dear.' - -But these fair appearances were treacherous. Neither my mother nor I -saw the clouds that were gathering, and when the storm burst I was -impressed by the unhappy conviction that I, and I alone, was the -cause. How little do we know of the power of light words lightly -spoken! But for certain inconsiderate words which I had used, there -would certainly have been sunshine in our house for a much longer -time. As it was, this better aspect of things was destined soon to -come to an end, and to come to an end in a way which introduced not -only a more bitter discord between Jessie and uncle Bryan, but imbued -us insidiously with a want of faith in one another. The storm broke -suddenly, and without forewarning to uncle Bryan and my mother. But in -the mean time the harmony was almost perfect. Jessie, when she went to -bed, no longer parted from uncle Bryan with a careless 'Good-night,' -but kissed him regularly every morning and every night, and he -submitted to the caress without, however, inviting it by look or word. -But even that wonder took place on a certain evening when Jessie, with -a touch of her old ways upon her, wished us all good-night in a -careless tone, and without kissing uncle Bryan. She opened and closed -the door, but did not leave the room, and placed her fingers on her -lips with a bright eager look in our direction, warning us not to -betray her. Uncle Bryan's back was towards us, and he made no motion -at first. Jessie stole quietly behind his chair, and stood there in -silence. Presently, uncle Bryan turned his head slowly to the door, -with something of a yearning look of regret in his face, and at the -same instant Jessie's arms were round his neck, and her lips were -pressed to his. - -'Don't be angry with me,' she said. - -'Angry, Jessie! I thought you had forgotten me. But you are as full of -tricks as Puck was.' - -'I can't help it, uncle Bryan. Good-night!' - -'Good-night, my dear.' - -And Jessie went to bed with a very light heart, and left light hearts -behind her. It was apparent that these enchanting ways were pleasant -to uncle Bryan, and I told Jessie so. - -'It softens him, Jessie.' - -'It takes a long time to soften a rock,' she observed, with a -thoughtful smile. - -'If anybody can do it, you can, Jessie.' - -'You think nothing but good of me, Chris.' - -'I only say what I feel. And you really want uncle Bryan to love you?' - -'Yes--more than I can say--and I can scarcely tell why.' - -'Except,' I said, with a foolish hesitation, 'that you like to be -loved by everybody.' - -'Perhaps it is because of that, Chris. I _do_ like everybody to love -me. It is much nicer so.' - -If I wanted any consolation I supplied it by observing: 'To be sure, -there are different kinds of love.' - -'Indeed!' exclaimed Jessie tantalisingly. 'Is it like uncle Bryan's -sugar, of different shades and different degrees of sweetness? Some of -it tastes very sandy, Chris.' - -'Ah, now you are joking, Jessie!' - -'I am not in a joking humour. I want to speak seriously. Chris, I have -sometimes wondered that you have never asked me questions about -myself.' - -'In what way, Jessie?' - -'About myself, before I came here. When one likes any one very much, -one is naturally curious to know all about one.' - -'I had my reasons, Jessie. When you first came, mother wished me not -to ask you any questions. She said it would be like an attempt to -steal into uncle Bryan's confidence. He might have secrets, she said, -which he would not wish us to know.' - -'Secrets!' she mused. 'What can I have to do with them? And yet, it is -strange, now I think about it.' - -'I should like you to tell me all about yourself,' I said; 'it doesn't -matter now that you have spoken of it first yourself.' - -'I was thinking of a secret that I have, Chris.' - -I composed myself to receive her confidence. - -'But I don't know what it is myself, yet. It is in a letter; -perhaps----' - -'Well, Jessie?' - -'Perhaps nothing. It is only a letter that I am not to open until I am -eighteen years of age. That will not be long, Chris. We will wait -until then, and then I will tell you all I know. Let us blow it away -till that time comes.' She blew a light breath. 'I wanted to make you -a present on your birthday, but I did not have money enough then. -Shall I give it to you now?' I held out my hand eagerly, and Jessie -took from her pocket a small card-box. 'It is in this. What do you -think it is?' I made a great many guesses, but she shook her head -merrily at all of them. 'I went to look at it every day in the -shop-window, afraid that some one might buy it before I had saved up -money enough.' - -I opened the box, and took from it a small silver locket, -heart-shaped, with the words engraven on it, 'To Chris, with Jessie's -love.' Unspeakable happiness dwelt in my heart as I gazed upon the -emblem. As I held it in my hand tenderly, it seemed to me a living -link between Jessie and me--an undying assurance of her love. Nothing -so precious had ever been mine. My looks satisfied Jessie, and she -clapped her hands in delight. - -'So you like it, Chris?' - -'I will never, never part with it, Jessie. But I want a piece of -ribbon; may I have that piece round your neck? - -'Take it off yourself, Chris.' - -What a bungler I was, and how long it took me to remove the piece of -simple ribbon, need not here be described. I know that while my -trembling fingers were about her neck, Jessie, in reply to a look, -said, 'Yes, you may, Chris;' and that I kissed her. - -'And now, Chris,' she said, 'I want to speak to you about something -that is troubling me very much. When you said the other night that -uncle Bryan was an atheist, were you in earnest?' - -'I said what I believed,' I answered with an uneasy feeling. - -'And he _is_ an atheist?' - -'I am afraid he is, Jessie.' - -'Has he ever told you so?' - -'Oh, no; there are some things that one scarcely dares to speak of.' - -'That is if one is weak and a coward. I am not that, and I don't think -you are, Chris. Then I suppose you have never spoken to uncle Bryan -about religion?' - -'Not a word has ever passed between us upon religious matters.' - -'An atheist is a person who does not believe in God, is he not, -Chris?' - -I was sensible that the discussion of so solemn a subject might lead -to grave results, and I wished to discontinue it; but Jessie said: - -'Don't be weak, Chris; I think I ought to know these things, and if we -can't speak together in confidence, no two persons in the world can. -Of course I can easily find out what I want to know; Gus West will -tell me everything; but I came to you because we are nearer to each -other.' - -'Nearer and dearer, Jessie.' - -'Yes, Chris; and now tell me what you know.' - -I told her all that I knew concerning atheism, and all that I knew -concerning uncle Bryan in connection with it. 'When I was a boy, -Jessie, scarcely a week after we came to live with uncle Bryan, I -heard him say that life was tasteless to him, and that he believed in -nothing. I thought of it often afterwards.' - -'Life was tasteless to him _because_ he did not believe in anything; -that is the proper view to take of it. If a person does not believe in -anything, he cannot love anything. Can you imagine anything more -dreary than the life of a person who does not love anybody, and who -has nobody to love him? I can't. A person might as well be a stick or -a stone--better to be that, for then he couldn't feel. But the words -that uncle Bryan used may not have meant what you suppose, Chris.' - -'They came in this way, Jessie. On the first Sunday we were here, -mother asked uncle Bryan if he was going to church. He said that he -never went to church. Mother was very sorry, I saw, but she did not -say anything more. On that same night, uncle Bryan was reading a book, -and he read aloud some passages from it. Mother asked him what was the -name of the book, and he answered, _The Age of Reason_. When he laid -the book aside, mother took it up, and looked at it; and then she sent -me upstairs for the Bible. That was all; but I didn't quite know what -was the real meaning of it until a long time afterwards, when I found -out what kind of a book _The Age of Reason_ is.' - -'Tell me what it is.' - -'It is a book written by an atheist for atheists; it might almost be -called the Atheist's Bible, Jessie.' - -'And did you never speak to your mother about uncle Bryan's religion? - -'I have tried to, but mother is like me; there are some things she -does not like to speak of.' - -'And this is one of them,' said Jessie, following out her train of -thought; 'and out of your love for her, when she said, "Let us talk of -something else, my dear," you have talked of something else.' - -'That is so, Jessie. It is almost as if you overheard what we said.' - -'It is easy to see into your mother's heart, Chris. She did not like -to speak about uncle Bryan's religion, because she loves him, and -because she wants you to love him. Now, if it had been anything that -would have made uncle Bryan stand out in a good light, she would have -encouraged you to speak about it.' - -'That is true enough, Jessie.' - -'Chris, your mother is all heart.' - -'She is everything that is good, if you mean that?' - -'I do mean that; she is the best, the sweetest, the dearest woman in -the world. Ah, if I were like her! But I am very, very different. What -I say and what I think comes more often out of my head than out of my -heart. Chris, it is impossible for an atheist to be a good man!' - -I saw the pit we were walking into, but I had not the skill to lead -Jessie away from it. - -'A man who does not believe in God,' she exclaimed, 'cannot believe in -anything good. No wonder that he is what he is. I am not satisfied--I -am not satisfied! It is shocking--shocking to think of!' She shook her -head at herself, and I listened to her words in no pleasant frame of -mind. She was showing me an entirely new phase in her character. It -was Jessie reasoning, and reasoning on the most solemn of subjects. -'Why,' she continued, 'God made everything that's good, and if uncle -Bryan is an atheist, he is a bad man. And yet your mother loves him.' - -'That she does, Jessie, with all her heart.' - -'She couldn't love anything that's bad. If you were an atheist, Chris, -I should hate you.' - -'Thank God, I am not, Jessie; even if I were, you could make me -different. But I don't like to hear you speak like this,' I said, -reproaching myself bitterly for having been the cause of this -conversation; for when I had told Jessie that uncle Bryan was an -atheist I had spoken with a full measure of dislike towards him. -'Mother does not reason as you do. After all, I may be mistaken, -Jessie, and we maybe doing him a great injustice. I know so much that -is good of him--more than you possibly imagine.' - -And then I told her what, from a false feeling of shame, I had -hitherto withheld from her--the story of my mother's hard battle with -the world when we came to London, and of uncle Bryan's noble behaviour -to us when we were sunk in the bitterest poverty. - -'All the time I have known him, Jessie, I have never known him to be -guilty of an unjust action. He is as upright and honest a man as ever -lived. Can such a man be a bad man?' - -'Upright, honest, and just!' she repeated my words in a musing tone. -'It is an enigma.' - -'He would die,' I continued warmly, 'rather than be guilty of a mean -action. Now that we are speaking of him in this way, I am ashamed of -myself for ever thinking ill of him. Mother was right, from the very -first--she was right about him, as she always is about everything. If -he were not so hard----But you don't know what trials he has gone -through in his life.' - -'Do you?' - -'I know some of them, but I am pledged not to speak of them to any -one--not even to you. One thing happened to him--never hint, for my -sake, Jessie, that you even suspect it--one thing happened to him so -terrible and so dreadful that it is no wonder he is hard and cold and -morose. Many and many a time mother has entreated me to be kind and -charitable in my thoughts towards him, and instead of doing so I have -repaid all his kindness by the basest of ingratitude.' - -'How have you done that, Chris?' - -'By saying anything to you to cause you to dislike him. Ah, you may -shake your head, but it is so, Jessie. If he were in my place, and I -in his, he would come to me and ask me to forgive him; but I haven't -the courage and fearless heart that he has, and I shouldn't know how -to do it without giving him pain.' - -I was really very remorseful, and sincerely so; but Jessie said -nothing to comfort me. - -'Have I had no reason of my own, until the last few days, to dislike -him? Has he behaved quite kindly to me? Chris, is it possible that I -am wrong in nearly everything that I have done? How many times have I -tried to conciliate him, and how many times has he answered me with -unkind words! There is some reason for it--there is some reason for -it.' - -'And yet remember, Jessie,' I said, without thinking, 'that he -has given you a home, as he gave one to us, never asking for a -return--never expecting one.' - -Her face turned scarlet. - -'Would _he_ have said that?' she asked, and left me without another -word. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. -THE STORM BREAKS. - - -Jessie's moods were sufficiently variable and perplexing to cause me -serious uneasiness, but I had no suspicion of what was in her mind -when she spoke of uncle Bryan and his religious opinions, or I should -have used my strongest efforts to avert the storm. Even when she made -her first open move, which she did on the evening of the same day on -which we had the conversation just recorded, I did not suspect her; -truth to tell, my mind at that time was almost completely occupied by -one theme--the locket which Jessie had given me, and its significance. -As a charm, it was most potent in its power of bringing happiness to -the wearer; I felt that while this locket was in my possession, it -would be impossible for a cloud to shadow my life. But clouds came all -too quickly. - -We were sitting together in the evening, in the most amicable of -moods. Suddenly Jessie addressed uncle Bryan. - -'Uncle Bryan, who teaches the young?' - -He looked inquiringly at her. - -'Well,' she continued, understanding that an explanation was expected -of her, 'one has to learn things; knowledge doesn't come of itself.' - -'Assuredly not,' he said, with evident pleasure and curiosity; 'even -parent birds teach their brood the use of their wings, and how to -build their nests.' - -'I did not know that; but it is of men and women I am speaking. They -are higher than birds and beasts.' - -'Yes,' he said, in a reflective tone; 'it is so.' - -'If the world were filled with nothing but old people, I wonder what -sort of a world it would be!' - -'It would soon be no world at all,' he said; and added, with -good-humoured depreciation, 'and while it lasted it would be a very -disagreeable world, if the inhabitants in any way resembled me.' - -'Never mind that, uncle Bryan; perhaps some people try to make -themselves out a great deal worse than they are. So, then, there -_must_ be young people; that is a necessity.' - -'As much a necessity as the seasons; it is the law of nature.' - -'A good law?' - -'Undoubtedly, young philosopher.' His manner was almost blithe. - -'Well, then, to come back, as a friend of mine says. The young do not -know what is right and wrong, and knowledge does not come of itself. -Who teaches them?' - -'The old,' he replied readily. - -'Because they are more likely to know what is right and wrong.' - -'For that reason, I should say. They have had more time to learn, and -they have had more experience of the world.' - -'Of course,' she said, 'and experience means wisdom. The old _must_ -know better than the young.' - -'Naturally.' - -'And young people should be guided by old people?' - -'It would be better if that were more generally done.' - -'That is all I wanted to know.' - -Before many days were over, Jessie made her meaning apparent. She -always accompanied my mother and me to church, and on the Sunday -following this conversation she unmasked her battery. - -'Uncle Bryan,' she said, while we were at breakfast, 'I want you to -come to church with us this morning.' - -A startled look flashed into my mother's eyes; uncle Bryan stared at -Jessie, and bit his lips. He did not reply immediately. - -'Young ladies have many wants,' he said. - -'But this is a good want,' she pleaded. There was nothing saucy or -defiant in her tone or manner; both were very gentle. 'But this is a -good want. You will come with us?' - -'I will not come with you,' he replied sternly. - -'Do you never go to church? - -'Never.' - -'Why?' - -'That is my affair.' The corners of his lips began to twitch. - -'Is it not good to go to church?' she asked, still in a gentle tone, -her colour beginning to rise. I noted with consternation these -familiar signs of the coming battle. The shock was the more bitter -because, to all outward appearance, everything had been fair between -them until this moment. Only the night before we had stopped up half -an hour later than usual, because the time was passing very pleasantly -to all of us. - -'My dear,' said my mother, with a sweet smile, taking Jessie's hand in -hers; 'my dear, you forget!' - -'Forget what, mother?' asked Jessie; she sometimes addressed my mother -thus. 'Am I doing anything wrong?' - -Even I could not help acknowledging to myself that Jessie, by a -literal acceptation of my mother's words, was wilfully misinterpreting -the nature and intent of her remonstrance; but I found justification -for her. - -'Uncle Bryan is the best judge,' said my mother. - -'I know he is,' said Jessie. - -'Let her go on,' cried uncle Bryan. - -The old stern look was in his face, and his voice was very harsh. I -was the more unhappy, because I alone held the key of the situation. -Jessie repeated the question, addressing herself to uncle Bryan. - -'Is it not good to go to church?' - -'I do not say that,' was his reply. - -'But I want you to say one way or the other. It _must_ be either good -or bad. You will come with us!' - -'I will not come with you.' - -The high tone in which he spoke put a stop to the discussion, and we -finished the breakfast in the midst of an unhappy silence. Indeed, we -all seemed too frightened to speak. At the proper time my mother and I -were ready for church, and were waiting downstairs for Jessie, whom -my mother had left in their room dressing. But Jessie was somewhat -more dilatory than usual. My mother went to the stairs, and softly -called out, - -'Now, my child, be quick, or we shall be late!' - -It was the first time I had ever heard my mother call Jessie her -child, and I pressed her hand fondly for it. She returned the -pressure, almost convulsively, and presently Jessie came slowly -downstairs. She was dressed with unusual care in a pretty new soft -dress, concerning the making of which there had been great excitement; -but her head was uncovered. - -'Get on your hat quickly, my dear,' said my mother; 'we shall have to -walk fast.' - -'I am not going to church,' said Jessie, in a low tone, in which -I--and I alone, I believe--detected a tremor. - -'Jessie!' cried my mother, in a tone of suffering; 'Jessie, my dear -child!' - -She stepped to Jessie's side, trembling from agitation. Jessie stood -quite quietly by the table, and repeated, in a tone which she strove -in vain to make steady, - -'I am not going to church this morning.' - -Uncle Bryan was in the room, but spoke not a word. - -'Are you not well, my dear?' asked my mother. - -'I am quite well.' - -'Then why will you not come with us?' - -'I am not sure that it is right to go to church.' - -'My dear, if I tell you that it is' - -'Uncle Bryan is older than you--twenty years older--and has had more -experience of the world; therefore he must know better than you. If it -were right to go to church, he would go, for I am sure he is an -upright and just man.' - -At this direct reference to him uncle Bryan raised his head, and gazed -fixedly at Jessie, and at her latter words something like a sneer -passed into his face. My mother looked helplessly from one to another. - -'I know,' said Jessie, 'that I am the cause of this trouble, and I -wish--oh, I wish!--that I had never come into the house! No, I don't -wish it, for then I should never have known you!' She stood very -humbly before my mother. 'I feel how ungrateful I am: to uncle Bryan -for giving me a home'--(how these words stung me!)--'and to you for -giving me a love of which I am so undeserving.' - -The tears came into her eyes, and I went towards her, but she moved a -step from me; and thus apart from each other we four stood for a few -moments in perfect silence--a house pulsing with love and tenderness, -but divided against itself. Then Jessie said suddenly: - -'Uncle Bryan, if I go to church this morning, will you come with us -some time during the year?' - -'No,' he replied sternly and firmly. - -'I have asked you in the wrong way, perhaps,' she said; 'but that -would not alter the thing itself.' - -'Whichever way you asked me, my answer would have been the same, young -lady.' - -'If you tell me to go now, I will go.' - -'I will tell you nothing. You are your own mistress.' - -'How are the young to be taught, then, if the old will not teach -them?' - -In the presence of my mother's distress he had no answer to make, and -I felt that it was out of consideration for her, and not from any -desire to spare himself, that he went into the shop and left us to -ourselves. - -Then Jessie to my mother: - -'I hope you will forgive me, but if I knew I should have died for it I -could not have helped doing what I've done. Don't be grieved for me; I -am not worth it. I am going to spend the morning with Miss West.' - -My mother and I went to church by ourselves; but I fear that my mood -was not a very devout one. My mind was filled with what had taken -place at home, and its probable consequences. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. -COLOUR-BLIND. - - -The consequences were more serious than any one of us could possibly -have imagined, with the single exception of uncle Bryan; where we -hoped, he reasoned, and reasoned with bitterness against himself. -There are in the world a sort of men with whom you are for ever at a -disadvantage--men who from various motives are strangely, and ofttimes -cruelly, reticent as regards themselves, their thoughts, and their -actions. These men receive your confidences, but do not confide in you -in return; they listen to your schemes, your hopes, your fears, but -say not a word concerning their own. You wear your heart upon your -sleeve; they lock up theirs jealously, and place upon them an -impenetrable seal, which perhaps once or twice in a lifetime they -remove--perhaps never. Uncle Bryan was one of these men. Scarcely by a -look had he ever shown us his heart, and it required a nature not only -more noble and generous, but more self-sacrificing, than mine not to -misjudge him--to be even tolerant of him. - -All our hopes of a more harmonious feeling between him and Jessie were -utterly shattered, and my birthday, instead of being the commencement -of a brighter and better era in our home relations, inaugurated an era -of much unhappiness and discomfort. In the most unfortunate, and yet, -as it seemed to me, in the most natural way, we were placed in a -painfully-delicate position of antagonism. Who was to blame for this? -I found the answer to this question without difficulty. Who but uncle -Bryan was to blame? The part which Jessie had taken in the -conversations between them was dictated by the best of feelings--was -good and tender--and I admired her, not only for her courage, but for -the affection she had displayed towards him, and for her efforts to -wean him from his moroseness and infidelity. That she had failed was -no fault of hers. The fault lay entirely in himself, and in his -insensibility to softening influences. That, if she had succeeded, the -result would have been both good and beautiful, was incontrovertible. -I argued the matter very closely in my mind, for, notwithstanding my -love for Jessie, I was anxious not to do uncle Bryan an injustice, and -I could come but to one conclusion. What home could be happy with a -master who possessed such a nature as his? He was like a dark shadow -moving among us, and turning our joy into gloom. - -These were partly the result of my reflections. Other considerations -also arose. We were all bound to one another by ties of affection. -That was a certainty, in the first blush of my reflections; but -afterwards a doubt occurred to my mind. By what tie of affection was -Jessie bound to uncle Bryan? He himself, when he told my mother and me -the story of his life, had confessed it: by none. The charge of Jessie -had almost been forced upon him, and his sense of duty had compelled -him to accept it. It was not humanity that had impelled him to give -Jessie a home. And if, after she came among us, she had failed to win -his love, it was because his heart was hard and cold, and incapable of -tenderness. I recalled a hundred little ways in which she had wooed -him, and every one of them was an argument against him. Then I thought -of her helpless dependent position, and my love for her and my anger -against him grew stronger. That he was hard to her was an additional -reason why I should show her openly, and without false weakness, that -in me she had a champion and a friend who would be true to her until -death. Even if I did not love her, I argued, this championship of one -who was cast as a stranger amongst us would have been demanded of my -manliness. - -All these things were settled in my mind before my mother and I -returned home from church on that memorable Sabbath, but not a word -passed between us on the subject. I was silent out of consideration -for my mother; she was silent out of the exquisite tenderness of her -nature. Over and over again had she played the part of the Peacemaker -between uncle Bryan and Jessie; but knowing uncle Bryan as she did, -she felt that in this crisis she was powerless. The day passed quietly -and unhappily. Jessie joined us as we passed the house of the Wests, -and walked home with us; but during the whole of the day neither uncle -Bryan nor she addressed each other, nor made any conciliatory movement -towards each other. Once or twice she looked towards him, and the -slightest look of kindness from him would, I knew, have brought her to -his side. But although he was conscious of her gaze, he carefully -avoided meeting it, and she, instinctively aware of his intention, -looked towards him no more. It had been arranged that we should go to -the Wests on this night; our visits there during the past fortnight -had not been so frequent as usual; but as the time drew near, Jessie -whispered to me that she intended to stop at home. - -'I will run round,' she said, 'and tell Josey that I can't come; but -you can go.' - -'I shall do as you do, Jessie,' I said. - -I thought afterwards that it was a great pity we stopped at home, for -we were anything but lively company. Uncle Bryan might have been made -of stone, so silent was he; Jessie rejected all my sympathising -advances towards her; and even my mother was at a loss for words. I -was curious about the 'good-night' between uncle Bryan and Jessie when -bedtime was near; it occupied Jessie's thoughts also; but he settled -it by lighting his candle and going to bed without bidding any one of -us good-night. It was evident from this and from uncle Bryan's -behaviour during the week that followed that all harmonious relations -between him and Jessie were at an end. On the next Sunday Jessie came -to church with us as usual. - -I fully expected that she would take an opportunity of speaking to me -on the subject of her difference with uncle Bryan; but as the time -passed, and she did not speak of it, I approached the subject myself. -I told her my opinion, and praised her for her courage. - -'You are speaking against uncle Bryan,' she said. - -'I can't help it, Jessie; 'he brings it on himself by his tyranny.' - -'Tyranny!' she exclaimed. 'Do you forget what you said, and what I -believe--that he is upright, honest, and just?' - -'In other things he is; but not in this. He is like a man who can see, -and who is colour-blind.' - -'That is,' she said, with a deprecatory shake of the head, 'that he is -Jessie-blind. Ah, Chris, if he is blind to what there is good in me, -are you not blind to what there is bad?' I was about to expostulate, -but she stopped me: 'I am not quite satisfied with myself; I don't -know that it would not have been better for me to have held my tongue. -And another thing, Chris: I am not sure whether I am glad that you -think I was right.' - -'Why, Jessie, what things you are saying!' - -'I must say them, Chris, for I know what is in my mind. Answer me this -question. Supposing you were not fond of me, as I know you are--I -don't mind saying it now, for I am speaking very seriously--would you -think then that I was right? Do you side with me out of your head or -out of your heart?' - -'My reason approves of what you did,' I said earnestly; 'I want you to -believe that, Jessie. Say that you do believe it.' - -'I do, Chris.' - -'Then you must be glad to know that I am certain you are not to -blame.' - -She shook her head again, and said: - -'Perhaps it would have been better if all of you had been against me.' - -'But who _is_ against you, Jessie?' I persisted. 'Mother is not, and I -am not.' - -'Never mind that now, Chris. I can see things that you can't see, -because----'and she took my hand, and looked straight into my eye.' - -'Because what, Jessie?' - -'Because you are colour-blind, my dear,' she replied, half gravely, -half sportively, in unconscious imitation of Josey West. - -From this time her visits to the Wests grew even more frequent than -they used to be. She was there not only in the evening--on which -occasions I was always with her--but very often also in the day. My -mother spoke of this to me regretfully, and said she was afraid that -Jessie mistrusted her. - -'Mistrust the sweetest woman in the world!' said Jessie. 'No, indeed, -indeed I do not! But can't you see, Chris, that I am better away?' - -'No, I can't see it, Jessie--not that I have any objection to the -Wests; you know that I am very fond of them.' - -'Still colour-blind, Chris? you still can't see what I can see?' - -'You seem to be putting riddles to me, Jessie,' I said. - -'Well, you must find the answers without my assistance; and as to my -going to the Wests so often in the daytime, what comfort do you think -I find at home?' - -None, I was compelled reluctantly to confess. - -'Have you heard uncle Bryan complain of my absence?' continued Jessie. -'Does he say that I am too often away?' - -'No, Jessie, he has said nothing, to my knowledge.' - -'Because he sees nothing to regret in it.' - -'But mother does, Jessie.' - -'Chris,' said Jessie, with tearful earnestness, 'if I had a mother -like yours I should thank God for her morning, noon, and night; and if -I ever wavered in my love for her, in my faith in her, if I ever did -anything to give her pain, I should pray to die!' - -'You speak out of _my_ heart, Jessie, as well as out of your own.' - -She gazed at me sadly and affectionately, and with something of wonder -too. - -'Well, well, Chris,' she said, 'I have my plans; let me go my way.' - -I was content that she should, having settled in my mind that her way -was my way, and that her way was right. I had my plans also, which I -did not disclose to Jessie. I was improving my position rapidly, and I -knew that the day was not far distant when I should be able to support -a home by my own labour--nay, I was at the present time almost in a -position to do so. But there were things to be seen to and provided -for--furniture and that like; and I was saving money for them -secretly. I looked forward with eagerness to the accomplishment -of my scheme, and I worked hard to hasten its ripening. The sweet -pictures of home-happiness which I conjured up were sufficient -incentives--pictures from which neither Jessie nor my mother was ever -absent. 'Then,' I thought, 'Jessie will not be a dependent upon one -who is filled with unkind and uncharitable feelings towards her.' It -was on my tongue a dozen times to tell Jessie how I was progressing in -my scheme, but I restrained myself. 'No,' I said, 'I will not say -anything to her about it until I am quite ready. Then I will speak -openly to her. She knows that I love her, and that I am working for -her.' - -But I could not keep my plans entirely to myself. I unfolded them to -my mother, who sat silent for a little while after I had finished. -Then she said: - -'Have you not forgotten something, my dear?' - -'No, mother, not that I know of.' - -'Or some one, I should rather say--your uncle Bryan.' - -I returned a disingenuous answer. Uncle Bryan would never leave his -shop. What would he find to do in a place where there were no -customers to serve, and no business to look after?' (I added mentally, -and where he was not master and tyrant?') - -'Chris, my dear child,' said my mother humbly and imploringly, 'do not -hide your heart from me!' - -'Mother!' I cried, shocked at myself. - -'Dear child, forgive me! It was forgetfulness on your part, I know, -and unkind of me to put such a construction upon it. My boy could not -be ungrateful. He knows how I love him, how proud I am of him. How -well I remember his promise to me one night--in the old times, my -darling, when I used to take in needlework for a living--that he would -try to grow into a good man; and how grateful I am to the Lord to see -him after all these years a good and clever man, the best, the dearest -son that mother was ever blessed with!' - -The old times came vividly before me, and a strangely-penitent feeling -stirred my heart as I looked into my mother's face, with its -expression of yearning love, and thought of the road I had traversed -from boyhood to manhood. Bright and beautiful was this road with -flowers of sweet affection; a heart whose tenderness time nor trouble -could not weaken had cheered me on the way, and unselfish hands had -made it smooth for me. The faithful mother who had strewn these -flowers was by my side now, shedding the light of her sacred love upon -me. She was unchanged and unchangeable, but I---- Ah, me! Let me not -think of it. Let me kneel, as I used to kneel with my head in her lap -when I was a boy, and when we were all in all to each other. Let me -kneel and think of the long, long nights during which my mother used -to work for bread for me; the trials, the disappointments, and the -cheerful spirit bearing up through all, because a life that was dearer -than her own was dependent upon her. The intervening years melted like -a dream, and for a little while I was a boy again, and my heart was -overflowing with tenderness for this dearest, best of women. - -'I remember that night too, mother,' I said, raising my head from her -lap; 'I have been looking at it again. I lay awake for a long time -watching you; you were sighing softly to yourself, and did not know -that I was awake.' - -My mother smiled, and sang, as softly now as then, and as sweetly, the -very words she had sung on that night. - -'You forget nothing, mother.' - -'Nothing that is so near to my heart, my dear. Nor would I have you -forget Chris, to whom it is we owe our release from the dreadful -difficulties that once threatened to overwhelm us; for I was getting -very ill, you recollect, when your uncle's letter came to us, and I -felt that my strength was failing me. We owe all to him, my dear; -wherever our home is he must share it. We must never leave him--never; -the mere contemplation of it, after all these years, makes me very -unhappy.' - -Delicate as was the manner in which my mother had set my duty before -me, she had made it quite clear to my mind; but love and duty were at -war with each other. All my visions of home-happiness were darkened -now by the shadow of uncle Bryan. Whichever way I turned his image -seemed to stand, barring my way to the realisation of my dearest -hopes. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. -PREPARATIONS FOR AN IMPORTANT EVENT. - -The coldness between uncle Bryan and Jessie did not diminish with -time. As a matter of necessity they were compelled to speak to each -other occasionally, but they did so with coldness and reluctance, and -a distinct avoidance of the subject which had broken the bond between -them. I say that they were compelled to speak to each other as a -matter of necessity, but I may be mistaken; they may have spoken not -out of consideration for themselves, but for my mother. Thinking over -the matter since that time, I have understood how those two, if they -had been alone, might have lived in the same house for years, and -might have performed their separate duties conscientiously, without a -word passing between them. For the sake of peace Jessie would have -yielded, but uncle Bryan would have remained implacable. Results -proved this. In vain did my mother strive to bring them together in a -more amiable spirit; in vain did she speak separately to each of the -other's good qualities, magnifying their merits, ignoring their -faults. Her labour upon uncle Bryan was entirely lost; but it was -different with Jessie, not because she thought she was wrong, nor for -uncle Bryan's sake, but out of her love for my mother. - -'You are a child, my dear,' said my mother to her, 'and he is an old -man. If for that reason alone, you should yield.' - -'It would be useless,' was Jessie's rejoinder; 'I have known him for a -much shorter time than you, but I know his nature better than you do. -I judge of it by my own.' - -'You do both him and yourself injustice, my dear,' pleaded the -peacemaker; 'if he were all wrong and you were all right, it would be -your duty to give in.' - -'Love and duty do not always go together,' said Jessie obstinately. - -'But we must make sacrifices, my child; what a miserable thing this -life would be if some of us did not yield!' - -'If I thought,' said Jessie, softening, 'that I should not be insulted -I would do as you wish willingly, most willingly--not for my sake, but -for yours.' - -'Try, then, for my sake.' - -'I will; and you will see what will come of it.' - -And Jessie tried, in her best manner and in good faith, with the -result for which she was prepared. - -'Can you not see now how it is?' she asked, with tears in her eyes. 'I -have brought trouble into this house. How much better would it have -been for you if I had never entered it! But it wasn't my fault. Ah, if -I were a man I wouldn't stop in it for another hour! But I have no -friends; and if it were not that I love to live, I might wish that I -had never been born.' - -'Then you do not regard me as a friend, my dear child?' - -But Jessie, with cruel determination, refused to respond to the tender -appeal, and turned rebelliously away. All this I learnt from my -mother, who hid nothing from me, and it did not tend to make me -happier. - -'Be patient, my darling,' my mother said; 'all will come right in the -end.' - -'Did anything ever come right with uncle Bryan?' I fretfully asked. -'Think of the story he told us! I remember too well what you said when -I asked if you would have me look on things as he does. You said it -would take all the sweetness out of my life; and you were right. He -has taken the sweetness out of it already.' - -I did not consider that it was the very refinement of cruelty to bring -her own words in judgment against herself. On such occasions she would -tremble from sheer helplessness; but with unwearied patience she would -strengthen her soul, and strive, and strive, for ever with the same -result. So wrapt was I in my own unhappiness, that it was only by fits -and starts I gave a thought to hers; even that she was growing thinner -and more sad, with this inward conflict of her affections, escaped me. -Others saw it, but at that time the selfishness of my own grief made -me blind. - -But there were bright spots in my life during these days, even in the -midst of these unhappy differences, in every one of which Jessie was -the central figure. All that seemed to me worth living for was centred -in Jessie; and she was never absent from my mind. She passed nearly -the whole of her time with the Wests now--naturally enough, finding so -little comfort at home--and as I was not happy out of her society, all -my leisure was spent with her. This circumstance was introduced -unpremeditatedly one evening when Jessie and I were preparing to go -out. My mother, to tempt us to stop at home, had promised some little -delicacies for supper, and mentioned it incidentally, when Jessie said -that she should not want any supper when she came home. - -'I am sure to have supper with Josey West,' she said. - -'You go there a great deal, Jessie,' remarked my mother, with an -anxious look. - -'I am happy there,' was Jessie's terse reply; 'but I don't want to -take Chris away.' - -'You don't want the sunflower to turn to the sun,' sneered uncle -Bryan, with his usual amiability. - -'I will not thank you for the compliment,' said Jessie, 'for it isn't -meant for one. Chris,' she exclaimed, turning suddenly to me, 'is the -sun the only bright thing in the heavens? Is not the moon as lovely, -and are not the stars the loveliest of all?' - -Uncle Bryan took up the theme, continuing it to her disadvantage. - -'But one loses sight of these loveliest things of all when the glare -of the sun is in his eyes.' - -Jessie bit her lips. - -'Am I to blame for going where my best friends are?' she asked. - -'You go where your wishes take you. We are certainly not good enough -for such a young lady as you.' - -'Perhaps not,' said Jessie defiantly, as she left the room. - -This was her custom, after all her attempts at conciliation had -failed. Sometimes she would be silent; at others she would answer -pithily and bitterly, and without thought, perhaps; but she always -retired when she was becoming the subject of conversation. The old -days of light skirmishing were at an end. Short and bitter battles of -words, in which there was much gall, were now the fashion. - -I was aware that for some time preparations were being made for an -important evening at the Wests'. I was very curious about it, but -Jessie would not allay my curiosity. - -'You shall know all at the proper time,' she said; 'in the mean time -you can help me if you like.' - -'Of course I will. What is that paper in your hand?' - -'This is one of my characters, Chris. See here. Pauline--I'm to play -Pauline. And here's another--Mrs. Letitia Lullaby--that's me again. I -must learn every word of the parts, and you can help me in them.' - -'I know what you want, Jessie; I've heard Turk go through some of his -parts.' - -Thus it fell to my lot to hear Jessie repeat from memory all that -Pauline and Mrs. Letitia Lullaby have to say, giving her the cues, and -correcting her until she was, as she said, 'letter perfect.' But as -she continued to tease me, and would not let me into the secret of all -this preparation, I applied to Josey West for information. The -good-natured creature seldom refused me anything. - -'We are going to have a grand dress performance, my dear,' she said, -'and Jessie will play the principal characters in two pieces.' - -'In dress?' I asked, in some amazement. - -'In dress, my dear. The pieces are _Delicate Ground_, and _A Conjugal -Lesson_; three characters in the first, and two in the second. Gus -will play Mr. Simon Lullaby, Jessie's husband, in one piece, and -Citizen Sangfroid, Jessie's husband, in the other. Brinsley, who is -out of an engagement, has condescended--that is the word, my -dear--condescended to play Alphonse de Grandier in _Delicate Ground_ -for one night only, by special request of a lady.' - -'Jessie?' I said. - -'She is the lady referred to; the part is far beneath him, of -course--these parts always are, my dear, unless they are the principal -parts--but he'll play it very well; I shouldn't wonder if he doesn't -try to cut Gus out, so that we are sure to have some good acting. -Between the pieces there will be some dancing by Sophy, and Florry, -and Matty, and Rosy, and Nelly--it's good practice for them--and as -there's a change of performance at the Royal Columbia, Turk hopes to -be able to get away in time to see the last piece, and to recite "The -Dream of Eugene Aram." He wished very much to recite another piece, as -he was sick of committing murders, he said; but he does Eugene Aram -also by special request of a lady. He does it very finely too; one -night at a benefit two ladies went into hysterics in the middle of it, -and had to be carried out of the theatre. There was a paragraph in the -_Era_ about it, and it was put in some country papers as well. Turk is -very proud of that; he often speaks of it as a triumph of art. I ought -to play something as well, oughtn't I, my dear, on Jessie's night? But -I shall have enough to do as acting-manager.' - -'Why do you call it Jessie's night?' - -'Because it's the first time she ever dressed to act. Why, Turk has -got some bills printed!--he's a good-natured fellow, is Turk, the best -in the whole bunch, my dear! Here's one; but you mustn't say you've -seen it. Jessie doesn't know anything about it yet.' And Josey West -produced a printed bill, which read as follows: - - -Theatre Royal, Paradise Row. -Lessee: Miss Josey West. - -**** - -_ENORMOUS ATTRACTION FOR -THIS NIGHT ONLY_. - -FULL DRESS REHEARSAL, -FOR THE BENEFIT OF -MISS JESSIE TRIM, -Who will make her First Appearance on any stage, -Supported by those eminent Tragedians and Comedians, -MR. AUGUSTUS WEST -AND -MR. BRINSLEY WEST. - -**** - -On this occasion will be presented the comic drama of - -Citizen Sangfroid Mr. AUGUSTUS WEST. -Alphonse de Grandier Mr. BRINSLEY WEST -Pauline Miss JESSIE TRIM. - -_To be followed by a_ -GRAND BALLET -AND -TERPSICHOREAN REVEL, -In which Mdlles. Sophy, Florry, Matty, -Rosy, and Nelly will appear. - -_After which_ (_by special request_). - -The Eminent Mr. Turk West (the Original Thug) -will give his celebrated Recitation of -THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. - -_The whole to conclude with the comedietta -entitled_, -A CONJUGAL LESSON. -Mr. Simon Lullaby Mr. Augustus West. -Mrs. Simon Lullaby Miss Jessie Trim. -Stage Manager, Mr. Augustus West. -Acting Manager, Miss Josey West. -_Free List suspended. Press excepted_. - -****** - - -In consequence of the great attraction, the -entire Theatre has been converted into -Stalls, the price of which will be One Guinea, -or by special order, to be obtained of the -Acting Manager. On this occasion babies -in arms will be admitted, on the condition -that their mothers accompany them, and -that the baby-bottles are fully charged. - - -Josey West drew my particular attention to various parts of the -programme, such as the price of the stalls. 'In a fashionable theatre, -my dear, such as this is,' she said, with a whimsical look,' you -can't make the stalls too high;' and the notice about babies in -arms--'You know what a famous family we are for babies, my dear;' -especially to the words, 'Free list suspended, press excepted.' - -'But you don't expect the press,' I said. - -'Not exactly the press; but somebody of as much importance as a critic -may honour us with his company. But never mind him just now. Isn't the -programme splendid? It was Turk's idea, and he drew it up, and had it -printed, all out of his own pocket. No one knows anything of it but -you and me and him, so you must keep it quiet--we want to surprise -Jessie with it when the night comes. Turk says that when Jessie is a -famous actress this playbill will be a great curiosity.' - -'When Jessie becomes a famous actress!' I repeated, with a sinking -heart. - -'Yes, my dear; and she will be if she likes. Do you know, Chris, that -if I were you--I really think if I were you'--and she paused, and -looked at me kindly and shrewdly--'that I would buy two of the nicest -bouquets I can see to throw to Jessie when she is called on at the end -of the pieces. We'll manage between us, you and me, that no one shall -see them until the proper moment; you buy them, and give them to me on -the sly before the audience arrives, and I'll place them under your -seat, so that no one shall know. And now, my dear, I want you to tell -me something. If you don't like to, don't; and if I am asking any -thing that I oughtn't to ask, all you've got to do is to tell me of -it, and I'll drop it at once. Is Jessie comfortable at home? Ah, you -hesitate and turn colour; if you speak, you'll stammer. Don't say a -word; I'll drop the subject.' - -'No, why should you?' I said. 'You are a good friend, and you have a -reason for asking.' - -'I am as good a friend, my dear, to you and Jessie as you'll find in -all your knockings about in the world. Mind that! Don't you forget it, -or you'll hurt my feelings, as the Kinchin says. You've only got one -better friend, and that's that dear mother of yours, that I'd like to -throw my arms round the neck of this minute, and hug.' - -'Why, you've never spoken to her, Josey!' - -'What of that? I've heard of her, and that's enough for Josey West. -And a good mother makes a good son. I like you first for yourself, and -I like you second for your mother (_not_ out of a riddlebook, my dear, -though it sounds like it)! As for my reasons, why, yes, I have my -reasons for asking, or I shouldn't ask.' - -'Jessie does not make a confidant of any one but you, I suppose, -Josey.' - -'Of no one but me, my dear, and I know what I know, and suspect a -great deal more.' - -'If Jessie confides in you, I may. She is not so happy at home as she -might be and as she deserves to be.' - -'Thank you, my dear; I only wanted to make sure. Now we'll drop the -subject.' She went through some comical pantomime, as though she were -sewing up her lips. 'Stop and see the girls go through their ballet. -Come along, Sophy and Florry and all of you; the bell has rung for the -curtain.' And she began to sing, first, however, whispering to me that -we should have real music on _the_ night. 'No expense, my dear; it's -all ready to hand in the family.' - -Then the children arranged their figures and positions to Josey West's -singing, and rehearsed the ballet with the seriousness of grown-up -people. - -Neither uncle Bryan nor my mother knew anything of Jessie's passion -for acting. Jessie held me to my promise of not saying anything about -it at home; and on occasions when I urged her to let my mother know of -it, she refused in the most decided manner, and said she had her -reasons for keeping it a secret. - -As for myself, I found myself in a labyrinth. So conflicting were the -influences around me, that I scarcely dared to think of the plans I -had cherished but a little while since, and hoped to see fulfilled. I -could only hope and wait. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. -JESSIE'S TRIUMPH. - - -The eventful evening arrived. It had been a difficult matter with me -to keep the knowledge of the affair to myself, for I was in a state of -great excitement, and my mother noticed it; but she did not seek my -confidence except by kind looks of interest and curiosity. During the -day, in accordance with Josey West's advice, I bought two handsome -bouquets, which I conveyed to Josey secretly, and which she hid under -my seat in the kitchen. Great pains had been taken with the room, -which, with benches and chairs properly arranged, and the stage -curtain, and a row of stagelights with green shades to them, really -presented the appearance of a miniature theatre. It was rather gloomy, -certainly, for all the candles were required for the stage, but that -was a small matter. The room was filled chiefly by the West family, of -whom every available member was present, down to the youngest baby in -arms, and among the audience were a few persons with whom I was not -acquainted, but whose appearance, with one exception, clearly denoted -that they belonged to the dramatic profession. Two male and two -female Wests, of tender age, comprised the band; the girls played -the violin, and one of the boys played the flute, and the other the -cornopean--which latter instrument ran short occasionally in the -matter of wind. Everybody was very excited and very merry, and Josey -West's queer little figure was continually darting before and behind -the curtain. - -'Would you like to see her?' the good-natured creature whispered to -me. 'Of course you would. Come along, then. She's dressed for -Pauline.' - -I went with Josey behind the scenes to Jessie's dressing-room, which -had been built for the occasion with shop-shutters, and blankets, and -odds and ends. Jessie looked wonderfully fascinating and beautiful in -her fine dress, and a painful feeling of inferiority came upon me in -the presence of so much grace and loveliness. - -'And how do I look, Chris?' she asked, as she stood before me, with -flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. - -I sighed as I told her that I had never seen any one look more lovely. - -'_She'll_ never want a wig, my dear!' said Josey West admiringly, as -she ran her fingers through Jessie's beautiful hair. 'Did you ever see -such hair and such a complexion? All her own, my dear--scarcely a -touch of the hare's foot. But, bless the boy! he looks as if he was -sorry instead of pleased. That's not the way to make her act well. -There! kiss her, and go back to your seat. The music's beginning.' - -My cheeks were as red as Jessie's as Josey West pushed me towards -Jessie, and turned her back; but my arm was round Jessie's waist -nevertheless, and Jessie, moved by a sudden impulse, kissed me very -affectionately. It was the first time our lips had ever met. - -'Done?' cried Josey West. 'There! I'm sure you feel more comfortable -now. Now run away, or I shall have you turned out of the house.' - -In a very happy frame of mind I took my seat among the audience, whose -enthusiasm was unbounded. The stage management was simply perfect; -there was not a hitch in the entire performance. Directly the music -ceased, amidst a general clapping of hands and stamping of feet--our -satisfaction was so complete that we wanted everything done over -again--a bell tinkled for the curtain, which was promptly drawn aside, -and the comic drama of _Delicate Ground_ commenced. General interest -of course centred round Jessie, who at first was slightly nervous, but -she grew more confident as the scene progressed. To say that she -played well is to say little; her acting on that night is fixed in my -mind as the most perfect and beautiful I have ever seen. It was not -only my opinion, it was the opinion of all, and the applause that was -bestowed upon her was astonishing in its genuineness and heartiness. -'By heavens, sir!' I heard one of the visitors with whom I was not -acquainted say to another--'by heavens, sir, she's peerless--peerless! -She'll make a sensation when she comes out.' There was an entire -absence of envy in the praise that was given to her; and the women, as -well as the men, were extravagantly enthusiastic in their -demonstrations. I heard remarks also passed from one to another, to -the effect that Gus and Brinsley never acted better in their lives; -they certainly, after the fashion of Turk, 'went in' with a will, and -it was difficult to say which of them deserved the palm of victory. I -liked Brinsley best, because he did not play the part of Jessie's -husband, but this view I kept to myself. Had it not been for the kiss -Jessie had given me, the memory of which made me triumphantly happy -during the whole of the night, I might have been rendered uneasy by -the passion which Gus West threw into the last lines of his part: 'You -_have_ no rival. You have been, and are, sole mistress of this my -heart. You have been, and will be, sole mistress of this my house.' -But even these words, and the passion with which they were spoken, did -not disturb me, and when the curtain fell upon the scene, my only -feeling was one of pride in Jessie's triumph. There were loud calls -for Pauline; and Turk, who came in just as the curtain fell, joined -vehemently in the applause, although he had seen nothing of the piece. -He was accompanied by the old actor, whom I knew as Mac, and whose -acquaintance I had made on the memorable night I spent at the Royal -Columbia. When Jessie, led on by Gus and Brinsley West, came before -the curtain and curtsied her acknowledgments, and when I threw my -bouquet at her feet, the cheers were redoubled again and again; and -all acknowledged that there could not have been a greater success. -Then there was a merry interval, which was occupied by gossip and -refreshments; and then the ballet and terpsichorean revel by Josey -West's sisters, towards whom the audience were disposed to be more -critical. The young misses acquitted themselves admirably, and were -followed by Turk West, whose 'Dream of Eugene Aram' was a most -tremendous elocutionary effort. To me it was terribly grand, and the -intense earnestness of Turk made a deep impression upon me. He was -rewarded by unanimous cries of 'Bravo, Turk!' 'Well done, old fellow!' -and a call before the curtain, which he acknowledged in his best -manner. Jessie's appearance in _The Conjugal Lesson_, as Mrs. Simon -Lullaby, was, if possible, more successful than her Pauline; but Turk, -who found a seat next to me, was somewhat sarcastic on his brother -Gus. Perhaps he was jealous too; at all events, he whispered to me -that he wished _he_ had had the opportunity of playing Mr. Simon -Lullaby; 'then you would have seen a piece of acting, Chris, my boy, -which you would not easily have forgotten.' It was late when the -performances were over. Jessie was of course called on again, and -received my second bouquet, and then the company prepared to depart. -But Josey West cried out from behind the curtain that they were all to -stop to supper, and in a short time these male and female Bohemians, -the merriest and best-hearted crew in the world, were regaling -themselves on bread-and-cheese and pickles and beer, amid such a din -of joviality that you could scarcely hear your own words. I went -behind to Jessie's room, and waited until she was dressed; Josey West -heard me walking restlessly about, and called to me when Jessie was -ready. - -'And what do you think of us now?' she asked. - -I did not stint my measure of admiration, and I told them what -I had heard one of the visitors say, that Jessie's acting was -peerless--peerless. - -'And so it was,' said Josey West. 'Which one was it, my dear, who said -that--a tall thin man, with a sandy moustache?' - -'No; but he was sitting near, and I saw him nodding his head, and -clapping, as though he was very pleased.' - -'That's a good sign; he's a fine judge of acting. He'll want to be -introduced to you, Jessie; so will they all. I shouldn't wonder----' - -'What?' I asked. - -'Nothing, my dear, unless you can make something out of the -circumstance that that gentleman's name is Rackstraw, and that he -prepares young ladies for the stage. That was a good thought of yours, -my dear, bringing these bouquets. Such beautiful ones, too! I wish I -had such a prince!' - -Jessie laughingly bade Josey West hold her tongue, and I saw with -delight that she had placed in her bosom a flower from one of the -bouquets. - -'It was very kind of you, Chris,' said Jessie, giving me her hand, -which was burning with excitement. - -'You must be tired, Jessie.' - -'I could go all through it again,' she replied. - -'That's the way with us excitable creatures,' observed Josey West -complacently; 'we're like thoroughbred race-horses, we can go on till -we drop. Now, Jessie, come along and be praised.' - -The praises she received were sufficient to turn any one's head; she -was surrounded and kissed by all the women, and the men could not find -words sufficiently strong to express their gratification. Mr. -Rackstraw, the gentleman who prepared young ladies for the stage, was -very eulogistic and very inquisitive, asking personal questions with a -freedom which did not please me. But neither Josey West nor Jessie -shared my feeling in this respect--Josey especially taking great -interest in what he said. - -'And you think she would succeed?' said Josey West. - -'I am sure of it, Josey,' he answered. - -He addressed all in the room by their Christian names, and was -evidently regarded as a man of importance. - -'But there is a great deal to be learnt?' asked Jessie; 'is there -not?' - -'Yes, assuredly, my dear.' (Another sign of familiarity which -displeased me. I did not mind it from the members of the West family; -there was a homely and honest ring of affection in the term as they -used it, but it sounded quite differently from Mr. Rackstraw's lips.) -'A great deal.' - -'And it would cost money?' - -'Well, yes,' he said promptly, 'it would cost money--but not much, not -much. Josey, I took the liberty of bringing a friend with me--Mr. -Glover.' - -Mr. Glover, the best-dressed man in the room, tall and dark, and -between forty and fifty years of age, was the gentleman I had noticed -who, alone among the audience, did not appear to belong to the -dramatic profession. I had not paid any attention to him during the -evening, but upon this direct reference I turned towards him, and saw -at a glance, in my closer observance of him, that his station in life -was higher than ours. Being introduced to Jessie, he thanked her for a -most pleasant evening. - -'I am not a frequenter of theatres,' he said, 'but if you were upon -the stage, I think I should be tempted to come very often to see you.' -He spoke well and slowly, and with the manner of a person who was -accustomed to reflect upon each word before it passed his lips. When -he and his friend were gone, Josey West informed us that Mr. Rackstraw -was a person of the greatest influence. Not only did he prepare young -ladies for the stage, she said, but he was in connection with a -theatrical agency, where important engagements were effected. Gus's -name was down upon the books of this agency, and having in this way -made Mr. Rackstraw's personal acquaintance, he had induced him to come -down and see Jessie act. Josey was in high spirits because everything -had gone off so well. - -'It is a real, complete, and splendid success,' she said, 'and ought -to be repeated every evening until further notice. Hark--old Mac's -going to speak!' - -The old actor had risen, glass in hand, and had expressed his wish to -address a few words to the company--an intimation which was received -with vociferous and lengthened applause. - -'Brothers and sisters in the noblest of all noble professions,' he -said, 'this reception is not only cheering, but, coming upon me when I -am in the sere and yellow----'(Here there were cries of 'No, no, old -fellow; you've a good twenty years before you yet!')--'I use the -language of those base and envious detractors who say it is time the -old actor was laid on the shelf. Using their words, then, which Avon's -Swan never thought would be so misapplied, this reception coming upon -me when I am in the sere and yellow, is not only cheering but -affecting. It recalls the memory of times when the humble individual -before you never stepped upon the boards without one, and when old -Mac's place--his proper and legitimate place in the ranks, won by the -force of genius and hard study----'(Cries of 'Bravo, Mac! Go it!')--'I -mean to--when his legitimate place, won, as I have said, by the force -of hard study and genius, was not occupied by pretenders. But tempora -mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis----' (The applause here lasted for -full a minute) 'O yes, old Mac can show these pretenders the way to -go! Tempora mutantur, et cetera, my sons, and may you never find it -out in the same way as the humble individual who stands before you -has! But it was not to speak of myself that I rose--the old actor -never cares to thrust himself forward'--(general and good-humoured -laughter)--'knowing as he does that the subject is weary, stale, and -unprofitable. He knows that he is but "a poor player, that struts and -frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more!" But damme, -my sons, the poor player is happy to know that in his old age he has -honour, love, and, if not obedience, troops of friends.' ('So you -have, old boy! Go on!') 'I intend to. I drink to you. Give me the cup. -Nay, I have it'--(with a humorous look)--'not sparkling to the brim, -but 'twill serve. "Let the kettle to the trumpet speak. The trumpet to -the cannoneer without. The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to -earth." Old Mac drinks to those he loves!' (As the speaker drained his -glass, the youngster who played the cornopean performed a flourish -upon the instrument, and the other members of the company did their -best to produce an appropriate demonstration.) 'But to the point. We -have witnessed to-night a most remarkable performance by a young lady, -who I am informed has never appeared upon the boards--a young lady who -is destined to occupy a distinguished position--mark me, a -distinguished position--and may old Mac live to see it! She has youth, -she has grace, she has beauty, she has genius. In her presence I say -it, my sons. The old actor knows a pretender when he sees him, and he -knows genius when he sees it; he sees it here. In proposing the toast -of this young lady's health' (Mac placed his glass upon the table, and -waited until it was refilled), 'and in wishing her the success that -always should, but sometimes doesn't, wait on merit, old Mac knows -that he is performing a task which every one of you would like to have -performed in his place. But damme, my sons, while old Mac lives, the -old school of gallantry will never die out.' - -How the toast was received, and with what enthusiasm it was drunk; how -they all surrounded Jessie and petted her and complimented her; how -she blushed and trembled at the praises which were showered upon her; -and how these honours seemed to remove her farther and farther from -me,--I have not the power to describe. It was two o'clock in the -morning before the company broke up, and Jessie and I walked home. My -heart was full almost to bursting, and I could not trust myself to -speak. Not a word passed between us, but with Jessie's arm closely -entwined in mine, and with her hand clasped in mine, I felt that -without her I would not wish to live. When we reached home, I knocked -softly at the street-door, but no answer came. I knocked more loudly, -but still there was no answer. Surprised that my mother was not -waiting up for us, I tried the handle of the door, and found that it -was unlocked. I closed the street-door, and we entered the -sitting-room, where a candle was burning. My mother was there, sitting -by the table, with her head on her arm. I approached her in some -alarm, and saw that she was asleep; her dreams must have been -distressing ones, for she was sobbing bitterly. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. -MY MOTHER EXPRESSES HER FEARS CONCERNING JESSIE. - - -One evening, as I was smartening myself up in my room, preparatory to -going to the Wests', my mother entered, and said, almost humbly, - -'My dear, can you spare me a few minutes?' - -'Certainly,'I replied. 'Jessie is at the Wests', isn't she?' - -'Yes, my dear. I'll not keep you long. I want to speak to you about -her.' - -'Go on, mother,' I said, in a tone of satisfaction, for that was the -subject I loved best to converse upon. - -'How you have grown, my darling! You are the image of your father, who -was a fine handsome man. How proud I am of my son!' - -I looked in the glass, without any feeling of vanity. I always took -pains with my appearance when I was about to present myself to Jessie, -but I had no high opinion of myself, and I was never quite satisfied -with the result. - -'You do your best to spoil me, mother,' I said, submitting myself to -my mother, whose fond fingers were about my neck. 'Go on, about -Jessie.' - -'You are in her confidence, my dear?' - -The words were used in the form of a question; and I was immediately -conscious that they were the prelude to something of importance, for -there was trouble in my mother's face. I also was troubled; a new -sorrow had entered into my life, a sorrow with which of course Jessie -was connected. All that there was for me of joy and pain in the world -was associated with her. - -I hesitated in my answer. Jessie had pledged me to secrecy with -reference to the peculiar nature of her intimacy with the Wests and to -her passion for acting, and I would not betray her, not even to my -mother. There were confidences between Jessie and me which even she -could not share. My mother and I had but few opportunities for -conversation during this time, for very little of my time was spent at -home. Wherever Jessie went I was bound to follow. It did not -matter--except in the sorrow that it caused me--that she gave me less -encouragement than formerly; it did not matter that certain -undefinable signs from her, which I had hitherto treasured in my heart -of hearts as proofs of her love, came rarely and more rarely; the -rarer they were the more precious they were. I found excuses for her: -in my own inferiority, which hourly and daily impressed itself more -painfully upon me; in my being poor; in her being so beautiful and so -far above me. I could not see, I dared not think, how it was to end; -but I followed her blindly, clung to her blindly. - -My mother observed my hesitation, and divined the cause. - -'Nay, my dear,' she said, in a sad and gentle tone, 'I do not ask you -to tell me anything you think you ought to keep to yourself. I have -not forfeited _your_ confidence, have I, my darling?' - -Before I could reply, she placed her hand to her heart, and uttered an -exclamation of pain. - -'Mother!' I cried. - -'It is nothing, dear child,' she said; 'it is only a pain in my side -that has come once or twice lately. Put your arms round my neck, my -darling; it will pass away directly.' - -She rested her head upon my shoulder and closed her eyes, holding me -tightly to her. - -'I am better now, dear child,' she said presently, with a sweet smile. - -Could I see nothing in her face but physical pain? No, nothing. The -old patient look was there, the old tender love was there. What more -_could_ I have seen, had I not been blind? - -'You ought to get advice, mother. Promise me.' - -'I will, my dear; but it is nothing. I am not growing younger, Chris.' - -'You were speaking of Jessie, mother.' - -'Yes, my dear. I was about to say that Jessie has no one to look after -her but me.' - -'And me,' I added proudly. - -'And you, my dear. I know what your feelings are towards her, but you -are away at your work all the day, and then the duty devolves upon me -alone.' - -'Well, mother?' - -'Jessie is a little different to me from what she was; I am beginning -to think--sorely against my will, dear child--that she mistrusts me. I -know that she is not happy, but I could comfort her if she would let -me. It might be better for all of us if she would confide in me.' - -'I am sure it would be, mother.' - -'She does not repulse me, Chris; she avoids me. When I have it in my -mind to speak to her seriously, she seems to know what I am about to -say--she is very bright and clever, my dear--and she obstinately -refuses to listen; runs away, or turns me from my purpose by some -means. I am very anxious about her.' - -'Jessie can take care of herself,' I said, assuming an easiness I did -not feel; she is not happy at home, as we know; but we know, also, who -is to blame for that. I suppose she refuses to listen to you because -she feels that the subject you wish to speak to her upon is a painful -one. I should do the same in her place.' - -'I don't blame her, my dear; don't think that I blame her. But I must -not forget my duty. She has no mother; do not I stand in that relation -to her?' - -I kissed my mother for these words. - -'Then, knowing that I wish her nothing but good, why does she avoid me -so steadily? O Chris, my child! greater unhappiness than all may come -from her distrust of me.' - -A tremor ran through my frame. Not love alone, but pity, was expressed -in my mother's face and tone. - -'I don't quite understand you, mother,' I said. - -'Where does Jessie go to in the day, my dear?' - -'Where does Jessie go to in the day!' I repeated. 'Does she go -anywhere?' - -'Then you do not know, my dear; she hides it from you as well. For the -last fortnight she has gone out every morning at eleven 'o'clock, and -has not returned until four. I have put her dinner by for her every -day, but she will not eat it, and she refuses to say where she has -been.' - -I considered for a few moments, and soon arrived at a satisfactory -conclusion. - -'It is very simple. She goes to Miss West's, and she does not eat her -dinner because she knows she is not welcome to it. It is uncle Bryan's -dinner, and this is uncle Bryan's house. Jessie is very proud.' - -My mother shook her head. 'She does not go to Miss West's. I have not -watched her, because I know that she would discover me, and that it -would turn her more against me. But three mornings ago I saw her get -into an omnibus which goes to the West-end. What friends can she have -there, Chris? And if she has friends, should we not know who they -are?' - -'If she has friends!' I exclaimed, putting a brave face on the -disclosure, although I was inexpressibly hurt at the knowledge that -Jessie was keeping a secret from me. 'Do you suspect she has?' - -'She must have, Chris.' - -I looked at my mother; there was more in her tone than her words -implied. - -'Go on, mother. You have something more to tell me.' - -'It is best you should know, my darling,' said my mother in a tone of -inexpressible tenderness, encircling my waist with her arm; it is best -you should know, for you are in Jessie's confidence, and she will -listen to you when she would not heed me. Yesterday afternoon, as I -was walking home--I had been out on an errand for your uncle--a cab -passed me, with two persons in it. One was a gentleman, the other was -Jessie. Nay, my dear, don't shrink. There is no harm in that; the harm -is in keeping it from us, her dearest friends, and in making a secret -of it.' - -I controlled my agitation, foolishly believing that I could deceive -this fondest of mothers. - -'Did the cab come to our door?' I asked. - -'No, my dear; it did not come down the street. It stopped a few yards -in front of me, and the gentleman assisted Jessie out----' - -'Don't hide anything from me, mother; of course I shall speak to -Jessie about it. Tell me exactly what you saw and heard.' - -'I heard nothing; I shrank away, so that Jessie should, not see me. -The gentleman said something to her, but she shook her head, and then -he bade her good-bye and drove away. That is all.' - -It was enough to make me most unhappy, but still I strove to conceal -my feelings. I endeavoured to make light of the circumstance, and I -asked my mother in a careless tone whether she was sure it _was_ a -gentleman who accompanied Jessie. She said she was sure of it. - -'What was he like?' - -'Tall and dark, and very well dressed.' - -'Young?' I asked. - -'No,' she answered, and I could not help feeling relieved at the -information; nearer fifty than forty, I should say.' - -I could not at the moment call to mind any person whom the description -fitted, and I promised my mother that I would speak to Jessie about -it. - -'Ask her to confide in me, my dear,' my mother said. - -'I will, mother.' - -As I walked towards the Wests', my mind was filled with what my mother -had told me. I held the clue which would have led me to the truth, but -I juggled with myself, and rejected it because the result was -displeasing to me. I had never yet mustered sufficient courage to -speak to Jessie plainly concerning her passion for acting, and what it -was likely to lead to. Many and many a time had I thought of Josey -West's words, 'when Jessie becomes a famous actress,' and of old Mac's -remark that Jessie was destined to occupy a distinguished position on -the boards. These utterances, coupled with the conversation that took -place between Mr. Rackstraw and Jessie on the night of the -performance, were surely sufficient to convince me that Jessie's -visits to the West-end had something to do with her desire to become -an actress; but I would not be convinced, simply because I did not -wish to believe it. Say that Jessie did appear upon the public stage, -and became famous--as I was sure she would become--she would be -farther than ever from me. I caught at one little straw that lay in -the way of the result I dreaded. Mr. Rackstraw had said that there was -a great deal to be learnt, and that it would cost money. Well, Jessie -did not have any money. I magnified this straw into an insurmountable -obstacle which it was impossible for Jessie to get over, and so I -played the fool with my reason. - -I found the Wests busy as usual. Jessie was there, learning some -dancing steps from one of the young misses; she blushed as I entered, -and the lesson was discontinued. I had intended to speak privately to -Josey West about Jessie, but within a few minutes of my arrival, Gus -West came in, and I had not the tact to make the opportunity. Josey -informing Gus that Jessie had been taking a dancing lesson, he -proposed that they should go through a minuet; and he and Jessie and -two of the girls performed the old-fashioned dance most gracefully, -Josey West humming the minuet de la cour, while I sat in the corner, -the only serious person in the room. When the minuet was finished, -Josey West called me to her, and addressing me quietly as Mr. Glum, -said she was afraid I was of a sulky disposition. I said I did not -think I was sulky, but that I was very unhappy. - -'About her?' questioned Josey, with a sharp look in the direction of -Jessie; but before I could answer, Jessie came towards us, and said -she was ready to go home. - -'I did not wish to go,' she said to me, on our way, 'but I saw that -you had something to say to me.' - -I answered, yes; that I did wish to speak to her. - -'And about something unpleasant, I can see,' she said; 'make it as -short as you can, Chris.' - -She was toying with a flower which Gus West had worn in his coat when -he came in. I did not see him give it to her, but that she had it, and -seemed to value it, was like a dagger in my heart. - -'Jessie,' I said disconsolately, 'you know how I love you!' - -'If any person on the stage,' she answered lightly, 'spoke of love in -that tone, the whole house would laugh at him.' - -'That is the only thing that runs in your thoughts now,' I said -gloomily. - -'What?' she exclaimed. 'Love? I meant the stage. You think of nothing -but acting.' - -'Well--perhaps! What else have I to think of that brings any happiness -to me?' - -'I thought you loved me, Jessie.' - -'So I do, Chris,' she said in careless fashion, still toying with the -flower. - -'And others, too,' I added. - -'Well, yes--if you please. There are always more than two persons in -the world.' - -'Jessie!' I implored. 'It hurts me to hear you speak in that careless -way. I cannot believe that it is in your nature to think and speak so -lightly of what is most precious.' - -'Why cannot you believe so?' she asked, somewhat more seriously. 'Am I -the only one who lightly regards a precious gift--am I the only one -who does not know the value of love?' - -'I at least know the value of it, Jessie. Ah, you would believe me if -you knew what I would do for you.' - -'I think you love me, Chris.' - -'With all my heart, Jessie; with all my soul!' - -She trembled a little at the passion of my words. - -'Tell me,' she said, averting her head, 'what would you do for me?' - -I answered that there was no sacrifice that I would not willingly, -cheerfully make for her sake; that I thought of none but her, that I -loved none but her; that if all the world were on one side, and she -alone on the other, I would fly to her, and deem myself blessed to -live only for her. This, and much more that has been said a myriad -times before, and will be said a myriad times again, I said -passionately and fervently. She listened in silence, and then, after a -pause, told me she believed I had spoken the true feelings of my -heart, and that she was sure I had meant every word I had uttered. And -then she pinned Gus West's flower to the bosom of her dress, and asked -me if it did not look well there. Miserably, I answered Yes, and felt -as though all the brightness were dying out of the world. - -'But you have something else to say to me,' Jessie presently remarked; -'what you have already said is very pleasant to me. Now for the -unpleasant thing.' - -The conversation with my mother, which in the heat of my declaration -had slipped out of my mind, now recurred to me, and I told Jessie that -my mother was very anxious about her. - -'In what way?' she asked. - -'Where do you go to every day, Jessie? Mother tells me that you go out -regularly at eleven o'clock every morning, and that you do not return -until four in the afternoon, and that you don't spend that time at the -Wests'.' - -'Has she been watching me?' - -'No, Jessie.' - -'Have you?' - -'No,' I replied, very hurt at the question; 'you don't think I would -play the spy upon you!' - -'Oh, I don't know,' she said, with a toss of her head; 'persons do -strange things when they are in love.' - -'You seem to know a great deal, Jessie.' - -She appeared to be both pleased and discontented at this remark. - -'When girls get together, Chris, they _will_ talk; and Josey West and -I don't sit in the corner, mumchance, with our mouths shut, as you sat -to-night. Have you anything else to tell me?' - -'Yes,' I said, 'and I wouldn't speak of it if I hadn't promised mother -that I would do so. Yesterday she saw you riding in a cab with a -gentleman.' - -'That is quite true,' said Jessie simply, before I could proceed -farther; 'but why didn't she speak to me about it?' - -'Rather say, Jessie, why did you not speak to her. But mother is -afraid that you mistrust her; she says that you avoid her when she has -it in her mind to speak seriously to you.' - -'She told you that?' - -'Yes, Jessie.' - -'She is not wrong, Chris,' said Jessie, with a sigh; 'but we all seem -to be playing at cross purposes, and not one of us seems to understand -the other.' - -'I think I understand you, Jessie.' - -'Do you, Chris?' she asked, in a tenderer tone. - -'If others mistrust you, I don't. I know that everything you do is -right.' She shook her head gently. 'No, you shall not make me think -otherwise, Jessie. You and I will stand together, come what will.' - -'Against all the rest of the world,' she said, quoting my words. - -'Yes, against all the rest of the world, Jessie,' I replied eagerly. - -'It will never be, Chris; I would not accept such a service from you -if the whole happiness of my life depended upon it. Ah me! Often and -often I think what an unhappy day that was for all of us when I came -among you.' - -'You said so on the Sunday morning that you asked uncle Bryan to come -to church with us; but you repented immediately afterwards, if you -remember, and said you were not sorry, for if it had happened so, you -would not have known mother.' - -'I have learnt something from her, Chris--something good, I hope.' - -'You could learn nothing from her that was not sweet and good,' I -said. - -These last words were spoken on the threshold of our home. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. -JESSIE MAKES AN EXPLANATION. - - -Jessie walked straight into the parlour, where both uncle Bryan and my -mother were sitting. - -'You are anxious to know,' she said, addressing my mother, 'where I go -to of a morning.' - -'Yes, my dear,' answered my mother. - -I saw that uncle Bryan was listening, and I saw also by the expression -in his face that the matter was new to him; my mother had not -complained to him of Jessie. - -'Chris has been speaking to me about it,' said Jessie, 'and I thought -it best to tell you myself. I go to Mr. Rackstraw's.' - -'Who is he, my dear?' asked my mother. - -'He is a gentleman who teaches young ladies--I beg your pardon'--(with -the slightest possible glance at uncle Bryan)--'young women how to -act; he educates them for the stage.' - -'But surely, my dear,' remonstrated my mother, 'you have no intention -of becoming an actress.' - -'Why not? I am not wise, I know, and I am very wilful, and passionate, -and unreasonable.' She resolutely moved a step from my mother, who was -approaching her tenderly. 'But I have sense enough to think of my -future, and I do not see what I could do better. I have been acting -for a long time at Miss West's; we have often had little private -performances there--Chris has seen them.' There was grief, but no -reproach, in my mother's eyes as she looked at me. 'When I first -commenced to act, I did it purely out of fun, and I had no serious -intention of taking to the stage; but when I grew so unhappy here as -to know that I was bringing discord among those who loved each other, -and to whom I was in a certain sense a stranger, and when day after -day the feeling grew stronger that I was not welcome in this house, I -thought of what was before me in the future. It must be very sweet, I -think, to be dependent upon those who love you; it is very bitter, I -know, to be dependent upon those who hate you.' - -'Stop!' cried uncle Bryan, in an agitated tone. 'I say nothing as to -whether you are right or wrong in your construction of the feelings -entertained towards you here. You are a woman in your ideas, although -almost a child in years, and you have evidently settled with yourself -that you will not be led----' - -'Who is to lead me?' said Jessie, pale and trembling. 'I have asked to -be led, and _you_ know the result. Not quite out of hard-heartedness, -but with some shadow of good feeling--though perhaps you will not give -me credit for being capable of anything of the sort--I have asked to -be shown what is right and what is wrong; and if I, somewhat wilfully, -preferred to be shown by example and not by words, was I so very much -to blame, after all?' - -'You are clever enough,' he said, 'to twist things into the shape you -like best----' - -'No,' she exclaimed, interrupting him again; 'be just. You know what I -refer to, and you know I have spoken exactly the truth. Do not say I -have misrepresented it.' - -'I beg your pardon,' he said, in a manly tone, and with a frankness -which compelled admiration. I was wrong. You have stated exactly the -truth, and in a truthful way. But if you really wished to be taught, -what better teacher could you have than the one before you?'--with a -motion of his hand towards my mother--'if you had doubts, where could -you find a better counsellor?' - -'You are master,' said Jessie, firmly and gently; 'you gave me shelter -and protection. Chris reminded me of that a little while ago when we -were speaking of you, and I was angry with him for it--unreasonably -angry. It is not to be wondered at that I should look to you for -counsel.' - -'If there were two roads before you,' he said, 'one, dark and bleak -and bare'--he touched his breast'--the other, fair and bright and -sweetened by most unselfish tenderness'--he laid his hand upon the -hand of my mother--'which would you choose?' - -'I cannot answer you; you are wiser than I am, but I do not think you -can see my heart.' - -'I see,' he said, with a glance at my mother's white face, 'things -which you do not seem to comprehend.' - -'The time may come,' she retorted, 'when you will be more just towards -me, and I must wait until then.' - -'Well, well,' he said, with a sigh; 'you say it is bitter to be -dependent upon those who hate you. Leave me out of the question. My -sister loves you; Chris loves you. Can you not be content with this, -and let me go my way?' - -'No; for I have been dependent upon you, not upon them.' - -'Have I ever said a word which led you to believe I begrudged you -shelter here?' - -'Never; but we do not judge always by words.' - -She seemed to have caught uncle Bryan's talent for short crisp -sentences, in which there was much truth. - -'Go on with your explanation,' he said. - -She turned to my mother. - -'You saw me yesterday in a cab with a gentleman. His name is Mr. -Glover, and he is a friend of Mr. Rackstraw. He offered to see me -home, and wanted to come to the door with me, but I thought uncle -Bryan would not approve of it.' - -'I should not have approved of it,' said uncle Bryan, 'and I do not -approve of any person seeing you home in a clandestine way.' - -'And, my dear child,' added my mother, 'he is a stranger to us, and -must be almost a stranger to you.' - -'He is a gentleman,' said Jessie. - -'A gentleman!' repeated uncle Bryan scornfully. - -'That is nothing against him. I like gentlemen. Mr. Rackstraw tells me -that Mr. Glover can help me to get an engagement on the stage, and I -must consider that. He treats me with the greatest respect.' - -'Who pays this Mr. Rackstraw,' asked uncle Bryan, 'for the lessons he -gives you? His business is not entirely philanthropic, I presume, and -he does not teach young ladies for nothing.' - -'Of course I have no money to pay him; I am to pay him by and by, out -of any money I may earn.' - -'You are determined, then, to become an actress?' - -'I am determined to get my own living, and I believe I shall do well -on the stage. I cannot continue to live in a state of dependence. If I -had a mother or a father, or if I were happy here, it would be -different.' - -'I suppose you can be made happy,' said uncle Bryan, 'by being -indulged in all your whims and caprices, and by being allowed to act -and think exactly as you please, without restraint.' - -'No,' replied Jessie tearfully, 'I only want kindness; I cannot live -without it.' - -She turned to leave the room, with signs of agitation on her face, -when uncle Bryan desired her to stay. - -'There is something more,' he said. 'In the event of this -gentleman--Mr. Glover--seeing you home again, he must not do so -clandestinely. I owe a duty to you which I must perform, however -distasteful it may be to you.' - -'It is not distasteful to me,' she replied. 'Mr. Glover would have -seen me to the door yesterday but for my refusal to allow him. I am -truly anxious to do what is right.' - -My uneasiness with respect to this discovery would have been -unbearable but for a change in my circumstances which placed the day -more at my own disposal. I had advanced steadily in my trade, and was -by this time a thoroughly good engraver. I think I brought into my -work more than mere mechanical exactness, and some blocks of my -engraving which went out of Mr. Eden's office attracted meritorious -attention. I knew of men who were earning good wages--far higher than -I was receiving--by taking work from master engravers, and executing -it at home. Why could I not do the same? I should not then be so tied -down as not to have an hour or two in the middle of the day to myself; -and in the event of my availing myself of the opportunity, I could -easily make up for lost time by working an hour or two later in the -night. I mentioned this to Jessie, and said that then I could come to -Mr. Rackstraw's, and bring her home of an afternoon--instead of Mr. -Glover, I added. - -'I would sooner,' said Jessie, 'that you saw me home than Mr. Glover. -I believe you are jealous of him, you foolish boy! You have no -occasion to be.' - -Such a crumb of comfort as this would console me for days. - -'And then I shall be my own master,' I said to myself proudly. - -My employer anticipated my wish; he was a generous conscientious man, -and I had earned his respect. He called me into his office, and, -almost in the exact words I have set down, proposed that I should do -as I wished. - -'You will not only be able to earn more money,' he said, but in a few -years you may be able yourself to set up as a master, and take -apprentices of your own. I shall be able to give you plenty of work, -and you will find that your time will be as fully occupied as you can -desire it to be. Let me give you one piece of advice: never promise -what you cannot perform; if you say you will deliver a block at a -certain time, keep your word, if you have to sit up all night to -finish your work. Let it get to be known that you are a man whose word -can be depended upon, and you are sure to be prosperous.' - -I thanked him, and commenced almost immediately on the new system, -with my hands full of work. So behold me now, with my bedroom, in -which there was a good light, fitted up with table and bench, working -steadily at home, to my mother's great delight. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. -MR. GLOVER. - - -I soon made the acquaintance of Mr. Glover. In pursuance of my plans, -I presented myself at Mr. Rackstraw's office every day at a certain -hour, for the purpose of seeing Jessie home. I had of course -previously consulted Jessie, and she had acquiesced in the -arrangement. It was a serious encroachment upon my working hours, but -I made up for it in the night, and between sunrise and sunrise I -always performed a fair day's work. On the very first occasion of my -presenting myself at Mr. Rackstraw's office, I found Mr. Glover there. -Having sent in my name to Jessie, I waited in an outer room, the walls -of which were lavishly decorated with paintings and photographs of -actors and actresses, in the proportion of about one of the former to -twenty of the latter. As I was studying these, Jessie made her -appearance, followed by Mr. Glover; she was waving him off lightly, -and saying as she entered, - -'No, thank you; I will not trouble you to-day. Chris has come to see -me home.' - -'Oh,' he answered, without casting a glance in my direction. 'Chris -has come to see you home! Is Chris your brother?' - -'No,' she said, 'I haven't a brother or a sister in the world.' - -He condescended to look at me after this, and held out his hand to me -with smiling cordiality. I took it awkwardly, for I felt myself but a -common person by his side. - -'Chris and I must become better acquainted,' he said. 'I remember now; -I saw this young gentleman at Miss West's on the night of your -performance there. He threw you two bouquets.' Jessie nodded. 'And -very handsome bouquets they were,' he continued; 'he eclipsed us all -by his gallantry; but I had no idea I was to have the pleasure that -night of making your acquaintance, Jessie, or I might have entered the -field against him. Any friend of yours _must_ be a friend of mine.' - -Then he bade us both good-day, without any attempt to press his -attentions upon Jessie. Jessie asked me what I thought of him, and I -could not help answering that he seemed to be a gentleman, but made -some demur to his addressing her by her Christian name. - -'Oh, that is the fashion in the profession,' said Jessie carelessly; -there is nothing in that.' - -'He is not an actor, is he, Jessie?' - -'No; he is something in the City.' - -This vague definition of many a man's occupation, common as it is, was -new to me, and I inquired what the 'something' was. Jessie could not -enlighten me. I continued my inquiries by asking her how she knew that -he was something in the City. He himself had told her, Mr. Rackstraw -had told her, and young ladies whose acquaintance she had made at Mr. -Rackstraw's had also told her. - -'He is at Mr. Rackstraw's every day, Jessie?' I said. - -'Nearly every day, Chris,' she answered, and closed the subject of -conversation by saying that, at all events, Mr. Glover was a perfect -gentleman. - -I did not find him to be otherwise; he was uniformly courteous to me, -and I could not make open complaint against him because his courtesy -was of a kind which a superior yields to an inferior. He was a -gentleman, and I was a common workman; I chafed at it inwardly, -nevertheless. I would have avoided him if I could, but he would not -allow me to do so. The second time I walked into Mr. Rackstraw's -office I met him at the door, and he fastened on to me. I had come for -Jessie? Yes. Was I coming every day for Jessie? Yes. I had plenty of -spare time then? Yes. I was fond of Jessie, he supposed? I answered as -briefly as was consistent with bare civility, but I made no reply to -his last question. He was neither surprised nor exacting. As I did not -answer the question, he answered it himself. It was natural that I -should be fond other; we had been brought up together as brother and -sister, he had been given to understand; yes, it was natural that I -should be fond of her in that way--natural, indeed, that we should be -fond of each other in that way. He had been given to understand, also, -that we were not in any way related to one another; but he could see -that in an instant, without being told. Jessie was a lady, evidently; -I might tell her he said that, if I pleased, for he was never ashamed -of what he said or did; Jessie was a lady in her manners, in her -speech, in her ideas; and these things do not come to one by instinct, -or even by education; they must be born in one. - -This and much more he said; conveying by implication (what indeed I -knew already) that Jessie was far above me, and (what I could not -doubt) that he was a gentleman, and I was not. He had a trick of -playing with his moustaches, which he continually curled into his -mouth with his fingers as he spoke; and even at that early period of -our acquaintanceship, I, in my instinctive dislike of him, thought -there was something stealthy in the action. Standing before me, with -his fingers to his mouth, Mr. Glover there and then commenced to -expatiate upon a theme of which I heard a great deal afterwards from -his lips: this theme was his good name, of which he was evidently very -proud. There was not a stain upon it, nor upon that of any of his -connections; he had never harboured a thought to tarnish his -character, which was above reproach. He did not express these -sentiments in the words I have used, but these were the pith of them, -and there was a distinct assertion in his utterances that he was much -better than his fellow-creatures. I, listening to him, understood -exactly what he meant to convey to my comprehension: that even if we -twain had been equal in station, his high character and stainless name -would have placed him far above me. - -In a week from this time Jessie told me that Mr. Glover had made -closer inquiries about me, and hearing that I was a wood engraver, had -expressed his intention of interesting himself in my career. I was not -pleased at this; I did not wish to be placed under an obligation to -Mr. Glover, and I muttered something to this effect to Jessie. She -seemed surprised, but made no comment upon it. Mr. Glover, however, -was as good as his word. I received a letter from a master engraver, -desiring me to call upon him, with reference to some work he wished to -give me. The hour fixed for the appointment was the hour at which I -was due at Mr. Rackstraw's. I had no choice but to comply; and I made -arrangements that afternoon, not only to engrave some blocks of a -superior description, but to submit sketches of my own, upon wood, for -a Christmas story which was to be published that year. The interview -was a long one, and when I arrived home, I was not pleased to find Mr. -Glover chatting to my mother in our sitting-room. He had seen Jessie -home, and, in compliance with uncle Bryan's desire, had brought her to -the door. An introduction to uncle Bryan and my mother naturally -followed, and thus he was introduced to the house. He asked me -pleasantly whether I had made satisfactory arrangements, and confessed -that he had been the means of introducing this better kind of work to -me. He received my mother's thanks graciously, and it made me mad to -see that she thought it was a stroke of great good fortune to have won -such a patron. What could I do but thank him also for the -introduction? That I did so in an ungracious and even in a sullen -manner did not seem to strike him; Jessie noticed it, however. - -'You don't seem pleased, Chris,' she said, following me out of the -room. - -'I don't know what my feelings are,' I replied; from any other hands -than his, the work that I have received to-day would have delighted me -beyond measure. But I had better not speak; it will be best for me to -hold my tongue.' - -'Why?' - -'Because I seem never to dare to say what I think; and I don't like to -play the hypocrite.' - -'You don't say what you think,' Jessie said, 'because you are -conscious that your thoughts are unjust.' - -'Perhaps it is so; but I can't make myself believe that they are.' - -'You haven't a good opinion of Mr. Glover.' - -'I am not grateful for his patronage; I don't mind saying that.' - -It would have been more truthful in me to have said that the -instinctive aversion with which he had at first inspired me was fast -changing to a feeling of hatred. I hated him for his smooth manner, -and hated him the more for it because it was impossible to find fault -with it; I hated him for his civility to me, and hated him the more -because he refused to notice that my manner towards him, if not the -words I used, plainly showed that I did not desire his friendship or -patronage. But I could have multiplied my reasons, which might have -all been summed up in one cause of dislike--his attentions to Jessie. - -'Don't come to the Wests' for me to-night, Chris,' Jessie said, after -a little quiet pondering. - -'Why not, Jessie?' I asked, with a sinking heart. - -'Because I don't want to be made more unhappy than I am already. -Besides, you must devote your attention more to your work, and less to -me. I am not the most important thing in the world to you.' - -'You are,' I said gloomily; 'how often have I told you so! You don't -believe what I have said, then!' I turned from her in sorrowful -passion. - -'Chris, Chris,' she said, 'I am not, I must not be, your only -consideration. You have other duties before you, and you must not -forget them or neglect them, as you have hitherto done.' - -I thought she referred to my work, and I answered that I did not -neglect it, and that I could perform great things if she were kinder -to me. - -'Am I not kind to you?' she exclaimed. 'Is it my fault that you are so -wrapt up in your own feelings that you are regardless of the feelings -of others? If you are blind, I am not. If you are selfish, I am not. -If you forget your duty, I shall not forget mine.' - -These were the unkindest words she had ever spoken to me, and they -were a terrible torture to me. - -'Do I show myself to be blind and selfish,' I said, 'and do I forget -my duty in loving you as you know I love you, and in wishing to be -where you are?' She did not reply. 'But perhaps,' I added bitterly, -'you have another reason for not wishing me to come to the Wests' -to-night.' - -'What other reason?' she asked quietly. - -'Perhaps Mr. Glover is to be there;' and the next moment I would have -made any sacrifice to have recalled what I had said. But it was too -late. How often do we plunge daggers into our hearts by inconsiderate -words, rashly spoken, as these were! - -Jessie looked at me swiftly, with a fire in her eyes which I had never -seen there before, and with hot blood in her face; but in another -moment she was as white as death. - -'Jessie!' I cried repentantly, seizing her hand. - -She tore it from me indignantly. - -'I will ask him to come!' she said, and left me, ready to kill myself -for my cruel injustice. - -That night I watched outside the house of the Wests', and made false -the words I had spoken to Jessie but a short time since, when I asked -her if she thought I would play the spy upon her. I was careful that -she should not see me, for, if she did, I felt that I should never -have been forgiven. If I proved my words false, Jessie proved hers -true. Mr. Glover was at the Wests', and walked home with her. I waited -until she was in the house, and then I followed Mr. Glover at a -distance. I had no distinct intention in my mind; I simply felt that I -_must_ follow him; he seemed to draw me after him. I have no doubt -that, if a clear meaning could have been evolved from my whirling -thoughts, and had been shown to me, I should have been shocked at it. -He walked for a couple of miles, and then hailed a cab; after that I -wandered about miserably, without thinking where I was walking, -without thinking of the time. It was only when I found myself on a -bridge six miles from Paradise-row, and heard the hour strike, that I -awoke to consciousness as it were and walked slowly home. The faithful -mother was sitting up for me. - -'My darling child,' she said, with a sob of grief at the misery she -saw in my face, 'where have you been? What has kept you out so late?' - -I put her from me in silence, and went into my room, and locked the -door. As I did so, I thought I heard the door of my mother's bedroom -above open and close. But I dismissed the fancy, and went to bed with -a heavy heart. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. -TURK WEST'S APPEARANCE AT THE WEST-END THEATRE, AND ITS RESULTS. - - -Early in the morning I watched for an opportunity to endeavour to make -peace with Jessie. My mother had been in great anxiety about me during -the night, and had come down to my bedroom three or four times, -whispering my name at the door; but I pretended to be asleep, and as -the door was locked, she could not enter the room. I passed a -sleepless night, and tossed about in bed, longing for daylight. When -it came, I rose and commenced to work, and even in the midst of my -great unhappiness I found comfort in it, for I loved it. At seven -o'clock I heard my mother calling to me, and I opened my door. - -'At work so soon, my dear!' she said, in a tone of exquisite -tenderness. - -I answered that I had a great deal of work in hand, and that it would -not do for me to be idle. She sat by my side, and was saying meekly -that her boy must not work too hard, but must take proper rest, when -she broke down. Looking at her, I saw an expression of such yearning -devotion in her pale face, such sweet and wistful love, that, softened -for a moment, I laid my head on her shoulder, and sobbed quietly. Her -tears flowed with mine. - -'Ill could help you, dear child!' she murmured. - -You cannot--you cannot,' I murmured in reply. Mother, Jessie must not -go out this morning without my seeing her. I _must_ speak to her -alone.' - -Soon after breakfast, when uncle Bryan was in the shop, I heard her -tell Jessie to wait in the parlour for a minute or two, and then I -knew that Jessie was alone. I immediately opened my door, which led -into the parlour, and stepped to Jessie's side. She did not look at -me. - -'I have come to ask you to forgive me,' I said. - -'What have I to forgive?' she asked. - -'You know,' I answered. 'What I said yesterday about Mr. Glover. I did -not mean it, Jessie; I spoke in passion. It was cruel of me. Say that -you forgive me, Jessie.' - -'It was unjust as well as cruel,' she said; but I am not the only -person you are cruel to. Do you know what time your mother came to bed -this morning?' - -'It was very late,' I said remorsefully. - -'Have you any idea what she suffered while she waited up for you, -Chris? Because you and I have quarrelled, is that a reason why you -should be cruel to her?' - -'I have been doubly wrong,' I said, 'but I have made my peace with -her.' - -'Yes, that is easy with such a nature as hers; mine is harder.' - -'Still you forgive me; say that you forgive me, Jessie.' - -'Yes, I forgive you,' she said coldly; 'not because you were unkind to -me, for I deserve that, perhaps, but because you were unjust to me.' - -I could extract nothing more than this from her, and I was fain to be -satisfied. But I saw clearly enough that she was less cordial towards -me than heretofore. The spirit that animated and sweetened our -intercourse in the dear old days seemed to have fled, never to return. -But I had something in my mind which, when carried out, might, I -thought, be the means of reëstablishing myself in Jessie's favour. Her -birthday was approaching; in a fortnight she would be eighteen years -of age. From the day on which Jessie had given me, as a birthday -present, the silver locket, with the words engraven on it, 'To Chris, -with Jessie's love,' I had had many anxious consultations with myself -as to what kind of gift I should give her on her birthday, and I had -resolved that a gold Geneva watch and chain would be appropriate and -acceptable. I had seen the very thing I wanted in a jeweller's shop, -and the price asked for the pretty ornament--seven pounds--was not -beyond my means, for I had been saving money for some time, and was -now earning more than two pounds a week. On the very day on which -Jessie and I made up our quarrel, I went to the jeweller's and -purchased the birthday gift, and gave instructions that on the inside -of the case should be engraven, From Chris to Jessie, on her -eighteenth birthday. With undying love.' In my state of mind nothing -less fervent would satisfy me. Being attracted by a plain ivory -brooch, in the form of a true lover's knot, I purchased that also, and -felt, as I did so, that that would complete our reconciliation. As I -sat at my work after the transaction of this business, I thought of -what had passed between me and Jessie when she gave me the silver -locket, and I reproached myself very strongly for having uttered a -word to give her pain. Was not the inscription, 'To Chris, with -Jessie's love,' sufficient? I decided that it was, and I resolutely -refused to harbour the words of Mr. Glover which came to my mind, to -the effect that Jessie and I had been brought up as brother and -sister, and that it was natural we should be fond of each other in -that way. How, thought I, could I ever have been so mad as to -entertain a doubt of Jessie? She was better than I, cleverer than I, -and she saw faults in me which she wished to correct, and she was also -naturally hurt at my suspicions of her. Well, I would never again -suspect her; from this moment I would have the fullest faith in her -goodness, her purity, her love. It was in this mood that I presented -myself at Mr. Rackstraw's office, somewhat doubtful of the manner in -which Jessie would receive me, but resolved to show her in every -possible way how truly I loved her and what faith I had in her. Mr. -Glover was there of course, and we all three walked together from the -office. That I abased myself before him is true, and it is quite as -true, notwithstanding the resolution I had formed, that I despised -myself for so doing. Jessie looked at me thoughtfully, and seemed to -be considering within herself whether she approved of my new mood. For -this reason Mr. Glover found her a somewhat inattentive listener to -his confidential utterances, the intervals between which he improved -by talking to and at me on his pet theme--his character and good name. -Before we had walked a mile, Jessie proposed that she and I should -take an ..omnibus home, as she was tired, and Mr. Glover left us. On -our way she told me that Mr. Rackstraw had offered her an engagement -on the stage. Did she intend to accept it? I asked; and she said that -she had deferred her answer until after her birthday. - -'I wish with all my heart,' I said, that you were not going on the -stage; not that there is any harm in it, Jessie, nor that there could -be harm in anything you do, but because it seems as if it will take -you away from us.' - -'Do you think,' was the reply, 'that a woman has not an ambition as -well as a man? If I have a talent--and I really think I have, -Chris--why should I not turn it to good account? Besides, I have my -plans. I owe money, Chris.' - -To Mr. Rackstraw for your lessons. Well, I can pay that, Jessie. All -that I have is yours, and you don't know how rich I am growing.' - -'You are too good to me, Chris,' she said, giving me her hand, which I -took and held close in mine beneath her mantle; in that moment all my -trouble vanished, and a feeling of ineffable delight brought peace to -my heart once more. Will nothing cure you?' - -'Nothing will ever cure me of loving you,' I said, in a glad whisper. -'You would not wish that.' - -She turned the subject. - -'I owe other money as well. I owe a great deal to uncle Bryan; he is -poor, and I should like to pay him. But we'll not talk of this any -more just now, Chris; wait till my birthday comes.' - -'You will have a secret to tell me then, Jessie.' - -'Yes; I have thought a great deal lately of the letter I am to read -for the first time on that day.' - -'And you have never had the curiosity to open it, Jessie?' - -'Oh yes, I have; but I have never opened it. I can be steadfast and -faithful, Chris, as well as other people. Let us call in together and -see Josey West.' - -'Ah,' said that little woman, with a shrewd glance at us as we -entered, so you two lovers have been making it up?' - -'Don't be foolish, Josey,' exclaimed Jessie. - -'How do you know we ever quarrelled?' I asked, in high spirits. - -'How do I know that it will be night to-night, you meant to ask. - -Because I'm crooked, you think I can't see things perhaps. Have you -seen Turk?' - -'No,' I answered. - -'He has gone to your house to tell you something. I dare say he is -waiting there for you. Here is a rose for you.' - -I took and dropped it. - -'Ah,' said the queer little creature, 'because a rose is pretty and -fresh, and smells sweet, you think it can't prick you! There, get -along with you, Mr. Wiseacre, and mind how you handle your roses for -the future.' - -Turk had great news to communicate. His chance had come. By a -fortunate combination of circumstances, an opening had occurred in a -West-end theatre, and he was to make his first appearance there on the -ensuing Saturday night in the new play that had been written for him. - -'It's a fluke, Chris, my boy, a fluke,' he said, walking up and down -the room excitedly; 'a sensation piece that the lessee thought would -be a great draw is a most complete failure, as it deserves to be. He -must either fill his house with paper or play to empty benches, so he -withdraws his sensation piece, and gives me a show. We came out -without much of a flourish; but we shall astonish them, Chris, my boy. -The simple announcement of a new play and a new actor at that theatre -is sufficient to draw all the critics, and we shall have a great house -and a great triumph. You shall come, Chris, my boy; you shall come to -witness the effect I shall produce. You shall go into the pit; here is -an order for you. I don't ask you to take a big stick with you--I -scorn to solicit undeserved applause; but at the same time every -friend is a friend, and what's the use of a friend if he isn't -friendly, eh, Chris, my boy?--a word to the wise; you understand; -there's no need of anything more betwixt _us_. The piece will be -wretchedly put upon the stage; there will be no scenery to speak of; -the stock actors who play the other parts will be--well, no better -than they should be, Chris, my boy, and, in addition, they will not be -disposed to regard with favour a man who is an actor, Chris, my boy, -and who comes to break down vicious monopolies and vicious systems. -But what matter these small drawbacks to Turk West? They daunt not -him! Resolved to conquer, he goes in and wins. Turk's sun will rise on -Saturday night, Chris, my boy, and ever after it will blaze--that's the -word, sir, Chris, my boy--blaze refulgent, and all the lesser suns -shall pale before it.' - -'But if you should fail,' I suggested. - -He glared at me in incredulous astonishment. - -'There's no such word in Turk's vocabulary, Chris, my boy. The man who -goes in with an idea that he will fail generally does fail, and -deserves to fail. Is there any want of pluck in Turk West? Is there -any want of stamina in him? No, no. It's no game of chance that he -plays. On Saturday night next he throws double sixes. And after that -he'll be able to serve his friends.' - -Did his family know of it? I asked. - -'Yes, they know of it,' he replied, and those who can come will be -there--in different parts of the theatre, Chris, my boy, strangers to -each other. And old Mac will be there, with an oak stick; it's an off -night with him. Here are a couple more orders which you may like to -give to _friends_,' with most significant emphasis on the last word. - -I fully understood his meaning, and I gave the orders to persons who -promised to applaud Turk on every available opportunity, and who, I -have good reason for believing, basely betrayed their trust; but there -are not more ungrateful persons in the world than those who go to a -theatre without paying. The receipt of an order has a baleful effect -upon them; it deadens their sense of enjoyment, and makes them -miserably hypercritical. On the following Saturday I made my way to -the West-end theatre in a state of great expectation and excitement. -Meeting with a man in the streets who sold walking-sticks, I purchased -the stoutest in his collection, and, thus armed, seated myself in the -front of the pit, half an hour before the curtain rose. The theatre -was quite filled before the performances commenced, and a fashionable -company was assembled in the stalls and private boxes. I recognised -several members of Turk West's family in different parts of the house, -who stared at me stolidly, and made no response to my familiar nods. -Debating with myself upon the reason of this, I came to the conclusion -that they had resolved not to know any person on that night lest they -might be set down as partisans of Turk, and thus tarnish the -genuineness of his triumph. The conclusion was strengthened by the -circumstance which I noted, that they seemed to be perfectly oblivious -of each other's existence; but there was certainly a family likeness -in the sticks they carried. Studying the playbill, I found that a -piece of some importance would be played first, and that Turk would -not make his appearance until past nine o' clock. I paid but little -attention to the drama in which Turk was not; my stick was as -indifferent as myself; and the other sticks witnessed this part of the -performance in mute inglorious ease; nevertheless there was a good -deal of applause when the curtain fell. About this time there -straggled into the stalls and private boxes certain persons whom a -communicative stranger who sat next to me, and who appeared to be a -wonderful authority on all matters connected with the drama, pointed -out as notabilities. - -The critics were the most interesting persons in my eyes, and I stared -at them with interest, and with some feeling of disappointment because -they were so like ordinary mortals. I asked my neighbour what he -thought of Mr. Turk West as an actor--when I mentioned the name of my -friend, I consulted my playbill with the air of one to whom he was a -stranger--and I learnt to my mortification that he had never heard of -him. He did not seem to be very sanguine of the success of the new -play or the new actor, and I was mean enough to agree with him. The -title of the play was _Twice Wedded, or Torn Asunder_; and in due time -the curtain rose for its introduction to the audience. I cannot -undertake to describe it, for the reasons that a good deal of it was -not heard, that the actors and actresses were imperfect in their -parts, and that the story was so involved and mysterious as to baffle -description. The heroine, it appeared, had been twice married--once, -many years ago to Turk, who had been torn from his wife, for no -assignable reason, on the wedding-day, and who was supposed to have -died in battle (what battle, and why he went to battle, were not -explained); and afterwards to a person whose identity I was not -successful in discovering. Turk played two characters, an Irish -servant and the first husband, who instead of dying in battle, as he -should have done, had been confined in a madhouse, from which he had -just made his escape. After a comic scene as the Irish servant, which -was mildly tolerated by the audience, Turk came on in a high-peaked -hat, a long cloak, and hessian boots, and hearing that his wife had -married again, behaved in so mad a manner as to fully justify his long -incarceration. Being a very short man, Turk's appearance in this -costume was even in my eyes most ludicrous; no effort of imagination -could have made a hero of him, and as (for the sake of contrast, I -suppose, with his other character) he spoke in the most lugubrious -tone, the audience went through various transitions of feeling. First, -they were, as I have said, mildly tolerant; then they became -impatient, then indignant, and then, there was something so really -comic in the little man's despair, they hooted and laughed at him. -Directly the feeling of derision came into play, even I knew that both -Turk and his new and original drama were, in dramatic parlance, -'damned.' An unfortunate word which Turk used was taken up as a -catchword by the audience, and they flung it at him with merciless -enjoyment. They literally screamed with laughter when he was most -serious, and even the critics threw themselves back in their seats and -showed by their merriment (for critics are rarely merry) that they -were tasting a new sensation. In vain the sticks rapped approval; in -vain did Turk's friends endeavour to stem the current. The knowing man -who sat next to me declared, as he wiped his eyes, that he would not -have missed this first night for anything. It's the richest thing I've -ever seen,' he said; and, like a coward as I was, I flung away Turk's -colours, and basely murmured that it was the richest thing _I_ had -ever seen. I was very sorry for poor Turk, and more so because he was -so brave all through. He did not exhibit the slightest sign of -discomposure at this miscarriage of his ambition, but faithfully spoke -every word of his part, until the curtain finally fell amidst peals of -laughter; and then the stage-manager came forward and stated that the -new drama would _not_ be played again. - -When I was out of the theatre, I was almost inclined to run away, for -I felt that the verdict was a just one, and I was afraid that Turk -might wish me to declare otherwise; but I liked him too well to desert -him. I waited for him near the stage-door, and so did a few other of -his friends, who seemed to regard their big sticks, as I did mine, -with gloomy disgust. Turk soon made his appearance, and, to my -surprise, with a cheerful countenance. Not a word was said about his -failure. We adjourned to a neighbouring tap, and talked of anything -but the drama. Old Mac was there, enjoying his toddy, but he did not -at first join in the conversation. Turk, also, was silent. Suddenly -old Mac burst out: - -'Hang it, my sons, let's speak! Turk, you acted bravely. I was never -prouder of my profession than I was to-night when I saw you go -manfully and artistically through your part in defiance of the -senseless howlings of the envious crew. If I could have broken all -their heads with one blow of my stick--did you hear it going, Turk? I -stuck to you, my son; I stuck to you like a man--I'd have done it! -Dammee, I'd have done it, to see where the brains were. I'd have made -a quarry with thousands of these quartered slaves as high as I could -pick my lance! Thank you; I will. Another glass of whisky-toddy, -miss--as before. As before!' Here old Mac drew the back of his left -hand across his eyes, and holding out his right sympathisingly, said: -'Turk, my boy, drown dull care! A small piece of lemon, if you please, -miss. Here's confusion to the rabble!' - -'Now what's the use of beating about the bush?' demanded Turk, a -little huskily. 'I'm not such an ass as not to see that I've made a -failure. Is Turk West going to bury his head in the sand, like an -ostrich, and refuse to see it? Not he! Well, I'm not the first, and -sha'n't be the last. Pass me the pewter, Chris. It served me right. I -ought to have taken more time; I ought to have gone on by degrees; I -ought to have stuck to my last. I've had my lesson, and I mean to -profit by it. Mac, old boy, you and I will never meet again at -Philippi. I've had my dream, and it's over.' - -'The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces!' murmured old Mac. - -'It was all the fault of the piece,' said one. 'What audience could be -expected to stand such a hash?' - -'It wasn't all the fault of the piece,' retorted Turk manfully. 'We -were both to blame. It isn't a first-rate piece. I can see that now; -but there's merit in it, merit, my boy, although the subject is an -unfortunate one. I've brought desolation upon more than one breast -to-night.' He beat his own, and the action would have been ludicrous, -but for the genuine tone in which he spoke. 'The author had set his -all upon the hazard of the die, and I saw him rush from the side-wings, -with the salt tears running down his face. What did I say I'd -throw to-night, Chris, my boy? Double sixes? Well, I threw for both, -and threw double blank. A nice bungler I am I! My mind's made up. -Othello's occupation's gone! Turk West acts no more.' - -'Nonsense, old fellow, nonsense!' his friends remonstrated. 'You'll -think better of it.' - -'I've said it,' cried Turk, with stern resolve. 'I act no more.' - -'In that case,' said old Mac, in a tone of gloomy desperation, 'I'll -take another glass of whisky-toddy. Little does the English stage know -what it has lost this night!' - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. -JESSIE'S BIRTHDAY. - - -The morning of Jessie's birthday rose bright and clear. How well I -remember it, and every trivial feature connected with it, which, -apparently but little noted at the time, impressed itself indelibly -upon my mind! Often afterwards, in thinking of that day--and how many, -many times have my thoughts dwelt upon it I--a rift of light has -pierced the black cloud which overshadowed it, and I have seen myself, -as I stepped into the street soon after sunrise, stooping to pick up a -pin which lay on the pavement. I have awoke in the night, sobbing in -bitterest grief, and this smallest and most uneventful of incidents -has been the clearest thing I have seen in connection with that day. -Other incidents as trivial are clear to me--a costermonger wheeling -his barrow, loaded with fruit; a policeman standing by a lamp-post -chewing a piece of straw; a woman who brushed past me humming a line -of a song. I see the exact arrangement of the fruit in the -costermonger's barrow; the face of the policeman is as familiar to me -as if he had been an intimate friend; I hear the few words the woman -hummed, with the precise and delicate intonations she gave to them. -And yet, had these incidents occurred at the North Pole, they could -not have been more utterly disconnected from the great and sorrowful -event which made the day memorable to me. - -My mother had not been well during the past week, and for a day or two -had been compelled to keep her room. On one of these days I had gone -to Mr. Rackstraw's office for Jessie, and had learned that she had -left an hour before my arrival. Hastening home, I found her by my -mother's bedside, nursing my mother. Hearing my step on the stairs, -Jessie had come to the bedroom door, and had whispered to me -indignantly: - -'If I had been in your place I think I should have stopped at home -with my mother, knowing what a comfort my presence was to her, instead -of running after a foolish wilful girl.' - -Before I had time for reply, my mother had called out, in her thin -sweet voice: - -'Jessie, what are you saying to Chris?' - -Then Jessie had left us together, and my mother, drawing my head on -her pillow, told me how kind and gentle Jessie had been to her, and -made my pulses thrill with delight by her praises of the girl whom I -loved with all my soul. Something noticeable had occurred within an -hour after that. Going into the parlour downstairs, I noticed that -Jessie had a pair of new gold earrings in her ears. Now I was sure -that she had not worn them when she met me at the door of my mother's -bedroom. They were of a pretty and graceful pattern, and became her. I -had not given them to her; who had? I looked towards uncle -Bryan----but, no; he was not the giver, for his eyes were fixed upon -them suspiciously and disapprovingly. It hurt me to see them in her -ears, but I would not ask her about them, preferring the pain which -lay in ignorance. Besides, I would show Jessie what confidence I had -in her, by waiting until she chose to tell me of her own accord who -was the giver. But Jessie said not a word on the subject. - -On Jessie's birthday my mother was better, although not quite well. We -had arranged between us that there should be a little feast at home in -the evening, in honour of Jessie, and that Jessie should not be told -of it beforehand. I contemplated another surprise for Jessie, and I -consulted my mother concerning it. - -'Nothing would please Jessie so much as having one of her friends at -our little party.' - -My mother looked doubtfully at me. Since we had lived in uncle Bryan's -house, no stranger had ever sat down at our table. - -'I don't think uncle Bryan can possibly object,' I said. 'It is only -Josey West, Jessie's best friend, and one of the kindest-hearted -creatures in the world. Before you knew her five minutes you would -love her, and I believe she would even take uncle Bryan's fancy, -strange as he is.' - -'Will you ask him, or shall I, my dear?' - -'You had better,' I answered; 'you have more patience with him than I. -If he refused me, I should quarrel with him perhaps. Tell him she's -deformed, and as good as gold.' - -A few hours afterwards my mother said, - -'Your uncle says we can do as we please. He consents, my dear.' - -'Ungraciously, of course,' I added; 'but never mind, so long as Josey -is here. Not a word to Jessie, mother.' - -I enjoined secrecy also on Josey West, who was really glad of the -opportunity of making my mother's personal acquaintance. - -'I shall throw my arms round her neck,' said Josey, and kiss her the -moment I see her. And as for you,' she added, with a fair disregard of -sequence in her speech, 'you are a wise young man. Now what made you -think of me at all?' - -'Because I knew it would please Jessie,' I answered honestly, 'and -because I want to make Jessie's birthday the happiest day in her life -and mine.' - -She pinched my cheek merrily, as though she understood my meaning. - -I had fully resolved that on that day I would ask Jessie to be my -wife. Tortured almost beyond endurance by the doubts and difficulties -which surrounded me, I had in some way gathered courage to look my -position steadily in the face, and the moment I did so, the way seemed -clear before me. I became strengthened immediately, and the fair -promise which hope held forth appeared realised in anticipation. I set -aside all obstacles for future consideration, and mentally leaped out -of the entanglement of feeling which had brought so much discomfort -into our lives. 'It is for me to speak,' I thought, 'and to speak -plainly and manfully.' I painted the future in the fairest colours. My -prospects of success were growing brighter and brighter; my sketches -for the Christmas story which had been intrusted to me to illustrate -were approved of by the author and the publisher, and I felt I only -wanted opportunity to rise far above the sphere of life which, in the -natural course of things, I could have expected to occupy. 'Jessie's -love for the stage,' I thought, 'and her wish to become an actress, -only arise from her thoughtfulness of her future, and from her state -of dependence on uncle Bryan. Well, I can clear away all doubt; I can -offer her a good home; and I can release her from uncle Bryan, and, if -she wishes, can pay him what she thinks she owes him.' I resolutely -closed the eyes of my mind on my mother's declaration, that wherever -our home was, uncle Bryan must share it. I knew too well that it would -be impossible for Jessie and me to be happy together, with him as a -member of our household. All these things could be considered and -settled by and by, when Jessie had promised to be my wife. I -reproached myself that I had not spoken plainly to her before now; I -had, as it were, driven her by my faint-heartedness to do what she -might not have done, if she had had a protector whom she loved and who -loved her. All this and other reasoning of the same nature I carried -out exactly in the way which best suited my hopes, and at length I lay -in my cloud-built castles at peace with myself; for it was not to be -doubted that my dearest wishes would now be surely realised. I had an -instinctive consciousness that Josey West was thoroughly acquainted -with the position of affairs between Jessie and me, and knowing her to -be my friend, I was convinced that she would have warned me if she had -had any doubt of Jessie's affection for me. - -So that it was all clear sailing. What would come, would come, but the -bliss which I should presently taste of, knowing Jessie to be mine and -mine only--the bliss which I was enjoying already in anticipation--was -all sufficient. Outside our own two personalities there was nothing -else to be considered. Nothing else? No one else? No; for this one -greatest of all joys secured, all difficulties which once seemed to -threaten to mar its fulfilment _must_ melt away, as surely as snow -melts before the sun. I pleased myself with this commonplace metaphor, -and utterly overlooked the common sense of things (common sense, -indeed, in this case being the very slave of sentiment)--utterly -overlooked the possibility that the current of others' feelings, of -others' likes and dislikes, of others' ideas of right and wrong, could -run in a different direction from that down which I was sailing with -my hopes realised. It is thus, I suppose, sometimes with other selfish -natures than mine. - -I was up and out early in the morning. I could not sleep the night -before, and wishing to give Jessie a bouquet of fresh flowers, I had -determined to walk to Covent-garden to buy them. I had a bouquet made -of the sweetest and loveliest flowers, and I took it to our house by -the back way, and hid it in my workroom. How many times I looked at -it, and how in every delicate leaf I found a sentiment which formed a -connecting link between me and Jessie, it is unnecessary here to -describe. In the afternoon I had to go to the jeweller's for the watch -for Jessie, the inscription on which could not be completed before; -and when I held it in my hand and read the words, 'From Chris to -Jessie, on her eighteenth birthday. With undying love,' I saw Jessie's -beautiful eyes looking into mine, and I uttered an exclamation of -delight which must have satisfied the jeweller that his work was -approved of. Then there was the ivory brooch shaped in the form of a -true lover's knot. Perhaps Jessie would allow me to fasten it in the -bosom of her dress, as she had allowed me to take the ribbon from her -neck, which was now round mine, with the locket she had given me on my -birthday. No one but I had yet seen or knew of these offerings of -love. It was to be a day of delightful surprises. - -I was at home with my flowers before breakfast. - -'What made you go out so early this morning, Chris?' Jessie inquired -over breakfast. - -'That's a secret,' I answered gaily; 'you shall know to-night.' - -My mother had already questioned me in private, and I had easily -satisfied her. Something unusual occurred when we had finished -breakfast. Jessie went to uncle Bryan's side, and spoke to him. - -'Do you know it's my birthday to-day, uncle Bryan?' - -'I have heard so.' Then after a short pause: 'May it be a day of good -remembrance to you!' - -Nothing more; not a kiss, not even a hand-shake. And yet she invited -it in the tenderest manner, as she stood before him, bright and -beautiful, in a new light print dress, with a small lilac flower. I -never see a dress with such a pattern without an odd sensation at my -heart. She did not move from the spot until he, after some mental -communing, I think, turned from her and went into the shop. I -experienced a feeling very much like hatred towards him for his -hardness and insensibility. - -My mother took Jessie's hand. - -'May your life be bright and happy, dear child!' - -She hid her face in my mother's bosom for a little while in silence; -then she raised her face, and they kissed each other. Ah, the world -was bright with such a flower in it! - -'And you, Chris?' she said presently, holding out her hand to me. - -'I shall wish you nothing until to-night,' I said, with an effort of -great self-restraint, 'except in my heart.' - -She nodded, and smiled, and then busied herself about the room, -insisting that my mother should sit and rest while she did the work of -the house. But my mother, laughing, said that she could not allow it, -as Jessie would find out all her secrets; then ensued fond coaxing and -teasing, which ended, as I was afraid it would do, in my mother -whispering to Jessie that we were going to have a little feast that -night in her honour, and that Josey West was coming to spend the -evening with us. - -'A nice one you are to keep a secret,' I called merrily after them as -they went out of the room with their arms around each other's waist, -like mother and daughter; 'it's a good job I didn't tell you -everything.' - -What with my work and other duties, I saw but little of Jessie during -the day; and in the evening I dressed myself in my best, and went for -a walk, with the intention of not coming home until past eight -o'clock, when Josey West would be at our house, and when everything -would be prepared to celebrate Jessie's birthday in a befitting -manner. I carried out my programme faithfully, and entered the parlour -with a beating heart and flushed face. The room was very bright. My -mother had on her best cap and dress, and in the rapid glance I cast -at uncle Bryan, who was behind the counter, as I walked through the -shop, I fancied I detected some change for the better in his -appearance; I fancied also that he expected to see some one with me. -Josey West was in the parlour, and the dear little soul was holding my -mother's hand in hers with tender feeling. They were already the best -of friends. My mother stood on tiptoe to look over my shoulder. - -'Whom for, mother?' I asked. - -'I was looking for Jessie, my dear. Has she not been out walking with -you?' - -'No, mother.' - -'Ah,' exclaimed Josey West briskly, 'she'll be in presently. I dare -say she is going to surprise us with something.' - -Unable to keep my secret any longer, I said that I had something to -surprise Jessie with when she came in; and I brought the flowers from -my workroom, and placed them on the table. Then I showed them the -brooch and the watch; before I knew it, Josey had opened the case, and -read the inscription, and pointed it out to my mother. - -'And is it so, really?' Josey asked tantalisingly. - -'Why, you knew it was so,' I answered, very hot and red. - -And my mother left Josey, and came and pressed me fondly in her arms. - -But where was Jessie? She was nowhere in the house. - -'Perhaps she's at mine,' suggested Josey; 'run round, and bring her. I -dare say she's waiting for you there.' This with the wickedest of -laughs. - -But Jessie was not at Josey West's house, nor was she at home when I -returned. Our perplexity soon turned to alarm. We looked at each -other, to see whether any one of us held the key of Jessie's absence; -my suspicions lighted on Josey West, but a frank look assured me that -I had no right to suspect her. For an hour I walked about the street -watching for Jessie. - -'Can anything have happened to her?' my mother asked. - -Uncle Bryan was in the room when my mother spoke. He also, in his own -way, shared our alarm. - -'Mother,' I said, inspired by a sudden thought, if Jessie comes while -I am away, do not let her go out again. I shall not be long.' - -My thought was to go to Mr. Rackstraw's office to make inquiries, -although I knew full well that the office was closed hours ago. But I -could not remain still. As I turned to go from the room, a boy's voice -in the shop arrested my steps. He was inquiring for Mr. Bryan Carey -and my mother. Uncle Bryan, answering the lad, came in with a letter, -addressed to my mother. I saw that the writing was Jessie's, and I -took the letter from his hand. - -'I _must_ open it, mother,' I said. The letter contained these words: - - -'I have gone away, and shall not return. Forgive me for all the -trouble I have brought among you, but I think I have not been entirely -to blame. Do not be sorry that I have gone; I have caused you too much -pain already. It will be useless, if you find where I am, endeavouring -to prevail upon me to return. I would starve rather than enter the -house again. - -'JESSIE.' - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. -I SPEAK PLAINLY TO UNCLE BRYAN. - - -The paper which I held in my hand became blurred in my sight, and for a -few moments the only thing that was clear to me was that Jessie was -lost to me, and that all possible happiness had gone out of my life. - -There was no mistaking the meaning of Jessie's letter to my mother. It -was intended to snap at once and for ever the bonds which united us. -She had set herself free from her miserable thraldom, and she was not -to be wooed back. 'It will be useless, if you find where I am, -endeavouring to prevail upon me to return. I would starve rather than -enter the house again.' I heard her speak these words in sharp -incisive tones, and I knew too well that she was not to be turned from -her purpose. All was over between us, and this day, which I had fondly -imagined was to be the happiest in our lives, had sealed the -destruction of all my hopes. - -Two trivial circumstances recalled me to the realities of the scene. -One was the ticking of the watch which I had intended as a birthday -present for Jessie; the other was a slight rustling of paper. I had -observed, when uncle Bryan entered the room with the letter for my -mother, that he held another paper in his hand, which must have been -addressed to himself. It was the rustling of this paper which now -attracted my attention. Uncle Bryan had opened it, and was reading it. -He could have read but a very few lines when a ghastly pallor -overspread his features, and his hands trembled from excess of -agitation. Every muscle in his face was quivering, and even in the -midst of my own suffering these signs of suffering in him did not -escape me. They did not move me to pity; they stirred me rather to a -more bitter resentment against him. He, and he alone, was the cause of -all my misery; he, and he alone, had brought this blight upon my life. - -I did not know, until I attempted to move towards him, that my -mother's arms were round me. I had no distinct intention of raising my -hand against him, but it might have occurred, and my mother feared it -and clung to me convulsively. I released myself from her arms, and I -stood before him, barring the way, for I detected in him a desire to -leave the room unobserved. He gazed at me in a weak uncertain manner; -all his old strength and sternness of character seemed to have -deserted him, and he was suddenly transformed into a weak and worn old -man. That his sorrow-stricken face should have won sympathy from my -mother and Josey West--as I saw clearly it had--I construed into an -additional wrong against myself, committed not by them, but by him. It -inflamed me the more; I felt that my passion must have vent, and that -it was impossible for me to be silent. - -'Let me pass.' - -I did not hear the words, for his throat was parched, and refused to -give them utterance; but I knew that he had striven to speak them. - -'Not till you have heard what I have to say,' was my reply, as I stood -before him. - -My mother crept to my side, but I was not to be turned from my -purpose. I could hear and feel the rapid beating of her heart against -my hand, which she had taken in hers and pressed to her bosom, but the -selfish intensity of my own grief made me deaf and blind to everything -else. Uncle Bryan did not answer me; he strove feebly to pass me -again, but I prevented him from doing so. Something in my attitude -caused Josey West to place herself between us. - -'I hope you are satisfied,' I said. 'You have driven her from us. What -is the next thing you intend to do?' - -I paused for his reply, but he did not speak. - -'I intended to ask Jessie to-night to be my wife. I don't know what -her answer would have been, but I think I know what it might have been -but for your systematic cruelty. Will it add to your satisfaction to -know that I had set all my hopes of happiness upon her, and that you -have driven these from my heart, as you have driven her from your -door? I loved her with all my soul. I was not worthy of her; she is -far above me and every one here; but I loved her most truly and -sincerely, and you have stepped between us and parted us for ever. -Does it please you to be assured of this?----Nay, mother, I will -speak. I have been silent until now, out of my love for you, and -because I knew that you had given even him a place in your tender -heart. He has requited you nobly for it. If I had spoken openly before -now, things might have been different, but I held my tongue, like a -coward, and because I had some latent notion that he deserved respect -from me. I think so no longer. On my last birthday,' I continued, -addressing him, 'you gave me certain advice which I believed to be -good; among other things you said that it is seldom a man can look -back upon his life with satisfaction. You drew that from your own -experience. With what kind of satisfaction do you look back upon your -own life? A man with any tenderness for others in his nature would -shrink with horror from the contemplation of such a life as yours. But -perhaps you find it a pleasant task to blight the hopes and happiness -of those who have the misfortune to come in contact with you. Having -no children of your own upon whom you could practise in this way, you -turned your attention to others, and you have succeeded most -thoroughly. You said to me, when I was of age, that I was a man, with -a man's responsibility, and a man's work to do, and you bade me do it -faithfully. I have tried to do it--my mother knows that, and so does -Miss West, I think--in the hope that it would lead to a good result. -But when you addressed those words to me, did you think of yourself, -and the example of your own life? They sounded well, but did you think -of your own responsibility--or did you think that _you_, apart from -all other men in the world, had no responsibility which it behoved you -to look to? You brought Jessie here, a friendless, helpless girl--a -girl whom nobody but you could help loving for the goodness that is in -her. She brought sunshine into this house, which was gloomy enough -without her. She had no mother, no father, no friends, and you were -her only protector. How have you fulfilled your duty towards her? -Shall I answer for you? You have behaved like a tyrant, in whom all -human feeling was deadened. When she strove to love you, you compelled -her, by harsh words and cold looks and repellent acts, to hate you. -She has good cause for her feelings towards you now, for you did your -best to make every hour and every day of her life a misery to her. She -told me herself that she was only happy out of the house; so that you -did your work well. If you saw faults in her which no one else saw, -and which had their birth in your own hard unfeeling nature, what -right had you to torture her in the way you did? She was but a child, -and you are an old man. Why could you not have dealt tenderly and -gently by her? Ask my mother--ask Miss West--ask any of her -friends--if there is anything in her character that might not be -turned to good account? But you could not see it. Lightheartedness and -an innocent flow of spirits are crimes in your eyes. You made her pay -bitterly for the shelter you gave her; you have shown the generosity -of your nature in its fullest light by making her say, after a long -experience of you, that she would starve rather than enter your house -again. When you told us the story of your life, you said you wished me -to hear it because I might learn something from it. I have learnt -something--but not the lesson you wished me to learn. I have learnt -that such a life as yours, such a nature as yours, brings desolation -upon every life and nature within its influence, and that it would be -a happier fate for me to drop down dead this minute than live as you -have lived, a torture to all around you.' - -'Chris, Chris!' implored my mother, with streaming eyes, and with a -gesture of entreaty towards uncle Bryan, who sat before me now, with -his head bowed upon his hands. Remember, my dear child, remember!' - -'Remember what, mother?' I cried pitilessly. 'That he has robbed me of -all that can make life dear to me--of all that _is_ dear to me? You -should ask me rather to forget when you point to him, whom I would -teach a different lesson if he were not an old man, with one foot in -the grave. Shall I remember that he has no belief in goodness here or -hereafter--that he believes neither in God nor man? Will such -remembrances as these plead in his favour? One thing I will and do -remember--that I owe him money for the food he has given me and you. -But I will pay him to the last farthing, so that nothing may remain -between us but what I owe him for having brought misery into my life. -That is a debt that can never be wiped out. And Jessie will pay him -also; she told me she would. But for that resolve she would not, for a -long time past, have eaten a meal at his expense. Are these the things -you wish me to remember?' - -I knew that I was striking him hard with every word I uttered, but I -would not spare him. I ransacked my mind to hurt him. - -'And you, mother,' I said pitilessly, do you think you are just to me -in pleading for him, and in disguising the opinion you have of him? -When, knowing that all my hopes were set on Jessie, and that it was -impossible for her and him to live happily in the same house, I -proposed to make a home elsewhere where we could live in happiness -without him, did you show your love for me by saying that we must -never leave him, and that, wherever our home was, he must share it? -When he told us his story, for the purpose, as I now see, of setting -us more and more against Jessie, and I asked you afterwards if you -would like me to look on things as he does, what was your answer? "God -forbid!" you said; "it would take all the sweetness out of your -life."' (Uncle Bryan removed his hand from his eyes at this, and -raised them for one moment to my mother's white face; there was no -reproach in them, but a look of humble grateful affection.) 'In what -was Jessie wrong that she should have been driven from us? In wishing -him to go to church with us? Ask your own heart, mother, for an answer -to that, and remember what occurred on the first Sunday night we were -in this house. If I had known then what I know now, I would have -starved rather than have accepted the shelter of his roof. Remember -how, for days and weeks together, Jessie has been submissive and -tender to him, striving by every means in her power to win his -affection; and remember how her efforts were received and rewarded. -But for him Jessie might have been my wife; you loved her, and she -loved you. How often have you told me that you saw nothing in her but -what was good! I think at one time she would have consented to share -my lot, but that dream is over now. There was an influence strong -enough to turn love into hate, and to poison all our lives. I will -remember that to my dying day, which I hope may not be far off. I have -nothing worth living for. But one thing I am resolved upon--that while -I live, those who love me shall choose between me and him.' - -Josey West caught my arm suddenly and sharply. - -'Are you mad?' she cried. 'Learn the lesson you want to teach others. -Look at your mother.' - -She let go my arm, and stepped swiftly to my mother's side, in time to -save her from falling to the ground. Uncle Bryan made a movement -towards her, but I stood before him, and he shrank back. My mother's -strength had given way, and she had fainted. I supported her in my -arms, while Josey West loosened her dress and bathed her face. She -opened her eyes presently, and, recognising me, pressed me -convulsively to her breast. - -'O my child, my child,' she sobbed, 'my heart is almost broken!' - -I looked round for uncle Bryan; he was gone. - -'What I did,' moaned my mother, 'I did for the best. I prayed and -hoped that time would set all things right. I see now that it was -impossible, and that I was a weak foolish woman. But I loved you, my -darling, and I would shed my heart's blood for you. What sin have I -committed that I should be punished by the loss of my dear child's -love?' - -'No, no, mother,' I cried remorsefully, 'you must not say that. You -have not lost it. God forbid that it should ever be so!' - -I think she did not hear me, for she slid from my arms and knelt -before me, imploring me with sobs and broken words to forgive her. -Many minutes passed before I succeeded in calming her, and then Josey -West and I assisted her upstairs to her room, to the room which Jessie -had made bright by her innocent devices. - -'Jessie will never sleep here again,' I thought, with a choking -sensation in my throat. This was _her_ room, Josey,' I said aloud. - -Josey nodded gravely, and whispered to me that my mother must go to -bed, and that she ought to see a doctor. 'I hope she will not have a -fever,' said Josey. - -My mother's eyes were wandering around her in a strange way; once or -twice she looked at me as if she did not know me. The simple sound of -my voice, however, recalled her to herself. - -'Yes, dear child,' she said, with a smile so sad and sweet as to bring -the tears into my eyes. - -'Mother,' I whispered, 'you know what has occurred?' - -She considered for a moment or two; I assisted her memory. - -'Jessie,' I said. - -'I know now,' she replied, with a look of distress. 'Jessie has gone.' - -'Will you be strong for my sake, mother?' - -'I will do anything you tell me, my darling child,' she said humbly. - -'First I will go and send a doctor to you. Then I want to try and find -Jessie.' - -'Dear child, do you know where she is?' - -'No; and I have no hope of inducing her to return. I know she will -never come back, but I cannot rest without doing something. I shall go -mad if I stop in the house all night and make no effort to discover -her.' - -'Go, then, dear child,' she said; and added imploringly, You will come -back, my darling, will you not? You will not desert me after all these -years?' - -'How can you think it, mother? I will come back, but it may be late.' - -'I will keep awake for you, my darling. Say nothing more to your -uncle. Promise me that, dear child.' - -'I will not speak another word to him.' - -I turned to Josey West; she divined what I was about to say. - -'I'll stop with your mother, if you _must_ go. Run round to my house -first, and say I sha'n't be home to-night. And look here. If Turk's -there, you'd best take him with you. I suppose you are going to Mr. -Rackstraw's? - -'That was my intention,' I said. - -'Of course you know the office will be closed; but I daresay it will -relieve your feelings to thump at the door.' She spoke fretfully; but -her tone changed when she said, 'Don't think only of yourself. Have -some thought for your mother.' - -'One word, Josey. _You_ have no idea where Jessie is?' - -'Not the slightest,' she replied. 'And you didn't know she was going -away?' - -'I had no more idea of it than you had.' - -'That night,' I said hesitatingly, 'when Mr. Glover was at your -house----' - -'Oh,' she interrupted in a sharp tone, Mr. Glover! Well, what night?' - -'A little while ago, when Jessie was there, and I was not. Did he pay -her great attention?' - -'Of course he did.' - -'Did he seem fond of her?' - -'It wouldn't have been natural otherwise,' she replied, with a -suspicious look at me. 'Of course he seemed fond of her. Anything -more?' - -'No,' I said, with a sigh; 'that's all.' - -I kissed my mother, and left the room. Her loving eyes followed me to -the door. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. -TURK MAKES A CONFESSION. - - -I found Turk at his sister's house. He jumped up at once on my -proposing that he should take a walk with me. - -'I am glad of the opportunity, Chris, my boy,' he said; 'for I want to -talk to you.' - -I answered, in as lively a tone as I could command, that I was at his -service. - -'Like a true friend as you are. The subject I want to talk about is -spelt with four letters--s-e-l-f. Such a subject needs no overture; up -with the curtain, then. I start with a self-evident proposition. A man -must live. What do you say to that?' - -I had nothing to say in contradiction. - -'Very well, then. To live, one must have money; to have money (barring -the silver spoon), one must work for it. Granted?' - -'Granted,' I assented listlessly. He looked at me in surprise at my -despondent tone. - -'Ah,' he said, 'there's more in that than meets the eye.' - -'More in what, Turk? In your proposition?' - -'No, Chris, my boy. In your face. You are in trouble.' - -'I am, Turk; in the deepest, most terrible trouble. I am utterly, -utterly wretched. I have nothing in the world worth living for.' - -'It's bad when it comes to that,' he said, with an expression of deep -concern. 'Money?' - -'No, Turk.' - -'Heart?' - -My silence was a sufficient answer. - -Is the trouble of such a nature that it may be confided to a -friend--to a friend with a kindred soul, Chris, my boy?' - -'I will tell you about it presently, Turk. Go on with your own story -first.' - -'In one act, then. Without detail. Since that ever-to-be-remembered -night when a strong verdict was pronounced against me on the other -side of Temple Bar--in which direction, by the bye, I see we are -walking now--and when I determined to relinquish the profession in -which I glory--I do, Chris, I glory in it; and you can hardly have an -idea of the sacrifice I have made in giving it up--I have been looking -about me. Not having been born with that silver spoon in my mouth, I -can't afford to be idle. Well, to be brief, something that will suit -me has come in my way, and I have snatched at the chance. The affair -will be settled to-morrow. Near the theatre in which I made my first -and last appearance in the new and original drama which was played for -the first and last time is a theatrical wig and hair shop, with a -shaving connection attached. To-morrow that shop and that connection -will be mine. That's the head and front of my story. But there's -something more. I have a friend of yours to thank for it all.' - -'A friend of mine!' - -'Two, I may say--one fair, one dark. I do perceive here a divided -duty. But we'll speak of that anon.' - -'No; tell me now. What friends do you mean? I haven't many.' - -'You have one who stands for a host. If she were such a friend to me, -I wouldn't call the king my uncle.' - -'She!' - -'I see you must hear it. Briefly, then, this was the way of it. The -business was for sale, Chris, my boy. Money had to be paid for it--not -much, but too much for a poor actor whose purse has always resembled a -sieve. I had saved a little, but not more than half what was required -for the purchase of the goodwill. I mention this in the presence of -these friends of yours----' - -I interrupted him. - -'Don't let us have any mystery, Turk. Who are they?' - -'Jessie the peerless and Mr. Glover.' - -I started. Turk continued: - -'I mention this in their presence, and lament my impecuniosity. Jessie -sympathises with me--wishes that she had money, so that she might help -me. She has a heart of gold, Chris, my boy, a heart of gold. Two or -three days afterwards, Mr. Glover sends for me--says he has been -considering the matter, and that he is disposed to assist me. He goes -further than being disposed to do it--he does it. In short, he -provides half the purchase-money, and there we are. It is a matter of -business, Chris, my boy. I asked him to make a matter of business of -it, and he said he intended to do so; and he has. Mr. Glover is a -moneylender, and he lends me the money at ten per cent. But there's -one thing I'm certain of. He wouldn't have done it but for Jessie.' - -I reflected with some bitterness on this information. - -'Are you certain of that, Turk?' - -'Morally certain, that is all. For when I thanked Jessie, she modestly -averred that all that she did was to express a wish that she had a -friend who would assist me. And now, Chris, my boy, unbosom yourself. -What's your trouble?' - -'Jessie has left our house, Turk.' - -He gave me a look of deep concern. 'What do you mean by that, Chris, -my son?' - -'She has left us, never to return--left us suddenly, without -explanation.' - -And then I narrated to him, in detail, all that had occurred, omitting -only what had passed between me and uncle Bryan. Still when I -mentioned his name, which was necessary several times in the course of -my narration, I spoke of him with sufficient bitterness to make Turk -aware of the terms upon which we stood to each other. - -Turk, growing more and more serious as I proceeded, listened to me -without interruption, and pondered deeply. By the time I had finished -he had become very serious indeed, and there was an air of gloom upon -him which somewhat soothed me. - -'There is more in _this_ than meets the eye,' he said; and added, -somewhat unnecessarily as I thought, 'Bear with me a little while, -Chris, my boy,' for I felt that such a request more properly belonged -to me than to him. But he explained his meaning presently. - -'You have given me your confidence, Chris, my boy, and you want me to -stand by you.' - -'I do, Turk.' - -'And I _will_ stand by you, as you have stood by me--I don't forget -the big stick you bought, Chris, to assist me on a certain eventful -night'--(here I was stung reproachfully by the remembrance of my -cowardly behaviour on that night); 'nor other occasions at the Royal -Columbia when you led the applause like a true friend. I'll stand by -you, my boy, but you must first hear my confession.' - -I did not wish to hear his confession; I wished to continue talking -only of myself and Jessie, but I was bound to listen. - -'As before, Chris, in a very few words. I knew that you loved Jessie, -but I scarcely thought that your passion was as strong as it is--as -powerful, as deep----' - -'No words can express its strength and depth, Turk,' I said, in a tone -of gloomy satisfaction. - -He nodded, as if he fully understood me, and continued: Well, others -may love as well as you, Chris.' I looked at him in jealous curiosity. -'I shouldn't be true to you nor to myself if I didn't confess it -before we proceed to the consideration of the state of affairs. _I_ -love her, also.' - -I started, and let go his arm. - -'Don't do that, Chris, my boy,' said the honest fellow; 'it's nobody's -fault but my own. I know that I can't stand in comparison with you. -You are ten years younger than I am--you are handsome, clever, bright; -and I--well, I am a failure. That's what I am, Chris; a failure. Even -if you were out of the way, which I don't for one moment wish, curious -as it may sound, I think I should stand but a poor chance with such a -beautiful creature as she is. I am not a hundredth part good enough -for her.' - -'No one is, Turk,' I said, somewhat mollified. - -'No; I won't say that. I think that some one whom I know _is_ good -enough' (he pressed my arm sympathisingly); 'and besides, you have a -claim upon her. You mustn't be surprised or hurt at my loving her, -Chris; I could mention half a dozen others who are in the same boat. -You see, one can't help loving her, she is so bright and winsome. Why, -if she were mine--which she isn't, and never will be--I think I should -take a pride in knowing it, for it would make her all the more -precious to me. That is how the matter stands with me, Chris, and I -think it's right that you should know it. I give her up, not without a -pang, my boy, but freely; I am used to disappointments, and I shall -bear this as I have borne others.' - -'But you never had any hope, Turk,' I said, disposed, after his -magnanimous conduct, to argue the matter with him. - -'No, not to speak of,' he replied, with a melancholy sigh. 'If I can't -be Jessie's lover--don't be angry with me for using the word--I can be -her friend, and yours. It rests with you to say the word. If you know -enough of Turk West to trust him, say so, Chris, and he pledges -himself to act faithfully in your interest. He may be of more use to -you than you imagine. Well?' - -'I should be an ungrateful brute not to say that I accept your offer -thankfully, Turk.' - -'That's settled, then. Shake hands on it. And now, Chris, we'll be -silent for just two minutes, and then we'll go into the matter.' - -At the end of that time he resumed. - -'I said that there was more in your story than meets the eye, Chris, -my boy; and there is. Jessie disappears on your birthday, suddenly, -without any forewarning. This morning everything was nice and pleasant -with all of you at home.' - -'With the exception of uncle Bryan,' I interrupted; 'you mustn't -forget that.' - -'I don't forget it, but then he is the same as he usually is, and -there's nothing unusual in that. She is affectionate to you; she is -affectionate to your mother; and I think that she couldn't have -avoided seeing that there was to be a little celebration of her -birthday to-night. Well, it is plain to me that this morning she had -no idea of going away. Now what has occurred since this morning to -cause this sudden change in her? That's the first thing to consider.' - -I could not think of anything. Jessie had not been out of our house. - -'There's something I have not told you, Turk, but I don't see what it -can have to do with Jessie's going from us. We were talking together -once, when Jessie said that she wondered that I had never asked her -any questions about herself--she meant about herself before she came -to live with us. I answered that mother had desired me not to do so, -because uncle Bryan might not like it.' - -'What had he to do with it? asked Turk. - -'I don't know, but mother said he might have secrets which he would -not wish us to discover. When I told this to Jessie, she said that she -had a secret, but didn't then know what it was. It was in a letter -which she was not to open until she was eighteen years of age--until -to-day. Then she said she would tell me everything.' - -'There's a mystery somewhere,' said Turk, pondering; in that letter -perhaps.' - -But I could not agree with him. Eager as I was to receive any -impressions which would divert my suspicions from the current in which -they were running, I could not see the slightest connection between -the circumstance I had just mentioned and Jessie's absence. By this -time we were at Temple Bar. - -'Where are we going?' asked Turk. - -'To Mr. Rackstraw's,' I answered. 'Jessie has been taking lessons of -him, you know. He may be able to tell us something about her.' - -Turk shook his head. 'There are two strong reasons against the -realisation of that expectation, Chris. First, Jessie has not been -there to-day, according to your own statement; second, Mr. Rackstraw's -office closes at five o'clock.' - -But we may be able to discover where Mr. Rackstraw lives.' - -'Well?' - -'Well?' I echoed, irritated at his seeming discouragement of my plan. -'Turk, can't you see that I'm almost mad with misery. I thought you -were a friend----' - -'And am I not? That's news to Turk. What good can you do by finding -out Mr. Rackstraw's private address?' - -'He may tell me where Mr. Glover lives.' - -'And then?' demanded Turk, in a grave and sorrowful tone. - -I turned from him petulantly. 'If you do not care to understand me,' I -said, 'I had best go alone.' - -I walked swiftly onwards towards Mr. Rackstraw's office, Turk -following me at a distance of a few paces. - -Mr. Rackstraw's office was situated in a quiet narrow street in the -rear of Covent-garden. It was closed, as I expected it would be, and -although I rang all the bells on the door for fully ten minutes, I -received no answer. Turk stood quietly near me, without speaking. I -was heartily ashamed of myself for my treatment of him, and I made an -attempt at reconciliation by holding out my hand to him as I turned -disconsolately from Mr. Rackstraw's door. He took my hand with -affectionate eagerness. - -'I can't find it in my heart,' he said with rough tenderness, 'to be -angry with you; but I ought to be.' - -'I _am_ ashamed of myself for behaving so badly to you, Turk, but I -couldn't help it. I think I am ready to do any mad or foolish thing.' - -'Oh, I don't care about myself. I have a stronger reason for being -angry with you. Who of we two should be Jessie's champion? You, I -should say. Yet I am obliged to defend her from your suspicions. If -you were ten years older than you are, I should quarrel with you, -Chris; I would with any other man who dared to say a word against -her.' - -'Who has said anything against her?' I demanded hotly. - -'You, in coupling her name with Mr. Glover--you, even in the -expression of the idea that Mr. Glover has had anything to do with her -disappearance. I don't want you to be ashamed of yourself for treating -me badly, but you ought to be for your suspicions of her.' - -'You don't know what I know, Turk. I am bringing no charge against -Jessie--God forbid that I should; I love her too well, and think of -her too highly. But Mr. Glover has been paying court to her from the -first day he set eyes on her.' - -'What if he has? Is that her fault? Aren't you old enough yet to know -that there are hundreds of men always ready to run after a pretty -girl? Now, I daresay it has hurt you to hear that Mr. Glover has -helped me into my new business because Jessie expressed a wish that -she had a friend who would assist me. Why, what was more natural than -that she should say so, out of her kind heart, and what was more -natural than that he should be glad of the opportunity of obliging -her, and of doing a fair stroke of business at the same time? It isn't -a large sum that he advances--a matter of seventy-five pounds only, -and he has a bill of sale, and goodness knows what, all for security. -Now you are better satisfied perhaps. I can't say that I am over-fond -of Mr. Glover, but he is said to be an honourable, straightforward -man. I'll tell you what I'll do, if you must see him----' - -'I must,' I said firmly. - -'I don't know where he lives, but I'll take you to a theatre that he -often pops into of an evening; he may be there. The acting-manager is -one of my new friends, and will pass us in, I daresay, or will be able -to tell us if Mr. Glover is in the theatre.' - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. -MR. GLOVER DECLINES TO SATISFY ME. - - -The friend to whom Turk referred was, fortunately for us, in the lobby -of the theatre, and as the two were engaged in conversation, the man I -came to seek lounged towards us. He seemed surprised to see me, but -approached me quite affably, and asked what I was doing in _his_ part -of the world so late in the night. I made some sort of awkward, -bungling answer, and then he recognised Turk. - -'You, too, Turk,' he said in his slow way; 'but that is natural, for -these are your quarters now. Let me see. You take possession -to-morrow?' - -'Yes,' Turk answered, everything was settled, and he went into his new -place of business early in the morning. - -'And how is business with you?' asked Mr. Glover, directing his -attention to me again. - -I answered that it was very good, and that I had nothing to complain -of in that respect. - -'You have nothing to complain of in that respect,' he said, glancing -from me to Turk and from Turk to me, and appearing to be seeking for -some solution of the circumstance that we were in company together. -When he was in any doubt, he had an irritating habit of repeating the -last words spoken by the person he was conversing with, which gave him -time to think of his own words in reply. 'That must be very -satisfactory. I hear good accounts of you. You will get on, I should -say, if you are steady and straightforward, and if you keep a good -name. That is everything in this world. A good name--a good name. But -what brings _you_ out to-night? Have _you_ business in this quarter -too?' - -'No,' I said; 'I did not come out for business.' - -'You did not come out for business. For pleasure, then. Well, young -men will be young men.' - -'To tell you the truth, sir,' I said---- - -'That's right, always tell the truth,' he interrupted, speaking from a -height, slowly, and coolly, and patronisingly, as though he were -truth's conservator, and was glad to hear that it was being practised. -'Yes, to tell me the truth----' - -'I came out partly for the purpose and in the hope of seeing you.' - -With his hand playing with his moustache, he looked not at me, but at -Turk, for an explanation. Turk, however, had nothing to say. - -'You came out for the purpose and in the hope of seeing me. Yes. Have -you brought me any message?' - -'Did you expect one, sir?' I asked quickly. - -'Did I expect one? No, I cannot really say that I did; but I should -not have been surprised. Go on,' he said, with gentle encouragement. - -There were some persons passing us occasionally, and I moved to a more -retired spot. I saw that he was curious, and I saw that his curiosity -increased at this movement. - -'You seem agitated,' he said. 'Turk, our young friend here seems -agitated. Take your time--take your time. If you are going to beg a -favour, I shall be glad to assist you in any way in my power--in any -way in my power.' - -'I have not come to beg any favour of you, sir. I only came to -ask----' - -But I hesitated here; the justice of Turk's reproach came upon me with -great force, and I was conscious that the words I was about to utter -might be construed into an ungenerous suspicion of Jessie. If they -reached her ears from the lips of one who was not well disposed -towards me, I should sink for ever in her esteem. - -'Take time--take time,' said Mr. Glover, outwardly quite at his ease. - -Turk came to my rescue here. He divined my thoughts, and the cause of -my hesitation. - -'Perhaps, Mr. Glover,' said Turk, 'if you would not mind regarding -what passes as confidential, and not to be mentioned to any one else, -Christopher would be more at his ease.' - -I gave Turk a grateful look. - -'Christopher would be more at his ease,' repeated Mr. Glover. 'This -really is very mysterious. I don't see any objection. Then you know -what he is going to say?' - -'I know the subject he wishes to speak upon--but I was not aware of it -when I first came out with him to-night.' - -'Is it such a subject as ought to be spoken of in confidence between -us?' - -He totally ignored me, as if my opinion on the point were of the -smallest possible value. - -'I think so,' replied Turk, 'if it be spoken of at all.' - -'You have your doubts as to the judiciousness of the communication our -young friend is about to make?' - -'I have; and I have told him so.' - -'Oh, you have told him so.' - -He appeared to me to debate within himself whether, under such -circumstances, he should listen any further; but his curiosity -overcame his evident wish to baulk me. - -'You may go on,' he said to me, with a condescending wave of his hand. - -'It is understood, then,' I said, somewhat more boldly, 'that what we -say to each other is quite private and will not be repeated?' - -He stared at me very haughtily, and bent his head, and stood before -me, with his fingers to his lips, waiting for me to speak. A singular -fancy occurred to me at this moment as I gazed at him--a fancy which -need not here be mentioned; it lingered in my mind then and -afterwards, although I strove to dismiss it on this occasion as being -utterly wild and out of all reason. But, in conjunction with another -circumstance, which came to light in the course of time, it led to a -strange discovery. - -'I have not come to make any communication,' I said; 'I have only come -to ask a question. I can speak more freely now, as you are a -gentleman, and as what I say will not reach her ears.' (His lips -repeated 'Her ears,' but he did not repeat the words aloud.) 'It is -about Miss Trim'---- - -'About Jessie,' he said, in a lighter tone. 'Yes; what about her?' - -'Do you know where she is?' - -His looks were disturbed now, although he strove to be cool. - -'Do I know where she is?' he repeated, with a contraction of his eyes. - -'That is what I have come to ask.' - -'Oh, that is what you have come to ask.' - -'There is no need for me to repeat the question, I suppose,' I said, -controlling my desire to strike at him, for his manner was in the last -degree contemptuous, notwithstanding that the interest he took in the -conversation was evidently strengthened. - -'No; I understand the English language, and _you_ will be kind enough -to understand that I am not in the habit of being questioned. There is -no need for you to repeat the question, but there is a need for my -asking why it is put to me.' - -'Then you do not know?' - -He would not give me the satisfaction of a simple answer. - -'Let me see,' he said, in a musing tone, 'to-day is her birthday.' - -'You do know that.' - -'She told me herself; these things are not guessed at.' - -'You have not answered my question,' I said, trembling from passion -and from a sense of helplessness. - -'You have not answered mine,' he replied. 'I ask you why you put it to -me?' - -Turk motioned to me that I ought to tell him, but I could not speak. - -'Perhaps I had best explain,' Turk then said. 'This is Jessie's -birthday, as you know, and Christopher and his mother had prepared a -little feast in honour of it.' - -'After the manner of such people,' observed Mr. Glover, with a sneer -and a laugh, which set my pulses beating more quickly. Turk took no -notice of the observation. - -'My sister Josey was invited, to please Jessie, and Chris had a little -present to give her----' - -'Exceedingly pretty and pathetic,' interrupted Mr. Glover. 'It would -make a charming domestic scene in poor life, if it was placed on the -stage. These commonplace circumstances tickle the fancy, and please -sentimental persons, whenever they are presented in an unreal form. In -real life, of course, there is nothing very attractive in them--often -the reverse, I should say. But the picture you have drawn would be a -failure even on the stage, if there was nothing exciting to follow. We -want a "situation," Turk.' - -'We have one ready,' responded Turk. 'Without warning, and most -strangely and suddenly, Jessie leaves her home. Her friends suppose -she has gone out for a walk, and are waiting for her with uneasiness, -which grows stronger as the time goes on and Jessie does not return. -While they are waiting, a letter comes----' - -'Are you concocting a plot?' asked Mr. Glover. - -'I am telling you exactly what has occurred. A letter is received from -Jessie, in which she says that she has gone away, and never intends to -return. Chris, in his anxiety, has come to see you, in the hope--or -the fear--of hearing some news of her.' - -I had been watching Mr. Glover's face all the time Turk was speaking, -but it was impossible for me to decide whether he was acting or not. -The only change I observed in him occurred during Turk's last words; -then a little light came into his eyes, which might have been -construed into an expression of triumph. - -'And Chris, in his anxiety,' he said, has come to see me in the -hope--or the fear--of hearing some news of her. Which is it?' he -asked, turning to me; 'hope or fear?' - -'Fear,' I replied unhesitatingly. - -'What do you suspect me of?' he continued politely; 'running away with -her? You don't answer. Afraid to put it into words. But that's the -plain English of it, isn't it? You did a wise thing in stipulating -that what passes between us is to be kept private, or I might have -been tempted to tell the young lady in question something which would -not be pleasant for her to hear. Had you known what is due to a -gentleman from one in your station of life, I might have been induced -to satisfy your inexplicable anxiety concerning her; as it is, I -decline to do so. She would be both amused and angry to learn that you -have set up some sort of a claim upon her, as if there could be any -community of feeling between you. You seem to forget that she is a -lady, and that you--well, that you are not a gentleman. Take this -piece of advice from one who is competent to give it--go home and -stick to your bench, and don't presume to cast your thoughts on what -is not only beyond your reach, but immeasurably above you. Good-night, -Turk.' - -And with a contemptuous glance at me, Mr. Glover walked away in a very -leisurely manner. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. -A NEW FEAR. - - -I walked home in the most sorrowful of moods. Turk accompanied me part -of the way, but when he began to speak in Mr. Glover's favour, I said -that I would prefer to walk by myself. The good fellow took the hint, -and would not notice my churlishness. - -'I know, I know, old fellow,' he said, shaking hands with me; 'but you -might count me as nobody. Never mind, Chris, my boy, you won't find -many better friends than Turk West; and he's not to be shaken off, let -me tell you.' - -I reflected with bitterness that I had not one friend who thought as I -thought. Everybody was against me, and I was distrusted and -misunderstood even by those who should have held to me most closely. I -walked for miles out of my way, almost blindly, seeing nothing, -hearing nothing, feeling nothing, but my own despair and grief. The -streets were very still as I approached our house, and I lingered -about the spots where Jessie and I had lingered and talked in the days -that were gone. - -Josey West opened the door for me. Her face was very grave. - -'Well?' she said. - -'I have heard nothing, Josey. She has not come home?' - -'No.' - -A peculiar accent in her voice struck me. - -'How is mother?' I asked. - -She closed her lips firmly, and looked at me seriously and -reproachfully. I rebelled against that look; my heart was full almost -to bursting. - -'Why don't you and those who were my friends say what you think of -me?' I demanded bitterly. 'Why don't you say at once that I am to -blame for all that has occurred, and that I, and I only, am the cause -of all this misery?' - -'I don't say so,' she replied gently, 'because I don't think so.' - -'But you look at me as if it were so,' I said loudly; 'you and all the -others. You have fair words and fair excuses for every one but me----' - -She placed her fingers on her lips. 'Hush!' she said; 'don't be cruel -as well as unjust.' - -Her hand was on my arm, and I shook it off roughly. 'Who is the just -one? Uncle Bryan? I will talk to you no more. How is mother?' - -'Go up and see; but tread softly. You are not the only -sufferer--remember that.' - -I went upstairs, and into my mother's room, softly. Josey West -followed me. - -'Mother,' I said. - -She opened her eyes and looked at me vacantly. She did not know me; -even when I took her hand, and fondled it in mine, she showed no sign -of recognition. Then a feeling of desolation, more terrible than any -pain I had yet suffered, entered my heart, and I fell on my knees by -her side. Was I to lose her next? It seemed so. Her white pitiful -face, her parched restless lips, her mournful eyes gazing on vacancy, -her hot skin, were like so many tongues reproaching me for my -selfishness. - -'For God's sake tell me, Josey,' I whispered, 'how long has she been -like this?' - -'The change came a little while after the doctor left. She bore up -while he was here, and tried to answer him cheerfully; but when he was -gone, she broke down.' - -'Did she speak, Josey.' - -'A little at first.' - -'What about?' - -'Only about you, Chris; but I cannot tell you what she said. They were -only broken words of tenderness----' Josey turned from me, and could -not continue for her tears. - -'Did you not go for the doctor again, Josey?' - -'I could not leave her, Chris.' - -'Uncle Bryan might have gone--' - -I knocked at his door, and called him again and again; but I got no -answer.' - -I went at once to his room, and knocked, but no answer came. I tried -the handle, and found that the door was unlocked. I entered the room, -and struck a light. Uncle Bryan was not there, and his bed had not -been lain upon. I went downstairs into my own bedroom, and searched -the house swiftly; uncle Bryan was not in it. - -Did you see him go out, Josey?' - -'No; I have not seen him since you left.' - -'I must run for the doctor. Will you stop here?' - -'I'll stop, Chris, and do all I can to help you.' - -I pressed her hand, and within half an hour the doctor was at my -mother's bedside. I waited below until he came down. - -'If you will walk back with me,' he said, will give you some medicine -for your mother.' - -'Is she very ill, sir?' - -'Very.' - -My heart sank as I asked, 'Dangerously?' - -'I think so, but we shall know more in a day or two.' - -'Then there is no immediate danger, sir?' - -'I think not--I think not; but we must be prepared for the worst.' He -said something more than this, but I did not hear him. A mist stole -upon my senses, for his quiet tone portended the worst. 'Bear up, Mr. -Carey,' he said; 'you must not give way. We will do our best. A great -deal will depend upon good nursing. That is a sensible little woman -who is with her now.' - -This doctor was a man who was deservedly worshipped by the poor in our -neighbourhood; his life was really one of self-sacrifice, for he was a -capable man, was paid badly, worked hard, and did his duty bravely. - -'Can you tell me what she is suffering from, sir?' - -'I was about to ask you that question Mr. Carey,' was his reply. 'All -that I know at present is that she is in a high state of fever, that -her blood is thin and poor, and that she is as weak as a human being -dare be who requires strength to battle successfully with disease. It -appears to me that she must have been suffering for some time, for a -very long time probably--but I am in the dark as to that--and that she -has at length given way. If you put upon a beam a pressure greater -than it can bear, the beam must break.' - -'But I do not think my mother has worked too hard, sir.' - -The mind has acted upon the body. Hard physical work itself seldom, if -ever, kills. In the case of this beam----you follow me?' - -'Yes sir.' - -'In the case of this beam, there have been secret inroads upon its -power of resistance, and the wood has rotted. I have seen stout planks -cut through, and colonies of little insects bared to the light which -have been steadily and surely eating away its strength. I am speaking -plainly, because I think it is the best course in all these cases, and -when I am speaking to a sensible man.' - -'Thank you, sir; I should prefer to hear the truth, terrible though it -be.' - -'Outwardly, these planks seem capable of bearing any pressure, but -when a great trial comes, they must give way. There are thousands and -thousands of human beings walking about, in seemingly good health, in -precisely the same condition. Has your mother suffered any great -trouble?' - -'A great trouble has come upon us within the last few hours.' - -'An unexpected trouble?' - -'Totally unexpected, sir.' - -'For which you were quite unprepared?' - -'Quite, sir.' - -'That may be the immediate, but is not the direct, cause of your -mother's illness. She has been enduring a long strain, as I have said, -and has at length broken down under it.' By this time we were in his -shop, and he was preparing the medicine. 'You look ill yourself. Let -me feel your pulse.' He looked me steadily in the face. 'You are your -mother's only child, I believe. Miss West led me to infer as much.' - -'She was right, sir.' - -'Well, then,' he said, giving me a rough and kindly shake, 'your -mother's ultimate recovery may depend--I only say _may_--upon you. -Think of that, and don't be falling ill yourself.' - -'I'll try not to,' I murmured, for I felt sick and faint. - -'Drink this,' he said, pouring out a draught for me; it will revive -you. You will try not to? Nay, you must make up your mind not to, for -your mother's sake. We never know what we can do. Why, we can conquer -pain, if we are strong-willed enough. I was explaining about your -mother. She is so delicately and exquisitely susceptible, that to have -those about her whom she loves may contribute more to her recovery -than anything all the doctors in London could do. She is in a state of -delirium at present; under the most favourable circumstances, she is -likely to remain in this state for a week or two, probably for longer. -If, when she recovers her senses, the first face she looks upon and -recognises is a face that she loves, it may not only contribute to her -recovery, it may accomplish it. On the other hand, if she misses a -face that is dear to her, and that she has been accustomed to see -about her, it may cause a relapse, and prove fatal. I have tried to -make myself clear, and to give you a good reason why you must keep -well. Don't mope. If you have any private grief of your own, keep it -under until this peril is past.' - -I thanked him, and left him. I told Josey West exactly what the doctor -had said, and she returned the compliment he had paid her of calling -her a sensible little woman by saying that he was a sensible man. - -'And now, Chris,' she said, 'you must go to bed.' - -I said that I would sit up with my mother, and tried to persuade Josey -to lie down; but she refused, saying rest was more necessary to me -than to her. - -'In the first place, you have your work to do; that must not be -neglected for all the Jessie Trims in the world. Oh, yes, my dear. You -may shake your head, but I've been remarkably quiet all through, and I -think I'm entitled to say a few words.' - -'I'll not stop to hear anything spoken against her,' I said. - -'That's right. Fly up. You think you're fonder of her than I am. That -you can't be. But I'm not satisfied with her, and I sha'n't be until I -get all this explained. There's something behind it that neither you -nor I suspect, or my name isn't Josey West.' - -'That's what Turk says,' I interposed. - -'I expect you've been leading him a fine life to-night. Poor Turk! -Why, he worships the ground she walks upon. I tell you what it is, my -sweet child,' she said sarcastically, there's more lessons than one -you've got to learn. But to come back. There's some mystery behind all -this; but it might be one thing, and it might be another. I'm in a -whirl, that's what I am, my dear.' - -I really think Josey administered these words to me as a kind of -medicine. But she could not deceive me as to the feelings she -entertained for Jessie. If any person had dared in her presence to say -a word against her friend, she would have been the first to defend -her. - -'Josey,' I said, 'I shall feel much relieved if you will promise me -one thing.' - -'That depends. I'm not going to open my mouth and shut my eyes.' - -'If Jessie tells you the reason of her going away----' - -'Which she's sure to do. Oh, I shall know all about it.' - -'And if the knowledge does not come to me in any other way, will you -tell me?' - -'Upon my word! Me tell a secret? Not for all the world, master Chris.' - -'But if it's not a secret?' - -'Then of course you'll hear it.' We spoke in an undertone, so as not -to disturb my mother, who lay unconscious of what was going on around -her. But here you are stopping up,' continued Josey fretfully, when -every minute's rest is precious to you and all of us. I have only told -you one of my reasons why you _must_ be fresh in the morning--and mind -you sleep, master Chris, when you get to bed. I'll tell you another. -There'll be the shop to look after.' - -'That's uncle Bryan's business,' I replied, flushing with anger. The -mere mention of his name aroused all my bitterness against him. 'If -mother could be moved from this house to-morrow with safety, I'd take -her out of his sight without a moment's delay.' - -'You'll not see your uncle Bryan again in a hurry,' said Josey. 'You -mark my words--he's gone for good.' - -I did not stop to discuss the point, but went to the bedside and -kissed my mother. As I leant over her, I could scarcely hear her -breathing, and but for a light convulsive sob which rose to her throat -every now and then, and which she seemed to make an effort to check, -it would have been difficult to detect any sign of life in her. The -doctor's words dwelt in my mind as I gazed at her beloved face, and -for the first time in my life I appreciated at their proper worth the -sacrifices which this dearest of women had made for one so unworthy as -I. I knelt at her bedside, and prayed that her life might be spared to -me--prayed with humble heart--and my tears flowed freely. - -Josey was outside on the landing. - -'Good-night, my dear,' she said; 'give me a kiss.' - -Mine were not the only tears on my face as I walked downstairs. - - - -CHAPTER XL. -WHAT THE NEIGHBOURS SAID. - - -Josey West's prediction proved to be right. When I rose the next -morning uncle Bryan had not returned. Josey, looking as fresh as -though she had had a good night's rest, told me that there had been no -change in my mother's condition--that only a few words had passed her -lips, and that those words were about me. - -'There's a lot to do,' she said; you've got your work to look after, -the shop must be attended to, and there's your mother to nurse. I -really think, my dear, that if your uncle doesn't make his appearance, -we had best take possession of the place. Two things we must be -careful of--we mustn't let the business be ruined, and we must try to -keep the neighbours from talking of what has occurred. When a lot of -gossiping women get hold of a woman's name, with a story attached to -it, they tear that woman's name to pieces with as much pleasure as -they would eat a good dinner; and as for the story, my dear, when you -hear it the next day you wouldn't know it, they twist and mangle it -so. Stop here while I run round to my house; I sha'n't be gone ten -minutes.' - -During Josey's absence the doctor came. - -'Your mother is no worse,' he said, after his examination; 'but I am -not satisfied with her condition; it puzzles me. I can say nothing at -present except that rest and freedom from agitation are imperative; -there must be no noise in the house, no voices raised in anger, -nothing that can in any way disturb her. Her life may depend upon it.' - -By this I knew that he must have heard something more of what had -taken place than what I had told him. Indeed, the gossips of the -neighbourhood had commenced their work. I have puzzled my head many -times to discover by what means they knew what they knew, but it was -and is a mystery to me. They were familiar with matters which I had -supposed no person outside our little circle could possibly be -acquainted with. They knew that uncle Bryan and I were at daggers -drawn, and that there had been a desperate quarrel between us; they -knew that he had left the house, that Jessie had run away on her -birthday, and that my mother was lying dangerously ill. Being in -possession of these bare bones, they put them together with amazing -ingenuity, and produced the most astounding results. The first thing -they settled was, that uncle Bryan and I had quarrelled not alone with -our tongues, but with our hands; and one of the pictures which grew -out of the story as it was related by one to another represented uncle -Bryan lying on the ground and me standing over him with a knife, while -Josey West was rushing between us to prevent murder being done. -Another picture represented uncle Bryan packing up in a handkerchief -all his treasure in money (for, strange to say, I now learned for the -first time that he bore the reputation of a miser, and that it was -generally supposed he had large sums of money concealed), and stealing -off in the dead of night in fear of his life. Another, and the worst, -picture concerned Jessie and Mr. Glover. Mr. Glover, an enormously -rich gentleman, had fallen desperately in love with Jessie, and she -had consented to elope with him. The gossips gloated over the details. -A carriage with a pair of gray horses was waiting at the corner of a -certain street (name given) about a quarter of a mile away; Mr. -Glover, in a large cloak, was on the watch at the appointed time; -Jessie made her appearance, with a small bundle in her hand wrapped in -a handkerchief; Mr. Glover lifted her into the carriage, jumped in -after her, and away they whirled. Even if they had been inclined to -doubt the truth of this story (which they were not), it was impossible -for them to do so because of the exact and wonderful details which -accompanied its relation. There were a coachman and a footman dressed -in such and such a way, down to their very buttons; the carriage was -painted blue, with edgings of yellow; Mr. Glover wore a smoking-cap, -and his cloak had a fur collar, and two gold tassels attached to it. -This cloak gave an air of mysterious romance to the picture, and added -much to the enjoyment of it. It is worthy of notice that both uncle -Bryan and Jessie left our house with something done up in a -pocket-handkerchief. This occurs to me as an arbitrary feature in the -painting of such pictures; and I have no doubt that, had a dozen -persons been missing, each would have been portrayed as stealing away -with something done up in a pocket-handkerchief in his hand. - -Before the day was out, the whole neighbourhood was busy talking over -these stories, and discussing their probable results. - -Josey had returned within the ten minutes, and brought with her Matty -and Rosy. The shop was opened, and a more than usually brisk business -was done, in consequence of the gossips dropping in to pick up -information; but I resolutely refused to go behind the counter. I -would have nothing to do with it. I had already saved a little purse -of money, and my earnings were good. I was determined to have no -further connection with uncle Bryan in any shape or way whatever. - -'Then I _must_ take possession,' observed Josey, after listening to my -views, which I expressed in most unmistakable terms. It would be a -pity to let such a business go to rack and ruin. If your uncle Bryan -returns, I shall be able to render a proper account.' - -She entered upon this as she entered upon everything else, with -intense and thorough earnestness, and the business was carried on, and -the duties of the house performed, as though nothing of importance had -occurred to disturb them. She might have been born a grocer for the -intimate knowledge she displayed of the requirements of the trade. -When I expressed my astonishment, she said philosophically: - -'My dear, nothing's difficult. One can do anything if one makes up -one's mind to do it. All one has got to do is to go about it -willingly.' - -In the mean time I looked out anxiously for news of Jessie, but on the -first day of her absence I learnt nothing. I went to Mr. Rackstraw's -in the afternoon to make inquiries, but he received me coldly, and -desired me not to call again--in such terms that I was certain Mr. -Glover had made him my enemy. Then I went to Turk's new shop, and -found him very busy, and sanguine of his prospects. But as he had no -news of Jessie I listened to his relation of his plans with small -interest. - -'I shall be able to serve you, Chris,' he said, before I went away; 'I -shall keep my eyes open.' - -That night I sat up with my mother until three o'clock, when Josey -relieved me. My mother did not know me, and although I strove hard to -make her recognise me, her eyes dwelt on my face as they would have -done on the face of a stranger. What pain and grief this brought to me -I cannot describe. - -There was something different in the arrangement of the room, and I -made a remark concerning it to Josey. The room was clearer, lighter. -Josey explained it to me in a sharp tone, as though she desired not to -be questioned. - -'The doctor said the room must be made as airy as possible; he doesn't -want a lot of lumber about.' - -But the next morning it occurred to me that the box in which Jessie -kept her clothes and nicknacks had been taken out of the room. I -looked about the house for it, but could not find it. - -'Where is Jessie's box, Josey?' I asked. - -'Gone,' was the short and snappish reply. - -'Gone where?' - -'Well, I suppose you must be told. While you were away yesterday, -Jessie sent for it.' - -'Then you know where she is,' I cried excitedly, jumping to my feet, -and tearing off my working-coat. - -'Yes, I know where she is.' - -I waited, but Josey did not volunteer further information. I looked at -her reproachfully. - -'I'll just tell you as much as I'm compelled to, master Christopher, -and no more. I had a letter from Jessie yesterday---O, no; you'll not -see it! It was meant for my own eyes, and no others. I said that -Jessie would tell me the reason of her going away, and she has done -so; and I know where she is, and I've sent her clothes and all her -things to her. And that's all, master Christopher.' - -'No, it isn't all, Josey. You will tell me something more. If I'm not -to know where she is----' - -'Which you are not,' Josey interrupted; 'not from me at least.' - -'I may know whether she is well.' - -'Yes, she is well in health.' - -'And happy?' - -'I don't know; I can't tell.' - -'Did she do right in going away?' - -She answered me in precisely the same words. - -'I don't know; I can't tell.' - -'Is she stopping with friends?' - -'Yes, she is stopping with friends.' - -'But what friends can she have that we don't know of?' - -'Ah,' exclaimed Josey, more snappishly than before, 'what friends, I -wonder?' - -'Josey,' I said coaxingly, putting my arm round her waist---- - -'I tell you what it is, master Christopher. If you ask me many more -questions, I shall run away;' but in spite of her assumed severity, -her tone softened. - -'I won't ask you many more, Josey,' I said, and I felt the tears -rising to my eyes, 'but you might have some pity for me.' - -'Bless the dear child!' she said, with a motherly air, I _have_ some -pity for you! Why, you stupid boy, I'm as fond of you as though you -were my own brother!' - -'Then tell me if it was because of me Jessie went away.' - -'You had nothing to do with it.' - -It was a relief to me to hear this, for I had in some way got it in my -mind that Jessie had run away to escape the proposal she suspected I -intended to make to her. I approached a more delicate subject. - -'You have heard the stories the neighbours are telling each other, -Josey, about Jessie and Mr. Glover.' - -'Oh, yes, I've heard them! The scandal-mongers! I'd like to wring -their ears for them.' - -That was sufficient for me; a great weight was lifted from my heart. -There was another question that I must ask. - -'Did Jessie in her letter say anything about me? Did she send me any -message?' - -'She did, and I wasn't to give it to you unless you asked for it. -Perhaps I'd better read it.' She took the letter from her pocket and -read: '"Chris will be sure to miss my box"--you see,' said Josey -interrupting her reading, 'Jessie sent the letter to my house; she -didn't know I was here; and I was to ask your mother to let me have -her box, so that I might send it to Jessie without your knowing.' - -'Then there's a message to mother in that letter?' - -'There is, but I can't give it to her, poor dear!' - -'Go on with what Jessie says about me, Josey.' - -'"Chris will be sure to miss my box, and if he asks you if I have sent -him any message, say that I hope he will not try to discover where I -am, and that I hope also he will not think worse of me than I am. If -we meet again----"' here Josey broke off with, 'But that's not for -you, I should say.' - -'It _must_ be for me, Josey. You have no right to keep it from me.' - -'Well, if you will have it. "If we meet again, it must be at my own -time and in my own way. Whether I am right or wrong in what I have -done and what I intend to do, I have quite made up my mind, and no one -can advise me." Now I hope you are satisfied.' - -I was compelled to be. There were both balm and gall in the -letter--balm because the tales that slanderous tongues were -circulating were false, and gall because Jessie had written in such a -manner as to give me but little hope that she reciprocated my love. If -she loved me, she would have confided in me. Is it possible, I -reflected with bitterness, that she could have led me on, knowing my -feelings towards her, and making light of them? But the thought was -transient; I would not entertain it. It would be a shame on my manhood -to doubt her. What if she were not for me--would that prove her -unworthy? But it was bitter to bear, and the scalding tears ran from -my eyes as I laid my head on my mother's pillow. My sobs disturbed -her, and she moved her fingers feebly towards my neck. It was the -first sign of recognition she had displayed since her illness. I -fondled her poor thin hand, and kissed it, and moved close to her -lips, for she was murmuring faint words. But these words were -addressed not to me, but to my father, who had been dead for so many -years. She was speaking to him of their darling boy, and of the -happiness he would be to them when he grew to be a man. I listened -sadly; every soft word she murmured was a dagger in my heart, for I -was beginning to learn the strength of her love and the weakness of -mine. Heavy as was the blow which had fallen upon me, I felt that -there might be comfort and peace even yet for me, if my mother lived -to enjoy the outward evidences of my penitence and love, and that a -curse indeed must fall upon my life if she died without blessing me. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. -JOSEY WEST DECLARES THAT SHE HAS GOT INTO HER PROPER GROOVE. - - -A week had passed, and there was still no change in my mother's -condition. Every time the doctor visited her, his manner became more -serious. The shadow of death seemed to hang already over the house. - -'Her strength will not hold out for another week, I am afraid.' He -spoke these words to Josey West, out of my hearing as he thought. - -I followed him from the house. - -'I heard what you said to Miss West,' I said to him. 'Is all hope -really gone? Can nothing be done?' - -He did not reply immediately, and before he spoke he took my arm -kindly. - -'This is one of the cases outside my experience. Your mother has -nothing that a physician can grapple with. She has no organic disease -that I can discover, and although physically she is fearfully weak, it -is mental suffering that is killing her. It is not usual for a doctor -to speak as plainly as I am speaking to you, but it is best to do so. -I have heard so much that is good and noble in your mother's life, -that it would rejoice me exceedingly to see her rise from her bed in -health.' - -'No one but I can know how tender and beautiful her life has been,' I -said, with sobs. 'If I could give my life for hers, I would resign it -with cheerfulness.' - -'But I suspect,' said the doctor, with a curiously-observant air upon -him, 'that that is just the thing that would be most effectual in -killing her. Come, now, recover yourself: I have something to say to -you. I shall count a hundred, and then I shall go on. . . . When you -first consulted me, and I asked you what your mother was suffering -from, I seriously meant it. I want to cure your mother, or at all -events to show you the way to do it, for I have an idea that you, not -I, must be the doctor. I will make you a present of all my little fees -in this case if I am successful. That ought to assure you of my -earnestness.' He smiled gently as he said this. 'Knowing full well, as -you say, that you would treble them if we happily succeed. I will give -you another proof of my earnestness. I loved my mother. Have I won -your confidence? Well then, I can grapple with physical disease with -fair success; give me the opportunity of grappling with the mental -disease which is killing your mother. I have an hour, perhaps two, to -spare. Tell me, unreservedly, the story of your mother's life, in -which of course yours will be included. Conceal nothing, and be -especially explicit in every incident where the feelings are brought -into play. If you understand me, and are willing to trust me, commence -at once.' - -I told him all, freely and without reservation, from my first -remembrance in connection with my mother, to the time--but a few days -past--when I heard her in her delirium speaking to my father about me -and my future. Many times during the recital I was compelled to pause -from emotion, and when I finished his eyes also were suffused with -tears. - -'I know now,' he said softly, what will kill your mother if she dies. -It will shock you to hear it, and you must not think me cruel for -telling you. When your mother, in the night she was taken ill, cried -to you that her heart was almost broken, it was no mere phrase that -she uttered--it was a cry from her soul, and the words exactly -represented her condition. If she dies, it will be because her heart -_is_ broken. And you will have broken it. Ay,' he continued gently, as -I started in horror from him, 'and so would your mother start from me -if she had strength and sense to hear and understand. She would think -me the cruelest monster. But what I have said is true nevertheless. -Your mother's life has been bound up in yours. No woman, unsustained -by most perfect and most unselfish love, could have held up against -such trials as hers; where she has had doubts she has thrust them from -her, and her deep affection has given her strength to bear her -sufferings. For a long time there has been raging within her a mental -conflict, the torture of which only those can understand who love as -she loves, and only those can feel whose natures are as delicately -sensitive as hers. Even I, until now a stranger to her and to you, can -see the fire which has been consuming her gentle spirit. And when the -final blow came, and she was made to feel by your words that she had -wrecked your happiness and had lost your love (for she _must_ have -felt then what she had long feared), she sank beneath it. I have, -thank God, through all my life reverenced woman's character, but I -never reverenced it so thoroughly as I do now, after hearing your -story. You ask me if all hope is really gone, and if nothing can be -done? Well, I see a way. What can kill can cure. I warn you that the -chance is a slight one, but it must be tried. Can you afford to go -away from London for a time?' - -'Yes, I have money saved; and I think I could arrange to take work -with me, and do it in the country.' - -'That is well. If you will take your mother away from London, say to -the scenes with which you were familiar when you were a child, and -attend to her yourself, and make her feel and understand that you love -her as she deserves and yearns to be loved, she may recover. That is -the only chance. She is almost certain to have conscious intervals. If -you have tact enough to be alone with her, as you were in the old -days, when her consciousness first returns, it may prove the -turning-point towards convalescence. I cannot explain myself more -fully; I will give you a simple strengthening medicine with you, and -all necessary directions as to diet. When will you go?' - -I arranged to go on the following day, and Josey West said that, -notwithstanding what the doctor had said, it was impossible that I -should go alone. Her sister Florry, who was nearly sixteen years of -age, should accompany us. - -'If your mother asks who she is,' said Josey, 'you can say she is the -maid.' - -So it was settled, and Florry, a pretty good girl, who was wild with -delight at the idea of going into the country, promised to do her -best. - -No news had been heard of uncle Bryan. I cannot say that, after my -anger had cooled, I was not anxious about him. It was impossible for -me to be indifferent as to his fate, and I made inquiries quietly, but -without result. He had disappeared most effectually, and had left no -trace behind. My principal reason for wishing to find him was to let -him know that we were leaving his house, and that we should not -return; I had made up my mind on this point. Josey West and I had a -long conversation about him. - -I believe he will never come back, my dear,' said Josey, 'never, under -any circumstances. Of course you have heard what some of the -neighbours say--that he has made away with himself; but that's all -nonsense. He's not a man of that sort. He'll rub on grimly and grumly -to the end. Why, my dear, if it was to happen that he was to starve to -death--which he wouldn't do willingly, and without trying to get -bread--he'd starve quietly and without a murmur. Ah, he's a wicked old -man, I daresay, and I know that you have cause to hate him, but I -can't help liking him a bit for all that. What I shall do about the -shop is this, unless you object. I shall shut up our house--there's no -business doing, my dear; I don't lend out a wardrobe a month--and all -the children shall come round here to live. It will be good fun for -them. I shall keep the accounts as square as I can, although the -figures are getting into a mess already, and I'm beginning to be -bothered with them--but never mind, there's the money, so much paid -out, so much coming in; it'll be simple enough to reckon what's left. -And if I _do_ hear anything of your uncle, I'll be off to him at once, -and bring him back, tied up, if he won't come any other way.' - -I could see no better plan than this, and I thanked Josey cordially. - -'Where are you going to first?' she asked, interrupting me abruptly. - -'To Hertford, where I was born,' I replied. - -She nodded, and said she thought it was the best place, and that I -must be sure and keep her informed of my whereabouts, as she would -want to write to me regularly. The next morning we were off. - -We reached Hertford by easy stages. Josey was quite right in insisting -that I should take Florry with me. I soon learnt that I could not have -done without some one, and I found Florry to be so quietly and -unobtrusively useful that I grew very fond of the little maid. I took -lodgings in a pleasant suburb, from the windows of which we could see -the river Lea, and the barges gliding indolently along. Florry said it -was heavenly. My mother bore the journey well, and was no worse at the -end than when we started. I was very thankful for that, for I feared -she might not be strong enough to bear it; but we were very careful of -her, and if she had been my sister Florry could not have been more -attentive and affectionate. But my mother knew no one, and saw only -the pictures and figures which her fevered imagination conjured up. I -selected for her bedroom a large room on the first floor, and placed -her bed so that she could see the river from it. I fixed my table for -work so that when she opened her eyes, and looked towards the river, -she could see me also. I had been fortunate enough to obtain -sufficient work to last me for three or four weeks, and I was sure of -more to follow. - -On the very first day I observed what I thought was a favourable -change in my mother. Awaking from a restless sleep she opened her -eyes, and saw a white sail passing along the river; she watched it -quietly until it was out of sight, and then closed her eyes and slept -again, but more peacefully than before. She did not seem to see me, -although I turned my face to her and smiled. It was soon evident that -she took pleasure in the prospect of the river, for before two days -had passed I observed her lie and watch it restfully. It appeared to -act like a charm upon her, bringing peace to her troubled heart in -some strange way. In London, during her illness, scarcely an hour had -passed, day and night, without her rest being broken by sobs; but here -in Hertford, after she grew accustomed to the sight of the river, her -days were quiet and peaceful, and it was only in the night that she -was disturbed. During the first week I left her but twice; once to go -to the house in which I was born, and once to visit the old churchyard -in which my father was buried. The house was the same as I remembered -it, and the churchyard had a few new gravestones in it; there was no -other change. All my childish experiences came vividly to my mind, and -I should scarcely have been surprised, as I peeped through the -parlour-window, where I used to sit in my low armchair with my -grandmother, listening to her monotonous heavy breathing, to see her -sitting in state, in her silk dress, with her large fat hands folded -in her lap! I _did_ see a woman who reminded me of Jane Painter, our -servant, and I crossed the road quickly and walked away from her. In -the churchyard, I went to my father's grave, and then to the grave of -Snaggletooth's little daughter. I found it quite easily, but the -inscription upon it was no longer discernible. I remembered so well -every incident of that day that I could see myself carried out of the -churchyard in Snaggletooth's arms, and I closed my eyes as I thought -how I fell asleep there. - -These scenes and remembrances soothed and consoled me; I seemed to be -lifted out of a fever of unrest. - -Gradually my mother's eyes grew accustomed to see me working always at -my table, and they began to dwell on me, at first unconcernedly, but -presently with a kind of struggling observance in them. I hailed this -change with gladness, and waited and hoped, and prayed humbly night -and morning. Josey West wrote to me regularly, and one day this letter -came: - - -'My dear Chris,--Don't open the packet enclosed in this until you read -my letter. If you do, I'll haunt you, and you shall never have a -minute's rest again. You told me once that every person in life has a -proper groove. I think it very hard that I should have lived all these -years without, until now, falling into _my_ proper groove; I am in it -at last, but I am ready to slap all the children's faces to think that -so many years have been wasted. I was born to be a grocer, and at last -a grocer I am. If you can find me a better one than I am, show him to -me, and I'll resign. I've been looking over your uncle's books, and, -as true as I'm a living woman, I'm taking more money than ever he -took, if his figures are right. Every day I make a new customer. -There's Mrs. Simpson, the bricklayer's wife, at No. 9. If she's been -in the shop once, she's been in it a dozen times to-day and yesterday: -all the years the old gentleman kept the shop she didn't spend -two-and-twopence in it--that's the sum she mentioned, and as I'm a -woman of figures now, I must be precise. She does so like a gossip, -she says, and she don't mind getting short weight, she says, so long -as she can have a friendly word with her quarter of a pound of moist, -and her two ounces of the best mixture. She tried all she knew to get -the old gentleman to gossip with her, and as he wouldn't, she wouldn't -deal with him. Mrs. Simpson is not the only one. There's Mrs. -Primmins, and Mrs. Sillitoe, the butcher's wife, and Mrs. Macnamara, -who takes snuff. They all like a gossip, and they all come to have it, -and so long as they buy their groceries of me, I shall encourage them. -Why, you'd be surprised to see the old shop sometimes! It's quite an -Institution. - -'Well, I've got along very well with everything, from the figs to the -brickdust; but one thing puzzled me. If you have any love for me, my -sweet child, don't betray me, for I'm not at all sure they couldn't -hang me for it; but it pays, my sweet child, and it doesn't do any one -any harm, and I shall go on doing it, and risk the consequences. Well, -it's this. On the first Saturday I was here, the people came in for -uncle Bryan's pills and uncle Bryan's mixture. Well, there was a -supply in the drawers, and I served the customers. If there was one of -them, my dear, there was fifty, and every one spent his penny or -twopence, and a few threepence. Well, during the early part of the -week I ran short of the pills and the mixture, and I was puzzled about -another supply. I knew that the old gentleman made his own medicine, -and I looked about for the prescription, but couldn't find it. Now, -for all I knew, the success of the business might depend upon these -pills and mixtures, which some of the neighbours are ready to swear by -as being able to cure asthma, and consumption, and indigestion, and -bronchitis, and dysentery, and flushings, and palpitation, and wooden -legs, and sprains, and bruises, and pains in the bowels, and headache, -and too much brandy, and low fever, and high fever, and jaundice, and -warts, and scrofula, and coughs, and colds, and the chills, and I -don't know what all besides. And if you knew the trouble I've taken to -put all these things together, you'd cry out, "Bless the little woman! -What a painstaking creature she is!" But to come back. Well, for all I -knew, if the customers couldn't get these wonderful pills at our shop, -they might go elsewhere to buy their tea and sugar, and that would -never do. I was in a pucker, and Turk came in last Tuesday night, and -I told him my trouble. Says Turk, "How many pills and how many bottles -of mixture have you got left?" I counted them. Fourteen bottles of -mixture, and eleven boxes of pills, large and small. "And what do they -cure?" says Turk. I went over all those things that I've written at -the top of this sheet. "I don't feel as if anything particular is the -matter with me," says Turk; "how do you feel, Josey?" I told him that -I felt the same. "Then," says Turk, "it's quite necessary that you and -I should take a bottle of that mixture, and six pills, without one -moment's delay. Else it might prove fatal." And would you believe it, -my dear? Before I knew where I was, Turk had poured one of the bottles -of the mixture down my throat, and another down his own, and made me, -willy nilly, swallow pill for pill with him until we had each -swallowed half a dozen. "And now," said Turk, "if we die, we'll perish -in one another's arms; and I'll come to-morrow night and write our -epitaphs. We'll be buried in one grave, and all the neighbours will -come to the funeral." I didn't like it, I tell you, and I kept awake -all night, fancying I had pains; but I ate a very good breakfast the -next morning, and everything inside of me went on as usual. Turk came -in the evening, and we compared notes, as he said. He said then that -it was a very bad case indeed, and we must take another bottle of -mixture and six more pills each of us. I said I wouldn't; he said I -should, and that he wouldn't die without me; and as I'm a living -woman, he held my head and poured the mixture down my throat. After -that, I thought I might as well take the pills, especially as Turk -said I'd have to. One may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, you -know. They didn't have the slightest effect upon us for better or -worse (and the sooner that day comes for me, and the man with the -ring, the better I shall like it, my sweet child, and that's plain -speaking), and Turk said it was the most wonderful cure that ever was -known of the most wonderful complication of diseases that ever was -heard of. Now if you can guess what Turk did next, you're a clever -boy; but as you never _would_ guess, I'll tell you. He set to work -making bread pills by the thousand (we found the board your uncle used -to make them with), and he made a great basin of mixture, that tasted -for all the world like the mixture in your uncle's bottles. You know, -there scarcely _is_ any taste at all in it. He coloured the water, and -then we filled all the empty bottles and pill-boxes, and had stock -enough to last a month. You would have laughed if you had seen us -making the medicine. It was done after the shop was shut and all the -children were in bed. We locked the doors, and put something over all -the windows and keyholes, and every minute or two Turk wriggled to the -door, to slow music, to listen if anybody was outside. We were like -conspirators. We had a great run on the pills and mixture on Saturday -night, and my heart felt as if it was sinking into my shoes every time -I served a box or a bottle; but I was obliged to put a brave face on -it, and I served them over the counter as if they were the "real -grit," as the Yankees say. When I went to bed, I wondered how many -murders I had committed, and how many times I could be hanged. I felt -worse on Monday morning when I stood behind the counter; but as the -day went on, and I didn't hear of any persons in the neighbourhood -dying in convulsions, and as I didn't see any undertaker's men about, -I began to get a bit relieved in my mind. And when Mrs. Huxley came -in--Mr. Huxley is besieged by a regular army of diseases, asthma, and -rackets, and "ketches in the side," as his wife calls them--well, when -she came in, and told me how ill her poor dear man was on Saturday -night before taking the pills and mixture, and how well he was on -Sunday after he'd swallowed two big doses, I began to think better of -them. I plucked up courage to ask one and another how everybody was -who had taken the physic, and would you believe it, my sweet child, -none of them were ever better in their lives. And a story has got -about that your uncle Bryan has gone to some place to make the pills -and mixture in secret, so that no one shall find out what is in them. -_I_ say nothing, except "Oh," and "Ah," and "Indeed," very -mysteriously, and as if I didn't know anything about it (as how should -I?), and the effect of these "Ohs" and "Ahs" and "Indeeds" is so -extraordinary, that if I stood in a wagon, and talked by the hour -together, with music playing all about me, and all the young ones -dancing and posing, the thing couldn't work better. People are -beginning to do what they never did before--they are buying the -medicine in the middle of the week; and two strangers have already -come in from a long distance for two boxes of the wonderful pills, one -to cure palpitation and the other for the jaundice. - -'Turk is getting along famously. He is a real good fellow, and -everybody likes him. He is making heaps of new friends, and is doing a -fine business. He sends his love to you, and says he will have plenty -to tell you when you come home. - -'Gus is going to India and Australia with a company; he plays leading -business, and has a three years' engagement at twelve pounds a week, -and all his travelling expenses paid. Not so bad for Gus; but then -he's a genius, my dear. - -'I hope Florry is behaving herself; but I am only joking when I say -that. Don't you let her fall in love with you, and then break her -heart; I'm joking again. When you come to think or us altogether, -master Christopher, don't you think we're a _re-_markable family? If -you don't, I do. You'd find it hard to beat us. You should read the -letters Florry writes to us; they are perfect gems. Where we all got -our cleverness from is a perfect puzzle; but it runs in some families. -I'm glad Florry is with your mother; it will do her good. Ah, my dear, -do you know I pray every night that you may bring your dear good -mother home to us strong and well? I do, my dear, and it does me good. - -'The letters that are in the enclosed packet came to the shop this -morning. One of them is very heavy. I know your uncle's writing from -the account-books he left behind him, and I see that it is his writing -on the envelope. If there's any address inside, let me know, and I'll -go and drag him home, although it will be the ruin of a fine business -I see looming in the future in bread pills and the famous mixture made -of coloured water. - -'And now, my dear, I must leave off. This is the longest letter I ever -wrote in my life, and if anybody had told me that I could have written -it, I shouldn't have believed him. All the children send their love -and kisses, and I send mine, and six kisses for your mother. When you -give them to her, whisper that they're from a queer little woman in -Paradise-row who loves both of you very much. Now don't you run away -with the idea that _I'm_ going to break my heart over you. - -'Oh, I almost forgot to say that the doctor was here to-day. He hasn't -time to write, but he says he has read your letter carefully, and he -thinks that your mother is going along well. He expects a change very -soon for the better. He gave me another prescription for you, which I -send in this. - -'I never thought much of it till lately, my dear, but really there are -a great many good people in the world--But there! if I don't stop at -once, I shall go rambling on all night, and there's some one tapping -at the door. Come in! Only think, I've written it instead of saying -it--Your affectionate friend, - - 'Josey.' - - -I untied the packet which Josey had enclosed, and found two letters in -it--one, very bulky, in uncle Bryan's handwriting, the other written -by Jessie. How my heart beat as I gazed at the latter! Both were -addressed to my mother. - -It was a fine clear night, and a sweet soft air was stirring--so sweet -and soft that I was sitting at my work-table with the window open. -Florry had gone to bed; my mother was asleep. I had always opened my -mother's letters, and I reflected whether I was justified in opening -these. After a little while I decided to read uncle Bryan's letter, -for the reason that it would probably inform me where he was staying; -in which case I should be able to rid myself of the responsibility of -his business. Jessie's letter I would not read--at least for the -present; she may have written in it what she might not wish me to see. -I laid it aside, and unfastened the envelope of uncle Bryan's letter. -It contained many sheets of manuscript, methodically arranged, some in -uncle Bryan's handwriting, some in a writing which was strange to me. -I give them in their order. The first was from uncle Bryan to my -mother: - - -'Dear Emma,--I will not speak of my reasons for leaving you. Perhaps -you may be able to guess them. I did it for the best. My absence may -bring peace and happiness into your home, for it is yours. I -relinquish all claim to it. When I tell you that I shall never return, -you will know that I shall not set foot inside the shop again. I -cannot have many years longer to live, and I shall do well enough, so -do not give yourself any anxiety about me. I shall always be able to -get my bread, and I shall wait patiently for death, and shall be -grateful when it comes, but I shall do nothing to hasten it. Life has -been a weary load to me, and I shall be glad to shake it off. This -impatience would change to resignation and to gratitude, not for -death, but for life, if it were possible for one thing to happen; but -it is utterly, utterly impossible, and it is just and right that it -should be out of my reach. - -'I have a distinct purpose in writing to you, apart from any selfish -words which fall from my pen. It is this: In telling you and my nephew -the story of my life I threw blame upon my dead wife. I did worse than -this--I slandered her memory. That I spoke what I believed is no -excuse for me. I created for myself, out of my blindness and fatal -imperiousness of self, a delusion and a lie which have embittered my -life. I could bear this with calmness if the consequences had fallen -only on myself; but I see now, when it is too late, how I have made -others suffer. The bitterest punishment that could fall upon me would -not serve to expiate my deadly sin. I do suffer bitterly, keenly, and -my soul writhes from pain and shame. - -'Can I speak more strongly? And yet these words are weak. Too late I -see my folly and my crime. Many things that Christopher said to me -were true. I humbly ask his forgiveness, and I humbly pray that the -happiness he said I did my best to destroy may yet fall to his lot. If -he will picture me an old man with a bleeding heart into whose life -few rays of sunshine have passed, pleading to him, he may soften -towards me. Perhaps he may believe that I loved him; if he does -believe it, he will believe the truth. - -'The letter I send with this is from my dead wife; it will explain -itself. I received it at the same time the letter came to you from -Jessie. Merely looking at her name upon paper, now that I have written -it, deepens my anguish, my shame, and my remorse. It will never fall -to my lot to ask her forgiveness, as I ask yours and your son's. I put -myself in her place, and I know what her feelings are. - -'Let Christopher read this and my wife's letter. - -'Good-bye, Emma. For your unwavering kindness and gentleness to me, -who have repaid you so badly, receive the humble heartfelt thanks of - Bryan Carey.' - - -Then followed the letter from his wife. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. -FROM FRANCES TO HER HUSBAND, BRYAN CAREY. - - -I address you from the grave, and I pray that what I write may never -reach your hands. If, unhappily, you are fated to read these words, -they will bring their own punishment with them. - -Do I hope, then, that you may be dead on the day that this letter -shall be opened or destroyed, unread? No. But rather than you should -receive it, it would be better that the earth covered you, as it has -covered me these many years. You will understand my meaning before you -have finished reading. I write in no vindictive spirit. All bitter -feeling has left me; although even yourself may acknowledge that I -have good cause for feeling bitterly towards you. But I am resolved -that you shall not blight another life as you blighted mine. Another -life so dear to me! that should be so dear to you! Another life that -has been some comfort to me in the midst of my sorrow and affliction; -and that I hope may be long spared for happiness. - -It is not a giddy girl who is writing to you. It is a woman who has -learned to look upon things with fair judgment, notwithstanding that -she has suffered deeply from a cruel wrong inflicted upon her. - -When you first came to me I was a child almost in years. I had had no -opportunity of knowing the world, or of gaining that experience which -is necessary to those who move in its busy quarters. I had never known -trouble or sorrow, and, until my father fell into misfortune, I had -lived very happily with him. He had his faults, I do not doubt, as we -all have; but he was a good father to the last, and I loved him to the -last. You judged him harshly, I know, and made no excuses for him--but -it is in your nature to judge harshly. Weak as he was to some extent, -I do not believe that he would have wronged his wife--doubly wronged -her--and then have deserted her: as you wronged and deserted me. I -have some remembrance of my mother, who died when I was very young, -and I know that he was indulgent and good to her. - -I fancy I can see a hard look on your face at the word indulgent. But -some natures require indulgence, and are the better and the happier -for it. You were for a time indulgent to me, and it was for this, as -well as for other qualities in you upon which I placed higher value -than you deserved, that I loved you. - -Yes, I loved you. I scarcely know whether you ever believed I -did; for, thinking over matters since our separation, I have -arrived--whether rightly or wrongly--at what I believe to be a correct -estimate of your character, at what assuredly is a correct estimate if -you are destined to read it. I see you, hard and intolerant; doubtful -of goodness in others; prone to place the most uncharitable -construction on the actions of others. Lightness of heart is in your -eyes a sign of levity. Surely the moods which were familiar to me in -the first days of our acquaintanceship, and in the first few months of -our wedded life, must have been foreign to your nature. - -I see something more in you. I see you false to your wife and to your -marriage vows. I see you, who prided yourself upon your sense of -justice, most unjust and ungenerous to me. Let your heart answer if I -am wrong. - -Recall the evening on which we met for the first time, and certain -words which passed between us. You were at my father's house, advising -him upon his business affairs, which had become complicated. You said -that my voice reminded you of a friend--a lady friend, very dear to -you--and that she was dead. The words did not make much impression -upon me at the time; but I had occasion afterwards to remember them. I -liked you that evening. Your grave face, your sensible ways, were -agreeable to me, frivolous girl as you supposed me to be. We kept but -little society; the only regular visitor at my father's house was my -cousin Ralph. I loved him; but not in the way you suspected. We had -been intimate from early childhood, and I had a sincere affection for -him. When I became better acquainted with you, I saw faults in him -which I had not hitherto discerned; there was a want of stability in -his character; he was indolent and deficient in manliness. Even if you -had not entered into my life, and marred it, I think I should never -have had any but a cousinly love for him. So far as I was concerned, -there were no grounds for jealousy on your part, and no grounds for -your base suspicions of me. I do not speak for him; I speak for -myself. And when you wrote to me on the day you deserted me, and -accused me of loving him as a woman should love the man she wishes to -marry, you lied. But you had another purpose to serve, and it suited -you to write the lie. - -Of our married life I need say but few words. I was very happy for a -time. You had behaved nobly and generously to my father; you were most -kind and indulgent to me. If, as I afterwards learnt, we were living -beyond our means, I had no suspicion of it. You never gave me the -slightest hint to that effect, and you encouraged what I now know were -extravagances in me. But--believe it or not as you will--I could have -been contented and happy without them. You told me you were rich, and -you could not fail to know that I had no idea of the value of money. -Why could you not have confided in me? Was it honest to keep me, of -your own free will, in such absolute ignorance, and then to blame me -for not having known? I think, if you had trusted me, that you might -have found some good in me--judged even by the light of your own hard -judgment; but it is in your nature to accuse and judge in the same -breath, and to do both unmercifully. - -I remember well the last day you were kind to me. You left me in the -morning with smiles; you returned home long after midnight a changed -man. I, also, was changed when you returned. I have other cause to -remember the day; for in the evening my cousin Ralph came to see me, -and stayed with me until nearly eleven o'clock. You had sent me a note -saying that you were detained at your office by important business. I -read the note to my cousin, and he laughed at it, and said that you -had good cause for your absence. His words conveyed a strange meaning -to my ears, and I asked for an explanation. He gave it to me; and I -learnt, to my horror, that you were in the habit of visiting another -woman--a stranger in the town. Before I had recovered from the shock, -I received another. My cousin Ralph, in a mad moment, proved himself -to be what I had not hitherto suspected--a vile bad man. He told me, -in passionate terms, that he loved me, and that he had loved me from -boyhood; that it had been the dream of his life that we should be -married, and that, but for you and your money, his life might have -been a life of happiness. I listened in dismay and astonishment; I -knew that he had an affection for me, but I thought it was such an -affection as one cousin might innocently have entertained for another. -I was so overwhelmed by this discovery, and by his accusations against -you, that I had no power to stay his words. He misinterpreted my -silence, and proceeded in wilder terms to propose flight to me. I -tried to answer him, but my grief, and my terror lest you should -return while he was in the house--for he was at my feet and refused to -stir--made me weak. I implored him for my sake and for his own to -leave me; and presently, when I grew stronger, I addressed him in -words which it was impossible for him to misunderstand. It flashed -upon me then that he had invented the story he had told me about you, -and I taunted him with it. He answered me to the effect that he would -prove it true before many days were over, and that then I might -possibly listen to him more favourably. He left me; and your own -conduct towards me from that day, during the short time we were -together, was almost a sufficient proof. You would have judged upon -that evidence; I was not content with it. I soon tasted the bitterness -that lay in knowledge. A clerk in your office, who had for a -purpose of his own made himself acquainted with the history of this -woman--probably to use against you in some way--and whom you had -employed to convey money and letters to her at different times, told -me more than I wanted to know. On the day that you had the public -quarrel with my cousin Ralph--I heard of it soon afterwards, for it -became matter of common talk--I discovered that this woman came from a -town in which you had formerly resided--that you knew her then--and -that her history was a shameful one. Then there came to me the words -that had passed between us upon your first visit to my father's house, -when you said that my voice reminded you of a woman who was dear to -you, and who was dead. It was easy to supply the blank spaces in the -story to make it complete--shamefully, miserably complete. Your clerk -told me that the life you had lived in that town was not a respectable -one: I did not ask him how he had gained his knowledge, but I was sure -of its truth. You left that town, and came to this place, a complete -stranger, knowing no one, known by none. You refused to speak of your -past life; not a word had ever passed your lips with reference to it. -What other confirmation was needed of the truth of your clerk's -statements? You tried to blot out your past career, knowing that it -would not bear the light, and that the good name and position you had -gained would be sullied and lost if the particulars were made public. -You deserted the woman who had been your companion, and when you were -inadvertently betrayed into remembrance of her by the sound of my -voice, you told me she was dead. You never mentioned her again, nor -did I, for I had forgotten her. But see how hard it is to lead a life -of hypocrisy, as you have done! Shame never dies, nor can it ever be -completely wiped away. After years of sojourn here, when you had -gained money, position and a good name--when you had position, a -simple, ignorant, and innocently-vain girl to your heart, and had -sworn to cherish and protect her--this woman tracks you, finds you, -and appeals to you by the remembrance of old times, and perhaps by -other arguments more powerful, of which I am ignorant. On the very -evening she meets you, you take her to a house in the town, and -provide lodgings for her, and from that time your visits are frequent. -Is this part of your story complete, and need I add to it by saying -that you mentioned not a word concerning the woman to the wife you -professed to love? If there was no shame in the relations that existed -between you and her, why should you have taken such pains to conceal -them? On the day you deserted me, you told me you were ruined, and you -adopted the miserable subterfuge of saying that you had discovered -all, and that you could no longer live with me. Your meaning was plain -enough. You implied that I was false to you and to the vows I had -taken on the day we were married. A more wicked lie never poisoned the -heart of man or woman. I had brought shame and disgrace upon you, you -said, and that it was useless my sending after you. I have read this -letter often--it is destroyed now; I burnt it lest one who is dearer -to me than my heart's blood should see it--and I have wondered at my -folly and credulity in ever, for one moment, believing you to be a -good and just man. For I did believe you to be this. There was a time -in my life when I set you up as a model of honour and integrity and -truth. The last words of your letter are burnt into my heart. Do you -remember them? 'If I could make you a free woman, so that you might -marry the man you love, I would willingly lay down my life; but it -cannot be done. The only and best reparation I can offer is to -promise, as I do now most faithfully, to wipe you out of my heart, -so that you may be free from me for ever.' How fair those words -sound--how self-sacrificing--how manly! What a noble nature do they -display! Would it be believed that while this letter was on its way to -the wife whom he was about to desert--to the wife whom he had most -cruelly wronged, and most shamefully betrayed--the man who wrote it -was entering the house where the woman lived who had been his -companion in former years? The next morning you left. Two days -afterwards, the woman followed you to London. - -Is anything more wanted to complete the shameful story? Had I brought -disgrace upon you, or had you brought it upon me? A noble reparation, -indeed, did you make to me! - -You may ask how it was that I discovered your visit to the woman. My -father and my cousin saw you coming from the house, where doubtless -you had completed all your arrangements, and left your final -instructions. My cousin it was who told me. 'Now,' he said, 'do you -believe that he is false?' 'Yes,' I answered; 'I am convinced of it' -What followed? Remember it is your dead wife who is speaking to you, -and do not dare, for your soul's sake, to add to your cruelty by -doubting what she says. My cousin Ralph then began to speak again of -his own selfish passion, and I bade him never to presume to address me -again. From that day I never saw him; some little while afterwards my -father told me he had gone abroad, but we never heard from him. - -We remained--my father and I--for a few weeks after your departure, -and then my father's health suddenly broke down. In one thing you had -most completely succeeded; you had blackened my name as well as your -own. Innocent as I was, wronged as I was, I think no one in my native -place pitied me. Persons who had once respected me avoided me, or -slighted me. Day by day the torture of living in this atmosphere of -injustice grew until it was unbearable; and when my father broke down, -I took him with me into a strange place, where neither of us was -known, and where I hoped by carefully husbanding our small means, and -by employing some hours of the day in needlework, to be enabled to -live quietly, if not in peace. There was another reason why I was -anxious to leave--a reason which you will now learn for a certainty -for the first time. I was about to become a mother. - -I kept this secret from you. Often and often had I listened to the -expression of your wishes--the dearest wish of your heart, you -said--that our union might be blessed with children. Your wish was -that our first child might be a girl, and I used to hang with delight -upon your words--believing in them in my credulous faith--when you -described how you would educate and rear her into a good woman. I kept -the secret, intending to joyfully surprise you later on; but it was -fated that you should never learn it from my lips. When my time drew -near, I was among strangers. I prayed that I might be blessed with a -boy, who would be able to fight against the world's cruelties--with a -boy who might one day--if you lived--be able to tell you to your face -that you had slandered his mother. I had those thoughts at that time, -and I set them down so that you may know exactly the state of my mind -towards you. I prayed most fervently that the child might not be a -girl, whose fate it might be to be treated by a man as her unhappy -mother was treated by you. But my prayers were not heard. The child I -clasped to my breast--your child--was a girl. - -I hardly dared to look into her face at first, for I feared that it -might resemble you, and that I should be compelled to hate her. I -thanked God when I saw that there was but little resemblance to you. -Think when you read this what my feelings towards you must have been. - -My darling's was the sweetest, most beautiful face that I had ever -gazed upon. I had never conceived it possible that a human heart could -throb with such ineffable delight as mine did even in the midst of my -bitter sorrow and shame, when I looked into my darling's face and -eyes. I offered up grateful prayers that I lived and was a mother, and -I offered up prayers of thankfulness also that it was out of your -power to rob me of my treasure. That you would have done it had you -known, I entertained no doubt. - -The first few months of my child's life I was as happy as it was -possible for a wronged and betrayed woman to be. Intending in these -lines to hide nothing, I will not disguise from you that I shed many -bitter tears because she was deprived of a father's love; but she did -not lack love and attention. She was my one comfort and joy; I soon -had no one else to love but her. - -My father died. The doctor who had attended him in his illness warned -me that, unless I was careful of myself, my life might be short. The -thought that my darling might be left, helpless and dependent, among -strangers, frightened me, and I did not know which way to turn for -counsel and advice. I had not a friend in the world capable of helping -me by a kindly, sensible word. To this condition you had brought me. - -But my cup of sorrow was not yet full. The doctor I have mentioned was -an unmarried man. He believed me to be a widow, as I had given out. I -had no other resource than to speak this untruth. It was impossible -for me to say that I was a helpless, unhappy woman, who had been -deserted by her husband. To such a creature strangers show no mercy; -they put their own construction on the story and judge accordingly--as -you would judge, harshly, unfeelingly. I think I should not have cared -so much for myself, but I had my darling to look to. - -The doctor flattered me by saying that he saw I was a lady, and, in -most respectful terms, he invited my confidence. He was most delicate -and considerate, but I could not confide in him or any one; my cruel -story and my cruel wrongs must be for ever locked in my breast. He did -not press me when he saw that I was pained by his inquiries, but he -paid me great attention, and by his kindness lightened my load. I did -not place any serious construction upon his intentions, nor indeed did -I think of them, for I was entirely wrapt up in my love for my darling -child, who was growing every day more beautiful and more engaging. But -when he asked me to be his wife, my eyes were opened. If I had been a -free woman I would have accepted him, if only for the sake of -providing a comfortable home for my child. As I was in chains, I -refused him. He said he was a patient man, that he loved me very -sincerely, and that he would wait. In the heavy catalogue of my sins -that you have against me, place this new one--that this good man loved -me. He continued his attentions, and they brought me into fresh -disgrace. In the place I was living there were single ladies, and -mothers who had daughters to marry, who entertained a hope that the -doctor would choose from among them, and they were angry when they saw -that I stood in their way. I do not know whom I have to thank for what -followed, but gradually rumours got about to my discredit. I was not a -widow; I was not a married woman; the name I went by was not my own. -Women shrugged their shoulders when they met me; men stared at me -insolently and familiarly. What had occurred in my native town when -you deserted me was repeated here. I had no alternative but to fly -from the place. - -At that time my darling was nearly three years old, and the unkind -creatures had attempted to drop poison even into her young and -innocent mind. One day she asked me, in her pretty way, where her -father was. 'You have none, my darling,' I said; 'he is dead.' - -In the new place I found refuge in I made friends with a kind family, -who grew very fond of my child--as none indeed could help doing. Her -bright ways, her innocence, her artlessness, would win any heart not -dead to human affection. If anything should happen to me, these -friends will take care of my darling as long as they are able. I think -it is likely that I shall not live long, and I have thought anxiously -over the future of my darling until she arrives at an age when she may -be able to protect and provide for herself. I have consulted with my -new friends, and I have arranged everything to the best of my ability -and judgment. I shall place in their hands a small box, which, in the -event of my death and of their being unable to maintain my child (for -they are poor people), is to be given to her with plain instructions. -These instructions it will be necessary for me here to explain, first -saying, however, that should these good friends be able to look after -my child until she arrives at womanhood, there will be no necessity to -give them to her. In that event, also, the box and its contents will -be burnt. They have promised me faithfully, and I know they will keep -their word. - -If I am gone, and they are too poor to help my child, she will be, as -I have been, without a friend. These good people have some idea of -emigrating, if they can save sufficient money, and then my darling -will be indeed helpless. They might take her with them, it may be -said; but they may not have sufficient means. And then, again, it -inflicts the most bitter pain upon me to think that my darling child -should be taken thousands of miles from the spot where her mother's -ashes are laid. She will be helpless, as I have said; but there is one -upon whom she has a just claim--yourself. I wished her never to see -you; I wished that you might never look upon her beautiful face, nor -feel the charm of her presence. But I see no other way to secure a -home for her. Should she be left without friends, she will come to -you, a stranger, with a letter from me, who will even then be dead, -asking you to give a home to a friendless child. She will bear a -strange name, and will know you only as a stranger. Neither will you -know her; it may be that you will see in her face some slight -resemblance to the wife whose happiness you have destroyed, and it may -be that you may place that resemblance to your dead wife's discredit. -Do so, and bring another shame upon your soul. - -How do I know where you live in London? It has been discovered for me, -by means of a clue which my father obtained soon after your flight. -When a mother is working for her child, she can do much. I have never -seen London, but I know your address; and on the day that the friends -I have made for my child find they can no longer provide for her, she -will present herself at your door. Hard and unfeeling, cruel and -unjust, as you are, I think you will not turn her from it. - -In the small box which my friends will give to my darling child are -three letters, numbered first, second, third. On the first letter is -written, 'To be opened first, on your eighteenth birthday, before the -other letters are touched. This is the sacred wish of your dead -mother.' I copy this letter in this place, so that you may clearly -understand what I have done: - - -'My darling Child,--I wish you to regard these written words as though -they are spoken to you with my dying breath, and to obey them. If Mr. -Bryan Carey has made your life happy, and if you are in the enjoyment -of a happy home, destroy the second letter by fire, and hand him the -third. If it is otherwise with you, and your life with him has been in -any way unhappy, destroy the third letter by fire, as you would have -done the second. Then seek some quiet place and read the second -letter, and when you have read it, send it to Mr. Carey, and act as -you think best for your welfare and happiness. That God will for ever -bless and protect my darling is the prayer of your mother, - - 'Frances.' - - -The third letter contains a short account of my life since you left -me, and the statement that Jessie is your daughter. It leaves it to -your judgment to make the relationship known to her, or to let it -remain a secret. - -The second letter you are now reading. - -If it fall into your hands, Jessie will have read it first, and will -know how basely you behaved to me. She will know that your conduct -towards me was such that a woman never can forgive, and she will -understand that a man had better kill his wife than inflict upon her -such shame and misery and humiliation as you inflicted upon me, a -guiltless woman, as God is my Judge. She will know that you deserted -me for another woman, and left me, a simple inexperienced girl, to -battle alone with the pitiless world. Ah, how pitiless it is, how -uncharitable, how cruel! How many nights have I passed shedding what -might have been tears of blood, for they were wrung from a bruised and -bleeding heart! She, who has lived with me many happy years in her -childhood's life, will, when she reads this, be able to look back with -the eyes of a woman upon the life I led while we were together, and -she will know whether it was without stain and without reproach. She -will have had experience both of you and myself, and of both our -natures and minds, and she will have sense and intelligence enough to -judge fairly between us. I repeat here, with all the strength of my -soul, what I have declared before--that when you accused me of loving -my cousin Ralph and of being false to you, you lied most foully. - -I believe that I decided rightly when I decided to write these things. -As you have acted towards your daughter, so shall be your reward. -Whether it be for good or ill, you have earned it. - - Your unhappy wife, - - Frances. - - -After the last sheet of this letter, there were a few words in uncle -Bryan's handwriting, evidently intended for my mother: 'If you see her -whom I scarcely dare call my daughter for the shame which overwhelms -me, tell her but one thing from me--that her mother's suspicions -concerning the woman I befriended are unfounded. She will believe -this, perhaps; it is the truth.' - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII. -A HAPPY RECOVERY. - - -The perusal of this letter affected me powerfully. There was something -solemn in the mere handling of a confession written by a woman long -since dead--a woman who had been so cruelly wronged and had so cruelly -suffered. It was like a voice from the tomb, and it was impossible to -resist the conviction that forced itself upon my mind that it was the -solemn, bitter truth. - -I had never suspected that Jessie was in any way related to uncle -Bryan, but it did not surprise me to learn it. The fact that she was -my cousin brought with it no sense of pleasure; it gave me no claim on -her affection. Rather would she be inclined to look with feelings of -repugnance upon all who were connected with her by blood, for by the -nearest of these her mother had been brought to misery and shame, and -her own life had been made most unhappy; and it was not to be doubted -that all her soul would rise in vindication of her mother's honour. - -It was past midnight, and everything about me was very still. My -mother was sleeping more peacefully than she had yet done through her -illness, and I remarked with thankfulness that the distressed -expression on her face was wearing away, and that she was beginning to -look something like her old sweet self. Insensibly in her sleep her -arm stole round my neck. I let it rest there for many minutes, and -when I rose from her side and kissed her fingers, there was a soft -smile upon her lips--the first unclouded smile I had seen there for -many a day. It gave me hope and gladdened my heart. - -I was in no humour for sleep, having had some rest during the day, and -I had told Florry that I would sit up with my mother until the -morning. I placed the letter I had been reading in my desk, and then, -arranging the screen in such a manner that the light by which I worked -should not fall upon my mother's face, and also in such a manner that -when she opened her eyes they must rest upon me, I sat at my table and -worked and thought. My work was noiseless, and I could do it without -disturbing the stillness. I was thankful for that. I do not know in -what way it came into my mind that there are numberless small things -in life which we ought to be grateful for, but the thought came. -Presently, while my hand and eyes were busy on delicate manipulations -in the wood, my mind reverted to uncle Bryan and Jessie, and the -strange, strange letter I had read. Could Jessie ever forgive her -father? Never, I thought. The unkindnesses inflicted upon herself she -might have been eager to forgive when she made the discovery that she -had a father living, but the wrong inflicted upon her mother was past -forgiveness. Truly, the dead wife had punished the living husband with -a cunning hand. But it was a just blow that she had struck. She had -shown no vindictiveness; for had he behaved kindly to the girl to whom -he had given the shelter of his home, Jessie would never have been -made acquainted with her mother's wrongs. Yes, it was just, but it was -terrible. - -Terrible indeed. To find a father only to hate him. To find a father, -and in the discovery to gain the knowledge that his conduct to her -mother might have brought lasting shame and disgrace upon her own good -name. - -And he? How did he feel it? The words he addressed to me in his letter -to my mother were very clear in my mind. Too late I see my folly and -my crime. Many things that Christopher said to me were true. I humbly -ask his forgiveness, and I humbly pray that the happiness he said I -did my best to destroy may yet fall to his lot. If he will picture me, -an old man with a bleeding heart, into whose life but few rays of -sunshine have passed, pleading to him, he may soften towards me. -Perhaps he may believe that I loved him; if he does believe it, he -will believe the truth.' - -I did believe it; I felt that it was true. I asked myself whether all -the fault was his, whether he was entirely to blame because it was not -in his nature to show love in its sweetest way. I recalled the words -he had used when he described to me and my mother the home in which he -spent his childhood's days. I raised up a picture of his mother, a -weak-minded woman, ruled as with a rod of iron by her husband, ruled -even in her affections by a man whom his own son could not respect, -knowing him to be a hypocrite. The son must have learned bad lessons -in such a home. Was it not to the son's credit that he refused to be -moulded by such influences? But if the son had had such a mother as -mine---- - -Ah, if an influence so sweet had sweetened his life--if an affection -so pure had purified his mind--how different it might have been with -him! The cobwebs of scepticism and bitter distrust might have been -swept from his soul. He might have grown into a good and noble man. -For I recognised qualities in uncle Bryan's nature far higher than -those with which the men I was acquainted with were gifted. My blind -unreasoning anger against him was gone, and I felt only pity for the -desolate old man. I pictured him, as he had desired me to do, an old -man with a bleeding heart, into whose life but few rays of sunshine -had passed--an old man who in his youth had been soured, misdirected, -misjudged, his rare qualities and gifts turned against himself; and I -pitied him with a full heart, and most freely forgave him. - -At this point I recalled everything in his character that spoke in his -favour--his love of flowers, his love of justice, which had something -heroic in it, his contempt for meanness and roguery, his gentle -behaviour towards my mother, by whom alone he was properly understood. -He would have been astonished had he known my thoughts. - -In this better mood I continued my work. Tick, tick, tick, went the -little clock on the mantelpiece, and the sound seemed to add to the -stillness instead of disturbing it. Once, upon raising my eyes to my -mother's bed, I fancied that she was awake and was observing me. I -stole towards the bed, but her eyes were closed; I kissed her softly, -and resumed my work. The wood-block I was engaged upon represented a -woman standing by a field after the corn had been cut and gathered. It -was sunset, and the woman, who was between forty and fifty years of -age, was gazing sadly and mournfully at the setting sun and the bare -field, with only the stubble left on it. I knew the story which the -picture was intended to illustrate. The woman had been parted from her -son, who was in a distant land, many thousands of miles across the -sea, and the last news she had received from him represented him as -being beset by misfortune and sickness. She was standing now, thinking -mournfully of the times when she and he were together; and the sun, -setting among sad clouds, and the cornfield, shorn of its golden -glory, were in fit keeping with her thoughts. Another picture drawn on -the wood, and which I had not yet commenced to engrave, lay before me. -The scene was the same, and the figure of the woman was there, but the -time and circumstances were different from the last. It was morning in -the opening of summer; the corn was ripening, and lying on the ground -at the mother's feet was the son, restored to her in health. -Insensibly, as I proceeded with my work, my thoughts reverted to a -certain time in my childhood when my mother toiled during the day and -sat up late in the night working for me. How many a night had I seen -her sitting at the table in our poorly-furnished one room, stitching -until daylight dawned to earn bread for her child! The songs she used -to sing softly to herself came to my lips, and I murmured them almost -unconsciously, while the tears ran from my eyes. My heart was -throbbing with exquisite tenderness towards my mother, and I thought -that never in all my reading had I met with a woman so thoroughly good -and pure and true. I covered my eyes with my hand to shut out the -aching fear that, with the force of a visible presence, was creeping -upon me and whispering that the priceless blessing of her love was -lost to me for ever; but the action brought a deeper darkness to my -soul. It lasted but a moment, thank God! for suddenly my name was -uttered in a soft clear tone. - -'Chris!' - -My heart almost ceased to beat as the sound of my mother's voice, with -its old sweet cadence, fell upon my ear; but I remembered the caution -which the doctor had given me, and I quietly proceeded with my work. - -'Yes, mother.' - -'What are you doing, dear child?' - -'Working, mother.' - -I scarcely dared to raise my eyes, and I waited anxiously for her to -speak again. - -'It is late, my child.' - -'Not very, mother. The night was so beautiful, and I had such a long -rest this morning, that I thought I would work for an hour or two upon -some pictures I have to get done quickly.' I spoke calmly and softly -and cheerfully. 'I thought you were asleep, mother.' - -'I have lain for some time watching you, my darling, and wondering -whether this was not all a dream.' - -'A dream, mother!' I said, and I went to her side, and passed my arm -under her neck. 'No, it is not a dream.' She gazed at me long and -earnestly. - -'Where are we, dear child?' - -'In the country, at Hertford. You were not very well, and I brought -you down here to nurse you into health again.' - -She pondered over these words. 'You were singing my songs, my dearest' - -'I hope they did not disturb you, mother.' - -'What sweeter music could I hear, dear child? But what made you sing -them?' - -'I was thinking of the old times, mother, when you and I were -together, and when you used to work late in the night for me. There -was a prayer in my heart while I was singing.' - -'What prayer, my dearest?' - -'That I might be able to repay you by my love for the love you have -given me all my life. That God would be merciful to me, and would give -me the power to show you that I love you with all my heart and soul, -and to prove that as no son ever had a more loving mother than you -have been to me, so no mother ever had a son who was filled with a -deeper love than I have for you.' - -'Dear child! darling child!' she said, with deep-drawn sighs of -happiness, what can I say to you for your goodness to me? I do not -deserve it! I do not deserve it!' She folded me in her arms, and I lay -by her side with my face pressed close to hers. - -'If you say that, mother, I shall think you do not believe me.' - -'No, no, dear child, I do believe it. These are tears of joy that I am -shedding. And we two are alone, darling!' - -'Yes, mother, and I only want one thing to make me quite happy.' - -'Tell it me, child?' she asked, a little anxiously. - -'To see you well again, mother, that is all. Then I shall go on with -my work, and we shall get along famously together. But you mustn't -talk any longer; you must go to sleep. Shall I sing you to sleep as -you used to do to me? Do you remember that dear old song? Well, but -_I_ must not talk any longer. I am going to lie here; first let me put -out the light.' When I returned to the fond prison of her loving arms, -I said softly, 'I shall only say two or three words more. First, -mother, you must promise me to get quite well. Promise, now, for my -sake.' - -'I will try to, dear child; I think I shall; I feel strong already.' - -'Then you must tell me that you are happy, dear mother.' - -'Ah, my darling, there is not a happier mother in the world. Blessed -with such a son, I should be ungrateful to God if I were not.' - -'And now, mother, not another word----' - -'But draw the counterpane round you, darling; you will take cold -else.' - -'There, it is done; feel: and I'm quite warm. Good-night, mother. One -kiss--two--three; and before you can count three more I shall be -asleep.' - -I pretended to be, but I remained awake, listening to her sighs of -happiness. Every now and then she passed her fingers over my face, and -over my eyes, to learn if they were closed. After a time she fell -asleep herself, and her composed peaceful breathing seemed in itself -an assurance of returning health. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV. -AT REHEARSAL. - - -As the curtain falls upon a scene in a drama, and when it rises again -so many years are supposed to have elapsed, so between the closing of -the last chapter and the opening of this six months must be supposed -to have passed. We are again in London. My mother, thank God, is well, -and I have within me the happy assurance that I have nursed her into -health; the doctor has told me so, my mother herself has repeated it a -hundred times, and I believe it and am humbly grateful. - -We are living near to Paradise-row, but not in uncle Bryan's shop. My -mother, knowing all that occurred on Jessie's birthday, showed no -surprise when, on returning to London, I took her to some comfortable -rooms I had engaged, and said that these were to be our home. She made -only one remark--she hoped I would not have any objection to her going -to the shop occasionally to see Josey West. I told her I should be -glad if she went, and that I intended to go there myself very often. - -We are as happy as we can reasonably expect to be. That we have -sorrows is certain; but we refrain from speaking of them. We are as -silent concerning our hopes, if we have any. - -Nothing has been heard of uncle Bryan; Josey West conducts the -business as though she had been born to it, and it is really -prospering under her management. She is such a favourite with all the -neighbours, that her customers increase every week, and the takings -are nearly doubled. - -'I think we shall be able to set up a plate window soon,' says Josey -West, with a grand air. 'The sale of the pills is astonishing, my -dear, astonishing! Do you know, Chris, I feel quite like a respectable -member of society! I shall soon begin to turn up my nose at -play-actors, who are nothing but vagrants, my dear, nothing but -vagrants. And they're bad paymasters, Chris; I've two of them on my -books already.' - -When I ask her about Jessie, Josey says that she's all right, and that -I have no occasion to bother myself about _her_. I can extract nothing -more from her than this, and if I endeavour to press the subject -further, she turns snappish. - -My mother and I have had many conversations about uncle Bryan, and I -think one great cause of her contentment is the altered state of my -feelings towards him, which I do not disguise from her. I am -prospering in a worldly sense, and when I feel most despondent I work -the hardest; it is a relief to me. My name has appeared in print, -connected with words of praise, and I often wonder whether Jessie has -seen it. As for my mother, when I brought home the paper containing -the two lines in which my work was spoken of favourably, I thought she -would have gone wild with joy. I am afraid to say how many times she -must have read the few ordinary words, but, knowing what a delight -they are to her, I am glad that I have earned them for her sake. - -In this way the months roll on. With reference to my feelings towards -Jessie, I shall be almost as silent now as I was at home during that -time. Sufficient to say that I never forgot her, and that I never -loved her less; but her name is rarely mentioned at home. - -There is one person, however, to whom I speak of Jessie freely--to -Turk West. Turk is getting along capitally in his shop, and has -already paid off more than half his debt to Mr. Glover. I see this -gentleman occasionally in Turk's shop; Turk shaves him, and dresses -his hair for him two or three times a week; whenever I go into the -shop and see him there, I retire immediately. I have no wish to injure -Turk's business, and when I reason calmly over matters I cannot see -what tangible ground of complaint I have against Mr. Glover--which -does not lessen my detestation of him. - -'He is a good customer,' says Turk to me, 'and it will be best for -more reasons than one not to offend him. I can't say that I like -him--although I try to, Chris, my boy, let me tell you--but I know -that he is the soul of honour.' - -'How _do_ you know it?' I ask. - -Turk scratches his head. 'Well, _he_ says it, Chris, my boy, and -everybody says it who knows him. He comes from a highly-respectable -family.' - -I can say nothing in opposition, knowing nothing of his family. - -'And it is something to be proud of, Chris?' says Turk. - -'What _is_, Turk?' - -'To be so respectably connected.' - -'I suppose so,' I answer indifferently. - -Old Mac is a constant visitor at Turk's shop; indeed, it appears to me -that he spends most of his time there, for whenever I go westward and -open Turk's door, his is the first familiar face I see. He keeps -guard, as it were. - -'Turk is inside,' he says; or 'Turk is upstairs, crimping a lady's -hair.' For Turk has lady as well as gentleman customer's, and has -become very skilful in the business. His flow of conversation and -anecdote is of great assistance to him; he has always something to -say, and, not having been born a barber and hairdresser, he seldom -commences about the weather--which is a relief. - -On a windy day in April, I visited Turk, and, as usual, found old Mac -there. Turk, very busy over some theatrical wigs, looked up from his -work, and asked me if I wanted to speak to him. No, I answered; I had -merely dropped in as I passed. I had as little excuse for the visit as -I had for many others; I only went in the vague hope of hearing -something of Jessie. Turk understood this, without being told. - -'Business good, Turk?' I inquired. - -'First-class,' said Turk. 'I shall have to get an assistant, I expect. -By the bye---- O, never mind!' - -He suddenly interrupted himself, in a confused manner. - -'By the bye, what, Turk?' - -'Nothing,' he replied, bending over his work. - -Old Mac looked at me somewhat significantly, and, rising, said he -should take a stroll in Covent-garden Market. - -'It does one good to walk up and down that arcade,' he said. 'One -smells the country lanes there. How would it do to have it on the -stage, Turk, with real hothouse fruit and flowers fresh from the -market gardens every night? I daresay it will come to that, in time. -The stage is not what it was, my sons.' - -Winking at me, old Mac went out, and I, regarding the wink as an -invitation to follow him, wished Turk good-morning. - -'This is not the way to Covent Garden,' I said, as I joined him. 'Have -you had your morning drain, Mac?' - -'No, my son, no,' he replied cheerfully; 'and I know a place.' - -Without more words he conducted me to the 'place,' where I paid for -his morning drain twice over. - -'You took my hint, my son,' he said, when he had drained his glass, -and eaten his lemon; he always ate the slice of lemon after he -finished his glass, saying humorously that it was a preparation for -the next. 'You took my hint.' - -'You wanted to speak to me I thought, Mac.' - -'Well, not exactly wanted, my son; but I have something to communicate -which may be interesting to you. I know what the tender passion is, -and how it burns. I've had my day, and, faith! I'd like to have it -over again! It wasn't all sugar, my son. There was one--ah, there was -one, I do remember me, in my hot youth!-- - - - "Her lips to mine how often did she join. - Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing! - How many tales to please me did she coin. - Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing! - Yet in the midst of all her pure protesting. - Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jesting." - - -But what cared I? I whistled her off, and took another, for they're as -thick as mulberries, my son. And I'd like to have my time over again, -pleasures, pains, and all. But this is not to the point, and yet it -is, although the lines will not apply--that is to say, I hope not.' - -I listened in anxiety; I was well acquainted with old Mac's character -by this time, and I knew it would be useless to interrupt him and ask -him to come to the point at once; he must come to it his own way. - -'Old Mac can tell a hawk from a handsaw with half an eye,' he -continued, 'and he has two good ones at his command. Old Mac says to -himself, seeing a certain talented young friend whom he esteems--your -health, my son. Ah, I forgot, my glass is empty'--(I was obliged to -fill it again; I had no fear of Mac's getting tipsy on three glasses; -he was too well seasoned)--'Old Mac says to himself, what does this -talented young friend of his mean by coming so often to Turk West's -establishment? Well, there would be nothing in that, but he comes in -unseasonable hours--that is to say, in the hours during which he is -supposed to be working for the public. What does that mean? says old -Mac, in confidence to himself. Your health, my son. It can mean but -one thing. Old Mac knows the signs. And that's why he winked at you to -follow him. _Do_ you follow me?' - -'Not exactly,' I was obliged to confess, notwithstanding that I had a -dim glimmering of what was coming. - -Old Mac laughed. - -'Well, not to beat about the bush--but I thought I'd lead up to it by -easy stages--a certain fair friend of ours is at a certain place this -morning, and I fancied you might like to see her.' - -My heart beat violently; I knew that he referred to Jessie. - -'Did she tell you to come for me?' - -He dashed my hopes to the ground by hurriedly replying, 'No, no, my -son; she knows nothing of it, and had best not know, perhaps. The fact -is, our fair friend is about to make her first appearance on the -boards, and she is now rehearsing her part. I know the box-keeper, and -he will let us into the dress circle, where you can see her without -her seeing you.' - -I thanked him cordially, and we walked together to the theatre, and -were admitted to the dress circle, which was in complete darkness. -Certainly no one on the stage could distinguish us, but in the dim -light I could see all the actors and actresses engaged in the -rehearsal. Jessie was among them. - -Eight months had passed since I last saw her, and I gazed on her with -aching eagerness. It was a cold day, and she was warmly dressed; and -the only change I could discern in her was that she appeared to have -grown more beautiful. What pain and pleasure I felt as I heard her -voice once more, fresh and sweet as ever, and saw the old familiar -action of her hands, I cannot describe. - -'Steady, my son, steady,' whispered old Mac warningly. - -I controlled myself, without being aware what I had done to excite -this remonstrance. - -'When does she appear?' I asked in the same low tone. - -'Next Monday week.' - -'In her own name?' - -'No; she has taken the name of Mathews. You will see the announcements -outside the theatre. There's a good deal of curiosity excited about -her already, for she plays an ambitious character; she commences at -the top instead of at the bottom of the ladder. I should have liked -her to begin a little lower down, or to have appeared in the provinces -first. There's one great thing in her favour, though. She plays in a -new piece, and can't be compared to other and more experienced -actresses in the same character. There's somebody you know.' - -He referred to Mr. Glover, whom I had seen before he had, and who, -standing at the side wings, appeared to be on familiar terms with all -the company; but I knew the lodestone which had drawn him there. When -I first caught sight of him Jessie was engaged in a scene; presently -she was free for a time, and then he approached her, and they talked -together. - -'Mac,' I said, in a whisper, 'I think you are a friend of mine.' - -'I am proud to hear you say so, my son. I _am_ your friend.' - -'What does that mean?' And I pointed to Jessie and Mr. Glover. - -He looked at my agitated face, and then at the two persons I was -interested in; but he did not answer me. - -'Why don't you speak, Mac? Why don't you answer me?' - -'Because I don't quite understand you, my son.' - -'When a person in Mr. Glover's position,' I said, 'pays attention to -an actress commencing the world as Jessie is, what does it mean?' - -'Speak a little lower, my son. It means that he is interested in her. -There's nothing unusual in that.' - -'But it _may_ mean something more; it may mean that he is fond of -her.' - -'It may; and there would be nothing unusual in that. But it does not -follow that she is fond of him. Beware of the green-eyed monster, my -son. Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend from jealousy! -Take a lesson from an old stager.' (But what the lesson was he did not -state.) 'Why don't you ask Turk about it?' - -'I have my reasons; I would rather Turk should not know anything of -this.' - -'Well, I'll find out for you, quietly between ourselves. Old Mac knows -the signs. He has seen a few things, old Mac has. Only don't you run -away with the idea that there's anything wrong in a gentleman speaking -to an actress. I daresay it's through him that my fair friend has got -this chance. Well, why shouldn't she speak to him, then? I know what -you feel, my son. I've felt the same myself, and wouldn't mind feeling -so again. It comes in the regular course of things.' - -I went outside the theatre with him, and made an excuse to get rid of -him. Then I waited, in the hope of seeing Jessie; and bearing in mind -Jessie's words, 'If we meet again it must be at my own time, and in my -own way,' I resolved not to show myself to her. She came out in the -course of half an hour, accompanied by Mr. Glover. I walked behind -them at some distance on the opposite side of the road, making many -shifts and pretences of looking in shop-windows, so that they should -not see me. But Mr. Glover, happening to turn his head in my -direction, caught sight of me. I saw the flash of recognition in his -eyes. He must have uttered an exclamation, for Jessie turned, and also -saw me. I hesitated for one moment; should I retrace my steps, or walk -boldly on? Jessie decided the question for me, by running towards me. -Her face was scarlet, but that might have been caused by her running -too quickly, for her breath came fast. - -'O Chris!' she cried, in the first excitement of the moment. 'How glad -I am to see you! What brings you this way?' - -She held out her hand eagerly, and I took it, and would have retained -it, but that the appearance of Mr. Glover, who paused quite close to -us, caused me to relinquish it. - -'What brings him this way?' echoed Mr. Glover. Not accident, I'll be -bound.' - -'I came on purpose to see you, Jessie,' I said; 'I heard through a -friend that you were rehearsing this morning, and I gained admission -to the dress circle, and sat there for some time.' - -'Was it Turk who told you?' she asked. - -'No, not Turk. I think he would not tell me anything that you did not -wish me to know.' - -It was not without intention that I let this arrow fly. Jessie made no -comment upon it, but said: - -'And then you waited outside to see me, Chris?' - -'Yes; I had no other purpose. But I did not intend that you should see -me.' - -No? But we'll not quarrel now that we _have_ met. How is mother, -Chris?' - -'She is well, Jessie. You know that we were very nearly losing her.' - -'I know; and you took her into the country, and nursed her.' - -'Thank God, she is well now.' - -If Mr. Glover had not been present, I should have spoken in a very -different manner, but I could not show my heart while he stood by, -with a look of cold contempt in his eyes. - -'And you?--you are looking thinner, I think, Chris; but you are well -and happy.' - -'Yes,' I answered mechanically, 'I am well and happy, Jessie.' -Although I strove to speak in an indifferent tone, it must have -miserably belied my words. - -'And you are getting along famously,' continued Jessie hurriedly; I -read your name in the papers, and it made me very proud.' - -'We shall read your name in the papers soon, Jessie.' - -'I suppose so; if I have strength and courage to go through with it. I -hope you will not come on the first night, Chris.' - -I was silent, and she was generous enough not to exact the promise. - -'At all events, then, if you do come I shall have one friend there,' -she said. - -'Not more than one, Jessie?' asked Mr. Glover, in a tone which made my -heart throb violently. - -Jessie, looking first at me and then at Mr. Glover, said that she must -wish us good-morning, and with her parasol hailed an omnibus that was -passing. - -'Good-bye, Chris. Will you give my love to mother?' - -'Yes, Jessie.' - -She drew me aside, out of the hearing of Mr. Glover, and whispered, -'Don't quarrel with him, Chris.' - -'I will not, Jessie. One moment. Are you happy?' - -She cast a swift glance at me, and then turned her eyes to the ground. -'I think so, Chris; I am not sure.' With this singular answer, she -pressed my hand, and left me. I watched her get into the omnibus, and -when it was out of sight I turned homewards, without noticing Mr. -Glover. But he was at my heels, speaking to me. - -'How did you gain admission into the theatre, young man?' he said. -'Did you sneak in, or did you tell the doorkeeper a lie?' - -'That is my business,' I replied calmly; for I was determined to keep -my promise to Jessie. - -'Especially your business, I should say--sneaking and lying. But -unless you wish to find yourself in an unpleasant position, I should -advise you not to make the attempt again. For Jessie's sake, who might -not like to hear of your getting into trouble, I will look over the -trespass this once.' - -'_You_ will overlook it!' I retorted, without any outward exhibition -of anger. 'Is the theatre yours, then?' - -'In your own words, that is my business. But I have authority there, -believe me; so you must be careful. I should, if I were you, give over -the spying business; you will gain nothing by it. Perhaps, however, -you have not the manliness to see that the young lady has chosen for -herself, and that, as she has removed herself from you and your common -surroundings, there is distinct cowardice in your thrusting yourself -upon her. Only a gentleman can entertain these proper sentiments----' - -'Such a gentleman as yourself,' I interrupted. - -'Yes, such a gentleman as I,' he said, with a frown; and not only -that, but one who knows how to resent impertinence and blackguardly -interference.' - -I left him suddenly; if I had not done so he would have fastened a -quarrel upon me. I saw clearly that this was his desire; but I -disappointed him. - - - - -CHAPTER XLV. -OLD MAC EXPRESSES HIS OPINION OF MR. GLOVER. - - -The only person to whom I spoke of my interview with Jessie was my -mother, and even to her I did not relate all that had passed. - -'Is she coming to see us, my dear?' my mother asked. - -I answered that she had given no hint of any such intention. - -'Perhaps,' said my mother, 'Mr. Glover being by restrained her.' - -'Perhaps,' I replied curtly. - -As the tone in which I spoke denoted that I did not wish to continue -the conversation, my mother said nothing more. Not that she had grown -indifferent to the subject upon which we were conversing, but that she -studied my moods more closely than ever. Her heart had never been -stirred by such tender love for me as during this time; it showed -itself in a thousand little undemonstrative ways, and with a delicate -cunning which I am sure has never been excelled, she said and did -precisely the things which were most comforting to me. I have only her -to thank that my sorrow did not make a cynic of me. - -My thoughts ran so much upon Mr. Glover, that I dreamt of him -frequently in connection with some singular fancies. The principal -persons who played parts in these dreams were we two and Jessie. In -one of my dreams he was standing on a height, with his fingers to his -mouth, curling his moustache into it as usual; I stood below, at a -great distance from him; and Jessie was midway between us. He was -beckoning to Jessie, saying in a boastful tone that he was a gentleman -and a man of honour, and Jessie was walking towards him. In another of -my dreams he was standing over me, preaching the same text. In -another, Turk was very seriously impressing upon me the fact that Mr. -Glover came from a highly-respectable family, and that it _was_ a -thing to be proud of. This was the leading idea of all my dreams. - -I did not go again to see Jessie at the rehearsals. I knew I had no -right to be in the theatre on those occasions, and I did not intend to -give Mr. Glover a chance of placing me in an unpleasant position. I -had scarcely a hope of seeing Jessie at our house; my mother thought -differently, saying that in certain things she was seldom mistaken, -and this was one of them. It was known to me that she had never ceased -making inquiries for uncle Bryan, and that she had taken many and many -a journey about London in the hope of finding him. I did not question -her as to the result of these inquiries, and she herself was silent on -the subject. - -'Oh,' said Josey West to me, a couple of days after I had seen Jessie, -'so you've seen her.' - -'Yes, Josey,' I replied, 'I have seen her.' - -'And never told me!' she exclaimed. - -'Why should I tell you, Josey? You have kept things from me which I -think you might have told me, without doing any great harm.' - -'Do you, my sweet child? How wise we are, to be sure! But I don't -blame you. What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. I tell -you what, Chris! On the first night that Jessie plays, you and I will -go arm-in-arm to the theatre.' - -'No, we will not.' - -'Why, my sweet child?' she inquired, not in the least disturbed by my -abrupt tone. - -'Because I have not made up my mind whether I shall be there.' - -'Oh, indeed!' she said, with a little laugh. - -I was not ingenuous in my reply, for I had quite resolved to go, and -to go early. During the days that intervened between my meeting with -Jessie and her announced first appearance I was very busy with -important work. This kept me close to my bench, and I did not have -time even to visit Turk, but it did not prevent me from thinking -constantly of Jessie. What would be the result if she made a great -success? Would she grow into a fine lady, and would her picture be in -all the shop-windows? What was the nature of the connection between -her and Mr. Glover? What were her feelings now towards her father? I -found a hundred different answers to these questions, not one of which -brought any satisfaction or consolation to me. But I could not -relinquish the consideration of them, and, in the usual way, I -extracted from them as much unhappiness as they would fairly yield. - -'My mother knew where I was going when I prepared myself on the -evening that Jessie was to make her first appearance before the -public, and as she kissed me she said she did not expect me home very -early. I nodded, and left her. I could not trust myself to speak, for -I felt as though my own fate were about to be definitely decided by -the issue of this night's events. I arrived at the theatre before the -time announced for the opening of the doors, and to my surprise, -instead of finding, as I expected, a great mass of people pressing -towards the entrances, I found a few scores of persons standing -loosely about the closed doors, grumbling and wondering at notices -which were pasted on the walls to the effect that in consequence of -the indisposition of the new actress the opening of the theatre was -postponed. The disappointment to those assembled was the greater -because the play in which Jessie was to appear was the first dramatic -work of a new author, who, although his name was not given on the -bills, it was said was a nobleman well known in fashionable circles. -While I was reading the notice, and tormenting myself with the idea -that Jessie must be seriously ill, Turk accosted me. - -'Hallo, Chris,' he said, hooking his arm in mine; 'this is a surprise, -isn't it?' - -'Is Jessie very ill, Turk?' I asked anxiously. - -He looked at me inquiringly, seemingly in doubt as to whether I was in -earnest in asking the question. I repeated it. - -'I do not think so,' he replied. - -'Have you seen her lately, Turk?' - -'Not since Saturday, Chris; then she appeared to be well. That notice -is only put up as an excuse. There's a hitch with the author, or the -lessee, or the man who advances the money, I expect.' - -'I should like to know if Jessie is really well,' I said. - -'Go round to my shop, then; here's the key. I'll make inquiries and -come to you soon.' - -I went to the shop, and unlocked the door, and as it was dark inside, -I lit the gas. I had not been in the place many minutes before old Mac -poked in his head. - -'I saw a light,' he said, entering, and closing the door behind him. - -'Ah, Chris, my son; it's you, is it? This is a rum go, isn't it? -Where's Turk?' - -'He'll be here presently. You mean about the theatre, don't you?' - -'I do, my son. So our fair friend doesn't make her appearance after -all. Well, the loss is the public's. The stage is going to the dogs. -Going! Gone, I should say. Not conducted on straight principles, my -son. Elements introduced into the management of theatrical matters -which have no business there at all. Where's your school for acting -nowadays, I should like to know. How do men and women come to be -actors and actresses? Where's the education for the profession? Once -upon a time--ah, well, no matter. Drown dull care. Anything to drink -about?' He looked around for the desired bottle. I could not assist -him in his search, and did not desire to do so, for it seemed to me -that he had already had a glass too much. 'Closed through the -indisposition of the new actress!' he continued. 'That's the way the -public is gulled. There are more things in heaven and earth than are -dreamt of in their philosophy. Look here, my son. A word in your ear.' - -This word in my ear was a whispered request for a trifling loan of two -shillings and sevenpence. He always asked for loans in a whisper, even -when there was no third person near. It was not the first time I had -lent old Mac small sums of money, and I pulled three shillings from my -pocket, not having the coins for the exact sum. He gravely gave me -fivepence change. - -'Thank you, my son,' he said, 'and now, a word to the wise. On a -certain morning you and I went to the Rialto--no, to a rehearsal in -which our fair friend took part.' - -'Yes.' - -'You confided your woes to me, not in words perhaps, but in look, -accent, manner. Old Mac knows the signs. The liquid eye, the tremulous -tone, the sighs that come unbidden. I saw them all, my son, and my -sympathising breast received them as a sacred deposit. You remember -the lines I quoted: "Her lips to mine how often did she join!" But I -see that you are impatient, my son. You said to me then that you -believed that I was your friend. I answered in suitable terms. The -word to the action, the action to the word. Shake hands, my son.' By -this time I had fully made up my mind that old Mac was tipsy, although -he was as steady as a rock; it was only his voice that betrayed him. -'To continue. You drew my attention to two persons who shall be -nameless, one of whom was paying attentions to the other, and you -asked what it meant. I replied in general terms, and after warning you -to beware of the green-eyed monster, I said that I would find out, in -a quiet way, what those intentions meant, and that I would let you -know, in a quiet way. Am I correct, and do you follow me?' - -I said that he was quite correct, and that I was following his words. - -'I placed myself at once in communication with our fair friend----' - -I was surprised into an exclamation by this information. In no way -disturbed, old Mac went on. - -'I did. I placed myself at once in communication with our fair -friend----' - -'You did not mention my name, I hope,' I could not help saying. - -'Was I born yesterday, do you think, my son, or the day before? I had -some slight acquaintance with our fair friend, as you know, and I -threw myself in her way. That is what I mean when I say I placed -myself in communication with her. I read her part for her, and gave -her a hint or two, which she received and thanked me for in a manner -very different from some lady stars I could mention, who think -themselves above tuition because they have pretty faces, and because -they happen to have made a third- or a fourth-rate success. They come -to grief in the long-run, my son, these clever ladies. They shine for -a little while, with much outside pushing and puffing, and then, Out, -out, brief candle! Our fair friend is a different kind of creature. -She is amiability, sweetness, and modesty combined, and when the old -actor ventured to throw out a hint or two as to emphasis in certain -places, as to appropriate action, as to where and how a point could be -made, she received them with gratitude and deference. Damme, my son! -the old actor could not help wishing he was a thirty years younger -man; and then again he was glad he wasn't, because it might have -interfered with the chances of a young friend of his, whom he sees -before him now. But if I don't hurry on with my story, you will be -applying to me Hamlet's words to Polonius, "These tedious old fools!" -The old actor doesn't mind giving himself a rub, you see. Well, having -fairly established himself in the sweet graces of the young lady, old -Mac, from his point of observation, kept one eye steadily fixed upon a -certain gentleman whose name commences with G, and who seems to have a -habit of biting his nails--a sign of ill-temper, my son. Old Mac was -on the watch, my son--"On the Watch," a fine title for a drama, and I -wish I had time to write it. This gentleman whose name commences with -G did not appear to relish the observation of the old actor, which was -not, for that reason, relaxed, depend upon it. And now, old Mac has -but few words to add. If, having reason to suspect the honesty of the -intentions of this gentleman whose name commences with a G, the old -actor sounded him artfully, and learnt enough to convince him that his -suspicions were correct, and if, being thus satisfied or dissatisfied, -the old actor gradually and delicately opened a certain young lady's -eyes to the true state of affairs, you may depend that he did it -partly out of the friendship he entertains for a fine young -fellow--shake hands, my son--partly out of his contempt for a certain -person whose fingers are always playing with his moustache, but -chiefly out of his admiration for a young lady whose beauty, grace, -virtue, and modesty are unparalleled in the experience of an old -fellow who has seen the world, and knows the stuff that men and women -are made of.' - -Ambiguous as this speech was--and old Mac seemed to make it purposely -mysterious, and to enjoy it--I thoroughly understood it, and I thanked -the speaker cordially. My heart felt lighter after it, and when Turk -returned--old Mac being gone--I met him with a smile on my face. - -'Has any one been here, Chris?' he asked, as he entered. - -'Only old Mac; it is scarcely two minutes since he left.' - -'No one else?' - -'No, Turk. Have you found out about Jessie?' - -'I have reason to believe she is quite well,' replied Turk, and that -the notice is only a blind. I thought Mr. Glover might have called.' - -'No; he has not been here. Did you expect to see him?' - -Turk, without replying to my question, commenced to walk up and down -his shop, which unusual proceeding on his part caused me to observe -him more closely. A strange expression of trouble and perplexity was -on his face, and I questioned him concerning it. - -'I asked you once,' he said, somewhat awkwardly, 'if you were in -trouble. You will remember it--on the anniversary of Jessie's -birthday.' - -'I remember, Turk.' - -'Yours, you said, was not a money trouble.' - -'But yours is, Turk?' - -'Yes; chiefly. Partly my own, partly another person's. Chris, if I -speak vaguely, it is because I am on my parole; I mustn't break my -word. Now we can trust one another, I think?' - -'I am sure I can trust you, Turk.' - -'And that is just what I want,' he said, with a perplexed look. - -'What is? - -'Trust. It is a tremendous misfortune, sometimes, to be a poor hard-up -devil, not to be able to lay one's hand on a five-pound note. -Generally, it doesn't matter; as a rule, I am happy enough with half a -crown in my pocket, and owing no man anything. Chris, I want a large -sum of money. Can you tell me where to borrow it on my word of -honour?' - -'How much, Turk?' - -'Eighty pounds.' - -I had more than that saved out of my earnings. - -'I can lend it to you, Turk,' I said quite gladly. - -'You, Chris! Your own money?' - -'My own money--money that I have saved.' - -'And you will lend it to me on _that_ security?' - -'What better do I want from you, Turk?' - -He resumed his walk, and was silent for a few moments. When he paused -before me, there was a soft bright light in his eyes. - -'It's good to have a friend. But, first, let me tell you. Only twenty -pounds of the eighty are for myself. I want that sum to pay off my -debt to Mr. Glover. The other sixty is for another person; and I shall -be quite twelve months in paying you back.' - -'I am satisfied, and more so, because you will be free, and out of Mr. -Glover's clutches. I can give you the money to-night. Mother has it.' - -'Is it all you have saved, Chris?' - -'No; I shall have a little left.' - -'Then, when I've paid Mr. Glover, I can give you a bill of sale over -my stock.' He looked round upon his wigs and other theatrical -property. 'It is worth the money.' - -'I can't lend to you upon that security, Turk. The first you mentioned -is the only security I can accept.' - -He laughed a little huskily. - -'All right, Chris, my boy. I'll borrow the money on those terms. This -may be a good night's work for all of us. I never thought that Turk -West's word would be good for eighty pounds. But stranger things than -that might occur, eh, Chris?' - -I acquiesced, although I had not the slightest idea of his meaning. - -'If you knew,' he continued, 'the relief it will be to me to get out -of Mr. Glover's clutches, as you called it, you would be surprised.' - -I was sufficiently surprised at the change that was apparent in his -tone concerning Mr. Glover, whom he had hitherto extolled so highly. - -'Curse all professional moneylenders, I say!' he exclaimed excitedly. -'And if ever I believe again in a man with a handle on the top of his -head, my name's not Turk West.' - -I could not help laughing at these singular words. - -'Ah, you may laugh, Chris; but when he sat in that chair--the very one -you are sitting in now, Chris, my boy--for the first time last week, -and asked me to shampoo him, and I felt the knob, it made me curious. -I thought he had been fighting, or had knocked his head against -something, but he told me he was born with it. That sort of thing runs -in families, I should say. If he had it, his father must have had it -before him. Look here, Chris; you are good at figures--I never was. -See how I stand with him.' - -He produced some papers and receipts, all of which bore reference to -the account he had with Mr. Glover. I examined them, and found that he -had paid Mr. Glover a large interest for the money he had borrowed. He -had already paid the full sum of seventy-five pounds advanced, and -there were still, as he himself had calculated, twenty pounds odd to -be paid before he could call himself free. I made out a clear -statement, and gave it to Turk. - -'Mr. Glover has managed to make a large profit out of you, Turk.' - -'Yes, and I don't know how it has been done. I was to pay ten -per cent for the money, I understood; but what with one thing and -another--lawyer's charges, drawing up of deeds that were not required, -I am sure, signing of printed papers, inquiry fees, and a dozen other -things--it has come to a deal more.' - -'I see that you only received sixty-five pounds,' I said, busy over -another calculation. - -'That is all.' - -'So that,' I continued, having finished my calculation' which I handed -to Turk, when you pay the balance to-morrow, Mr. Glover will have -received at the rate of at least sixty per cent per annum for the -loan. Not much of a friend in that, Turk?' - -'No, I should say not; I have only rightly understood this, and other -things in connection with Mr. Glover as well, within the last week.' - -'Perhaps,' I ventured to say, 'you do not now think me so unreasonable -in the dislike I took to him.' - -'It is I who was wrong, Chris, my boy. I see that now.' - -'Do you know, Turk, it pleases me in some way to be convinced that he -is not the soul of honour, as you tried to make me believe.' - -'There, there, Chris--let's say no more about him.' - -'We'll be done with him presently. I don't know how it was, but I -suspected and disliked him from the first. That trick of his of -curling his moustache into his mouth--old Mac told me he bites his -nails----' - -'I cannot tell what it was that made me pause suddenly here, but pause -I did, and the sentence was not concluded. - -'Do you know where Jessie lives, Turk?' - -'Yes, Chris, but you mustn't ask me to tell you. I am on my parole.' -He repeated this statement with a certain air of enjoyment. - -'Very well,' I said. But can you tell me when Jessie is likely to make -her appearance----' - -He interrupted me, and asked me as a favour to change the subject; and -as I saw that I made him uneasy by my questions, I discontinued them. -He walked home with me, and I gave him the money. - -'I wonder,' he said, as he pocketed it, 'that you haven't asked me -what I wanted the other sixty pounds for.' - -'I have been going to ask half a dozen times,' I replied, 'but I -thought it might be another of your secrets.' - -'It is a secret,' he said with a smile. 'And if you had asked, I -shouldn't have told you.' - -Certainly, Turk was playing a most mysterious part; but I trusted him -thoroughly, knowing what a good fellow he was. - -My mother was surprised to see me home so early, and more so when she -heard what had taken place. - -'I have a presentiment, my dear,' she said, 'that this is going to -turn out a fortunate night for us.' - -We went to the shop in the course of the night, and there was Josey -West behind the counter, as busy as a bee, serving the customers, and -chattering away like any magpie. Uncle Bryan would scarcely have known -the shop. Josey had had it cleaned and painted, and the scales and -counter, and nests of drawers in which the spices and more valuable -commodities were kept, had been so smartened up that they looked like -new. You could see your face in every bit of brass about the place. -During a lull in the business, Josey came into the little parlour -where we were sitting. - -It's wonderful,' she said; 'we've taken eleven shillings already for -pills and mixture. I'm beginning to get frightened. If an inspector of -something or other were to come in and analyse us, I should drop down -in a fit. Turk says there's nothing to be afraid of, but I'm not so -sure of that.' Presently, however, she derived consolation from the -reflection that, after all, the medicine could not possibly do any one -any harm. - -'Have you been to the theatre, Josey?' I asked. - -'If you ask no questions, my sweet child,' was her reply, 'you'll be -told no stories. Theatres! As if I haven't something a thousand times -more important to attend to!' - -For all that, she found time to have a quiet chat with Turk, and when -he went away she called me into the shop, and saying she had something -very particular to whisper to me, kissed me instead of making any -communication; by which sign I knew that Turk had told her of the -money I had lent him. She shut up the shop earlier than usual, and we -had supper together. I had not had a meal in the little parlour for -many months, and my mind was filled with the memorable incidents in my -life with which the room was connected. It was just such a night as -that on which Jessie had tapped at the door, years ago, when uncle -Bryan was asleep, and my mother and I were sitting quietly together. I -remembered the story I was reading, _Picciola_, and during a silence I -raised my head to the door, with something of expectation in my mind. -I dismissed the fancy instantly, but it was not unpleasant to me to -think of what had occurred on that night--the conversation in the shop -between Jessie and my mother, the awaking of uncle Bryan, and the -first passage-at-arms between the child and the old man. My mother -must have divined the current in which my thoughts were running, for -she took my hand under the table, and held it fondly in hers. - -'I can't help liking the little room after all, mother,' I said. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI. -A STRANGE DREAM. - - -My mother and I stopped up talking until very late on this night. The -future was not mentioned; all our talk was of the past. My mother -recalled the reminiscences of her younger days, and dwelt upon them -with affection. She drew pictures of her home when she was a girl, and -told me a great deal concerning her parents, and especially concerning -my grandmother, of whom my own impressions were so vivid. As though -she were living her life over again, she travelled from those days -gradually to the day upon which she first saw my father, and in tender -tones related many incidents of their courtship which I had never -before heard. She required a great deal of coaxing before she would -speak of her courting days, but I led her on artfully from one thing -to another, and listened to her with delight. On such occasions as -this my mother seemed to grow twenty years younger; her face grew -fresher, rounder, and in her eyes the soft light of youth lived again. -Then came the description of her wedding-day, and she laughed or grew -pensive as she recalled the names of those who were present, stopping -occasionally, until I said, 'Yes, mother, and then,'--upon which she -took up my words, saying, 'And then, my dear,'--and proceeded with her -descriptions. When, in the course of her narration, I came into the -world, I was able to take a larger share in the conversation, and I -added my experience to hers. We were by turns grave and merry, -according to the nature of our reminiscences. My grandmother's -peculiarities, her death, the search for the long stocking, and the -picture of Snaggletooth ripping open the beds and the armchairs, and -sitting on the floor with his hair full of feathers; then on to my -father's burial, and my illness, and the removal farther and farther -away from our native town until we found ourselves in London--scarcely -anything, except what was painful, was left unspoken of. - -'And there's an end to it all, mother,' I said, when we had brought -the reminiscences up to the very night upon which we were conversing. - -'No, my dear,' she replied, with a tender shake of her head, not an -end; there are brighter pages to come in my darling's life.' - -'Do you know, mother,' I said, as I stood by her side at the door of -her bedroom, 'I have often thought of grandmother's long stocking, and -fancied that one day we should find a treasure somewhere.' - -My mother laughed. - -'Why, my dear, where on earth would you look for it? We have not a -thing left that belonged to your grandmother.' - -'Yes, we have; you don't forget that brown monkey-man that used to -stand on the mantelshelf and wag its head at us?' - -'I remember it perfectly, dear child; you don't mean to say you have -kept it all this time?' - -'It is in my box now; I shall take it out to-night, and have a look at -it.' - -'You don't suppose the treasure is in that?' said my mother, laughing. - -'No; though Jessie and I did think one day that we had made a -discovery. Good-night, mother.' - -'Good-night, dear child, and God bless you. Remember, my dear, there -are brighter days to come, and your mother will live to see them.' - -That, before she went to sleep, she prayed for those brighter days, I -was certain, but I scarcely dared to hope that what she so fondly -desired would ever take place. - -Before I went to bed I took from my box the stone image of the brown -monkey-man; it was at the very bottom of my box, which I had not -opened for many months, for the reason that it contained all the -sketches I had made of Jessie, and which I had put away when I lost -her. But for these, and the tender thought which they excited, I -should have given more attention to the stone image which looked -uglier and more repulsive than ever. How such a hideous thing could be -considered an ornament it puzzled me to think; but it occurred to me -that there were more flagrant violations of art than this. On the -previous day I had seen a ghastly death's-head pin in the cravat of a -coxcomb, who seemed very proud of it. I set the image of the -monkey-man on the mantelshelf, and slowly replaced the sketches in my -box, lingering over them with fond regret. - -Among them I found a sketch with the name of 'Anthony Bullpit' at the -foot, and I remembered that it was a fancy drawing I had made of my -grandmother's lover, after reading the account of his arrest by the -detective Vinnicombe, elsewhere narrated; a sneaking figure was -Anthony Bullpit, as I had represented him, with his hang-dog look and -hypocritical face, gnawing at his finger-nails. I pushed it out of -sight, and turned again to the contemplation of my sketches of Jessie, -over which I spent a sad and tender quarter of an hour. Then, with a -sigh, I closed the box and locked it, and went to bed. It was my habit -of a night to lie awake for a few minutes with the candle alight on a -chair close to my bed. Generally I passed these minutes in reading, -but on this night 'I lay a-thynkinge,' and did not open my book. -Directly opposite the head of my bed was the mantelshelf, with the -smoke-dried monkey of a man in stone on it, and this was the last -thing that presented itself to my sight before I blew out the light. -Restless as I was with the events of the evening, and with the -conversation which had taken place between my mother and myself, I was -tired enough to fall asleep within a very few moments. But I was not -too tired to dream; my body was asleep, but my imagination was never -more active. To me, the most wonderful feature in the physiology of -dreams has always been the fact that Time, the dominant and inexorable -tyrant which rules and guides our course, and regulates the passions -and emotions of life, is in our sleep utterly set at naught; a -lifetime is compressed in a moment, as it were, and between waking and -sleeping a hundred years of history are played out. I think I must -have dreamt of every important event in my life, and of many in the -lives of others; they presented themselves to me without coherence or -sequence, and there was but one consistent feature in my fancies--the -figure of the monkey-man, which was never absent. I dreamt of -Snaggletooth and Snaggletooth's wife. She was relating the stories of -the Cock-lane Ghost and Old Mother Shipton, as she had related them in -the kitchen on the night my father lay dying upstairs, but in my -dream she was not speaking to me, but to the monkey-image, which -gravely wagged its head at her as she proceeded; Snaggletooth was -running up and down the stairs, and poking in the oddest corners, in -his search for the long stocking, and the monkey-man was assisting him -frantically, running at his heels, and tearing things open with -fiendish haste; I was in the mourning coach, following my father's -body to the churchyard, and the monkey-man was sitting opposite to me, -grinning at me; Snaggletooth was carrying me out of the churchyard, -and as I opened my eyes, the monkey-man, squatting on Snaggletooth's -shoulder, squinted at me. In the same way the image presented itself -in every incident connected with Jessie and my mother and uncle Bryan; -and when I lay trembling in bed, and Jane Painter stood in my bedroom -in the dark telling me stories of blood and murder, the monkey-man -prowled about the floor, and dropped from the ceiling, and crept from -under my bed, and sat on my pillow with its ugly face illumined. When -Jessie knocked at the shop-door, as she had done years ago for the -first time, and my mother opened it, the monkey-man entered first, and -jumped on to the table; and on the night of the amateur performance at -Josey West's the monkey-man was among the audience, seated in a place -of honour. Suddenly all this chaos of persons and circumstances came -to an end, and there were only my grandmother, and I, and the -monkey-figure sitting together. I was in my little low chair, my -grandmother, very stately and grand, was in her armchair, and the -monkey-man was on the mantelshelf. Said my grandmother in my dream, in -a very distinct tone, 'He had a knob on the top of his head, and was -always eating his nails.' I looked at the monkey-man for confirmation -of her words, and it said, in a stony voice, 'He had a knob on the top -of his head, and was always eating his nails.' After this -confirmation, my grandmother continued, 'And the last time I set eyes -on him was on my wedding-day.' Again I looked at the monkey-man, and -again it confirmed my grandmother's statement, but with a slight -difference this time, 'And the last time we set eyes on him was on our -wedding-day.' Which inference on the part of the monkey-man of being -my grandfather somewhat disturbed me. Now, at this point of my -fancies, what on earth brought old Mac, the actor, into the scene? -There he was, however, face to face with the monkey-man, who -questioned him as a lawyer would have done. 'What do you say his name -commences with?' asked the monkey-man? 'It commences with a G,' -replied old Mac. 'And what is that habit of his that you say is a sign -of ill-temper?' asked the monkey-man. 'Biting his nails,' replied old -Mac; 'he is always at it.' By this time my dream has resolved itself -into a court of inquiry; the monkey-man is dressed in a wig and gown, -which do not hide his ugliness; my grandmother, very broad and portly, -sits as judge, and I, it seems, am in some way the criminal whose case -is being tried, for my grandmother nods her head at me continually, -and says, 'Perhaps you will believe me now; all these things happened -on my wedding-day.' Old Mac fades away, and is replaced by Turk West. -'Curse all professional moneylenders, I say,' he cries; 'and if ever -I believe again in a man with a handle on the top of his head, my -name's not Turk West' 'Hold your tongue,' calls out the monkey-man; -'who wants to know what your name is? We'll come to names presently. -'When did you first discover the handle?' It isn't a handle,' says -Turk, in correction, 'it's a knob.' My grandmother nods in -confirmation. 'He had a knob on the top of his head,' she says, 'and -he was always biting his nails.' 'I don't know about that,' says Turk, -'but his fingers are always at his moustache, and he is the soul of -honour and comes from a highly-respectable family.' 'That he does,' -adds my grandmother. 'Poor Anthony! He proposed and wished to run away -with me, but my family stepped in and prevented him.' 'Very wrong,' -says Turk gravely; 'wasn't his family respectable enough for them? The -soul of honour!' 'Quite so,' says my grandmother. 'He told me, after I -had accepted this child's grandfather' (at this point of my dream I -become suddenly a child, in a pinafore), 'that life was valueless to -him without me, and that as he had lost me, he would be sure to go to -the devil.' 'Did he go?' asks the monkey-man. 'I always found him a -man of his word,' replies my grandmother. 'Now attend to me, sir,' -cries the monkey-man, in a bullying tone, turning suddenly upon Turk; -'when did you say you first discovered this knob?' 'Last week,' -replies Turk, 'when he sat in that chair' (the chair comes into the -dream) 'and told me to shampoo him.' 'You were surprised when you felt -it?' asks the monkey-man. 'I was,' says Turk, 'and I asked him if he -had knocked his head against something. He said, no, that he was born -with it.' 'And what was the remark,' continues the monkey-man, -levelling a threatening finger at me, 'you made to the prisoner at the -bar?' 'I said,' says Turk, 'that that sort of thing runs in families, -and that if he had it, his father must have had it before him.' -Suddenly, and as if it were quite in the natural order of things, we -are all listening to the statement of a new witness who has risen in -Turk's place. 'I am an officer in the detective force, and my name is -Vinnicombe. From information received, I went to Liverpool, and -tracked Anthony Bullpit on board the Prairie Bird, bound for America. -"It's no use making a noise about it," I says to him, as I slipped the -handcuffs on him; "I want you, Anthony Bullpit. You sha'n't be done -out of a voyage across the sea, but Botany Bay's the place as'll suit -you best, I should think." Here my grandmother brindles up, 'You're an -infamous designing creature,' she screams. 'He is no more guilty than -I am.' 'He pleads guilty at all events,' is the detective's reply. -'That is to spite me,' says my grandmother, 'and to prove that he's a -man of his word.' Then, by quite an easy transition, the court and the -crowd fade away, and my grandmother, I, and the monkey-figure are -again in the little parlour, and she is saying to me, 'Your -grandfather has much to answer for, child. Mr. Bullpit was transported -for twenty-one years. Some wicked people said it was a mercy he wasn't -hanged. If he had been, I should never have survived it. Poor -Anthony!' 'You would like to have a peep at him, I daresay,' says the -monkey-man to me, my grandmother having disappeared; 'come along, I'll -show him to you.' And in the same moment we are peeping through the -keyhole of Turk West's shop-door at the figure of Mr. Glover, who sits -in the chair with his fingers at his lips. Here a sudden movement or -noise partially awakes me. - -With all the details of this strange dream in my mind I lay for a few -moments half asleep and half awake, endeavouring to bring the confused -particulars into some kind of order; but the only thing that was clear -to me was the connection that had been created between Anthony Bullpit -and Mr. Glover. As I gradually returned to full consciousness, this -connection seemed to become something more than a fancy. That the knob -on Anthony Bullpit's head, of which I heard so much from my -grandmother's lips in my young days, was reproduced, according to Turk -West's testimony, on the head of Mr. Glover, was certainly no fancy; -Anthony Bullpit bit his nails; Mr. Glover had the same objectionable -habit. Stranger discoveries were made every day than the discovery -that Mr. Glover was Anthony Bullpit's son. If this were so, what -became of Mr. Glover's boast that there was not a stain upon his good -name, and that his character and the character of all his family were -above reproach? It occurred to me here that his ardent desire to make -people believe this sprang from the fact that he had something -disreputable to conceal. What made me so anxious in the matter was, -that if there were a solid foundation to the suspicion, and if I could -prove a connection between Mr. Glover and Anthony Bullpit the convict, -then I had a lever in my hands which I could use to good effect -against Mr. Glover--a lever which I believed would cause him at once -to cease his attentions to Jessie. That he had laid her under an -obligation to him was evident, and he might be inclined to persecute -her in consequence. The lever I speak of was the printed account by -Vinnicombe, the detective, of the arrest and conviction of Anthony -Bullpit for the robbery from the bank. - -I rose and lit the candle, and taking the mouldy old paper from the -hollow of the stone monkey-figure, I read it carefully. I was -particularly struck in the reading by the description given by the -detective of the peculiarity in Anthony Bullpit's teeth. If that -peculiarity existed in the teeth of Mr. Glover, it would be almost -impossible to resist the conviction that he was Anthony Bullpit's son. -I set to work at once, and made a fair copy of the 'Remarkable -Discovery of a Forger by the Celebrated Detective, Mr. Vinnicombe.' At -nine o'clock in the morning I was in Turk West's shop, with the -manuscript in my pocket. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII. -EXIT MR. GLOVER. - - -Turk regarded me with surprise. - -'An early visitor, Chris,' he said. - -'Yes,' I answered; 'I have come on some very particular business. When -do you pay the balance of your debt to Mr. Glover?' - -'I expect him here at twelve o'clock. I shall pay him then.' - -'Can you give me half an hour or so of your undivided attention, -Turk?' - -'Certainly I can: a couple of hours, if you want them.' - -'Then sit down, and read this quietly,' I said, handing him the -Remarkable Confession, 'and don't make a remark upon it until you have -finished.' - -He read it attentively, and returned it to me with a thoughtful look. - -'It is cut from an old newspaper, printed a good many years ago, Turk. -Do you find anything singular in it?' - -'I do; something very singular indeed; but how on earth did you come -across it, Chris?' - -'I will tell you another time. First, I want to know what it is that -strikes you as singular in the account.' - -'Well, Chris, there's the knob in this Bullpit's head----' - -'Yes, Turk.' - -'Mr. Glover has one precisely similar on his head.' - -I could scarcely restrain the expression of my satisfaction at this -proof that, without prompting, his thoughts were taking the same -direction as mine. - -'Yes, you told me so, Turk; and that sort of thing runs in families, -you said.' - -'I did say so, and I think so.' - -'Mr. Glover said he was born with it.' - -'Yes, he told me so distinctly,' said Turk, with a puzzled look. - -'That's all right, then. What else do you find singular in it, Turk?' - -'Well, there's that habit of Anthony Bullpit's of biting his nails. -Mr. Glover does the same.' - -'Yes; anything else?' I asked eagerly. - -'Well, Chris, the teeth. Mr. Glover's two middle teeth in his top jaw -have just the kind of slit between them that caused the detective to -discover Anthony Bullpit, for all his disguise.' - -I uttered an exclamation of triumph. - - -'Now, what do you make of all this, Turk? Do you think it possible -that such remarkable peculiarities can exist in two men without there -being a relationship between them? Turk, as sure as I stand here, Mr. -Glover is Anthony Bullpit's son. Don't interrupt me. If he is a -convict's son, what becomes of his good character and his unblemished -name, of which he is always preaching, as you know? He trades upon it, -Turk--he trades upon it; and if it were made public that his father -was a forger and a convicted thief, it would be the greatest blow he -could receive. This man is a scoundrel, Turk; a scoundrel and a -hypocrite.' - -I believe he is, Chris,' said Turk, carried away probably by my hot -words; but what good can come of exposure--what good to you, I mean? - -'Why, Turk, are you blind? Can't you see that I can make the best use -in the world of this strange discovery?' - -I told him rapidly what had passed between old Mac and me, and the -opinion which the old actor entertained of Mr. Glover, and then I -developed my own plan of action. - -'It is very simple, Turk. I want Mr. Glover immediately to cease his -attentions to Jessie, whose eyes, according to old Mac's account, have -only lately been opened to his real character. Jessie, I have no -doubt, is under obligations to him; and he may take advantage of this -to persecute her. If he does this, I shall expose him; but I shall -first give him a chance of withdrawing himself voluntarily. I think -there will be no reason to fear that he will prove an active enemy; -the proof that I hold will take the sting out of him----' - -'But,' interposed Turk, 'what if these personal marks should be mere -coincidences, and no relationship exists between Anthony Bullpit and -Mr. Glover?' - -'We shall learn that very soon,' I replied. 'I shall send him this -copy of the Remarkable Discovery with a few words of my own. If he is -quiet after their receipt, we may be sure that our suspicions are -correct. I know that he is a scoundrel--I have been convinced of that -all along, Turk, notwithstanding your defence of him--and I believe -him to be a coward. We shall see. Will you let me be present while you -are paying him the balance you owe him?' - -'I have no objection, Chris.' - -'And if I happen to say something to him--something to the -point--you'll not mind, perhaps.' - -'Say whatever you like, Chris, my boy.' - -'I want a promise from you, Turk. Not a word of all this to Jessie.' - -'All right, Chris.' - -Exactly at twelve o'clock Mr. Glover entered the shop. I was in the -back-room, and I listened quietly to the few words that passed, in the -course of which Turk told Mr. Glover that he was enabled to pay him -the balance of the account between them. Mr. Glover said that it might -stand, if Turk wished, but Turk insisted on paying him, and produced -the money. As Mr. Glover was signing the receipt to the bond, Turk -threw open the door of the room in which I was sitting, and said, - -'Chris, perhaps you would not mind witnessing Mr. Glover's signature.' - -Mr. Glover looked up with anger in his face, and our eyes met. I -quietly placed my name on the paper as a witness, and then, with a -glance at Mr. Glover's signature, I handed the paper to Turk. - -'So now, Turk,' I said, with a smile, 'I am your creditor instead of -Mr. Glover.' - -I saw that Turk did not understand why I made this apparently -unnecessary statement. - -'Oh,' said Mr. Glover, with a sneer, 'it is your money, then, with -which Turk West has paid his debt!' - -'Yes,' I replied. 'Turk is safer in my hands than in the hands of a -moneylender who charges sixty per cent. What was it you said -yesterday, Turk? Curse all professional moneylenders, wasn't it? So -say I.' - -Mr. Glover glanced from me to Turk, and from Turk to me, while his -face grew dark with passion. - -'I have been thinking, Turk,' I continued, regarding Mr. Glover -steadily, what would be the value of a receipt for money paid, -supposing the name of the person at the foot of the paper is not his -own. How would it stand in law, Mr. Glover? Supposing a person whose -real name was Bullpit----' - -I saw instantly that the shot had taken effect The dark shade of -passion disappeared from Mr. Glover's face, which was now quite white. -Added to this, the startled exclamation which escaped him was a -sufficient confirmation. - -'You shall hear from me,' he said, in a thick voice, as he turned to -leave the shop. - -'You shall hear from me first,' I replied; within two hours I will -leave a letter for you at your house.' - -I wrote my letter at once in Turk's shop. The substance of it was that -I enclosed a copy of an account of the arrest and conviction of a -criminal well known in Hertford many years ago; that this criminal had -on his person peculiar marks which were almost certain to be -transmitted to his children; that the history of this criminal was -known only to me and Turk West; that the secret of it would be -faithfully kept if the person to whom my letter was addressed would -immediately cease to honour with his attentions any of the lady -friends of the writer; and that if this condition were not accepted -and carried out in its full letter and spirit, means would be -immediately adopted for making public the Remarkable Discovery, and -the subsequent history of the forger and thief. I did not mention any -names, but Turk West said that Mr. Glover would understand my meaning. -I left the letter with its enclosure at Mr. Glover's house, and -received no answer. Three days afterwards Turk came to tell me that -Mr. Glover had left on a tour to Germany. - -'I have other news for you as well,' he said; the theatre in which -Jessie was to have appeared is let to a French Company for three -months.' - -I asked Turk no questions, remembering what he had said as to his -being on his parole, but I worked that day with a heart less sad than -it had been for many a long month past. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII. -JOSEY WEST LAMENTS HER CROOKED LEGS. - - -Exactly three weeks had passed since Mr. Glover's departure, and I -here take the opportunity of mentioning that, although I have seen the -gentleman subsequently on two or three occasions, we have avoided each -other by mutual consent--a state of things with which I am perfectly -contented. The connection between him and Turk West is also completely -severed, so that he has, as it were, dropped out of our lives. During -the above-mentioned interval, nothing of importance transpired; my -mind was busy with possibilities, but I saw no clear way of playing an -active part in their development. My mother during this time, and -especially during the past week, had been out a great deal. I guessed -that she was still searching for uncle Bryan, and I should have been -happy to learn from her lips that she had been successful in finding -him. Within a few days of the time of which I am writing, I -entertained a suspicion that she had found a clue, for when she came -home her eyes were bright, and there was an expression of great -happiness in her face; but I said nothing to her. I knew that I should -soon hear good news if she had any to tell. The special direction of -my thoughts may easily be understood by an observation I made to my -mother one afternoon at the end of the three weeks. - -'Mother,' I said, 'I think you ought to go and see Jessie.' - -She looked up with glad eyes. - -'Some feeling with regard to myself,' I continued, 'may prevent Jessie -from coming to you here, and I think it would be a good thing for you -to go to her. I know she loves you and would be glad to see you, and -you may be able to counsel and advise her. Turk West knows where she -lives, and, although he would not tell me if I asked him, I believe he -would tell you readily.' - -'Do you think so, dear child?' she asked. 'Then I will go to him, and -tell him what you say.' - -The voice is a great tell-tale, and I knew by the tune in which my -mother spoke that my suggestion had given her pleasure. - -'There is no time like the present,' I said. - -My mother rose immediately, and put on her bonnet. - -'I shall leave off work at eight o'clock,' I said, so that she might -understand I did not wish her to hurry back, and then I shall go round -to Josey West for an hour.' - -She nodded, and stood looking over my shoulder as I worked. - -'If I see Jessie,' she said, and paused. - -'Yes, mother, if you see her---- I hope you will see her.' - -'I hope so too, dear child. Shall I give her any message from you?' - -'Not unless she asks after me, mother; then you may give her my love.' - -There was the merest trembling in my voice as I said this, but it was -sufficient to agitate my mother's soul. I laid my graver aside, and -said, - -'You see how it is, mother; I cannot do or act otherwise. Jessie could -not know more about me and my feelings if I stood at her door all day -long. I never loved her more than I do now, and I believe I shall -never love her less; it would not be true if I said I was happy, but I -am far happier than I deserve to be. My mother is still left to me, -thank God!' - -'Dear child! dear child!' she murmured, with tender caresses. - -'And you must not think it strange, mother, if I don't ask you -questions when you come back. You will tell me whatever is worth -telling. Now, one other word, and then you must run away, for I have -work to finish. Should you meet with uncle Bryan----' - -'Would you wish me to, my dear?' she asked wistfully. - -'Yes,' I answered; I should like you to find him. If you do, give him -my love also, and say that I should like to come to see him, if he -will not come to us. And, remember, mother, if he wants for anything, -all that I have is his; but for him I should not have been in my -present position. As for the past, let bygones be bygones. As -Americans would say, I should be truly happy to shake hands with him -on that platform.' - -My mother kissed me, and went out of the room. I thought she had -started on her errand, but she returned in a quarter of an hour, with -a bunch of wallflowers in her hand. - -'I only came in to show you these, my dear,' she said; 'smell -them--they are very sweet. You have not studied the language of -flowers, have you, my dear?' - -'No, mother.' - -'Then you don't know what wallflowers stand for,' she said, with a -bright smile. 'Now this is for you, my dear; it is the first rose I -have seen;' and placing on my table a small rose embedded in moss, she -left the room again. I watched her from the window as she walked down -the street; she walked almost like a girl. - -On my way to Josey West in the evening, I passed the house in which I -had first made her acquaintance. The door being opened, I entered, and -found the place in an unusual bustle. Florry and her younger sisters -were dusting and cleaning up, and putting the rooms in order. In -explanation, Florry told me that their eldest brother, Sheridan, was -coming to live there with his wife and children. - -'They come in next week,' said Florry; and I daresay Clarance and his -family will follow them; they have always lived together, and they -won't like to be parted now. There's plenty of room for them all.' - -'The place will look like its old self again,' I said to Josey West, a -few minutes later on; and I added, with a sigh, 'and you'll be having -the jolly old times over again, I shouldn't wonder.' - -'I shouldn't wonder, either,' replied the little woman briskly. 'Do -you know, Chris, there's one thing I do miss--the Sunday evenings we -used to have in the old house. Now that Sheridan is coming, we'll -revive the Sunday-night suppers. You'll come, won't you, and bring -your dear mother. She's never been to one of our parties. Upon my -word, I feel quite happy only in thinking of them. There's Sheridan -and his seven youngsters, and Clarance with his five--another one -added, Chris, a fortnight ago--the sweetest little thing! Well, I do -love to have a lot of children about me. When I die, an old woman--I -shall be the queerest little old woman _you_ ever set eyes on, -Chris!--well, when I die, an old, old woman, I should like to see -heaps of children round me, so that I might take the memory of their -bright little faces away with me. It isn't often that I talk -seriously, but I've got that fancy.' - -'You ought to have children of your own, Josey.' - -Josey was stitching and mending some of the youngsters' clothes, and, -at my remark, she paused and looked at me pensively; but the next -moment she gave such a vicious dig with her needle that she broke it, -and cried, - -'Ought to have! Ought to have! Me, with my crooked legs! No, my dear, -never, never, never! Little witches don't have children. Never, never, -never!' And for the first time in my experience of her, Josey West -burst out crying. Her passion did not last long; she conquered it -within a couple of minutes, and, as she wiped her eyes, exclaimed, - -'There! A nice little fool you'll think me now, Chris!' - -I gave her a kiss, and in a little while she was herself again, -rattling away as usual. - -'I'm going to sleep in the old house every night,' she said, until -Sheridan takes possession; and Turk is coming here to sleep, and to -mind the shop, if I want to get away a bit earlier. I wish Turk would -marry. I should like to take care of his children. He's a real good -sterling fellow is Turk, and deserves a happy home. Your mother was -here this afternoon, Chris. She told me all that you said to her.' - -'You guess, I daresay, what my reason is in wishing her to see -Jessie.' - -Josey West laughed. 'I guess, you daresay! Well, yes, I can guess, -although I am not in love.' - -I shook my head. 'I don't think you have guessed, Josey. It is not for -myself that I want mother and Jessie to come together again.' - -'What other reason can you have, my sweet sensitive child?' - -'Oh, I don't mind your bantering me, Josey. Do you remember sending me -a letter from uncle Bryan addressed to mother, when we were away at -Hertford?' - -'Yes; and I wondered at the time what such a thick letter could be all -about.' - -'It contained a great secret, Josey, and a very wonderful story -concerning Jessie.' - -'Indeed!' said Josey, with a cautious look at me. - -'I think there is no harm in telling you, especially as you'll not -speak of it.' - -'Oh, you may trust me, Master Chris.' - -'It is a story concerning Jessie and her father.' - -'Indeed! So Jessie has a father.' - -'You would never guess who her father is, Josey.' - -'Then I won't break my head over it; but I shall know if you tell me.' - -Uncle Bryan is her father; so that you see Jessie and I are cousins.' - -Josey did not express the surprise I expected she would; an expression -of thoughtfulness was in her face. - -'Go on, Chris; I am waiting to hear more.' - -'Well, neither Jessie nor uncle Bryan knew of the relationship -existing between them until the day that Jessie went away from this -house, and then it came upon them both like a thunderbolt. It was -because Jessie discovered that uncle Bryan was her father that she ran -away from him.' - -'That sounds very dreadful, Chris.' - -'There is a dreadful story attached to it--which I mustn't tell you -nor anybody, Josey. They are both very much to be pitied; but I am not -sure that I don't pity uncle Bryan more than I do Jessie. However, -there it is; they are father and daughter, and they are separated. -Never mind what has passed, I ask you is this right--is it natural? -Uncle Bryan is an old man, and cannot have many years to live. That he -repents many things he has been unconsciously guilty of in the past, I -am certain.' - -'That's a curious phrase,' interrupted Josey, with her thoughtful -manner still upon her. 'Unconsciously guilty.' - -'It is a correct one. His has not been conscious guilt; what was bad -in his character was stamped in him, and was almost forced to take -root by the unfortunate circumstances in his early life; what was good -never had a chance. We all have good and bad in us, Josey, and -surrounding circumstances have much to do in making one or the other -predominate in our characters. What is that thought that crossed your -eyes just now, Josey?' - -'I was thinking that you have grown into a perfect philosopher, Chris. -Go on.' - -'Say that uncle Bryan had been blessed with such a mother as my mother -is--he would have been a different man; he couldn't have helped being -a better man. He would have believed in God, in goodness; he would not -have grown into a misanthrope. Josey, if there is anything good in -me--and I hope I am not all bad--I have mother only to thank for it. -It makes me tremble to think that I was so nearly losing her, and that -her love for me was very nearly her death; and I know, to my sorrow, -that for a long time I repaid her affection with indifference. Well, -but that is all over now, thank God. If uncle Bryan had had a good, -tender, considerate mother, many unhappy things would not have -occurred to him, and it might have been better for Jessie also. As I -said, it is dreadful to think of father and daughter being separated -as they are, and to think that uncle Bryan might die without a word of -affection passing between them. Well, that was the thought in my mind -when I said to mother to-day that she ought to go to Jessie; for if -mother finds uncle Bryan--and I have an idea that she will--no one but -she can bring him and Jessie together.' - -'But you didn't tell your mother this, Chris?' - -'No; mother did not need telling. She knew my meaning well enough. -Words are not required between us now, Josey, to make us understand -one another.' - -'And so, and so, and so,' said Josey, with tender gaiety, when I -had concluded, 'everything having been made right, they lived happily -together for ever afterwards.' - -It was with sadness I remembered that those were the very words which -Jessie had spoken to me in the little parlour in which Josey and I -were now conversing. - -'Now I'm a witch,' cried Josey, 'and I'll give you three wishes. What -are they?' - -I looked at her reproachfully, but she did not heed me. She hobbled -about as witches are in the habit of doing on the stage, and waved the -poker over my head, and conducted herself generally in a ridiculous -manner. - -'Halo!' cried Turk, poking his head in at the door. 'What are you -about with your pokers? What a pity I didn't come in a minute later! -There's an account I could have written for the papers! "The first -thing that met Our Correspondent's view was the distended"--distended -is good, Chris, my boy; I've seen it used so--"was the distended form -of the unfortunate victim on the ground, winking his last gasp. Over -him stood the infuriated figure of a woman, who, with glistening eyes -and rage in her countenance, was brandishing the murderous weapon--an -enormous crowbar, weighing fifty-three pounds--preparatory to giving a -last fell stroke to the prostrate form at her feet." That's the style, -Chris; a penny a line. Spin it out--_must_ have at least two columns. -"Upon inquiry among the neighbours, who stood in clusters about the -building in which the murderous deed was perpetrated, Our -Correspondent learned that jealousy was the cause of the fatal -assault. It appears that thirteen years ago there lived in a certain -street, called et cetera, et cetera, et cetera." Now, after that, -Chris, if you start an illustrated paper, and don't employ me as -Special Correspondent, I shall have a bad opinion of your judgment.' - -I was relieved by this diversion, and upon Turk proposing that we -should pay a visit to the Royal Columbia Theatre, in which he had -played the first villain for so long a time, I gladly assented. - -I left a message for my mother, desiring her to wait with Josey until -I returned, and Turk and I strolled to the theatre. I found not the -slightest alteration either in the theatre, the audience, or the -performance; they were all the same--the same atmosphere, the same -fashions, the same pieces with different names. The very dresses were -the same; but I was bound to confess that the First Villain was vastly -inferior to Turk, who, I learned, had left a reputation behind him -which would last while the walls held together. We did not stay longer -than an hour, and then, as we had done on the occasion of my first -visit to the Royal Columbia, we visited a neighbouring bar, and over -our pewter pots listened and took part in a precisely similar -conversation to that which I had listened to with such respectful -admiration and attention after the performance of the thrilling drama -of _The Knight of the Sable Plume_. The decadence of the drama, the -low ebb of dramatic literature, the glorious days of Garrick and -Kemble, the inferior parts which men and women of genius were -compelled to play upon the mimic stage, the false positions which -pretenders were puffed into by venal critics who ignored real -talent--these were the themes touched upon; and I began to reflect -whether this state of things was chronic in the profession, and -whether, when the golden age of the drama is in its full meridian, the -decadence of the drama will not be spoken of as mournfully as it is in -the present day. - -My mother was waiting for me when I returned; but although she was -exceptionally bright and happy, and although there was a tenderly -joyous significance in her words and manner towards me, she said -nothing of the result of her visit to Jessie. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX. -UNCLE BRYAN AGAIN. - - -'Chris,' says my mother to me, on the following day, can you leave off -work an hour earlier this evening?' - -'Yes, mother,' I replied; 'at six o'clock if you like.' - -'Then at six o'clock,' she says gaily, 'I shall take possession of -you.' - -As the hour strikes, she comes to my side, dressed for walking. 'No -tea, mother?' I ask. - -'We are going out to tea, my dear,' she answers. - -I keep her waiting but a very few minutes, and presently we are in the -streets. I know that something of importance is about to be disclosed -to me, and that it will please my mother to be allowed to disclose it -in her own way; therefore I hazard no conjectures, and we talk on -indifferent subjects. But this does not prevent me from working -myself into a state of agitation as to the precise nature of our -errand. We take the omnibus to Holborn, and from there we walk towards -Bedford-square. My mother leads the way down a clean narrow street, -and we pause before a small three-storied house. - -'Somebody lives here that we know,' says my mother, as she knocks at -the door. - -'Can it be Jessie?' I ask of myself, as I glance upwards. There are -flowers on the window-sills of the first and third floor; those on the -first floor are especially fine, and almost entirely cover the -windows. It is on the third floor we stop when we enter the house. - -'Remember what you said to me, my dear,' my mother whispers as we -enter the room. There is no one to receive us, but my Mother goes into -an inner room, and comes out of it presently, and motions me with a -tender smile to go in. I enter alone; an old man with white hair is -standing by the window, looking towards the door. A grave expression -is on his face, which is deeply lined; I recognise uncle Bryan -immediately, although he is much changed. I had had in my mind a -lingering hope that my mother was taking me to see Jessie; but in the -pleasure of seeing uncle Bryan I lose sight for a few moments of my -disappointment. - -'Uncle,' I say, as I advance towards him with outstretched hand. He -meets me half-way, and clasps my hand eagerly in his, and then turns -aside with quivering lips, still holding my hand. I know that he has -noticed both my pleasure and my disappointment, and I hope it is not -the latter that causes him to turn aside. - -I have said that he is changed, but I find it difficult to explain -in what way he is different from what he was. It is not that his -hair has grown quite white during the months that we have been parted, -it is not that his form is bowed, or that his features are more -deeply-lined; the same shrewd thoughtful expression is there, but in -some undefinable way it is softened, and although the old look of -self-reliance is in his eyes, it is less hard than it was. As I -silently note these changes, I am reminded of a passage I read a few -days before this meeting, in which a man is said to have had in his -face an expression which might have been brought there by the touch of -angel fingers on his eyelids while he slept. - -'I received your message yesterday, my dear boy,' he says presently. -'Your mother brought it straight to me. It gladdened my heart -inexpressibly.' - -Then I know that my mother must have been in the habit of visiting him -for some time; it does not surprise me to learn this; every day of her -life brings me fresh proofs of her goodness. - -'How long ago was it, uncle,' I ask, 'since mother discovered where -you were living?' - -'Quite a month, my dear boy,' he replies, and adds quickly, 'it was my -wish that she should say nothing to you until I gave her permission.' - -I smile softly at this defence of her. - -'She can do nothing wrong,' I say. 'I think I know the spirit that -lives in the hearts of angels.' - -My mother, who is preparing tea for us, peeps in here. - -'Do you forgive me, my dear?' she says. 'You never thought your mother -would deceive you, I daresay.' - -'I shall have to consider very seriously,' I say, kissing her, 'before -I can pronounce an opinion on your conduct. There are some things that -take a long time in learning.' - -She stands between us, embracing us, glancing with tearful eyes from -one to the other. - -'But I must make haste, and get tea ready,' she cries, running away -from us; 'there! the kettle's boiling over.' - -'Which is the better kind of wisdom, uncle,' I say; 'that which comes -from the head or the heart?' - -He answers: 'That which touches us most deeply, which makes us kinder, -more tender and tolerant, less harsh and dogmatic, more charitable and -merciful, must be the better kind of teaching. All this springs from -the heart. You said to your mother just now that some things take a -long time in learning. I have been all my life learning a lesson, and -have but now, when I am near my grave, mastered it. In plays, in -poems, in stories, in songs, those words and sentiments which appeal -to the heart are invariably most effective. You see, my dear boy, my -views are changed.' - -After this he asks me about myself, and I tell him what has passed, -and he listens with pleasure and patience, as though he had not -already heard it all from my mother's lips--but I do not think of this -at the time. - -'You have not mentioned Jessie's name,' he says, 'thinking perhaps it -would pain me; but I can speak of her without grief, if not without -sadness. I have only one wish in life now, my dear lad.' - -Believing that he refers to a reconciliation between himself and -Jessie, and having full faith in my mother's power to bring this -about, I say that I earnestly hope it will be fulfilled, and that I -believe it will be. He gazes at me with a soft light in his eyes. - -'You know in what relation she stands to me, Chris?' - -'Yes, uncle.' - -If I could give her to you, my dear boy----' - -But I stop him here, and beg him in scarcely distinct words not to -continue the subject. - -'But one word, Chris,' he says; 'you love her still?' - -'With all my heart, uncle, and shall all my life. But it hurts me to -speak of her; I can bear it better in silence.' - -My mother calls out that tea is ready, and once more we three sit down -together. - -'I miss the little parlour,' my mother says; 'how many happy years we -lived there!' - -She forgets all the sorrow and pain we experienced there, and recalls -only the tenderest reminiscences. Occasionally a flash of uncle -Bryan's old humour gives piquancy to the conversation, but there is -now no bitterness or cynicism in what he says. At eight o'clock my -mother puts on her bonnet; I am surprised that we are going so early, -but she says it is a fine night and that she feels inclined for a -walk. - -'Uncle Bryan will walk with us,' I say. - -My mother shakes her head, smilingly, and says she does not want him. -I look towards uncle Bryan; he does not seem in the least disturbed. - -'We shall see each other again soon,' he says, as he shakes hands with -me on the doorstep of his house. - -'You will come to us, then,' I say eagerly. 'I want to show you my -work.' - -'Yes, I will come very soon; but your mother will see to everything, -Chris.' - -'There is one thing I want particularly to ask you, uncle, if you'll -not mind.' - -'Say it, my dear boy.' - -'Living here, all alone, as you are doing,' I say, and I pause -somewhat awkwardly. - -He assists me. - -'Yes, my dear boy--living here all alone, as I am doing----' - -'I was thinking it must be very lonely for you, uncle.' - -'It is a lonely life, Chris, living by oneself.' - -'And without any friends near you.' - -'Yes, my dear boy.' - -'I want you to give up these rooms, uncle, and come and live with us, -or if you wouldn't like to do that, to go back to your shop.' - -His eyes brighten; my mother's eyes also are beaming. - -'It would be a pity to take the shop away from that good little woman, -Josey West. And you would really like me to come and live with you -again?' - -'It would make us very happy--mother especially. Look at her face.' - -'With all my eccentricities and oddities, you would still wish me to -come?' - -'Ah, but you are altered now.' He makes a grimace. 'Well, even if you -were not, I should be very, very glad if you will come. You can give -me lessons in flower-growing.' - -I glance up to the windows in which the flowers were blooming. His -eyes follow mine. - -'Which do you think the best, Chris; those on the first or those on -the third floor?' - -'On the first floor certainly, and I am surprised at it. I thought no -one could beat you. Mother was never so successful as you were. Your -flowers were always the finest.' - -He rubs his hand, and says, - -'Well, we shall see, we shall see.' And then, more earnestly, 'I am -glad you have asked me, Chris; I was wishing for it. Good-night now; -we'll talk of it by and by.' - -As he seems evidently wishful to get rid of us, and as my mother seems -no less anxious to go, I take my leave. On our way home we pass a -theatre, and my mother expresses a wish to enter; we go into the pit, -and witness a French comic opera done into English. The performance is -a good one, but is spoilt by the unnecessary introduction of some -foreign dancers, whose coarse vulgarity and outrageous disregard for -decency shock my mother. It is seldom that my mother goes to a -theatre, and she says, as we come out, - -'If that is to become the fashion in theatres, I am more than glad -that Jessie is not going on the stage.' - -'Then she is not going?' I ask eagerly. - -'Well, my dear,' replies my mother, with sudden reserve, 'it almost -looks as if she had given up the idea.' - -At home I find a letter on the table. I open it and read: - - -'Miss West presents her compliments to Mr. Christopher Carey, and will -be happy to see him and his mother at nine o'clock to-morrow evening, -at the Old House at Home.' - - -'Why, mother,' I say, 'this is exactly like the note Josey sent to me -when I first went to her place. I suppose she wants to have an evening -in the old house before her brother Sheridan takes possession. I -wonder if the kitchen is the same. I shall never forget my feelings -when I saw it for the first time. You must come, mother, is a -wonderful sight.' - -My mother smiles an assent. - -'I am glad you asked your uncle to come and live with us,' she says, -as she wishes me good-night. - - - - -CHAPTER L. -JOSEY WEST DISTURBS US IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. - - -'Well, Master Chris,' said Josey West, as my mother and I entered the -kitchen on the following night, here are the old times come over -again. Now, children, bustle about! Florry, take mother's shawl and -bonnet.' (They all called her mother.) 'Ah, you're looking about you, -my dear; they're a queer lot of things; but they belong to a queer lot -of people. The first night Chris came here he bumped his head. I heard -some one tumbling about in the passage, and I called out to know who -was there. "It's Me," Master Chris answered, as if all the world knew -who Me was. "Come downstairs, Mr. Me," I called; and down he came -head over heels, and fell sprawling right in the middle of the -kitchen. Ah, that was a night! Do you remember the scene from _As You -Like It_, Master Chris, and how mad you were when Jessie said, "Ask me -what you will, I will grant it;" and Gus said, "Then love me, -Rosalind?" You thought no one knew what was going on inside that head -of yours, but I saw it all as clear as clear can be. I'm a witch, my -dear. Did you ever hear'--(she was addressing my mother now)--'that I -played an old witch for an entire season? I did, and played it well; I -could show you the notices I got in the papers on the day they -contained all about the pantomimes, but you would think me vain if I -did. What a big little woman I thought myself, to be sure! I thought -all the world must know me as I walked along, and I cocked up my head, -I can tell you. How we do puff ourselves out, we frogs! That's what I -asked you that night, Master Chris, the name of that thing in the -fable that puffed itself out and came to grief; and I remember saying -that of all the conceited creatures in this topsy-turvy world actors -and actresses are the worst; though I think I know some who are almost -as bad. But to come back about Gus, my dear. You've no cause to be -jealous of him; he's engaged, my dear--engaged! Here's her picture--a -pretty little thing, isn't she? But Gus never would make love to a -girl unless she was pretty, and he was always a bit of a flirt. He'll -have to settle down now; his ogling days are over; this little bit of -a thing has got hold of him as tight as a fish. They'll all be getting -married directly--all of them except me and Turk perhaps--and he's the -one I want to see married most of all. There's Florry there--what are -you listening to, Florry?--you should see how the men are beginning to -stare at her! and that sets a girl thinking, you know. As for Chris, -he must be blind; I only know if I was a young man--But there! I'll -say no more, or you'll be calling me as bad a gossip as Mrs. Simpson. -Perhaps some one else would like to say a word or two?' - -And here Josey paused to take breath. I knew that she had only -chattered on in this way for the purpose of giving me time to recover -myself upon entering the kitchen; for as I looked around upon the old -familiar walls, a flood of tender reminiscences had rushed upon my -mind, and my eyes had filled with tears. Whether by design or -accident, the kitchen presented exactly the same appearance as on the -first night I had seen it. The old theatrical dresses and properties -were on the walls; the dummy man in chain armour that had once played -a famous part in a famous drama was lurking in a corner; the curtain -of patchwork was hung on its line, dividing the stage from the -auditorium; and Matty and Rosy and Nelly and Sophy were busy at work -on stage dresses and adornments. My mother was delighted with all she -saw, and caressed the children, who all doted on her, and pulled out -of her pocket a packet of sweetmeats for them. Her brain could never -have been idle; when she went on the simplest errand, she must have -thought of it beforehand, and her affectionate thoughtful nature -invariably made that errand pleasant to some one. Her wonderful -thoughtfulness, wedded as it was to affection and unselfishness, was -one of her greatest charms; it strewed her course through life with -flowers which sprang up in barren places, and gladdened many a sad -heart. I know that, between ourselves, every wish I formed was -anticipated before I expressed it, and while the words explaining it -were on my lips, she was scheming how it could be gratified. This -charming and most beautiful quality--which in a home breeds love, and -keeps it always sweet and fresh--was exhibited even on such an -occasion as our present visit to Josey, in the pleasantest of ways. As -my mother chatted with Josey, she handed one child the thread, another -the wax, another something which the little one's eyes were seeking -for; and all these things were done in the most natural manner, and -without in the least disturbing her conversation with Josey. Trivial -as these matters are, they are deserving of mention; happy must be -that home which has such a spirit moving in its midst. - -'The youngsters are all at work, I see,' I said to Josey, when I had -mastered my agitation; 'to fill up the time, I suppose.' - -'Not a bit of it, Master Chris,' replied Josey. 'Sophy and Rosy and -Matty have an engagement to play in a new burlesque; they play the -Three Graces--very little ones they will be, but it's a burlesque, you -know--and very well they'll look. Now then, up with you, and go -through the first scene.' - -The children jumped from their chairs, and went through the scene, -speaking with pretty emphasis the few words intrusted to them, and -dancing with infinite grace. It was amusing to witness the gravity -with which they tucked up their dresses so as to show their -petticoats, which looked more like ballet clothes than their brown -frocks. We all applauded heartily. - -'Bravo! bravo!' cried Turk, who had entered during the scene. 'If the -author isn't satisfied with that performance, then nothing will -satisfy him. But nothing less than a hundred nights' run ever does -satisfy an author--How are you, mother? How do you do, Chris, my boy? -Well, Josey, old girl! No, nothing less than that ever does satisfy an -author, who invariably says, when a piece is a failure, that the -actors are muffs and don't know their business. But they get as good -as they give; let actors alone for reckoning up an author. They know -how much of the credit belongs to them, and how much to him.' - -Josey laughed merrily at this. - -'It almost always all belongs to the actor, Turk,' she said. - -'Of course it does, and very properly too. The audience say, when an -actor makes a point, What a clever fellow the author is! They should -read the stuff: they'd form a different opinion. Josey, do you know it -is nearly ten o'clock?' - -A look of some meaning passed between Turk and Josey, and Josey -desired the children to put away their work. Presently they all went -to bed, my mother going with them at their express desire. Only Turk, -Josey, and I were now in the kitchen. We talked on various subjects, -not in the most natural way, as it appeared to me; I said little, not -being inclined for conversation. Turk was somewhat thoughtful, and -more than usually observant of me, but Josey was in the wildest of -spirits, and laughed without apparent cause, and said the most absurd -things. - -'I knew a lady,' she said, 'who played a character-part in a -successful piece, which had an immense run; it was played for more -than two hundred nights. She hadn't a great deal to say, but every -time she spoke she either commenced or ended with "Bless my soul!" -Now, if you will believe me, her "Bless my soul!" made the piece. -Every time she said it the audience roared with laughter, and you -could hear them as they went away from the theatre of a night saying, -"Bless my soul!" to one another, and laughing, as if there was really -something wonderfully comic in the words. It was a great misfortune to -her, for her mind so ran upon it, that morning, noon, and night she -was continually saying nothing but "Bless my soul!" until her friends -got so wearied of it that they wished she hadn't a soul to bless. I -slept with her one night, and all through her sleep she was talking to -herself, and blessing her soul. It was the ruin of her as an actress; -for always afterwards the people in the theatre called out, "Hallo! -here conies Bless-my-soul!" and of course that spoilt the effect of a -good many of her characters.' - -'But that's not as bad,' said Turk, 'as me when I played The Thug for -seven months. Do you remember, Josey?' - -'Do I remember it?' Josey repeated, with a look of comic horror. -'Haven't I cause to remember it? You see, Chris, he had to strangle -people in the piece. How many every night, Turk?' - -'Seventeen,' he replied in a tone of great satisfaction. - -'He had to strangle seventeen people every night for seven months, my -dear. Well, that made an impression upon him, and I daresay he began -to look upon himself as a lawful strangler. I must say, that when he -strangled the people on the stage, he did it in such a manner that no -one could help believing that he enjoyed it.' - -'It was realistic acting, Josey,' said Turk complacently; 'that's what -it was.' - -'It was a little too realistic for me,' observed Josey. 'For what do -you think he did one night, Chris, my dear? He was living in this -house at the time, and we all went to bed quite comfortably, after a -heavy supper. Turk had had a great triumph that night, and the -audience were so delighted with the way in which he strangled his -victims, that they called him before the curtain more than once. We -talked of it a great deal after supper. Well, in the middle of the -night I woke up with a curious sensation upon me. Something seemed to -be crawling towards me very stealthily. I listened in a terrible -fright, and sure enough I heard something crawling in the room. I -lit a candle quickly, you may be sure; and there I saw Turk in his -nightshirt, as I'm a living woman, creeping about on the floor, as he -was in the habit every night of creeping about on the stage in the -character of The Thug. He was fast asleep, my dear. "Turk! Turk!" I -cried, and I was about to jump out of bed and give him a good shaking, -when he shouted, "Ha! ha! I have you! Die! die!" and he ran up to me. -My dear, if I hadn't jumped out on the other side of the bed, and -poured a jug of cold water down his back, I believe he would have -strangled me. It woke him up, and a nice state he was in. Every night -after that, until the run of the piece was over, and he was playing -other characters, I locked him in his bedroom, and took away the key. -I wasn't going to have the children strangled in their sleep, and Turk -hanged for it. I used to go to the door of his room in the dead of -night, and more than once I heard him crawling about on the floor, -strangling imaginary people, with his "Ha! ha! Die! die!" He never -knew anything of it, my dear, and used to come down to breakfast -looking as innocent as a lamb.' - -Turk seemed to take pride in this narration. - -'It shows that I was in earnest,' he said. 'There's ten o'clock -striking.' - -We listened in silence, and did not speak until the last echo had -quite died away. Then I raised my head and saw that Josey was looking -at me very earnestly. - -'Chris, my dear,' she said, somewhat nervously, 'you have good cause -to remember the first night you came into this house.' - -'Indeed I have, Josey,' I replied. - -'I'm going to give you better cause to remember to-night. I'm a little -witch, you know.' She hobbled about the kitchen, and, after going -through some absurd pantomime, came and stood close behind me. I -should have been inclined to laugh, but that Turk's serious face made -me serious. 'Now, then,' she continued, placing her arms round my -neck, and her hands upon my eyes, 'ever since I played that witch, -I've had the idea that I could do magic things if I tried. I'm going -to try now; shut your eyes, and wish.' She placed her lips close to my -ear, and I thought she was about to whisper something, but she kissed -me instead. I humoured her, and did not make an effort to free myself -from her embrace. We must have remained in this position for fully two -minutes, during which time I heard the door open and shut. When Josey -removed her hands, I saw my mother sitting on one side, and uncle -Bryan on the other. I held out my hand gladly to him; Josey clapped -hers in delight. - -'It was a whim of this good little woman's,' said uncle Bryan, looking -at Josey affectionately. 'And we were compelled to let her have her -way. We owe her too much to refuse her anything.' - -'But you don't look as surprised as I thought you would, Master -Chris,' exclaimed Josey, in a tone of assumed disappointment. - -'Well, the truth is, Josey,' I said, 'I saw uncle Bryan yesterday; so -it is not so much of a surprise as you thought it would be.' - -'Oh, indeed!' she said. - -'And then again,' I said, taking her hand, 'do you think that anything -kind from you can surprise me? No, indeed, Josey; we all have cause to -know the goodness of your heart. I couldn't love a sister better than -I love you.' - -'Did anybody ever hear the like of that!' she exclaimed, laughing and -crying at one time. 'As if a single girl wanted to be loved like a -sister! Never mind, Chris, my dear, don't mind what I say; you know -what I mean. But, as the first act of my piece is not as successful as -I thought it would be, I shall have nothing to do with the second. Oh, -yes, it's in two acts, Chris!' - -Before I could speak, uncle Bryan took up her words. - -'It is another of this good little woman's whims, my dear boy,' he -said, that we should all sleep in the old shop to-night, as we used to -do, your mother, you, and I. It will only be for this one night, -Chris, notwithstanding Josey's persuasion, for if all goes well, I -shall regularly make over the business to her; and to-morrow morning -she will take possession again.' - -'You have decided to come and live with us,' I said; 'that is good, -isn't it, mother?' - -'We shall have time to talk over that to-night, my dear boy.' - -'Then the best thing you can do,' said Josey briskly, 'is to run away -at once and settle it. I sha'n't be able to close my eyes until I know -how it is all settled. There! Away with you!' And she fairly bustled -us out of the house. - -'Let us walk slowly,' said uncle Bryan, 'it is a fine night, and I -have something to say to you. Nay, Emma, don't walk away; I should -like you to hear me. Chris, the words you addressed to me the last -night we were together in the old shop have never left my mind. Do not -interrupt me, my dear boy--I think I know what you wish to say. You -would say that you spoke too strongly, and that you painted all that -had passed in colours too vivid; let that be as it may, you spoke the -truth. I recognised it then; I recognise and acknowledge it now. But -the pain which I suffered--and I did suffer most keenly, my dear -boy--was not so much for myself as for your dear mother, for I saw -that every word you spoke wounded her tender heart. Had you seen this, -you would have held your tongue, and I should have been spared a just -punishment. Chris, I did not ask you yesterday, although it was in my -mind to do so; I ask you now: have you forgiven me?' - -I was humbled by the humbleness of his tone and manner. It might have -been a child who was pleading to me. I found it impossible to speak, -but I threw my arms round his neck, and kissed him. - -'That is well, that is well,' he said; 'I have but one wish now--to -repair the wrong I have done. You said that I had driven all hope of -happiness from your heart; what kind of happiness should I experience -if I could restore what I have robbed you of! Repentance is good; -atonement is better!' - -I knew by his agitated tone how strong was his wish, and I pressed his -hand. Silence was best at such a time. - -Shortly afterwards we arrived at the shop, and I saw a light gleaming -through the shutters. To my surprise, uncle Bryan, instead of -unlocking the door, knocked at it, and I found myself wondering who -was inside; all the members of Josey West's family were at home in -their old house. As uncle Bryan knocked, my mother grasped my hand -tightly; I looked into her face, and saw in it an expression of love, -so sweet and pure, and yet withal so wistful and yearning, that a wild -unreasoning hope entered my heart. I could not have defined it, but it -seemed to me that something good was about to occur. The door was -opened from within, and uncle Bryan stood for a moment on the -threshold. Before I could follow him my mother pulled my face down to -hers, and kissed me more than once with great tenderness. - -'You are crying, mother,' I said; and then I thought that joy on -entering the old shop, and sleeping again beneath its roof, had caused -her tears. - -'God bless you, my darling!' she sobbed; 'God bless you!' - -We entered the shop; uncle Bryan was standing there alone; a light was -in the little parlour. - -'Go in, Chris,' he said. - -'I went in, and there sat Jessie, working at the table. She looked -towards me, with a smile that was tender and arch upon her lips. I -passed my hands across my eyes, scarcely believing the evidence of my -senses. - -'It is true, Chris,' she said, rising; 'are you not glad to see me?' - -I looked round for uncle Bryan and my mother; they were not in the -room, and the door was closed behind me. Then I understood it all. - -'Have you come back for good, Jessie?' I asked. - -'I can't hear you,' she replied, 'you are so far away!' - -I stepped close to her side, and my arm stole round her waist; she -sighed happily. - -'Have I come back for good?' she repeated. 'That is for you to decide, -Chris.' - -'You are in earnest with me, Jessie?' - -She smiled. 'I saw you yesterday,' she said. - -'Where?' - -'When you came to see your uncle Bryan; I have been living in the same -house, on the first floor, Chris, where the finest flowers are. Do you -begin to understand?' - -'Tell me more, Jessie. Did mother know you were living there?' - -'Yes, and Josey West, and Turk also. Nearly all that money Turk -borrowed of you was for me to pay what Mr. Rackstraw said I owed him. -Would you have lent it to him if you had known?' - -'You must answer that question for me, Jessie,' I said, still -uncertain of the happiness that was in store for me. - -We were standing by the mantelshelf, on which lay a little packet in -brown paper. Jessie took it in her hand. - -'Mother told me to give you this, Chris. Stay, though; what is that -round your neck?' - -'The ribbon you gave me, Jessie.' - -'And the locket, where is that?' - -'It is here, Jessie.' I showed it to her; the earnest look that was -struggling to her eyes came into them fully. - -'You did not cast me quite away, then? Have you always worn it, -Chris?' - -'Always, Jessie.' - -'I am glad, I am glad,' she murmured, and presently said, 'Here is -your packet, Chris.' - -I opened it, and found the watch and the ivory brooch I had intended -to give Jessie on her birthday. - -'Do you know what is in this packet, Jessie?' - -'No, Chris.' - -I took the trinkets out of the paper: - -'I bought them as a birthday present for you, Jessie. Look at what is -engraved inside the watch, and if you can accept it, you will make me -very happy.' - -She opened the case and read: 'From Chris to Jessie, on her eighteenth -birthday. With undying love.' Her eyes were fixed upon the inscription -for a much longer time than was necessary for the reading and -understanding of the words. When she raised them, tears were -glistening in them. - -'Will you fasten it for me, Chris?' she said, in a low soft tone. - -With an ineffable feeling of happiness I placed the slender chain -about her neck, and while my arms were round her, she raised her face -to mine, and I kissed her. - - -A few minutes later, while we were still alone, Jessie said, - -'You know why I left home on my birthday, Chris?' - -'I know all, Jessie.' - -'And yet not quite all, I think. I shall have no secrets from you, -Chris, not one. I believe I should have left soon afterwards, even if -it had not been for my mother's letter, and for the discovery that -uncle Bryan was my father.' - -'For what reason, Jessie?' - -'You do not suspect, then?' - -'I have a dim suspicion, dear, but I would prefer you to tell me.' - -'Chris,' she said, very seriously, 'you loved me too much.' - -'That could not be, Jessie.' - -'It could and can be. In your love for me you forgot some one else, a -thousand million times better than I am, Chris.' - -'My mother?' - -'Your mother. I reproached myself every day and every night for being -the cause of it. I was afraid that your attachment to that dearest -angel on earth was growing weaker and weaker, and I knew that I was -the cause of it. I saw the pain, the unutterable pain, my dear, that -your neglect of your mother was causing her tender heart, and I was -continually striving to discover in what way you could be 'brought to -learn how much more pure and beautiful and sacred her love was than -mine. If things had gone on in the same way, I should have run away as -it was, Chris, so that you might have been forced to seek for comfort -in the shelter of her love. Do you understand me, my dear? Your love -for me made you colour-blind.' - -How much dearer this confession made Jessie to me I need not describe. - -'I see things in a better light now, my darling,' I said humbly; 'I am -not colour-blind now.' - -Uncle Bryan and my mother would not have disturbed us all the night if -we had not called to them to come in and share our happiness. - -Those who understand the strength and purity of love can understand by -what links of tender feeling we were henceforward bound to one -another--sacred links which death itself will be powerless to sever. - -Jessie sat on a stool at her father's feet; my mother and I sat close -to them, my hand on Jessie's neck, clasped in one of hers. - -It must have been two o'clock in the morning, and we were still -talking, unconscious of the hour, when a great thumping was heard at -the street-door. I jumped to my feet, and opened the door, and Josey -West ran in. - -'I couldn't help it, my dears,' she cried; 'I know I have no business -here, but I should have done something desperate if I hadn't run round -to see how you were all getting on. I went to bed, but as I'm a living -woman I couldn't sleep a wink; so I got out of bed and dressed myself, -and thought, I'll just see if there's a light in the shop. And when I -came and saw the light, how could I help knocking? Well, Chris, how do -you like the second act? Better than the first? I do believe, as the -speechmakers say, this is the happiest day of my life.' - -And the queer good little woman fell to crying and kissing us. - -I am afraid you would scarcely believe me if I were to tell you at -what time we went to bed that morning. - - - - -CHAPTER LI. -MY MOTHER'S BIBLE. - - -I resume my pen after an interval of two years. - -Within a few weeks after the events described in the last chapter -Jessie and I were married. There were six bridesmaids, Josey and -Florry West, and their four little sisters. On that day my mother gave -uncle Bryan a Bible. - -Josey is sole proprietor of the grocer's shop, and the business has -wonderfully improved. She is really making and saving money. This of -course is known, and has attracted the attention of more than one -young man; I say more than one, for there is one in particular who -seems to consider that if he were a grocer he would be in his proper -groove. His chance, however, of getting into that groove does not -appear to be a good one. - -'I know what he's casting sheep's eyes at,' says Josey, tossing her -head; I see him reckoning up the stock every time he comes into the -shop.' - -She does not openly discourage him; she makes him spend all his -pocket-money in candied lemon-peel and uncle Bryan's medicines, which -are having an immense sale. - -'You are injuring that young man's constitution, Josey,' I say. - -'All the better,' she replies; 'with his present constitution, he'll -never suit Josey West.' - -'Don't you ever intend to marry, Josey?' - -'I haven't quite made up my mind, Chris; but if I don't die an old -maid I shall be very much surprised.' - -Turk is doing well, but I have lately discerned in him an itching to -go on the stage again. He has purchased a splendid wardrobe that -belonged to a famous First Villain, and he is reading a manuscript -play by a new author with a character in it which he says would take -all London by storm. - -'No one can play that character but Turk West,' says old Mac, who is -egging him on. - -'It would be a thousand pities,' says Turk, 'not to play the piece. -It's a work of genius--original, Chris, my boy, original.' And then he -adds musingly, 'I've a good mind to; I've a good mind to. The -situations are tremendous. New blood, Chris, that's what's wanted--new -blood.' - -Florry is just married. Her husband is a very elegant young man, and -plays walking gentlemen. Every year babies are being introduced into -the world by the married Wests. The number of children in that family -is something amazing, and aunt Josey is idolised by all of them. - -Uncle Bryan lives with us. I am prospering, and our home is a very -happy one. How could it be otherwise with two such women as my mother -and Jessie to brighten and bless it! A great grief, however, came to -us lately. - -Our union was blessed by a child--a sweet beautiful little girl, whose -presence was a new happiness to us. I have not the power to describe -the emotion which filled my heart when this treasure was placed in my -arms; Jessie's joy and my mother's may be imagined, but it would be -difficult to realise the depth of uncle Bryan's feelings towards the -darling. We named her Frances, after Jessie's mother; it was uncle -Bryan's wish. His love for the dear little creature became a worship; -he was restless and unhappy if a waking hour passed without his seeing -her. He nursed her, and prattled to her, and rocked her cradle, and -would sit for hours by her side while she was sleeping. She grew to -love him, and her beautiful eyes would dilate, and she would wave her -dimpled arms when he held out his to her. When she was ten months old, -and just when she began to lisp the word so dear to a mother's ear, -she was taken from us. - -'Ah, how well I remember the sad days that followed! This may sound -strange, when you know that a very few months have passed since our -bereavement, but it expresses my feeling. Our darling seemed, as it -were, to sink into the past, and I saw her ever afterwards, as one in -a deep pit looks upwards in the daylight to the heavens and sees a -star there. When I am an old man, the memory of this dear child will -shine with a clear light among a forest of unremembered days. On the -night before she was buried, I walked to the room where she lay in her -coffin. I opened the door softly, and saw uncle Bryan on his knees by -the coffin's side; his hands were clasped, and on the body of our -darling lay an open book from which he was reading. It was the Bible -which my mother had given him on our wedding-day. - -Farewell. - - - - - -END OF VOL. XV. -LONDON: ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W. - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Jessie Trim, by B. L. Farjeon - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JESSIE TRIM *** - -***** This file should be named 53724-8.txt or 53724-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/7/2/53724/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page images provided by -Google Books (Mercantile Library, New York; New York Public -Library) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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