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Farjeon"> - -<meta name="Publisher" content="Tinley Brothers"> -<meta name="Date" content="1874"> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> -<style type="text/css"> -body {margin-left:10%; - margin-right:10%; background-color:#FFFFFF;} - - -p.normal {text-indent:.25in; text-align: justify;} -.center {margin: auto; text-align:center; margin-top:24pt; margin-bottom:24pt} - - - -p.right {text-align:right; margin-right:20%;} - -p.continue {text-indent: 0in; margin-top:9pt;} - - -h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 {text-align: center;} - -span.sc {font-variant: small-caps; font-size:110%;} -span.sc2 {font-variant: small-caps; font-size:90%;} - -hr.W10 {width:10%; color:black; margin-top:0pt; margin-bottom:0pt} - -hr.W20 {width:20%; color:black; margin-top:12pt; margin-bottom:12pt} - -hr.W50 {width:50%; color:black;} -hr.W90 {width:90%; color:black;} - -p.hang1 {margin-left:3em; text-indent:-3em;} -p.hang2 {margin-left:3em; text-indent:0em;} - - -</style> - -</head> - -<body> - - -<pre> - -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) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<p class="hang1">Transcriber's Notes: This edition of Jessie Trim was published -by<br> -Tinsley Brothers (London) in two installments exerpted from the following issues<br> -of Tinsleys' Magazine:</p> - -<p class="hang2">Vol. XIV. From January to June 1874. Chapters I.-XXV.<br> -https://books.google.com/books?id=Dj8xAQAAMAAJ<br> -(Mercantile Library, New York; New York Public Library)</p> - -<p class="hang1">Vol. XV. From July to December 1874. Chapters XXVI.-LI.<br> -https://books.google.com/books?id=1-kRAAAAYAAJ<br> -(Mercantile Library, New York; New York Public Library)</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3>TINSLEYS' MAGAZINE</h3> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>LONDON:<br> -ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3>TINSLEYS' MAGAZINE.</h3> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<hr class="W50"> -<h4>VOL. XIV.<br> -From January to June 1874.</h4> -<hr class="W50"> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>LONDON:</h5> -<h3>TINSLEY BROTHERS,</h3> -<h4>8 CATHERINE STREET, STRAND, W.C.</h4> -<h5>[<i>All rights of translation and reproduction reserved</i>.]</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>CONTENTS.</h4> -<h4><span class="sc">Jessie Trim</span>. By B. L. Farjeon, Author of -Blade-o'-Grass,'<br> -'Golden Grain,' Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses,' 'Grif,' 'London's<br> -Heart,' and 'Joshua Marvel:'</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>CONTENTS.</h4> - -<p><span class="sc">Chap.</span></p> -<div style="margin-left:10%"> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_01" href="#div1_01">I. My Grandmother's -Wedding.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_02" href="#div1_02">II. I am frightened of my -Shadow.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_03" href="#div1_03">III. My Grandmother's Long -Stocking.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_04" href="#div1_04">IV. I murder my -Baby-brother.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_05" href="#div1_05">V. I play the Part of -Chief Mourner.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_06" href="#div1_06">VI. In which a great -Change in my Circumstances takes place.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_07" href="#div1_07">VII. In which a Fairy in a -Cotton-Print Dress is introduced.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_08" href="#div1_08">VIII. A Postman's Knock.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_09" href="#div1_09">IX. Uncle Bryan introduces -himself.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_10" href="#div1_10">X. Our new Home.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_11" href="#div1_11">XI. In which I take part -in some lawless Expeditions.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_12" href="#div1_12">XII. A singular Episode in -our quiet Life.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_13" href="#div1_13">XIII. A sudden Shock.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_14" href="#div1_14">XIV. The World becomes -bright again.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_15" href="#div1_15">XV. Jessie's Rosewater -Philosophy.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_16" href="#div1_16">XVI. The Stone Monkey -Figure gives up its Treasures.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_17" href="#div1_17">XVII. The true Story of -Anthony Bullpit.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_18" href="#div1_18">XVIII. Uncle Bryan -commences the Story of his Life.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_19" href="#div1_19">XIX. Strange Revelations -in Uncle Bryan's Life.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_20" href="#div1_20">XX. Uncle Bryan concludes -his Story.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_21" href="#div1_21">XXI. I receive an -Invitation.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_22" href="#div1_22">XXII. I am introduced to a -Theatrical Family.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_23" href="#div1_23">XXIII. The Sunday-night -Suppers at the Wests'.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_24" href="#div1_24">XXIV. Turk, the First -Villain.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_25" href="#div1_25">XXV. Holding the Word of -Promise to the Ear.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_26" href="#div1_26">XXVI. We enjoy a deceitful -Calm.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_27" href="#div1_27">XXVII. The Storm breaks.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_28" href="#div1_28">XXVIII. Colour-blind.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_29" href="#div1_29">XXIX. Preparations for an -important Event</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_30" href="#div1_30">XXX. Jessie's Triumph.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_31" href="#div1_31">XXXI. My Mother expresses -her Fears concerning Jessie.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_32" href="#div1_32">XXXII. Jessie makes an -Explanation.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_33" href="#div1_33">XXXIII. Mr. Glover.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_34" href="#div1_34">XXXIV. Turk West's -Appearance at the West-end Theatre, and its Results.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_35" href="#div1_35">XXXV. Jessie's Birthday.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_36" href="#div1_36">XXXVI. I speak plainly to -uncle Bryan.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_37" href="#div1_37">XXXVII. Turk makes a -Confession.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_38" href="#div1_38">XXXVIII. Mr. Glover -declines to satisfy me.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_39" href="#div1_39">XXXIX. A new Fear.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_40" href="#div1_40">XL. What the Neighbours -said.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_41" href="#div1_41">XLI. Josey West declares -that she has got into her proper Groove.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_42" href="#div1_42">XLII. From Frances to her -Husband, Bryan Carey.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_43" href="#div1_43">XLIII. A happy Recovery.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_44" href="#div1_44">XLIV. At Rehearsal.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_45" href="#div1_45">XLV. Old Mac expresses his -Opinion of Mr. Glover.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_46" href="#div1_46">XLVI. A strange Dream.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_47" href="#div1_47">XLVII. Exit Mr. Glover.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_48" href="#div1_48">XLVIII. Josey West laments -her crooked Legs.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_49" href="#div1_49">XLIX. Uncle Bryan again.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_50" href="#div1_50">L. Josey West disturbs us -in the Middle of the Night.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_51" href="#div1_51">LI. My Mother's Bible.</a></p> -</div> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3><i>TINSLEYS' MAGAZINE</i>.</h3> -<h4>January 1874.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<h3>JESSIE TRIM.</h3> - -<h4>BY B. L. FARJEON,</h4> - -<h5>AUTHOR OF 'BLADE-O'-GRASS,' 'GOLDEN GRAIN,' 'BREAD-AND-CHEESE AND<br> -KISSES.' 'GRIF,' 'LONDON'S HEART,' AND 'JOSHUA MARVEL.'</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_01" href="#div1Ref_01">CHAPTER I.</a></h4> -<h5>MY GRANDMOTHER'S WEDDING.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'He had a knob on the top of his head, and he was always -eating his nails.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Then a solemn pause ensues, broken by my grandmother adding, -in a dismal tone:</p> - -<p class="normal">'And the last time I set eyes on him was on my wedding-day.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'I see you, child! Take your fingers away.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I obey her timidly, and with many a doubtful glance at the -monkey-man, I ask:</p> - -<p class="normal">'Does <i>it</i> see me, grandmother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">My grandmother regards it with a gloomy air; evidently she has -doubts. She does not commit herself, however, but says:</p> - -<p class="normal">'It will belong to you, child, when I am gone. It must be kept -always in the family.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'I had it in my pocket on my wedding-day.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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!</p> - -<p class="normal">'Grandmother!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, child.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Was the man with the knob on the top of his head----'</p> - -<p class="normal">My grandmother interrupts me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You mean the gentleman, child.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, I mean the gentleman--and who was always eating his -nails,--was he like that?' Pointing to the stone monkey-figure.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Like that, child! How can such an idea have entered your -head? No; he was a very handsome man.'</p> - -<p class="normal">A pure fiction, I am convinced, if nothing worse. How <i>could</i> -a man with a knob on his head, and who was always eating his nails, be handsome?</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">The reflection which is thus forced upon me involves such wild -entanglements of possibilities that I am lost in the contemplation of them. What <i> -would</i> have become of me? Supposing it had occurred--should I ever have been?</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'But about the man with the knob, grandmother?' I commence.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Child, you are disrespectful! The man with the knob, indeed!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'The gentleman, I mean, who wanted to marry you. What was his -name?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Bullpit. He was connected with the law, and might have become -Lord Chancellor if I hadn't blighted him.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Did he behave himself at your wedding, grandmother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'But I thought you said that the last time you saw him was on -your wedding-day?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'So I did, child; but I didn't say he was <i>at</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">I ponder deeply, but am unable to guess.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'He must have been a very wicked man, grandmother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>we</i> 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 -<i>would</i> 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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'Bring the boy in here, and let him keep me company. It will -do him more good than running about in the dirt.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'The child is unwell! He must have some physic.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_02" href="#div1Ref_02">CHAPTER II.</a></h4> -<h5>I AM FRIGHTENED OF MY SHADOW.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'You must do what my daughter desires you to do, Jane. I told -her you would help her in the house.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I won't be ordered about as if I was a bit of dirt!' -exclaimed Jane Painter, gasping.</p> - -<p class="normal">'O Jane!' remonstrated my mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Don't O Jane me!' and then followed the unreasoning argument. -'I'm flesh and blood the same as you are!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Whose servant am I--yours or hers?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Mine, Jane, and a very good servant you've been. I hope for -your own sake you are not going to be different now.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Haven't I served you faithfully?' asked Jane Painter, sobbing -herself into a quieter emotional stage.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, Jane, yes; and you shall be remembered for it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Haven't I waited on you hand and foot?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, Jane, yes; and you shall be remembered.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, Jane; and I haven't forgotten you for it. You shall be -remembered, I tell you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>should</i> 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'He will grow out of it?' questioned my mother, anxiously.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">I nodded gaily; his bright manner was better than all the -medicine.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do they really do all these things, sir?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Surely; for such as you, my boy.' I clapped my hands. 'You -see!' he said to my mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ho! Mister Friar, Don't be so bold, For fear you should make -My 'eart's blood run cold!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'I smell blood! I smell blood!'</p> - -<p class="normal">And then:</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">After that she would grind her teeth, and make sounds as -though she were drinking.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Serve him right, too, the little coward! Grind his bones on -two large stones. His blood and brine I'll drink for wine.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_03" href="#div1Ref_03">CHAPTER III.</a></h4> -<h5>MY GRANDMOTHER'S LONG STOCKING.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'She did make a will,' said Jane Painter, 'and I'm down in -it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then we will find it,' said Snaggletooth cheerfully.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Never mind,' said Snaggletooth, with a genial smile, 'we -shall be sure to find the old lady's long stocking.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am afraid we must give it up.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Woman!' exclaimed Snaggletooth, rising from the ruins, 'be -quiet!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Take it and welcome,' replied Snaggletooth. 'I hate it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">But he was no match for Jane Painter, and he retired from the -contest discomfited; did not even stop to wash his face.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_04" href="#div1Ref_04">CHAPTER IV.</a></h4> -<h5>I MURDER MY BABY-BROTHER.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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!</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>does</i> -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 <i>she</i> 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Be a good child always, Chris,' she says.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will, mother.' And the promise, given at such a time, sinks -into my heart with the force of a sacred obligation.</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I muse upon this, and presently inquire: 'Was it an accident?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'The fire? No; it was done on purpose.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Was it because the grasshopper jumped on to the steeple that -London was set on fire?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Of course,' is the reply. 'That was Mother Shipton's spite.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_05" href="#div1Ref_05">CHAPTER V.</a></h4> -<h5>I PLAY THE PART OF CHIEF MOURNER.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>he</i> -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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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?</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">As we pass out of the churchyard I notice again the broken -glass on the top of the wall, and I say,</p> - -<p class="normal">'Isn't that cruel?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why cruel?' asks Snaggletooth. 'No one can get in without -hurting himself.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Snaggletooth regards me with an eye of curiosity.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And who do you think wants to get into such a place, my -little fellow?'</p> - -<p class="normal">I do not answer, and Snaggletooth adds,</p> - -<p class="normal">'The angels, perhaps. Good--good. But they come in another -way.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No one can get out without hurting himself,' I suggest.</p> - -<p class="normal">'That is a better thought; but if they lived good lives----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, sir.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Walls covered with broken glass won't hurt them.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You are not well, my little fellow.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, sir; I feel very weak, but the doctor says I shall get -over it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Snaggletooth lifts me in his arms, and I fall asleep on his -shoulder as he carries me tenderly home.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>must</i> 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!</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_06" href="#div1Ref_06">CHAPTER VI.</a></h4> -<h5>IN WHICH A GREAT CHANGE IN MY CIRCUMSTANCES TAKES PLACE.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'My dear,' said my mother, 'we cannot afford better.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I think it would be better for us, Chris,' she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Is London a very large place?' I asked. 'As large as this?' -stretching out my arms to gain an idea of its extent.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>so</i> tired!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And we would go and live in that very place, my dear,' said -my mother, 'if we had money enough.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'When you get money enough, mother, we <i>will</i> go.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, my dear.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Mother,' I said one night, after I had lain and watched her -for a long time.</p> - -<p class="normal">She gave a start. 'Dear child; I thought you were asleep.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That's right, dear. You give me pleasure and delight. I know -my good boy will try to be a good man.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will try to; as good as you are. I want to be like you. -Could I not work now, mother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, dear child; you are not strong enough yet.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I wish I could grow into a strong man in a night,' I thought.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'It <i>is</i> like me, Chris,' she said; 'as I was once.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then you must have been very, very pretty,' I said, stroking -her cheek.</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother laughed melodiously.</p> - -<p class="normal">'When I was young, my dear,' she said with innocent vanity, -blushing like a girl, 'I was thought not to be ugly.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ugly, indeed!' I exclaimed, looking around defiantly. 'My -mother couldn't be ugly!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What do you call me now, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I'm forty, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That is not old. Tell me--why did you alter so?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Time and trouble alter us, dear. We can't be always bright.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I thought that I might be the trouble she referred to, and I -asked the question anxiously.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">I noticed something here, and, with a touch of that logical -argumentativeness for which I was afterwards not undistinguished, I said:</p> - -<p class="normal">'If I am your joy and comfort, you ought to be glad.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And am I not glad? What does my little boy mean by his -roundabouts?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You cried when you said I was your joy and comfort.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You would buy them for me if you had money?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ah! what would I not buy for my darling if I had money!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You are like a lover, my dear,' she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am your lover,' I replied, and murmured softly to myself, -'Wait till I am a man! wait till I am a man!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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!</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_07" href="#div1Ref_07">CHAPTER VII.</a></h4> -<h5>IN WHICH A FAIRY IN A COTTON-PRINT DRESS IS INTRODUCED.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'No work, mother?' I asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, my dear,' she replied; 'but come, my child, you must be -hungry.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">I noticed that she ate nothing, and I tried to persuade her to -eat.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Are you going to try again, mother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, my darling; I must try again.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She did not return until late, but she returned radiant, and -said, as she took my face between her two hands, and kissed me:</p> - -<p class="normal">'Child, dear child! God bless those who help the poor!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'God bless those who help the poor!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Potatoes have eyes, my dear,' said my mother; and we laughed -blithely over it.</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'Now we will see how rich we are.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why, mother?' I asked, as I kissed.</p> - -<p class="normal">In reply, she told me a story.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">----'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 <i>her</i> 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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">Mother!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'The sewing-machines are keeping many poor women out of work,' -she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then they are bad things,' I exclaimed; 'I wish they were all -burnt!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, my child,' she answered, with a heavy sigh.</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'Must we spend it, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Is the angel's face there?' I asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, I see it.' And she kissed the battered coin again.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then we must keep it,' I said stoutly.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But, mother,' I remonstrated, you are too ill to go out. You -ought to stay at home to-day.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I dare not, child. I <i>must</i> 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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Are you going to the workshop, mother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am going that way, child.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Did you ever see a thief of his size?' he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am not a thief,' I said, in a faint tone. 'Let me go. I -want to get home.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Have you been ill?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am tired and hungry. Let me go, please,' I implored.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Did you see me following you?' he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, sir.'</p> - -<p class="normal">My reply appeared to dissatisfy him.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then you have been shamming weakness?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, sir.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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?</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_08" href="#div1Ref_08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h4> -<h5>A POSTMAN'S KNOCK.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What is my darling frightened of?' she said soothingly. 'He -is at home, and safe in his mother's arms.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'At home!' I looked around apprehensively. 'Where's the man?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What man, dear child? The man who carried you home?'</p> - -<p class="normal">I had no remembrance of being carried home.</p> - -<p class="normal">'The man who carried me home!' I exclaimed; and repeated -wonderingly, 'Carried me home! No, I don't know him.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'There is no one here, dear child, but you and I. Taste this.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She held a cup of tea to my lips, and I drank gratefully; and -ate a slice of bread-and-butter she gave me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'There, my dear! My darling feels better, does he not?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">She held me in her arms, and caressed me, and pressed me to -her heart. My tears flowed upon her faithful breast.</p> - -<p class="normal">'How did you find me, dear child? Unkind mother that I am to -leave my darling hungry and alone all the day!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Don't say that, mother. You mustn't; you mustn't! If anybody -else said it, I would kill him!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'For what, dear child?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But, mother, you stand with your head down, as if you wanted -to hide your face!'</p> - -<p class="normal">The blood rose to her face and forehead pitifully.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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!</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">I listened in awe, and could say no word to comfort her.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">She a coward! Dear heart! Brave soul! Her voice grew softer.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">We were silent for a long time after this. I broke the silence -by whispering,</p> - -<p class="normal">'Mother, I didn't spend the halfpenny; it is on the -mantelshelf now.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Let me look at it, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She took it from the mantelshelf, and placed it in my hands.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I can see the angel's face now,' I said. 'It is the fairy in -a cotton-print dress.'</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother nodded with a sweet smile.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And the fairy is a little girl?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, dear.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And she came every Saturday night afterwards, with a basket -on her arm, and gave you a halfpenny?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, dear. How do you know?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Very well, my darling; but you haven't told me yet how it was -you found me out.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'There is some mistake; these things are not for me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why, my dear creature!' exclaimed the landlady, growing -exceedingly confidential, 'didn't you order 'em?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, I haven't marketed yet. My poor boy has been ill, and I -haven't been able to go out.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">The writing was plain enough, certainly: 'For Mrs. Carey. Paid -for. Basket to be returned.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you know the boy who brought them?' asked my mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">'To be sure I do, my dear creature! He belongs to Mrs. -Strangeways, the greengrocer round the corner.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I should like to speak to him. May he come up?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Certainly, my dear soul!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Mother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'My child!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Let me go with you,' I implored.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'O them stairs!' she exclaimed. 'They'll be the death of me! -For you, my dear.' And she held the letter towards my mother.</p> - -<p class="normal"> - 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'There's no mistake, mother,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, my dear; it is addressed to me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Then, with great care, she opened the letter, and read aloud:</p> -<br> -<p style="text-indent:10%; font-size:9pt"> -'14 Paradise-row, Windmill-street.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p style="text-indent:40%"> -'<span class="sc">Bryan Carey</span>.'</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">I started when I heard the name, for it was our own.</p> - -<p class="normal">'It is from your uncle Bryan,' said my mother; 'your dear -father's elder brother, who disappeared many years ago.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I thought he was dead, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'We all supposed so, never having heard from him.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Was he nice, mother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have no idea, child; I never saw him. But he says that he -is neither amiable nor pleasant.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Two words in the letter had especially attracted my attention.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Regular meals,' I murmured, somewhat timidly.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">She was absent for nearly three hours.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, mother?' I said, running to the door as I heard her -step on the stairs.</p> - -<p class="normal">She drew me into the room, and sat down, with her arms round -my neck.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Now, Chris, We will pack up.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Uncle Bryan sent a boy with a wheelbarrow, Chris,' said my -mother, 'to wheel your trunk home. He's waiting at the door now.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'<i>With</i> the wheelbarrow?' I asked gaily. I was in high -spirits at the better prospect which lay before us.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, dear. <i>With</i> the wheelbarrow.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>not</i> -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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_09" href="#div1Ref_09">CHAPTER IX.</a></h4> -<h5>UNCLE BRYAN INTRODUCES HIMSELF.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Been loitering, eh?' was uncle Bryan's first salutation; -sharply spoken, not to us, but to the boy.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'How much was it to be?' asked uncle Bryan, not at all -satisfied with my mother's assurance.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Thrums,' replied the boy, readily. By which he meant -threepence.</p> - -<p class="normal">Uncle Bryan regarded him sourly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Say that again, and I'll take off a penny.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, tuppence, then. I got to pay a ha'penny for the barrer. -What's a brown, more or less?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why did you start just now?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I thought I knew your voice, sir,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Thank you, Bryan,' replied my mother simply, 'I would like to -have him with me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Uncle Bryan was evidently no waster of words, and my mother -entered readily into his humour.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother laid her hand on his arm, and detained him.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Let me say a word to you, Bryan.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You will never repeat it!' he exclaimed, with a quick -apprehension of what she wished to say.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Never, without a strong necessity, Bryan.'</p> - -<p class="normal">He laughed; but it was more like a dry husky cough than a -laugh.</p> - -<p class="normal">'When a man locks the street-door,' he said, 'trust a woman to -see that the yard-door's on the latch.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I want to thank you, Bryan, for the home you have offered me -and my boy.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Perhaps it won't suit you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It will suit us, Bryan, if it will suit you to allow us to -remain.'</p> - -<p class="normal">He seemed to chew the words, 'allow us to remain,' silently, -as if their flavour were unpleasant to him; but he said aloud:</p> - -<p class="normal">'Wait and see, then.' And although my mother wished to -continue the conversation, he turned his back to us, and abruptly left the room.</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother sank into a chair; she must have been very tired, -for she had walked not less than twelve miles that day.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You must be tired too, my dear,' she said, drawing me to her -side.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Not so tired as you, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I don't feel very, very tired, my dear!'</p> - -<p class="normal">I knew why she said so; hope dwelt in her heart.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I think your uncle Bryan is a good man,' she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">I did not express dissent; but I must have looked it.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'At what time do you generally have tea, Bryan?' she inquired.</p> - -<p class="normal">'At half-past five,' he replied.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>him</i>. 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">The boy saw us; approached my mother, and said in a tone of -strong approval:</p> - -<p class="normal">'You're a brick. I say, we sold old Bryan, didn't us?'</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother could not help smiling, which heightened the -favourable opinion he had of her.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What are you going to do?' he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother explained that she was going to market.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I'll show you the shops,' he said; and his offer was -accepted.</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What have you planted in the new pots, Bryan?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Some of the new Japan lilies; they'll not flower till summer. -Don't touch them; you don't understand them.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you think she will be sorry or glad, mother, because she -will not see you to-night?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Sorry, I think, Chris; she will fancy I am ill.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But this is a great deal better, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Infinitely better, dear child: and remember, we owe it all to -uncle Bryan.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I never go to church,' was his reply.</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother looked grieved, but she entered into no argument -with him.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You have no objection to our going?' she said timidly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What have I to do with it? I dictate to no one. If you think -it right to go to church, go.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Is there one near, Bryan?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Zion Chapel isn't two minutes' walk.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Immortality in miniature!' repeated my mother, in a puzzled -tone. 'What is that from, Bryan?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'The <i>Age of Reason</i>,' he answered.</p> - -<p class="normal">There was a long pause, broken again by uncle Bryan's voice:</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Chris, my dear child,' said my mother, in a tone of infinite -tenderness, 'go upstairs and bring down my Bible.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>Age of Reason</i>; my mother sat on the other side, reading the Bible.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_10" href="#div1Ref_10">CHAPTER X.</a></h4> -<h5>OUR NEW HOME.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You will promise me, Bryan,' my mother said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you not believe, Bryan----'</p> - -<p class="normal">He interrupted her, almost vehemently. 'I believe in nothing! -If that does not content you, I cannot help it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'If I could assist you, Bryan--if I could in any way relieve -you----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You cannot. I am fixed. Life for me is tasteless.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'But, Bryan,' said my mother, with a tender movement towards -him----</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, Bryan;' and I could see that my mother was both pained -and relieved.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have; two or three words. A question first. You can be -satisfied to remain here?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, Bryan, if it satisfies you. I can do no better.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will not, Bryan.'</p> - -<p class="normal">With that, the conversation ended. In the night, when my -mother and I were alone in our bedroom, I said,</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you think uncle Bryan is a good man now, mother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Is it not good of him, Chris, to give us a home?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes,' I said; but I was not quite satisfied with her answer. -'His shell is very rough, though.'</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother laughed. I loved to hear her laugh; it was so -different from uncle Bryan's. His laughter had no gladness in it.</p> - -<p class="normal">'We shall find a sweet place here and there, Chris,' she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why do you stop, Emma?' he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I thought I might disturb you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You do not; I like to hear you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>growing</i> 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_11" href="#div1Ref_11">CHAPTER XI.</a></h4> -<h5>IN WHICH I TAKE PART IN SOME LAWLESS EXPEDITIONS.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'You are troubled, Bryan.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">How much short are you, Bryan?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I'll try to, uncle,' I said, with a sinking heart, for I had -long anticipated the dreaded moment.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Go into the shop in an offhand way, as if you were a regular -customer. I'll wait at the corner for you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you want anything else besides sugar?' he demanded -sternly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'N-no, sir,' I managed to answer.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I'm afraid he's not strong enough,' said my mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Nonsense!' exclaimed uncle Bryan; and I supported him.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I want to work,' I said; 'I should like to.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'A good trade would be the best thing,' said my mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">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. '<i>Am</i> 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. <i>His</i> 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_12" href="#div1Ref_12">CHAPTER XII.</a></h4> -<h5>A SINGULAR EPISODE IN OUR QUIET LIFE.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I must be off, mother,' I said, starting up; 'I shall have to -run for it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Good-morning, dear child,' she said; 'I shall come for you -exactly at eight o'clock.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'We have brought you a little birthday present, Bryan,' she -said, 'with our love.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'How did you know it was my birthday?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I found it out.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'How?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Psha!' he muttered impatiently.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Or perhaps I put this and that together, and found it out -that way. You can't hide anything from a woman, you know.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'He would have been much better pleased if we hadn't mentioned -it,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, my dear,' said my mother, 'you are not quite right. Your -uncle will grow very fond of that pipe by and by.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You are not well, Bryan,' she said, in a concerned tone, -stepping to his side.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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 -<i>Chambers's Traits for the People</i>, 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You should have tapped on the counter, my dear,' said my -mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What for?' was the answer, in the most musical voice I had -ever heard. 'I don't want to buy anything.'</p> - -<p class="normal">This was a puzzling rejoinder. If she did not want to buy -anything, why was she here?</p> - -<p class="normal">'This is Mr. Carey's? asked the girl.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, my dear.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Who are you?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Who are you?' repeated our visitor, to my mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">'My name is Carey,' said my mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, indeed!' exclaimed the girl. 'That is nice. And who is -he?' indicating uncle Bryan.</p> - -<p class="normal">'That is my brother-in-law, Bryan.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Mr. Bryan Carey. I've come to see him.' And she made a -movement towards him. My mother's hand restrained her.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Hush, my dear! You must not disturb him.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Come along!' she exclaimed imperiously.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What is in it?' I asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Books and things,' our visitor replied. 'I'll help you. Oh, -I'm strong, though I <i>am</i> a girl! I wish I was you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then I should be a boy. There! You see I am almost as strong -as you are.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'How did the box come here?' I asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Walked here, of course,' she said somewhat scornfully.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, you don't believe in things!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, I do; but I don't believe that thing. How <i>did</i> it -come?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'A boy carried it. A strong boy--not like you. Isn't that -candied lemon-peel in the glass bottle?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I should like some. I'm very fond of sweet things.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">And she did linger over it, while we looked on. When she had -finished, she said:</p> - -<p class="normal">'I suppose I am to sit here till he wakes.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">Are you fond of reading?' she asked, in a low tone.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes,' I answered. It really seemed to me as if I had known -her for years. 'Are you?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I love it. I like to read in bed. Then I don't care for -anything.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'It makes it strong to cut it, does it not?' was the first -question.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'The hair. To cut it when one is young, as mine is cut, makes -it strong?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, my dear. It will be all the better for being cut.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why do you call me your dear?'</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother replied gently, with a slight hesitancy: 'I won't, -if you don't like me to.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, but I like it! And it sounds nice from you. It will be -all the better for being cut! That's what <i>I</i> think. It was nearly down to -my waist. Do you like it?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It is very pretty.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!"'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It will get darker as you grow older.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why, my----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Dear. Say it, please!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'My dear, have you been told that that is the way to keep hair -light?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'If you are so fond of your hair, what made you say just now -that you wished you were a boy?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'My dear!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Are you generally rude to girls--I mean to young ladies?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No,' I protested warmly, ransacking my mind for the clue.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You were to me just now. You said that I spoke nonsense.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am very sorry,' I stammered; I beg your pardon; but when -you said your box walked here----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What is this, Emma? he demanded, presently, of my mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother had been waiting for him to speak. 'This young----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">Completely dominated by the girl's gentle imperiousness, my -mother said, 'This young lady has come to see you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">He glanced at her uncovered head; then at her bonnet and -mantle. A flush came into her cheeks, and she exclaimed,</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Your box!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Are you a stranger about here, my dear?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'There is no need, my dear, there is no need. There, there! -don't cry.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am sure, Bryan--' commenced my mother, in a tone of mild -remonstrance; but uncle Bryan interrupted her.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Don't be sure of anything, Emma. Let me understand matters -first. How long have I been asleep--days, weeks, or years?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Nearly two hours, Bryan.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Young lady,' interposed the girl, with rather a comical -assertion of independence.</p> - -<p class="normal">--'This little girl--how long has she been here?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'About an hour, Bryan.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'I wish you would be kind to me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'For God's sake, child, tell me who you are! What is your -name?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'My name is Jessie Trim.'</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_13" href="#div1Ref_13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h4> -<h5>A SUDDEN SHOCK.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">'Emma,' said my uncle, 'can you find something to do for a few -minutes? Chris can shut up the shop.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'She must be hungry,' said my mother, and I think it will -please your uncle.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am glad she is going to stay, mother. Do you think she will -stop altogether with us?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have no idea, child.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'He would be angry if he heard you say so.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Secrets! Do you think <i>she</i> is one of them?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I don't suppose he has anything to tell,' I said, with not -the slightest belief in my own words.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Perhaps not. Anyhow, we'll not say anything--eh, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Very well, mother. She is very pretty, isn't she?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Very, very pretty.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Such beautiful hair--and such white hands!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You stupid Chris! What has got into your head? I really don't -suppose she will stay very long.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But she has brought her box--and--and--'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, mother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, Chris, I really <i>cannot</i> remember that I have ever -seen a note of interrogation anywhere about you. Have you got one, my dear? And -where is it?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But, mother,' I said, laughing, and kissing her, 'I must be -inquisitive and I must ask questions.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Only of me, dear child.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, then, only of you. Now wouldn't you grow quite fond of -her?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am sure I should, dear.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, wouldn't it be too bad, directly you got fond of her, -for her to go away? Now wouldn't it?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But life is full of changes, my dear!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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>I</i> was to go away!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What can we do with our visitor to-night, Emma?' he said, -thus indicating that matters had been arranged during our absence.</p> - -<p class="normal">'She can sleep with me. You won't mind, my dear?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'The least said,' observed uncle Bryan, with all his usual -manner upon him, 'the soonest mended, young lady.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Indeed! Well, then, Miss Trim.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You think!' retorted uncle Bryan, with some sense of -enjoyment.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You are given to thinking, I have no doubt.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, yes; I think a good deal.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Upon my word What about?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'All sorts of things that wouldn't interest you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I quite believe you, young lady.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then I am naturally disagreeable, you think?'</p> - -<p class="normal">She did not reply.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What else do you think about me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I think it must be uncomfortable for the others for you to go -to sleep every night, with a handkerchief over your face.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'If I had known you were coming----' he said, with mock -politeness; but she interrupted him with wonderful quickness.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Don't say unkind things. I feel when they are coming; my -flesh begins to creep.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you think anything else about me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes; I think you might give me some supper. You can't know -how hungry I am; and I have always a good appetite.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ah,' exclaimed Jessie, with approving nods; 'that smells -nice.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Uncle Bryan stared at the unexpected fare.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You see what it is to be a young lady,' he said; hitherto we -have always been contented with bread-and-cheese.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'This is much nicer,' said Jessie, beginning to eat; 'are you -not going to have some?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No. Give me some bread-and-cheese, Emma.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'<i>I</i> always do,' she remarked, 'after meals. There is -only one thing I want now to make me feel quite amiable.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then,' said uncle Bryan sententiously, 'all the trouble in -the world would come to an end.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She nodded acquiescently.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And that one thing is----' he questioned.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Something I sha'n't get. I see it in your face; it is really -too much to ask for.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'To put an end to all the trouble in the world, I would make a -sacrifice.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No,' she said, shaking her head, I really haven't courage to -ask.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What is it?' demanded uncle Bryan impatiently.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I always,' she added, with the oddest little twinkle in her -eyes, 'like something sweet to finish my meals with.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Now, then,' he cried, 'it is time to go to bed.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then we are to sit up after our time because you have -over-eaten yourself.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But I think you <i>are</i> right,' he growled.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why do you make yourself disagreeable then?' she asked, -sitting down on the stool at his feet.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>did</i> think it time we were all in bed.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Good-night, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you hear me?' she said. 'You can't be asleep already.'</p> - -<p class="normal">But no response came from uncle Bryan.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Good-night.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Jessie!' she called out archly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Good-night, Jessie. Now go to bed, like a good--little girl.'</p> - -<p class="normal">And then the house was quiet, and I fell asleep, and dreamt -the strangest and sweetest dreams about our new friend.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Good-morning, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I almost whispered the words, but the reply came instantly, in -clear sweet tones,</p> - -<p class="normal">'Good-morning, dear child.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She must have been listening for my step.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, Jessie,' I answered, with a thrill of delight.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Where are you going?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am going to work.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Good-morning.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Good-morning.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I didn't expect you, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, but not a long one. Mother, who is she?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I do not know, my dear; and your uncle hasn't said a -word--neither has she.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Not a word! Why, mother, she couldn't keep quiet!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'A child! Why, mother, she must be--how old should <i>you</i> -think?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'About fifteen, I should say, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'So how can she be quite a child? And she doesn't talk like a -child.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I <i>am</i> growing, mother, am I not?' And I straightened -myself stiffly up. Why, I am taller than you!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You will be as tall as your father was, my dear.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am glad of that. She said men had no business to be -little.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'<i>She</i> 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Jessie's eyes sparkled at the suggestion.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am thinking,' replied my mother, 'whether there will be any -objection to it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'On whose part?' I asked. 'Uncle Bryan's? Why, what objection -can he have?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I can't guess, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Very well, my dear,' said my mother, with a smile; 'but I <i> -must</i> ask your uncle, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why didn't you come, mother?' I asked. 'I've been waiting -ever so long. And where's Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'My dear,' replied my mother, with her arm around my waist, -'Jessie has gone.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Gone! Oh, for a walk with uncle Bryan, I suppose?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, my dear; she has gone away altogether.'</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_14" href="#div1Ref_14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h4> -<h5>THE WORLD BECOMES BRIGHT AGAIN.</h5> - -<p class="normal">'Gone away altogether!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Her box is gone,' I said, with quivering lips, when I -rejoined my mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">'It was taken away this morning, my dear.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That shows that she is not coming back; and I shall never, -never see her again!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Chris, Chris, my dear!' remonstrated my mother; 'you should -not have hard thoughts towards your uncle.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'He can't hear you, my dear; he went away with Jessie this -morning.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Where to?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have no idea, Chris; he did not tell me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And wouldn't, if you had asked,' I said bitterly.</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother sighed, but said, with gentle firmness, 'I had no -right to ask, my dear.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then we are alone in the house, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, my dear, for a little while. Sit down, and I will tell -you all about it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I sat down, and my mother sat beside me, and took my hand in -hers.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Go on, mother.' In my rebellious mood her gentle words -brought no comfort to me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, mother, I don't forget,' I said, somewhat softened -towards uncle Bryan.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">In common honesty I was compelled to admit that it was so.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Did she say that, mother? Did she?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It is very strange,' I said, after a long pause. Mother, what -do you think of it, eh?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'My dear, I don't know what to think. The more I think, the -more I am confused. And now, my dear----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'We must make ourselves happy in our old way, and we must -attend to the business properly until your uncle returns.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why, mother!' I exclaimed, confused for a moment.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Then I knew that she must have watched and waited at my -bedroom door until I had blown out my candle.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What time is it, mother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It must be three o'clock, my dear.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'O, mother! And you awake at this time of the night for me!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'If he had only left word where he was going to!' she said. 'I -am afraid he must be ill.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Uncle Bryan has come home!' I cried, in a hearty tone.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What's the matter, mother?' I asked, for certainly so strange -a silence needed explanation.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Are you glad?' she asked gravely, with her hand in mine.</p> - -<p class="normal">My looks were a sufficient answer.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_15" href="#div1Ref_15">CHAPTER XV.</a></h4> -<h5>JESSIE'S ROSEWATER PHILOSOPHY.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'It is true; I have really come back.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I was doubting,' I said, in a similar low tone, 'whether I -was asleep or awake.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No; I am awake, I know. This is the most famous thing that -ever happened.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You were sorry when I went away, then?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I can't tell you how sorry; but you are not going away -again?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I suppose not; I have no place to go to.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'So you are happy again, my dear,' she said, as we stood, like -lovers, with our arms around each other's waist.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I <i>am</i> glad, mother,' I replied, pressing her fondly to -me; 'and so are you too, I know. But tell me how it all happened.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And Jessie has told you nothing, mother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Nothing, dear child; and I have not asked.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You don't even know whom she is in mourning for?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, my dear.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'I wish you would tell me what I <i>am</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What name?' he asked, in his rough manner.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Never mind. You'd like to know, so that you could bark and -fight. What <i>shall</i> I call you?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Call me what you please,' he answered.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, then, I shall call you uncle Bryan, as Chris does; I -daresay I shall get used to it in time.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">And you have only yourself to thank for it, my dear child; -said my mother, casting looks of pride around.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why, my dear!' exclaimed my mother; Mr. Eden has never spoken -one word to me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Psha!' he said, with an impatient movement of his head. -'Emma, if you will fill my pipe for me, I will smoke it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That would be nice,' she observed complacently.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And you shall live in it all alone, so that your title to -these nice things shall not be disputed.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That wouldn't do,' she answered promptly; 'what is the use of -having nice things unless you get people to admire them?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'No one can help loving her,' said Jessie to me, in one of our -confidential conversations. 'Is she ever angry with any one?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I think not,' I replied. 'Where another person would be -angry, she is sorry. There isn't another mother in the world like mine.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Would you like me to be like her? Would it be better for me, -do you think?'</p> - -<p class="normal">I like you as you are, Jessie; I shouldn't like you to alter. -There are different kinds of good people, you know.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am not good.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Nonsense! you not good!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Your mother is, Chris; she never goes to bed without kneeling -down and saying her prayers.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I know it, Jessie. And you?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'She <i>would</i> make me do it, Chris,' she said -apologetically.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Now doesn't she look prettier so?' asked Jessie.</p> - -<p class="normal">There was no denying it; I had never seen my mother look so -attractive, and I kissed her and told her so.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?"'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I want a new nightcap,' growled uncle Bryan, adding with a -sarcastic laugh, 'but the ribbons in it must suit my complexion.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">Jessie explained to me the philosophy of all this.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_16" href="#div1Ref_16">CHAPTER XVI.</a></h4> -<h5>THE STONE MONKEY FIGURE GIVES UP ITS TREASURES.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'O Chris!' she cried. It's beautiful!'</p> - -<p class="normal">And she expressed such praise of it that my heart thrilled -with delight.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You think it's like you, then, Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Like me! It's <i>me</i>--me, myself! Set it on the box there; -I'll show you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What a curious image?' exclaimed Jessie. 'How long have you -had it?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'All my life, Jessie. Put it away; it's the ugliest thing that -ever was seen.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Jessie shifted her position, and seated herself very -comfortably upon the floor.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But mine is not a story, And there's nothing interesting to -tell.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, yes, there is; there must be. Everybody's life is full of -stories.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yours, Jessie?' I put the question somewhat timorously.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Anthony Bullpit'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I hate the name of Anthony. Go on; I want to hear more.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I gave a description of Jane Painter, at which Jessie laughed -heartily, and clapped her hands.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I shall come into your bedroom one night with a sheet over -me, and frighten you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Your voice is musical. How could you frighten anybody with -it?'</p> - -<p class="normal">Jessie edged a little closer to me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And you never found any money after all, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I shook my head.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why, Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Such a lot of money, Chris! Hundreds and hundreds of pounds -there must have been hidden away, or stolen. Hundreds and hundreds of pounds!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Would you like to be rich, Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Chris,' she replied, looking at me seriously, 'I think I -would do anything in the world for money.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Look!' she cried. 'The head comes off. It isn't broken; -here's the wire it hangs upon. Why, Chris----'</p> - -<p class="normal">She seized my hand in uncontrollable excitement, and hid the -figure in her lap.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What's the matter, Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'There's something inside. It's stuffed full of paper. What if -it should be your grandmother's money?'</p> - -<p class="normal">The amazing suggestion almost took away my breath.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">My excitement was now as great as her own.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Quick, Jessie! Let us look!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">So she went on for full five minutes, building her castles; -then with a long-drawn breath she said,</p> - -<p class="normal">'Now, Chris!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Here's something, at all events,' I said; 'something about my -grandmother's nail-eating lover. Listen, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I don't want to hear anything about him,' replied Jessie, in -a pet, leaving the room.</p> - -<p class="normal">So I read this 'Remarkable Discovery' quietly by myself. It -ran as follows:</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_17" href="#div1Ref_17">CHAPTER XVII.</a></h4> -<h5>THE TRUE STORY OF ANTHONY BULLPIT.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>facile -princeps</i>. 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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, -<i>verbatim et literatim</i>, taken down in our own office by the editor of this -paper:<a name="div4Ref_01" href="#div4_01"><sup>[1]</sup></a></p> -<br> -<p>----------</p> - -<p class="hang1"><a name="div4_01" href="#div4Ref_01">Footnote 1</a>: - -<p class="normal">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.--<span class="sc">Author</span>.]</p> -<p>----------</p> -<br> -<p class="normal">'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 <i>not</i> -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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Bullpit wouldn't go to London. Why? Mr. Pardon was there. -He'd go naturally to Liverpool, because Mr. Pardon was <i>not</i> 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>I</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 <i>that</i>), -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 <i>me</i>. 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 <i>his</i> -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 <i>do</i> 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 <i>me</i> 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?</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>you</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_18" href="#div1Ref_18">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></h4> -<h5>UNCLE BRYAN COMMENCES THE STORY OF HIS LIFE.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">'Chris is growing quite a man,' observed my mother one evening -to uncle Bryan.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What nonsense you talk!' she exclaimed. They are the most -delightful persons in the world.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Your friendships are quickly made, Jessie,' I said, with a -jealous pang.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Directly I see persons I know whether I like them or not. -Don't you?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I can't say,' I replied sententiously; 'I have never -considered it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, consider it now. Don't be disagreeable. Directly you -saw me, didn't you like me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, yes.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Very well, then; that shows you <i>do</i> make up your mind -properly about these things, as a man ought to do.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I thrilled with pleasure at this cunning compliment.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.)</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You are prettier and nicer. There's no one in the world like -you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That's what you think.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That's what everybody must think.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why, Chris!' she exclaimed, making a telescope with her two -hands, and peeping at me through them, I declare your moustachois are coming.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'They are the most wonderful people, and the most delightful. -I'm in love with all of them.'</p> - -<p class="normal">My blushes died away; jealous pangs assailed me again.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Are there many of them?' I asked gloomily.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What are you drawing now, Chris?' asked my uncle.</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'Emma, I have not treated you fairly.'</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother looked up from her work in surprise. Uncle Bryan -continued:</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Emma, you know the house in which I was born?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, Bryan.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And you knew my family--my father and mother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'They are not alive?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'They have been dead many years, Bryan. They died within a -year of my marriage with your brother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'During the time you and my brother courted, and afterwards -indeed, my name must have been occasionally mentioned.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It was, Bryan.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'In what terms?'</p> - -<p class="normal">He paused for a reply, but my mother held her tongue.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Be frank and candid with me, Emma; it will not hurt me. What -you heard was not to my credit?'</p> - -<p class="normal">He was determined that the subject should not be evaded; and -my mother was wise enough not to thwart him.</p> - -<p class="normal">'It was said that you had a violent temper.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I can bear witness to that, Bryan.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Go on; there was more.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And that it was impossible to agree with you, or your -opinions.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I heard that, as a boy, you associated yourself with a -society of Freethinkers, who openly boasted of their infidelity.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I repeat--of my after career, they had no knowledge.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She would have spared him, but he would not allow her to do -so.</p> - -<p class="normal">'They had!' he exclaimed, his rapid breathing showing how -deeply he was moved.' What did they know?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'The rumour was very vague, Bryan----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But discreditable. To what effect?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I really cannot explain, nor could they have done so, I -believe.' My mother was much distressed. 'If Chris were not here----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 -<i>could</i> 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_19" href="#div1Ref_19">CHAPTER XIX.</a></h4> -<h5>STRANGE REVELATIONS IN UNCLE BRYAN'S LIFE.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I don't understand figures,' he said; 'will you please -explain them to me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">I commenced an explanation of the statement, line by line, -when he interrupted me, saying,</p> - -<p class="normal">'Pray forgive me, but I can't keep these details in my head. -Tell me the result.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Uncle,' he said, 'Fanny told me--'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Don't you see that I'm engaged, Ralph?' cried Mr. Glaive. 'I -can't be disturbed. Go and wish Fanny good-night.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Now tell me,' said Mr. Glaive, breathing quickly, 'what is -your meaning?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But why should the claims be pressed?' he asked, with a -helpless look.</p> - -<p class="normal">I almost laughed in his face.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You owe the money,' I said; 'that should be a sufficient -explanation.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">He clasped his hands despairingly; I was silent, despising his -weakness.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Can't you advise me?' he cried. 'If ruin came to you, what -would you do?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Bear it,' I replied. I was growing weary of him.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Have you any children?' he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'No,' I replied.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Nor wife perhaps?' he continued.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Nor wife, nor child, nor friend,' I said, rising.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'But then I shall be beggared,' he exclaimed, pressing his -hand to his heart. 'It is cruel--merciless!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>that</i> was the reason -he could not contemplate the ruin before him with a calm mind.</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">(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.)</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You look at me,' said Miss Glaive, 'as if you knew me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I managed to say that her voice reminded me of a dear friend.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Dear!' Miss Glaive exclaimed archly; 'very dear?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Very dear,' I said gravely.</p> - -<p class="normal">'A lady friend?' she asked, with smiles.</p> - -<p class="normal">'She of whom I speak,' I said, 'was a woman.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Was!' echoed Miss Glaive.</p> - -<p class="normal">'She is dead,' I explained.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am sorry,' said Miss Glaive very gently; 'I beg your -pardon.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'If you go now,' she said, 'I shall be quite sure that I <i> -have</i> -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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Papa is asleep,' she whispered; 'we must be very quiet now.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Papa is in trouble,' she said; are you going to assist him?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'He has asked for my advice,' I replied.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I shall be glad to see you,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'At three o'clock, then,' were her last words, and we shook -hands and parted.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you not think,' I asked, 'that he would be angry if he -knew I had made any disclosure of his private affairs?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I could not resist her pleading, and I told her, awkwardly and -hesitatingly, what I had told her father.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And all this trouble is about money,' she said with smiles; -'I was afraid it was something worse.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You don't understand these matters of business,' I said; 'it -is perhaps better for you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And there is absolutely no hope for us?' she sobbed.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Papa has no such friend that I know of,' she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">I thought of the young man whom I had seen at Mr. Glaive's -house on the previous night, and I mentioned him.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Forgive me,' she murmured; 'I was wrong to come, perhaps--but -I did not know.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'<i>If!</i>' she echoed. 'You could if you pleased, could you -not? <i>You</i> are rich?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am not a poor man,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Help us,' she pleaded, holding out her hands to me. 'Be my -friend.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>did</i> 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I thought you would come,' she said, her face lighting up.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And you are glad?' I could not help asking.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes,' I answered; 'a friend of yours.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_20" href="#div1Ref_20">CHAPTER XX.</a></h4> -<h5>UNCLE BRYAN CONCLUDES HIS STORY.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I should like to go so much,' she said; 'I think I would give -anything to go.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What am I to do with them?' she asked. 'You are very good, -but I have no one to take me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I was going to ask Mr. Glaive,' I said, 'if he would intrust -you to my care.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'I would take you if I had money.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Get rich, then,' she replied, 'like Mr. Carey; but you are -too idle to work.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Take an early opportunity,' he said, 'of seeing Frances, and -speak for yourself.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'What does it matter? You are rich.'</p> - -<p class="normal">What <i>did</i> it matter? What consideration of money could -influence me when I would have given her my heart's blood had she asked for it?</p> - -<p class="normal">Well, we were married. On the wedding-day I gave Mr. Glaive a -full release of what he owed me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'My father-in-law must not be my creditor,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You surely do not mean to retrench!' he exclaimed.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That is so,' I said, angry with myself for feeling uneasy at -the remark.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>must</i> enjoy -life--now is her only time. By and by, when she becomes a mother, perhaps--'</p> - -<p class="normal">I turned from him; it was my dearest hope, but it was fated -not to be gratified.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'By what means?' I asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What were you?' I asked. 'I have no remembrance of you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You fool,' he said scornfully; you bought her!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_21" href="#div1Ref_21">CHAPTER XXI.</a></h4> -<h5>I RECEIVE AN INVITATION.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Are you angry with me for going out?' she asked, divining -that she was the cause of all this seriousness.</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, my dear,' replied my mother; 'no one is, I am sure. I -hope you enjoyed yourself.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I always do,' said Jessie, her face clouding, when I go to -the Wests. Has anything disagreeable occurred?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, Jessie, nothing.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I think,' said Jessie, looking into my mother's face, that <i> -you</i> are fond of me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'My dear,' responded my mother, kissing her, 'I regard you -almost as my daughter.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Which would you rather have, Jessie,' I asked most suddenly, -'love or money?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ask me again, Chris,' she said, with a sudden colour in her -cheeks.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I said, which would you rather have--love or money?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'How much money--a great deal?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, a great deal.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What a question to ask! What does uncle Bryan say to it?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Uncle Bryan is too old for such follies,' he replied roughly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I daresay, mother; that's because you <i>are</i> better than -I am.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">And with these sweet words of comfort my mother left me to my -rest.</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'Miss West presents her compliments to Mr. Christopher Carey, -and will be happy to see him at nine o'clock to-night.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Who's there?' a voice cried, and the laughter ceased.</p> - -<p class="normal">'It's me,' I answered; and I was about to announce myself more -explicitly, when my words were taken up mockingly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, it's Me, is it? Well, come downstairs, Mr. Me. Flora -child, open the door. Take care! Mind your head!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why, doesn't she know?' I exclaimed, in a maze of -bewilderment.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Bless your heart, no! <i>I</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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I <i>am</i> glad,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I knew you would be. Rubbing your head again! Well, you <i> -have</i> raised a bump! Shall I brown-paper-and-vinegar you?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, thank you,' I said, laughing; and then I looked round in -wonder upon the strange scene.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_22" href="#div1Ref_22">CHAPTER XXII.</a></h4> -<h5>I AM INTRODUCED TO A THEATRICAL FAMILY.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, what do you think of us?' asked Miss West. 'We're a -queer bunch, ain't we?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It's a strange place,' I said, thinking it best to avoid -personalities. 'I never saw anything like it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'We're a theatrical family, my dear,' said Miss West -complacently, 'born in the profession every one of us. Are you fond of -theatres?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>does</i> carry you -away.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.)</p> - -<p class="normal">'I don't think,' I stammered, very red and confused, 'that I -should ever be able to act.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Not <i>that</i> part!' exclaimed my good-natured tormentor. -'Well, then, you <i>could</i> play "The Good-for-nothing."'</p> - -<p class="normal">Which was an allusion I did not at all understand. Miss West -proceeded:</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>could</i> act if he stuck to -nature. Then he rolls his eyes and glares, does Turk.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why does he do that?' I inquire.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 -<i>The Will and the Way!</i> It's a sight.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I should like to see him; but you haven't told me who Turk -is.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Turk is my brother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'He is not here?' I ask, with another glance at the curtain.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, no; he is playing a new part to-night Poor Turk! the new -school of acting depresses him. Say, O.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'O,' I said, with a smile.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ah, you should hear Turk say it! It would fill a large page. -Do you remember when you first learnt to write?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Brinsley?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Gus?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'One of my brothers. Gus can write anything--tragedies, -melodramas, farces--and he shall write <i>The Bashful Lover</i>, after the style -of -<i>The Conjugal Lesson</i>. 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why?'</p> - -<p class="normal">Her voice grew quieter and she spoke in subdued tones, so that -the little misses should not hear.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Of course,' I repeated, with a foolish air of wisdom, 'what -are the papers?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Turk is very clever, then?'</p> - -<p class="normal">He's the best murderer to slow music that <i>I've</i> ever -seen. But Gus is the genius of the family. In the matter of that, we're all -geniuses. But blighted, my dear, blighted!'</p> - -<p class="normal">She gave me the merriest look, as little like a blighted being -as can well be imagined.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'The frog.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>do</i> -think such a deal of ourselves.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Is Mr. Gus a good actor?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Plays leading business; he's out of an engagement just now, -He's behind the curtain with Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>As You -Like It</i>. 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 <i>did</i> 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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes,' cried Jessie, 'but we want some one for Celia; she only -speaks twice.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">The curtain was drawn aside, and disclosed a roughly -constructed stage, and absolutely an old scene representing a wood.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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--"'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">Miss West (as Jacques): 'I prithee, pretty youth, let me be -better acquainted with thee.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Jessie (as Rosalind): 'They say you are a very melancholy -fellow.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Miss West: 'I am so; I do love it better than laughing.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Jessie: 'Those that are in extremity of either are abominable -fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Miss West: 'Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Jessie: 'Why, then, 'tis good to be a post!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Miss West: 'Yes, I have gained my experience.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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'.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'So the best thing you can do,' cried Miss West, who had -overheard us, 'is to kiss and make friends.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Not even Orlando's?' I suggested, with a furtive look at -Jessie.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, yes; his of course, but then we were acting to each -other.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Only acting, Jessie?' I inquired, with much anxiety.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Only acting, Jessie!' mimicked Miss West, whose sharp ears -lost not a word. 'Why, what else <i>should</i> 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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Of course I would,' replied Jessie, entering into her -friend's humour.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I don't want them at home to know about it, Chris,' she said; -'at least, not till I tell them.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Very well, Jessie;' and we entered the little parlour -together in a very happy mood.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_23" href="#div1Ref_23">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></h4> -<h5>THE SUNDAY-NIGHT SUPPERS AT THE WESTS'.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">The cause of this little disturbance was that we often stayed -at the Wests' until eleven or past eleven o'clock at night.</p> - -<p class="normal">Now that I have you to take care of me, Chris,' said Jessie, -we need not be so particular.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You had better live with your new friends altogether,' -observed uncle Bryan.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will, if you wish me to,' replied Jessie indignantly; 'I -know that I'm a burden to you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, no, my dear,' interposed my mother; 'uncle Bryan does not -mean what he says.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>Fairy Dell</i>, 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">This sally was received with screams of laughter, and cries of -Bravo, Turk!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It's all very well,' interposed Gus West, but where's the -theatre?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It's all very well,' added Turk, but where's the capitalist?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And what should I do,' asked Jessie, laughing, if the -capitalist were to come and carry you all away?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'They have plenty of trouble, though,' said Jessie; 'all that -glitters isn't gold.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What makes you mention money, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That is in uncle Bryan's style. Chris, I think you are -clever!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>would</i> 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 <i>The Forty Thieves</i>, and -that there was one magic key which would always open it. When I asked him what -that key was, he said, Earnestness.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That's one of the things that uncle Bryan would never give me -credit for.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why would you like to be rich, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You are very good to me, Chris. Why?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Because I love you, Jessie,' I replied.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Really and truly?' she exclaimed, half tenderly, half -tantalisingly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'With all my heart and soul,' I said, in a low passionate -tone.</p> - -<p class="normal">'When one loves like that' (she was speaking seriously now), -'what does it really mean?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">She did not reply, and when presently I ventured to look into -her face, I saw that there were tears in her eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You are not angry with me, Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.')</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I heard your steps, my dear,' she said, with anxious -tenderness; 'hush, don't make a noise. You might wake your uncle.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_24" href="#div1Ref_24">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></h4> -<h5>TURK, THE FIRST VILLAIN.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>Macbeth</i>, 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 -<i>The Will and the Way</i>, 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 <i>themselves</i>, -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 <i>him</i>, not as if, having taken to the stage, it was his duty to -represent -<i>them</i>. 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">My acquiescent rejoinders were very pleasing to him, and he -expressed a high opinion of my judgment.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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).</p> - -<p class="normal">I said I thought I could get away, and he promised to call for -me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>The Knight of the Sable Plume, or The Bloodstained Banner</i>. -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. <i>The Bloodstained Banner</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I said that I sincerely hoped the sun would shine to-morrow, -and that it <i>would</i> 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>The Knight of the Sable Plume</i>, -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 <i>The Lonely Murder at the Wayside Inn</i>. 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 <i>The -Trials and Vicissitudes of a Servant-Girl</i>; 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 <i>The Knight of the Sable Plume</i>. 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 <i>r</i>'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 <i>his</i> 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 <i> -The Knight of the Sable Plume</i>, 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 <i>The Lonely Murder at the Wayside Inn</i> 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 <i>The Trials and Vicissitudes of a Servant-Girl</i>. 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>The Knight of the Sable Plume</i>, 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You've tried to do that for a pretty considerable time, Mac,' -said Turk good-humouredly. 'Take a pull at the pewter, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">A volley of laughter greeted this sally, in which Mac joined -most heartily.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>is</i> -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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And sack,' interrupted a member of the company. 'And sack. -Mac.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Bravo, Mac!' said one and another, some in sincerity, some to -humour the old actor.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ay, till the crack of doom,' was the ready reply. 'Right, -sir! of course I'm right.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But,' said another of the strangers, not quite so deferential -as the former speaker, some one must play second fiddle.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Second fiddle, sir! Yes, I admit it, sir. Some one <i>must</i> -play second fiddle--and third fiddle too, if you like. But let the man who plays -second fiddle <i>be</i> a second fiddle, and not a first fiddle.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Who is to blame for all this?' asked the deferential -stranger.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>of</i> 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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'The public ought to be ashamed of themselves,' said the -deferential stranger.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>our</i> -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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Turk went aside with him, and I heard the jingling of coin.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You gave him some money?' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am sorry for his wife and children,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 -<i>has</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Altogether this night's entertainment was a most enjoyable one -to me, and gave me much food for reflection.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_25" href="#div1Ref_25">CHAPTER XXV.</a></h4> -<h5>HOLDING THE WORD OF PROMISE TO THE EAR.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will try to, uncle,' I replied.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I don't quite understand that,' I observed; 'if a man's -inclinations are good----'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'All that we can do,' said my mother, caressing me fondly, 'is -to do our best; we are often the slave of circumstances, Bryan.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you?' asked Jessie quickly. He answered her evasively. 'I -have my sorrows.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am glad of that,' said Jessie, in a low tone.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I meant it in that sense,' said Jessie gently, drawing a -little nearer to him.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Will you tell me why you are glad that I should have -sorrows?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'For one reason----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It does not remove you so far from us,' said Jessie, with -less confidence than she usually exhibited.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I try to do that?' he asked. 'I try to remove myself from -you?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I think so,' she answered. 'You are not angry with me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, child,' he said, and the gentleness of his tone surprised -me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Say no more, Emma,' he said huskily; you do not know how -vastly the balance is in your favour.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Notwithstanding your sorrows? questioned Jessie.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes,' he replied, with an approving nod, notwithstanding my -sorrows. You are sharp-witted, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Thank you, uncle,' she said merrily.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was almost like the commencement of a new and more -harmonious era in our relations with one another.</p> - -<p class="normal">'How old are you, Jessie?' I asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_26" href="#div1Ref_26">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></h4> -<h5>WE ENJOY A DECEITFUL CALM.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And it is all Jessie's doings, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'As he often is,' I interrupted, 'and without cause.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Who would not,' I exclaimed, 'when wooed by Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Don't be angry with me,' she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Angry, Jessie! I thought you had forgotten me. But you are as -full of tricks as Puck was.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I can't help it, uncle Bryan. Good-night!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Good-night, my dear.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'It softens him, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It takes a long time to soften a rock,' she observed, with a -thoughtful smile.</p> - -<p class="normal">'If anybody can do it, you can, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You think nothing but good of me, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I only say what I feel. And you really want uncle Bryan to -love you?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes--more than I can say--and I can scarcely tell why.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Except,' I said, with a foolish hesitation, 'that you like to -be loved by everybody.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Perhaps it is because of that, Chris. I <i>do</i> like -everybody to love me. It is much nicer so.'</p> - -<p class="normal">If I wanted any consolation I supplied it by observing: 'To be -sure, there are different kinds of love.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ah, now you are joking, Jessie!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'In what way, Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'About myself, before I came here. When one likes any one very -much, one is naturally curious to know all about one.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Secrets!' she mused. 'What can I have to do with them? And -yet, it is strange, now I think about it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I was thinking of a secret that I have, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I composed myself to receive her confidence.</p> - -<p class="normal">'But I don't know what it is myself, yet. It is in a letter; -perhaps----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'So you like it, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will never, never part with it, Jessie. But I want a piece -of ribbon; may I have that piece round your neck?</p> - -<p class="normal">'Take it off yourself, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I said what I believed,' I answered with an uneasy feeling.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And he <i>is</i> an atheist?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am afraid he is, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Has he ever told you so?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, no; there are some things that one scarcely dares to -speak of.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Not a word has ever passed between us upon religious -matters.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'An atheist is a person who does not believe in God, is he -not, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Nearer and dearer, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, Chris; and now tell me what you know.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Life was tasteless to him <i>because</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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, <i>The Age of Reason</i>. 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 <i>The Age of Reason</i> is.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Tell me what it is.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It is a book written by an atheist for atheists; it might -almost be called the Atheist's Bible, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And did you never speak to your mother about uncle Bryan's -religion?</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have tried to, but mother is like me; there are some things -she does not like to speak of.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That is so, Jessie. It is almost as if you overheard what we -said.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That is true enough, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Chris, your mother is all heart.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'She is everything that is good, if you mean that?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">I saw the pit we were walking into, but I had not the skill to -lead Jessie away from it.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That she does, Jessie, with all her heart.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'She couldn't love anything that's bad. If you were an -atheist, Chris, I should hate you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Upright, honest, and just!' she repeated my words in a musing -tone. 'It is an enigma.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'How have you done that, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I was really very remorseful, and sincerely so; but Jessie -said nothing to comfort me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Her face turned scarlet.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Would <i>he</i> have said that?' she asked, and left me -without another word.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_27" href="#div1Ref_27">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></h4> -<h5>THE STORM BREAKS.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">We were sitting together in the evening, in the most amicable -of moods. Suddenly Jessie addressed uncle Bryan.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Uncle Bryan, who teaches the young?'</p> - -<p class="normal">He looked inquiringly at her.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well,' she continued, understanding that an explanation was -expected of her, 'one has to learn things; knowledge doesn't come of itself.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I did not know that; but it is of men and women I am -speaking. They are higher than birds and beasts.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes,' he said, in a reflective tone; 'it is so.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'If the world were filled with nothing but old people, I -wonder what sort of a world it would be!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Never mind that, uncle Bryan; perhaps some people try to make -themselves out a great deal worse than they are. So, then, there -<i>must</i> be young people; that is a necessity.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'As much a necessity as the seasons; it is the law of nature.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'A good law?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Undoubtedly, young philosopher.' His manner was almost -blithe.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'The old,' he replied readily.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Because they are more likely to know what is right and -wrong.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'For that reason, I should say. They have had more time to -learn, and they have had more experience of the world.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Of course,' she said, 'and experience means wisdom. The old <i> -must</i> -know better than the young.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Naturally.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And young people should be guided by old people?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It would be better if that were more generally done.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That is all I wanted to know.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Uncle Bryan,' she said, while we were at breakfast, 'I want -you to come to church with us this morning.'</p> - -<p class="normal">A startled look flashed into my mother's eyes; uncle Bryan -stared at Jessie, and bit his lips. He did not reply immediately.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Young ladies have many wants,' he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will not come with you,' he replied sternly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you never go to church?</p> - -<p class="normal">'Never.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That is my affair.' The corners of his lips began to twitch.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'My dear,' said my mother, with a sweet smile, taking Jessie's -hand in hers; 'my dear, you forget!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Forget what, mother?' asked Jessie; she sometimes addressed -my mother thus. 'Am I doing anything wrong?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Uncle Bryan is the best judge,' said my mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I know he is,' said Jessie.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Let her go on,' cried uncle Bryan.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Is it not good to go to church?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I do not say that,' was his reply.</p> - -<p class="normal">'But I want you to say one way or the other. It <i>must</i> be -either good or bad. You will come with us!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will not come with you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'Now, my child, be quick, or we shall be late!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Get on your hat quickly, my dear,' said my mother; 'we shall -have to walk fast.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am not going to church,' said Jessie, in a low tone, in -which I--and I alone, I believe--detected a tremor.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Jessie!' cried my mother, in a tone of suffering; 'Jessie, my -dear child!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am not going to church this morning.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Uncle Bryan was in the room, but spoke not a word.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Are you not well, my dear?' asked my mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am quite well.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then why will you not come with us?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am not sure that it is right to go to church.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'My dear, if I tell you that it is'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'Uncle Bryan, if I go to church this morning, will you come -with us some time during the year?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No,' he replied sternly and firmly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have asked you in the wrong way, perhaps,' she said; 'but -that would not alter the thing itself.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Whichever way you asked me, my answer would have been the -same, young lady.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'If you tell me to go now, I will go.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will tell you nothing. You are your own mistress.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'How are the young to be taught, then, if the old will not -teach them?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then Jessie to my mother:</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_28" href="#div1Ref_28">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></h4> -<h5>COLOUR-BLIND.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will run round,' she said, 'and tell Josey that I can't -come; but you can go.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I shall do as you do, Jessie,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You are speaking against uncle Bryan,' she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I can't help it, Jessie; 'he brings it on himself by his -tyranny.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Tyranny!' she exclaimed. 'Do you forget what you said, and -what I believe--that he is upright, honest, and just?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'In other things he is; but not in this. He is like a man who -can see, and who is colour-blind.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why, Jessie, what things you are saying!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'My reason approves of what you did,' I said earnestly; 'I -want you to believe that, Jessie. Say that you do believe it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I do, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then you must be glad to know that I am certain you are not -to blame.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She shook her head again, and said:</p> - -<p class="normal">'Perhaps it would have been better if all of you had been -against me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But who <i>is</i> against you, Jessie?' I persisted. 'Mother -is not, and I am not.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Because what, Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Because you are colour-blind, my dear,' she replied, half -gravely, half sportively, in unconscious imitation of Josey West.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Still colour-blind, Chris? you still can't see what I can -see?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You seem to be putting riddles to me, Jessie,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">None, I was compelled reluctantly to confess.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Have you heard uncle Bryan complain of my absence?' continued -Jessie. 'Does he say that I am too often away?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, Jessie, he has said nothing, to my knowledge.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Because he sees nothing to regret in it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But mother does, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You speak out of <i>my</i> heart, Jessie, as well as out of -your own.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She gazed at me sadly and affectionately, and with something -of wonder too.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, well, Chris,' she said, 'I have my plans; let me go my -way.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'Have you not forgotten something, my dear?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, mother, not that I know of.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Or some one, I should rather say--your uncle Bryan.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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?')</p> - -<p class="normal">'Chris, my dear child,' said my mother humbly and imploringly, -'do not hide your heart from me!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Mother!' I cried, shocked at myself.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother smiled, and sang, as softly now as then, and as -sweetly, the very words she had sung on that night.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You forget nothing, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_29" href="#div1Ref_29">CHAPTER XXIX.</a></h4> -<h5>PREPARATIONS FOR AN IMPORTANT EVENT.</h5> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Love and duty do not always go together,' said Jessie -obstinately.</p> - -<p class="normal">'But we must make sacrifices, my child; what a miserable thing -this life would be if some of us did not yield!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Try, then, for my sake.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will; and you will see what will come of it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">And Jessie tried, in her best manner and in good faith, with -the result for which she was prepared.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then you do not regard me as a friend, my dear child?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Be patient, my darling,' my mother said; 'all will come right -in the end.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am sure to have supper with Josey West,' she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You go there a great deal, Jessie,' remarked my mother, with -an anxious look.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am happy there,' was Jessie's terse reply; 'but I don't -want to take Chris away.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You don't want the sunflower to turn to the sun,' sneered -uncle Bryan, with his usual amiability.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">Uncle Bryan took up the theme, continuing it to her -disadvantage.</p> - -<p class="normal">'But one loses sight of these loveliest things of all when the -glare of the sun is in his eyes.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Jessie bit her lips.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Am I to blame for going where my best friends are?' she -asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You go where your wishes take you. We are certainly not good -enough for such a young lady as you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Perhaps not,' said Jessie defiantly, as she left the room.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You shall know all at the proper time,' she said; 'in the -mean time you can help me if you like.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Of course I will. What is that paper in your hand?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I know what you want, Jessie; I've heard Turk go through some -of his parts.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'We are going to have a grand dress performance, my dear,' she -said, 'and Jessie will play the principal characters in two pieces.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'In dress?' I asked, in some amazement.</p> - -<p class="normal">'In dress, my dear. The pieces are <i>Delicate Ground</i>, and <i> -A Conjugal Lesson</i>; 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 <i>Delicate Ground</i> -for one night only, by special request of a lady.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Jessie?' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 -<i>Era</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why do you call it Jessie's night?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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:</p> -<br> -<p class="center"><img src="images/playbill.png" alt="playbill"></p> - -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But you don't expect the press,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'When Jessie becomes a famous actress!' I repeated, with a -sinking heart.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, why should you?' I said. 'You are a good friend, and you -have a reason for asking.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why, you've never spoken to her, Josey!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 (<i>not</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Jessie does not make a confidant of any one but you, I -suppose, Josey.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Of no one but me, my dear, and I know what I know, and -suspect a great deal more.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'If Jessie confides in you, I may. She is not so happy at home -as she might be and as she deserves to be.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>the</i> night. 'No expense, my dear; it's all ready to hand in the -family.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Then the children arranged their figures and positions to -Josey West's singing, and rehearsed the ballet with the seriousness of grown-up -people.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_30" href="#div1Ref_30">CHAPTER XXX.</a></h4> -<h5>JESSIE'S TRIUMPH.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And how do I look, Chris?' she asked, as she stood before me, -with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">I sighed as I told her that I had never seen any one look more -lovely.</p> - -<p class="normal">'<i>She'll</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i> -Delicate Ground</i> 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 -<i>have</i> 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 <i>The Conjugal Lesson</i>, 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 <i>he</i> 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And what do you think of us now?' she asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And so it was,' said Josey West. 'Which one was it, my dear, -who said that--a tall thin man, with a sandy moustache?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No; but he was sitting near, and I saw him nodding his head, -and clapping, as though he was very pleased.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What?' I asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'It was very kind of you, Chris,' said Jessie, giving me her -hand, which was burning with excitement.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You must be tired, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I could go all through it again,' she replied.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And you think she would succeed?' said Josey West.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am sure of it, Josey,' he answered.</p> - -<p class="normal">He addressed all in the room by their Christian names, and was -evidently regarded as a man of importance.</p> - -<p class="normal">'But there is a great deal to be learnt?' asked Jessie; 'is -there not?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And it would cost money?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_31" href="#div1Ref_31">CHAPTER XXXI.</a></h4> -<h5>MY MOTHER EXPRESSES HER FEARS CONCERNING JESSIE.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">One evening, as I was smartening myself up in my room, -preparatory to going to the Wests', my mother entered, and said, almost humbly,</p> - -<p class="normal">'My dear, can you spare me a few minutes?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Certainly,'I replied. 'Jessie is at the Wests', isn't she?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, my dear. I'll not keep you long. I want to speak to you -about her.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Go on, mother,' I said, in a tone of satisfaction, for that -was the subject I loved best to converse upon.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You are in her confidence, my dear?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother observed my hesitation, and divined the cause.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>your</i> confidence, have I, my darling?'</p> - -<p class="normal">Before I could reply, she placed her hand to her heart, and -uttered an exclamation of pain.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Mother!' I cried.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She rested her head upon my shoulder and closed her eyes, -holding me tightly to her.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am better now, dear child,' she said presently, with a -sweet smile.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 -<i>could</i> I have seen, had I not been blind?</p> - -<p class="normal">'You ought to get advice, mother. Promise me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will, my dear; but it is nothing. I am not growing younger, -Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You were speaking of Jessie, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, my dear. I was about to say that Jessie has no one to -look after her but me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And me,' I added proudly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, mother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am sure it would be, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">I kissed my mother for these words.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">A tremor ran through my frame. Not love alone, but pity, was -expressed in my mother's face and tone.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I don't quite understand you, mother,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Where does Jessie go to in the day, my dear?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Where does Jessie go to in the day!' I repeated. 'Does she go -anywhere?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I considered for a few moments, and soon arrived at a -satisfactory conclusion.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'She must have, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I looked at my mother; there was more in her tone than her -words implied.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Go on, mother. You have something more to tell me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I controlled my agitation, foolishly believing that I could -deceive this fondest of mothers.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Did the cab come to our door?' I asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Don't hide anything from me, mother; of course I shall speak -to Jessie about it. Tell me exactly what you saw and heard.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>was</i> a -gentleman who accompanied Jessie. She said she was sure of it.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What was he like?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Tall and dark, and very well dressed.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Young?' I asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'No,' she answered, and I could not help feeling relieved at -the information; nearer fifty than forty, I should say.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ask her to confide in me, my dear,' my mother said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I did not wish to go,' she said to me, on our way, 'but I saw -that you had something to say to me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I answered, yes; that I did wish to speak to her.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And about something unpleasant, I can see,' she said; 'make -it as short as you can, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Jessie,' I said disconsolately, 'you know how I love you!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'If any person on the stage,' she answered lightly, 'spoke of -love in that tone, the whole house would laugh at him.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That is the only thing that runs in your thoughts now,' I -said gloomily.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What?' she exclaimed. 'Love? I meant the stage. You think of -nothing but acting.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well--perhaps! What else have I to think of that brings any -happiness to me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I thought you loved me, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'So I do, Chris,' she said in careless fashion, still toying -with the flower.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And others, too,' I added.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, yes--if you please. There are always more than two -persons in the world.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I at least know the value of it, Jessie. Ah, you would -believe me if you knew what I would do for you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I think you love me, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'With all my heart, Jessie; with all my soul!'</p> - -<p class="normal">She trembled a little at the passion of my words.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Tell me,' she said, averting her head, 'what would you do for -me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'In what way?' she asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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'.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Has she been watching me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Have you?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No,' I replied, very hurt at the question; 'you don't think I -would play the spy upon you!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, I don't know,' she said, with a toss of her head; -'persons do strange things when they are in love.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You seem to know a great deal, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She appeared to be both pleased and discontented at this -remark.</p> - -<p class="normal">'When girls get together, Chris, they <i>will</i> 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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That is quite true,' said Jessie simply, before I could -proceed farther; 'but why didn't she speak to me about it?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'She told you that?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I think I understand you, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you, Chris?' she asked, in a tenderer tone.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Against all the rest of the world,' she said, quoting my -words.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, against all the rest of the world, Jessie,' I replied -eagerly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have learnt something from her, Chris--something good, I -hope.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You could learn nothing from her that was not sweet and -good,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">These last words were spoken on the threshold of our home.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_32" href="#div1Ref_32">CHAPTER XXXII.</a></h4> -<h5>JESSIE MAKES AN EXPLANATION.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Jessie walked straight into the parlour, where both uncle -Bryan and my mother were sitting.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You are anxious to know,' she said, addressing my mother, -'where I go to of a morning.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, my dear,' answered my mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Who is he, my dear?' asked my mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But surely, my dear,' remonstrated my mother, 'you have no -intention of becoming an actress.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Who is to lead me?' said Jessie, pale and trembling. 'I have -asked to be led, and <i>you</i> 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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You are clever enough,' he said, 'to twist things into the -shape you like best----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I cannot answer you; you are wiser than I am, but I do not -think you can see my heart.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I see,' he said, with a glance at my mother's white face, -'things which you do not seem to comprehend.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'The time may come,' she retorted, 'when you will be more just -towards me, and I must wait until then.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No; for I have been dependent upon you, not upon them.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Have I ever said a word which led you to believe I begrudged -you shelter here?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Never; but we do not judge always by words.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She seemed to have caught uncle Bryan's talent for short crisp -sentences, in which there was much truth.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Go on with your explanation,' he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">She turned to my mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And, my dear child,' added my mother, 'he is a stranger to -us, and must be almost a stranger to you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'He is a gentleman,' said Jessie.</p> - -<p class="normal">'A gentleman!' repeated uncle Bryan scornfully.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Of course I have no money to pay him; I am to pay him by and -by, out of any money I may earn.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You are determined, then, to become an actress?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No,' replied Jessie tearfully, 'I only want kindness; I -cannot live without it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She turned to leave the room, with signs of agitation on her -face, when uncle Bryan desired her to stay.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Such a crumb of comfort as this would console me for days.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And then I shall be my own master,' I said to myself proudly.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_33" href="#div1Ref_33">CHAPTER XXXIII.</a></h4> -<h5>MR. GLOVER.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, thank you; I will not trouble you to-day. Chris has come -to see me home.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh,' he answered, without casting a glance in my direction. -'Chris has come to see you home! Is Chris your brother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No,' she said, 'I haven't a brother or a sister in the -world.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i> -must</i> be a friend of mine.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, that is the fashion in the profession,' said Jessie -carelessly; there is nothing in that.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'He is not an actor, is he, Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No; he is something in the City.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'He is at Mr. Rackstraw's every day, Jessie?' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Nearly every day, Chris,' she answered, and closed the -subject of conversation by saying that, at all events, Mr. Glover was a perfect -gentleman.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You don't seem pleased, Chris,' she said, following me out of -the room.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Because I seem never to dare to say what I think; and I don't -like to play the hypocrite.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You don't say what you think,' Jessie said, 'because you are -conscious that your thoughts are unjust.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Perhaps it is so; but I can't make myself believe that they -are.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You haven't a good opinion of Mr. Glover.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am not grateful for his patronage; I don't mind saying -that.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Don't come to the Wests' for me to-night, Chris,' Jessie -said, after a little quiet pondering.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why not, Jessie?' I asked, with a sinking heart.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">These were the unkindest words she had ever spoken to me, and -they were a terrible torture to me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What other reason?' she asked quietly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Jessie!' I cried repentantly, seizing her hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">She tore it from me indignantly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will ask him to come!' she said, and left me, ready to kill -myself for my cruel injustice.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 -<i>must</i> 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_34" href="#div1Ref_34">CHAPTER XXXIV.</a></h4> -<h5>TURK WEST'S APPEARANCE AT THE WEST-END THEATRE, AND ITS RESULTS.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'At work so soon, my dear!' she said, in a tone of exquisite -tenderness.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ill could help you, dear child!' she murmured.</p> - -<p class="normal">You cannot--you cannot,' I murmured in reply. Mother, Jessie -must not go out this morning without my seeing her. I <i>must</i> speak to her -alone.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have come to ask you to forgive me,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What have I to forgive?' she asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It was very late,' I said remorsefully.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have been doubly wrong,' I said, 'but I have made my peace -with her.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, that is easy with such a nature as hers; mine is -harder.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Still you forgive me; say that you forgive me, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Nothing will ever cure me of loving you,' I said, in a glad -whisper. 'You would not wish that.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She turned the subject.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You will have a secret to tell me then, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes; I have thought a great deal lately of the letter I am to -read for the first time on that day.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And you have never had the curiosity to open it, Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ah,' said that little woman, with a shrewd glance at us as we -entered, so you two lovers have been making it up?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Don't be foolish, Josey,' exclaimed Jessie.</p> - -<p class="normal">'How do you know we ever quarrelled?' I asked, in high -spirits.</p> - -<p class="normal">'How do I know that it will be night to-night, you meant to -ask.</p> - -<p class="normal">Because I'm crooked, you think I can't see things perhaps. -Have you seen Turk?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No,' I answered.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I took and dropped it.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>us</i>. -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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But if you should fail,' I suggested.</p> - -<p class="normal">He glared at me in incredulous astonishment.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Did his family know of it? I asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>friends</i>,' -with most significant emphasis on the last word.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>Twice Wedded, or Torn Asunder</i>; -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>I</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 <i> -not</i> be played again.</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces!' murmured old -Mac.</p> - -<p class="normal">'It was all the fault of the piece,' said one. 'What audience -could be expected to stand such a hash?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Nonsense, old fellow, nonsense!' his friends remonstrated. -'You'll think better of it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I've said it,' cried Turk, with stern resolve. 'I act no -more.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_35" href="#div1Ref_35">CHAPTER XXXV.</a></h4> -<h5>JESSIE'S BIRTHDAY.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Before I had time for reply, my mother had called out, in her -thin sweet voice:</p> - -<p class="normal">'Jessie, what are you saying to Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Nothing would please Jessie so much as having one of her -friends at our little party.'</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother looked doubtfully at me. Since we had lived in uncle -Bryan's house, no stranger had ever sat down at our table.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Will you ask him, or shall I, my dear?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">A few hours afterwards my mother said,</p> - -<p class="normal">'Your uncle says we can do as we please. He consents, my -dear.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ungraciously, of course,' I added; 'but never mind, so long -as Josey is here. Not a word to Jessie, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I enjoined secrecy also on Josey West, who was really glad of -the opportunity of making my mother's personal acquaintance.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She pinched my cheek merrily, as though she understood my -meaning.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i> -must</i> 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">I was at home with my flowers before breakfast.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What made you go out so early this morning, Chris?' Jessie -inquired over breakfast.</p> - -<p class="normal">'That's a secret,' I answered gaily; 'you shall know -to-night.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you know it's my birthday to-day, uncle Bryan?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have heard so.' Then after a short pause: 'May it be a day -of good remembrance to you!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother took Jessie's hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">'May your life be bright and happy, dear child!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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!</p> - -<p class="normal">'And you, Chris?' she said presently, holding out her hand to -me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I shall wish you nothing until to-night,' I said, with an -effort of great self-restraint, 'except in my heart.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Whom for, mother?' I asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I was looking for Jessie, my dear. Has she not been out -walking with you?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ah,' exclaimed Josey West briskly, 'she'll be in presently. I -dare say she is going to surprise us with something.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And is it so, really?' Josey asked tantalisingly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why, you knew it was so,' I answered, very hot and red.</p> - -<p class="normal">And my mother left Josey, and came and pressed me fondly in -her arms.</p> - -<p class="normal">But where was Jessie? She was nowhere in the house.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Can anything have happened to her?' my mother asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">Uncle Bryan was in the room when my mother spoke. He also, in -his own way, shared our alarm.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I <i>must</i> open it, mother,' I said. The letter contained -these words:</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p style="text-indent:60%"><span class="sc">'Jessie</span>.'</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_36" href="#div1Ref_36">CHAPTER XXXVI.</a></h4> -<h5>I SPEAK PLAINLY TO UNCLE BRYAN.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Let me pass.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Not till you have heard what I have to say,' was my reply, as -I stood before him.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I hope you are satisfied,' I said. 'You have driven her from -us. What is the next thing you intend to do?'</p> - -<p class="normal">I paused for his reply, but he did not speak.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>you</i>, 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Remember what, mother?' I cried pitilessly. 'That he has -robbed me of all that can make life dear to me--of all that <i>is</i> 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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Josey West caught my arm suddenly and sharply.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Are you mad?' she cried. 'Learn the lesson you want to teach -others. Look at your mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'O my child, my child,' she sobbed, 'my heart is almost -broken!'</p> - -<p class="normal">I looked round for uncle Bryan; he was gone.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, no, mother,' I cried remorsefully, 'you must not say -that. You have not lost it. God forbid that it should ever be so!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Jessie will never sleep here again,' I thought, with a -choking sensation in my throat. This was <i>her</i> room, Josey,' I said aloud.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, dear child,' she said, with a smile so sad and sweet as -to bring the tears into my eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Mother,' I whispered, 'you know what has occurred?'</p> - -<p class="normal">She considered for a moment or two; I assisted her memory.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Jessie,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I know now,' she replied, with a look of distress. 'Jessie -has gone.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Will you be strong for my sake, mother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will do anything you tell me, my darling child,' she said -humbly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'First I will go and send a doctor to you. Then I want to try -and find Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Dear child, do you know where she is?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'How can you think it, mother? I will come back, but it may be -late.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will keep awake for you, my darling. Say nothing more to -your uncle. Promise me that, dear child.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will not speak another word to him.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I turned to Josey West; she divined what I was about to say.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I'll stop with your mother, if you <i>must</i> 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?</p> - -<p class="normal">'That was my intention,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'One word, Josey. <i>You</i> have no idea where Jessie is?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Not the slightest,' she replied. 'And you didn't know she was -going away?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I had no more idea of it than you had.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That night,' I said hesitatingly, 'when Mr. Glover was at -your house----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh,' she interrupted in a sharp tone, Mr. Glover! Well, what -night?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'A little while ago, when Jessie was there, and I was not. Did -he pay her great attention?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Of course he did.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Did he seem fond of her?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It wouldn't have been natural otherwise,' she replied, with a -suspicious look at me. 'Of course he seemed fond of her. Anything more?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No,' I said, with a sigh; 'that's all.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I kissed my mother, and left the room. Her loving eyes -followed me to the door.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_37" href="#div1Ref_37">CHAPTER XXXVII.</a></h4> -<h5>TURK MAKES A CONFESSION.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">I found Turk at his sister's house. He jumped up at once on my -proposing that he should take a walk with me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am glad of the opportunity, Chris, my boy,' he said; 'for I -want to talk to you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I answered, in as lively a tone as I could command, that I was -at his service.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">I had nothing to say in contradiction.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Very well, then. To live, one must have money; to have money -(barring the silver spoon), one must work for it. Granted?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Granted,' I assented listlessly. He looked at me in surprise -at my despondent tone.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ah,' he said, 'there's more in that than meets the eye.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'More in what, Turk? In your proposition?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, Chris, my boy. In your face. You are in trouble.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am, Turk; in the deepest, most terrible trouble. I am -utterly, utterly wretched. I have nothing in the world worth living for.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It's bad when it comes to that,' he said, with an expression -of deep concern. 'Money?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, Turk.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Heart?'</p> - -<p class="normal">My silence was a sufficient answer.</p> - -<p class="normal">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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will tell you about it presently, Turk. Go on with your own -story first.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'A friend of mine!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Two, I may say--one fair, one dark. I do perceive here a -divided duty. But we'll speak of that anon.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No; tell me now. What friends do you mean? I haven't many.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You have one who stands for a host. If she were such a friend -to me, I wouldn't call the king my uncle.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'She!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">I interrupted him.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Don't let us have any mystery, Turk. Who are they?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Jessie the peerless and Mr. Glover.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I started. Turk continued:</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I reflected with some bitterness on this information.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Are you certain of that, Turk?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Jessie has left our house, Turk.'</p> - -<p class="normal">He gave me a look of deep concern. 'What do you mean by that, -Chris, my son?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'She has left us, never to return--left us suddenly, without -explanation.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'There is more in <i>this</i> 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You have given me your confidence, Chris, my boy, and you -want me to stand by you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I do, Turk.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And I <i>will</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I did not wish to hear his confession; I wished to continue -talking only of myself and Jessie, but I was bound to listen.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No words can express its strength and depth, Turk,' I said, -in a tone of gloomy satisfaction.</p> - -<p class="normal">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>I</i> -love her, also.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I started, and let go his arm.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No one is, Turk,' I said, somewhat mollified.</p> - -<p class="normal">'No; I won't say that. I think that some one whom I know <i>is</i> -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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But you never had any hope, Turk,' I said, disposed, after -his magnanimous conduct, to argue the matter with him.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I should be an ungrateful brute not to say that I accept your -offer thankfully, Turk.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">At the end of that time he resumed.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'With the exception of uncle Bryan,' I interrupted; 'you -mustn't forget that.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I could not think of anything. Jessie had not been out of our -house.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What had he to do with it? asked Turk.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'There's a mystery somewhere,' said Turk, pondering; in that -letter perhaps.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Where are we going?' asked Turk.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">But we may be able to discover where Mr. Rackstraw lives.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And am I not? That's news to Turk. What good can you do by -finding out Mr. Rackstraw's private address?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'He may tell me where Mr. Glover lives.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And then?' demanded Turk, in a grave and sorrowful tone.</p> - -<p class="normal">I turned from him petulantly. 'If you do not care to -understand me,' I said, 'I had best go alone.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I walked swiftly onwards towards Mr. Rackstraw's office, Turk -following me at a distance of a few paces.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I can't find it in my heart,' he said with rough tenderness, -'to be angry with you; but I ought to be.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I <i>am</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Who has said anything against her?' I demanded hotly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I must,' I said firmly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_38" href="#div1Ref_38">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</a></h4> -<h5>MR. GLOVER DECLINES TO SATISFY ME.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>his</i> part of the world so -late in the night. I made some sort of awkward, bungling answer, and then he -recognised Turk.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes,' Turk answered, everything was settled, and he went into -his new place of business early in the morning.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And how is business with you?' asked Mr. Glover, directing -his attention to me again.</p> - -<p class="normal">I answered that it was very good, and that I had nothing to -complain of in that respect.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>you</i> out to-night? Have <i>you</i> business in this quarter too?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No,' I said; 'I did not come out for business.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You did not come out for business. For pleasure, then. Well, -young men will be young men.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'To tell you the truth, sir,' I said----</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I came out partly for the purpose and in the hope of seeing -you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">With his hand playing with his moustache, he looked not at me, -but at Turk, for an explanation. Turk, however, had nothing to say.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You came out for the purpose and in the hope of seeing me. -Yes. Have you brought me any message?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Did you expect one, sir?' I asked quickly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have not come to beg any favour of you, sir. I only came to -ask----'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Take time--take time,' said Mr. Glover, outwardly quite at -his ease.</p> - -<p class="normal">Turk came to my rescue here. He divined my thoughts, and the -cause of my hesitation.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I gave Turk a grateful look.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Is it such a subject as ought to be spoken of in confidence -between us?'</p> - -<p class="normal">He totally ignored me, as if my opinion on the point were of -the smallest possible value.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I think so,' replied Turk, 'if it be spoken of at all.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You have your doubts as to the judiciousness of the -communication our young friend is about to make?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have; and I have told him so.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, you have told him so.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You may go on,' he said to me, with a condescending wave of -his hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">'It is understood, then,' I said, somewhat more boldly, 'that -what we say to each other is quite private and will not be repeated?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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'----</p> - -<p class="normal">'About Jessie,' he said, in a lighter tone. 'Yes; what about -her?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you know where she is?'</p> - -<p class="normal">His looks were disturbed now, although he strove to be cool.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do I know where she is?' he repeated, with a contraction of -his eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">'That is what I have come to ask.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, that is what you have come to ask.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'No; I understand the English language, and <i>you</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then you do not know?'</p> - -<p class="normal">He would not give me the satisfaction of a simple answer.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Let me see,' he said, in a musing tone, 'to-day is her -birthday.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You do know that.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'She told me herself; these things are not guessed at.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You have not answered my question,' I said, trembling from -passion and from a sense of helplessness.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You have not answered mine,' he replied. 'I ask you why you -put it to me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">Turk motioned to me that I ought to tell him, but I could not -speak.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'My sister Josey was invited, to please Jessie, and Chris had -a little present to give her----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Are you concocting a plot?' asked Mr. Glover.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Fear,' I replied unhesitatingly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">And with a contemptuous glance at me, Mr. Glover walked away -in a very leisurely manner.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_39" href="#div1Ref_39">CHAPTER XXXIX.</a></h4> -<h5>A NEW FEAR.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">Josey West opened the door for me. Her face was very grave.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well?' she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have heard nothing, Josey. She has not come home?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No.'</p> - -<p class="normal">A peculiar accent in her voice struck me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'How is mother?' I asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">She closed her lips firmly, and looked at me seriously and -reproachfully. I rebelled against that look; my heart was full almost to -bursting.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I don't say so,' she replied gently, 'because I don't think -so.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">She placed her fingers on her lips. 'Hush!' she said; 'don't -be cruel as well as unjust.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Go up and see; but tread softly. You are not the only -sufferer--remember that.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I went upstairs, and into my mother's room, softly. Josey West -followed me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Mother,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'For God's sake tell me, Josey,' I whispered, 'how long has -she been like this?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Did she speak, Josey.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'A little at first.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What about?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Did you not go for the doctor again, Josey?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I could not leave her, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Uncle Bryan might have gone--'</p> - -<p class="normal">I knocked at his door, and called him again and again; but I -got no answer.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">Did you see him go out, Josey?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No; I have not seen him since you left.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I must run for the doctor. Will you stop here?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I'll stop, Chris, and do all I can to help you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I pressed her hand, and within half an hour the doctor was at -my mother's bedside. I waited below until he came down.</p> - -<p class="normal">'If you will walk back with me,' he said, will give you some -medicine for your mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Is she very ill, sir?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Very.'</p> - -<p class="normal">My heart sank as I asked, 'Dangerously?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I think so, but we shall know more in a day or two.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then there is no immediate danger, sir?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Can you tell me what she is suffering from, sir?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But I do not think my mother has worked too hard, sir.'</p> - -<p class="normal">The mind has acted upon the body. Hard physical work itself -seldom, if ever, kills. In the case of this beam----you follow me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes sir.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Thank you, sir; I should prefer to hear the truth, terrible -though it be.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'A great trouble has come upon us within the last few hours.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'An unexpected trouble?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Totally unexpected, sir.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'For which you were quite unprepared?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Quite, sir.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'She was right, sir.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, then,' he said, giving me a rough and kindly shake, -'your mother's ultimate recovery may depend--I only say <i>may</i>--upon you. -Think of that, and don't be falling ill yourself.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I'll try not to,' I murmured, for I felt sick and faint.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And now, Chris,' she said, 'you must go to bed.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I'll not stop to hear anything spoken against her,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That's what Turk says,' I interposed.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Josey,' I said, 'I shall feel much relieved if you will -promise me one thing.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That depends. I'm not going to open my mouth and shut my -eyes.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'If Jessie tells you the reason of her going away----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Which she's sure to do. Oh, I shall know all about it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And if the knowledge does not come to me in any other way, -will you tell me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Upon my word! Me tell a secret? Not for all the world, master -Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But if it's not a secret?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>must</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You'll not see your uncle Bryan again in a hurry,' said -Josey. 'You mark my words--he's gone for good.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">Josey was outside on the landing.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Good-night, my dear,' she said; 'give me a kiss.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Mine were not the only tears on my face as I walked -downstairs.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_40" href="#div1Ref_40">CHAPTER XL.</a></h4> -<h5>WHAT THE NEIGHBOURS SAID.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">During Josey's absence the doctor came.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">Before the day was out, the whole neighbourhood was busy -talking over these stories, and discussing their probable results.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then I <i>must</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I shall be able to serve you, Chris,' he said, before I went -away; 'I shall keep my eyes open.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'The doctor said the room must be made as airy as possible; he -doesn't want a lot of lumber about.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Where is Jessie's box, Josey?' I asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Gone,' was the short and snappish reply.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Gone where?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, I suppose you must be told. While you were away -yesterday, Jessie sent for it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then you know where she is,' I cried excitedly, jumping to my -feet, and tearing off my working-coat.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, I know where she is.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I waited, but Josey did not volunteer further information. I -looked at her reproachfully.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, it isn't all, Josey. You will tell me something more. If -I'm not to know where she is----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Which you are not,' Josey interrupted; 'not from me at -least.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I may know whether she is well.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, she is well in health.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And happy?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I don't know; I can't tell.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Did she do right in going away?'</p> - -<p class="normal">She answered me in precisely the same words.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I don't know; I can't tell.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Is she stopping with friends?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, she is stopping with friends.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But what friends can she have that we don't know of?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ah,' exclaimed Josey, more snappishly than before, 'what -friends, I wonder?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Josey,' I said coaxingly, putting my arm round her waist----</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Bless the dear child!' she said, with a motherly air, I <i> -have</i> some pity for you! Why, you stupid boy, I'm as fond of you as though -you were my own brother!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then tell me if it was because of me Jessie went away.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You had nothing to do with it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You have heard the stories the neighbours are telling each -other, Josey, about Jessie and Mr. Glover.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, yes, I've heard them! The scandal-mongers! I'd like to -wring their ears for them.'</p> - -<p class="normal">That was sufficient for me; a great weight was lifted from my -heart. There was another question that I must ask.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Did Jessie in her letter say anything about me? Did she send -me any message?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then there's a message to mother in that letter?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'There is, but I can't give it to her, poor dear!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Go on with what Jessie says about me, Josey.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'"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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It <i>must</i> be for me, Josey. You have no right to keep it -from me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_41" href="#div1Ref_41">CHAPTER XLI.</a></h4> -<h5>JOSEY WEST DECLARES THAT SHE HAS GOT INTO HER PROPER GROOVE.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">I followed him from the house.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I heard what you said to Miss West,' I said to him. 'Is all -hope really gone? Can nothing be done?'</p> - -<p class="normal">He did not reply immediately, and before he spoke he took my -arm kindly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 -<i>is</i> 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 <i>must</i> 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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, I have money saved; and I think I could arrange to take -work with me, and do it in the country.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'If your mother asks who she is,' said Josey, 'you can say she -is the maid.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>do</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I could see no better plan than this, and I thanked Josey -cordially.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Where are you going to first?' she asked, interrupting me -abruptly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'To Hertford, where I was born,' I replied.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>did</i> -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.</p> - -<p class="normal">These scenes and remembrances soothed and consoled me; I -seemed to be lifted out of a fever of unrest.</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>my</i> 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>would</i> 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 <i>is</i> 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>I</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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>re-</i>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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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>I'm</i> -going to break my heart over you.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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,</p> - -<p style="text-indent:60%">'<span class="sc">Josey</span>.'</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Let Christopher read this and my wife's letter.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Good-bye, Emma. For your unwavering kindness and gentleness -to me, who have repaid you so badly, receive the humble heartfelt thanks of - <span class="sc">Bryan Carey</span>.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Then followed the letter from his wife.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_42" href="#div1Ref_42">CHAPTER XLII.</a></h4> -<h5>FROM FRANCES TO HER HUSBAND, BRYAN CAREY.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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!</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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:</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">'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,</p> - -<p style="text-indent:60%"><span class="sc">'Frances.'</span></p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">The second letter you are now reading.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p style="text-indent:30%">Your unhappy wife,</p> -<p style="text-indent:40%"><span class="sc">Frances</span>.</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_43" href="#div1Ref_43">CHAPTER XLIII.</a></h4> -<h5>A HAPPY RECOVERY.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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----</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Chris!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What are you doing, dear child?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Working, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I scarcely dared to raise my eyes, and I waited anxiously for -her to speak again.</p> - -<p class="normal">'It is late, my child.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have lain for some time watching you, my darling, and -wondering whether this was not all a dream.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Where are we, dear child?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'In the country, at Hertford. You were not very well, and I -brought you down here to nurse you into health again.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She pondered over these words. 'You were singing my songs, my -dearest'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I hope they did not disturb you, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What sweeter music could I hear, dear child? But what made -you sing them?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What prayer, my dearest?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'If you say that, mother, I shall think you do not believe -me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, no, dear child, I do believe it. These are tears of joy -that I am shedding. And we two are alone, darling!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, mother, and I only want one thing to make me quite -happy.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Tell it me, child?' she asked, a little anxiously.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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>I</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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will try to, dear child; I think I shall; I feel strong -already.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then you must tell me that you are happy, dear mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And now, mother, not another word----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But draw the counterpane round you, darling; you will take -cold else.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_44" href="#div1Ref_44">CHAPTER XLIV.</a></h4> -<h5>AT REHEARSAL.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">When I ask her about Jessie, Josey says that she's all right, -and that I have no occasion to bother myself about <i>her</i>. I can extract -nothing more from her than this, and if I endeavour to press the subject -further, she turns snappish.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'How <i>do</i> you know it?' I ask.</p> - -<p class="normal">Turk scratches his head. 'Well, <i>he</i> says it, Chris, my -boy, and everybody says it who knows him. He comes from a highly-respectable -family.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I can say nothing in opposition, knowing nothing of his -family.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And it is something to be proud of, Chris?' says Turk.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What <i>is</i>, Turk?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'To be so respectably connected.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I suppose so,' I answer indifferently.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Business good, Turk?' I inquired.</p> - -<p class="normal">'First-class,' said Turk. 'I shall have to get an assistant, I -expect. By the bye---- O, never mind!'</p> - -<p class="normal">He suddenly interrupted himself, in a confused manner.</p> - -<p class="normal">'By the bye, what, Turk?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Nothing,' he replied, bending over his work.</p> - -<p class="normal">Old Mac looked at me somewhat significantly, and, rising, said -he should take a stroll in Covent-garden Market.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Winking at me, old Mac went out, and I, regarding the wink as -an invitation to follow him, wished Turk good-morning.</p> - -<p class="normal">'This is not the way to Covent Garden,' I said, as I joined -him. 'Have you had your morning drain, Mac?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, my son, no,' he replied cheerfully; 'and I know a place.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Without more words he conducted me to the 'place,' where I -paid for his morning drain twice over.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You wanted to speak to me I thought, Mac.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!--</p> -<div style="font-size:9pt"> -<p style="margin-left:50px; text-indent:-25px; margin-top:0pt; margin-bottom:0pt"> -"Her lips to mine how often did she join.<br> -Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!</p> -<p style="margin-left:50px; text-indent:-18px; margin-top:0pt; margin-bottom:0pt"> -How many tales to please me did she coin. Dreading my love, the loss thereof -still fearing!</p> -<p style="margin-left:50px; text-indent:-18px; margin-top:0pt; margin-bottom:0pt"> -Yet in the midst of all her pure protesting.</p> -<p style="margin-left:50px; text-indent:-18px; margin-top:0pt; margin-bottom:0pt"> -Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jesting."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p class="continue">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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. <i>Do</i> you follow me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Not exactly,' I was obliged to confess, notwithstanding that -I had a dim glimmering of what was coming.</p> - -<p class="normal">Old Mac laughed.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">My heart beat violently; I knew that he referred to Jessie.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Did she tell you to come for me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Steady, my son, steady,' whispered old Mac warningly.</p> - -<p class="normal">I controlled myself, without being aware what I had done to -excite this remonstrance.</p> - -<p class="normal">'When does she appear?' I asked in the same low tone.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Next Monday week.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'In her own name?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Mac,' I said, in a whisper, 'I think you are a friend of -mine.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am proud to hear you say so, my son. I <i>am</i> your -friend.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What does that mean?' And I pointed to Jessie and Mr. Glover.</p> - -<p class="normal">He looked at my agitated face, and then at the two persons I -was interested in; but he did not answer me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why don't you speak, Mac? Why don't you answer me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Because I don't quite understand you, my son.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Speak a little lower, my son. It means that he is interested -in her. There's nothing unusual in that.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But it <i>may</i> mean something more; it may mean that he is -fond of her.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have my reasons; I would rather Turk should not know -anything of this.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'O Chris!' she cried, in the first excitement of the moment. -'How glad I am to see you! What brings you this way?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What brings him this way?' echoed Mr. Glover. Not accident, -I'll be bound.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Was it Turk who told you?' she asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, not Turk. I think he would not tell me anything that you -did not wish me to know.'</p> - -<p class="normal">It was not without intention that I let this arrow fly. Jessie -made no comment upon it, but said:</p> - -<p class="normal">'And then you waited outside to see me, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes; I had no other purpose. But I did not intend that you -should see me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">No? But we'll not quarrel now that we <i>have</i> met. How is -mother, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'She is well, Jessie. You know that we were very nearly losing -her.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I know; and you took her into the country, and nursed her.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Thank God, she is well now.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And you?--you are looking thinner, I think, Chris; but you -are well and happy.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'And you are getting along famously,' continued Jessie -hurriedly; I read your name in the papers, and it made me very proud.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'We shall read your name in the papers soon, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I was silent, and she was generous enough not to exact the -promise.</p> - -<p class="normal">'At all events, then, if you do come I shall have one friend -there,' she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Not more than one, Jessie?' asked Mr. Glover, in a tone which -made my heart throb violently.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Good-bye, Chris. Will you give my love to mother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She drew me aside, out of the hearing of Mr. Glover, and -whispered, 'Don't quarrel with him, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will not, Jessie. One moment. Are you happy?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'How did you gain admission into the theatre, young man?' he -said. 'Did you sneak in, or did you tell the doorkeeper a lie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That is my business,' I replied calmly; for I was determined -to keep my promise to Jessie.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'<i>You</i> will overlook it!' I retorted, without any outward -exhibition of anger. 'Is the theatre yours, then?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Such a gentleman as yourself,' I interrupted.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_45" href="#div1Ref_45">CHAPTER XLV.</a></h4> -<h5>OLD MAC EXPRESSES HIS OPINION OF MR. GLOVER.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Is she coming to see us, my dear?' my mother asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">I answered that she had given no hint of any such intention.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Perhaps,' said my mother, 'Mr. Glover being by restrained -her.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Perhaps,' I replied curtly.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>was</i> a thing to be proud of. This -was the leading idea of all my dreams.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh,' said Josey West to me, a couple of days after I had seen -Jessie, 'so you've seen her.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, Josey,' I replied, 'I have seen her.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And never told me!' she exclaimed.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, we will not.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why, my sweet child?' she inquired, not in the least -disturbed by my abrupt tone.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Because I have not made up my mind whether I shall be there.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, indeed!' she said, with a little laugh.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Hallo, Chris,' he said, hooking his arm in mine; 'this is a -surprise, isn't it?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Is Jessie very ill, Turk?' I asked anxiously.</p> - -<p class="normal">He looked at me inquiringly, seemingly in doubt as to whether -I was in earnest in asking the question. I repeated it.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I do not think so,' he replied.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Have you seen her lately, Turk?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I should like to know if Jessie is really well,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Go round to my shop, then; here's the key. I'll make -inquiries and come to you soon.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I saw a light,' he said, entering, and closing the door -behind him.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Ah, Chris, my son; it's you, is it? This is a rum go, isn't -it? Where's Turk?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'He'll be here presently. You mean about the theatre, don't -you?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">I said that he was quite correct, and that I was following his -words.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I placed myself at once in communication with our fair -friend----'</p> - -<p class="normal">I was surprised into an exclamation by this information. In no -way disturbed, old Mac went on.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I did. I placed myself at once in communication with our fair -friend----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You did not mention my name, I hope,' I could not help -saying.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Has any one been here, Chris?' he asked, as he entered.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Only old Mac; it is scarcely two minutes since he left.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No one else?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, Turk. Have you found out about Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No; he has not been here. Did you expect to see him?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I asked you once,' he said, somewhat awkwardly, 'if you were -in trouble. You will remember it--on the anniversary of Jessie's birthday.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I remember, Turk.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yours, you said, was not a money trouble.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But yours is, Turk?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am sure I can trust you, Turk.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And that is just what I want,' he said, with a perplexed -look.</p> - -<p class="normal">'What is?</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'How much, Turk?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Eighty pounds.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I had more than that saved out of my earnings.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I can lend it to you, Turk,' I said quite gladly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You, Chris! Your own money?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'My own money--money that I have saved.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And you will lend it to me on <i>that</i> security?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What better do I want from you, Turk?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Is it all you have saved, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No; I shall have a little left.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I can't lend to you upon that security, Turk. The first you -mentioned is the only security I can accept.'</p> - -<p class="normal">He laughed a little huskily.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">I acquiesced, although I had not the slightest idea of his -meaning.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I was sufficiently surprised at the change that was apparent -in his tone concerning Mr. Glover, whom he had hitherto extolled so highly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I could not help laughing at these singular words.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Mr. Glover has managed to make a large profit out of you, -Turk.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I see that you only received sixty-five pounds,' I said, busy -over another calculation.</p> - -<p class="normal">'That is all.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Perhaps,' I ventured to say, 'you do not now think me so -unreasonable in the dislike I took to him.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It is I who was wrong, Chris, my boy. I see that now.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'There, there, Chris--let's say no more about him.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I cannot tell what it was that made me pause suddenly here, -but pause I did, and the sentence was not concluded.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you know where Jessie lives, Turk?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Very well,' I said. But can you tell me when Jessie is likely -to make her appearance----'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I wonder,' he said, as he pocketed it, 'that you haven't -asked me what I wanted the other sixty pounds for.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have been going to ask half a dozen times,' I replied, 'but -I thought it might be another of your secrets.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It is a secret,' he said with a smile. 'And if you had asked, -I shouldn't have told you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Certainly, Turk was playing a most mysterious part; but I -trusted him thoroughly, knowing what a good fellow he was.</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother was surprised to see me home so early, and more so -when she heard what had taken place.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have a presentiment, my dear,' she said, 'that this is -going to turn out a fortunate night for us.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Have you been to the theatre, Josey?' I asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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, <i>Picciola</i>, 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I can't help liking the little room after all, mother,' I -said.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_46" href="#div1Ref_46">CHAPTER XLVI.</a></h4> -<h5>A STRANGE DREAM.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother laughed.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why, my dear, where on earth would you look for it? We have -not a thing left that belonged to your grandmother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, we have; you don't forget that brown monkey-man that -used to stand on the mantelshelf and wag its head at us?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I remember it perfectly, dear child; you don't mean to say -you have kept it all this time?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It is in my box now; I shall take it out to-night, and have a -look at it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You don't suppose the treasure is in that?' said my mother, -laughing.</p> - -<p class="normal">'No; though Jessie and I did think one day that we had made a -discovery. Good-night, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_47" href="#div1Ref_47">CHAPTER XLVII.</a></h4> -<h5>EXIT MR. GLOVER.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Turk regarded me with surprise.</p> - -<p class="normal">'An early visitor, Chris,' he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes,' I answered; 'I have come on some very particular -business. When do you pay the balance of your debt to Mr. Glover?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I expect him here at twelve o'clock. I shall pay him then.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Can you give me half an hour or so of your undivided -attention, Turk?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Certainly I can: a couple of hours, if you want them.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">He read it attentively, and returned it to me with a -thoughtful look.</p> - -<p class="normal">'It is cut from an old newspaper, printed a good many years -ago, Turk. Do you find anything singular in it?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I do; something very singular indeed; but how on earth did -you come across it, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I will tell you another time. First, I want to know what it -is that strikes you as singular in the account.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, Chris, there's the knob in this Bullpit's head----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, Turk.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Mr. Glover has one precisely similar on his head.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I could scarcely restrain the expression of my satisfaction at -this proof that, without prompting, his thoughts were taking the same direction -as mine.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, you told me so, Turk; and that sort of thing runs in -families, you said.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I did say so, and I think so.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Mr. Glover said he was born with it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, he told me so distinctly,' said Turk, with a puzzled -look.</p> - -<p class="normal">'That's all right, then. What else do you find singular in it, -Turk?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, there's that habit of Anthony Bullpit's of biting his -nails. Mr. Glover does the same.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes; anything else?' I asked eagerly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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?</p> - -<p class="normal">'Why, Turk, are you blind? Can't you see that I can make the -best use in the world of this strange discovery?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But,' interposed Turk, 'what if these personal marks should -be mere coincidences, and no relationship exists between Anthony Bullpit and Mr. -Glover?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have no objection, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And if I happen to say something to him--something to the -point--you'll not mind, perhaps.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Say whatever you like, Chris, my boy.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I want a promise from you, Turk. Not a word of all this to -Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'All right, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'Chris, perhaps you would not mind witnessing Mr. Glover's -signature.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'So now, Turk,' I said, with a smile, 'I am your creditor -instead of Mr. Glover.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I saw that Turk did not understand why I made this apparently -unnecessary statement.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh,' said Mr. Glover, with a sneer, 'it is your money, then, -with which Turk West has paid his debt!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Glover glanced from me to Turk, and from Turk to me, while -his face grew dark with passion.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You shall hear from me,' he said, in a thick voice, as he -turned to leave the shop.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You shall hear from me first,' I replied; within two hours I -will leave a letter for you at your house.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_48" href="#div1Ref_48">CHAPTER XLVIII.</a></h4> -<h5>JOSEY WEST LAMENTS HER CROOKED LEGS.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Mother,' I said, 'I think you ought to go and see Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She looked up with glad eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you think so, dear child?' she asked. 'Then I will go to -him, and tell him what you say.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'There is no time like the present,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother rose immediately, and put on her bonnet.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She nodded, and stood looking over my shoulder as I worked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'If I see Jessie,' she said, and paused.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, mother, if you see her---- I hope you will see her.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I hope so too, dear child. Shall I give her any message from -you?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Not unless she asks after me, mother; then you may give her -my love.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Dear child! dear child!' she murmured, with tender caresses.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Would you wish me to, my dear?' she asked wistfully.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, mother.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>you</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You ought to have children of your own, Josey.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'There! A nice little fool you'll think me now, Chris!'</p> - -<p class="normal">I gave her a kiss, and in a little while she was herself -again, rattling away as usual.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You guess, I daresay, what my reason is in wishing her to see -Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Josey West laughed. 'I guess, you daresay! Well, yes, I can -guess, although I am not in love.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'What other reason can you have, my sweet sensitive child?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes; and I wondered at the time what such a thick letter -could be all about.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It contained a great secret, Josey, and a very wonderful -story concerning Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Indeed!' said Josey, with a cautious look at me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I think there is no harm in telling you, especially as you'll -not speak of it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, you may trust me, Master Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It is a story concerning Jessie and her father.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Indeed! So Jessie has a father.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You would never guess who her father is, Josey.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then I won't break my head over it; but I shall know if you -tell me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Uncle Bryan is her father; so that you see Jessie and I are -cousins.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Josey did not express the surprise I expected she would; an -expression of thoughtfulness was in her face.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Go on, Chris; I am waiting to hear more.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That sounds very dreadful, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That's a curious phrase,' interrupted Josey, with her -thoughtful manner still upon her. 'Unconsciously guilty.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I was thinking that you have grown into a perfect -philosopher, Chris. Go on.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But you didn't tell your mother this, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Now I'm a witch,' cried Josey, 'and I'll give you three -wishes. What are they?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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--<i>must</i> 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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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 <i>The Knight of the Sable Plume</i>. 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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_49" href="#div1Ref_49">CHAPTER XLIX.</a></h4> -<h5>UNCLE BRYAN AGAIN.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">'Chris,' says my mother to me, on the following day, can you -leave off work an hour earlier this evening?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, mother,' I replied; 'at six o'clock if you like.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then at six o'clock,' she says gaily, 'I shall take -possession of you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">As the hour strikes, she comes to my side, dressed for -walking. 'No tea, mother?' I ask.</p> - -<p class="normal">'We are going out to tea, my dear,' she answers.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Somebody lives here that we know,' says my mother, as she -knocks at the door.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I received your message yesterday, my dear boy,' he says -presently. 'Your mother brought it straight to me. It gladdened my heart -inexpressibly.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'How long ago was it, uncle,' I ask, 'since mother discovered -where you were living?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I smile softly at this defence of her.</p> - -<p class="normal">'She can do nothing wrong,' I say. 'I think I know the spirit -that lives in the hearts of angels.'</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother, who is preparing tea for us, peeps in here.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you forgive me, my dear?' she says. 'You never thought -your mother would deceive you, I daresay.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">She stands between us, embracing us, glancing with tearful -eyes from one to the other.</p> - -<p class="normal">'But I must make haste, and get tea ready,' she cries, running -away from us; 'there! the kettle's boiling over.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Which is the better kind of wisdom, uncle,' I say; 'that -which comes from the head or the heart?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You know in what relation she stands to me, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, uncle.'</p> - -<p class="normal">If I could give her to you, my dear boy----'</p> - -<p class="normal">But I stop him here, and beg him in scarcely distinct words -not to continue the subject.</p> - -<p class="normal">'But one word, Chris,' he says; 'you love her still?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother calls out that tea is ready, and once more we three -sit down together.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I miss the little parlour,' my mother says; 'how many happy -years we lived there!'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Uncle Bryan will walk with us,' I say.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'We shall see each other again soon,' he says, as he shakes -hands with me on the doorstep of his house.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You will come to us, then,' I say eagerly. 'I want to show -you my work.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, I will come very soon; but your mother will see to -everything, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'There is one thing I want particularly to ask you, uncle, if -you'll not mind.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Say it, my dear boy.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Living here, all alone, as you are doing,' I say, and I pause -somewhat awkwardly.</p> - -<p class="normal">He assists me.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, my dear boy--living here all alone, as I am doing----'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I was thinking it must be very lonely for you, uncle.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It is a lonely life, Chris, living by oneself.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And without any friends near you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Yes, my dear boy.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">His eyes brighten; my mother's eyes also are beaming.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It would make us very happy--mother especially. Look at her -face.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'With all my eccentricities and oddities, you would still wish -me to come?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I glance up to the windows in which the flowers were blooming. -His eyes follow mine.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Which do you think the best, Chris; those on the first or -those on the third floor?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">He rubs his hand, and says,</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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,</p> - -<p class="normal">'If that is to become the fashion in theatres, I am more than -glad that Jessie is not going on the stage.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Then she is not going?' I ask eagerly.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Well, my dear,' replies my mother, with sudden reserve, 'it -almost looks as if she had given up the idea.'</p> - -<p class="normal">At home I find a letter on the table. I open it and read:</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">My mother smiles an assent.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am glad you asked your uncle to come and live with us,' she -says, as she wishes me good-night.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_50" href="#div1Ref_50">CHAPTER L.</a></h4> -<h5>JOSEY WEST DISTURBS US IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">'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 <i>As You -Like It</i>, 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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Josey laughed merrily at this.</p> - -<p class="normal">'It almost always all belongs to the actor, Turk,' she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But that's not as bad,' said Turk, 'as me when I played The -Thug for seven months. Do you remember, Josey?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Seventeen,' he replied in a tone of great satisfaction.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It was realistic acting, Josey,' said Turk complacently; -'that's what it was.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">Turk seemed to take pride in this narration.</p> - -<p class="normal">'It shows that I was in earnest,' he said. 'There's ten -o'clock striking.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Chris, my dear,' she said, somewhat nervously, 'you have good -cause to remember the first night you came into this house.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Indeed I have, Josey,' I replied.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'But you don't look as surprised as I thought you would, -Master Chris,' exclaimed Josey, in a tone of assumed disappointment.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Oh, indeed!' she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">Before I could speak, uncle Bryan took up her words.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You have decided to come and live with us,' I said; 'that is -good, isn't it, mother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'We shall have time to talk over that to-night, my dear boy.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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!'</p> - -<p class="normal">I knew by his agitated tone how strong was his wish, and I -pressed his hand. Silence was best at such a time.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'God bless you, my darling!' she sobbed; 'God bless you!'</p> - -<p class="normal">We entered the shop; uncle Bryan was standing there alone; a -light was in the little parlour.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Go in, Chris,' he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'It is true, Chris,' she said, rising; 'are you not glad to -see me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Have you come back for good, Jessie?' I asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I can't hear you,' she replied, 'you are so far away!'</p> - -<p class="normal">I stepped close to her side, and my arm stole round her waist; -she sighed happily.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Have I come back for good?' she repeated. 'That is for you to -decide, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You are in earnest with me, Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">She smiled. 'I saw you yesterday,' she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Where?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Tell me more, Jessie. Did mother know you were living there?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You must answer that question for me, Jessie,' I said, still -uncertain of the happiness that was in store for me.</p> - -<p class="normal">We were standing by the mantelshelf, on which lay a little -packet in brown paper. Jessie took it in her hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Mother told me to give you this, Chris. Stay, though; what is -that round your neck?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'The ribbon you gave me, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'And the locket, where is that?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It is here, Jessie.' I showed it to her; the earnest look -that was struggling to her eyes came into them fully.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You did not cast me quite away, then? Have you always worn -it, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Always, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I am glad, I am glad,' she murmured, and presently said, -'Here is your packet, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I opened it, and found the watch and the ivory brooch I had -intended to give Jessie on her birthday.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Do you know what is in this packet, Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'No, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">I took the trinkets out of the paper:</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'Will you fasten it for me, Chris?' she said, in a low soft -tone.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">A few minutes later, while we were still alone, Jessie said,</p> - -<p class="normal">'You know why I left home on my birthday, Chris?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I know all, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'For what reason, Jessie?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'You do not suspect, then?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I have a dim suspicion, dear, but I would prefer you to tell -me.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Chris,' she said, very seriously, 'you loved me too much.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'That could not be, Jessie.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'It could and can be. In your love for me you forgot some one -else, a thousand million times better than I am, Chris.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'My mother?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">How much dearer this confession made Jessie to me I need not -describe.</p> - -<p class="normal">'I see things in a better light now, my darling,' I said -humbly; 'I am not colour-blind now.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">And the queer good little woman fell to crying and kissing us.</p> - -<p class="normal">I am afraid you would scarcely believe me if I were to tell -you at what time we went to bed that morning.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_51" href="#div1Ref_51">CHAPTER LI.</a></h4> -<h5>MY MOTHER'S BIBLE.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">I resume my pen after an interval of two years.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'You are injuring that young man's constitution, Josey,' I -say.</p> - -<p class="normal">'All the better,' she replies; 'with his present constitution, -he'll never suit Josey West.'</p> - -<p class="normal">'Don't you ever intend to marry, Josey?'</p> - -<p class="normal">'I haven't quite made up my mind, Chris; but if I don't die an -old maid I shall be very much surprised.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'No one can play that character but Turk West,' says old Mac, -who is egging him on.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.'</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">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.</p> - -<p class="normal">'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.</p> - -<p class="normal">Farewell.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>END OF VOL. XV.</h5> -<h5>LONDON: ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> - - - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Jessie Trim, by B. L. 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