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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..56739b9 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60073 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60073) diff --git a/old/60073-8.txt b/old/60073-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2774e68..0000000 --- a/old/60073-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7257 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Forlorn Hope (Vol. 2 of 2), by Edmund Yates - -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: The Forlorn Hope (Vol. 2 of 2) - A Novel - -Author: Edmund Yates - -Release Date: August 8, 2019 [EBook #60073] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FORLORN HOPE (VOL. 2 OF 2) *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books - - - - - - - - - - -THE FORLORN HOPE. -A NOVEL. - -BY -EDMUND YATES, -AUTHOR OF "LAND AT LAST," "BROKEN TO HARNESS," ETC. - - -_COPYRIGHT EDITION_. - - -IN TWO VOLUMES. -VOL. II. - - -LEIPZIG - -BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ. - -1867. - -_The Right of Translation is reserved_. - - - - - - -CONTENTS -OF VOLUME. II. - -CHAPTER I. Nothing like Wilmot. - II. Another Turn of the Screw. - III. A Coup manqué. - IV. Madeleine awakes. - V. At our Minister's. - VI. The Gulf fixed. - VII. Henrietta. - VIII. Mrs. Ramsay Caird at Home. - IX. Inquisitorial. - X. Against the Grain. - XI. Iconoclastic. - XII. Too Late. - XIII. Quand même! - XIV. Forlorn. - - - - - - -THE FORLORN HOPE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. -Nothing like Wilmot. - - -Mr. Foljambe did not easily throw off the painful impression which his -interview with Chudleigh Wilmot had made upon him. The old gentleman -had always found Wilmot, though not an expansive, a singularly frank -person; he had not indeed ever spoken much to him concerning his wife -or his domestic affairs generally; but men do not do so habitually; -and the men to whom their wives are most dear and important rarely -mention them at all. The circumstance had therefore made no impression -upon Mr. Foljambe, himself a confirmed old bachelor, who, though very -kind and considerate to women and children, regarded them rather as -ornamental trifles, with a tendency to degenerate into nuisances, than -otherwise. - -He began by wondering why Wilmot should have been so thoroughly upset -by his wife's death, and went on to speculate how long that very -unexpected and undesirable result might be likely to last. Becoming -sanguine and comparatively cheerful at this point, he made up his mind -that Chudleigh would get over it before long. Perhaps all had not gone -very smooth with the Wilmots. Not that he had any particular reason to -think so; but Wilmot was not a remarkably domestic man, and there -might be perhaps a little spice of self-reproach in his sorrow. At all -events, it would not last; _that_ might be looked upon as certain. In -the mean time, and in order that the world might not think Wilmot's -conduct silly, sentimental, or mysterious, Mr. Foljambe would be -beforehand with the gossips and the curious, and, by assigning to his -absence from England a motive in which the interests of his profession -and those of his health should be combined, prevent the risk of its -being imputed to anything so _rococo_ as deep feeling. - -"Gad, I'll do it," said Mr. Foljambe, as he took his seat in his -faultless brougham, having carefully completed an irreproachable -afternoon toilette, in which every article of costume was integrally -perfect and of the highest fashion, but as scrupulously adapted to his -time of life as the dress of a Frenchwoman of middle or indeed of any -age. "I'll go and inquire for that Kilsyth girl, and set the right -story afloat there," he said, as he gave his coachman the necessary -orders; "it will soon find its way about town, especially if that -carrier-pigeon Caird is in the way." - -And the old gentleman, chuckling over his own cleverness in hitting on -so happy a device, felt almost reconciled already to the deprivation -which he was doomed to suffer in the loss of Wilmot's society by the -opportunity which it afforded him of exercising the small social -talents, of which he really possessed a good many, and believed -himself to be endowed with a good many more. - -Lady Muriel Kilsyth was at home, likewise Miss Kilsyth; and her -ladyship "received" that afternoon. So Mr. Foljambe, who, though an -admittedly old man, long past the elderly stage, and no longer _à -pretention_ in any sense, was as welcome a visitor in a London -drawing-room as the curliest of darlings and most irresistible of -guardsmen, made his way nimbly upstairs, and was ushered into the -presence of the two ladies, who formed an exceedingly pretty and -effective domestic group. - -Madeleine Kilsyth, who had recovered her beauty, though a little of -her brilliance and her bloom was still wanting, was drawing, while her -stepmother stood a little behind her chair, her dark graceful head -bent over her shoulder, and directed her pencil. Mr. Foljambe's glance -lighted on the two faces as he entered the room, and they inspired him -with an instantaneous compliment, which he turned with grace, a little -old-fashioned, but the more attractive. They answered him pleasantly; -Lady Muriel gave him her hand; Madeleine suffered him to take both -hers, and repaid the long look of interest with which he regarded her -with her sweetest smile; then resumed her occupation, and listened, as -she drew, to the conversation between Lady Muriel and Mr. Foljambe. - -At first their talk was only of generalities: what the ladies had been -doing since they came to London, the extent of Madeleine's drives, how -many of their acquaintance had also arrived, the prospects of society -for the winter, and cognate topics. They had seen a good deal of -Ronald, Lady Muriel told Mr. Foljambe; and her brother's presence had -been a great pleasure to Madeleine. A close observer might have -thought that Madeleine's expression of countenance did not altogether -confirm this statement; but her old friend was not a close observer of -young ladies, and Lady Muriel did not look at her stepdaughter as she -spoke. After a while Mr. Foljambe turned the conversation upon -Madeleine's illness, and so, in the easiest and most natural way, -introduced Wilmot's name. Lady Muriel's manner of meeting this topic -was admirable. She never failed in the _aplomb_ which is part of the -armour of a woman of the world; and though she never again could hear -Wilmot's name mentioned with real composure, she had the mock article -always at hand; so skilful an imitation as successfully to defy -detection. - -"A fine fellow, is he not, Lady Muriel?" said Mr. Foljambe, in the -tone of a father desirous of hearing the praises of his favourite son. - -"Indeed he is," responded Lady Muriel heartily. "He has laid us under -an obligation which we can never discharge or forget. I am sure -Kilsyth and I reckon him among the most valued of our friends." - -"He took the deepest interest in Miss Kilsyth's case, I know," said -Mr. Foljambe; "and of course there was everything to excite such a -feeling;" and the gallant old gentleman bowed in the direction of -Madeleine, who acknowledged the compliment with a most becoming blush. - -"It was a very anxious, a very trying time," said Lady Muriel, in the -precise tone which suited the sentiment. "I don't know how Kilsyth -would have borne it, had it not been for Dr. Wilmot. We were much -distressed to hear that such bad news awaited him on his return. He -found his wife dying, did he not?" - -"He found her dead, Lady Muriel." - -There was a pause, during which Madeleine laid aside her pencil, and -shaded her face with her hand. The tears were standing in her blue -eyes; and while Mr. Foljambe proceeded, they streamed unchecked down -her face. - -"Yes, he found her dead. It was a sudden termination to an illness -which had nothing serious in it, to all appearance. But, as many -another illness has done, it set all human calculations at naught; and -when the bad symptoms set in, it was too late for him to reach her in -time. I suppose he has not told you anything about it?" - -"No," said Lady Muriel; "beyond a few words of condolence, to which he -made a very brief reply, nothing has been said. I fancy Dr. Wilmot is -a man but little given to talking of his own afnot fairs or his own -feelings." - -"Not given to talking of them at all, Lady Muriel. I never met a more -reticent man, even with myself; and I flatter myself he has no closer -friend, none with whom he is on more confidential terms; he is very -reserved in some things. I did not know much of his wife." - -"Did you not?" said Lady Muriel; "how was that?" - -"When I say I did not know much of her," Mr. Foljambe explained, "I -do not mean that it was from any fault of mine. I called once or -twice, but there was something sullen and impenetrable and -uninteresting about her, and I never felt any real intimacy with her." - -"Indeed!" said Lady Muriel, "it is impossible to know Dr. Wilmot -without feeling interested in all that concerns him; and I have often -wished to know what sort of woman his wife was." - -"Well, that is precisely what very few persons in the world could have -told you; and I, for one, acknowledge myself astonished at the effect -her death has had on Wilmot." - -"He is dreadfully cut up by it certainly," said Lady Muriel; "but I -hope, and suppose, he will recover it, as other people have to recover -troubles of that and every other kind." - -"He is taking the best means of getting over it," said Mr. Foljambe; -"and I heartily enter into the notion, and have encouraged him in it. -He thinks of going abroad for some time. I know he has been very -anxious to study the foreign treatment of diseases in general, and of -fever in particular; and he came to me yesterday and told me he meant -to leave London for six months at least. He assigned sound reasons for -such a determination, and I think it is the wisest at which he could -possibly have arrived." - -Lady Muriel rose and rang the bell. The fire required mending, and the -brief afternoon twilight rendered the lamps a necessity earlier than -usual. When these things had been attended to, she took up the -dialogue where it had been broken off with all her accustomed grace -and skill. - -"I did not know we were about to lose Dr. Wilmot for a time," she -said. "If all his friends and patients miss him as much as Madeleine -Kilsyth and myself are likely to do, his absence is likely to create a -sensation indeed. And so poor Mrs. Wilmot was not a very amiable, -woman?" - -Mr. Foljambe had not said anything about Mrs. Wilmot's amiability, or -the opposite, but he let the observation pass in sheer bewilderment; -and that Lady Muriel Kilsyth understood as well as he did. She went -on. "A man like Dr. Wilmot must miss companionship at home very much. -Of course he can always command the resources of society, but they -would not be welcome to him yet awhile. How long does he speak of -remaining away, Mr. Foljambe?" - -"He did not mention any particular time in talking the matter over -with me. His destination is Berlin, I believe. He is anxious to -investigate some medical system carried on there, which I need not say -neither you nor I know anything about. He was very eloquent upon it, I -assure you; and I am glad to perceive that all his trouble has not -decreased his interest in the one great object of his life." - -"His professional advancement, I suppose?" said Lady Muriel. - -"Well, not exactly that. I think he must retard that by any, and -especially by an indefinite, absence. It is rather to his profession -itself, to science in the abstract, I allude. He always had a perfect -thirst for knowledge, and the greatest powers of application I have -ever known any man possessed of. A 'case' was in his eyes the most -important of human affairs. He would throw himself into the interest -of his attendance upon a patient with preternatural energy. I am sure -you discovered that while he was at Kilsyth." - -"Yes indeed; his care of Madeleine was beyond all praise, or indeed -description. No doubt, had any other opportunity offered, we should -have found, as you say, that such devotion was not a solitary -instance." - -"O no, Wilmot is always the same. You know, I presume, that I required -his services very urgently indeed just then; but he would not leave -Miss Kilsyth's case for even so old and near a friend as I am." - -Madeleine's colour deepened, and she listened to the conversation, in -which she had taken no share, with increased eagerness. - -"I know that some one telegraphed to him, but that he kindly said -Madeleine's case being the more urgent of the two, he would remain -with her. And you were none the worse, it seems, Mr. Foljambe?" - -"No indeed, Lady Muriel," replied the old gentleman with a -good-humoured smile. "Wilmot's deputy did quite as well for me as the -mighty potentate of medicine himself. But I acknowledge I was a little -annoyed; and if anyone but my old friend Kilsyth's daughter had been -the detaining cause, I should have been tempted to play Wilmot a -trick, by pretending that some extraordinary and entirely novel -symptoms had appeared. He would have come fast enough then, I warrant -you, for the chance of finding out something new about gout." - -Lady Muriel laughed, but Madeleine apparently did not perceive the -joke. Soon some other callers dropped in, and Mr. Foljambe took his -leave. But the subject of Wilmot and his contemplated abandonment of -London was not abandoned on his departure. He was well known to the -"set" in which the Kilsyths moved, though their own acquaintance with -him was so recent, and everyone had something to say about the rising -man. The sentimental view of the subject was very general. It was so -very charming to think of any man, especially one so talented, so -popular, so altogether delightful as Wilmot, being "broken-hearted" by -the death of his wife. Lady Muriel gently insinuated, once or twice, a -doubt whether there was any ground for this very congenial but rather -romantic supposition: her doubts, however, were by no means well -received, and she found herself overwhelmed with evidence of the -irremediably desolate condition of Wilmot's heart. - -When the afternoon calls had come to an end, and Lady Muriel and her -stepdaughter were in their respective rooms and about to dress for -dinner, the mind of each was in accord with that of the other, -inasmuch as the same subject of contemplation engrossed both. But the -harmony went no farther. Nothing could be more opposite than the -effect produced upon Madeleine and Lady Muriel by Mr. Foljambe's news, -and by all the desultory discussion and speculation which had followed -its announcement. - -To Madeleine the knowledge that she should see Wilmot no more for an -indefinite period was like a sentence of death. The young girl was -profoundly unconscious of the meaning of her own feelings. That the -sentiment which she entertained towards Wilmot was love, she never for -a moment dreamed. In him the ideal of an elevated and refined fancy -had found its realisation; he was altogether different from the men -she had hitherto met since her emancipation from the schoolroom; -different from the hunting, shooting devotees of field-sports, or the -heavy country gentlemen given to farming and local politics, who -frequented Kilsyth; different from the associates of her brother, who, -whether they were merely fashionable and empty, or formal and priggish -like Ronald himself, were essentially distasteful to her. She was of a -dreamy and romantic temperament, to which the delicacy of health and -the not quite congenial conditions of her life at home contributed not -a little; and she had seen in Wilmot the man of talent, action, and -resolve, the realisation of the nineteenth-century heroic ideal. To -admire and reverence him; to find the best and most valuable of -resources in his friendship, the wisest and truest guidance in his -intellect, the most exquisite of pleasures in his society; to triumph -in his fame, and try to merit his approval,--such was the girl's -scheme for the future. But it never occurred to her that there was one -comprehensive and forbidden word in which the whole of this state of -feeling might be accurately defined. She had grieved for Wilmot's -grief when she heard of the death of his wife, but at the same time a -subtle instinct, which she never questioned and could not have -defined, told her that his marriage had not been a happy one, -according to her enthusiastic girlish notion of a happy marriage. She -did not know anything about it; she had no idea what sort of woman -Chudleigh Wilmot's wife was, but she had felt, by the nameless sense -which, had she been an elder woman with ever so little experience, -would have enlightened her as to the nature of her own feelings, that -he was not really attached to her to the extent which alone seemed to -her to imply happiness in the conjugal relation. So, when Madeleine -heard that Wilmot was going abroad, and heard her stepmother's -visitors talk about his being "broken-hearted," she felt equally -wretched and incredulous. Sentimental reason for this resolution she -did not, she could not accept; the other was exquisitely painful to -her. Had he, indeed, so absorbing a love for his professional studies? -Was he really occupied by them to the exclusion of all else; had her -"case," and not herself, been his attraction at Kilsyth? If Mr. -Foljambe had really resorted to the device he had spoken of, would -Wilmot have left her? To none of these questions could Madeleine find -an answer inside her own breast, or without it; so they tortured her. -Her vision of seeing him frequently, of making him her friend--the -vision which had so strangely beautified the prospect of her stay in -London,--faded suddenly; and unconscious of all the idea meant and -implied, the girl said to herself, "If he had cared for me--not as I -care for him, of course that could not be--but ever so little, he -would not go away." - -Very different were Lady Muriel's meditations. To her this resolve on -the part of Wilmot was peculiarly welcome. In the first place, she was -a thorough woman of the world, and free from the impetuosity of youth. -She was quite willing to be deprived of Wilmot's society for the -present, if, as she calculated would be the case, he should return -under circumstances which would enable her to reckon with increased -security upon gaining the influence over him to which she ardently -aspired, to which she aspired more and more ardently as each day -proved to her how strong an impulse her life had taken from this new -source. She cared little from what motive Wilmot's resolve had sprung. -If indeed he had deeply loved, and if indeed he did desperately mourn -his wife, the very power and violence of the feeling would react upon -itself, and force him to accept consolation all the sooner that he had -proved the greatness of his need of it. He would be absent during the -dark time when grief forms an eclipse, and he would emerge from its -shadow into the brightness which she would cause to shine upon his -life. She did not anticipate that his absence would be greatly -prolonged, but she did not shrink, even supposing it should be, from -the interval. She had enough to do within its duration. Lady Muriel -was as thoroughly acquainted with Madeleine's love for Wilmot as the -girl was ignorant that she loved him. There was not a corner of her -innocent heart which the keen experienced eye of her stepmother had -not scanned and examined narrowly. - -In Madeleine's perfect ignorance of the real nature of her own -feelings Lady Muriel's best security for the success of her wishes and -designs lay. As she had no notion that her love was aught but liking, -she would be the more easily persuaded that her liking was love. She -had a liking for Ramsay Caird. The gay, careless, superficial -good-nature of the young man, his easy gentlemanly manners, and the -familiarity with which his intercourse with the Kilsyth family was -invested in consequence of his relationship to Lady Muriel, were all -pleasing to the young girl; and probably, "next to Ronald," she -preferred Ramsay Caird to any man of her acquaintance. Of late, too, -an unexplained something had come between Madeleine and her brother--a -certain restraint, a subtle sense of estrangement--which Lady Muriel -thoroughly understood, but for which Madeleine could not have -accounted, and shrunk from acknowledging to herself. This unexplained -something, which made her look forward to Ronald's visits with greatly -decreased pleasure, and made her involuntarily silent and depressed in -his presence, told considerably in Ramsay Caird's favour; for it led -to Madeleine's according him an increased share of her attention. The -young man was a constant visitor at the Kilsyths'; and there was so -much decision in Madeleine's liking for him, that she missed him if by -any chance he was absent of an evening, and occasionally was heard to -wonder what could have kept Mr. Caird away. - -Madeleine's delicate health furnished Lady Muriel with a sufficient -and reasonable pretext for keeping her at home in the evenings; and -she contrived to make it evident that Ramsay Caird's presence -constituted a material difference in the dulness or the pleasantness -of the little party which assembled with tolerable regularity in the -drawing-room. Ronald would come in for an hour or so, and then -Madeleine would be particularly _prévenante_ towards Ramsay Caird; an -innocent and unconscious hypocrisy, poor child, which her stepmother -perfectly understood, and which she saw with deep though concealed -satisfaction. - -On the evening of the day when Mr. Foljambe had discussed Wilmot's -departure with Lady Muriel and Madeleine, the elder lady was a little -embarrassed by the manifest effect on the looks and the spirits of the -younger which the intelligence had produced. At dinner Kilsyth -perversely chose to descant on the two themes with all a single-minded -man's amiable pertinacity, and, of course, without the smallest -conception that any connection existed between them. He was quite -aggrieved at Wilmot's departure, and called on everyone to take notice -of Madeleine's looks in confirmation of the loss he and his in -particular must sustain by his absence. Ronald was of the party; and -he preserved so marked and ungracious a silence, that at length even -Kilsyth could not avoid noticing it, and said: - -"I suppose you are the only man who knows him, Ronald, who underrates -Wilmot; and I really believe you think we make quite an unnecessary -fuss about him." - -"I by no Means underrate the abilities of your medical attendant, -sir," Ronald answered in his coldest and driest tone, and, as -Madeleine felt in all her shrinking nerves, though she dared not look -up to meet it, with a moody searching glance at her; "but, admirable -as he may be in his proper capacity and his proper place, I cannot -quite appreciate his social importance." - -"Just listen to him, Muriel," said Kilsyth in a provoked but yet -good-humoured tone. "What wonderful fellows these young men are! He -actually talks of a man like Wilmot as if he were a general -practitioner or an apothecary's apprentice!" - -Lady Muriel interposed, and turned off this somewhat perilous and -peace-breaking remark with one of the graceful, skilful generalities -of which she always had a supply ready for emergencies. Ronald -contented himself with a half smile of contempt at his father's -enthusiastic misrepresentation; Madeleine talked energetically to -Ramsay Caird; and the matter dropped. - -To be resumed in the drawing-room, however. Madeleines looks were not -improved when her father and the two young men joined her and Lady -Muriel. She was dreaming over a book which she was pretending to read, -when Kilsyth came up to her, took her chin in his hand, and turned up -her face to his and to the light. - -Tears were trembling in her blue eyes. - -"Hallo, Maddy," said her father, "what's this? You're nervous, my -darling! I knew you were not well. Has anything fretted you?--Has -anything vexed her, Muriel?" - -"No, papa, nothing; nothing at all," said Madeleine, making a strong -effort to recover herself. "I have got hold of a sorrowful book, -that's all." - -"Have you, my dear? then put it away. Let's look at it. Why, it's -_Pickwick_, I declare! Maddy, what can all you? How could you possibly -cry over anything in _Pickwick?_" - -"I don't know that, sir," said Ramsay, jauntily and jovially coming to -Madeleine's assistance, without the faintest notion of anything beyond -her being "badgered by the governor." "There's the dying clown, you -know, and the queer client. I've cried over them myself; or at least -I've been very near it," And he sat down beside Madeleine, and applied -himself with success to rousing and amusing her. Ronald said nothing, -and very soon went away. - -"I'm determined on one thing, Muriel," said Kilsyth to his wife when -they were alone; "I'll have a long talk with Wilmot before he goes, -and get the fullest instructions from him about Madeleine. I have no -confidence in anyone else in her case, and I'll write to Wilmot about -it, and ask him to come here professionally, as soon as he can, the -first thing to-morrow morning." - - - - -CHAPTER II. -Another Turn of the Screw. - - -If the interview which had taken place between Chudleigh Wilmot and -Henrietta Prendergast had had unfortunate results for the one, it had -been proportionably, if not equally, unpleasant to the other. It was -impossible that Henrietta could have sustained a more complete -discouragement, a more telling and unmistakable defeat, than she felt -had befallen her when, after Wilmot had left her, she went over every -point of their conversation, and considered the interview in every -possible aspect. She had at once, or at least at a very early stage, -discerned that some fresh disturbing cause existed in Wilmot's mind. -She had seen him, on the memorable occasion of their first interview -after his wife's death, horrified, confounded, and unfeignedly -distressed. However little he had loved his wife, however passing and -shallow the impression made upon him by the sudden and untimely event -might prove--and Mrs. Prendergast was prepared to find it prove -shallow and passing--it had been real, single, intelligible. He had -received the painful communication which she had been charged to make -to him with surprise, with sorrow--no doubt, in his secret soul, with -bitter, regretful, vain remorse. She could only surmise this part of -his feelings. He had not departed from the manly reticence which she -had expected from him, and for which she admired him; but she never -doubted that he had experienced such remorse,--vain, bitter, and -regretful. - -All the information which had drifted to her knowledge since--and -though she was not a distinctly curious or mean-natured woman, Mrs. -Prendergast was not above cultivating and maintaining friendly -relations with Dr. Wilmot's household, to all of whom she was as -well known, and had been nearly as important, as their late -mistress--confirmed her in the belief that the conduct of the -suddenly-bereaved husband had been all that propriety, good feeling, -good taste, and good sense could possibly require. She bad not -precisely defined in her imagination what it was that she looked for -and expected in the interview which Wilmot had requested, with a -little too much formality, certainly, to be reassuring with regard to -any notions she might possibly have entertained with respect to the -freedom and intimacy of their future relations. But she did not suffer -herself to dwell on that matter of the formality. It was not -unnatural; there are persons, she knew, to whom that sort of thing -seems proper when a death--what may be called an intimate death, that -is to say--has taken place, who change all their ways and manners for -a time, just as they put on mourning and use lugubrious stationery. It -was not very like what she would have expected of Wilmot, to enrol -himself in the number of these formalists; but she did not allow the -circumstance to impress her disagreeably. She possessed patience in as -marked a degree as she possessed intelligence--patience, a much rarer -and nearly as valuable a quality--and she was satisfied to wait until -time should enable her to arrive at the free and frequent association -with Wilmot, which was the first step to the end she had in view, and -meant to keep in view. She was perfectly clear upon that point; none -the leas clear that she did not discuss it in her own thoughts, or -ponder over it; but she laid it quietly aside, to be produced and -acted on when it should be required. - -Therefore Henrietta Prendergast was disquieted and disconcerted by the -tone and manner which Wilmot had assumed during their interview. -Disquieted, because there was something in and under them which she -could not fathom; disconcerted, because everything in the interview -betrayed and disappointed the expectations she had formed, and because -her intention of conveying to Wilmot, by a frank and friendly manner, -that it was within his power to continue in his own person the -intimacy which had subsisted between herself and his wife, had been -utterly routed and nullified. - -"There was something in his mind with regard to Mabel," she said to -herself, as she sat at her tea in her snug drawing-room on the same -afternoon; "there certainly was something in his mind about her which -was not in it when I saw him last. I wonder what it is. I wonder -whether he has found anything? I am sure she never kept a journal; I -shouldn't think so; I fancy no one ever does in real life, except they -are so important as to be wanted for public purposes, or so vain as to -think such demand likely. Besides, Mabel's trouble was not tragical; -it was only monotonous and uneventful. No; I am sure she did not keep -a journal. So he has not found one; and he has not found any letters -either. Mabel had very few to keep, and she burnt the scanty -collection just as her illness began. I remember coming suddenly into -the room, and fluttering the ashes all over her bed and toilet-table -by opening the door. Yes, to be sure, the window was open; and she had -had a fire kindled on purpose." - -Mrs. Prendergast leaned her face upon her hand, struck her teaspoon -thoughtfully against the edge of the tea-tray, and pondered deeply. -She was trying to recall every little incident connected with the dead -woman, in the endeavour to discover the secret of Wilmot's demeanour -that day. - -"Yes, she was sitting by the fire; a sandal-wood box was on the floor, -and a heap of ashes in the grate. I remember looking rather surprised, -and she said, 'You know, Hettie, one never can tell what may happen. -You nor I either cannot tell whether I shall ever recover; and it is -well to have all things in readiness.' I thought the observation -rather absurd particularly, however true it might be generally, and -told her so, for she was by no means seriously ill then. She still -persisted, however. What a remarkable feature of poor Mabel's illness, -by the bye, was her persistent and unalterable belief that she should -die! The wish to die, no doubt, assisted it much at the end; but the -conviction laid hold on her from the first." - -Then Mrs. Prendergast remembered how Mrs. Wilmot had left everything -in readiness; every article of household property, all her own private -possessions, everything which had claimed her care, provided for; and -though she knew that instances of such a morbid state of mind were not -altogether wanting in the case of women in Mrs. Wilmot's state of -health, she did not feel that such an hypothesis accounted for this -particular case satisfactorily. In all other respects there had been -such equality of disposition, common sense, and absence of -fancifulness about her friend, that she could not accept the -explanation which suggested itself. This was not the first time that -she had thought over this circumstance. It had been brought before her -very forcibly when a packet was sent to her, with a kind but formal -note from Wilmot, a day or two after his wife's funeral; which packet -contained a few articles of jewelry and general ornament, and a strip -of paper, bearing merely the words: "I wish these to be given to Mrs. -Prendergast.--M. W." - -But now it assumed a more puzzling importance and deeper interest. Had -Wilmot found anything among all her orderly possessions which had -thrown any new light upon her life? Had he had a misunderstanding with -Dr. Whittaker? Did he think his wife's life had been sacrificed by -want of care, or want of attention or of skill? Had remorse seized him -on this account, when he had succeeded in defeating its attack, in -consequence of the revelation which she had made to him? Had he -regained incredulity or indifference as regarded the years which had -passed in miscomprehension, to be roused into inquietude and stern -self-reproach by an appeal to his master passion, his professional -knowledge and attainments? If this were so, there would at least be -some measure of punishment allotted to Chudleigh Wilmot; for he was a -proud man, and sensitive on that point, if not on any other. - -Henrietta Prendergast was well disposed towards Wilmot now, in the new -aspect of affairs, and contemplating as she did certain dim future -possibilities very grateful to her pertinacious disposition. But she -was not sorry to think that he had something to suffer; and that -something of a nature to oppress his spirits considerably, and render -him indifferent to the attractions of society. Before this desirable -effect should have worn off, she would have contrived to make herself -necessary to him. She had but little doubt of her power to accomplish -this, if only the opportunity were afforded her. She knew she had -plenty of ability, not of a kind which Wilmot would dislike, and -certainly of a quality for which he did not give her credit. She had -less attraction than Mabel, so far as good looks would go, but that -would not be very far, she thought, with Dr. Wilmot. He might never -care for her even so much as he had cared for Mabel; but his feelings -towards her, if evoked at all, would be different, much more -satisfactory, and to her mind, which was properly organised, quite -sufficient. - -If Henrietta's daydreams were of a more sober colour, they were no -less unreal than the rosiest and most extravagant vision ever woven by -youthful fancy. She had not seen Madeleine Kilsyth. She had indeed -understood and witnessed Mabel's jealousy, aroused by the devotion of -her husband to the young Scotch girl. But she thought little of danger -from this quarter. She had always understood--having a larger -intellect and a wider perception, and above all, being an unconcerned -spectator, uninjured by it in her affections or her rights--Wilmot's -absorption in his profession much better than his wife had understood -it. Something in her own nature, dim and undeveloped, answered to this -absorption. - -"If I had had any pursuit in life, I should have followed it just as -eagerly; if I had had a career, I should have devoted myself to it -just as entirely," had been her frequent mental comment upon Wilmot's -conduct. She quite understood the effect it produced on a woman of -Mabel's temperament, was perfectly convinced that it could not produce -a similar effect on a woman of her own; but also believed that no such -conduct would ever have been pursued towards her. The very something -which enabled her to sympathise with him would have secured her from -exclusion from the reality and the meaning of his life. "At least I -should interest him," she had often said to herself, when she had seen -how entirely Mabel failed to inspire him with interest; and in her -lengthened cogitations on the evening of the day which had been marked -by Wilmot's visit, she repeated the assurance with renewed conviction. - -It was not that the remembrance of Miss Kilsyth did not occur to her -very strongly; on the contrary, it occupied its fall share of her mind -and attention. But she disposed of the subject very comfortably and -finally by dwelling on the following points: - -First, the distinction of rank and the difference in age between Miss -Kilsyth and Dr. Wilmot were both considerable, important, and likely -to form very efficient barriers against any extravagant notions on his -part. Supposing--an unlikely supposition in the case of a man who -added remarkable good sense to exceptional talent--he were to overlook -this distinction of rank and difference of age, it was not probable -that the young lady's relatives would accommodate themselves to any -such blindness; while it was extremely probable they would regard any -project on his part with respect to her as unmitigated presumption. - -So far she had pursued her cogitations without regard to the young -girl herself--to this brilliant young beauty, upon whom, endowed with -youth, beauty, rank, the prestige of one of the most fashionable and -popular women in London (for Henrietta Prendergast had her relations -with the great world, though she was not of it), life was just opening -in the fulness of joy and splendour. But when she turned her attention -in that direction, she found nothing to discourage her, nothing to -fear. What could be more wildly improbable than that Chudleigh Wilmot -should have made any impression on Miss Kilsyth of a nature to lead to -the realisation of any hope which might suggest itself to the new-made -widower? Henrietta Prendergast was not a woman of much delicacy of -mind or refinement of sentiment--if she had been, such self-communing -as that of this evening would have been impossible within three weeks -of her friend's death--but she was not so coarse, or indeed so -ignorant of the nature and training of women like Madeleine Kilsyth, -as to conceive the possibility of the girl's having fallen in love -with a married man, even had that married man been of a far more -captivating type than that presented by Chudleigh Wilmot. Madeleine's -stepmother had not been restrained from such a suspicion by any -superfluous delicacy; but Lady Muriel had an incentive to -clear-sightedness which was wanting in Henrietta's case; and it must -be said in justification of the acute woman of the world, that she was -satisfied of the girl's perfect unconsciousness of the real nature of -the sentiment which her jealous quick-sightedness had detected almost -in the first hours of its existence. - -The disqualification of his marriage removed, Henrietta still thought -there could be nothing to dread. The reminiscences attached to the -doctor who had attended her through a long illness, was said to have -saved her life, and had made himself very agreeable to his patient, -were no doubt frankly kind and grateful; but they were very unlikely -to be sentimental, and the opportunities which might come in his way -for rendering the tie already established stronger would be probably -limited. "If anything were to be feared in that quarter," thought -Henrietta, "and one could only manage to get a hint conveyed to Lady -Muriel, the thing would be done at once." - -Henrietta pronounced this opinion in her own mind with perfect -confidence. And she was right. If Lady Muriel Kilsyth had had no more -interest in Wilmot than that which during his sojourn at Kilsyth he -might have inspired in the least important inmate of the house, she -would have acted precisely as she had done. This was her strong tower -of defence, her excuse, her justification. If Wilmot's admiration of -her stepdaughter had not had in it the least element of offence to -herself, she would at once have opposed it, have endeavoured to -prevent its growth and manifestation, just as assiduously as she had -done. Herein was her safety. So, though Henrietta Prendergast was -entirely unaware of anything that had taken place; though she had -never spoken to Lady Muriel in her life, she had, as it happened, -speculated upon her quite correctly. So her self-conference came to a -close, without any misgiving, discouragement, or hesitation. - -"Mabel knew some people who knew the Kilsyths," Henrietta Prendergast -had said to Wilmot in their first interview; but she had not mentioned -that the people who knew the Kilsyths were acquaintances of hers, and -that she had been present on the occasion when Mabel had acquired all -the information which she had taken to heart so keenly. Such was, -however, the case; and Henrietta made up her mind, when she had -reasoned herself out of the first feeling of discouragement which her -interview with Wilmot had caused, though not out of the conviction -that there was something in his mind which she had not been able to -come at, that she would call on Mrs. and Miss Charlwood without delay. -She might not learn anything about Wilmot by so doing, but she could -easily introduce the Kilsyths into the conversation; and it could not -fail to be useful to her to gain a clear insight, into what sort of -people they were, and especially to know whether Miss Kilsyth had any -declared or supposed admirers as yet. So she went to bed that night -with her mind tolerably easy on the whole, though her last waking -thought was of the strange something in Chudleigh Wilmot's manner -which she had not been able to penetrate. - -It chanced, however, that Mrs. Prendergast did not fulfil her -intention so soon as she had purposed. On awaking the following -morning, she found that she had taken cold, a rather severe cold. She -was habitually careful of her health, and as the business on which she -had intended to go out was not pressing, she thought it wiser to -remain at home. The next day she was no better; the day after a little -worse. On the fourth day she thought she should be justified in asking -Wilmot to give her a call. On the very rare occasions when she had -required medical attendance she had had recourse to her friend's -husband; and it occurred to her that the present opportunity was -favourable for impressing him with a sense that she desired to -maintain the former relation unbroken. To increase and intensify it -would be her business later. - -So Mrs. Prendergast sent for Dr. Wilmot; but in answer to the summons -Dr. Whittaker presented himself. - -They had not met since they had stood together by Mabel's deathbed, -and the recollection softened Henrietta, though she felt at once -surprised and angry at the substitution. - -"I am doing Wilmot's work, except in the very particular cases," Dr. -Whittaker explained. - -"Indeed! Then Dr. Wilmot knew, in some strange way, that mine was not -a particular case!" Henrietta answered, with an exhibition of pique as -unusual in her as it was unflattering to Dr. Whittaker. - -"My dear Mrs. Prendergast," expostulated the doctor mildly, "your -note--I saw it in the regular way of business--said 'merely a cold;' -and Wilmot and I both know you always say what you mean--no more and -no less." - -Henrietta smiled rather grimly as she replied, "I must say, you are -adroit in turning a slight into a compliment. And now we will talk -about my cold." - -They did talk about her cold, and Dr. Whittaker duly prescribed for -it, emphatically forbidding exposure to the weather. Just as he rose -to take leave, Henrietta asked him what sort of spirits Wilmot -appeared to be in. - -"Very low indeed," said Dr. Whittaker; "but I think the change of air -will do him good." - -The change was likely to be sufficiently profitable to Dr. Whittaker -to make it only natural that he should regard it with warm -approbation, without reflecting very severely upon his sincerity -either; he was but human, and not particularly prosperous. - -"What change?" asked Henrietta in a tone which had not all the -indifference which she had desired to lend it. (Dr. Whittaker had seen -and guessed enough to make it just that he should not look for much -warmth from Mabel's friend in speaking of Mabel's husband; and Mrs. -Prendergast never overlooked the relative positions in any situation.) - -"What! don't you know, then? He is going abroad--going to Paris, and -then to Berlin, partly to recruit, and partly to inquire into some new -theory about fever they've got there. I don't generally think much of -their theories myself, especially in Berlin." - -But Dr. Whittaker's opinions had no interest for Henrietta. His news -occupied her. She did not altogether like this move. She did not -believe in either of the reasons assigned; she felt certain there was -something behind them both, and that that something had been in -Wilmot's mind when she last saw him. What was it? Was he flying from a -memory or a presence? If the former, then something more than she was -in possession of had come to his knowledge concerning Mabel; for much -as he had been shocked, and intensely as he had felt all she had told -him, Henrietta knew Wilmot too well to believe for a moment that the -present resolution was to be traced to that source. If the latter, the -presence must be that of Miss Kilsyth; and there must be dangers in -her way, complications in this matter, she did not understand, some -grave error in her calculation. True, he might be flying away in -despair; but that could hardly be. In so short an interval of time it -was impossible he could have dared or even tried his fate. It was the -unexpectedness of this occurrence that gave it so much power to -trouble Henrietta. She had made a careful calculation; but this was -outside it, and it puzzled her. She took leave of Dr. Whittaker, while -these and many more equally distracting thoughts passed through her -mind, in a sufficiently absent manner, and listened to his expression -of a sanguine hope of finding her much better on the morrow through a -sedulous observance of his advice, with as much indifference as though -he had been talking about somebody else's cold. When he had left her, -she sat still for a while; then put on her warmest attire, sent for a -cab, and, utterly regardless of Dr. Whittaker's prohibition, drove -straight to Mrs. Charlton's house in South-street, Park-lane. - -Mrs. Prendergast's cab drew up behind a carriage which had just -stopped before Mrs. Charlton's door, at that moment opened in reply to -the defiant summons of the footman, who was none other than one of the -ambrosial Mercuries in attendance on Lady Muriel Kilsyth. An elderly -lady, rather oddly dressed, descended from the equipage, bestowed a -familiar nod upon its remaining occupant from the steps, and walked -into the house. Mrs. Prendergast was then admitted; and as the -carriage which made way for her was displaced, she recognised in the -face of the lady who sat in it Lady Muriel Kilsyth. - -"That is very odd," she thought; "I wonder who she has set down here, -and why she has not come in herself." - -Immediately afterwards she was exchanging the customary _fadeurs_ with -Mrs. Charlton, and had been presented by that lady to Mrs. M'Diarmid. - -Wonderfully voluble was Mrs. M'Diarmid, to be sure, and communicative -to a degree which, if her audience did not happen to be vehemently -interested in the matter of her discourse, must have been occasionally -a little overpowering and wearisome. Mrs. M'Diarmid, being at present -staying with the Kilsyths, could not talk of anything but the -Kilsyths; a state of things rather distressing to Mrs. Charlton, who -was an eminently well-bred person, and perfectly aware that Mrs. -Prendergast was not acquainted with the people under discussion. But -to arrest Mrs. M'Diarmid in the full tide of her discourse was a feat -which a few adventurous spirits had indeed attempted, but in which no -one had ever succeeded. Mrs. Charlton's was not an adventurous spirit; -she merely suffered, and was not strong, but derived sensible -consolation after a while from observing that Mrs. Prendergast either -had the tact and the manners to assume an aspect of perfect -contentment, or really did feel an interest in the affairs of -strangers, which to her, Mrs. Charlton, was inexplicable. She had much -regard for Henrietta, and considerable respect for her intellect; so -she preferred the former hypothesis, and adopted it. - -"And she told me to tell you how sorry she was that she could not -possibly come in to-day; but she had to fetch Kilsyth at his club, and -then go home and dress for a ride with him, and send the carriage for -me. I must run away the moment it comes, and get back to Maddy." This, -after Mrs. M'Diarmid had run on uninterruptedly for about a quarter of -an hour, with details of every kind concerning the house and the -servants, the health, spirits, employments and engagements of the -family. - -"Miss Kilsyth is still delicate, I think you said?" Mrs. Chariton at -length contrived to say. - -"Yes, indeed, very delicate. My dear, the child mopes--she really -mopes; and I can't bear to see young people moping, though it seems -the fashion nowadays for all the young people to think themselves not -only wiser but sadder than their elders. Just to see Ronald beside his -father, my dear! The difference! And to think he'll be Kilsyth of -Kilsyth some day; and what will the poor people do then? He'll make -them go to school, and have 'em drilled, I'm sure he will; not that he -is not a fine young man, my dear, and a good one--must all admit that; -but he is not like his father, and never will be--never. And, for my -part, I don't wonder Maddy's afraid of him, for I am sure I am." - -"But I thought Miss Kilsyth and her brother were so particularly -attached to each other," said Mrs. Charlton, yielding at length to the -temptation to gossip. - -"So they are, so they are.--I'm sure, Mrs. Prendergast," said Mrs. -M'Diarmid, turning to Henrietta, "a better brother than Ronald Kilsyth -never lived; but then he _is_ dictatorial, I _must_ say that; and he -never will believe or remember that Madeleine is not a child now, and -that it is absurd and useless to treat a woman just as one would treat -a child. He makes such a fuss about everyone Maddy sees, and -everywhere she goes to, and is positively disagreeable about anyone -she seems to fancy." - -"Well," said Mrs. Charlton, "but I'm not sure that he is wrong to be -particular about his sister's fancies. The fancies of a young lady of -Miss Kilsyth's beauty and pretensions are not trifling matters. Has -she any _very_ strongly pronounced?" - -"Bless your heart, no!" exclaimed Mrs. M'Diarmid, her vulgarity evoked -by her earnestness. "The girl is fonder of himself and her father than -of anyone in the world, and I really don't think she ever had a -thought hid from them. But Ronald _will_ interfere so; he bothered -about the silliness of young ladies' correspondence until he worried -her into giving up writing to Bessy Ravenshaw; and he lectured for ten -minutes because she wrote to poor Dr. Wilmot on her own account." - -"How very absurd!" said Mrs. Charlton; "he had better take care he -does not worry her by excess of brotherly love and authority into -finding her home so unbearable, that she may make a wretched hurried -marriage in order to get away from it. Such things _have_ been;" and -Mrs. Charlton sighed, as if she spoke from some close experience of -"such things." - -"Very true, very true--I am sure I often wish the poor dear child was -well married. I must say for Lady Muriel, I think she is an admirable -stepmother. It is such a difficult position, Mrs. Prendergast, so -invidious; still, you know, it never can be exactly the same thing; -and then, you know, there are the little girls to grow up, and there -will be the natural jealousy--about Maddy's fortune, you know; and -altogether _I do_ think it would be very nice." - -"I should think a good many others think it would be very nice also," -said Mrs. Charlton. - -"Well, I don't know--it is hard to say--young men are so different -nowadays from what they were in my time; they seem to be afraid of -marrying. I really don't think Maddy has ever had an offer." - -"Depend on it that story will soon be changed. She is, to my -knowledge, immensely admired. Her illness made quite a sensation, and -the romantic story of the famous Dr. Wilmot's devotion to the -patient." - -"I think you should say to the _case_," struck in Henrietta. "I know -Dr. Wilmot very well, and I can fancy any amount of devotion to the -fever and its cure; but Wilmot devoted to a patient I cannot -understand." - -Something in her voice and manner conveyed an unpleasant impression to -both her hearers. Mrs. Charlton looked calmly surprised; Mrs. -M'Diarmid looked distressed and rather angry. She wished she had been -more cautious in telling of the Kilsyths before this lady, who did not -know them, but who did know Dr. Wilmot. She felt that Mrs. Prendergast -had put a meaning into what Mrs. Charlton had said, in which there was -something at least indirectly slighting and derogatory to Madeleine; -and the feeling made her hot and angry. Mrs. Charlton's suavity -extricated them from the difficulty, which all felt, and one intended. - -"I. didn't quite understand the distinction," she said; "of course I -understand it as you put it, but mine was merely a _façon de parler_. -Dr. Wilmot's devotion to his profession has long been known, and he -has succeeded as such devotion deserves." - -"Yes, indeed, Mrs. Charlton," said Henrietta heartily, and slipping -with infinite ease into the peculiar manner which implies such -intimacy with the person complimented as to make the praise almost a -personal favour. "He has paid dearly indeed for his devotion, in the -very instance you mention, Mrs. M'Diarmid." - -"How so?" said Mrs. M'Diarmid, off her guard, and rather huffily. - -"Ah, poor fellow! I can hardly bear to talk of it; but as I was his -poor wife's closest friend, and with her when she died, I think it is -only fair and just to him to tell the truth. Of course he had no -notion of his wife's danger--no one could have had; but he never can -or will forgive himself for his absence from her. You will not wonder -that he should feel it dreadfully, and that his self-reproach is -intolerable. 'I suppose,' he said, in one of his worst fits of grief, -'people will think I stayed at Kilsyth because Kilsyth is a great man; -but you, Henrietta, you know me better. If she had been his dairymaid, -instead of his daughter, it would have been all one to me.' And that -was perfectly true; he knows no distinction in the pursuit of his -duties. It was a terrible coincidence; but nothing can persuade him to -regard it merely as a coincidence. It is fortunate your young friend -is restored to health, Mrs. M'Diarmid." - -"Yes," said that lady, now pale, and looking the image of disconcerted -distress. - -"Fortunate for her, of course; but also fortunate for him. You will -exctuse my telling you, of course; nothing in the whole matter -reflects in the least on the Kilsyth family--and I cannot forbear from -saying what must exalt him still more in your esteem, but you cannot -conceive how painful to him any reference to that fatal time is. He -has wonderful self-control and firmness; but they were severely taxed, -I assure you, when he had to make a call on Lady Muriel and Miss -Kilsyth. I daresay he didn't show it." - -"Not in the least," said Mrs. M'Diarmid. - -"O no; he is essentially a strong man. But he suffered. You would know -how much, if you had seen him when he had finally made up his mind to -go abroad, and get out of the remembrance of it all, so far as he -could. Poor Miss Kilsyth! one pities a young girl to have been even -the perfectly innocent cause of such a calamity to any man, and -especially to one who rendered her such a service. However, people who -talk about it now will have forgotten it all long before he comes -back." - -At this juncture Miss Charlton entered the room and warmly greeted -Henrietta. Mrs. Prendergast was an authority in the art of -illuminating, to which Miss Charlton devoted her harmless life. - -Presently Lady Muriel's carriage came for Mrs. M'Diarmid, and that -good woman went away, and might have been heard to say many times -during the silent drive: - -"My poor Maddy! my poor dear child!" - -Chudleigh Wilmot had entertained, it has been seen, vague fears that -Mrs. Prendergast might talk about him; but of all possible shapes they -had never taken this one. - - - - -CHAPTER III. -A Coup Manqué. - - -It has been said that Mrs. M'Diarmid took an earnest motherly interest -in Madeleine Kilsyth; but the bare statement is by no means sufficient -to explain the real feelings entertained towards the somewhat forlorn -motherless girl by the brisk energetic vulgar little woman of the -world, who was her connection by marriage. Such affections spring up -in many female breasts which, to all outward appearance, are most -unpromising soil; they need no cultivation, no looking after, no -watering with the tears of sympathy or gratitude, no raking or hoeing -or binding up. They are ruthlessly lopped off in their tenderest -shoots; but they grow again, and twine away round the "object" as -parasitically as ever. Mrs. M'Diarmid's regard for Madeleine was quite -of the parasitical type, in its best sense, be it always understood. -She loved the young girl with all her heart and soul, and would as -soon have dreamed of inspiring as of "carneying" her, as she expressed -it. Her love for Madeleine was pure and simple and unaffected, -deep-seated, and capable of producing great results; but it was of the -"poor-dear" school, after all. - -Nothing, for instance, could persuade Mrs. M'Diarmid that Madeleine -was not very much to be pitied in every act and circumstance of her -life. The fact of having a stepmother was in itself a burden -sufficient to break the spirit of any ordinarily-constituted young -woman, according to Mrs. Mac's idea. Not but that Mrs. Mac and Lady -Muriel "got on very well together," according to the former lady's -phraseology; not but that Lady M. (whom she was usually accustomed to -speak of, when extra emphasis was required, as Lady Hem) did her duty -by Madeleine perfectly and thoroughly; but still, as Mrs. Mac would -confess, "she was not one of them; she was of a different family; and -what could you expect out of your own blood and bone?" "One of them" -meant of the Kilsyth family, of which Mrs. M'Diarmid to a certain -portion of her acquaintance, described herself as a component part. In -the late summer and the early autumn, when the Kilsyths and all their -friends had left town, dear old Mrs. M'Diarmid would revel in the -light with which, though her suns of fashion had set, her horizon was -still illumined. When the grandees of Belgravia and Tyburnia have sped -northward in the long preëngaged seat of the limited mail; when they -are coasting round the ever-verdant Island, or lounging in all the -glory of pseudo-naval get-up on the pier at Ryde, there is yet corn in -Egypt, balm in Gilead, and fine weather in the suburbs of London. -Many of Mrs. M'Diarmid's acquaintance, formed in the earlier and -ante-married portion of her life, were found in London during those -months. Some had been away to Ramsgate and Margate with their children -in June; others, unable to "get away from business," had compromised -the matter with their wives by taking a cottage at Richmond or -Staines, and running backwards and forwards from town for a month, and -staying at home on the Saturday. To these worthy people Mrs. M'Diarmid -was the connecting link between them and that fashionable world, of -whose doings they read so religiously every Saturday in the -fashionable journal. For her news, her talk, her appearance, they -loved this old lady, and paid her the greatest court. From some of -them she received brevet rank, and was spoken of as the Honourable -Mrs. M'Diarmid; from all she received kindness and--what she never -gave herself--toadyism. Pleasant dinners at the furnished cottages at -Richmond and Staines, Star-an-Garter reflections, picnics on the -river, what was even more delicious, a croquet-party on the lawn, tea, -and an early supper, with some singing afterwards--all these delights -were provided by her acquaintances for Mrs. M'Diarmid, who had nothing -to do but to sit still, and be taken about; to recall a few of the -scenes of her past season's gaiety; to drop occasionally the names of -a few of her grand acquaintance, and to have it thoroughly understood -that she was "one of them." - -Use is second nature; and by dint of perpetually repeating that she -was "one of them," Mrs. M'Diarmid had almost begun to forget the -lodging-house and its associations, and to believe that she was a -blood-relation of the old house of Kilsyth. It did the old lady no -harm, this innocent self-deception; it did not render her insolent, -arrogant, or stuck-up; it did not for an instant tend to render her -forgetful of her position in the household, and it did perhaps -increase the fond maternal affection which she entertained for -Madeleine. How could Lady Muriel feel for that girl like one of her -own blood? Besides, had she not now children of her own, about whose -future she was naturally anxious, and whose future might clash with -that of her stepdaughter? Whose future? Ay, it was about Madeleine's -future that she was so anxious; and just about this stage in our -history Mrs. M'Diarmid, revolving all these things in her mind, set -herself seriously to consider what Madeleine's future should be. - -To a woman of Mrs. M'Diarmid's stamp the future of a young girl, it is -almost needless to say, meant her marriage. Notwithstanding all the -shams which, to use Mr. Carlyle's phrases, have been exploded, all the -Babeldoms which have been talked out, all the mockeries, delusions, -and snares which have been exposed, it yet remains that marriage is -the be-all and end-all of the British maiden's existence. That -accomplished, life shuts up; or is of no account, with the -orange-flowers and the tinkling bells, the ring, the oath, and the -blessing; all that childhood has played at, and maidenhood has dreamed -of, is at an end. The husband is secured, and so long as he is in the -requisite position and possesses the requisite means--_vogue la -galère_ in its most respectable translation, be it understood--all -that is requisite on friends' part has been done. We laugh when we -hear that a charwoman offers to produce her "marriage-lines" in proof -of her respectability; but we slur over the fact that in our own -social status we are content to aim at the dignity achieved by the -charwoman's certificate, and not to look beyond into the future -thereby opened. - -Madeleine's marriage? Yes; Mrs. M'Diarmid had turned that subject over -in her mind a hundred thousand times; had chewed the cud of it until -all taste therein had been exhausted; had had all sorts of -preposterous visions connected therewith, none of which had the -smallest waking foundation. Madeleine's marriage? It was by her own -marriage that Mrs. M'Diarmid had made her one grand _coup_ in life, -and consequently she attached the greatest value to it. She was always -picturing to herself Madeleine married to each or one of the different -visitors in Brook-street; seeing her walking up the aisle with one, -standing at the altar-rails with another, muttering "I will" to a -third, and shyly looking up after signing the register with a fourth. -The old lady had the good sense to keep these mental pictures in her -own mental portfolio, but still she was perpetually drawing them forth -for her own mental delectation. None of the young men who were in the -habit of dropping in in Brook-street for a cup of afternoon tea and a -social chat had any notion of the wondrous scenes passing through the -brain of the quiet elderly lady, whom they all liked and all laughed -at. None of them knew that in Mrs. Mac's mind's eye, as they sat there -placidly sipping their tea and talking their nonsense, they were -transfigured; that their ordinary raiment was changed into the blue -coat and yellow waistcoat dear to this valentine artist; that from -their coat-collar grew the attenuated spire of a village church, and -that sounds of chiming bells drowned their voices. Madeleine as a -countess presented at a drawing-room "on her marriage;" Madeleine -receiving a brilliant circle as the wife of a brilliant member of the -House of Commons; Madeleine doing the honours of the British embassy -at the best and most distinguished legation which happened at the time -to be vacant. All these pictures had presented themselves to Mrs. -M'Diarmid, and been filled up by her mentally in outline and detail. -Other supplementary pictures were there in the same gallery. Madeleine -presenting new colours to the gallant 140th as the wife of their -colonel; Madeleine landing from the Amphitrite, amidst the cheers of -her crew, as the wife of their admiral; Madeleine graciously receiving -the million pounds' worth of pearls and diamonds which the native -Indian princes offered to the wife of their governor-general. All -these different shiftings of the glasses of the magic lantern appeared -to Mrs. M'Diarmid as she noticed the attention paid to Madeleine by -the different visitors in Brook-street. - -But these, after all, were mere daydreams, and it was time Mrs. -M'Diarmid thought that some real and satisfactory match should be -arranged for her dear child. Since the return of the family from -Scotland, after Madeleine's illness, Mrs. M'Diarmid either had -noticed, or fancied she had noticed, that Lady Muriel was less -interested in her stepdaughter than ever, more inclined to let her -have her own way, less particular as to who sought her society. Under -these circumstances, not merely did Mrs. M'Diarmid's dragon -watchfulness increase tenfold, but the necessity of speedily taking -her darling into a different atmosphere, and surrounding her with -other cares and hopes in life, made itself doubly apparent. For -hours and hours the old lady sat in her own little room, cosy little -room,--neat, tidy, clean, and wholesome-looking as the old lady -herself,--revolving different matrimonial schemes in her mind, -guessing at incomes, weighing dispositions, thinking over the traits -and characteristics, the health and position of every marriageable man -of her acquaintance. And all to no purpose; for the old lady, though a -tolerably shrewd and worldly-wise old lady, was a good woman: in the -early days of the lodging-house she had had a spirit of religion -properly instilled into her; and this, aided by her genuine and -unselfish love for Madeleine, would have prevented her from wishing to -see the girl married to any one, no matter what were his wealth, -position, and general eligibility, unless there was the prospect of -her darling's life being a happy one with him. "I don't see my way -clear, my dear," she would say to Mrs. Tonkley, the most intimate of -her early life acquaintances, and the only one whom the old lady -admitted into her confidence (Mrs. Tonkley had been Sarah Simmons, -daughter of Simmons's private hotel, and had married Tonkley, London -representative of Blades and Buckhorn of Sheffield),--"I don't see my -way clear in this business, my dear, and that's the truth. Powers -forbid my Madeleine should marry an old man, though among our people -it's considered to be about the best thing that could happen to a -girl, provided he's old enough, and rich into the bargain. Why, there -are old fellows, tottering old wretches, that crawl about with mineral -teeth in their mouths and other people's hair on their heads, and -they'd only have to say, 'Will you?' to some of the prettiest and the -best-born girls in England, and they'd get the answer 'Yes' directly -minute! No, no; I've seen too much of that. Not to name names, there's -one old fellow, a lord and a general, all stars and garters and -crosses and ribbons, and two seasons ago he carried off a lovely girl. -I won't put a name to her, my dear, but you've seen her photographic -likeness in the portrait-shops; and what is it now? Divorced? Lord, -no, my dear; that sort of thing's never done amongst US, nor even -separation, so far as the world knows. O no; they live very happily -together, to all outward show, and she has her opera-box, and jewels -as much as she can wear; but, Lor' bless you, I hear what the young -fellows say who come to our house about the way she goes on, and the -men who are always about her, and who was meant by the stars and -blanks in last week's _Dustman_. No, no; no old wretch for Madeleine; -nor any of your fast boys either, with their drags and their yachts, -and their hunters and their Market Harboroughs, and their Queen's -Benches, I tell'em; for that's what it'll come to. You can't build a -house of paper, specially of stamped paper, to last very long; and -though you touch it up every three months or so, at about the end of a -year down it goes with a run, and you and your wife and the lot of you -go with it! That would be a pleasant ending for my child, to have to -live at Bolong on what her husband got by winning at cards from the -foreigners; and that's not likely to be much, I should think. No; that -would never do. I declare to you, my dear Sarah, when I think about -that dear girl's future, I am that driven as to be at my wits' end." - -There was another reason for the old lady's feeling "driven" when -thinking over her dear girl's future which she never imparted to her -dear Sarah, nor indeed to anyone else, but which she crooned over -constantly, and relished less and less after each spell of -consideration, and that was the evident intention of Lady Muriel with -regard to Ramsay Caird. Mrs. M'Diarmid, though a woman of strong -feelings, rarely, if ever, took antipathies; but certainly her strong -aversion to Ramsay Caird could be called by no other name. She hated -him cordially, and took very little pains to conceal her dislike, -though, if she had been called upon, she would have found it difficult -to define the reasons for her prejudice. It was probably the obvious -purpose for which he had been introduced into the family which the -old lady immediately divined and as immediately execrated, that made -her his enemy; but she could not put forward this reason, and she -had no other to offer. She used to say to herself that he was a -"down-looking fellow," which was metaphorical, inasmuch as Ramsay -Caird had rather a frank and free expression, though, to one more -versed in physiognomy than Mrs. M'Diarmid, there certainly was a -shifty expression in his eyes. She hated to see him paying -attention to Madeleine, bending over her, hovering near her--in -her self-communion the old lady declared that it gave her "the -creeps"--and it was with great difficulty that she refrained when -present from actually shuddering. It was lucky that she did so -refrain; for Lady Muriel, who brooked no interference with her plans, -would have ruthlessly given Mrs. Mac her _congé_, and closed the -doors of Brook-street against her for ever. - -To find someone so eligible that Kilsyth would take a fancy to him--a -fancy which Lady Muriel could not, in common honesty, combat--and -thus to get rid of Ramsay Caird and his pretensions to Madeleine's -hand,--this was Mrs. M'Diarmid's great object in life. But she had -pottered hopelessly about it; and it is probable that she would never -have succeeded in getting the smallest clue to what, if properly -carried through, might really have led to the accomplishment of her -hopes, had it not been for her own kindness of heart, which led her to -spend many of her leisure half-hours in the nursery with Lady Muriel's -little girls. Sitting one day with these little ladies, but in truth -not attending much to their prattle, being occupied in her favourite -daydream, Mrs. M'Diarmid was startled by hearing an observation which -at once interested her, and caused her to attend to the little ladies' -conversation. - -"When you grow up, Maud, will you be like Maddy?" asked little Ethel. - -"I don't know," replied her sister. "I think I shall be quite as -pretty as Maddy; and I'm sure I sha'n't be half so dull." - -"You don't know that! People are only dull because they can't help it. -They're not dull on purpose; only because they can't help it." - -"Well, then, I shall help it," said Maud in an imperious way. -"Besides, it's not always that Maddy's dull; she's only dull since -we've been back in London; she wasn't dull at Kilsyth." - -"Ah, no one was dull at Kilsyth," said little Ethel with a sigh. - -"O, we all know what you mean by that, Ethel," said Maud. "You silly -sentimental child, you were happy at Kilsyth because you had _someone_ -with you." - -"Well, it's no use talking to you, Maud; because you're a dreadful -flirt, and care for no one in particular, and like to have a heap of -men always round you. But wasn't Madeleine happy at Kilsyth because -she had _someone_ with her?" - -"Why, you don't mean that Lord Roderick?" - -"Lord Roderick, indeed! I should think not," said little Ethel, -flushing scarlet. "Madeleine's 'someone' was much older and graver and -wiser and sterner, and nothing like so good-looking." - -"Ethel dear, you talk like a child!" said Maud, who, by virtue of her -twelvemonth's seniority, gave herself quite maternal airs towards her -sister. "Of course I see you're alluding to Dr. Wilmot; but you can't -imagine that Maddy cared for him in any way but that of a--a friend -who was grateful to him--for--" - -"O yes! 'Your grateful patient,' we know! Maddy did not know how to -end her note to him the other morning, and I kept suggesting all kinds -of things: 'yours lovingly,' and 'yours eternally,' and 'your own -devoted;' and made Madge blush awfully; and at last she put that. -'Grateful patient'! grateful rubbish! You hadn't half such -opportunities as I had of seeing them together at Kilsyth, Maud." - -"I'm not half so romantic and sentimental, Ethel; and I can see a -doctor talking to a girl about her illness without fancying he's madly -in love with her. And now I am going to my music." And Maud pranced -out of the room. - -And then Mrs. M'Diarmid who had greedily swallowed every word of this -conversation between the children, laid down the book over which she -had been nodding; and going up to little Ethel, gave herself over to -the task of learning from the child her impressions of the state of -Madeleine's feelings towards Dr. Wilmot, and of gleaning as much as -she could of all that passed between them at Kilsyth; the result being -that little Ethel, who was, as her sister had said, sentimentally and -romantically inclined, led her old friend to believe, first, that -Madeleine was deeply attached to the doctor, and, secondly, that the -doctor was inclined to respond promptly to the young lady's -sentiments. - -That night Mrs. M'Diarmid remained at home, for the purpose of -"putting on her considering cap," as she phrased it, and steadily -looking at the question of Madeleine's future in the new light now -surrounding it. Like all other old ladies, she had a _tendresse_ for -the medical profession; and though she had never met Dr. Wilmot, she -had often heard of him, and had taken great interest in his rise and -progress. And this was the man who was to fulfil her expectations, and -to prevent Madeleine's being sacrificed to a sordid or disagreeable -match? It really seemed like it. Dr. Wilmot was in the prime of life, -was highly thought of and esteemed by all who knew him, was -essentially a man of mark in the world, and must be in the enjoyment -of a very lucrative practice. Practice? ay, that was rather awkward! -Kilsyth would not care much about having a son-in-law who was in -practice, and at the beck and call of every hypochondriacal old -woman; and Lady Muriel would, Mrs. Mac was certain, refuse to -entertain such a notion. And yet Dr. Wilmot was in every other respect -so eligible; it was a thousand pities! Dr. Wilmot! Yes, there it was; -that "Doctor" would stick to him through life; and he, from all she -had heard of him, was just the man to be proud of the title, and -refuse to be addressed by any other. Unless, indeed, they could get -him knighted; that would be something indeed. Sir--Sir--whatever his -name was--Wilmot would sound very well; and nobody need ever know that -he had felt pulses and written prescriptions. That is, of course, if -he retired from his professsion, as he would do on his marriage into -"our" family; because if the unpleasantness with Lady Muriel and--but -then how were they to live? Dr. Wilmot could not possibly have saved -enough money to retire upon; and though Madeleine had her own little -fortune, neither Kilsyth nor Lady Muriel would feel inclined to accept -for a son-in-law a penniless man, unless he had some old alliance with -the family. The old lady was very much puzzled by all these thoughts. -She sat for hour after hour revolving plans and projects in her head, -without arriving at any definite result. The want of adequate fortune -without continuing in practice--that was what worried Mrs. M'Diarmid. -She had already perfectly settled in her own mind that Madeleine and -Wilmot adored each other. She had pictured them both at the altar, and -settled upon the new dress to which she should treat herself on the -occasion of their marriage--a nice brown _moire_; none of your cheap -rubbish--a splendid silk, stiff as a board, that would stand upright -by itself, as one might say; and she knew just the pew which she would -be shown into. All the arrangements were completed in Mrs. Mac's -mind--all, with the exception of the income for the happy pair. - -How could that be managed? What could be done? Were there not -appointments, government things, where people were very well paid, and -which were always to be had, if asked for by people of influence? -Straightway the indefatigable old lady began questioning everybody -able to give her information about consulships, secretaryships, and -commissionerships; and received an amount of news that quite -bewildered her. Two or three men in the Whitehall offices, who were in -the habit of coming to Brook-street, from whom she had endeavoured to -glean information, amused themselves by telling her the wildest -nonsense of the necessary qualifications for such appointments; so -that the old lady was in despair, and almost at her wits' end, when -she suddenly bethought her of Mr. Foljambe. The very man! Wealthy and -childless, with the highest opinion of Wilmot, and with a great regard -for Madeleine. Mrs. Mac remembered hearing it said in Brook-street, -long before Madeleine's illness, that Mr. Foljambe would in all -probability leave his fortune to Dr. Wilmot. And his fortune was a -very large one--quite enough to keep up the dignity of a knight upon; -though indeed, as there would be no lack of money, Mrs. Mac did not -see why a baronetcy should not be substituted. Lady Wilmot, and -green-and-gold liveries, and hair-powder, of course; that would be the -very thing, if that dear old man would only settle it, and not care to -live too long after he had settled it--his attacks of gout were -dreadful now, she had heard Lady Muriel say--all would be well. Would -it be possible to ascertain whether there was any real foundation for -the gossip whether Mr. Foljambe had really made Wilmot his heir? Would -it not be possible to give him such hints respecting his power of -benefiting the future of two persons in whom he had the greatest -interest as to settle him finally in his amiable determination? Mrs. -M'Diarmid was a woman of impulse, and believed much in the expediency -of "clinching the nail," and "striking the iron while it was hot," as -she expressed it. "In such matters as these," she was accustomed to -say, "nothing is ever done by third parties, or by writing; if you -want a thing done, go and see about it at once, and go and see about -it yourself, Lord love you!" Acting on which wise maxims, Mrs. -M'Diarmid determined to call in person upon Mr. Foljambe, and then and -there "have it out with him." - - -At ten o'clock on the following morning, Mr. Foljambe, seated at -breakfast, was disturbed by a sharp rap at his street-door. Mrs. -M'Diarmid was right in saying that the old gentleman's gout had been -extra troublesome lately, and his temper had deteriorated in -proportion to the sharpness and the frequency of the attacks. He had -had some very sharp twinges the previous evening, and was in anything -but a good temper; and as the clanging knock resounded through the -hall, and penetrated to the snug little room where the old gentleman, -in a long shawl dressing-gown, such as were fashionable -five-and-twenty years ago, but are now seldom seen out of farces, was -dallying with his toast and glancing at the _Times_, he broke out into -a very naughty exclamation. A thorough type of the 'old English -gentleman of his class, Mr. Foljambe, as witness his well-bred hands -and feet,--the former surrounded by long and beautifully white -wristbands, one of the latter incased in the nattiest of -morocco-leather slippers, though the other was in a large list -shoe,--his high cross-barred muslin cravat, his carefully trimmed gray -whiskers, and his polished head. - -"Visitors' bell!" muttered the old gentleman to himself, after giving -vent to the naughty exclamation. "What the deuce brings people calling -here at this hour? Just ten!" with a glance at the clock. "'Pon my -word, it's too bad; as though one were a doctor, or a dentist, and on -view from now till five. Who can it be? Collector of some local -charity, probably, or someone to ask if somebody else doesn't live -here, and to be quite astonished and rather indignant when he finds -he's come to the wrong house." - -"Well, Sergeant," to the servant who had just entered, "what is it?" - -"Lady, sir, to speak with you," said Sergeant, grim and inflexible. He -objected to women anywhere in general, but at that house in -particular. Like his master, he passed for a misogynist; but unlike -his master, he was one. - -"A lady! God bless my soul, what an extraordinary thing for a lady to -come here to see me, and at this hour, Sargeant!" - -The tone of Mr. Foljambe's voice invited response; but from Sargeant -no response came. His master had uttered his sentiments, and there was -nothing more to say. - -"Why don't you answer, man?" said the old gentleman peevishly. "What -sort of a lady is she? Young or old, tall or short? What do you think -she has come about, Sargeant?" - -"About middle 'ithe; but 'ave her veil down. Wouldn't give a message; -but wanted to speak to you partickler, sir." - -"Confounded fellow! no getting anything out of him!" mattered the old -gentleman beneath his breath. Then aloud, "Where is she?" - -"I put the lady in the droring-room, sir; but no fire, as the chimlies -was swept this morning." - -"I know that; I heard 'em, the scoundrels! No fire! the woman will be -perished! Here, bring me down a coat, and take this dressing-gown, and -just put these things aside, and poke the fire, and brighten up the -place, will you?" - -As soon as the old gentleman had put on his coat, and cast a hasty -glance at himself in the glass, he hobbled to the drawing-room, and -there found a lady seated, who, when she raised her veil, partly to -his relief, partly to his disappointment, revealed the well-known -features of Mrs. M'Diarmid. - -"God bless my soul, my dear Mrs. Mac, who ever would have thought of -seeing you here! I mean to say this is what one might call an -unexpected pleasure. Come out of this confoundedly cold room, my dear -madam. Now I know who is my visitor, I will, with your permission, -waive all formality and receive you in my sanctum. This way, my dear -madam. You must excuse my hobbling slowly; but my old enemy the gout -has been trying me rather severely during the last few days." - -Chattering on in this fashion, the old gentleman gallantly -offered Mrs. M'Diarmid his arm, and led her from the cold and -formally-arranged drawing-room, where everything was set and stiff, to -his own cheerful little room, the perfection of bachelor comfort and -elegance. - -"Wheel a chair round for the lady, Sargeant, there, with its back to -the light, and push that footstool nearer.--There, my dear madam, -that's more comfortable. You have breakfasted? Sorry for it. I've some -orange pekoe that is unrivalled in London, and there's a little ham -that is perfectly de-licious. You won't? Then all I can say is, that -yours is the loss. And now, my dear madam, you have not told me what -has procured me the honour of this visit." - -Had the old lady been viciously disposed, she might easily have -pleaded that her host had not given her the chance; but as it was her -policy to be most amiable, she merely smiled sweetly upon him, and -said that her visit was actuated by important business. - -Outside the bank-parlour, Mr. Foljambe detested business visits of all -kinds; and even there he only tolerated them. Female visitors were his -special aversion; and the leaden-buttoned porter in Lombard-street had -special directions as to their admission. The junior partner, a buck -of forty-five, who dressed according to the fashion of ten years -since, and who was supposed still to cause a flutter in the virgin -breasts of Balham, where his residence, "The Pineries," was situate, -was generally told off to reply to the questions of such ladies as -required consultation with Burkinyoung, Foljambe, and Co. - -So that when Mrs. M'Diarmid mentioned business as the cause of her -visit, the old gentleman was scarcely reassured, and begged for a -farther explanation. - -"Well, when I say business, Mr. Foljambe," said the old lady, again -resuming her smile, "I scarcely know whether I'm doing justice to what -lies in my own--my own bosom. Business, Mr. Foljambe, is a hard word, -as I know well enough, connected with my early life--of which you -know, no doubt, from our friends in Brook-street--connected with -boot-cleaning, and errand-sending, and generally poor George's -carryings-on in--no matter. And indeed there is but little business -connected with what rules the court, the camp, the grove, and is like -the red red rose, which is newly sprung in June, sir. You will -perceive, Mr. Foljambe, that I am alluding to Love." - -"To Love, madam!" exclaimed the old gentleman with a jerk, thinking at -the same time, "Good God! can it be possible that I have ever said -anything to this old vulgarian that can have induced her to imagine -that I'm in love with her?" - -"To Love, Mr. Foljambe; though to you and me, at our time of life, -such ideas are generally _non compos_. Yet there are hearts that feel -for another; and yours is one, I am certain sure." - -"You must be a little clearer, madam, if you want me to follow you," -said the old gentleman gruffly. - -"Well, then, to have no perspicuity or odontification, and to do our -duty in that state into which heaven has called us," pursued Mrs. Mac, -with a lingering recollection of the Church Catechism, "am I not right -in thinking that you take an interest in our Maddy?" - -"In Miss Kilsyth?" said Foljambe. "The very greatest interest that a -man at--at my time of life could possibly take in a girl of her age. -But surely you don't think, Mrs. M'Diarmid, that--that I'm in love -with her?" - -"Powers above!" exclaimed Mrs. Mac, "do you think that I've lost my -reason; or that if you were, it would be any good? Do you think that I -for one would stand by and see my child sacrificed? No, of course I -don't mean that! But what I do mean is, that you're fond of our Maddy, -ain't you?" - -"Yes," said the old gentleman with a burst; "yes, I am; there, will -that content you? I think Madeleine Kilsyth a very charming girl!" - -"And worthy of a very charming husband, Mr. Foljambe?" - -"And worthy of a very charming husband. But where is he? I have been -tolerably intimate with the family for years--not, of course, as -intimate as you, my dear Mrs. M'Diarmid, but still I may say an -intimate and trusted friend--and I have never seen anyone whom I could -think in the least likely to be a _prétendu_--not in the least." - -"N-no; not before they left for Scotland, certainly." - -"No; and then in Scotland, you know, of course there would have been a -chance--country house full of company, thrown together and all that -kind of thing--best adjuncts for love-making, importunity and -opportunity, as I daresay you know well enough, my dear madam; but -then Maddy was taken ill, and that spoilt the whole chance." - -"Spoilt the whole chance! Maddy's illness spoilt the whole chance, did -it? Are you quite sure of that, Mr. Foljambe? Are you quite sure that -that illness did not decide Maddy's future?" - -"That illness!" - -"That illness. 'Importunity and opportunity,' to quote your own words, -Mr. Foljambe, the last if hot the worst--have it how you will." - -"My dear Mrs. M'Diarmid, you are speaking in riddles; you are a -perfect Sphinx, and I am, alas, no OEdipus. Will you tell me shortly -what you mean?" - -"Yes, Mr. Foljambe, I will tell you; I came to tell you, and to ask -you, as an old friend of the family, what you thought. More than that, -I came to ask you, as an old friend of one whom I think most -interested, what you thought. You know well and intimately Dr. -Wilmot?" - -"Know Wilmot? Thoroughly and most intimately, and--why, good God, my -dear madam, you don't think that Wilmot is in love with Miss Kilsyth?" - -"I confess that I have thought--" - -"Rubbish, my dear madam! Simple nonsense! You have been confounding -the attention which a man wrapped up in his own profession, in the -study of science, pays to a case, with attentions paid to an -individual. Why, my dear madam, if--not to be offensive--if _you_ had -had Miss Kilsyth's illness, and Wilmot had attended you, he would have -bestowed on you exactly the same interest." - -"Perhaps while the case lasted, Mr. Foljambe, while his professional -duty obliged him to do so; but not afterwards." - -"Not afterwards? Does Dr. Wilmot still pay attention to Miss Kilsyth?" - -"The last time I was in Brook-street I saw him there," said the old -lady, bridling, "paying Miss Kilsyth great 'attention.'" - -"Then it was a farewell visit, Mrs. M'Diarmid," replied Mr. Foljambe. -"Dr. Wilmot quits town--and England--at once, for a lengthened sojourn -on the Continent." - -"Leaves town--and England?" said Mrs. Mac blankly. - -"For several months. Devoted to his profession, as he always has been, -without the smallest variation in his devotion, he goes to Berlin to -study in the hospitals there. Does that look like the act of an ardent -_soupirant_, Mrs. M'Diarmid?" - -"Not unless he has reasons for feeling that it is better that he -should so absent himself," said the old lady. - -"Of that you will probably be the best judge," said Mr. Foljambe. "My -knowledge of Chudleigh Wilmot is not such as to lead me to believe -that he would 'set his fortunes on a die' without calculating the -result." - - -In the "off season," when her fashionable friends were away from town, -Mrs. M'Diarmid was in the habit of receiving some few acquaintances -who constituted a whist-club, and met from week to week at each -other's houses. Amongst this worthy sisterhood Mrs. Mac passed for a -very shrewd and clever woman; a "deep" woman, who never "showed her -hand." But on turning into Portland-place after her interview with Mr. -Foljambe, the old lady felt that she had forfeited that title to -admiration, and that too without the slightest adequate result. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. -Madeleine awakes. - - -It is probable that if Chudleigh Wilmot had remained in London, -fulfilling his professional duties and leading his ordinary life, the -declaration of love and the offer of his hand which in due course he -would have made to Miss Kilsyth would have, for the first time, caused -that young lady to avow the real state of her feelings towards him to -herself. These feelings, beginning in gratitude, had passed into -hero-worship, which is perhaps about as dangerous a phase both for -adorer and adored as any in the whole category; showing as it does -that the former must be considerably "far gone" before she could -consent to exalt any man into an object of idolatry, and proving very -perilous to the latter from the impossibility of his separating himself -from the peculiar attributes which are supposed to call forth the -devotion. And Wilmot was just such an idol as a girl like Madeleine -ould place upon a pedestal and worship with constancy and fervour. The -very fact that he possessed none of those qualifications so esteemed -by and in the men by whom she was ordinarily surrounded was in her eyes -a point in his favour. He did not hunt; he was an indifferent shot; he -professed himself worse than a child at billiards, and his -whist-playing was something atrocious. But then, for the best man -across country, the straightest rider to hounds whom they knew, was -Captain Severn, a slangy wretch only tolerated in society for his -wife's sake. George Pitcairn was a splendid shot; but he had never -heard of Tennyson, and would probably think that Browning was the name -of a setter. Major Delapoche was the billiard champion at Kilsyth, -where he was never seen out of the billiard-room, except at meal-times; -and as for whist there could not be much in that when her father -declared that there were not three men at Brookes's who could play so -good a rubber as old Dr. M'Johns, the Presbyterian clergyman in the -village. Ever since she had been emancipated from her governess, she -had longed to meet some man of name and renown, who would take an -interest in her, and whom she could reverence, admire, and look up to. -She never pined for the heroes of the novels which she read, probably -because she saw plenty of them in her ordinary life, and -she was used to them and their ways. The big heavy dragoons of the -_Guy-Livingstone_ type--by his portrayal of whom Mr. Lawrence -establishes for himself such a reputation amongst the young ladies of -the middle classes, who pine after the _beaux sabreurs_ and the "cool -captains," principally because they have never met anyone in real life -like them--are by no means such sources of raving among the girls -accustomed to country-house and London-season society, who are familiar -with something like the prototype of each character. Ronald's brother -officers, Kilsyth's sporting friends, and Lady Muriel's connections, -had made this kind of type too common for Madeleine, even if her -temperament had not been very different, to elevate it into a hero; -but she had never met anyone fulfilling herideas until Chudleigh Wilmot -crossed her path. From the earliest period of her convalescence, from -the time when slowly-returning strength gave her an interest again in -life, until the time that Wilmot left London, she had indulged in this -happy dream. She was something in that man's life, something to which -his thoughts occasionally turned, as she hoped, as she believed, with -pleasure. As to "being in love" as it is phrased, Madeleine believed -that such a state as little applied to Wilmot as to herself, and of her -own entire innocence in the existence of such a feeling she was -confident. But there was established a curious relation between them -which she could not explain, but which she thoroughly understood, and -which made her very happy. Hour after hour she would sit thinking over -this acquaintance, so singularly begun, so different from anything -which she had ever previously experienced, and wondering within herself -what a bright clever man like Dr. Wilmot could see to like in a silly -girl like herself. If Wilmot had been differently constituted she could -have understood it well enough; for though very free from vanity, -Madeleine was of course conscious that she had a pretty face, and she -could perfectly understand the admiration which she received from -Ramsay Caird and the men of whom he was a type. But she imagined -Wilmot to be far too staid and serious, far too much absorbed in his -studies and his "cases," to notice anything so unimportant. - -What could he see in her? She asked herself this question a thousand -times without arriving at any satisfactory result. She thought that -Wilmot, whom she had exalted into her hero, would naturally not bestow -his thoughts on any but a heroine; and she knew that there was very -little of the heroine in her. Indeed I, writing this veracious -history, am often surprised at my own daring in having, in these -highly-spiced times, ventured to submit so very tame a specimen of -womanhood to public notice. Madeleine Kilsyth was neither tawny and -leopard-like, nor hideous and quaintly-fascinating. She was merely an -ordinary English girl, with about as much cleverness as girls have at -her age, when they have had no occasion to use their brains; And she -thought and argued in a girlish manner. She could not tell that the -difference in each from their ordinary acquaintance pleased them -equally. If Madeleine had been bright, clever, witty, fast, flirting, -or _blasée_, she would never have seen her physician after her -recovery. Wilmot was too thoroughly acquainted with women of all these -varieties to find any pleasure in an additional specimen. It was the -young girl's freshness and innocence, her frankness and trusting -confidence, her bright looks and happy thoughts, that touched the -heart of the worn and solitary man, and made him feel that there were -in life joys which he had never experienced, and which were yet worth -living for. - -To admire and reverence him; to find the best and most valuable of -resources in his friendship, the wisest and truest guidance in his -intellect, the most exquisite of pleasures in his society; to triumph -in his fame, and to try to merit his approval--such, as we have seen, -had been Madeleine's scheme. Now this was all changed: he was gone; -the greatest enjoyment of her life, his society, was taken from her. -He was gone; he would be absent for a long time; she should not see -him, would not hear his voice, for weeks--it might be for months: it -took her a long time to realise this fact, and with its realisation -flashed across her the knowledge that she loved Chudleigh Wilmot. - -Loved him! The indefinite inexplicable sentiments so long brooded over -were gone now, and she looked into her own heart and acknowledged its -condition. So long as he remained in London, so long as there was a -chance of seeing him, even though she knew that his departure had been -decided on, and was almost inevitable, she yet remained unconscious of -the state of her feelings. It was only when he was actually gone, when -she knew that the long-dreaded step had been taken, that all chance of -seeing him again for months was at an end, that the truth flashed upon -her. She loved him!--loved him with the whole warmth, truth, and -earnestness of her sweet simple nature; loved him as such a man should -be loved--deeply, fervently, and confidingly. In the first recognition -of the existence of this feeling, she was scarcely likely to inquire -psychologically into it; but she felt that her love for Wilmot had -many component parts. The admiration and reverence with which he had -originally inspired her still remained; but with them was now blended -a passion which had never before been evoked in her. She longed to see -him again, longed to throw her arms round his neck and whisper to him -how she loved him. How miserably blind she had been! What childish -folly had been hers not sooner to have comprehended the meaning of her -feelings towards this man! She loved him, and--a fearful thought -flashed across her. Had it come too late, the discovery of this -passion? Had she been dreaming when the golden chance of her life came -by, and had she let it pass unheeded? And again, what were Wilmot's -feelings with regard to her? Was he under such a delusion as had long -oppressed her? He was a man, strong-minded, clear-brained, and of -subtle intellect; he would know at once whether his liking for her -arose from professional interest, from the friendly feeling which, -situated as they had been together at Kilsyth, would naturally spring -up between them, or whether it had a deeper foundation and was of a -warmer character. His manner to her--save perhaps on that one morning -in Brook-street, when Ronald interrupted them so brusquely--had never -been marked by anything approaching to warmth; and yet--That morning -in Brook-street! there had been a difference then; she had noticed it -at the time, and, now regarded in the new light which had dawned upon -her, the thought was strengthened and confirmed. She remembered the -way in which he held her hand, and looked down at her with a soft -earnest gaze out of those wonderful eyes; such a look as she had never -had before or since. If ever love was conveyed by looks, if ever eyes -spoke, it was surely then. Ah, did he feel for her as she now knew she -felt for him, or was it merely warm friendship, fraternal affection, -that actuated him? He had gone away; would he have done that if he had -loved her? She had asked herself this question before the state of her -own real feelings had dawned upon her, only then substituting the word -"like" for love, and had decided that, if he had cared for her ever so -little, he would have remained. But her recent discovery led her now -to think very differently, and she hoped that this ardour in the cause -of science, which prompted this professional visit to Berlin, and -necessitated this lengthened absence, might be assumed, and that the -real motive of Wilmot's departure might be his desire to avoid her, -ignorant as he was of the state of her feelings towards him. Heaven -grant that it might be so! for now that she knew herself, it would be -easy to recall him. Some pretext could be found for bringing him back -to England, back to her; and once together again they would never -separate. As this thought passed through her mind her glance fell upon -her hands, which were clasped before her, and upon a ring which had -been given her by Ramsay Caird. By Ramsay Caird! The curtain dropped -as swiftly as it had risen, and Madeleine shivered from head to foot. - -It was a pretty ring, a broad hoop of gold set with three turquoises, -and the word "AEI" engraved upon it. Madeleine remembered that Ramsay -Caird had presented it to her on her last birthday, and while -presenting it had said a few words of compliment and kindness with an -earnestness and an _empressement_ such as he had never before shown. -He was not a brilliant man, but he had the society air and the society -talk; and he imported just enough seriousness into the latter when he -said something about wishing he had dared to have had the ring -perfectly plain--just enough to convey his intended hint without -making a fool of himself. Ramsay Caird! There, then, was her fate, her -future! Knowing all that had been prearranged, she had been mad enough -to dream for a few minutes of loving and being loved by Chudleigh -Wilmot, when she knew, as well as if it had been expressly stated -instead of merely implied, that Ramsay Caird was looked upon by her -family and by most of their intimate friends, as her future husband. - -Ramsay Caird her future husband! She herself had occasionally thought -of him in that position, not with dissatisfaction. Knowing nothing -better, she imagined that the liking which she undoubtedly entertained -for the pleasant young man was love. She had not been brought up in a -very gushing school. She had no intimate friend, no one with whom to -exchange confidences; and her acquaintances seemed to make liking do -very well for love, at least as far as their _fiancés_ or their -husbands were concerned. Madeleine, when she had thought about the -matter, had quite convinced herself that she liked Ramsay very much -indeed; and it was only after she discovered that she loved Wilmot -that she was undeceived. She thought that she had liked him well -enough to marry him, but now she hated herself for ever having -entertained such an idea. She knew now that she had never felt love -for Ramsay Caird; and she would not marry where she did not love. - -A hundred diverse and distracting thoughts and influences were at work -within the young girl's mind. Doubt as to whether she was really loved -by Wilmot, doubt as to how far she was pledged to Ramsay Caird, -comprehension of the urgent necessity at once to take some steps -towards a solution of the difficulty, inability to decide on the -fittest course to pursue, disinclination to appeal to her father -through bashfulness and timidity, to Lady Muriel through distrust, to -Ronald through absolute fear: all these feelings alternated in -Madeleine's breast; and as she experienced each and all, there hung -over her a sense of an impending dreadful something which she could -not explain, could not understand, but which seemed to crush her to -the earth. - -The cause of the feeling which for some time past had induced her to -shrink from Ronald, to be silent and depressed when he was present, -and to be rather glad when he stayed away from Brook-street, was now -perfectly understood by her. In her new appreciation of herself she -saw plainly that the fact of her brother's having always been Ramsay -Caird's friend and Chudleigh Wilmot's enemy would, insensibly to -herself, have caused an estrangement between them in these later days. -And why was Ronald so hostile to Wilmot, so bitter in his depreciation -of him, so grudging in his praise even of Wilmot's professional -qualifications? Was this hostility merely a result of Ronald's normal -"oddness" and sternness, or did it spring from the fact that Ronald -had observed his sister narrowly, and had discovered, before she -herself knew of it, the state of her feelings towards Wilmot? Thinking -over this, the remembrance of her brother's manner that morning in -Brook-street, when he broke in upon her interview with Wilmot, flashed -across Madeleine's mind, and she felt convinced that her dread -suspicions were right, and that Ronald had guessed the truth. - -The reason of his hatred to Wilmot was then at once apparent to -Madeleine. Ronald had always supported Ramsay's unacknowledged -position in the family very strongly, not demonstratively, but -tacitly, as was his custom in most things. He was essentially -"thorough;" and Madeleine imagined that nothing would probably annoy -him so much as the lack of thoroughness in those whom he loved and -trusted. She saw that, actuated by these feelings, her brother would -regard, had regarded what she had previously imagined to be her -admiration and reverence, but what she now knew, and what Ronald had -probably from the first recognised, to be her love for Chudleigh -Wilmot as base treachery; and he hated Wilmot for having, however -innocently, called these feelings into play. However innocently? There -was a drop of comfort even in this bitter cup for poor Madeleine. -However innocently? Ronald was a man of the world, eminently -clear-headed and far-seeing--might not his hatred of Wilmot arise from -his having perceived that Wilmot himself was aware of Madeleine's -feelings, and reciprocated them? He had never said so--never hinted at -it; but then that soft fond look into her eyes when they were alone -together in the drawing-room in Brook-street rose in the girl's -memory, and almost bade her hope. - - -These mental anxieties, these vacillations between hope and fear, -doubt and despair, which furnished Madeleine with constant food for -reflection, were not without their due effect on her bodily health. -Her fond father, watching her ever with jealous care, noticed the -hectic flush upon her cheek more frequent, her spirits lower, her -strength daily decreasing: he became alarmed, and confessed his alarm -to Lady Muriel. - -"Madeleine is far from well," he said; "very far from well. I notice -an astonishing difference in her within the last few months. After her -first recovery from the fever, I thought she would take a new lease of -life. But Wilmot was right throughout; she is very delicate; the last -few weeks have made a perceptible difference in her; and Wilmot is not -here to come in and cheer us after seeing her." - -"I think you are over-anxious about Madeleine," said Lady Muriel. "I -must confess, Alick, she is not strong; she never was before her -illness; and I do not believe that she ever recovered even her -previous strength; but I do not think so badly of her as you do. As -you say, we have not Dr. Wilmot to send for. For reasons best known to -himself, but which I confess I have been unable, so far as I have -troubled myself, to fathom, Dr. Wilmot has chosen to absent himself, -and to put himself thoroughly out of any chance of his being sent for. -But so far as advice goes, I suppose Sir Saville Rowe is still -unequalled; and Dr. Wilmot must have full confidence in him, or he -would never have begged him to break through his retirement and attend -upon Madeleine." - -"Yes; that is all very well. Of course Sir Saville Rowe's opinion is -excellent and all that, but he comes here but seldom; and one can't -talk to him as one could to Wilmot; and he does not stop and talk and -all that sort of thing, don't you know? Maddy's is a case where -particular interest should be taken, it strikes me; and I think Wilmot -did take special interest in her." - -"I don't think there can be any doubt of that," said Lady Muriel, with -the slightest touch of dryness in her accent. "Dr. Wilmot's devotion -to his patient was undeniable; but Dr. Wilmot's away, and not -available, and we must do our best to help ourselves during his -absence. My own feeling is that the girl wants thoroughly rousing; she -gets moped sitting here day after day with you and me and Mrs. -M'Diarmid; and Ronald, when he comes, does not tend much to enliven -her. Ramsay Caird is the only one with any life and spirits in the -whole party." - -"He's a good fellow, Ramsay," said Kilsyth; "a genial, pleasant, brisk -fellow." - -"He is; and he's a true-hearted fellow, Alick, which is better still. -By the way, Alick, he spoke to me again the other day upon that -subject which I mentioned to you before--about Madeleine, you -recollect?" - -"I recollect perfectly, Muriel," said Kilsyth slowly. - -"You said then, if you remember, that there was no reason for pressing -the matter then--no reason for hurrying it on; that Madeleine was full -young, and that it would be better to wait and let us see more of -Ramsay. You were perfectly right in what you said. I agreed with you -thoroughly, and what you suggested has been done. We have waited now -for several months; Madeleine has gone through a crisis in her life." -(Lady Muriel looked steadily at her husband as she said these words to -see if he detected any double meaning in them; but Kilsyth only nodded -his head gravely.) "We have seen more, a great deal more, of Ramsay -Caird; and from what you just said, I conclude you like him?" - -"I was not thinking of him in that light when I spoke, my dear -Muriel," said Kilsyth; "but indeed I see no reason to alter my -opinion. He's a pleasant, bright, good-tempered fellow, and I think -would make a good husband. He has seen plenty of life, and will be all -the better for it when he settles down." - -"Exactly. Well, then, having settled that point, I think you will -agree with me that now the matter does press, and there is reason for -hurrying it on. Not the marriage,--there is no necessity for hastening -with that; but it is both necessary and proper that it should be -understood that Madeleine and Ramsay Caird are regularly engaged. As I -said before, Madeleine wants rousing. She is _fade_ and weary and a -little lackadaisical. You remember how she burst out crying about that -book the other night. She wants employment for her thoughts and her -mind; and if she is engaged, and we then find her occupation in -searching for a house, then in furnishing it, choosing _trousseau_, -brougham, jewels, the thousand-and-one little things that we can find -for her to do, you may depend upon it you will soon see her a -different being." - -Kilsyth said he hoped so; but his tone had little buoyancy in it, and -was almost despondent as he added: - -"What about Maddy herself? Has she any notion of--of what you have -just said to me, Muriel?" - -"Any notion, my dear Alick? Madeleine, though backward in some things, -has plenty of common sense; and she must be perfectly aware what -Ramsay's intentions mean and point to. Indeed my own observation leads -me to believe that she not merely understands them, but is favourably -disposed towards their object." - -"Yes; but what I mean to say is, Maddy has never been plainly spoken -to on the subject." - -"No, no; not that I know of." - -"But, she should be, eh?" - -"Of course she should be--and at once. It is not fair to Mr. Caird to -keep him longer in suspense; and there are other reasons which render -such a course highly desirable." - -Again Lady Muriel looked steadfastly at her husband, and again he -evaded her glance, and contented himself with nodding acquiescence at -her suggestion. - -"This should be done," continued Lady Muriel, "by some one who has -influence with dear Madeleine, whom she regards with great affection, -and whose opinion she is likely to respect. I have never said as much -to you, my dear Alick, because I did not want to worry you, in the -first place; and in the second, because the thing sits very lightly on -me, and the feeling is one which is natural, and which I can perfectly -understand; but the fact is that I am Madeleine's stepmother only, and -she regards me exactly in that light." - -"Muriel!" cried Kilsyth. - -"My dear Alick, it is perfectly natural and intelligible, and I make -no complaint. I should not have alluded to the subject if it were not -necessary, you may depend upon it. But I thought perhaps that you -might expect me to broach the matter which we have been recently -discussing to Madeleine; and for the reasons I have given, I think -that would be wholly unadvisable. You did think so, did you not?" - -"Well," said Kilsyth, who felt himself becoming rapidly 'cornered,' "I -confess I was going to ask you to do it; but of course if you--and I -feel--of course--that you're right. But then the question comes--as it -must be done--who is to do it? I'm sure I could not." - -Lady Muriel's brow darkened for a few moments as she heard this, but -it cleared again ere she spoke. "There is only one person left then," -said she; "and I am not sure that, after all, he is not the most -fitting in such a case as this. I mean, of course, Ronald. He is -perfectly straightforward and independent; he will see the matter in -its right light; and, above all, he has great influence with -Madeleine." - -"Ronald's a little rough; isn't he?" said Kilsyth doubtfully; "he -don't mean it, I know; but still in a matter like this he might--what -do you think?" - -"_I_ think, as I have said, that he is the exact person. His manner -may be a little cold, somewhat _brusque_ to most people; but he has -Madeleine's interest entirely at heart, and he has always shown her, -as you know, the most unswerving affection. He has a liking for Ramsay -Caird; he appreciates the young man's worth; and he will be able to -place affairs in their proper position." - -So Kilsyth, with an inexpressible feeling that all was not quite -right, but with the impossibility of being able to better it, vividly -before him, agreed to his wife's proposition; and the next day Ronald -had a long interview with Lady Muriel, when they discussed the whole -subject, and settled upon their plan of action. Ronald undertook the -mission cheerfully; he and his stepmother fully understood each other, -and appreciated the necessity of immediate steps. Neither entered into -any detail, so far as Chudleigh Wilmot was concerned; but each knew -that the other was aware of the existence of that stumbling-block, and -was impressed with the expediency of its removal. - - -Two days afterwards Ronald knocked at the door of Lady Muriel's -boudoir at a very much earlier hour than he was usually to be found in -Brook-street. When he entered the room he looked a thought more -flushed and a thought less calm and serene than was his wont. Lady -Muriel also was a little agitated as she rose hastily from her chair -and advanced to greet him. - -"Have you seen her?" she asked; "is it over? what did she say?" - -"She is the best girl in the world!" said Ronald; "she took it quite -calmly, and acquiesced perfectly in the arrangement. I think we must -have been wrong with regard to that other person--at least so far as -Madeleine's caring for him is concerned." - -O, of course: Madeleine cared nothing for "that other person," the -loss of whose love she was at that moment bewailing, stretched across -her bed, and weeping bitterly. - - - - -CHAPTER V. -At our Minister's. - - -Meanwhile Chudleigh Wilmot, bearing the secret of his great sorrow -about with him, bearing with him also the dread horror and gnawing -remorse which the fear that his wife had committed self-destruction -had engendered in his breast, had sought safety in flight from the -scene of his temptation, and oblivion in absence from his daily -haunts, and to a certain extent had found both. How many of us are -there who have experienced the benefit of that blessed change of -climate, language, habit of life? I declare I believe that the -continental boats rarely leave the Dover or the Folkestone pier -without carrying away amongst their motley load some one or two -passengers who are going, not for pleasure or profit, not with the -idea of visiting foreign cities or observing foreign manners, not with -the intention of gaining bodily health, or for the vain-glory of being -able to say on their return that they have been abroad (which actuates -not a few of them), but simply in the hope that the entire change will -bring to them surcease of brain-worry and heart-despondency, calm -instead of anxiety, peace in place of feverish longing, rest--no -matter how dull, how stupid, how torpid--instead of brilliant, -baleful, soul-harrowing excitement. After having pursued the beauty of -Brompton through the London season; after having spent a little -fortune in anonymous bouquets for her and choice camellias for his own -adornment; after having duly attended at every fête offered by the -Zoological and Botanical Societies, danced himself weary at balls, -maimed his feet at croquet-parties, and ricked his neck with staring -up at her box from the opera-stalls,--Jones, finding all his _petits -soins_ unavailing, and learning that the rich stock-broker from -Surbiton has distanced him in the race, and is about to carry off the -prize, flings himself and his portmanteau on board the Ostend boat, -and finds relief and a renewal of his former devotion to himself among -the quaint old Belgian cities. By the time he arrives at the Rhinebord -he is calmer; he has lapsed into the sentimental stage, and is enabled -to appreciate and, if anybody gives him the chance, to quote all the -lachrymose and all the morbid passages. He relapses dreadfully when he -gets to Homburg, because he then thinks it necessary to--as he phrases -it in his diary--"seek the Lethe of the gaming-table;" but having lost -his five pounds' worth of florins, he is generally content; and when -he arrives in Switzerland finds himself in a proper-tempered state of -mind, quite fitted to commune with Nature, and to convey to the -Jungfrau his very low opinion of the state of humanity in general, and -of the female being who has blighted his young affections in -particular. And by the time that his holiday is over, and he returns -to his office or his chambers, he has forgotten all the nonsense that -enthralled him, and is prepared to commence a new course of idiotcy, -_da capo_, with another enchantress. - -And to Chudleigh Wilmot, though a sensible and thoughtful man, the -change was no less serviceable. The set character of his daily duties, -the absorbing nature of his studies, the devotion to his profession, -which had narrowed his ideas and cramped his aspirations, once cast -off and put aside, his mind became almost childishly impressionable by -the new ideas which dawned upon it, the new scenes which opened upon -his view. In his wonder at and admiration of the various beauties of -nature and art which came before him there was something akin to the -feeling which his acquaintance with Madeleine Kilsyth had first -awakened within him. As then, he began to feel now that for the first -time he lived; that his life hitherto had been a great prosaic -mistake; that he had worshipped false gods, and only just arrived at -the truth. To be sure, he had now the additional feeling of a lost -love and an unappeasable remorse; but the sting even of these was -tempered and modified by his enjoyment of the loveliness of nature by -which he was surrounded. - -His time was his own; and to kill it pleasantly was his greatest -object. He crossed from Dover to Ostend, and lingered some days on the -Belgian seaboard. Thence he pursued his way by the easiest stages -through the flat low-lying country, so rich in cathedrals and -pictures, in Gothic architecture and sweet-toned _carillons_, in -portly burghers and shovel-hatted priests and plump female peasants. -To Bruges, to Ghent, and Antwerp; to Brussels, and thence, through the -lovely country that lies round Verviers and Liège, to Cologne and the -Rhine, Chudleigh Wilmot journeyed, stopping sometimes for days -wherever he felt inclined, and almost insensibly acquiring bodily and -mental strength. - -There is a favourite story of the practical hardheaded school of -philosophers, showing how that one of their number, when overwhelmed -with grief at the loss of his only son, managed to master his extreme -agony, and to derive very great consolation from the study of -mathematics--a branch of science with which he had not previously been -familiar. It probably required a peculiar temperament to accept of and -benefit by so peculiar a remedy; but undoubtedly great grief, arising -from whatsoever source, is susceptible of being alleviated by mental -employment. And thus, though Chudleigh Wilmot bore about with him the -great sorrow of his life; though the sweet sad face of Madeleine -Kilsyth was constantly before him; and though the dread suspicion -regarding the manner of his wife's death haunted him perpetually, as -time passed over his head, and as his mind, naturally clever, opened -and expanded under the new training it was unconsciously receiving, he -found the bitterness of the memory of his short love-dream fading into -a settled fond regret, and the horror which he had undergone at the -discovery of the seal-ring becoming less and less poignant. - -Not that the nature of his love far Madeleine had changed in the -least. He saw her sweet face in the blue eyes and fair hair of big -blonde Madonnas in altar-pieces in Flemish cathedrals; he imagined her -as the never-failing heroine of such works of poetry and fiction as -now, for the first time for many years, he found leisure and -inclination to read. He would sit for hours, his eyes fixed on some -lovely landscape before him, but his thoughts busy with the events of -the past few months--those few months into which all the important -circumstances of his life were gathered. One by one he would pass in -review the details of his meetings, interviews, and conversations with -Madeleine, from the period of his visit to Kilsyth to his last sad -parting from her in Brook-street. And then he would go critically into -an examination of his own conduct; he was calm enough to do that now; -and he had the satisfaction of thinking that he had pursued the only -course open to him as a gentleman and a man of honour. He had fled -from the sweetest, the purest, the most unconscious temptation; and by -his flight he hoped he was expiating the wrong which he had ignorantly -committed by his neglect of his late wife. That must be the keynote -of his future conduct--expiation. So far as the love of women or the -praise of men was concerned, his future must be a blank. He had made -his mind up to that, and would go through with it. Of the former he -had very little, but very sweet experience--just one short glimpse of -what might have been, and then back again into the dull dreary life; -and of the latter--well, he had prized it and cherished it at one -time, had laboured to obtain and deserve it; but it was little enough -to him now. - -Among the old Rhenish towns, at that time of year almost free of -English, save such as from economical motives were there resident, -Wilmot lingered lovingly, and spent many happy weeks. To the ordinary -tourist, eager for his next meal of castles and crags, the town means -simply the hotel where he feeds and rests for the night, while its -inhabitants are represented by the landlord and the waiters, whose -exactions hold no pleasant place in his memory. But those who stay -among them will find the Rhenish burghers kindly, cheery, and -hospitable, with a vein of romance and an enthusiastic love for their -great river strangely mixed up with their national stolidity and -business-like habits. Desiring to avoid even such few of his -countrymen as were dotted about the enormous _salons_ of the hotels, -and yet; to a certain extent, fearing solitude, Wilmot eagerly availed -himself of all the chances offered him for mixing with native society, -and was equally at home in the merchant's parlour, the artist's -_atelier_, or the student's _kneipe_. Pleasant old Vaterland! how -many of us have kindly memories of thee and of thy pleasures, -perhaps more innocent, and certainly cheaper, than those of other -countries,--memories of thy beer combats, and thy romantic sons, our -_confrères_, and thy young women, with such abundance of hair and such -large feet! - -At length, when more than three months had glided away, Wilmot -determined upon starting at once for Berlin. He had lazed away his -time pleasantly enough, far more pleasantly than he had imagined would -ever have been practicable, and he had laid the ghosts of his regret -and his remorse more effectually than at one time he had hoped. They -came to him, these spectres, yet, as spectres should come, in the dead -night-season, or at that worst of all times, when the night is dead -and the day is not yet born, when, if it be our curse to lie awake, -all disagreeable thoughts and fancies claim us for their own. The bill -which we "backed" for the friend whose solvency and whose friendship -have both become equally doubtful within the last few weeks; the face -of her we love, with its last-seen expression of jealousy, anger, and -doubt; the pile of neatly-cut but undeniably blank half-sheets of -paper which is some day to be covered with our great work--that great -work which we have thought of so long, but which we are as far as ever -from commencing: all these charming items present themselves to our -dreary gaze at that unholy four-o'clock waking, and chase slumber from -our fevered eyelids. Chudleigh Wilmot's ghosts came too, but less, far -less frequently than at first; and he was in hopes that in process of -time they would gradually forsake him altogether, and leave him to -that calm unemotional existence which was henceforth to be his. - -Meantime he began to hunger for news of home and home's doings. For -the first few weeks of his absence he had regularly abstained even -from reading the newspapers, and up to the then time he had sent no -address to his servants, choosing to remain in absolute ignorance of -all that was passing in London. This was in contradiction to his -original intention, but, on carefully thinking it over, he decided -that it would be better that he should know nothing. He apprehended no -immediate danger to Madeleine, and he knew that she could not be -better than under old Sir Saville Rowe's friendly care. He knew that -there was no human probability of anything more decisive leaking out -of the circumstances of his wife's death. For any other matter he had -no concern. His position in London society, his practice, what people -said about him, were now all things of the past, which troubled him -not; and hitherto he had looked on his complete isolation from his -former world as a great ingredient in his composure and his better -being. But as his mind became less anxious and his health more -vigorous, he began to hunger for news of what was going on in that -world from which he had exiled himself; and he hurried off to Berlin, -anxious to secure some _pied-à-terre_ which he could make at -least a temporary home; and he had no sooner arrived at the Hôtel de -Russie than he wrote at once to Sir Saville, begging for fall and -particular accounts of Madeleine Kilsyth's illness, and to his awn -servant, desiring that all letters which had been accumulating in -Charles-street should be forwarded to him directly. - -Knowing that several days must elapse before his much-longed-for news -could arrive, Wilmot amused himself as best he might To the man who -has been accustomed to dwell in capitals, and who has been spending -some months in provincial towns, there is a something exhilarating in -returning to any place where the business and pleasure of life are at -their focus, even though it be in so tranquil a city as Berlin. The -resident in capitals has a keen appreciation of many of those -inexplicable nothingnesses which never are to be found elsewhere; the -best provincial town is to him but a bad imitation, a poor parody on -his own loved home; and in the same way, though the chief city of -another country may be far beneath that to which he is accustomed, -nay, even in grandeur and architectural magnificence may not be -comparable to some of the provincial towns of his native land, he at -once falls into its ways, and is infinitely more at home in it, -because those ways and customs remind him of what he has left behind. -Amidst the bustle and the excitement--mild though it was--of Berlin, -Wilmot's desire for perpetual wandering began to ebb. A man who has -nearly reached forty years of age in a fixed and settled routine of -life makes a bad Bedouin; and when the sting which first started -him--be it of disappointment, remorse, or _ennui_, and the last worst -of all--loses its venom, he will probably be glad enough to join the -first caravan of jovial travellers which he may come across, so long -as they are bound for the nearest habitable and inhabitable city. -Chudleigh Wilmot knew that a return to England and his former life -was, under existing circumstances, impossible; he felt that he could -not take up his residence in Paris, where he would be constantly -meeting old English Mends, to whom he could give no valid reason for -his self-imposed exile; but at Berlin it would be different. Very few -English people, at least English people of his acquaintance, came to -the Prussian capital; and to those whose path he might happen to cross -he might, for the present at all events, plead his studies in a -peculiar branch of his profession in which the German doctors had long -been unrivalled; while as for the future--the future might take care -of itself! - -Wandering Unter den Linden, pausing in mute admiration before the -Brandenburger Thor, or the numerous statues with which the patriotism -of the inhabitants and the sublime skill of the sculptor Rauch has -decorated the city, loitering in the Kunst Kammer of the palace, -spending hour after hour in the museum, reviving old recollections, -tinged now with such mournfulness as accrues to anything which has -been put by for ever, in visiting the great anatomical collection, -dropping into the opera or the theatre, and walking out to -Charlottenburg or other of the pleasant villages on the Spree, -Chudleigh Wilmot found life easier to him in Berlin than it had been -for many previous months. There, for the first time since he left -England, he availed himself of the fame which his talent had created -for him, and found himself heartily welcome among the leading -scientific men of the city, to all of whom he was well known by -repute. To them, inquiring the cause of his visit, he gave the -prepared answer, that he had come in person to study their mode of -procedure, which had so impressed him in their books; end this did not -tend to make his welcome less warm. So that, all things taken into -consideration, Wilmot had almost made up his mind to remain in Berlin, -at least for several months. He could attend the medical schools--it -would afford him amusement; and if in the future he ever resumed the -practice of his profession, it could do him no harm; his life, such as -it was, were as well passed in Berlin as anywhere else; and meanwhile -time would be fleeting on, and the gulf between him and Madeleine -Kilsyth, would be gradually widening. It must widen! No matter to what -width it now attained, he could never hope to span it again. - -One day, on his return to his hotel after a long ramble, the waiter -who was specially devoted to his service received him with a pleasant -grin, and told him that a "post packet" of an enormous size awaited -him. The parcel which Wilmot found on his table was certainly large -enough to have created astonishment in the mind of anyone, more -especially a German waiter, accustomed only to the small square thin -letters of his nation. There was but one huge packet; no letter from -Sir Saville Rowe, nor from Mr. Foljambe, to whom Wilmot had also -written specially. Wilmot opened the envelope with an amount of -nervousness which was altogether foreign to his nature; his hand -trembled unaccountably; and he had to clear his eyes before he could -set to work to glance over the addresses of the score of letters which -it contained. He ran them over hurriedly; nothing from Sir Saville -Rowe, nothing from Mr. Foljambe, no line--but he had expected none -from any of the Kilsyths. He threw aside unopened a letter in -Whittaker's bold hand, a dozen others whose superscriptions were -familiar to him, and paused before one, the mere sight of which gave -him an inexplicable thrill. It was a long, broad, blue-papered -envelope, addressed in a formal legal hand to him at his house in -Charles-street, and marked "Immediate." There are few men but in their -time have had an uneasy sensation caused by the perusal of their own -name in that never-varying copying-clerk's caligraphy, with its thin -upstrokes and thick downstrokes, its carefully crossed t's and -infallibly dotted i's. Few but know the "further proceedings" which, -unless a settlement be made on or before Wednesday next, the writers -are "desired to inform" us, they will be "compelled to take." But -Chudleigh Wilmot was among those few. During the whole of his career -he had never owed a shilling which he could not have paid on demand, -and his experience of law in any way had been nil. And yet the sight -of this grim document had an extraordinarily terrifying effect upon -him. He turned it backwards and forwards, took it up and laid it down -several times, before he could persuade himself to break its seal, a -great splodge of red wax impressed with the letters "L. & L." deeply -cut. At length he broke it open. An enclosure fell from it to the -ground; but not heeding that, Wilmot held up the letter to the -fast-fading light, and read as follows: - - -"Lincoln's-Inn. - -"Sir,--In accordance with instructions received from the late Mr. -Foljambe of Portland-place--" - -The late Mr. Foljambe! He must be dreaming! He rubbed his eyes, walked -a little nearer to the window, and reperused the letter. No; there the -sentence stood. - -"In accordance with instructions received from the late Mr. Foljambe -of Portland-place, we forward to you the enclosed letter. As it -appeared that in consequence of your absence from England you could -not be immediately communicated with, and in pursuance of the -instructions more recently verbally communicated to us by our late -client in the event of such a contingency arising, we have taken upon -ourselves to make the necessary arrangements for the funeral, as laid -down in a memorandum written by the deceased; and the interment will -take place to-morrow morning at Kensal-green Cemetery. We trust you -will approve of our proceedings in this matter, and that you will make -it convenient to return to London as soon as possible after the -receipt of this letter, as there are pressing matters awaiting your -directions. - -"Your obedient servants, - - "LAMBERT & LEE. - -"Dr. Wilmot." - - -The late Mr. Foljambe! His kind old friend, then, was dead! Again and -again he read the letter before he realised to himself the information -conveyed in that one sentence: the late Mr. Foljambe--pressing matters -awaiting his directions. Wilmot could not make out what it meant. That -Mr. Foljambe was dead he understood perfectly; but why the death -should be thus officially communicated to him, why the old gentleman's -lawyers should express a hope that he would approve of their -proceedings, and a desire that he should at once return to London, was -to him perfectly inexplicable, unless--but the idea which arose in his -mind was too preposterous, and he dismissed it at once. - -In the course of his reflections his eyes fell upon the enclosure -which had fallen from the letter to the ground. He picked it up, and -at a glance saw that it was a note addressed to him in his friend's -well-known clear handwriting--clearer indeed and firmer than it had -been of late. He opened it at once; and on opening it the first thing -which struck him was, that it was dated more than twelve months -previously. It ran thus: - - -"Portland-place. - -"My DEAR CHUDLEIGH,--A smart young gentleman, with mock-diamond studs -in his rather dirty shirt, and a large signet-ring on his very dirty -hand, has just been witnessing my signature to the last important -document which I shall ever sign--my will--and has borne that document -away with him in triumph, and a hansom cab, which his masters will -duly charge to my account. I shall send this letter humbly by the -penny post, to be put aside with that great parchment, and to be -delivered to you after my death. In all human probability you will be -by my bedside when that event occurs, but I may not have either the -opportunity or the strength to say to you what I should wish you to -know from myself; so I write it here. My dear boy, Chudleigh--boy to -me, son of my old friend--when I told your father I would look after -your future, I made up my mind to do exactly what I have done by my -signature ten minutes ago. I knew I should never marry, and I -determined that all my fortune should go to you. By the document (the -young man in the jewelry would call it a document)--by the document -just executed, you inherit everything I have in the world, and are -only asked to pay some legacies to a few old servants. Take it, my -dear Chudleigh, and enjoy it. That you will make a good use of it, I -am sure. I leave you entirely free and unfettered as to its disposal, -and I have only two suggestions to make--mind, they are suggestions, -and not requirements. In the first place, I should be glad if you -would keep on and live in my house in Portland-place--it has been a -pleasant home to me for many years; and I do not think my ghost would -rest easily if, on a revisit to the glimpses of the moon, he should -find the old place peopled with strangers. It has never known a lady's -care--at least during my tenure--but under Mrs. Wilmot's doubtless -good taste, and the aptitude which all women have for making the best -of things, I feel assured that the rooms will present a sufficiently -brave appearance. The other request is, that you should retire from -the active practice of your profession. There! I intended to arrive at -this horrible announcement after a long round of set phrases and -subtle argument; but I have come upon it at once. I do not want you, -my dear Chudleigh, entirely to renounce those studies or the exercise -of that talent in which I know you take the greatest delight; on the -contrary, my idea in this suggestion is, that your brains and -experience should be even more valuable to your fellow-creatures than -they are BOW. I want you to be what the young men of the present day -call a 'swell' in your line. I don't want you to refuse to give the -benefit of your experience in consultation; what I wish is to think -that you will be free--be your own master--and no longer be at the -beck and call of everyone; and if any lady has the finger-ache, or M. -le Nouveau Riche has overeaten himself, and sends for you, that you -will be in a position to say you are engaged, and cannot come. - -"If some of our friends could see this letter, they would laugh, and -say that old Foljambe was selfish and eccentric to the last; he has -had the advantage of this man's abilities throughout his own -illnesses, and now he leaves him his money on condition that he -sha'n't cure anyone else! But you know me too well, my dear Chudleigh, -to impute anything of this kind to me. The fact is, I think you're -doing too much, working too hard, giving up too much time and labour -and life to your profession. You cannot carry on at the pace you've -been going; and believe an old fellow who has enjoyed every hour of -his existence, life has something better than the _renom_ gained from -attending crabbed valetudinarians. What that something is, my dear -boy, is for you now to find out. I have done my _possible_ towards -realising it for you. - -"And now, God bless you, my dear Chudleigh! I have no other request -to make. To any other man I should have said, 'Don't let the -tombstone-men outside the cemetery persuade you into any elaborate -inscription in commemoration of my virtues.' 'Here lies John Foljambe, -aged 72,' is all I require. But I know your good sense too well to -suspect you of any such iniquity. Again, God bless you! - -"Your affectionate old friend, - -"JOHN FOLJAMBE." - - -Tears stood in Wilmot's eyes as he laid aside the old gentleman's -characteristic epistle. He took it up again after a pause and looked -at the date. Twelve months ago! What a change in his life during -that twelve months! Two allusions in the letter had made him wince -deeply--the mention of his wife, the suggestion that undoubtedly he -would be at the deathbed of his benefactor. Twelve months ago! He did -not know the Kilsyths then, was unaware of their very existence. If he -had never made that acquaintance; if he had never seen Madeleine -Kilsyth, might, not Mabel have been alive now? might he not--Whittaker -was a fool in such matters--might he not have been able once more to -carry his old friend successfully through the attack to which he now -had succumbed? Were they all right--his dead wife, Henrietta -Prendergast, the still small voice that spoke to him in the dead -watches of the night? Had that memorable visit had such a baleful -effect on his career? was it from his introduction to Madeleine -Kilsyth that he was to date all his troubles? - -His introduction to Madeleine Kilsyth! Ah, under what a new aspect she -now appeared! Chudleigh Wilmot knew the London world sufficiently to -be aware of the very different reception which he would get from it -now, how inconvenient matters would be forgotten or hushed over, and -how the heir of the rich and eccentric Mr. Foljambe would begin life -anew; the doctrine of metempsychosis having been thoroughly carried -out, and the body of the physician from which the new soul had sprung -having been conveyed into the outer darkness of forgetfulness. True, -some might remember how Mr. Wilmot, when he was in practice--so -honourable of him to maintain himself by his talents, you know, and -really considerable talents, and all that kind of thing--and before he -succeeded to his present large fortune, had attended Miss Kilsyth up -at their place in the Highlands, and brought her through a dangerous -illness, don't you know, and that made the affair positively romantic, -you see!--Bah! To Ronald Kilsyth himself the proposition would be -sufficiently acceptable now. The Captain had stood out, intelligibly -enough, fearing the misunderstanding of the world; but all that -misunderstanding would be set aside when the world saw that an -eligible suitor had proposed for one of its marriageable girls, more -especially when the eligible couple kept a good house and a liberal -table, and entertained as befitted their position in society. - -Wilmot had pondered over this new position with a curled lip; but his -feelings softened marvellously, and his heart bounded within him, as -his thoughts turned towards Madeleine herself. Ah, if he had only -rightly interpreted that dropped glance, that heightened colour, that -confused yet trusting manner in the interview in the drawing-room! Ah, -if he had but read aright the secret of that childish trusting heart! -Madeleine, his love, his life, his wife! Madeleine, with all the -advantages of her own birth, the wealth which had now accrued to him, -and the respect which his position had gained for him!--could anything -be better? He had seen how men in society were courted, and flattered -and made much of for their wealth alone,--dolts, coarse, ignorant, -brainless, mannerless savages; and he--now he could rival them in -wealth, and excel them--ah, how far excel them!--in all other -desirable qualities! - -Madeleine his own, his wife! The dark cloud which had settled down -upon him for so long a time rolled away like a mist and vanished from -his sight. Once more his pulse bounded freely within him; once more he -looked with keen clear eyes upon life, and owned the sweet aptitude of -being. He laughed aloud and scornfully as he remembered how recently -he had pictured to himself as pleasant, as endurable, a future which -was now naught but the merest vegetation. To live abroad! Yes, but not -solitary and self-contained; not pottering on in a miserable German -town, droning through existence in the company of a few old _savans!_ -Life abroad with Madeleine for a few months in the year perhaps--the -wretched winter months, when England was detestable, and when he would -take her to brighter climes--to the Mediterranean, to Cannes, Naples, -Algiers it may be, where the soft climate and his ever-watchful -attention and skill would enable her to shake off the spell of the -disease which then oppressed her. - -He would return at once--to Madeleine! Those dull lawyers in their -foggy den in Lincoln's-inn little knew how soon he would obey their -mandate, or what was the motive-power which induced his obedience. In -his life he had never felt so happy. He laughed aloud. He clapped the -astonished waiter, who had hitherto looked upon the Herr Englander as -the most miserable of his melancholy nation, on the shoulder, and bade -him send his passport to the Embassy to be _viséd_, and prepare for -his departure. No; he would go himself to the Embassy. He was so full -of radiant happiness that he must find some outlet for it; and he -remembered that he had made the acquaintance of a young gentleman, son -of one of his aristocratic London patients, who was an _attaché_ to our -minister. He would himself go to the Embassy, see the boy, and offer -to do any mission for him in England, to convey anything to his -mother. The waiter smiled, foreseeing in his guest's happiness a good -_trinkgeld_ for himself; gentlemen usually sent their passports by the -_hausknecht_, but the Herr could go if he wished it--of course he -could go! - -So Wilmot started off with his passport in his pocket. The sober-going -citizens stared as they met, and turned round to stare after the eager -rushing Englishman. He never heeded them; he pushed on; he reached the -Embassy, and asked for his young friend Mr. Walsingham, and chafed and -fumed and stamped about the room in which he was left while Mr. -Walsingham was being sought for. At length Mr. Walsingham arrived. He -was glad to see Dr. Wilmot; thanks for his offer! He would intrude -upon him so far as to ask him to convey a parcel to Lady Caroline. -_Visa?_ O, ah! that wasn't in his department; but if Dr. Wilmot would -give him the passport, he'd see it put all right. Would Dr. Wilmot -excuse him for a few moments while he did so, and would he like to -look at last Monday's _Post_, which had just arrived? - -Wilmot sat himself down and took up the paper. He turned it vaguely to -and fro, glancing rapidly and uninterestedly at its news. At length -his eye hit upon a paragraph headed "Marriage in High Life." He passed -it, but finding nothing to interest him, turned back to it again, and -there he read: - -"On the 13th instant, at St. George's, Hanover-square, by the Lord -Bishop of Boscastle, Madeleine, eldest daughter of Kilsyth of Kilsyth, -to Ramsay Caird, Esq., of Dunnsloggan, N.B." - -When Mr. Walsingham returned with the passport he found his visitor -had fainted. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. -The Gulf fixed. - - -Fainted! a preposterous thing for a big strong man to do! Fainted, as -though he had been a school-girl, or a delicate miss, or a romantic -woman troubled with nerves. Mr. Walsingham did not understand it at -all. He rang the bell, and told the servant to get some water and some -brandy, and something--the right sort of thing; and he picked up -Wilmot's head, which was gravitating towards the floor, and he bade -him "Hold up, my good fellow!" and then he let his friend's head fall, -and gazed at him with extreme bewilderment. He was unused to this kind -of performance was Mr. Walsingham, and felt himself eminently helpless -and ridiculous. When the water and the brandy were brought, he -administered a handful of the former externally, and a wine-glassful -of the latter internally; and Wilmot revived, very white and trembling -and dazed and vacant-looking. So soon as he could gather where he was, -and what had occurred, he made his apologies to Mr. Walsingham, and -begged he would add to the kindness he had already shown by sending -for a cab, and by allowing him to borrow the newspaper which he had -been reading at the time of the attack; it should be carefully -returned that afternoon. Mr. Walsingham, who wag the soul of -politeness, agreed to each of these requests; the cab was fetched, and -Wilmot, with many thanks to his young friend, and with the packet for -his young friend's mother, his own passport, and the _Morning Post_ in -his pocket, went away in it. Mr. Walsingham, who regarded this little -episode in his monotonous life as quite an adventure, waxed very -eloquent upon the subject afterwards to his friends, and made it his -stock story for several days. "Doosid awkward," he used to say, "to -have a fellow, don't you know, who you don't know, don't you know, -gone off into fits, and all that kind of thing! Here, too, of all -places in the world! If he'd gone off in my rooms, you know, it -wouldn't so much have mattered; but here, where old Blowhard"--for by -this epithet Mr. Walsingham designated Sir Hercules Shandon, K.P., Her -Britannic Majesty's Minister at the Court of Prussia--"where old -Blowhard might have come in at any moment, don't you know, it might -have been devilish unpleasant for a fellow. What he wanted with the -_Post_ I can't make out. I've looked through every column of it since -he sent it back, but I can't find anything likely to upset a fellow -like that. I thought at first he must have been sinking his fees in -some city company that had bust-up, but there's no such thing in the -paper; or that he'd read of some chap being poisoned in mistake, and -that had come home to him, but there's nothing about that either. I -can't make it out.--I say, Tollemache, do you see that Miss Kilsyth's -married? Married to Caird, that good-looking fellow that always used -to be there at Brook-street--tame cat in the house--and that used -to--you know--Adalbert Villa, Omicron-road, eh? Sell for you, old boy; -you were very hard hit in that quarter, weren't you, Tolly?" - -So Chudleigh Wilmot went back to his hotel in the cab; and the -friendly waiter, who had seen him depart so full of life and -joyousness, had to help him up the steps, and thought within himself -that the great English doctor would have to seek the assistance of -other members of his craft. But no bodily illness had struck down -Chudleigh Wilmot; he had not recovered his full strength, and the -shock to his nerves had been a little too strong--that was all. So -soon as he found himself alone, after refusing the friendly waiter's -offer of sending for a physician, of getting him restoratives of a -kind which came specially within the resources of the Hôtel de Russie, -such as a roast chicken and a bottle of sparkling Moselle, and after -dispensing with all further assistance or companionship, Wilmot locked -the door of his room, and sat down at the table with the newspaper -spread open before him. He read the paragraph again and again, with an -odd sort of bewildering wonderment that it remained the same, and did -not change before his eyes. No doubt about what it expressed--none. -Madeleine Kilsyth, who had been worshipped by him for months past; and -with whom as his companion he was looking forward to pass his future, -was married to another man--that last fact was expressed in so many -words. It was all over now, the hope and the fear and the longing; -there was an end to it all. If he had only known this three months -ago, what an agony of heart-sickness, of dull despair, of transient -hope, of wearying feverish longing he had been spared! She was gone, -then, so far as he was concerned--taken from him; the one star that -had glimmered on his dark lonely path was quenched, and henceforward -he was to stumble through life in darkness as best he might. That was -a cruel trick of Fortune's, a wretched cruel trick, to keep him back -in his pursuit, to throw obstacles of every kind in his way, but all -the time to let him see his love at the end of the avenue, as he -thought, beckoning to him to overcome them all, to make his way to -her, and carry her off in spite of all opposition; then for all the -obstacles to melt away, for him to have naught to do but gain the -temple unopposed; and when he succeeded in gaining it, for the doors -to be open, the shrine abandoned, the divinity gone! - -Hard fate indeed! hard, hard fate! But it was not to be. His dead wife -had said it; Henrietta Prendergast had said it: it was not to be. For -him no woman's love, no happy home, no congenial spirit to share his -thoughts, his ambition, his success. He sighed as he thought of this, -with additional sadness as he remembered that if Henrietta -Prendergast's story were true, all this had been his. Such a companion -he had had, had never appreciated, and had lost. He had entertained an -angel unawares, and he was never to have the chance again. For him a -drear blank future--blank save when remorse for the probable fate of -the woman who had died loving him, regret for the loss of the woman -whom he had loved, should goad him into new scenes of fresh action. -Madeleine married! Was, then, his fancy that she, that Madeleine, -during that interview in the drawing-room in Brook-street, had -manifested an interest in him different from that which she had -previously shown, a mere delusion? Had he been so far led away by his -vanity as to mistake for something akin to his own feeling the mere -gratitude which the young girl had felt towards her physician? Was -she, indeed, "his grateful patient," and no more? Wilmot's heart sunk -within him, and his cheeks burned, as this view of the subject -presented itself to his mind. Had he, professing to be skilled in -psychology, committed this egregious blunder? Had he, who was supposed -to know what people really were when they had put off the mummeries -which they played before the world, and when they had laid by their -face-makings and their posturings and their society antics, and -revealed to their physician perforce what no one else was allowed to -see--had he been deceived in his character study of one who to him was -a mere child? The very suddenness of the inspiration had led him to -believe in its truth. Until that moment, just before that savage -brother of hers had burst in upon them, he had acknowledged to himself -the existence of his own passion indeed, but had struggled against it, -fully believing it to be unreciprocated, fully believing in the mere -gratitude and respect which--as it now seemed--were the sole feelings -by which Madeleine had been animated. But surely that day, in her -downcast eyes and in her fleeting blush, he had recognised--A new -idea, which rushed through his mind like a flash of light, illumining -his soul with a ray of hope. Had this been a forced marriage? Had she -been compelled by her brother, her father, Lady Muriel--God knows -who--to accept this alliance? Had it been carried out against her own -free will? Had his absence from England been made the pretext for -urging her on to it? Had that been shown to her as a sign of the -mistake she had made in supposing that he, Wilmot, eared for her at -all? He had never been so near the truth as now, and yet he scouted -the notion more quickly than any of the others which he discussed -within himself. Such a thing was impossible. The idea of a girl being -forced to marry against her will, of her judgment being warped, and -the truth perverted for the sake of warping that judgment, was -incomprehensible to a man like Wilmot--man of the world in so many -phases of his character, but of childlike simplicity in the others. He -had heard of such things as the stock-in-trade of the novelist, but in -real life they did not exist. Mammon-matches, forced marriages, -diabolical torturings of fact--all these various combinations, neatly -dovetailed together, filled the shelves of the circulating-library, -but were laughed to scorn by all sensible persons when they professed -to be accurate representations of what takes place in the every-day -life of society. - -Besides, if it were so, the mischief was done, and he was -all-powerless to counteract it. The marriage had taken place; there -was an end of it. It could be undone by no word or deed of his. The -times were changed from the old days when a sharp sword and a swift -steed could nullify the priest's blessing, and leave the brave gallant -and the unwilling bride to be "happy ever after." He was no young -Lochinvar, to swim streams and scour countries, to dance but one -measure, drink one cup of wine, and bolt with the lady on his -saddle-croup. He was a sober, middle-aged man, who must get back to -England by the mail-train and the packet-boat; and when he got -there--well, make his bow to the bride and bridegroom, and -congratulate them on the happy event. It was all over. His turn in the -wheel of Fortune had arrived too late; the bequest which his good old -friend had secured to him, had it come two months earlier, might have -insured his happiness for life; as it was, it left him where it found -him, so far as his great object in life, so far as Madeleine Kilsyth, -was concerned. - -Another long pause for reflection, a prolonged pacing up and down the -room, revolving all the circumstances in his mind. Was his whole life -bound up in this young girl? did his whole future so entirely hang -upon her? Here was he in his prime, with fame such as few men ever -attained to, with fortune newly accruing to him--large fortune, -leaving him his own master to do as he liked, free, unfettered, with -no ties and no responsibilities; and was he to give up this splendid -position, or, not giving it up, to forego its advantages, to let its -gold turn into withered leaves and its fruits into Dead-Sea apples, -because a girl, of whose existence he had been ignorant twelve months -before, preferred to accept a husband of her choice, of her rank, of -her family connection, rather than await in maidenhood a declaration -of his hitherto unspoken love? He was pining under his solitude, the -want of being appreciated, the lack of someone to confide in, to -cherish, to educate, to love. Was his choice so circumscribed by fate -that there was only one person in the world to fulfil all these -requirements? Was it preordained that he must either win Madeleine -Kilsyth or pass the remainder of his days helplessly, hopelessly -celibate? Was his heart so formed as to be capable of the reception of -this one individual and none other, to be impressionable by her and -her alone? His pride revolted at the idea; and when a man's pride -undertakes the task of combating his passion, the struggle is likely -to be a severe one, and none can tell on which side the victory may -lie. - -He would test it, at all events, and test it at once. The kind old man -now gone to his rest had hoped that the fortune which he had -bequeathed might be of service to the son of his old friend "and to -Mrs. Wilmot;" and why should it not, although Mrs. Wilmot might not be -the person whom Mr. Foljambe had intended, nor, as Chudleigh had madly -hoped on reading his benefactor's letter, Madeleine Kilsyth? He would -go back to England at once; he would show these people that--even if -they entertained the idea which had been so plainly set before him by -Ronald Kilsyth--he was not the man to sink under an injury, however -much he might suffer under an injustice. "Love flows like the Solway, -but ebbs like its tide," so far he would say to them with Lochinvar; -they should not imagine that he was going to pine away the remainder -of his life miserably because Miss Kilsyth had chosen to marry someone -else. He had been a fool, a weak pliable fool, to make such a -statement as he had done in that interview with Ronald Kilsyth. His -cheeks tingled with shame as he remembered how he had confessed the -passion which he had nurtured, and which he acknowledged beset him -even at the time of speaking. And that cool, calculating young man, -with his cursed priggish, pedantic airs, his lack of anything -approaching enthusiasm, and his would-be frank manner, was doubtless -at that moment grinning to himself at the successful result of his -calm diplomacy. Chudleigh Wilmot stamped his foot on the floor and -ground his teeth in the impotence of his rage. - -Married to Ramsay Caird, eh? Ramsay Caird! Well, they had not made -such a great catch after all! To hear them talk, to see the state they -kept up at Kilsyth, to listen to or look at my Lady Muriel, one would -have thought that an earl, with half England in estates at his back, -was the lowest they would have stooped to for their daughter's -husband. And now she was married to an untitled Scotchman, without -money, and--well, if he remembered club-gossip aright, rather a loose -fish. Had not Captain Kilsyth been a little too hurried in the -clinching of the nail, in the completion of the bargain? As Mr. -Foljambe's heir, he, Chudleigh Wilmot, would have been worth a dozen -such men as Ramsay Caird; and as to the question of former intimacy, -of acquaintance formed during his wife's lifetime, the world would -have forgotten that speedily enough. - -He would go back to England at once, but when there he would show them -he was not the kind of man which, from Ronald Kilsyth's behaviour, -that family apparently imagined him. Still the Border song rang in his -head-- - - - "There were maidens in Scotland more lovely by far - Would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." - - -Not more lovely, and probably never to be anything like so dear to -him; but there were other maidens in England besides Madeleine -Kilsyth. And why should the remainder of his life be to him utterly -desolate because this girl either did not love him, or, loving him, -was weak enough to yield to the interference of others? Was he to pine -in solitude, to renounce all the pleasures of wifely companionship, to -remain, as he had hitherto been, self-contained and solitary, because -he had placed his affections unworthily, and they had not been -understood, or cast aside? No; he had existed, he had vegetated long -enough; henceforward he would live. Wealth and fame were his; he was -not yet too old to inspire affection or to requite it; by his old -friend's death he had obtained an additional claim upon society, -which even previously was willing enough to welcome him; he should -have the _entrée_ almost where he chose, and he would avail himself -of the privilege. So thus it stood. Chudleigh Wilmot left London -broken-hearted at having to give up his love, and full of remorse -for a crime, not of his commission indeed, but which he imagined had -arisen out of his own egotism and selfish preoccupation. He was -about to start on his return, with stung sensibility and wounded -pride--feelings which rendered him hostile rather than pitying towards -the woman to whom he had imagined himself sentimentally attached, and -which had completely obliterated and driven into oblivion all symptoms -of his remorse. - -He wrote a hurried line to Messrs. Lambert and Lee, informing them of -his satisfaction with their proceedings hitherto, and notifying his -immediate return; and he told the friendly waiter that he should start -by that night's mail, and get as far as Hanover. But this the friendly -waiter would not hear of. The Herr Doctor must know perfectly -well--for had not he, the friendly waiter, heard the German doctors -speak of the English doctor's learning?--that he was in no condition -to travel that night. If he, the friendly waiter, might in his turn -prescribe for the English doctor, he should say, "Wait here to-night; -dine, not at the _table d'hôte_, where there is hurry and confusion, -but in the smaller _speise-saal_, where you usually breakfast; and the -cook shall be instructed to send up to you of his very best; and the -Herr Oberkellner, a great man, but to be come over by tact, and -specially kind in cases of illness, shall be persuaded to go to the -cellar and fetch you Johannisberg--not that Zeltinger or Marcobrünner, -which, under the name of Johannisberg, they sell to you in England, -but real Johannisberg, of Prince Metternich's own vintage--pfa!" and -the friendly waiter kissed his own fingers, and then tossed them into -the air as a loving tribute to the excellence of the costly drink. - -So Wilmot, knowing that there was truth in all the man had said; -feeling that he was not strong, and that what little strength he had -had gone out of him under the ordeal of the morning at the Embassy, -gave way, and consented to remain that night. But the next morning he -started on his journey, and on the evening of the third day he arrived -in London. He drove straight to his house in Charles-street, and saw -at once by the expression of his servant's face that the news of his -inheritance had preceded him. There was a struggle between solemnity -and mirth on the man's countenance that betrayed him at once. The man -said he expected his master back, was not in the least surprised at -his coming; indeed most people seemed to have expected him before. -What did he mean? O, nothing--nothing; only there had been an uncommon -number of callers within the last few days. "Not merely the reg'lars," -the man added; "them of course; but there have been many people as we -have not seen here these two years past a-rat-tattin', and leavin' -reg'lar packs of cards, with their kind regards, and to know how you -were, sir." The cards were brought, and Wilmot looked through them. -The man was right; scores of his old acquaintance, whom he had not -seen or heard of for years, were there represented; people whom he had -only known professionally, and who had never been near him since he -wrote their last prescription and took their last fee months before, -had sought him out again. To what could this be accredited? Either to -the earnest desire of all who knew him to console him in the -affliction of having lost his friend, or to the information sown -broadcast by that diligent contributor to the _Illustrated News_, who -had given exact particulars of the will of the late John Foljambe, -Esq., banker, of Lombard-street and Portland-place. But there was no -card from any member of the Kilsyth family in the collection. Wilmot -searched eagerly for one, but there was none there. - -He had a hurried meal--hurried, not because he had anything to do, and -wanted to get through with it, but because he had no appetite, and -what was placed before him was tasteless and untempting--and sat -himself down in his old writing-chair in his consulting-room to ponder -over his past and his future. He should leave that house; he must. -Though Mr. Foljambe had made no binding requirement, the expression of -his wish was enough. Wilmot must leave that house, and obey his -benefactor's behests by taking up his residence in Portland-place. He -had never thought much of it before, but now he felt that he loved the -place in which so much of his life had been passed, and felt very loth -to leave it. He recollected when he had fire moved into it, when his -practice began to increase and his name began to be known. He -remembered how his friends had said that it was necessary he should -take up his position in a good West-end street, and how alarmed he -was, when the lease was signed and the furniture--rather scanty and -very poor, but made to look its best by Mabel's disposition and -taste--had been moved in, lest he should be unable to pay the heavy -rent. He recollected perfectly the first few patients who had come to -see him there: some sent by old Foljambe, some droppers-in from the -adjacent military club, allured by the bright door-plate; old -gentlemen wishing to be young again, and young gentlemen in -constitution rather more worn and debilitated than the oldest of the -veterans. He remembered his delight when the first great person ever -sent for him; how he had treasured the note requesting his visit; how -he had gone to his club and slily looked up the family in the Peerage; -and how when he first stood before Lady Hernshaw, and listened to her -account of her infant's feverish symptoms, he could, if he had been -required, have gone through an examination in the origin and progress -of the Hawke family, with the names of all the sons and daughters -extant, and come out triumphantly. His well-loved books were ranged in -due order on the walls round him; on the table before him stood the -lamp by whose light he had gathered and reproduced that learning -which had gained him his fame and his position. In that house all -is early struggles had been gone through; he remembered the first -dinner-parties which had been given under Mabel's superintendence, her -diffidence and fright, his nervousness and anxiety. And now that was -all of the past; Mabel had vanished for ever and aye; and soon the old -house and its belongings, its associations and traditions, would know -him no more. What had he gained during those few years? Fame, -position, men's good word, the envy of his brother-professionals, and, -recently, wealth. What had he lost? Youth, spirit, energy, the at one -time all-sufficing love of study and progress in his science, content; -and, latterly, the day-spring of a new existence, the hope of a new -world which had opened so fairly and so promisingly before him. The -balance was on the _per-contra_ side, after all. - -The fashionable journals found out his return (how, his servant of all -men alone knew), and proclaimed it to the world at large. The world at -large, consisting of the subscribers to the said fashionable journals, -acknowledged the information, and the influx of cards was redoubled. -Some of these performers of the card-trick lingered at the door, and -entered into conversation with the presiding genius in black to whom -their credentials were delivered. Whether the doctor were well, whethe -he intended continuing the practice of his profession, whether the -rumour that he intended giving up that house and removing to -Portland-place had any substantial foundation; whether it were true that -he, the presiding genius, was about to have a new mistress, a lady from -abroad--for some even went so far as to make that inquiry--all these -different points were put, haughtily, confidentially, jocosely, to the -presiding genius of the street-door, and all were answered by him as -best he thought fit. Only one of the queries, the last, had any -influence on that great man. He fenced with it in public with all the -coolness and the dexterity of an Angelo, but in private, in the sacred -confidence of the pantry engendered by the supper-beer, he was heard to -declare that "the guv'nor knew better than that; or that if he didn't, -and thought to introduce furreners, with their scruin' ways, to sit at -the 'ead of his table and give horders to them, he'd have to suit -himself, and the sooner he knew that the better." - -Some of the callers on seeking admittance were admitted--among them -Dr. Whittaker. Perhaps amongst the large circle of Wilmot's -acquaintances calling themselves Wilmot's friends, that eminent -practitioner was the only one who had a direct and palpable feeling of -annoyance at Wilmot's return. - -Dr. Whittaker's originally good practice had been considerably -amplified by the patients who, under Wilmot's advice, had yielded -themselves up to Dr. Whittaker's direction during Wilmot's absence, -and the substitute naturally looked with alarm upon the reappearance -of the great original. So Dr. Whittaker presented himself at an early -date in Charles-street, and being admitted, had a long and, on his -side at least, an earnest talk with his friend. After the state and -condition of various of the leading patients had been discussed -between then, Whittaker began to touch upon more dangerous, and, to -him more interesting, ground, and said, with an attempt at -jocosity,--and Whittaker was a ponderous man, in whom humour was as -natural and as easy as it might have been in Sir Isaac Newton,-- - -"And now that I have given account of my stewardship, I suppose my -business is ended, and all I have to do is to return my trust into the -hands of him from whom I received it." - -He said this with a smile and a smirk, but with an anxious look in his -eyes notwithstanding. - -"I don't clearly understand you," said Wilmot. "If you mean to ask me -whether I intend to take up my practice again, my answer is clear and -distinct--No. If you wish to inquire whether those patients whom you -have been attending in my absence will continue to send for you, I am -in no position to say. All I can say is, that if they send for me, I -shall let them know that I have retired from the profession, and that -you are taking my place." - -Dr. Whittaker was in ecstasies. "Of course that is all I could -expect," he replied; "and I flatter myself that--hum! ha! well, a man -does not boast of his own proceedings--ha! Well then, and so what the -little birds whispered _is_ true, eh?" - -"I--I beg your pardon," said Wilmot absently--"the--the little birds--" - -"Cautious!" murmured Dr. Whittaker in his blandest tone--that tone -which had such an influence with female patients--"we are quite right -to be cautious; but between friends one may refer to the little birds -which have whispered," he continued with surprising unction, "that a -certain friend of ours, whom the world delights to honour, has -succeeded to wealth and station, and is about to exchange that -struggle in which the--the, if I may so express it--the _pulverem -Olympicum_ is gathered, for a soft easy seat in the balcony, whence he -can look on at the contention with a smiling _conjux_ by his side." - -"Little birds have peculiar information, Whittaker, if they have been -so communicative as all that," said Wilmot with a rather dreary smile; -"they know more than I do, at all events." - -"Ha, ha! my dear friend," said Whittaker, in a gushing transport of -delight at the thought of his own good fortune; "we are deep, very -deep; but we must allow a little insight into human affairs to -others. Why did we fly from the world, dear Bessy, to thee? as the -poet Moore, or Milton--I forget which--has it. Why did we give up our -practice, and hurry off so suddenly to foreign parts, hum?" Dr. -Whittaker gave this last "hum" in his softest and most seductive tones, -such as had never failed with a patient. But perhaps because Wilmot was -not a patient, and was indeed versed in the behind-scenes mechanism of -the profession, it had no effect on him, and he merely said: "Not for -the reason you name. Indeed, you never were farther out in any -surmise." - -"Is that really so?" said Whittaker blandly. "Well, well, you surprise -me! It is only a fortnight since that I was discussing the subject at -a house where you seem often spoken of, and I said I fully believed -the report to be true." - -"And where was that, pray?" asked Wilmot, more for the sake of -something to say than for any real interest he took in the matter. - -"Ah, by the way, you remind me! I intended to speak to you about -that case before you left. The young lady whom you attended in -Scotland--where you were when poor Mrs. Wilmot died, you know--" - -"In Scotland--where I was when--good God! what do you mean?" - -"Miss Kilsyth, you know. Well, you left her in charge of poor old Rowe -as a special case, didn't you? Yes, I thought so. Well, the poor old -gentleman got a frightful attack of bronchitis, and was compelled to -go back to Torquay--don't think he'll last a month, poor old -fellow!--and before he went, he asked me to look after Miss Kilsyth. -Thought she had phthisis--all nonsense, old-fashioned nonsense; merely -congestion, I'm sure. I've seen her half-a-dozen times; and about a -fortnight ago--yes, just before her intended marriage was -announced--she's married since, you know--we were talking about you -and I mentioned this rumour, and--and we had a good laugh over your -enthusiasm." - -"It is a pity, Dr. Whittaker," said Wilmot, quivering with suppressed -rage, "it is a pity; and it is not the first time that it has been -remarked, both professionally and socially, that you offer opinions -and volunteer information on subjects of which you are profoundly -ignorant. Good-morning!" - - -Just before the announcement of her intended marriage! Had the vile -nonsense talked by that idiot Whittaker had any influence in inducing -her to take that step? He thought of that a hundred times, coming at -last to the conclusion--what did it matter now? The irrevocable -step was taken. Ah, for him it was not to be! His dead wife had said -so--Henrietta Prendergast had said so. It was not to be! - -What was to be was soon carried out according to his old friend's -expressed wish. Wilmot removed from Charles-street to Portland-place, -and materially changed his manner of life. All his old patients -flocked round him directly his return was announced; but, as he had -promised Whittaker, he let it be understood that he had entirely -retired from practice. He even declined to attend consultations, -alleging as an excuse that his health was delicate, and that for some -time at least be required absolute repose. He had determined to take -as much enjoyment out of life as he could find in it; and that, truth -to tell, was little enough. The growth and development of his love for -Madeleine Kilsyth had lessened his thirst for knowledge and his desire -for fame; and when the fierce flames of that love had burned out, -there was still enough fire in the ashes to wither up and destroy any -other passion that might seek to occupy his heart. He tried to find -relief for the dead weariness of spirit, the blank desolation always -upon him, in society. He gathered around him brilliant men of all c -lasses; and "Wilmot's dinners" were soon spoken of as among the -pleasantest bachelor _réunions_ in London. He dined out at clubs, he -joined men's dinner-parties; but he resolutely declined to enter into -ladies' society. The resolution which he had formed at the Berlin -hotel of proving to the Kilsyth people that there were families equal -to theirs into which he could be received, and girls equal to -Madeleine who were willing to marry him, never was brought to the -test. Many ladies no doubt asked their husbands about Wilmot; but from -the answers they received they regarded him as never likely to marry -again; and save from hearsay report, they had no opportunity of -evidence. - -He went about constantly, rode on horseback a great deal, visited -theatres, and sat with a melancholy face at nearly all the public -exhibitions. The few persons who had sufficient interest in him to -discuss the reason for this change attributed it to the impossibility -of his ever recovering the shock of his wife's sudden death; and he -was quoted perpetually before many husbands, who sincerely wished they -had the opportunity of showing how they would conduct themselves under -similar circumstances. So his life passed on, monotonous, blank, -aimless, for about three weeks after his installation in -Portland-place; when one evening returning from a long ride round the -western suburbs, as he turned his horse through the Albert-gate, -hecame full upon a carriage containing Lady Muriel and Madeleine. They -were so close, that it was impossible to avoid a recognition. Wilmot -raised his hat mechanically, Lady Muriel gave him a chilling bow, and -then turned rapidly to her companion. Madeleine turned dead-white, and -sank back as though she would have fainted; but Lady Muriel's look -recalled her, and she recovered herself in time to bow. Then they were -gone. Not much hope in that, Chudleigh Wilmot! Not much chance of -bridging that gulf which is fixed between you! - - - - -CHAPTER VII. -Henrietta. - - -Mrs. Prendergast had heard of Chudleigh Wilmot's accession to fortune -before the news had reached that more than ever "rising" man. Though -she was not among Mr. Foljambe's intimates, and though that sprightly -old gentleman found less favour in her eyes than in those of most of -his acquaintance, she knew when his illness commenced, when it had -assumed a dangerous form; and she was one of the earliest outsiders to -learn its fatal and rapid termination. She was indebted for all this -information to Dr. Whittaker, whom she had assiduously cultivated, and -who was very fond of talking of all and everything that nearly or -remotely concerned Wilmot. The little professional jealousy which had -sometimes interfered with Dr. Whittaker's genuine and generally -irrepressible admiration of the genius and the success of his -_confrère_ and superior had given way to the influence of the -superior's loftiness and liberality of mind; and with Dr. Whittaker -also there was, as old Mr. Foljambe had said, on an occasion destined -to affect many destinies, "nothing like Wilmot." - -Dr. Whittaker was not aware that Mrs. Prendergast valued his visits -chiefly because they afforded her an opportunity, which otherwise she -could not have enjoyed, of hearing of Wilmot. She had too much tact to -permit him to make any such mortifying discovery, and he had too much -vanity to permit him to suspect the fact, except under extreme -provocation. So Mrs. Prendergast accounted his visits as among her -most agreeable glimpses of society; and he regarded her as one of the -most sensible and unaffected women of his acquaintance. Thus, when Dr. -Whittaker's attendance on Mr. Foljambe came to a close with the -sprightly and _débonnaire_ old gentleman's life, he brought the news -to his friend in Cadogan-place, and they lamented together Wilmot's -untimely absence. But Dr. Whittaker had previously conveyed to Mrs. -Prendergast information of another sort, which had largely influenced -the feelings with which she heard of Mr. Foljambe's death. - -It was the same welcome messenger who had brought her the tidings of -Madeleine Kilsyth's marriage; and never had he been more welcome. She -had steadily persevered in denying to herself that the young Scotch -girl could possibly count for anything, one way or another, in the -matter in which she was so vividly interested; but she had not -succeeded in feeling such complete conviction on the point as to -render her indifferent to any occurrence which effectually disposed of -that young lady before Wilmot's return. That he should have come back -to London, to all the former prestige of his talent and success, with -the new and brilliant addition that he had acquired the whole of Mr. -Foljambe's large fortune, to find Madeleine Kilsyth unmarried, and to -be brought upon an equality with her by the agency of his -wealth,--this would not have appeared to Henrietta by any means -desirable. The obstacles which the social pride of her relations might -have opposed to a penchant for Wilmot on the part of Miss Kilsyth--and -Mrs. Prendergast had always felt instinctively that such a _penchant_, -if it did not actually exist, would arise with opportunity--would be -considerably modified, if not altogether removed, by Wilmot's becoming -a rich man by other than professional means. Altogether there were -many new sources of danger to her project, which did not relax in its -intensity and fixedness by time, silence, or leisure for -consideration, in the possibility of Madeleine Kilsyth's being again -brought within Wilmot's reach, which presented themselves very -unpleasantly to the clear perception of Mrs. Prendergast. - -"And so you had not heard of Miss Kilsyth's intended marriage at all, -knew nothing of it until after the event?" said Dr. Whittaker, after -he had imparted the intelligence to Mrs. Prendergast. To him it was -merely an item in the gossiping news of the day; nor had he any -suspicion that it was more to his hearer. - -"No; I had not heard a word of it. And I wonder I had not, for I have -seen Miss Charlton several times; and I know Mrs. M'Diarmid has been -at their house frequently. She must have known all about it, and I -can't fancy her knowing anything and not talking about it." - -"No," said Dr. Whittaker. "Reserve is not her _forte_, good old lady. -But they say--the omnipresent, omniscient, and indefinable -_they_--that Miss Kilsyth expressly stipulated that the engagement was -to be kept a profound secret. She is troubled, I understand, with rather -more delicacy and modesty than most young ladies at present; and she -disliked the pointing and talking, the giggling and speculation which -attend the appearance of an engaged young lady in what is politely -called 'high life' on such occasions." - -"The engagement was not a long one, I suppose?" said Henrietta. - -"Only a few weeks, I understand. They say Lady Muriel Kilsyth was -rather anxious to get her stepdaughter off her hands--" - -"And into those of her not particularly rich cousin, I fancy," said -Henrietta. Dr. Whittaker laughed. - -"I daresay I shall hear a great deal about it at the Charltons'," she -continued; "I am going to dine there to-morrow. I know Mrs. M'Diarmid -will be there, and she will have plenty to tell, no doubt. I shall -hear much more about the wedding than I shall care for." - -Mrs. Prendergast dined at Mrs. Charlton's on the following day, and -she did hear a great deal about the wedding, which Mrs. M'Diarmid was -of opinion had not been quite worthy of the occasion either in style -or in publicity, and whereat she could not say Madeleine had conducted -herself altogether to her satisfaction. Not that she had been too -emotional, or in the least bold in her manner, but she had taken it -all so very quietly. - -"I assure you it was quite unnatural, in my opinion," said the old -lady, with a homely heartiness of manner calculated to convert other -people to her opinion too. "Madeleine was as quiet and as unconcerned -as if it was somebody else's wedding, and not her own. She positively -seemed to think more of little Maud's dress and appearance than of her -own, and she was as friendly as possible with Mr. Caird." - -"Friendly with Mr. Caird, Mrs. M'Diarmid!" said Henrietta. "Why should -you be surprised at that? Why should she not be friendly with him?" - -"Well, I'm sure I don't know, my dear," answered Mrs. M'Diarmid, who -called everyone 'my dear;' "it did seem odd to me somehow--there, I -can't explain it; and I daresay I'm an old fool--very likely; but -they did seem more like friends to me, that is, Madeleine did, than -lovers--that's the truth." - -Miss Charlton remarked to Mrs. Prendergast, with a sentimental sigh, -that she perfectly understood Mrs. M'Diarmid,--that Miss Kilsyth's -manner had had too little of the solemnity and exaltation of such a -\serious and important event. "At such a moment, Henrietta," said the -young lady, raising her fine eyes towards the ceiling, "earth and its -restraints should fade, and the spirit be devoted to the heavenly -temple, Which is the true scene of the marriage." - -"All I can say, then," said Mrs. M'Diarmid, by no means touched by the -high-flown interpretation placed upon her remarks, "is, that if anyone -can be reminded of a heavenly temple by St. George's, Hanover-square, -they must have a lively imagination; for a duller and heavier earthly -one I never was in in my life." - -"I suppose the wedding-party was numerous?" said Mrs. Charlton, who -never could endure anything like a verbal passage-at-arms; and who was -moreover occasionally beset by a misgiving that her daughter was -rather silly. - -"Not what the Kilsyths would consider large, my dear; only their -immediate connections and a few very intimate friends. Miss Kilsyth -would have it so; and indeed the whole thing was got up in a hurry. It -was announced in the _Morning Post_ on Monday, and the marriage came -off on Wednesday." - -"I suppose the bride had some splendid presents?" said Miss Charlton, -whose curiosity was agreeably irrepressible. - -"O yes, my dear, lots. Some beautiful and expensive; some ugly and -more expensive; Several cheap and pretty; and a great many which could -not possibly be of use to any rational being. You know Mr. Foljambe, -don't you, Mrs. Prendergast?" - -"Yes," said Henrietta; "I know him slightly." - -"He is an old friend of Kilsyth's; poor man, he's very ill -indeed--could not come to the wedding because he was ill then, and he -is much worse since; he gave Madeleine the handsomest present of the -lot--a beautiful set of pearls, and he sent her such a nice, kind, -old-fashioned letter with them. He is a real old dear, though I always -feel a little afraid of him somehow." - -"Is Mr. Foljambe really very ill?" said Mrs. Charlton. - -"I am sorry to say he is," said Henrietta; "I saw Dr. Whittaker -to-day, and he gave a very bad account of him." - -"Dr. Whittaker?" said Mrs. Charlton inquiringly. "I don't know him; -I--" - -"No," interrupted Henrietta with a smile; "he is not yet famous; he is -only just beginning to be a rising man. He is a great friend of Dr. -Wilmot's, who, when he went abroad, placed several of his principal -patients in his hands." - -As Henrietta mentioned Wilmot's name, she glanced keenly at Mrs. -M'Diarmid, and perceived at once that the mention of him produced an -effect on the old lady of no pleasing kind. Her face became overcast -in a moment. - -"I hope Miss Kilsyth's--I beg her pardon, Mrs. Caird's health is -sufficiently restored to make any such provision in her case -unnecessary," said Henrietta to Mrs. M'Diarmid in her best manner; -which was a very good manner indeed. - -"Yes, yes," the old lady said absently; then recovering herself, she -continued, "Madeleine has been much better latterly; but Sir Saville -Rowe has been looking after her. Dr. Wilmot recommended her specially -to his care." - -The conversation then turned on other matters, and did not again -revert to the Kilsyths; but Mrs. Prendergast carried away with her -from the substance of what had passed two convictions. - -The first, that Wilmot had entertained sufficient feeling of some kind -for Madeleine Kilsyth to render him averse to bringing her into -contact with the man who attended his wife's deathbed, and who might -therefore have been inconveniently communicative, or even suspicious. - -The second, that there was some painful impression or association in -the kind, honest, and simple mind of Mrs. M'Diarmid connected with Dr. -Wilmot and Madeleine Kilsyth. - -On that evening Mrs. Prendergast settled the point, in consultation -with herself, that Madeleine's marriage was an important advantage -gained. How important, or precisely why, she had no means of -ascertaining, but she felt that it was so; and she experienced a -comfortable feeling, compounded of hope and content, at the -occurrence. - -A week later Dr. Whittaker called on Henrietta and communicated to her -the intelligence of Mr. Foljambe's death; and in a few days later the -accession of Wilmot to his faithful old friend's large fortune was -made known to her in the same way. - -And now Henrietta felt the full importance of the removal of Madeleine -Kilsyth from Wilmot's path. He would return to London of -course--perhaps to abandon his professional pursuits, though that she -thought an unlikely step on his part. His sphere of life would, however, -certainly be changed; and the best chance for the success of her -project would consist in her being able to induce him to form habits -of intimacy and companionship with her before the increased demands of -society upon him should whirl him away out of her reach. Even supposing, -which she--though more capable than most women of taking a contingency -which she disliked into sensible and serious consideration--did not -think likely, that Dr. Wilmot would contemplate a second marriage, and -that marriage purely of affection, he would certainly return to London -heart-whole. If Madeleine Kilsyth had indeed possessed for him -attraction which he could not disavow to himself, nor avow to the -world, so much the better now as things had turned out. Madeleine -would have held his fancy captive until such time as fate had set -between them a second inviolable barrier; and this new and keen -disappointment, even supposing he had never distinctly formulated his -hope, would have turned his heart, and brought him: back irresistibly -to the realties of life. - -Thus, knowing nothing of the actual circumstances of the case, unaware -of the twofold shock which Chudleigh Wilmot had received by the events -which she calmly regarded as equally fortunate; unconscious of the -storm of passion, rage, grief, and helplessness in which Wilmot was -wrapped and tossed, even while she was quietly discussing the matter -with herself, Henrietta Prendergast arranged the present before her -eyes, and questioned the future in her thoughts. But had she known all -of which she was ignorant--had she been able to see Chudleigh Wilmot -as he really was, while she was thus thinking of him, the revelation -would hardly have changed the current of her thoughts, though it might -have robbed her of much of her composure. In that case she would have -reflected that she had but mistaken the quality and the depth of his -feelings, that circumstances remained unchanged. Wilmot had been -passionately in love with Madeleine Kilsyth; but he was now none the -less certainly, irrevocably, and eternally separated from her. - -Thus, the facts which she knew, the facts which she guessed, and the -facts which were effectually concealed from her, all bore -encouragingly upon the projects of Henrietta Prendergast. It is only -just to acknowledge that the increase to his wealth did not intensify -or sharpen Mrs. Prendergast's wish to marry Wilmot; indeed it rather -depressed her. She felt that it might create new obstacles as strong -as those which fate had removed; she would have preferred his being in -his former position. "If I could have won him as he was," she thought, -"and then this fortune had come, that would have been better. However, -ever so poor he would have been a man worth winning; it makes no -difference in that respect his being ever so rich." - -After all, this appreciation, calm and passionless, yet just, -clear-sighted, and true, was not a gift to be despised by a sensible -man, who had had the gilding pretty nearly taken off the gingerbread -of his life, but it was not likely to be valued as it deserved by a -man pining desperately for the impossible love of a brilliant young -beauty like Madeleine Kilsyth. - -One immediate purpose which Henrietta set strongly before her was to -see Wilmot as soon as possible after his return, of the time of which -event she would be duly informed by Dr. Whittaker. She had had no -communication with him since the puzzling interview which had preceded -his departure; he had neither written nor gone to take leave of her; -but this omission, which would have been extremely discouraging to a -less keen-sighted woman, was not discouraging to Henrietta. She knew -that, as far as she was concerned, it meant simply nothing. Wilmot was -deeply distressed and preoccupied; that was the cause of it. She also -knew that at present, in his life, _she_ meant nothing, and she was -satisfied, so that the future should afford her a fair opportunity of -coming to mean much. But she must attain and begin to profit by that -opportunity as soon as possible--she must endeavour to anticipate -other impressions; and for this purpose she resolved to seek an -interview with him immediately on his return. - -"I will write to him at once," she said to herself "He has no reason -to wish to avoid me; and if he had, he would conquer it at an appeal -made in the name of poor Mabel." - -And this strange yet matter-of-fact woman paused in the busy current -of her thoughts and plans to bestow affectionate remembrance and true -regret on her dead friend! Henrietta Prendergast was neither -inconsistent nor insincere. - - -* * * * * - - -"I hope you did not think me intrusive in asking you to call on me so -soon," said Henrietta to Chudleigh Wilmot, when he had duly presented -himself in answer to a note from her, which she had written on the day -Dr. Whittaker had told her Wilmot had returned to London. - -"You have seen him, of course?" she had asked Dr. Whittaker.--"Yes, I -have seen him. He looks extremely ill--wretchedly ill, in fact. As -unlike a man who has just come in for a tremendous stroke of luck as -any man I ever saw. I fancy he was more cut up about his wife's death -than either you or I gave him credit for--eh, Mrs. Prendergast?" - -And now, holding Wilmot's hand in hers, and looking into his sunken -eyes, marking his sallow cheek, the rigidity of the expression of his -face, the thinness of his hand, she thought that Dr. Whittaker's first -impressions were correct. He did look ill, wretchedly ill. He did -indeed look little like a favourite of fortune. - -He assured her, very kindly, that her note had only forestalled his -intention of calling upon her immediately, and apologised for his -former omission. - -"I ought to have come to say good-bye," he said; "but I could not -indeed. I made no adieux possible to be avoided." - -"And have you benefited by your absence? Have you gained health and -spirits to enjoy the good fortune which has befallen you?" - -She asked him these questions in a tone of more than conventional -kindness; but her face told him she read the answer in his. - -"I am quite well," he said quickly; "but perhaps I don't enjoy my good -fortune very much. I am alone in the world, Mrs. Prendergast; and my -fortune has been gained by the loss of the best friend I ever had in -it." - -"Yes," she said thoughtfully, "that is very true. Poor Mr. Foljambe! -He missed you very much; but," she added, for she saw the painful -expression of self-reproach which she had noticed in their first -interview after Mabel's death settle down upon his face, "you must not -grieve about that. He expressed the utmost confidence in Dr. -Whittaker." - -"I know--I know," said Wilmot. "Still I wish--however, that is but one -of many far heavier griefs. I did not come to talk about my troubles," -he said with a faint smile. "You had something to say to me--what is -it? Not only to congratulate me on being a rich man now that it is too -late, I am sure." - -"It is not altogether too late, I think," said Henrietta in a low -impressive voice; "and I wanted to speak to you of something connected -alike with your grief and your fortune." - -"Indeed!" said Wilmot in a tone of anxious surprise. - -"Yes," said Henrietta; "I did not know how long or how short a time -you might be within my reach; and so I determined to lose no time in -endeavouring to gain your assent to a wish of poor Mabel's." - -The conscious blood rushed into Wilmot's face. This, then, was the -double connection of his present visit with his grief and his fortune. -And he had not been thinking of Mabel! His dead wife's friend believed -him indifferent to the wealth that had come too late to be shared by -her; and except for the first sudden remembrance which the sight of -Henrietta had produced, he had not thought of his dead wife at all. He -thought of her now with keen remorse--keener because it had not -occurred to him to think of her before, in connection with his wealth. -Yes, the life which had had so dark an ending might have been very -bright and prosperous now, with all this useless money to gild it. He -shrunk from Mrs. Prendergast's steady eyes with all the shame and -uneasiness of a candid nature when given credit for motives or deeds -superior to the truth. No vision of the dead face he had seen, awfully -white and still, in his little loved home, had arisen to blot out the -prospect of a future rich in all that wealth can give, to teach him -how infinitely little is that all, how poor that richness! But he -carried about for ever between him and the sunshine a vision of a fair -girlish face, with pleading innocent blue eyes, with golden hair and -faintly flushing cheeks, with sweet sensitive lips, and over all a -look which he knew well and interpreted only too accurately. And that -face, it did not lie in a coffin indeed, but as far, as hopelessly -away from him--it lay on another man's breast This was his grief; the -other--well, the other was his shield from suspicion, from -observation, his defence. He seized upon it, feeling unutterably the -degradation of the evasion, and answered: - -"I will be more than grateful, Mrs. Prendergast, if you can show me -any way in which I can fulfil any wish of hers. If there is anything -within the power of any effort of mine, let me know it." - -Then Henrietta, in her turn, putting the dead woman forward as a -pretext, began to discuss with Wilmot the provisions of a certain -charitable institution, to which she knew it had been Mrs. Wilmot's -wish to contribute, but which she had not felt entitled by her means -to assist. Wilmot acceded to all her suggestions with the utmost -readiness, besought her to tax her memory for any other resource for -doing honour to Mabel's memory, and prolonged his visit considerably -beyond Henrietta's expectation. In her softened manner there was now -no reproach, and her sense and calmness refreshed his jaded spirits. -It was a relief to him to be in the company of a woman who did not -expect him to be anything but sorrowful, and who yet had no suspicion -of the cause and origin of his sorrow. So thought Wilmot, as he left -Henrietta, having asked her permission to call on her again speedily. - -And at the same moment Henrietta was thinking-- - -"He knows something of the torture of love unrequited and in vain now. -It won't last, of course; but for the present, if she could only know -it, poor Mabel is avenged!" - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. -Mrs. Ramsay Caird at Home. - - -Mr. and Mrs. Ramsay Caird lived, it is needless to say, in a -fashionable quarter of the town. They could not have lived in any -other. Their lot being essentially cast among fashionable people, it -was necessary for them to reside somewhere within fashionable people's -ken; and that ken is, to say the least of it, limited. It is known to -vulgarians and common persons that there are buildings beyond -Oxford-street on the north side; but it is not known to fashionable -people. They, to be sure, know that some "old families"--and this is -said with an emphasis which conveys that the families in question are -almost pre-Adamite in their age--reside in Portman-square. The -fashionable world allows this as a kind of old-world eccentricity, as -it allows male members of said families to appear in the evening in -blue tailcoats and brass buttons, and to swathe their necks in rolls of -cravat, instead of donning the ordinary small tie. It is a respectable -eccentricity; but it is an eccentricity after all. North of -Oxford-street is as much "the other side" to the fashionable world as -is Suez to the Eastern travellers by the Peninsular and Oriental route. -The fashionable world has heard of the big terraces of splendid -mansions which Messrs. Kelk and Austin have built in the Bayswater-road -facing the Park; they have seen them occasionally when they have been -driving to Kensington-gardens; they believe them to be inhabited by a -respectable moneyed class; but the idea of looking upon them as -residences for themselves has never once struck them. These houses are -such an enormous distance from "anywhere," which to the fashionable -world is bounded by the Regent-circus on the east, Belgrave-square on -the south, the Marble Arch on the west, and Oxford-street on the -north. - -It is possible that if the choice of district had been left to -Madeleine herself, poor child, she, never particularly caring about -such matters, and not being in a very critical or very argumentative -state of mind at the period of her marriage, would have fixed upon -some comfortable pleasant house, cheerful, roomy, airy, but in a wrong -situation. If the choice had been left to her father, there is no -doubt that he would have made some tremendous blunder of the like -kind; for Kilsyth when in London was always opening his arms and -expanding his chest and gasping for air. Accustomed to the free -atmosphere of his native Highlands, the worthy gentleman suffered -torture in the dull, dead, confined and vitiated air of the London -street; and amidst the many sufferings which he underwent for the sake -of society of during the few weeks when he remained in town during the -few weeks when he remained in town was the martyrdom which he was put -to in the tiny ill-ventilated rooms in which he had occasionally to -dine or pass a ghastly half-hour "assisting" at a reception. But Lady -Muriel and Mr. Ramsay Caird took this matter in hand. Of their own -express wish as it was to them the task of selecting the residence of -the about-to-be-married couple was to be confided; and there was no -doubt that they would take care that their choice should not be open -to question. - -On Squab-street, Grosvenor-place, that choice fell. A curious -street Squab-street; a street in a progressive state; a street which -was feeling the ad immediate vicinity of Cubitopolis, but which was -yielding to the advancing conquest piecemeal and by slow degrees; a -street of small houses originally occupied by small people--doctors, -clerks well-up in the West-end government offices, a barrister or two -with fashionable proclivities, and several lodging-houses, always -filled with good visitors from the country or eligible regular tenants; -a quiet street, looked upon for many years as being a long way off, but -suddenly awaking to find itself in the centre of fashion. For while -the doctors had been paying their ordinary seven-and-sixpenny visits -within what was then almost their suburban neighbourhood; while the -West-end government-office clerks had been plodding to and fro from -their offices; while the barristers had been pluming themselves on the -superiority of their position to that of their brethren, who, true to -old tradition, had set up their Lares and Penates in the neighbourhood -of Russell-square and the Foundling Hospital; while the -lodging-house-keeper had vaunted as recommendations the quietude of -the vicinity and the freshness of the air, the great district now -known as Belgravia was being reclaimed from its native mud, the wild -meadow called the Field of Forty Footsteps was being drained and built -on, the desolate track over which our ancestors pursued their -torchlighted way to Ranelagh and Vauxhall was being spanned by arches -and undermined with gas-pipes; and when all these grand improvements -were complete Squab-street, which had held a respectable but -ignominious existence as Squab-street, Pimlico, blossomed out in the -_Post-Office Directory_ and the _Court-Guide_ as Squab-street, S.W., -and thenceforward emerged from its chrysalis state, and became a -recognisable and appreciated butterfly. - -The effect of the change on the street itself was immediate. Two or -three leases fell in about that time, and the householders, in whose -families the leases had been for a couple of generations, made no -doubt of their renewal. Lord Battersea was the ground landlord--not a -liberal man, not a generous man; in short, a screw, and the driver of -a hard bargain, but still a good landlord. He would be all right, of -course. Would he? When the leaseholders went to Lord Battersea's man -of business, an apple-faced old gentleman with a white head and a kind -of frosty wire for beard, they learned that his lordship had fully -comprehended the change in the state of affairs in Squab-street, and -was prepared to act accordingly. As each lease fell in, the house -which was vacant was to be increased by a couple of stories, and to -have its rent trebled. Squab-street was to be a fitting accessory to -Grosvenor-place. In vain the dispossessed ex-tenants declared that -none of his lordship's then holders could pay the new rent: the -apple-faced old gentleman was sorry; but he thought his lordship could -find plenty of tenants who would. The tenants grumbled; but the man of -business was firm. So were the tenants: they yielded up their leases; -and so the houses were improved, and the rents were raised, and other -tenants came of a class hitherto unknown to Squab-street. Married -officers of the Guards, who found the situation convenient for -Wellington, and not inconvenient for Portman barracks; members of -parliament, who found it handy for the House; railway engineers and -contractors of fabulous wealth, who could skurry to and fro their -offices in Great George-street; and City magnates, who walked to -Westminster-bridge, and went humbly in to the Shrine of Mammon by the -penny-boat. All these new-comers lived in the enlarged houses, -gorgeous stucco-fronted edifices, with porticoes which looked as if -they did not belong to the house, but were leaning up against it by -accident, and plate-glass windows and conservatories about the size of -a market-gardener's hand-lights. - -But the other houses in Squab-street, the leases of which had not run -out, remained in their normal condition, and were the same little -brisk, cheery, cleanly, snug common brick edifices that they had been -ever since they were built. The new style of buildings had grown up -round about them, and was dotted here and there amongst them; so that -the range of houses in Squab-street looked like a row of uneven teeth. -The original settlers, who at first had been rather overawed by the -immigrants, had in time come to look upon their arrival as rather a -benefit than otherwise; the doctors extended the number and the -importance of their patients; the government clerks bragged -judiciously of the "swells" who lived in their street; and the -lodging-housekeepers, secure with leases of many unexpired years, -raised their prices season after season, and found plenty of fish to -swallow their hooks. - -The house which Lady Muriel and Ramsay Caird, after much driving -about, worrying of house-agents, search of registers, obtaining of -cards to view, and general soul-depression and leg-weariness,--the -house which they eventually decided upon was represented in the -sibylline books of the agent as an "eligible bachelor's residence, in -that fashionable locality Squab-street, S. W." Such indeed it had been -for several previous years; the Honourable Peregrine Fluke, known -generally as Fat Fluke, from his tendency to obesity, or Fishy Fluke, -from a card transaction in which he had once been mixed up, having -been its respected occupant. The Honourable Peregrine Fluke was a very -eligible bachelor indeed, and led the life of the gay young fellow and -the sad dog until he had passed sixty years of age. Then pale Death, -knocking away with impartial rat-tat at the doors of all, the huts of -the poor and the castellated turrets of kings, stopped at 122 -Squab-street, and called for the Honourable Peregrine Fluke. The -eligible bachelor succumbing to the summons, his executors came upon -the scene; and wishing to do the best for the lieutenant in the -Marines, who was understood to be the eligible bachelor's nephew, but -who was clearly proved to be his illegitimate son, put up the lease of -the house--the only available thing belonging to the deceased--to -auction, and found a purchaser in Kilsyth. Lady Muriel's clever tact -also secured the furniture at a comparatively cheap rate. It was not -first-rate furniture--a little rococo and old-fashioned; but a few -things could be imported into the drawing-rooms; and, after all, Ramsay -and his wife were not rich people--young beginners, and that kind of -thing, and the place would do very well to commence their married life -in. Lady Muriel always spoke of "Ramsay and his wife" when any monetary -question was under debate, ignoring utterly that all the money came -from Madeleine's side. For not only was there Madeleine's twenty -thousand pounds, but Kilsyth, when the marriage was settled, announced -his intention of making the young couple such an allowance as would -prevent his favourite child from missing any of the comforts, any of -the luxuries to which she had become accustomed. - -The situation was undoubtedly fashionable; but that the house itself -might have been more comfortable could not be denied. What was -complimentarily called the hall, but was really the passage, was so -small, that the enormous footmen, awaiting the descent of their -employers from the little drawing-rooms above, dared not house -themselves therein. Two of them would have filled it to overflowing; -so they were compelled either to remain with the carriages, or to run -the chance of being out of the way when required, and solace -themselves in the tap of the Battersea Arms, down the adjacent mews. -The door was so small and so low, that these great creatures rubbed -their cockades and ruffled their coats in passing through it. The -house stood at the corner of the mews, and every vehicle that drove in -or out caused an earthquake-like sensation as it passed. Doors -creaked, china rocked, floors groaned, walls trembled. The little -dining-room was like a red-flocked tank; the little drawing-rooms -encumbered with the newly-imported extra furniture, were so choke-full, -that it was with the utmost difficulty that visitors could thread their -way between table and couch and ottoman and _étagère_. It required a -knowledge of the science of navigation to tack round the piano; and the -visitor, when once he had reached a seat by the hostess near the -fireplace, could scarcely devote himself to conversation, owing to the -trouble which filled his mind as to how he would ever get away again. -It was not advisable to open any of the side-windows, even in the -hottest weather, or a stably odour at once pervaded the house, and the -forcible language addressed by the grooms to the horses, whose toilet -was performed in the open yard, was a little too audible. It was -impossible for guests to go through the ceremony of "taking down" to -dinner. The steep little ladder-like staircase was only passable by -one person at a time; and in the narrow little tank of a dining-room -the people who sat with their backs to the fire were roasted alive, -and had the additional pleasure of having to eat their meat -vegetable-less and sauce-less, there being no approach to them and no -passing them. Still everyone said that the situation was delightful, -and the house was "quite charming;" and Lady Muriel and Ramsay Caird -took great credit to themselves for having secured it. - -Madeleine herself was but little impressed by it. It was immaterial to -her where she lived, or in what style of house. She shrugged her -shoulders when they told her the rooms were charming; she raised her -eyebrows when her servants complained of darkness and inconvenience. -"It did very well," was her highest commendation, and she never found -fault. If this girl's life had not been strangely solitary and without -companionship, she would have had all sorts of confidences to exchange -with some half-dozen intimates as to her new life, her new home, her -new career. As it was, she dropped into it quietly, with scarcely a -remark to any one. After her little and short-lived daydream had -dissolved, after she had awakened to the exact realities which were -about her, her period of suspense was very short. What passed between -her and her brother Ronald at the interview which, as settled with -Lady Muriel, he sought at his sister's hands was never known. The -result was satisfactory to the prime movers in the scheme; and the -result was that Madeleine was to marry Ramsay Caird. There was another -interview connected with the matter which neither Lady Muriel nor -Ronald ever heard of. When the news was first announced to him by his -wife, Kilsyth received it very quietly. The next morning, before my -lady had risen, the fond father, in pursuance of an appointment made -in a note secretly sent up by the maid the night before, went to his -darling's room, and had a half-hour's long and earnest conversation -with her. Earnest on his side at all events: he asked her whether this -engagement had been brought about of her own free will; if she had -thought over it sufficiently; if she would wish the time of betrothal -to be lengthened beyond the usual period; if there were anything, in -fact, in which she would wish to make reference to him, and in which -he could aid her. To all these inquiries, urged in the warmest and -most affectionate manner, he got but the same kind of reply. Madeleine -kissed her father fondly. She hated the thought of leaving him, she -said; but it would do very well. It would do very well! She had not -even the heart to be deceitful--to feign delight when she did not feel -it. It would do very well! Kilsyth's warm heart beat more slowly as he -istened to this lukewarm appreciation of the expected joys of his -daughter's future; he scarcely comprehended anything so _fade_ and so -spiritless from a young girl about to undergo such an important change -in all the phases of her existence. He again pressed his question home, -and received the same answer; and then he made up his mind, for the -thousandth time in his life, that women were extraordinary creatures, -and that there was no dealing with them. This was a very favourite -axiom of his, and had been enounced with much solemnity frequently. On -this occasion, however, he kept silence, shaking his head in a very -thoughtful and prophetic manner as he descended the stairs to his own -dressing-room. It would do very well! Madeleine thought of the reply -which she had given to the most important question ever put to her, -after her father had left her and when she was alone. She knew her -father well enough to be certain that a word spoken at that time by her -to him would have stopped the engagement, and left her free. And what -would then have ensued? She would have made an enemy of Lady Muriel, -with whom she had to live; she would have deeply annoyed Ronald, who -had always, in his odd way, shown the greatest love for her and the -keenest interest in her welfare; and in the great question of her life -she would have advanced not one whit. Chudleigh Wilmot was gone--gone -for ever. An alliance--a continuance even of the friendship, such as -it had been, with him was impossible; her friends wanted her to marry -Ramsay Caird. Well, then, it would do very well! - -A phrase significant of a state of mind in which marriages are often -undertaken, but surely an unlucky and a pitiable state of mind. -Something more than a tacit acquiescence is meant by the vows of the -marriage-service; and though cynics endeavour to persuade us that -these vows are far more frangible and far more often broken than they -used to be, it is as well to believe in the whole force of them while -we stand before the altar-rails, and before the priest utters his -benediction. And the worst of it all was that the phrase expressed -Madeleine's feelings thoroughly--her feelings as regarded her -marriage, her feelings towards her husband. It _was_ Ramsay Caird--it -might have been Clement Penruddock, or Frank Only, or Lord Roderick -Douglas, or half-a-dozen others. She had an equal liking for all these -men; no love for any one of them. In her earlier girlish days, some -year or two beforehand, she had wondered which of the young men who -frequented the house would propose to her, and which of them she would -marry. None of them had ever proposed to her. They saw long before she -did that she was marked down for Ramsay Caird. These sort of things -are concealed with the utmost discretion by long-headed mothers, are -never suspected by daughters, and are discussed between male friends -of the family with much openness and freedom. She had been a favourite -with all these pleasant youths; but they knew perfectly well why -Ramsay Caird was always at the house, and why he inevitably had the -best chance; and their regard for Lady Muriel was by no means -diminished by the clever manner in which she aided and assisted her -protégé. - -After marriage, at least during the first few months after marriage, -it was very much the same. Madeleine "liked" her husband; he was quite -gentlemanly, genial, cheery, very hospitable, very fond of pleasure, -very fond of spending money on her, on himself, on anyone. He never -interfered with her in the smallest degree, and never was happier than -when she was under the chaperonage of her mother, and his attendance -on her was not required. During the first few months of her married -life she received a vast number of callers; all of whose visits she -duly repaid; went out constantly to dinners, balls, receptions of all -kinds, to operas and theatres, private and public fêtes,--everywhere, -in short, where people can go--with decency and enjoy themselves. Not -that Madeleine enjoyed herself. "It would do very well," seemed to be -the keynote no less in her pleasures than in the rest of her life. In -company she sat with the same ever-blank look until she was roused. -Then she responded with the same smile. O, so unlike her old smile! -With an upward glance of her blue eyes, where there was no light now, -and with the little society-laugh which she had recently learned, and -which was so different from the hearty ringing burst which used to -greet her father's ears at Kilsyth in the old days before her -illness--those days which seemed to her, to them all, but to her most of -all, so long ago. - -Visitors she had in plenty. Scarcely a morning passed without a call -from Lady Muriel, who, still priding herself upon the admirable manner -in which by her tact her stepdaughter had been "settled," looked in to -see how she was getting on, to learn who had been to see her during -the preview day, what parties she had been to, who she had met, what -their reception of her had been, and what invitations for forthcoming -gaieties she had received. A comparison of notes on these last -matters, now a favourite occupation of Lady Muriel's, with whose great -name the world of fashion had begun to busy itself, proclaiming her as -one of its leaders,--and she, always equal to the occasion, had -accepted the tribute gracefully, and, as in everything else, -conscientiously discharged the duties of her position,--then luncheon, -to which meal Lady Muriel would frequently remain, and when some of -the more intimate friends of the family, notably Mrs. M'Diarmid, would -drop in; not that Mrs. M'Diarmid's accession added much to the comfort -of the meal. The dear old lady, when her favourite project of marrying -Madeleine to Wilmot had been untimely nipped in the bud, and when she -saw that Ramsay Caird, whom she cordially disliked, was the accepted -suitor, relinquished all opposition in silence, and contented herself -with sniffing loudly, as the sole demonstration of her displeasure. -That marriage-service, which she had pictured to herself with so many -different "eligibles" as bridegrooms, might, but for the presence of -mind of his Right Reverence of Boscastle, have been sorely interrupted -by the defiant sniffs which came from the right-hand pew close by the -altar-rails, where Mrs. Mac, dressed in the brown _moire_ which had so -often filled her dreams, had bestowed herself, to the deep indignation -of the pew opener. But she did not allow her disapproval of the -marriage to interfere with her love for "her dear child;" she came -constantly to Squab-street; and the pleasantest hours of Madeleine's -life were passed in the society of this good old woman, when she knew -that there was no call upon her to exert herself in any way, or to -show herself otherwise than she really was; when she could lie back in -her chair, and indulge herself with the sweet sad daydream of "what -might have been," which contrasted so harshly and unsatisfactorily -with what was. - -A drive in her stepmother's carriage, or a round of calls in her own -brougham, filled up the afternoon, until it was time to return home to -preside at her tea-table and receive her friends. After her engagement -had been regularly announced there had been a good deal of fuss made -about that five-o'clock tea-table; the young men who were intimate at -Brook-street had vowed that they would make it the pleasantest in -London; that more news should be heard there than anywhere else; and -that the men who write in the _Cotillon_--a charming amateur journal -of political _canards_ and society gossip, published during the -season--should go on their knees and implore invitations. The -tea-table had been established in due course, but it had not been such -a success as had been anticipated. Madeleine was _triste_ and quiet to -a degree. The men could not understand it, she had always been so -pleasant before her marriage; unlike most women, who are always a -doosid sight pleasanter after it. They had been in the habit of -finding their old partners of the two or three previous seasons, now -married, by no means indisposed to listen to the compliments which -they had been erst in the habit of addressing to them; and the -practice had derived additional piquancy from the fact of the change -of condition in the person addressed. There was Lady Violet -Penruddock, for instance, only married to old Clem--O, within a few -weeks of Miss Kilsyth's marriage; and how jolly she was! Looked as -fresh as possible--fresh as paint, some fellow said; but that was a -confounded shame, don't you know,--only a little powder and that kind -of thing, what all girls use, don't you know--doosid cruel you women are -to one another! There was Lady Vi, jolly as a sand-boy! Old Clem was at -his club, or some place, and didn't come home till late, and there was -always tearing fun at Grosvenor-gate. Charmin' woman, Lady Vi; and -very wise of old Clem to like to read the evening papers, and that kind -of thing. Not that there was anything to be complained of Caird in this -matter; never thought much of Caird, eh, did you? he was never at home; -but his wife had grown so confoundedly dull, hipped, and that kind of -thing--bored, don't you know? sits still and don't say a word except -yes and no; don't help a feller out a hit, you know, and looks rather -dreary and dull. - -Poor Madeleine! she was beginning to be found out by her friends. If -you live in society you must contribute your quota, according to your -means--either your rank, your money, your talent--towards the general -stock; but unless your birth will warrant it, you must never be dull; -and in no case must you differ from the ordinary proceedings of your -order. Madeleine was very unlike Lady Violet Penruddock, she -felt--very unlike indeed. But that was her misfortune, not her fault. She -would have been very glad to laugh and flirt with all her old friends, -to talk nonsense and innocent scandal, and all the society chit-chat, -if she had been able; but she was not able. Under all her quiet manner -and shyness and girlishness Madeleine Caird possessed what Lady Violet -Penruddock had never pretended to--a heart. That heart had been hurt -and torn and lacerated; and as in the present day it is not possible -to explain this, or rather it is considered essential to hide it, -Madeleine was obliged to put up with the imputation of dulness, when -in reality she was merely suffering from having loved someone who, as -she thought, did not care for her, and having been compelled to marry -somebody for whom she had no real affection. - -Did Ramsay Caird ever fancy that his wife did not care for him, or at -least was not as romantically fond of him as are most wives of their -husbands during the first few months after marriage? If he did, did -the reflection ever cost him a moment's anxiety, a moment's distrust, -a thought that perhaps his own course of living was not precisely -adapted to enthral the affections of a young girl? Not for an instant. -Ramsay, when Lady Muriel's half-spoken hints had first enlightened him -as to the position which, for his dead brother's sake, her ladyship -proposed to him to hold, had cogitated over the matter in an -essentially business-like spirit, and had come to the conclusion that -such an opportunity ought by all means to be made the most of. He was -a calculating cautious young man, entirely devoid of impulse; and--as -had been suspected by more than one of the frequenters of the -Brook-street establishment, who, however, were much too good fellows to -hint at it openly--he was a man fond of common, not to say gross -pleasures, which his limited means prevented him from indulging in. A -marriage with Madeleine Kilsyth, herself a very nice girl, as society -girls went, would give him position, ease, and money--leave him his own -master, with power and opportunity to pursue his own devices--and was -therefore for him in every respect most desirable. With all his easy -bearing, his _laiesez-aller_ manners, and his apparent _nonchalance_, -Mr. Ramsay Caird possessed his full share of the national 'cuteness; -and having made up his mind to win, looked carefully round him to see -where his course lay straightest, and what shoals were to be avoided. -He determined to make a waiting race of it, convinced that any eagerness -or ill-timed enthusiasm might spoil his chance; he saw that his game -was to be quiet and wait upon his oars until he received the signal to -dash out into mid-stream; his complete willingness to attend to all -suggestions, and to take his time from the family, quite fascinated -Ronald Kilsyth, from whom at first Caird had apprehended opposition; -and, as we have seen, when the time came, he declared himself with so -strong a show that no other competitor dared put in an appearance. - -But when the race had been run and the prize secured, Ramsay Caird -felt that the crisis was past, that the long course of tutelage under -which he had placed himself was at an end, and that henceforward he -would enjoy those benefits for the acquisition of which he had -regulated his conduct for so many months. He had not the smallest love -for his wife; he had even but small admiration for her looks. -Madeleine's blue eyes and golden hair were too cold and insipid for -his taste. In his freer moments he was accustomed to talk about -"soul"--an attribute which poor Maddy was supposed not to possess--and -"liquid eyes" and "classic features" and the "sunny South"--which, as -Tommy Toshington remarked, when told of it, accounted for his having -seen Caird on the previous Sunday afternoon ringing at the door of the -villa temporarily tenanted by Madame Favorita, the _prima donna_ of -the Opera, and situated in the Alpha-road. Tommy Toshington invariably -happened to be passing by when the wrong man was ringing at the wrong -house; and got an immense number of pleasant dinners out of the -coincidence. So that Ramsay Caird saw but little of the interior of -his own house after leaving it in the mornings. He at first had been -somewhat punctilious and deferential with Lady Muriel, taking care to -be at home when she came, and to be in attendance when he thought she -would require his presence; but after a few weeks he threw off this -restraint, and kept the hours which suited him. Kilsyth looked blank -and uncomfortable once or twice when at dinners, specially given in -honour of the new-married couple, Madeleine had appeared alone, and -Lady Muriel had proffered a story of Ramsay's toothache or business -appointment; and Ronald had looked black, and held more than one -muttered conversation with his stepmother, in the course of which his -brows contracted, and his mouth grew very rigid. But Madeleine never -uttered a word of complaint, although Lady Muriel was in daily -expectation of an outburst. She sat quietly, sadly, uninterestedly by. -Better, far better, for all concerned if she had had sufficient -feeling of her own loneliness, of her own neglected condition, to -appeal in language however forcible and strong. To labour under the -"it-will-do-very-well" feeling is to be on the high road to -destruction. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. -Inquisitorial. - - -Lady Muriel Kilsyth had carried her cherished plan into execution--had -seen her wishes as regarded Madeleine and her kinsman Ramsay Caird -fulfilled. With wonderfully little trouble, too. When she thought over -it all, she was surprised at the apparent ease and rapidity with which -the marriage, which she had regarded, after Madeleine's illness at -Kilsyth, as a difficult matter to manage, had been brought about. Time -had done it all for her--time, assisted by her own tact and skill, and -the accomplished fashion after which she had removed all removable -obstacles, and availed herself of every circumstance and indication -in favour of her cherished project. Nor had the smallest injury to her -own position resulted from manoeuvering which Lady Muriel would have -been ready to blast, if performed by anyone else, with the ruinous -epithet, "vulgar matchmaking." No, not the smallest. Indeed, Lady -Muriel Kilsyth was one of those fortunate individuals whose position -may be generally regarded as, under all circumstances, unassailable. -She stood as well with Ronald as ever; and Lady Muriel, with all her -imperturbable but never offensive pride, was more anxious about -standing well with her step-son than the world would have consented to -believe she could have been about securing the good opinion of any -human being. She stood, as she always had done, first and chief in the -love and esteem of her husband, who, if he did not "understand" -her--and he was none the less happy with her that he assuredly did -not--made up for his want of comprehension by the most uncompromising -trust, devotion, and admiration,--all manifested in his own quiet -peculiar way. As this "way" included allowing her the most absolute -liberty of action, and an apparent impossibility of questioning her -judgment on any conceivable point, it suited Lady Muriel admirably. - -Kilsyth was perfectly satisfied with Madeleine's marriage. He believed -in love-matches, and it never occurred to him to doubt that this was -one. He had quietly taken it for granted, first, because Ramsay Caird -had spoken of their "mutual attachment," when he had formally asked -Kilsyth for the precious gift of his daughter. Then, Lady Muriel had -spoken so warmly of Ramsay's love for Madeleine, had shown such -generous and sensitive susceptibility to the possibility of Kilsyth's -thinking she had been wrong and injudicious in admitting to such close -household intimacy a relative of her own, who was not qualified, as -far as fortune was concerned, to pretend to his daughter's hand. -Thirdly, if he never doubted Ramsay's being in love with -Madeleine--and he never did doubt it for an instant--what could be more -natural than that all the young men who had the chance should be in -love with Madeleine? Still less could it have occurred to him to doubt -that Madeleine was in love with Ramsay. Ramsay had neither rank nor -fortune to give her--that was very certain; and Kilsyth knew of only -two motives as possible incentives to marriage--love and money. Under -any circumstances, he never could have suspected his daughter of being -actuated by the latter. The fine, gallant, unsophisticated, hearty old -fellow, who had had a fair share of happiness all his life, and whose -knowledge of human nature was as superficial as his judgment of it was -genial, had no notion that pique, thwarted love, blighted hope, -wounded pride, the strong and desperate necessity of hiding suffering -from kindred household eyes, or an infatuated yearning for the -freedom, in certain respects; whose value a man can never estimate, -and which a girl gains by her marriage, were among the not unfrequent -causes of the taking of that tremendous step. He had never talked to -Maddy about her love for Ramsay Caird, certainly; it would never have -occurred to him to "make the girl uncomfortable," as he would have -expressed it, by any such proceeding; but he would as soon have -suspected that Madeleine had brought an asp to her new home among her -wedding-clothes as believed that the girl's heart hid, ever so far -down in its depths, another image than her husband's. - -So Kilsyth was satisfied, in his genial and outspoken way; and Ronald -was satisfied, after his grim undemonstrative fashion. And Lady Muriel -stood well with all concerned, especially with Madeleine. All the -petty restraints of "stepmother" authority, inevitably resented even -by the most amiable natures, however mildly exercised, were gone now. -Maddy was on a social level with Lady Muriel; there could never more -be any of the little discords between them there had been; and -Madeleine, as she took her own place hi the world, and felt, with a -sudden sort of shock, as if she had grown ever so much older, woke up -to a fuller consciousness of Lady Muriel's many attractions than she -had ever previously attained. She recognised her beauty, her grace, -her dignity, her perfect breeding, her thorough _savoir faire_ with -real appreciation now, and true pleasure and admiration; and one of -the happiest thoughts in which she indulged was of how she would be -such "good friends" with Lady Muriel, and how she would take her for -the model of her conduct, and in every respect her social guide. She -was perfectly aware of the dissimilarity which existed between them; -and she never would have been guilty of the absurdity of "copying" -Lady Muriel's manners, but she might be guided by her for all that. So -much the more readily now that she was not always in dread of hearing -Wilmot mentioned, of being reminded of him, of exciting a suspicion by -some inadvertence that she had been guilty of the folly of thinking he -had cared for her just a little. No fear of that now. She was married -and _safe_--poor child! - -Unsuspicious by nature, ignorant of the world, and unconsciously -living a life apart, a life in her own thoughts and reveries, -Madeleine was wonderfully indifferent to the conduct of her husband. -Either she was really unconscious of it for some time after it had -begun to excite the fears of her father, the suspicions of Lady -Muriel, the anger of her brother, and the gossip of society, or she -successfully contrived to appear so. The judgment of the world leaned -to the latter hypothesis; but the judgment of the world is always -uncharitable, and frequently wrong. In the present instance it was -both. Madeleine did not know that Ramsay Caird was behaving ill. He -was always kind in his manner to her; and if he was--which there was -no denying--a good deal away from home, why, he did not differ in that -respect from many other men whom she knew or heard of, and it never -occurred to Madeleine to resent his absence. Neither did it occur to -her to ask herself whether she was not in real truth rather glad he -should be so much away from her, nor to reflect that the world, which -knew he was, would inevitably come to one of two conclusions, either -that she was a most unhappy wife, or that she had never loved her -husband. - -No; Madeleine Caird thought of none of these things. She went on her -way caring very little for anything; not entirely unhappy, surprised -indeed at the variations in her own spirits, unable to account for the -overwhelming sadness which beset her at some times, and finding -equally inexplicable the ease with which she flung off this sadness at -others. She was looked at and wondered at and talked of daily by -scores of her acquaintances, and, she was entirely unconscious that -she was the subject of any such scrutiny. - -Lady Muriel understood Madeleine's state of mind perfectly. She had a -clue to it, which she alone possessed; and while she regarded Ramsay -Caird's conduct with all the by no means inconsiderable strength of -indignation of which she was capable, she was quite aware that -Madeleine was only in the conventional sense an object of compassion. - -Was Lady Muriel quite satisfied, was she perfectly content with her -success? Hardly so; in the first place, because she was forced to -condemn Ramsay Caird, and she did not like to acknowledge the -necessity; in the second place, because the result of this success, -personal to her, that to which it was to owe its best value, its chief -sweetness, was delayed. She chafed at Wilmot's absence now; she had -hailed it until Madeleine's marriage had been an accomplished fact; -she had tolerated it for a little time afterwards; but now--now her -impatience was undisguised to herself, now she wanted this man to -return--this man who lent her life such a strange charm, in whose -presence the common atmosphere took a vivid colouring, and every-day -things and occurrences assumed a different meaning and value. - -Lady Muriel had heard of Chudleigh Wilmot's accession to fortune -reasonably soon after the occurrence of the event. Kilsyth happened to -be out of town for a few days on the occasion of Mr. Foljambe's -death, and had therefore not attended the funeral. General report, at -least in Lady Muriel's particular sphere, had not yet proclaimed the -succession of one unlinked by ties of blood to the rich banker to the -large fortune with which rumour correctly accredited Mr. Foljambe, and -it remained for Lady Muriel to learn the news from the same source -whence Henrietta Prendergast had derived the account of Madeleine's -marriage. It was from Mrs. Charlton that Lady Muriel heard the -interesting tidings, and Mrs. Prendergast was present on the occasion. -It was the first time she had ever been in the same room with Lady -Muriel Kilsyth, and she had regarded her with lively curiosity, and -much genuine, honest admiration. The finished style of Lady Muriel's -beauty--the sort of style which conveys the impression that the -possessor of so much beauty is beautiful as much by a sovereign act of -her will as by the decree and gift of nature; her grace of manner, -true stamp of the _grande dame_ set upon her, had irresistible -attractions for Henrietta, who was one of those women, by no means so -rare as the cynics would have us believe, who can heartily and -enthusiastically admire the qualities, physical and mental, of -individuals of their own sex. - -"I am sure you will be glad to hear the news Mrs. Prendergast has just -told us," Mrs. Charlton had said; and then Lady Muriel learned that -Mr. Foljambe had made Wilmot his heir. She received the intelligence -with the perfection of friendly interest; she turned courteously to -Mrs. Prendergast, as though taking it for granted her congratulations -were to be addressed to her individually, as Wilmot's relative or -friend; and as she did so her heart beat rapidly, with the pulse of -one who has escaped a great danger, as she thought, "Had this happened -only a few weeks sooner, all might have been lost!" - -It was on the same day and at the same hour that Wilmot learned the -same fact, from the letter of his dead friend, at Berlin. - -Had Lady Muriel been a younger, a weaker, or a less experienced woman, -she must inevitably have betrayed some emotion beyond that of mere -gratification at a friend's good fortune to the keen eyes of Henrietta -Prendergast. But her _savoir faire_ was perfect, and she said and -looked precisely what she ought to have said and looked. There was a -strange accord in the impulsive thoughts of each of these women, so -different, so widely separated by circumstances. As Henrietta repeated -the intelligence for Lady Muriel's information which she had already -communicated to Mrs. Charlton, she too was thinking, "Had this -happened only a few weeks sooner, all might have been lost!" - -Madeleine's marriage was of no less importance to the designs and the -hopes of Henrietta Prendergast than to those of Lady Muriel Kilsyth. - -"I wonder what he will do now?" said Miss Charlton, who had some of -the advantages of silliness, among them a happy _naïveté_, which made -it always safe to calculate upon her making some remark or asking some -question which others might desire to proffer on their own behalf, but -for the restraints of good taste. Lady Muriel could not imagine; Mrs. -Prendergast could not guess. Lady Muriel remarked that Dr. Wilmot -would probably be guided by the nature of Mr. Foljambe's property, and -the terms of the bequest. - -"I fancy the whole property is in money, with the exception of the -house in Portland-place," said Henrietta. "I have heard my poor friend -Mrs. Wilmot say that Mr. Foljambe hated all the responsibility of -landed property, and had none. So Dr. Wilmot will be free--perhaps he -will live altogether abroad." - -"Do you think that probable?" said Lady Muriel, very courteously -implying Mrs. Prendergast's more intimate acquaintance with the object -of the discussion. "For a man of his turn of mind, I fancy there's no -place like London--certainly no country like England." - -"Ah, yes, Lady Muriel, very true," said the irrepressible Miss -Charlton, making her mother wince for the twentieth time since the -commencement of the visit; "but then, you see, he has such painful -recollections of London. His poor wife dying as she did, you know, -while he was away attending to strangers." - -"Very true," said Lady Muriel--with perfect self-possession, and -purposely turning her head away from Mrs. Charlton, who glanced -angrily and despairingly at her unconscious daughter, and towards -Henrietta, who shared her friend's dismay. "We all regretted that -circumstance very deeply; and I do not wonder Dr. Wilmot should have -felt it as he did: still, he is so strong-minded a man--" - -"And so perfectly convinced that it had nothing to do with his wife's -death--I mean that he could not have saved her," said Henrietta -quickly. - -Lady Muriel looked at her inquiringly. - -"Mrs. Prendergast was Mrs. Wilmot's intimate Mend, and was with her -when she died," Mrs. Charlton said; and then another visitor came in, -and a _tête-à-tête_ established itself between Lady Muriel and -Henrietta, which caused her visit to be prolonged considerably beyond -any former experience of Mrs. Charlton, and gave her ladyship a good -deal to think of, when she had ordered her coachman to go into the -Park, and gave herself up to her thoughts, mechanically returning, the -numerous salutes which she received, and thinking sometimes how -strange it was that there was no one in all this great crowded London -whom it could interest her to see. - -"She must have been a strange woman," thought Lady Muriel, "and -desperately uninteresting, I am sure. That Mrs. Prendergast has plenty -of character. He never mentioned her, that I can remember; but then he -talked so little of himself, he said so little from which any notion -of his daily life and its surroundings could be gathered. Yes, I am -sure his wife was a tiresome, commonplace creature, with no kind of -companionship in her--an insipid doll. What wonderful things one sees -under the sun in the way of unsuitable marriages! To think of such a -man marrying such a woman! But it is stranger still"--and here Lady -Muriel's face darkened, and a hard look came into her beautiful brown -eyes--"it is stranger still to think that such a man should be -attracted by Madeleine--such a merely 'pretty girl.' And he was--he -was; I could not be mistaken. If this fortune had come a little -sooner, what would he have done? He could not of course have proposed -to her--impossible in the time he might have told Kilsyth, and gotten -his leave, when the year should be up. What a danger! I am glad I -never thought of such a thing; I am glad the possibility never -occurred to me. Ronald, indeed, would have been a barrier; but I need -not, I must not deceive myself, Kilsyth would not have listened to -Ronald where Madeleine's happiness was concerned. When will he return? -He must come soon, I suppose, to arrange his affairs. I need not fear -his admiration of Madeleine now--he is not a man to admire the woman -who could marry Ramsay Caird. If she did betray to him that she loved -him, he would have the best and plainest proof in her marriage how -fickle and flimsy such a feeling is in her case." - -Lady Muriel Kilsyth was in many respects a very superior, in many -respects a highly-principled woman; but she had dreamed a forbidden -dream, she had cherished a perverse thought, and such speculations as -she would once have shrunk from with incredulous amazement had become -not only possible but easy to her. - -And then all her thoughts directed themselves towards the one -object--Wilmot's return. When would he come back? She wrote the news of -the disposition of Mr. Foljambe's will to Kilsyth; and he answered in a -few jovial lines, expressing his heartfelt satisfaction. She told the -news to Madeleine; carelessly, skilfully, opening a large parcel of -books as she spoke, and looking at the contents. Madeleine was in her -ladyship's boudoir; her bonnet lay on the sofa by her side, and she -was idly twisting the strings. - -"You are going to fetch Ramsay from the club, are you, Maddy?" - -"Yes," said Madeleine listlessly, and looking at the clock; -"presently, I suppose. Have you anything new there?" - -"New? yes. Good? I can't say. Nothing you would care for, I fancy. All -the magazines, though. A new volume by Merivale,--not much after your -fashion. A new novel by nobody knows whom--_Squire Fullerton's Will_. -By the bye, the name reminds me--I don't think you have heard about -Mr. Foljambe's will?" - -"No," said Madeleine rising, and tying on her bonnet at the -chimney-glass. - -"Your father is delighted. Only fancy, Mr. Foljambe has left all his -money to Dr. Wilmot." - -Madeleine did not answer for a minute. Then she said, - -"I am very glad. Was Mr. Foljambe very rich?" - -"I believe so. They talk of its being a very large fortune. What a -delightful change for Dr. Wilmot! Of course he will give up his -profession now, and take a place in society." - -"Do you think he would give up his profession for anything, Lady -Muriel?" asked Madeleine. - -Lady Muriel was standing at a table, still sorting the books; she -could not see Maddy's face. - -"Give up his profession! Of course, my dear. A man of fortune is not -likely to practise as a doctor, I should think; besides, the -position." - -"Everyone--I mean Mr. Foljambe always said Dr. Wilmot was so devoted -to his profession," said Madeleine hesitatingly. - -"Of course he was; and of course his friends said so. It is the best -and wisest thing a man can have said of him--the best character he can -get, while he wants it, and easily laid aside when he doesn't. What's -this? _Wine of Shiraz!_ O, another book of travels with a fantastical -name! Are you going, Maddy? Will you have one of these productions to -try?" - -"No, thank you," said Madeleine; and she took leave of Lady Muriel, -and did not call for Ramsay at the club, but went home, and passed the -evening with a book lying open on her knee--a book of which she never -turned a page, and wondered when Chudleigh Wilmot would come home. She -wondered whether his wealth would make him happy. She wondered -whether, if he had been a rich man and not a hard-working doctor, he -would have cared a little about her when his wife died; and whether it -was really as Lady Muriel had said, or whether his devotion to his -profession was genuine and true. She wondered whether he ever -thought of her; she felt sure he knew of her marriage. Well, not -_ever_--something forbade her using that word in her thoughts, -something told her it would be unjust and unkind; but much? Ronald -would hear about this bequest of Mr. Foljambe's; would be glad--or -sorry--or neither? Supposing it had come earlier, and he, Wilmot, had -cared for her! would things have been different? would Ronald--But no, -no; she must not think of that. Let her still believe he had seen in -her only a patient, only a case of fever, only an occasion for the -exercise of his skill. She wondered, if "things had been -different"--which was the phrase by which she translated to herself "if -she had married Wilmot"--whether it would have harmed anyone; she did -not dare to think how happy it would have made her. Ramsay? But no; not -all the simplicity, not all the credulous egotism of girlhood--and -Madeleine had her fair share of those natural qualities--could persuade -her that Ramsay's life would have been marred if their marriage had -never taken place. And so she wondered and wondered, recurring often in -her thoughts solemnly to the dead woman who had been Wilmot's wife, and -thinking sadly, wonderingly, over that life, all unknown to her; and yet -concerning which some mysterious instinct had whispered to her vaguely -and unhappily. She hoped people would not talk much to her, or before -her, of this bequest of Mr. Foljambe's. It embarrassed her, though she -knew it ought not; who ought to be so ready as she to speak of him, to -whom no one owed so much? - -Henrietta Prendergast wondered too when Dr. Wilmot would return to -London; and questioned Dr. Whittaker, who had contrived in a -wonderfully brief space of time to accumulate an extraordinary -quantity of information relative to the nature and extent of Wilmot's -inheritance. The worthy man possessed an inherent talent for gossip, -which was likely to be of great service to him in his career, being -admittedly an immense recommendation for a physician, especially when -his practice lies in a class of society largely productive of _malades -imaginaires_. Wilmot was left at perfect liberty, except in the matter -of the house in Portland-place. It was not to be sold; and Wilmot had -instructed the solicitors to keep up the establishment, and retain the -old housekeeper and butler permanently in his service. As for his old -house in Charles-street, Wilmot had behaved most generously -indeed--Dr. Whittaker would say he had placed it entirely at his -disposal nobly: for the remainder of his lease; and by the time that should -expire, he had expressed his conviction that Dr. Whittaker would be -making his fortune. - -"All the more chance of it, Mrs. Prendergast," said Whittaker with his -smoothest smile, "that Wilmot will be out of my way; he's a -wonderfully clever fellow, wonderfully; and I can't imagine a more -popular physician. I assure you he reminds me, in his way of dealing -with a case, of Carlyle's description of Frederick the Great's eyes, -'rapidity resting upon depth.' Quite Wilmot--quite Wilmot, I assure -you." And Dr. Whittaker, considering that he had made a remarkably -good hit, took himself off, leaving Henrietta with new matter for her -thoughts. - - -The three women who thus pondered and thought and speculated about -Chudleigh Wilmot had plenty of time during which to indulge in these -vain occupations. Time passed on, and Mr. Foljambe's heir did not -present himself to the tide of congratulations which awaited him. The -first, interest of the intelligence died out. Other rich men died, and -left their wealth to other heirs expectant or non-expectant -"Foljambe's will" and "Wilmot's luck" had almost ceased to be talked -about when Chudleigh Wilmot ventured into society. Henrietta -Prendergast was the first of the three who saw him. As for Lady Muriel -and Madeleine, they were less likely to meet him than any women in -London; for the good reason that Wilmot sedulously avoided them. And -for a time successfully; but that was not always to be. He believed -that the page of the book of his life on which "Madeleine Kilsyth" was -written was closed for ever; Fate had written upon another, "Madeleine -Caird." - - - - -CHAPTER X. -Against the Grain. - - -Of all those who were in the habit of seeing Madeleine under -circumstances which made it possible for them to observe her closely, -her brother had been the last to perceive and the most reluctant to -acknowledge that the state of her health was far from satisfactory. -Ronald Kilsyth was habitually unobservant in matters of the kind; and -he usually saw Madeleine in the evening, when the false spirits and -deceptive flush of her disease produced an appearance of health and -vivacity which might have imposed upon a closer observer. He knew she -had a cough indeed; but then "Maddy always had a cough--I never -remember her without one," was the ready reply to any observations -made on the subject in his hearing, and to any misgivings which -occasionally flitted across his own mind. It did not occur to him that -in this "fact" there was no reply at all, but rather an additional -reason for apprehension concerning this cough. When Madeleine was a -child, it was acknowledged that she was delicate. "She had it from her -poor mother," Kilsyth would say--Kilsyth, who never had a day's -illness in his life, and in whose family ninety years was considered a -fair age. But she was to get strong, to "outgrow her delicacy" as she -grew up. When Madeleine was a girl, she was still delicate; perhaps -more continuously so than she had been as a child, though no longer -subject to the maladies of childhood; but she was to get stronger as -she grew older. Now Madeleine had grown older; the delicate girl, with -her fragile figure and poetical face, was no more; in her place was a -beautiful, self-possessed young woman--a wife, with a place in the -world, and a career before her. Strange, but Madeleine was still -delicate; the time unhesitatingly foretold, looked forward to so -anxiously with a kind of weary patience by her father, had come; but -it had not brought the anticipated, the desired result. Madeleine was -more delicate than ever. Her friends saw it, her father saw it; her -stepmother saw it more clearly than either--saw it with feelings which -would have been remorseful, had she not arrested their tendency in -that direction by constantly reminding herself that Madeleine had been -delicate as a child and as a girl; but her brother had not permitted -the fact to establish itself in his mind. - -The old affection, tacitly interrupted for a time, when Madeleine had -felt the unexpressed opposition of her brother to Chudleigh Wilmot, -had been as tacitly restored between them since Madeleine's marriage. -She had felt during that sad interval, all whose sadness was hidden -and unspoken, never taking an external shape, but formless, like a -sorrow in a dream, that circumstances and her surroundings were -stronger than she was; she had felt somewhat like a prisoner, against -and for whom conspiracies were formed, but who had no power to meddle -in them, and no distinct knowledge of their methods or objects. Mrs. -M'Diarmid, she vaguely felt, was for her, in the secret desire of her -heart; her brother against her. Ronald would have been successful in -any case, she had been quite sure, even if he had not been at once -justified and relieved of all apprehensions by Wilmot's departure. Hedid not care for her--he had gone away; they might each and all have -spared the pains they had taken--their bugbear had been only a myth. -Then Madeleine, in whose mind justice had a high place, turned again -to her brother as tacitly, as completely, without explanation, as she -had turned from him, and loved him, admired him, thought about him, -and clung to him as she had been wont to do. Which surprised Ronald -Kilsyth, who had taken it for granted that Madeleine, who had married -Ramsay Caird a good deal to the Captain's surprise--who had his -theories concerning affinities and analogies, into which this alliance -by no means fitted--but not at all to his displeasure, would discard -everybody in favour of her husband, and devote herself to him after the -gushing fashion of very young brides in ordinary. He had smiled grimly -to himself occasionally, as he wondered whether Lady Muriel would be -altogether satisfied with a match which was so largely of her own -bringing about, and by which, whatever advantages she had secured to -her own family, for whom she entertained a truly clannish attachment, -she had undeniably provided herself with a young, beautiful, and -ever-present rival in her own queendom of fashion and social sway. "Let -them fight it out," Captain Kilsyth had thought; "it would have been -pleasanter if Maddy had gone farther afield; but it cannot be helped. -I am sure she is glad to get away from Lady Muriel; and I am sure Lady -Muriel is glad to get rid of her. I don't understand her taking to -Caird in this way; for I am as strongly convinced as ever it was no -false alarm about Wilmot; she was in love with him; only," and his -face reddened, "thank God, she did not know it. However, it is time -wasted to wonder about women, even the best and the truest of them, -and no very humiliating acknowledgment to say I cannot understand -them." - -But Captain Kilsyth was destined to find himself unable to discard -reflection on his sister and her marriage after this fashion. -Madeleine put all his previously conceived ideas to rout, and -disconcerted all his expectations. She was by no means engrossed by -her husband; she did not assume any of the happy fussiness or fussy -happiness which he had observed exhibit themselves in _jeunes ménages_ -constructed on the old-fashioned principle of love, as opposed to the -modern expedient of _convenance_. She was just as friendly, just as -kindly with Ramsay Caird as she had been in the days before their -brief engagement, in the days when Ronald had found it difficult to -believe that Lady Muriel's wishes and plans would ever be realised. -She did not talk about her house, or give herself any of the pretty -"married-woman" airs which are additional charms in brides in their -teens. She led, as far as Ronald knew, much the same sort of life she -had led under her stepmother's chaperonage; and Kilsyth visited her -every day: Ronald too, when he was in town; and he soon felt that he -was all to her he had formerly been. The innocent, girlish, loving -heart had room and power for grief indeed, but none for a -half-understood anger, none for the prolongation of an involuntary -estrangement. So the first months of Madeleine's married life were -pleasant to her brother in his relations with her; and the first thing -which occurred to trouble his mind in reference to her was his -suspicion and dislike of certain points in Ramsay Caird's conduct -Here, again, Madeleine puzzled him. Naturally, he had no sooner -conceived this suspicious displeasure against the man to whom such an -immense trust as that of his sister's happiness had been committed -than he sought to discover by Madeleine's looks and manner whether and -how far her happiness was compromised by what he observed. But he -failed to discover any of the indications which he sought. Madeleine's -spirits were unequal, but her disposition had never been precisely -gay; and there was no trace of pique, sullenness, or the consciousness -of offence in her manner towards her husband. - - -It was when Ronald's indignation against Ramsay Caird was rising fast, -and he began to think Madeleine either unaccountably indifferent to -certain things which women of quite as gentle a nature as hers would -inevitably and reasonably resent, or that she was concealing her -sentiments, in the interests of her dignity, with a degree of skill -and cleverness for which he was far from having given her credit, that -his sister's delicate health for the first time attracted Ronald's -attention. And Mrs. M'Diarmid was the medium of the first -communication on the subject which alarmed him. - -As in all similar cases, attention once excited, anxiety once -awakened, the progress of both is rapid. Ronald questioned his father, -questioned Lady Muriel, questioned Ramsay Caird. In each instance the -result was the same. Madeleine was undoubtedly very delicate, and the -danger of alarming her, which, as her organisation was highly nervous -and sensitive, was considerable, presented a serious obstacle to the -taking of the active measures which had become undeniably desirable. - -One day Ronald went to see his sister earlier in the day than usual, -having been told by Mrs. M'Diarmid that her looks in the evening were -not by any paeans a reliable indication of the state of her health. He -found her lying on a sofa in her dressing-room, wholly unoccupied, and -with an expression of listless weariness in her face and figure which -even his unskilled judgment could not avoid observing and appreciating -with alarm. - -One hand was under her head, the other hung listlessly down; and as -Ronald drew near, and took it in his tenderly, he saw how thin the -fingers were, how blue the veins, how they marked their course too -strongly under the white skin, and how the rose-tint was gone. As he -took the gentle hand, he felt that it was cold; but it burned in his -clasp before he had held it a minute. Like all men of his stamp, -Ronald Kilsyth, when he was touched, was deeply touched; when his mood -was tender, it was very tender. Madeleine looked at him; and the love -and sadness in her smile pierced at once his well-defended heart. - -"What's this I hear, Maddy, about your not being well?" he said, as he -seated himself beside her sofa, and kissed her forehead--it was -slightly damp, he felt, and she touched it with her handkerchief -frequently while he stayed. "You were not complaining last week, when -I saw you last; and now I've just come up to town, and been to -Brook-street, I find my father and my lady quite full of your not being -well. What is it all, Maddy? what are you suffering from, and why have -you said nothing about it?" - -"I am not very ill, Ronald," said Madeleine, raising herself, and -propping herself up on her cushions by leaning on her elbow, one hand -under her head, its fingers in her golden hair; more profuse and -beautiful than ever Ronald thought the hair was. "I am really not a -bit worse than I have been; only I suddenly felt a few days ago that I -could not go on making efforts, and going out, and seeing people, and -all that kind of thing, any longer; and then papa got uneasy about me. -I assure you that is the only difference; and you know it does grow -horribly tiresome, dear, don't you? At least you don't know, because -you never would do it; and you were right; but I--I hadn't much else -to do, and it does not do to seem peculiar; and I went on as long as I -could. But this last week was really too much for me, and I had to -tell Lady Muriel I must be quiet; and so I have been quiet, lying -here." - -She gave her brother this simple explanation, her blue eyes looking at -him with a smile, and a tone in her voice as though she prayed him not -to blame her. - -"My poor child, my darling Maddy!" said Ronald, "to think of your -trying to go on in that way, and feeling so unequal to it, and -fancying alll the time you must! What a wonderful life of humbug and -delusion you women lead, to be sure, either with your will or against -it! Now tell me, does Ramsay know how ill you are, and how you have -been doing all sorts of things which are most unfit for yon, until you -are quite worn out?" - -"Ramsay is very kind," said Madeleine; and then she hesitated, and the -colour deepened painfully in her face; "but you know, Ronald, men are -not very patient with women when they are only ailing; if I were -seriously ill; it would be quite a different thing. Re really is not -in the least to blame," she went on hurriedly; "he gets bored at home, -you know; and since I have not been feeling strong, it has been quite -a relief to me to be alone." - -"I see--I understand," said Ronald; but his tone did not reassure -Madeleine. - -"You really must not blame him," she repeated. "You know _you_ -yourself did not perceive that I was ill before you went away; and it -is only within the last week, I assure you. I suppose the cough has -weakened me; for some time, in the morning, I have felt giddy going -downstairs, so I thought it better not to try it until I get -stronger." - -"I have not heard you cough much, Madeleine, that is, not more than -usual, you know. You have always had a cough, more or less." - -"Yes," said Madeleine simply, "ever since I was born, I believe; but -it is never really bad, except in the morning, and sometimes at night. -Up to this time I have got on very well in the day and the afternoon; -and I like the evening best of all, if I am not too tired. I feel -quite bright in the evening, especially when I take my drops." - -"What drops, Maddy?" - -"The drops Sir Saville Rowe ordered for me last winter," said -Madeleine. "I got on very well with them, and I don't want anything -else. Papa wants me to see some of the great doctors, but there's -really no occasion; and I hate strangers. Dr. Whittaker comes -occasionally--as Sir Saville wished--and he does well enough. The mere -idea of seeing a stranger now--in that way--would make me nervous and -miserable." Indeed she flushed up again, looked excited and feverish, -and a violent fit of coughing came on, and interrupted any -remonstrance on Ronald's part, which perhaps she dreaded. - -But she need not have dreaded such remonstrance. There was a -consciousness in Ronald's heart which kept him silent; and besides, -with every word his sister had spoken, with every instant during which -his examination of her, close though furtive, had lasted, increasing -alarm had taken firmer hold of him. How had he been so blind? How had -he been content to accept appearances in Madeleine's case? how had he -failed to search and examine rightly into the story of this marriage, -and satisfy himself that his sister's heart was in it, that she had -really forgotten Wilmot? For a conviction seized upon Ronald Kilsyth, -as he looked at his sister and listened to her, that had she been -really happy, this state of things would not have existed. In the -angry and suspicious state of his feelings towards Wilmot, he had -accorded little attention, and less credence, to his father's -confidences respecting Wilmot's opinion and warnings about Madeleine's -health. He was too honourable, too true a gentleman, even in his anger -to set down Wilmot as insincere, as acting like a charlatan or an -alarmist; but he had dismissed the matter from his thoughts with -disregard and impatience. How awfully, how fatally wrong he had been! -And a flame of anger sprung wildly up in his heart; anger which -involved equally himself and Lady Muriel. - -Yes, Lady Muriel! All he had thought and done, he had thought and done -at her instigation; and though, when Ronald thought the matter over -calmly afterwards, as was his wont, he was unable to believe that any -other course than that which had ended in the complete separation of -Wilmot and Madeleine would have been possible, still he was tormented -with this blind burning anger. - -When Lady Muriel had aroused his suspicions, had awakened his fears, -Wilmot was a married man; but when he had acted upon these fears and -suspicions, Wilmot's wife was dead. "It might have been," then he -thought. True; but would he not, being without the knowledge, the fear -which now possessed him, have at any time, and under any -circumstances, prevented it? It cost him a struggle now, when the -knowledge and the fear had come, and his mind was full of them, to -acknowledge that he would; but Ronald was essentially an honest -man--he made the struggle and the acknowledgment. In so far he had no -right to blame Lady Muriel. - -In so far--but what about Ramsay Caird? How, had that marriage been -brought about? How had his sister been induced to marry a man whom he -now felt assured she did not lave?--something had revealed it to him, -nothing she had said, nothing she had looked. How had this marriage, -by which his sister had not gained in rank, wealth, or position, been -brought about? (He thought at this stage of his meditations, with a -sigh, that Wilmot could even have given her wealth now--how _bizarre_ -the arrangements of fate are!) How had that been done? By Lady Muriel -of course, and no other. Maddy might have remained contentedly enough -at home, might have been suffered gradually to forget Wilmot, and -enticed into the amusements and distractions natural to her age and -position; there was no need for this extreme measure of inducing her -to fix her fate precipitately by a marriage with Ramsay Caird. Yes, -Lady Muriel had done it; done it to secure Madeleine's fortune to a -relative of her own, and to disembarrass herself of a grown-up -stepdaughter. How blind he had been, how completely he had played into -her hands! Thus thought Ronald, as he strode about his bare room at -Brook-street, his face haggard with care, and his heart sick with the -terrible fear which had smitten it with his first look at Madeleine. - -Ronald's interview with his sister had been long and painful to him, -though nothing, or very little more, had been said on the subject of -her health. He had perceived her anxiety to abridge discussion on that -point, and had fallen in with her humour. Once or twice, as he talked -with her, he had asked her if she was quite sure he was not wearying -her, if she did not feel tired or inclined to sleep, if he should go, -and send her maid to her. But to all his questions she replied no; she -was quite comfortable, and had not felt so happy for a long time; and -she had begged him to stay with her as long as he could. The brother -and sister talked of numerous subjects--much of Kilsyth, and their -childhood; a little of their several modes of life in the present; and -sometimes the current of their talk would be broken by Madeleine's low -musical laugh, but oftener by the miserable cough, from which Ronald -shrunk appalled, wondering that he ever could have heard it without -alarm, with indifference. But the truth was, he had never heard it at -all. The cough had changed its character; and the significance which -it had assumed, and which crept coldly with its hollow sound to -Ronald's heart, was new. - -Ronald had a dinner engagement for that day, and remained with his -sister until it was time to go home and dress. He looked into -Kilsyth's room on his way to the hall-door, when he had completed -that operation; but his father was not there. "I will speak to him in -the morning," thought Ronald. "I was impatient with him for croaking, -as I thought, about Maddy. God help him, I'm much mistaken, or it's -worse than he thinks for." - -And so Captain Kilsyth went out to dinner, and was colder in his -manner and much less lucid and decisive in his conversation than -usual. He left the party early, did not "join the ladies;" and all the -other guests, notably "the ladies" themselves, were of opinion that -they had no loss. - - -"If Wilmot had not gone away when he did," said Kilsyth to his son, at -an advanced stage of the long and sad conversation which took place -between them on the following morning, "Maddy would have been quite -well now. Nobody understood her as he did; you must have seen it to -have believed it, Ronald. You always had some unaccountable prejudice -against Wilmot--I could not get to the bottom of it--but you must have -acknowledged _that_, if you had seen it." - -"It is too late to talk about that now, sir," said Ronald; "and you -are quite mistaken in supposing that I undervalue Dr. Wilmot's -ability. But something decisive must be done at once; and as Wilmot's -advice is not to be had, we must procure the best within our reach. -There is no use now in looking back; but I do wonder Caird has -permitted her to be without good advice all this time, and has -suffered us to be so misled. He must have known of the cough being so -bad in the morning, and of her exhaustion at times when neither you -nor Lady Muriel saw her." - -Kilsyth sighed. "I spoke to him yesterday," he said, "and I found him -very easy about the matter. He says Maddy wouldn't have a strange -doctor." - -"Maddy wouldn't have a strange doctor! My dear father, what perfect -nonsense! As if Maddy were the proper person to judge on such a -subject--as if she ever ought to have been asked or consulted! As if -anyone in what I fear is her state ever had any consciousness of -danger! I recognise Caird completely in that, his invincible easiness, -his selfishness, his--" - -He stopped. Kilsyth was looking at him, new concern and anxiety in his -face; and Ronald had no desire to cause either, beyond the absolute -necessity of the case, to his father. - -"However," he said, "let us at least be energetic now. Come with me to -see her now, and then we will consult someone with a first-rate -reputation. Maddy will not offer any resistance when she sees your -anxiety, and knows your wishes." - -Kilsyth and his son walked out together; and in the street he took -Ronald's arm. He was changed, enfeebled, by the fear which had -captured him a few days since, and held him inexorably in its grasp. - -Madeleine received her father and brother cheerfully. As usual now, -she was in her dressing-room, and also, as usual, she was lying down. -Ramsay Caird had told her the previous evening that her father was -anxious she should have immediate advice, and she was prepared to -accede to the wish. Not that she shared it; not that, as Ronald -supposed, she was unconscious of her danger, as consumptive persons -usually are. Quite the contrary, in fact. Madeleine Caird firmly -believed that she was dying; only she did not in the least wish to -live; and neither did she wish that her father should learn the fact -before it became inevitable, which she felt it must, so soon as an -experienced medical opinion should be taken upon her case. - -But a certain dulness of all her faculties had made itself felt within -the last few days, and she was particularly under its influence just -then. She had neither the power nor the inclination to combat any -opinion, to dissent from any wish. So she said, "Certainly, papa, if -it will make your mind any easier about me;" and twined her thin arm -round her father's neck and kissed him, when he said, "I may bring a -doctor to see you then, my darling, and you will tell him all about -yourself." - -Her arm was still about his neck, and his brow was resting against her -cheek, when he said: - -"Ah, if Wilmot were only here! No one ever understood you like Wilmot, -my darling." - -Neither Ronald nor Madeleine said a word in reply; and when Ronald -took leave of his sister, he avoided meeting her glance. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. -Iconoclastic. - - -In this great London world of ours it is our boast that we live free -and unfettered by the opinions of our neighbours; that we may be -unacquainted with those persons who for a score of years have resided -on either side of us; that our sayings and doings, our "goings on," -the company we keep, the lives we lead, and the pursuits we follow, -are nothing to anybody, and are consequently unnoticed. We pride -ourselves on this not a little; we shrug our shoulders and elevate our -eyebrows when we talk of the small scandal and the petty spite of -provincial towns; we are grateful that, in whatever state the larger -vices may be, the smaller ones, at all events, do not flourish among -us; and, in short, we take to ourselves enormous credit for the -possession of something which has not the slightest real existence, -and for the absence of something else which is of daily growth. It is -true that in London a man need not be particular about the shape of -his hat or the cut of his coat, so far as London itself is concerned, -any more than he need fear that his having taken too much wine at a -public dinner, or held a lengthened flirtation with a barmaid, will -appear in the public prints; but in his own circle, be it high or low, -large or small, pharisaical or liberal-minded, as much attention will -be paid to all he does, his speeches, actions, and mode of life will -be the subject of as much spiteful comment, as if he lived at Hull or -vegetated at York. The insane desire to talk about trifles, to indulge -in childish chit-chat and terrible twaddle, to erect mole-hills into -mountains, and to find spots in social suns, exists everywhere amongst -people who have nothing to do, and who carry out the doctrine laid -down by Dr. Watts by applying their "idle hands" to "some mischief -still." The Duke of Dilworth, interested in the management of his own -estates, looking after the race-horses under his trainer's care, -hunting up his political influence, and seeing that it sustains no -diminution, marking catalogues of coming picture-sales for purchases -which he has long expected must enter the market, devising alterations -in his Highland shooting-box, planning yachting expeditions, going -through, in fact, that business of pleasure which is the real business -of his life, has no time for profitless talk and ridiculous gossip, -which, as his grace says, "he leaves for women." But the women like -what is left for them. The Duchess and the Ladies Daffy have none of -these occupations to fill the "fallow leisure of their lives"--their -calls and visits, their fête-attendances and garden-parties, their -play at poor-visitings and High-Church-service frequentings, leave -them yet an enormous margin of waste time, which is more or less -filled up by tattle of a generally derogatory nature. It is the same -in nearly every class of life: men must work, and women must talk; and -when they talk, their conversation is robbed of half its zest and -point if it be not disparaging and detrimental to their dearest -friends. - -It was not to be imagined that the Ramsay-Caird _ménage_, even had it -been very differently constituted, could have escaped criticism; as it -was, it courted it. The mere fact of Ramsay Caird himself having -somehow or other slipped into the society of _nous autres_ (it was -solely through the Kilsyths that he was known in the set), and having -had the audacity to carry away one of the prizes, would in itself have -attracted sufficient attention to him and his, had other inducements -been wanting. But other inducements were not wanting. The alteration -which had taken place in Madeleine since her illness in Scotland, more -especially since the time of the announcement of her engagement, was -matter of public comment; and all kinds of stories were set afloat by -her dearest friends to account for it. That she had had some dreadful -love-affair, highly injudicious, impossible of achievement, was one of -the most romantic; and being one of the most mischievous, consequently -became one of the most popular theories, the only difficulty being to -find for this desperate affair--which, it was said, had superinduced -her illness, scarlet-fever being, as is well known to the faculty, -essentially a mental disease--a hero. The list of visitors to the -house was discussed in half-a-dozen different places; but no one at -all likely to fill the character could be found, until Colonel -Jefferson was accidentally hit upon. This, coupled with the fact that -Colonel Jefferson's mad pursuit of Lady Emily Fairfax, which everyone -knew had so long existed, had ceased about that time, was extensively -promulgated, and pretty generally accepted. So extensively -promulgated, that it reached the ears of Colonel Jefferson himself, -and elicited from him an expression of opinion couched in language -rather stronger than that gallant officer usually permitted himself -the use of--to the effect that, if he found anyone engaged in the -fetching and carrying of such infernal lies, he, Colonel Jefferson, -should make it his business to inflict personal chastisement on him, -the said fetcher and carrier. A representation of this kind coming -from a very big and strong man, who in such matters had the reputation -of keeping his promise, had the effect of doing away with all -identification of Mrs. Ramsay Caird's supposed heartbroken lover, and -of restoring him his anonymity, but the fact of his existence, still -was whispered abroad; else why had one of the brightest girls of the -past season--not that there was ever anything in her very clever, or -that she was ever anything but extremely "missy," but still a -pleasant, cheerful kind of girl in her way--why had she become dull -and _triste_, and obviously uncaring for anything? That was what -society wanted to know. - -As for her husband, as for Ramsay Caird, society's tongue said very -little about him; but society's shoulders, and eyebrows, and hands, -and fluttering fans, hinted a great deal. Society was divided on the -subject of Mr. Ramsay Caird. One portion of it threw out nebulous -allusions to the fascinations of Madame Favorita of the Italian Opera, -suggested the usual course pursued by beggars who had been set upon -horseback, wondered how Madeleine's relations could endure the state -of things which existed under their very eyes, and thought that the -time could not be very far distant when Captain Kilsyth--who had the -name, as you very well know, my dear, for being so very particular in -such matters, not to say strait-laced--would call his brother-in-law -to account for his goings on. The other portion of society was more -liberal, so far at least as the gentleman was concerned. What, it -asked, was the position of a man who found his newly-married wife -evidently preoccupied with the loss of some previous flirtation? What -was to be expected from a man who had found Dead-Sea apples instead of -fruit, and utter indifference instead of conjugal love and domestic -happiness? The _nous-autres_ feeling penetrated into the discussion. -It was not likely that a young man who had been brought up in a -different sphere, who had been, if what people said was correct, a -clerk or something of the kind to a lawyer in Edinburgh, could -comprehend the necessity for such a course of conduct under the -circumstances as the belonging to their class would naturally dictate. -If Mr. Caird had made a mistake--well, mistakes were often made, often -without getting the equivalent which he, in allying himself with an old -family in the position of the Kilsyths, had secured for himself. But -they were always borne _sub silentio_--at all events the sufferer, -however he might seek for distraction in private, did not let the -mistake which he had made, and the means he had adopted for his own -compensation, become such common gossip-matter for the world at large. - -Such conversation as this is not indulged in without its reaching the -ears of those most concerned. When one says most concerned, one means -those likely to take most concern in it. It is doubtful if Madeleine's -ears were ever disturbed by any of the rumours in which she played so -prominent a part. It is certain that her husband never knew of the -interest which he excited in so many of his acquaintances; equally -certain that if he had known it, the knowledge thus gained would not -have caused him an emotion. Lady Muriel, however, was fully acquainted -with all that was said. The world, which did her homage as one of its -queens of fashion, took every possible occasion to remind her that she -was mortal, and found no better opportunity than in pointing out the -mistake which she had made in the marriage of her stepdaughter and the -settlement in life of her _protégé_. Odd words dropped here and there, -sly hints, innuendoes, phrases capable of double meaning, and always -receiving the utmost perversion which could be employed in their -warping, nay, in some instances, anonymous letters--the basest shifts -to which treachery can stoop,--all these ingredients were made use of -for the poisoning of Lady Muriel's cup of life, and for the -undermining of that pinnacle to which society had raised her. - -Nor was Ronald Kilsyth ignorant of the world's talk and the world's -expressions. Isolate himself as much as he would, be as self-contained -and as solitary as an oyster, fend off confidence, shut his ears to -gossip,--all he could do was to exclude pleasant things from him; the -unpleasant had penetrating qualities, and invariably made their way. -He knew well enough what was said in every kind of society about Mr. -and Mrs. Ramsay Caird. When he dined away from the mess, he had a -curiously unpleasant feeling that advantage would be taken of his -absence to discuss that unfortunate _ménage_. When he dined at his -club, he had a morbid horror lest the two men seated at the next table -should begin to talk about it. The disappointment about the whole -thing had been so great as to make him morbidly sensitive on the -point, to ascribe to it far greater interest than it really possessed -for the world in general, and to allow it to prey on his mind, and -seriously to influence his health. It had been such a consummate -failure! And he, as he owned to himself,--he was primarily responsible -for the marriage! If Lady Muriel had not had his assistance, she would -never have carried her point of getting Madeleine for Ramsay Caird; -one word from him would have nipped that acquaintance in the bud, -would have stopped the completion of the project, no matter how far it -had advanced. And he had never said that word. Why? He comforted -himself by thinking that Caird had never shown himself in his real -character before his marriage; but the fact was, although Ronald would -not avow it, that he had been hoodwinked by the deference so deftly -paid to him both by his stepmother and her confederate, who had -consulted him on all points, and cajoled him and used him as a tool in -their hands. He thought over all this very bitterly now; he saw how he -had been treated, and stamped and raved in impotent fury as he -remembered how he had been led on step by step, and how weak and -vacillating he must have appeared in a matter in which he was most -deeply interested, and which, during the whole of its progress, he -thought he was managing so well. - -To no man in London could such a _fiasco_ as his sister's marriage had -turned out be more oppressively overwhelming, productive of more -thorough disgust and annoyance than to Ronald Kilsyth. The _fiasco_ -was so glaring, that at once two points on which the young man most -prided himself stood impugned. Everyone knew that dear old Kilsyth -himself would not have interfered in such a matter, and that the final -settlement of it, after Lady Muriel's light skirmishing had been done, -must have been left to Ronald, who was the sensible one of the family. -He had then, in the eyes of the world, either had so little care for -his sister's future as to sanction her marriage with a very ineligible -man, or so little natural perspicacity and sharpness as to be deceived -by such a shallow pretender as Caird. That anyone should entertain -either of these suppositions was gall and wormwood to Ronald. He whose -reputation forclear-headedness and far-seeing had only been equalled by -the esteem in which by all men he had been held for his strict honesty -and probity and the Spartan quality of his virtue,--that he should be -suspected--more than suspected, in certain quarters accused--of folly -or want of proper caution where his sister was concerned, was to him -inexpressibly painful. Perhaps the worst thing of all was to know that -people knew that he was aware of what was said, and that he suffered -under the tittle-tattle and the gossip. He tried to forget that idea, -to dispel and do away with it by changing his usual habits; he went -about; he was seen--for one week--oftener in society than he had been -for months previously: but the morbid feeling came upon him there; he -fancied that people noticed his presence, and attributed it to its -right cause; that every whisper which was uttered in the room had -Madeleine for its burden; that the whole company had their minds -filled with him, and were thinking of him either pityingly, -sarcastically, or angrily, according to their various temperaments. - -He avoided Brook-street at this time as religiously as he avoided the -little residence in Squab-street. He did not particularly care about -meeting his father, though he thought Kilsyth would probably know -nothing of what so many were talking of; and he had resolutely shunned -a meeting with Lady Muriel, for Ronald in his inmost heart did his -stepmother a gross injustice. He fully believed that she was perfectly -cognisant of Ramsay Caird's real character; whereas, in truth, no one -had been more astonished at what her _protégé_ had proved himself than -Lady Muriel--and very few more distressed. Ronald, however, thought -otherwise; and being a gentleman, he carefully avoided meeting her -ladyship, lest he might lose his temper and forget himself. The -Kilsyth blood _was_ hot, and even in the heir to the name there had -been occasions when it was pretty nearly up to boiling-point. - -For the same reason he avoided all chance of running across his -brother-in-law. In common with most men of strong feelings always -kept in a state of repression, Ronald Kilsyth was particularly -sensitive; and the idea of the publicity already accruing to this -wretched business being increased by any possible tattle of open -rupture between members of the family horrified him dreadfully. If he -did not dare trust himself with Lady Muriel, he should certainly have -to exercise a much stronger command over himself in the event of his -ever meeting Ramsay Caird. Every governing principle of his life rose -up within him against that young man; and on the first occasion of his -hearing--accidentally, as men often hear things of the greatest import -to themselves--of Mr. Caird's doings, Ronald Kilsyth had for the whole -night paced his barrack-room, trying in every possible form to pick -such a quarrel with Caird as might leave no real clue to its origin, -and enable him to work out his revenge without compromising anyone. -But he soon saw the futility of any such proceeding, which, carried -out between _sous-officiers_, might form the basis of a French drama, -but which was impossible of execution between English gentlemen, and -elected absence from Squab-street, and total ignorance of Mr. Caird's -mode of procedure, as his best aids to a tolerably quiet life for -himself. Besides, absence from Squab-street meant absence from -Madeleine; and absence from Madeleine meant a great deal to Ronald -Kilsyth. He, in his self-examination found Madeleine's behaviour since -her marriage the one point on which he could neither satisfy himself -by a feeling of pity nor bluster himself into a fit of indignation. He -knew well enough what her abstracted manner, her dulness, her sad -weary preoccupied mind, her impossibility to join in the nonsensical -talk floating around her,--he knew well enough what all these symptoms -meant. . If he had ever doubted that his sister had a strong affection -for Wilmot--and it is due to his perspicacity to say that no such -doubt ever crossed his mind--he would have been certain of it now. If -he had ever hoped--and he had hoped very earnestly--that any girlish -predilection which his sister might have entertained for Wilmot was -merely girlish and evanescent, and would pass away with her marriage, -he could not more effectually have blighted any such chance than by -marrying her to the man whose suit he, her brother, had himself urged -her to accept Perhaps under happier circumstances that childish dream -would have passed away, merged into a more happy realisation; but as -it had eventuated, Ronald knew perfectly well that Madeleine could not -but contrast the blank loveless present with the bright past, could -not but compare the days when she now sat solitary and uncared for -with those when the man for whom she had such intense veneration--for -whom, as she doubtless had afterwards discovered, she had such honest, -earnest love--had given up everything else to attend to her and shield -her in the hour of danger. With such feelings as these at his heart, -it was but little wonder that Ronald sedulously avoided being thrown -in Madeleine's way. - -He had always been so "odd;" his comings, and goings in Brook-street -had been so uncertain; it was so utterly impossible to tell when he -might or might not be expected at his father's house, that his -prolonged absence caused no astonishment to any of the members of the -family, nor to any one of their regular visitors. Lady Muriel, indeed, -with a kind of guilty consciousness of participation in his feelings, -guessed the reason why her step-son eschewed their society; but no one -else. And Lady Muriel, who from her first suspicion of Ramsay Caird's -conduct--suspicion not entertained, be it understood, until some time -after the marriage--had looked forward with great fear and trembling -to a grand _éclaircissement_, a searching explanation with Ronald, in -which she would have to undergo an amount of cross-questioning in his -hardest manner, and a judgment which would inevitably be pronounced -against her, was rather glad that this whim had taken possession of -Ronald, and that her _dies irae_ was consequently indefinitely -deferred. But it happened one day that Ronald, walking down to -Knightsbridge barracks, came upon his father waiting to cross the road -at the corner of Sloane-street, and came upon him so "plump" and so -suddenly, that retreat was impossible. The young man accordingly, -seeing how matters stood, advanced, and took his father by the hand. - -In an instant he saw that one other, at all events, had suffered from -the--well, there was no other word for it--the disgrace, the -discredit, to say the least of it, which had fallen on the family -during the past few months. Kilsyth seemed aged by ten years. The -light had died out of his bright blue eyes, and left them glassy and -colourless, with red rims and heavy dark "pads" underneath each. The -bright healthy colour had faded from his cheeks, and few would have -recognised the lithe and active mountaineer, the never-tiring -pedestrian, and the keen shot, in the bent and shrunken form which -stood half-leaning on, half-idly dallying with, its stick. He -pressed his son's hand warmly, however; and something like his -well-known kind old smile lighted up his face as he exclaimed-- - -"Ronald, I'm glad to see you, my boy! very glad! You've not been near -us for ages! And not merely that--I can understand that--we're not -very good company for young people now in Brook-street; there's little -inducement to come there now since poor Maddy has left us. But I don't -think that I was ever half so long in London without dining with you -as your guest over there at the barracks. I used to like an outing -with your fellows there; it brisked me up, and made me forget what an -old fogie I am growing; but--but you haven't given me the chance this -time, sir,--you haven't given me the chance!" - -There was something in the evidently strained attempt at cheeriness -with which his father said these words which contrasted so strongly -with the depression under which it was impossible for him to prevent -showing he was labouring, and with the marked alteration in his -personal appearance, that touched Ronald deeply. His heart sank within -him, and his tongue grew dry; he had to clear his throat before he -replied--and even then huskily-- - -"It _is_ a long time since we've met, sir; and I confess the fault is -mine--entirely mine. The fact is I've been very much engaged -lately--regimental duty, and--and some business in which I've been -particularly interested--business which I fear you would hardly care -about--and--" - -"Likely enough, my dear boy!" said Kilsyth, coming to his rescue, as -he floundered about in a way very unusual to him. "Likely enough! I -never did care particularly for a good many of your pursuits, you -know, Ronald, though I tried very hard at one time--when you were -quite a lad, I recollect--to understand them and share in them. But -that was not to be. I was not bright enough. I'm of the old school, -and what we old fellows cared about seems to have died out with our -youth, and never to have interested anybody ever since. I don't say -this complainingly--not in the least--but it was deuced odd. However, -I'm very glad I've met you, Ronald, for I have long wished--and -lately, within the last few days more especially--to have a talk with -you, a serious talk, my boy, which will take up some little time. Have -you half-an-hour you can give me now? I shall be very glad if you -have." - -It was coming at last. He had but put off the evil day, and now it was -upon him. Well--better to hear himself condemned by his father than by -anyone else. Let it come. - -"My time is yours, sir," said Ronald, almost echoing Wilmot, as he -remembered, on the day of that eventful interview in Charles-street. -"I shall of course be delighted to give my best attention to anything -you may have to say." - -"Well, then, let's take a turn in the Park opposite," said Kilsyth, -hooking his arm into his son's. "Not among the people there, where we -should be perpetually interrupted by having to speak to those folks -who bail one so good-naturedly at every step, but away on the grass -there, by ourselves." - -The two men passed through the Albert Gate, and turning to the right, -struck on to the piece of turf lying between the Row and the Drive. A -few children were playing about, a few nurse-maids were here and there -gossiping together; else they had it all to themselves. - -"I want to talk to you," commenced Kilsyth, "about your sister--about -Maddy. I have been a good deal to Squab-street in the last few weeks, -and I've thought Maddy looks anything but as I should wish her to -look. Has that struck you, Ronald?" - -"I--I'm sorry to say that I haven't seen Madeleine for some little -time, sir. The business which, as I just explained to you, has -prevented my coming to Brook-street has equally prevented me from -calling on her." - -"Of course, yes! I beg pardon--I forgot! Well, Maddy looks anything -but well. For a long time past--indeed ever since her marriage--she -has been singularly low-spirited and dull; very unlike her usual -self." - -"I don't know that that is much to be wondered at. Madeleine was -always a peculiar girl, in the sense that she had an extraordinary -attachment for her home; and the fact of being parted from you, with -whom all her life has been passed, and to whom she is devotedly -attached, may explain the cause of any little temporary lowness of -spirits." - -"Ye-es, that's true so far; but it's not that; I wish I could think it -was. What you say, though, Ronald, I think gets somewhat near the real -cause. Maddy has been unlike most other girls of her class; much more -home-y and domestic, thinking much more of those around her with whom -she has been brought into daily contact than of the outside pleasures, -if I may so call them. And she's had a great deal of love. She's -accustomed to it, and can't get on without it. Love's just as -essential to Madeleine as light to the flowers, or the keen clear air -to the stags. She's had it all her life, and she would die without it. -And, Ronald, I'll say to you what I'd not say to another soul upon -earth, but what's lying heavy on my heart this month past--I doubt -much whether she gets it, my boy; I doubt much whether she gets it." - -The old man stopped suddenly in his walk, and clutched his son's arm, -and looked up earnestly into his son's fade. There was so much sharp -agony in the glance, hurried and fleeting though it was, that Ronald -scarcely knew what to say in reply to the quivering jerky speech. - -His father saved him from his embarrassment by continuing: "I don't -think she gets the love that she's been accustomed to, and that she -had a right to expect. I tell you that Maddy is not happy, Ronald; -that her little heart aches and pines for want of sympathy, for want -of appreciation, for want of love. I'm an old fellow; but in this case -I suppose my affection for my darling has opened my eyes, and I can -see it all plainly." - -"Don't you think, sir, that your undoubted devotion to Madeleine may, -on the other hand, have had the effect of warping your judgment a -little, and prejudicing you in the matter? Though I've not seen my -sister very lately, when I did see her I confess I did not observe any -marked difference in her--any difference at all from what she has been -during the last few months." - -"The last few months! That's just it; that's just what--however, we'll -come to that presently. I _know_ you're wrong, Ronald; I _know_ that -Madeleine is thoroughly changed and altered from the bright darling -girl of the old days. And I know why, my boy! God help me, I know -why!" - -Again Ronald essayed to speak, and again he only muttered -unintelligibly. - -"Because her home is unhappy," said Kilsyth, stopping short in his -walk, and dropping his voice to a whisper; "because the marriage into -which she was--was persuaded--I will use no harsh words--has proved a -wretched one for her; because her husband has proved himself to -be--God forgive me--a scoundrel!" - -"You speak strongly, sir, notwithstanding your professions," said -Ronald, on whom warm words of any kind had always the effect of -rendering him even more cold and stoical than was his wont. - -"I speak strongly because I feel strongly, Ronald! I don't expect you -to share my feelings in this matter, but I do expect you to have some -of your own, although you may not show them. For God's sake cast aside -for a few minutes that cloak of frost in which you always shroud -yourself, and let us talk as father and son about one who is daughter -to the one and sister to the other!" - -Ronald looked up in surprise. He had never seen his father so much -excited before. - -"I have no doubt about this," continued Kilsyth. "I have hoped against -hope, and I have shut my eyes against what I have seen, hoping they -might be fancies; and my ears against what I have heard, hoping they -might be lies. But I can befool myself in this manner no longer. Ah! -to think of my darling thus--to think of my darling thus!" Tears -started to the old man's eyes, and he smote fiercely with his stick -upon the ground. - -"If you are really persuaded of this, sir," said Ronald, "it is our -duty to take immediate measures. Mr. Caird must be taught--" - -"Who brought him to our house?" asked Kilsyth in a storm of passion; -"or rather--not that--but when he was brought, who backed him up and -encouraged him in every way? You, Ronald! you--you--you! By your -advice he was permitted free access to the house, was constantly -thrown in Madeleine's company, and gave the world to understand that -he was going to marry her. I postponed the settling of the engagement -once; but the second time, when--when I fancied that the child might -have had some other views--might have formed some other fancy--you -persuaded me to agree, and--" - -"You should apportion the blame properly, sir," said Ronald in his -coldest tones. "I did not introduce Caird to your house, nor was I the -principal advocate of his cause." - -"You're quite right, Ronald, quite right--and I've been hasty and -passionate and inconsiderate, I know; but if you knew how utterly -heartbroken I am--" - -"I think, with regard to Mr. Caird," interrupted Ronald, "the best -plan will be--" - -"No, no; not Caird now--leave him for the present; afterwards we'll do -for him. Now about Maddy--nothing but about Maddy--and not about her -dulness, or anything of that kind, nor--worse, much worse--you -recollect--no, you didn't know; I think you weren't there--what -Wilmot, Dr. Wilmot, said to me at Kilsyth about her chest? He told me -that one of her lungs was threatened--that the lungs were her weak -point; and he asked me whether any of our family had suffered from -such disease." - -"Well, sir," said Ronald, anxiously now. - -"This disease has been gaining ground for months past; I'm sure of it. -I have had my opinions for some time; but Maddy never complains, you -know, and I didn't like to ask her about her symptoms, lest she might -be frightened. But within the last few days she has been so bad that -It has been evident to us all, to myself and--and Lady Muriel that the -disease was on the increase. She caught cold at the theatre the other -night, and her cough is now frightful. I have seen her just now, poor -darling! She was on the sofa, but very weak--all they could do to get -her there--and when the paroxysms of coughing come on it's awful to -see her--she hardly seems to have the strength to live through them. -My poor darling Maddy!" - -"What do the doctors say, sir? Who is attending her?" - -"Whittaker--Dr. Whittaker--a very good man in his way, I daresay -but--I don't know--somehow I don't think much of him. Now that is the -very point I wanted to talk to you about. Somehow--how, I never -understood--somebody--I don't know who--offended Dr. Wilmot, a man to -whom we were under the greatest obligation for kindness rendered; and -though he has been back in England for some time, he has never called -in Brook-street, nor on Madeleine even, since his return. There is no -one in whom I have such faith; there is no one, I am convinced, who -understands Madeleine's constitution like Wilmot; and I want to know -what is the best method for us to put our pride in our pockets and -implore him to come and see her." - -"You were not thinking of asking Dr. Wilmot to visit Madeleine?" - -"I was indeed. What objection could there possibly be?" - -"I suppose you know that he has retired from practice, that he even -declines to attend consultations, since he inherited Mr. Foljambe's -money?" - -"I know that; but I am perfectly certain, from what I saw of him at -Kilsyth, that if I were to go to him and tell him the state of -affairs, he would overlook anything that may have annoyed him, and -come and see Maddy at once." - -"That would be a condescension!" said Ronald. "Perhaps it might be on -the other side that the 'overlooking' might be required. However, -there are other reasons, sir, why I, for one, should think it highly -inadvisable that Dr. Wilmot should be requested to visit my sister." - -"What are they, then, in Heaven's name, man?" said Kilsyth petulantly. -"You don't seem to see that the matter is of the utmost urgency." - -"It is because of its urgency that I speak of it at all; it is by no -means a pleasant topic for me or for any of us. You spoke to me just -now, sir, in warm words of the part I took in pressing Ramsay Caird to -visit at your house, and supporting his claims for Madeleine. I don't -know that I was at all eager for it at first; I'm certain I never -cared particularly for Ramsay Caird; but I freely own that latterly I -did my best for him, convinced that a speedy alliance with him was the -only chance of rescuing Madeleine from another offer which I was sure -was impending--which would have been far more objectionable, and yet -which she would have accepted." - -"Another offer?--from whom?" - -"From the gentleman of whom you entertain so high an opinion--from Dr. -Wilmot." - -"From Wilmot! An offer from Wilmot to Madeleine! You must be mad, -Ronald!" - -"I never was more sane in my life, sir. I repeat, I am perfectly -certain Dr. Wilmot was in love with Madeleine, that he would have made -her an offer, and that she would have accepted him." - -"And why should she not have accepted him? God knows I would have -welcomed him for a son-in-law, and--" - -"I scarcely think this is the time to enter into that subject, sir; -but now that I have enlightened you, I presume you see the objection -to calling in Dr. Wilmot to my sister." - -"I see the difficulty, Ronald; but the objection and the difficulty -shall be overcome. You shall yourself go and see Wilmot; and I know -he'll not refuse you." - -"Don't you think, sir, before I take upon myself to do that, it would -be, to say the least of it, desirable that we should consult -Madeleine's husband?" - -"Indeed I do not, Ronald," said Kilsyth; "indeed I do not. In giving -up my daughter to Mr. Caird I yielded privileges which I alone had -enjoyed from her birth, and which I would gladly have retained until -her death or mine. But I did not give up the privilege of watching -over her health, more especially when it has been so shamefully -neglected; and I shall claim the power to use it now." - -"And you think, after all I have told you, that there is no objection -to asking Dr. Wilmot to visit Madeleine?" - -"See here, Ronald!--I will be very frank with you in this matter--I -think that if I had known all you have told me now seven or eight -months ago, we should never have had this conversation. For I firmly -believe that--granting your ideas were correct--if my darling had -married Wilmot, he would have taken care both of her health and her -happiness, both of which have been so grossly neglected." - -The father and son took their way in silence back across the grass, -each filled with his own reflections. They had only reached the Albert -Gate, and were about to pass through it into the street, when a -brougham passed them, and a gentleman sitting in it gravely saluted -them. - -"Good heavens!" exclaimed Kilsyth; "there's Wilmot!" - -"Yes," said Ronald. He was surprised, and secretly agitated by the -sight of the man towards whom his feelings had insensibly changed, and -was hardly master of his emotion. - -The carriage had passed on, but Kilsyth was standing still at the -crossing. - -"What an extraordinary chance--what a wonderful Providence, I should -say!" said Kilsyth; "the only man I have confidence in--fancy his -passing by just at this time! Thank God! No chance of his calling at -Brook-street before he goes home, as he used to do; we must go on to -his house at once and leave a message for him." Here the impetuous old -gentleman hailed a hansom, which drew up abruptly in dangerous -proximity to his toes. - -"Stop a moment," said Ronald. "You had better get home, in case I can -persuade Dr. Wilmot to call, and tell Lady Muriel; it will save time. -I will go on to his house." - -"All right," said Kilsyth in a voice of positive cheerfulness. The -mere sight of Wilmot had acted like a strong cordial upon him--had -restored his strength and his confidence. - -"Don't I recollect how he saved her before, when she was much worse, -when she was actually in the clutch of a mortal disease? And he will -save her again! he will save her again!" said the old man to himself -as he drove homewards. He went directly to Lady Muriel's boudoir, and -communicated to her the glad tidings of Ronald's mission, which had -filled him with hope and joy. - -The rich red colour flew to Lady Muriel's cheek, and the light shone -in her dark eyes. To her too the news was precious, delicious; but not -so the intelligence which formed its corollary. What! Ronald Kilsyth -gone to solicit Dr. Wilmot's attendance on his sister! Ronald Kilsyth -bringing about the renewal of this danger which she, apparently ably -assisted by fate, had put far from her! What availed Wilmot's return, -if he might see Madeleine again--might be with her? What availed it -that Madeleine was no longer in the house with him, that she was free -to see him, to enjoy his society undisputed? As Kilsyth saw how her -face lighted up, how her colour rose, he rejoiced in her sympathy with -his feelings; with his hope and relief, he blessed her in his heart -for her love for his Madeleine. And she listened to him, dominated in -turn by irresistible joy and by burning anger. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. -Too Late. - - -That there can be such a thing as a broken heart; that love, -misguided, misdirected, fixed upon the wrong object, and never finding -"its earthly close," having to pine in secret, and to take out its -revenge in saying deteriorating and spiteful things of its successful -rival, ever kills, is nowadays generally accepted as nonsense. In the -daily round of the work-a-day life there are too many things hourly -cropping up to allow a man of any spirit to permit himself to hug to -his bosom the corpse of a dead joy, or to bemoan over the reminiscence -of vanished happiness. He must be up and doing; he must go in to his -business, read his newspaper, give his orders to his clerks, write his -letters--or at least sign them; go to his club, eat his dinner, and go -through his ordinary routine, each item of which fills up his time, and -prevents him from dwelling on the atrocious perfidy of the Being who -has deceived him. The evening has generally been considered a -favourable time for indulging in those reflections which, by their -bitterness, bring about the anatomical consequences so much to be -deplored; but your modern Strephon either forgets his own woes in -reading of the fictitious woes of others, duly supplied by Mr. Mudie, -or in witnessing them depicted on the stage, or in listening to the -cynical wisdom of the smoking-room, which, if he duly imbibe it, leads -him rather to think he has had a wonderful escape; or in the friendly -game of whist, when deference to his partner's interest, to say the -least of it, requires that he should keep his thoughts from wandering -into that subject so redolent of bitter-sweet. The heart-breaking -business is out of date, it is _rococo_, it is bygone; and one might -as well look to see the brazen greaves of bold Sir Lancelot flashing -in our English imitation of the sunshine, and to hear the knight -singing "Lirra-lirra!" as he rode up the banks of the Serpentine, as -to believe in its existence nowadays. - -So that those who may have imagined that Chudleigh Wilmot had given up -all relish of and interest in life must have been grievously -disappointed. When he first went abroad, grief and rage were in his -heart, and he cared but little what became of him. When he first -received the news of Mr. Foljambe's bequest, there sprung up in him a -new feeling of hope and joy, such as he had never had before, which -lasted but a very few hours, being uprooted and cast out by the -announcement of Madeleine's marriage in the newspaper. When he -returned to London, his mind was so far made up, that he contemplated -very calmly the possibility of such an existence--without Madeleine, -that is to say--as a few hours previously he had deemed impossible; -and though on first entering on the new life the old ghosts which -"come to trouble joy" would occasionally await him; and though after -that chance meeting with Madeleine and Lady Muriel in the Park he was -for some little time much disturbed, yet, on the whole, he managed to -live his life quietly, soberly, peacefully, and not unhappily. - -The man who, after years of active employment, inherits or obtains a -competency, and straightway lies upon his oars and looks round him for -the remainder of his life, immediately falls into a sad way, and comes -speedily to a bad end. Wilmot was quite sufficient man of the world to -be aware of this; and though he had retired from the active practice -of his profession, indeed from practising in any way, he still kept up -his medical studies, and now became one of the most sought-after and -most influential contributors to the best of our scientific -publications. In this way he found exercise enough for his mental -faculties, which had been somewhat burdened and overtasked with all -the hard work which he had gone through in his early life; and as for -the rest, he found he had done society a great injustice in estimating -its resources so meanly as he had been used to do. By degrees he gave -up the rule which he had at first kept so strictly, never to go into -ladies' society; and the first plunge made he felt that he enjoyed -himself therein more than in any other. He found that his reputation, -which had been considerably increased by the literary work on which he -had recently engaged, smoothed the way for him on first introduction; -and that the fact of his being a middle-aged widower secured for him -that pleasant license accorded to fogies, of which only fogies are -thoroughly conscious and appreciative. Instead of losing caste or -position, he felt that he had gained it; all the best people who had -been his patients in the old days kept up their acquaintance with him, -and asked him to their houses; and after the publication of a paper by -him on a momentous subject of the day, containing new and striking -views which at once commanded public attention and attracted public -comment, he was placed on a Royal Commission among some of the first -men of the time, and an intimation was conveyed to him that Government -would be glad to avail themselves of his services. - -And the old wearing, tearing feeling of love and disappointment and -regret which had blighted so many hours of his life, and which he -thought at one time would sap life itself, was gone, was it? Well, not -entirely. It had been an era in his life which was never to be -forgotten, which was never to be otherwise renewed. Night after night -he saw pretty charming girls, all of whom would have been pleased by a -flattering word from the celebrated Dr. Wilmot, many of whom would -have listened more than complacently to anything he might have chosen -to say to them,--"he is very rich, my dear, and goes into excellent -society." But he never said anything, because he never thought -anything of the kind. Sometimes when alone, in the pauses of his work, -he would look up from off his book or his paper, and then straightway -he would see--although his thoughts had been previously engrossed with -something entirely different--a bright flushed face, with blue eyes, -and a nimbus of golden hair surrounding it. But for a moment he would -see it, and then it would fade away; but in that moment how many -memories had it evoked! Sometimes he would take from a special drawer -in his desk a small knot of blue ribbon, and a thin letter, frayed in -its folds, and bearing traces of having been for some time carried in -the pocket. Slight memorials these of the only love of a lifetime -which had now extended to some forty years; not much to show in return -for an all-absorbing passion which at one time threatened to have dire -effect on his health, on his life--yet cherished all the more, -perhaps, on account of their insignificance! These were memorials of -Miss Kilsyth, be it understood: of Mrs. Ramsay Caird Chudleigh always -rigidly repeated to himself that he knew nothing--that he never would -know anything. - -But one morning Chudleigh Wilmot was sitting in his library after his -breakfast, his slippered feet resting idly on a chair, he himself in -placid enjoyment of the newspaper and a cigar, which, since he had -freed himself from professional restraint, he had taken as a pleasant -solace, when suddenly, and without being in any way led up to, the -subject of his dream of the previous night flashed suddenly across his -mind. It was about Madeleine. He remembered that he had seen her lying -outstretched on her bed dead; there were Christmas berries in her -golden hair, and the robe which covered her was embroidered with the -initial letters of his name twisted into a monogram, such as was -engraved on the binding of a present of books which he had recently -received from one of his great friends, and on the little finger of -her hand, which lay outside the coverlet, was Mabel's signet-ring. He -remembered all this vividly now; remembered too how, when he had gone -forward with the intention of taking off the ring, a female form, clad -in dark sweeping garments, but with its face shrouded, had risen by -the bedside and motioned him away. He remembered how he felt -persuaded, although the face was hidden, that the form was known to -him--was that of Henrietta Prendergast; how he had persisting in -approaching; and how at length the muffled form had spoken, saying -only these words, "It was not to be!" What followed he could not -remember: there was a kind of chaos, out of which rose figures of -Whittaker and Colonel Jefferson, the man whom he had met in Scotland, -and Ronald Kilsyth in full uniform, with his sword drawn and pointed -at his (Chudleigh's) heart; and then he had waked, and the whole -remembrance of the dream had departed from him until that moment, when -simultaneously the door of his room was thrown open, and Ronald -Kilsyth stood before him. - -That was no dream. Wilmot thought at first that his waking fancies -were running in the track of his sleeping thoughts; but there was -Ronald Kilsyth, somewhat changed from the man he remembered--less grim -and stoical, a trifle less cynical, and a trifle more human,--but -still Ronald Kilsyth standing before him. - -"You are surprised to see me, Dr. Wilmot," said Ronald, advancing -hesitatingly,--"surprised to see me here, after--after so long an -interval." - -"On the last occasion of our meeting, Captain Kilsyth," replied -Wilmot, "you were good enough to tell me that you objected to the -ordinary set phrases of society, and preferred straightforward -answers. I have not forgotten that interview, or anything that passed -therein; and I have every desire, believe me, to accommodate you--at -least so far as that wish is concerned. My straightforward answer to -your question is, I _am_ surprised to see you in this house." - -"I looked for no other reply. You seem to forget that, even so far ago -as our last meeting, you were pleased to fall in with my whim, and to -answer me with perfect candour, however painful it might have been--it -was--to you. That conversation will doubtless be remembered by you, -Dr. Wilmot." - -What did this mean? Was the man come here, in the assurance of his own -cold, calm stoicism, to triumph over him? Whence this most indecorous -outrage on his privacy, this insult to his feelings? Of all men, this -man knew how he had suffered, and how he had borne his sufferings. -Why, then, was he here, at such a moment, with such words on his lips? - -"I perfectly remember that conversation, Captain Kilsyth," was all -Wilmot replied. - -"You will spare me, then, a great deal of acute pain in referring to -it," said Ronald. "Refer to it I must, but my reference will be of the -most general kind. I sought that interview beseeching you"--Wilmot -gave a short half-laugh, which Ronald noticed--"Well, you stickle for -terms, it appears,--demanding of you to give up a pursuit in which you -were then engaged--a pursuit to which you attached the greatest -interest, but which I knew would not only be futile in its results to -you, but would be fraught with distress and danger to one who was very -dear to me. You acquiesced in my reasoning--at great sorrow and -disappointment to yourself, I know--and you gave up the pursuit." - -"You are very good to make such large allowances for me, Captain -Kilsyth," said Wilmot in a hard dry voice. "Yes, I gave it up; at -great sorrow and disappointment to myself, as you are good enough to -say." - -"I can fully understand the feelings which now influence you, Dr. -Wilmot," said Ronald, far more gently than was his wont; "and, believe -me, I do not quarrel with or take exception at the tone in which they -are now expressed. You gave up that pursuit, and you carried out the -intention you then expressed to me of leaving England." - -"I did. I left England within a fortnight of that conversation. I -should not have returned when I did--I should not have returned even -now, most probably--had it not been for circumstances then utterly -unforeseen, but of which you may have heard, which compelled me to -come back at once." - -Ronald bowed; he had heard of those circumstances, he said. - -"And now, pardon me, Captain Kilsyth, if I just run through what has -occurred. It cannot be, you will allow, less unpleasant for me to do -so than for you; but since we have met again,--at an interview not of -my seeking, recollect,--it is as well that they should be understood. -You told me in my consulting-room in Charles-street that you had -reason to believe that your sister, Miss Kilsyth, was--let us put it -plainly--loved by me. You said that, or at least you implied that, you -had reason to believe that she was interested in me. You told me that -any question of marriage between us was impossible; first, because I -had originally made your sister's acquaintance when I was a married -man; secondly, because my station in life--you put it kindly, as a -gentleman would, but that was the gist of your argument--because my -station in life was inferior to hers. I do not know, Captain Kilsyth," -continued Wilmot, whose voice grew harder as he proceeded, "that your -reasoning was so subtle in either case as not to admit of controversy, -perhaps even of disproof; but I felt that when a young lady's name was -in question, when there was, as you assured me there was--and you were -much more a man of the world than I--the chance of the slightest slur -being cast on her, it was my duty to sacrifice my own feelings, -however strong they might have been in the matter. I did so. To the -best of my ability I stamped out my love; I pocketed my pride; I gave -up the best feelings of my nature, and I did as you and your friends -wished. I went abroad, and remained grizzling and feeding on my own -heart for months. At length I heard of a stroke of good fortune which -had befallen me. I had previously made for myself a name which was -respected and honoured; and you, who know more of these things than -your compeers, or people in your 'set,' can appreciate the worth of -the renown which a man makes off his own bat by the exercise of his -talents; and by the chance which I have named I had now inherited a -fortune--a large fortune for any man not born to wealth. When this -news reached me, my first thought was, Now, surely, my coast is clear. -I can go back to England; I can say to Miss Kilsyth's friends, I am -renowned; I am rich; I am, I hope, a gentleman in the ordinary -acceptation of the term. If this young lady will accept my court, why -should it not be paid her? Within twenty-four hours of my learning of -my inheritance, of my determination, I heard that Miss Kilsyth was -married." - -"There was no stipulation, I believe, Dr. Wilmot--at least so far as I -am concerned--no compact, no given time during which Miss Kilsyth -should keep single, in the view of anything that might happen to you?" - -"None in the world; and so far as Miss Kilsyth is concerned--her name -is being bandied between us in the course of conversation, but it is -my duty to say that I have not the smallest atom of complaint to make -against her. To this hour, so far as I know, she is unacquainted with -my feelings towards her, and can consequently be held responsible for -no acts of hers at which I may feel aggrieved. But you must let me -continue. I will not tell you what effect the intelligence of Miss -Kilsyth's marriage had on me. I had been raised to the highest -pinnacle of hope, I was cast down into the lowest depths of despair. -That concerned no one but myself. I returned to England. Miss Kilsyth -was Mrs. Ramsay Caird--I had learned that from the public prints--no -private announcement, no wedding-cards awaited me. The story of my -vast inheritance got wind, as such things do, and all my friends--all -my acquaintance, let me say, to use a more fitting word, called on me -or sent their congratulations. From your family, from Mrs. Ramsay -Caird, I had not the slightest notice. The young lady whose life--if -you credit her father--I had saved a few months previously, and her -family, who professed themselves so grateful, ignored my existence. To -this hour I have had no communication with Kilsyth, with Lady Muriel, -with the Ramsay Cairds. I met Lady Muriel and her daughter once by the -merest accident--an accident entirely unsought by me--and they bowed -to me as though I were a tradesman who had been pestering for his -bill. What am I to gather from this treatment? One of two -things--either that I was regarded merely as the 'doctor' who was called -in when his services were needed, but who, when he had fulfilled his -functions and saved the patient, was no more to be recognised than the -butcher when he had supplied the required joint of meat; or that, by -those who knew, or thought they knew, the inner circumstances of the -case, my moral character was so highly esteemed that, guessing I had -been in love with Miss Kilsyth, it was judged expedient that I should -have no opportunity of acquaintance with Mrs. Ramsay Caird. I ask you, -Captain Kilsyth, which of these suppositions is correct?" - -Wilmot spoke with great warmth. Ronald Kilsyth looked on with wonder; -he could scarcely imagine that the man who now stood erect before him -with flashing eye and curled lips, every one of whose sentences rang -with scorn, was the same being who, on the occasion of their last -interview, had urged his suit so humbly, and accepted his dismissal -with such resignation. - -After a short pause Ronald said: "You speak strongly, Dr. Wilmot, very -strongly; but you have great cause for annoyance; and the fact that -you have borne it so long in silence of course adds to the violence of -your expressions now. I think I could soften your opinion--I think I -could show that my father and Lady Muriel have had some excuse for -their conduct; at all events, that they believed they were doing -rightly in acting as they did. But this is not the time for me to -enter into that discussion. I have come to you in the discharge of a -mission which is urgent and imperative. You know me to be a cold and a -proud man, Dr. Wilmot, and will therefore allow I must be convinced of -its urgency when I consented to undertake it. I have come to say to -you--leaving all things for the present unexplained, and even in the -state in which you have just described them--I have come to say to you -my sister is very ill; will you go and see her?" He was standing close -by Wilmot as he spoke, and saw him change colour, and reel as though -he would have fallen. - -"Very ill?" he said, after a moment's pause, with white lips and -trembling voice. "Mad--Mrs. Caird, very ill?" - -"Very ill; so ill, that my father is seriously alarmed about her; so -ill, that I have obeyed his wishes, and ask you to come to her." - -Wilmot was silent for a moment, in thought; not that he had the -smallest doubt as to what he should do; but the news had come so -suddenly upon him, that he could scarcely comprehend its significance. -Then he said, "Where is she? in town?" - -"She is--at her own house. I know I am asking you a great deal in -begging you to go there, but--you won't refuse us, Wilmot?" - -"I will go at once to your sister, Captain Kilsyth," said Wilmot, -pressing Ronald's outstretched hand; "and God grant I may be of -service to her!" - -"I won't say any thanks; but you know how grateful we shall all of us -be. Perhaps Madeleine had better be a little prepared for your visit; -if you were to meet quite unexpectedly, it might agitate her." - -Wilmot agreed in this, and promised to come that afternoon. - -It was three o'clock--just the hour when Squab-street woke up, and -became alive to the fact that day had dawned. The light had indeed -penetrated the little street at its usual hour, and the sun had shone; -but still Squab-street could not be considered to be fully awake. -Tradesmen had come and gone; area-bells had rung out shrilly; grooms -on horseback had followed the Amazon daughters of the natives to the -morning-ride in the Row; governesses had arrived, and had taken their -young charges into the neighbouring square garden for bodily exercise -and mental recreation; neat little broughams had deposited neat little -foreigners, whose admission into the houses had been immediately -followed by the thumping of the piano and the screaming of the female -voice; but the cream of Squab-street society had not yet been seen, -save by its female attendants. Three o'clock, however, had arrived; -luncheon was over, carriages began to rattle up and down, the street -resounded with double knocks indefinitely prolonged, and all the -little passages were redolent of hair-powder. All society's -mummers were acting away at their hardest; and all who passed up and -down Squab-street were too much engrossed with themselves or their -fellow-performers to notice a very blank and mournful face looking out -at them from the drawing-room window of the little house at the corner -of the mews. This was Kilsyth's face, which had been planted against -the window for the previous half-hour, in anxious expectation of -Wilmot's arrival. Sick at heart, and overpowered by anxiety, the old -man had taken his position where he could catch the first glimpse of -him on whom his life now solely rested; and he scanned every vehicle -that approached with eager eyes. At length a brougham, very different -from that in which he used to pay his visits in his professional days, -perfectly appointed, and drawn by horses which even Clement Penruddock -himself could not have designated as "screws," drew up at the door, -and Wilmot jumped out. Two minutes afterwards Kilsyth, with his eyes -full of tears, was holding both his friend's hands, and murmuring to -him his thanks. - -"I knew you would come!" he said; "I knew you would come! No matter -what had happened in the interval--no matter that, as they told me, -you had retired from practice and went nowhere--I said, 'Let him know -that Madeleine is very ill, and he'll come! he'll be sure to come!'" - -"And you said right, my dear sir," said Wilmot, returning the friendly -pressure; "and I only hope to Heaven that my coming now may be as -efficacious as it was when you summoned me to Kilsyth--ah, how long -ago that seems! Now tell me--for my conversation with Captain Kilsyth -was necessarily brief, and admitted of no details concerning the state -of his sister--the tendency to weakness on the lungs, which I spoke to -you about just before I left Scotland, has increased, I fear?" - -"It has been increasing rapidly, we fancy, for the last few months; -and she is now never free from a cough, a hollow, dreadful cough, the -paroxysms of which are sometimes terrible, and leave her perfectly -exhausted. She never complains; on the contrary, she makes light of -it, and struggles to hide her pain and weakness from us. But I fear -she is very, very ill!" The old man's voice sunk as he said this, and -the tears flowed down his cheeks. - -"Come, come, you must not give way, my good friend; while there's life -there's hope, you know; and what is very dreadful and hopeless to an -unprofessional eye has a very different aspect frequently to those who -have studied these diseases. I think Captain Kilsyth came here to -prepare Mrs. Caird for my visit?" - -"O yes, she expects you. She was greatly excited at first; so much so -that we were afraid she would do herself harm; but I think she is -calmer now." - -"Then perhaps I had better go to her at once. It is always desirable -in these cases as much as possible to avoid suspense. Will you show me -the way?" - -They went upstairs together; and when they arrived at the room, -Kilsyth opened the door, and left Wilmot to enter by himself. As the -door closed behind him, he looked up, and saw the woman whom he had -loved with such devotion and yet with such bitter regret. She was -lying on a sofa drawn across the window, propped up by pillows. She -turned round at the noise of his entrance; and as soon as she -recognised her visitor, her cheeks flushed to the deepest crimson. -Wilmot advanced rapidly, with as cheerful a smile as he could assume, -and took her hand--her hot, wasted, and trembling hand--within both of -his. She was dreadfully changed--he saw that in an instant. There were -deep hollows in her cheeks, and round her blue eyes, which were now -feverishly bright and lustrous, there were large bistre circles. She -wore a white dressing-gown trimmed with blue,--such a one as was -associated with his earliest recollections of her; and as he saw her -lying back and looking up at him with earnest trusting gaze, he was -reminded of the first time he saw her in the fever at Kilsyth, but -with O what a difference in his hope of saving her! - -"You see I have come back to you, Mrs. Caird," said Wilmot, seating -himself by the sofa, but still retaining her hand. "You thought you -had got rid of me for ever; but I am like the bottle-imp in the story, -impossible to be sent away. Now, own you are surprised to see me!" - -"I am not indeed, Dr. Wilmot," Madeleine replied, in a voice the -hollow tones of which went to Wilmot's heart. Ah, how unlike the -sweet, clear, ringing tones which he so well remembered! "I am not -indeed surprised to see you. I had a perfect conviction," she said -very calmly, "that I should see you once again. At that time--at -Kilsyth, you remember--I thought I was going to die, you know; and -when I knew I should recover, as I lay in a dreamy half-conscious -state, I recollect having a presentiment that when I did die you would -be near me--that you would stand by my bedside, as you used to do, -and--" - -"My dearest Mrs. Caird, I cannot listen to you; my--my child, for -God's sake don't talk in that way! I used to have to tell you to calm -yourself, you know; but now you must rouse up--you must indeed." - -"O no, Dr. Wilmot; not rouse myself to any action, not wake up again -to the dreary struggle of life! O no; let me sink quietly into my -grave, but--" - -His hand trembled with emotion as he laid his finger lightly on her -lip, and his voice was choked and husky as he said: "I must insist! -You used to obey me implicitly, you recollect; and you must show that -you have not forgotten your old ways. And now tell me all about -yourself." - -Half an hour afterwards, as Wilmot was descending the stairs, he met -Kilsyth at the drawing-room door, with haggard looks and trembling -hands, waiting for him. They went into the drawing-room together; and -the old man, carefully closing the door behind him, turned to his -friend, and said in broken accents; "Well, what do you say? what--what -do you think?" - -Wilmot's face was very grave, graver than Kilsyth had ever seen it, -even at the worst time of the fever, as he said: "I think it is a very -serious case, my dear friend--a very serious case." - -"Has the--the mischief increased much since you detected it--up in -Scotland?" - -"The disease has spread very rapidly--very rapidly indeed." - -"And you--you think that she is--in danger?" - -"I think--it would be useless, it would be unmanly in me to withhold -the truth from you; I fear that Mrs. Caird's state is imminently -dangerous, and that--" - -Wilmot stopped, for Kilsyth reeled and almost fell. Recovering himself -after a moment, he said, in a low hoarse whisper: "Change of -climate--Madeira--Egypt--anywhere?" - -"No; she has not sufficient strength to bear the journey. If she had -spent last winter at Cannes, and had gone on in the spring to -Egypt--but it is too late." - -"Too late!" shrieked Kilsyth, bursting into an agony of grief; "too -late! My darling child! my darling, darling child!" - -"My poor friend," said Wilmot, himself deeply affected, "what can I -say to comfort you in this awful trial? what can I do?" - -"One thing!" said the old man, rising from the sofa on which he had -thrown himself, "there is one thing you can do--visit her, watch her, -attend her; you'll see her again, won't you, Wilmot?" - -"Constantly--and to the end. She knows that. I made her that promise -just now;" and he wrung his friend's hand and left him. - - -"Dr. Wilmot, I believe? Will you oblige me by two minutes' -conversation? You don't remember me? I am Mr. Caird. In this room, if -you please." - -Wilmot, thus inducted into the dining-room, bowed, and took the chair -pointed out to him. He had not recognised Mr. Caird at the first -glance in the dim little passage; but he knew him again now, albeit -Mr. Caird's style of dress and general bearing were very different -from what they had been in the old days. Mr. Caird had just come in, -and brought a great quantity of tobacco-smoke in with him; and a -decanter of brandy, an empty soda-water bottle, and a fizzing tumbler, -were on the table before him. - -"I beg your pardon for troubling you, Dr. Wilmot; but I didn't know -you were expected, or I should of course have been here to meet you. -The people in Brook-street manage all these matters in--well, to say -the least of it, in a curious way. You have seen Mrs. Caird--what is -your opinion of her?" - -What Wilmot knew of this man was that he was courteous, gentlemanly, -and good-tempered--all in his favour. He had heard the rumours current -in society about Caird, but they had passed unheeded by him; men of -Wilmot's calibre pay little attention to rumours. So he said, "Do you -wish me to tell you my real opinion, Mr. Caird?" - -"Your real, candid opinion." - -Then Wilmot repeated what he had said to Kilsyth. - -The young man looked at him earnestly for a moment; shook his head as -though he had been struck a sudden, stunning blow; then muttered -involuntarily, as it were, "Poor Maddy!" - -Wilmot rose to go, but Caird stopped him. "One question more, Dr. -Wilmot--how long may--may the end be deferred?" - -"I should fear not more than a few--three or four--months." - -When Wilmot was gone, Ramsay Caird, having lit a fresh cigar, said -"Poor Maddy!" again; but this time he added, "since it was to be, it -will be, about the time;" and for the next hour he occupied himself -with arithmetical calculations in his pocketbook. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. -Quand même! - - -In years to come it was destined to be a marvel to Wilmot how he lived -through the days and the weeks of that time. If they had not been so -entirely filled with supreme suffering, with despairing effort--if -there had been any interval, any relaxation from the immense task -imposed upon him, he might have broken down under it. He might have -said, "I will not stay here, and see this woman whom I love die in her -youth, in her beauty, in the very springtide of her life. I will go -away. I will not see it, at least; I who have not the right to shut -out all others, and gather up the last days of her life into a -treasury of remembrance, in which no other shall have a share. No man -is called upon to suffer that which he can avoid. I will go!" But -there was no time for Wilmot, no chance for him to reach such a -conclusion, to take this supreme resolution of despair. The whole -weight of the family trouble was thrown upon him; and he, in -comparison with whose grief that of all the others, except Kilsyth's, -was insignificant, was the one to whom all looked for support and -hope. As for Ramsay Caird, he adopted the easy and plausible _rôle_ of -a sanguine man. He had the greatest possible respect for Dr. Wilmot's -opinion, the utmost confidence in his ability; but the doctor's talent -gave him the very best grounds for security. He was quite sure Wilmot -would set Madeleine all right. She had youth on her side--and only -just think how Wilmot had "pulled her through" at Kilsyth! And as -nobody occupied themselves particularly with what Ramsay thought, he -was permitted to indulge his incorrigible _insouciance_, and to render -to Dr. Wilmot's talent the original homage of believing it superior to -his judgment and his avowed conviction. For the rest, Ramsay professed -himself, and with reason, to be the worst person in the world in a -sickroom--no use, and "awfully frightened;" and accordingly he seldom -made his appearance in Madeleine's room, after the daily visit of a -few minutes, which was _de rigueur_, and during which he invariably -received the same answer to his inquiries, that she was better--a -statement which it suited him to receive as valid, and which he -therefore did so receive. Wilmot saw very little of him; no part of -the hardness of his task came to him from Madeleine's husband. It was -at her father's hands that Wilmot suffered most, and most constantly. -Kilsyth held two articles of faith in connection with Wilmot: the -first, that he was infallible in judgment; the second, that he was -inexhaustible in skill and resources. And now these articles of belief -clashed, and Kilsyth was swayed about between them,--a prey now to -helpless grief, again to groundless and unreasonable hope. Certainly -Madeleine was very ill. Wilmot was right, no doubt; but then Wilmot -would save her: he had saved her before, when she was also very ill. -Then the poor father would have the difference between fever and -consumption, in point of assured fatality, forced upon his attention, -and an interval of despair would set in. But whether his mood was hope -or despair, an effort to attain resignation, or a mere stupor of fear -and grief, Wilmot had to witness, Wilmot had to combat them all. The -old man clung to the doctor with piteous eagerness and tenacity on his -way to begin the watch over his patient which he maintained daily for -hours, as he had done in the old time at Kilsyth--time in reality so -lately past, but seeming like an entire lifetime ago. When he left her -to take the short and troubled sleep which fell upon her in the -afternoon; in the evening, when he came again; at night, after he had -administered the medicine which was to procure her a temporary -reprieve from the cough, which her father could no longer endure to -hear, Kilsyth would waylay him, beset him with questions, with -entreaties--or, worse still, look speechless into his face with -imploring haggard eyes. - -This to the man for whom the young life ebbing away, with terrific -rapidity indeed, but with merciful ease on the whole, was the one -treasure held by the earth, so rich for others, such a wilderness for -him! Yes--her life! When he knew she was married, and thus parted from -him for ever, he had thought the worst that could have come to him had -come. But from the moment he had looked again into the innocent sweet -blue eyes, and read, with the unerring glance of the practised -physician, that death was looking out at him from them, he learned his -error. Then too he learned how much, and with what manner of love, he -loved Madeleine Kilsyth. - -"Give her life, and not death, O gracious Disposer of both! and I am -satisfied--and I am happy! Life, though I never see her face again; -life, though she never hears my name spoken, or remembers me in her -lightest thought; life, though it be to bless her husband, and to -transmit her name to his children; life, though mine be wasted at the -ends of the earth!" This was the cry of his soul, the utterance of the -strong man's anguish. But he knew it was not to be; the physician's -eye had been unerring indeed. - -Lady Muriel bore herself on this, as on every other occasion, -irreproachably. The first enunciation of the doctor's opinion had -startled her. She did not love her stepdaughter, but of late she had -been on more affectionate terms with her; and it was not possible that -she could learn that she was doomed to an early death without terror -and grief. Lady Muriel knew well how unspeakably dear to Kilsyth his -daughter was; and apart from her keen womanly sympathies all enlisted -for the fair young sufferer, she felt with agonising acuteness for her -husband's suffering. The first meeting between Lady Muriel and Wilmot -had been under agitating circumstances; and the appeal made to him by -Kilsyth had at once established him on the old footing with them--a -footing which had not existed previously in London, having been -interrupted by Wilmot's domestic affliction, and the tacit but -resolute opposition of Ronald. But even then, in that first interview, -when emotion was permissible, when Dr. Wilmot was forced by his -position to make a communication to the father and brother which even -a stranger must necessarily have found painful, and though he imposed -superhuman control over his feelings, Lady Muriel had seen the truth, -or as much of the truth as one human being can ever see of the -verities of the heart of another. She had received him gravely, but so -that, had he eared to interpret her manner, it might have told him he -was welcome in more than the sense of his value in this dread -emergency; and it had been a sensible relief to Ronald to perceive -that Lady Muriel had not suffered the pride and suspicion which had -dictated her remonstrance to him to appear in any word or look of hers -which Wilmot could perceive. But when Lady Muriel was alone she said -to herself bitterly: - -"He did love her, then; he does love her! He is awfully changed; and -this has changed him--to her illness, not the fear of her death--the -change is the work of months--but the loss of her. Her marriage--this -has made his life valueless, this has made him what he is." Then she -remained for a long time sunk in thought, her dark eyes shaded by her -hand. At length she said, half aloud, - -"She is not all to be pitied, even if this be indeed true and past -remedy. She has been well beloved." - -There was a whole history of solitude and vain aspiration in the -words. Had not she too, Lady Muriel Kilsyth, been well beloved? True; -but all the homage, all the devotion of an inferior nature could not -satisfy hers. This woman would be content only with the love of a man -her intellectual superior, her master in strength of purpose and of -will. She had seen him; he had come; and he loved not her, but the -simple girl with blue eyes and golden hair who was dying, and whom he -would love faithfully when she should be dead. Lady Muriel did not -deceive herself. She had the perfect comprehension of Wilmot which -occult sympathy gives--she knew that he would never love another -woman. She knew, when she recalled the ineffable mournfulness which -sat upon his face, not the garment of an occasion, but the habitual -expression which it had taken, that the hope which but for her -might have been realised, had been the forlorn hope of his life. It -was over now; and he was beaten by fate, by death, by Lady Muriel's -will. He would lay down his arms; he would never struggle again. - -Knowing this, Lady Muriel Kilsyth dreamed no more. The vision of a -love which, pure and blameless, would have elevated, fortified, and -sweetened her life, faded never to return. Her gentle stepdaughter, -who would have been incapable of such a thought or such a wish, had -she known how Lady Muriel had acted towards her, was at that moment -amply avenged. - -In vain she had laboured to effect this loveless marriage; in vain she -had placed in the untrustworthy hands of Ramsay Caird the happiness -and the fortune of her husband's beloved daughter; in vain had she -been deaf to the truer, better promptings of her conscience, to the -haunting thought of the responsibility which she had undertaken -towards the girl, to the remembrance of Madeleine's dead mother, which -sometimes came to her and troubled her sorely; in vain had she tempted -that dread and inexorable law of retribution, which might fall upon -the heads of her own children. How mad, how guilty, she had been! She -saw it all now; she understood it all now. How could she, who had -learned to comprehend, to appreciate Wilmot,--how could she have -imagined for a moment that any sentiment once really entertained by -him could be light and passing! She recognised, with respect at least, -if with an abiding sense of humiliation, the truth, the strength, the -eternal duration of Wilmot's love for Madeleine. Truly, many things, -in addition to the beautiful young form, were destined to go down into -the grave of Madeleine Kilsyth. - -There was so much similarity between the thoughts of Lady Muriel and -those of Chudleigh Wilmot, that he too, after that first visit, which -had shown him the dying girl and revealed to him how he loved her, -pondered also upon an unconscious vengeance fulfilled. - -Mabel! She had died in his absence, neglected by him, inflicting upon -him an agonising doubt, almost a certainty, but at least a doubt never -to be resolved in this world--a dread never to be set at rest. He did -not believe that had he been with her he could have saved her; but no -matter: he had stayed away; he had given to another the love, the -care, the time, the skill that should have been hers, that were her -right by every law human and divine. And now! The woman he had -preferred to her, the woman by whose side he had lingered, the woman -he loved, was dying, and he had come to her aid too late! He could see -her, it was true; he might be with her; it was possible he might hear -her last words--might see her draw her last breath; but she was lost -to him, lost unwon, lost for ever, as Mabel had been! It was late in -the night before Wilmot had sufficiently mastered these thoughts and -the emotions which they aroused to be able to apply himself to -studying the details of Madeleine's ease, and arranging his plan, not -indeed of cure, but of alleviation. - -Among the letters awaiting his attention there was one from Mrs. -Prendergast. She requested him to call on her; she wished to consult -him concerning the matter they had talked of. The following morning he -wrote her a line saying he could not attend to anything for the -present; and subsequently Henrietta learned from Mrs. Charlton, -through Mrs. M'Diarmid, that Wilmot had consented to act as physician -to Mrs. Caird, whom he pronounced to be in hopeless consumption. - -Henrietta went home grave and pensive, thinking much of her dead -friend, Mabel Wilmot. - -Time had gone inexorably on since that day, laden every hour of it -with grief to Wilmot, with immense and complicated responsibility, -with the dread of the rapidly-approaching end. There had been -hours--no, not hours, moments--when he almost persuaded himself that -he might be wrong, that it was still time, that a warm climate might -yet avail. But the delusion was only momentary; and he had told -Madeleine's father and brother from the first that she was unfit for a -journey, that the most merciful course was to let her die at home in -peace, among the people and the things to whom and to which she was -accustomed. He understood the attachment of an invalid to the -inanimate objects around her; an attachment strongly developed in -Madeleine, whose dressing-room, where she lay on the sofa all day, -contained all her girlish treasures. She was always awake early in the -morning, and anxious to be carried from her bed to her sofa, whence -she would wistfully watch the door until it opened and admitted -Wilmot. Then she would smile--such a happy smile too! Only a pale -reflection in point of brightness, it is true, of the radiant smile of -the past, but full of the old trust and happiness and peace. Her -father came early too, and received the report of how she had passed -the night, and controlled himself wonderfully, poor old man! for -agitation and disquiet were very bad for his darling; and he was -strengthened by Wilmot's example. It never occurred to Kilsyth to -remember that Wilmot was "only the doctor," and therefore might well -be calm; he never reasoned about Wilmot at all--he only felt and -trusted. The world outside the sickroom went on as usual. Within it -Madeleine Caird lay dying, not poetically, not of the fanciful -extinction which consumption becomes in the hands of the poet and the -romancer, but of the genuine, veritable, terrible disease, not to be -robbed by wealth, or even by comfort or skill, of its terrors. Those -who know what is meant when a person is said to be dying of -consumption need no amplification of the awful significance of the -phrase. Those who do not--may they remain in their ignorance! - -And Madeleine? And the contending emotions, amid the varied suffering -which surrounded her, and had all its origin in her, how was it with -Madeleine? On the whole, it was well. A strange phrase to apply to a -young woman, a young wife, an idolised daughter, who was dying thus, -of a disease which kills more thoroughly, so to speak, than any other, -doing its dread office with slowness, and marking its progress day by -day. She knew she was dying, though sometimes she did not feel it very -keenly; the idea did not come to her as relating to herself, but with -a sort of outside meaning. This dulness would last for days, and then -she would be struck by the truth again, and would realise it with all -the strength of mind and body left to her. Realise it, not to be -terrified by it, not to resist it, not to appeal against it, but to -accept it, to acquiesce in it, to be satisfied and profoundly quiet. -Madeleine's notions of God and eternity were vague, like those of most -young people. She had been brought up in a careful observance of the -forms of the Episcopal Church in Scotland, and she had always had a -certain devotional turn, which accompanies good taste and purity of -mind in young girls. But she had never looked at life or death -seriously, in the true sense, at all. Sentimentally she had considered -both, extensively of course; had she not read all the poetry she could -lay her hands on, and a vast number of essays? Of late a voice whose -tones she had never before heard, still and small, had spoken to -her--spoken much and solemnly in her girlish heart, and had taught -her, in the silent suffering and doubt, the unseen struggle she had -undergone, great things. She kept her own counsel; she listened, and -was still; and the chain of earth fell from her fair soul while yet it -held her fair form in its coil a little longer. Madeleine had looked -into her life to find the meaning of her Creator in it. She had found -it, and she was ready for the summons, which was not to tarry long. - -One day, when she had told Wilmot that she was wonderfully easy, had -had quite a good night, and had hardly coughed at all since morning, -he was sitting by her sofa, and she, lying with her face turned -towards him, had fallen into a light sleep. He drew a coverlet closely -round her, and signed to the nurse that she might leave the room. Then -he sat quite still, his face rigid, his hands clasped, looking at her; -looking at the thin pale face, with the blazing spots of red upon the -cheekbones, with the darkened eyelids, the sunken temples, the dry red -lips, the damp, limp, golden hair. As in a phantasmagoria, the days at -Kilsyth passed before him; the day of his arrival, the day the nurse -had asked him whether the golden hair must be cut off, the day he -had pronounced her out of danger. Outwardly calm and stern, what a -storm of anguish he was tossed upon! Words and looks and little -incidents--small things, but infinite to him--came up and tormented -him. Then came a sense of unreality; it could not be, it was not the -same Madeleine; this was not Kilsyth's beautiful daughter. His hands -went up to his face, and a groan burst from his lips. The sound -frightened him. He looked at her again; and as he looked, her eyes -opened, and she began to speak. Then came the frightful, the -inevitable cough. He lifted her upon his arm, kneeling by her side, -and the paroxysm passed over. Then she looked at him very gently and -sweetly, and said: - -"Are we quite alone?" - -"Yes." - -"Do you remember one night at Kilsyth, when I was very ill, I asked -you whether I was going to die?" - -"I remember," he said, with a desperate effort to keep down a sob. - -"And I told you I was very glad when you said, 'No.' Do you remember?" - -"Yes--I remember." - -She paused and looked at him; her blue eyes were as steady as they -were bright. "If I asked you, but I don't--I don't"--she put out her -wasted hand. He took the thin fingers in his, and trembled at their -touch--"because I know--but if I did, you would not make me the same -answer now." - -He did not speak, he did not look at her; but her eyes pertinaciously -sought his, and he was forced to meet them. She smiled again, and her -fingers clasped themselves round his. - -"You will always be papa's friend," she said. "Poor papa--he will miss -me very much; the girls are too young as yet. And Ronald--I have -something to say to you about Ronald. Sit here, close to me, in papa's -chair, and listen." - -He changed his seat in obedience to her, and listened; his head bent -down, and her golden hair almost touching his shoulder. - -"Something came between Ronald and me for a little while," she said, -her low voice, which had hardly lost its sweetness at all, thrilling -the listener with inexpressible pain. "I cannot tell what exactly; but -it is all over now, and he is--as he used to be--the best and kindest -of brothers. But there is someone--not papa; I am not talking of poor -papa now--better and kinder still. Do you know whom I mean?" The sweet -steady blue eyes looked at him quite innocent and unabashed. "I Mean -_you_." - -"Me!" he said, looking up hastily; "me!" - -"Yes; best and kindest of all to me. And when Ronald will not have me -any longer, I want you to promise me to be his friend too. They say he -is hard in his disposition and his ways; he never was to me, but once -for a little while; and I should like him to see you often, and be -with you much, that he may be reminded of me. As long as he remembers -me he will not be hard to anyone; and he will remember me whenever he -sees you." - -Thus the sister interpreted the brother's late repentance, and -endeavoured to render it a source of blessing to the two men whom she -loved. - -"When you left Kilsyth," she said, "and came here, and when I heard -the dreadful affliction that had befallen you, it made me very -unhappy. It seemed, somehow, awful to me that sorrow should have come -to you through me." - -"It did not," he replied. "Don't think so; don't say so! Did anyone -tell you so? It would have come all the same--" - -"It would not," she said solemnly; "it would not. If I never felt it -before, I must have come to feel it now, that I caused unconsciously a -dreadful misfortune. You are here with me; you make suffering, you -make death, light and easy to me. And you were away from _her_ when -she was dying who had a right to look for you by her side. I hope she -has forgiven me where all is forgiven." - -There was silence between them for a while. Wilmot's agony was quite -beyond description, and almost beyond even his power of self-control. -Madeleine was quite calm; but the bright red spots had faded away from -her cheekbones, and she was deadly pale. His eyes were fixed upon her -face--eagerly, despairingly, as though he would have fixed it before -them for ever, a white phantom to beset, of his free will, all his -future life. Another racking fit of coughing came on, and then, when -it had subsided, Madeleine fell again into one of the sudden short -sleeps which had become habitual to her, and which told Wilmot so -plainly of the progress of exhaustion. It was only of a few minutes' -duration; and when she again awoke, her cheeks had the red spots on -them once more. He watched her more and more eagerly, to see if she -would resume the tone in which she had been speaking, and which, while -it tortured him to listen to it, he had not the courage to interrupt -or interdict. There was a little, a very little more excitement in the -voice and in the eyes as she said, - -"You are not going to be a doctor any more, they tell me, now that you -are a rich man." - -"No," he said, in a low but bitter tone. "I am done with doctoring. -All my skill and knowledge have availed me nothing, and they are -nothing to me any more." - -"Nothing! And why?" - -"O Madeleine," he said,--and as he spoke he fell on his knees beside -the sofa on which she lay--"how can you ask me? What have they -done for me? They have not saved you. I asked nothing else--no -other reward for all my years of labour and study and poverty and -insignificance--nothing but this. Even at Kilsyth, when you had the -fever, I asked nothing else. I got it then, for they did save you. -Yes, thank God; they did save you then for a little time! But now, -now--" And, forgetful of the agitation of his patient, forgetful of -everything in this supreme agony, Chudleigh Wilmot hid his face in the -coverlet of the sofa and wept--wept the burning and distracting tears -it is so dreadful to see a man shed. Madeleine raised herself up, and -tried to lift his head in her feeble, wasted hands. Then he recovered -himself with a tremendous effort, and was calm. - -"I must tell you," he said, "having said what you have heard. -Madeleine, there is no sin, no shame in what I am going to tell you. I -will tell it to your father and your brother yet; I would tell it to -your husband, Madeleine. When I went away from England, I took a -vision with me. It was, that I might return some time and ask for your -love. It faded, Madeleine; but I claim, as the one solitary -consolation which life can ever bring me, to tell you this: you are -the only woman I have ever loved." - -Madeleine looked at him still; the colour rose higher and brighter on -her wasted cheeks; the light blazed up in her blue eyes. - -"Did you love me," she said, "because you saved my life?" - -"I don't know, child. I loved you--I loved you! That is all I know. I -know I ought not to say it now; but I must, I must!" - -"Hush!" she said; "and don't shiver there, and don't cry. It is not -for such as you to do either!" He resumed his seat; she gave him her -hand again, and lay still looking at him--looking at him with her blue -eyes full of the inexplicably awful look which comes into the eyes of -the dying. After a while she smiled. - -"I am very glad you told me," she said. "People said you never cared -for the patient, only for the _case_; but since you have been here I -have known that was not true. It is better as it is. If your vision -had come true, I must have died all the same, and then it would have -been harder. It is easier now." - -Another fit of coughing--a frightful paroxysm this time. Wilmot rang -for the nurse, and Kilsyth and Lady Muriel entered the room with her. - - -* * * * * - - -Several hours later Madeleine was lying in the same place, still, -tranquil, and at ease. She had had a long interval of respite from the -cough, and was cheerful, even bright. Her father was there, and -Ronald; Lady Muriel also, but sitting at some distance from her, and -looking very sad. - -When the time came at which Madeleine was to be removed to her bed, -Ronald and Wilmot took leave; the first for the night, the second to -return an hour later, and give final instructions to the nurse. - -Wilmot's left hand hung down by his side as he stood near her, and -Madeleine touched a ring upon his little finger. - -"What is the motto on that ring?" she asked. - -"The untranslateable French phrase, which I always think is like a -shrug in words: _Quand même_," he replied. - -The ring was the seal-ring which his wife had been used to wear. It -struck him with a new and piercing pain, amid all the pains of this -dreadful day, that Madeleine should have noticed it, and reminded him -of it then. - -"_Quand même_," she said softly. "Notwithstanding, even so--ah, it -can't be said in English, but it means the same in every tongue." He -bent over her, no one was near, her eyes met his; she said, "I am very -happy--very happy, _Quand même!_" - - -* * * * * - - -Wilmot went home and sat down to think--to think over the words he had -spoken and heard. He was overpowered with the fatigue, the excitement, -the emotion of the day. A thousand confused images floated before his -weary eyes; the room seemed full of phantoms. Was this illness? Could -it be possible? No, that must not be; he could not be ill; he had not -time. After--yes, after, illness--anything! but not yet. He called for -wine and bread, and ate and drank. His thoughts became clearer, and -arranged themselves; then he became absorbed in reflection. He had -told his servant he should require the carriage in an hour, and, -hearing a noise in the hall, he started up, thinking the time had -come. He opened his study-door, and called-- - -"Is that the brougham, Stephen?" - -"No, sir," said the man, presenting himself with an air of having -something important to say. - -"What is it, then?" said Wilmot impatiently. "A messenger from -Brook-street, sir; Captain Kilsyth's man, sir." - -Wilmot went out into the hall. The man was there, looking pale and -frightened. - -"What is it, Martin? what is it?" - -"Captain Kilsyth sent me, sir, to let you know that Mrs. Caird is -dead, sir,--a few minutes after you left, sir. Went off like a lamb. -They didn't know it, sir; till the nurse came to lift her into bed." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. -Forlorn. - - -Yes, she was dead; had died with a smile upon her lips; had died at -peace and charity with all; had died knowing that the man whom she had -looked up to and reverenced, had loved with all the pure and guileless -love of her young heart, had loved her also, and had so loved her that -he had suffered in silence, and only spoken when the confession could -bring no remorse to her, even no longing regret for what might have -been. Even no longing regret? No! "Happy, _quand même_," were the last -words that ever passed her lips; "happy, _quand même_,"--she had been -something to him after all! In the few short and fleeting hours which -she had passed between hearing Chudleigh Wilmot's confession, wrung -from his heart by the great agony which possessed him, she had -pondered over the words which he had spoken with inexpressible -delight. What can we tell, we creatures moulded in coarser clay, -creatures of baser passions, soiled in the perpetual contact with -earth, its mean fears and gross aspirations, if aspirations they may -be called,--what can we tell of the feelings of a young girl like -this? Death, which we contemplate as the King of Terrors, threatening -us with his uplifted dart, and destined to drag us away from the stage -of life, bright with its tawdry tinsel, and its garish splendour, came -to her in softer and more kindly guise. For months she had been -expecting the advent of the "shadow cloaked from head to foot," in -whose gentle embrace she knew that she must shortly find herself. -Those around her, her loving, doating father, Lady Muriel, Ronald, -softened by the silent contemplation of her gradually-decreasing -strength, the daily ebbing of physical force, the daily loosening of -even the slight hold on life which she possessed, visible even to his -unpractised eyes,--none of these had the smallest idea that the frail -delicate creature, round whose couch they stood day by day with forced -smiles and feigned hope, knew better than any of them, better even -than he whose professional skill had never been brought into such -play, how swiftly the current of her life was bearing her on to the -great rapids of Eternity. And if before she had heard those burning -words, intensified by the agony shown in the choking voice in which -they found their utterance, she had been able calmly and not -unwillingly to contemplate her fate, how much greater had been her -resignation, how much more readily did she accept the fiat when she -learned that the one love of her life had been returned; and that, -despite of all that had come between them, despite the interposition -of the dread barrier which had apparently so effectually separated -them from each other, the man who had been to her far beyond all -others, had singled her out as the object of his adoration! - -In those few last earthly hours the "what might have been" had passed -through her mind, and passed away again, leaving behind it no trace of -anguish or remorse. Not only to Wilmot had the time since their first -acquaintance at Kilsyth passed in review in phantasmagoric semblance; -Madeleine had often gone through such scenes in the short drama, -recollecting every detail, remembering much which had been overlooked -even in his rapid summary. "What might have been!" Even suppose the -dearest, the only real aspiration of her heart had been accomplished, -and sire had become Chudleigh Wilmot's wife, would not the inevitable -end have had additional distress and misery to both of them? The -inevitable end! for she must have died--she knew that; not for one -instant did she imagine that any combination of circumstances -different from what had actually occurred could have averted or -postponed the fulfilment of the dread decree. Her married life had not -been specially happy; then should she not have less regret in leaving -it? Would not the pangs of parting be robbed of half their bitterness -by the knowledge that her husband left behind would not sink under the -blow? What might have been? Ah, Wilmot would feel her loss acutely, -she knew that; the one outburst of grief, of passionate tenderness and -heartfelt agony which had escaped him had told her that; but he would -feel it less than if what might have been had been, and she had been -taken away from him in the early days of their love and happiness. - -A notion that such thoughts as these might have filled the mind of her -for whom they mourned occurred to each of those by whom the dead girl -was really loved, not indeed at once nor simultaneously, but at divers -times, as they pondered over the blank which her loss had left in -their lives. Among this number Mr. Ramsay Caird was not to be -reckoned. The solemn announcement which, at his own request, Dr. -Wilmot had made to him as to the impossibility of his wife's recovery -and the probable short duration of her illness had had very little -effect on the young man. What were the motives which prompted him were -known to himself alone; but the _insouciance_, to use the mildest term -for it, which had prompted him during the whole of his short married -life seemed in no way diminished even by the dread news which had been -communicated to him. He acknowledged that he had seen Dr. Wilmot, and -had asked him his opinion; that that opinion had been very serious, -and to some persons would have been alarming, but that he was not -easily alarmed, and that he was utterly and entirely incredulous in -the present instance. Madeleine had a bad cough, and was naturally -delicate on her chest, and that sort of thing; she did not wrap up -enough when she went out, and sat in draughts: but as to the way in -which they all went on about her--well, they would find that he was -right, and then they would be sorry they had listened to any such -nonsense. He said this to Lady Muriel; for both Kilsyth and Ronald -shrunk from any communication with him. Bitterest among all the bitter -feelings which oppressed these two men, so different in mind and -spirit, but with their love centred on the same object, was the -thought that they had given up the guardianship of their treasure to -one who was utterly unworthy of it, and, as one of them at least -confessed to himself with keen remorse, had blighted two lives by -unreasoning and short-sighted pride. - -So, while his young wife had been gradually declining, Ramsay Caird -had made very little alteration in the mode of life which he had -thought fit to pursue since the earliest days of his marriage. Relying -principally on the fact, which he was constantly urging, that he was -of "no use," he absented himself more and more from his home; and when -"doing duty" there, as he phrased it, strove in no way to hide the -dislike with which he regarded the irksome task. Companionship was -necessary to Ramsay Caird, and was not to be obtained, he found, among -the class with whom since his arrival in London and his domestication -in Brook-street he had been accustomed to associate. The men who had -been pleasantly familiar with him in those days stood aloof, and -seemed by no means anxious to continue the acquaintance. They had -come, soon after his marriage, and dined in the little red-flocked -tank in Squab-street, but that was principally for Madeleine's sake; -and when rumours as to the newly-founded _ménage_ grew rife, and more -especially after Tommy Toshington's delightful story of seeing Caird -at Madame Favorita's door had got wind, the men generally agreed that -he was a bad lot, and fought as shy of him as was compatible with -common politeness. For it is to be noted that the loose-living -Benedick, the married man who glories in his own escapades and talks -with unctuous smack of his dissipations, is generally shunned by those -men of his own set, who are by no means strait-laced, and forced to -seek his company in a lower grade. - -Ramsay Caird began to be bored and oppressed by his wife's illness, -and by the constant presence of her father and brother at his house. -It is true that he never saw these unwelcome visitors--on both sides -any meeting was studiously avoided--but he could not help knowing of -their being constantly with the invalid; and his own conscience, as -much of it as he had ever possessed, did not fail to tell him what -must be their indubitable opinion of him and his conduct. The -companions too with whom he had taken up--for Ramsay Caird was -essentially gregarious, and especially during the last few months had -found the impossibility of living without excitement--the new -companions with whom he consorted, and who were principally -half-sporting, half-military, whole raffish adventurers, always well -dressed, and retaining a certain hold on society, where they once had -been well received,--these men encouraged Caird in his dislike to his -home, and assisted him in the invention of plausible excuses to get -away from it. The fact that he had "gone on to the turf," which he had -at first taken every precaution to prevent his connections in -Brook-street from becoming acquainted with, and which, when some kind -common friend had told them of it, struck Kilsyth with silent horror, -and aroused much burning and outspoken indignation in Ronald, was now -put forward on every occasion, just as though it had been a legitimate -business on which he was employed. "Meetings" were constantly taking -place all over the country at which his attendance was indispensable, -and he was soon well known as one of the regular frequenters of the -betting-ring. On his return the servants in Squab-street could -generally tell what had been the result of his betting speculations; -but only to them and to one other person did he ever show his temper. -And that one other person was Lady Muriel--the proud Lady Muriel--who -in all matters between her husband and this man, who by her -instrumentality had become the husband of her husband's daughter, had -to be the go-between; to her it was left to soften his irregularities -and gloss them over as best she might, and she alone possessed his -confidence. To be the _confidante_ of a gambler and the apologist for -a debauchee was scarcely what Lady Muriel had expected when she gave -her pledge to dying Stewart Caird, and when she intrigued and -manoeuvred so successfully in gaining her stepdaughter's hand for -Ramsay. - -Three days before Madeleine's death Ramsay Caird announced to Lady -Muriel, whom he stopped as she was about to ascend the stairs to the -invalid's room, that he wanted to speak to her, and, on joining him -in the red-flocked tank, told her that he was about to start that -night for Paris. There were races at Chantilly in which he was very -much interested, having a large sum at stake, and it was absolutely -necessary that he should be on the spot to watch and avail himself of -the fluctuations in the betting-ring. Then, for the first time during -their acquaintance, Lady Muriel spoke out to her quondam protégé. The -long-repressed emotions under which she was suffering seemed to have -given her eloquence; she drew a vivid picture of "what might have -been" if Ramsay's conduct had been different, and lashed his present -life and pursuits, the company he kept, and the general degradation -into which he had fallen, with an unsparing tongue. She implored him -to give up his intended journey, assuring him that he either would not -or could not understand the extreme danger of his wife's position, -pointing out to him what scandal must necessarily arise from his -absenting himself at such a time, and telling him that his past -conduct during his married life, already sufficiently commented upon -by the world, might to a certain extent be condoned by his doing his -duty and devoting himself to his home for the future. Ramsay listened -impatiently, as men of his stamp always listen to such advice, and -then he in his turn spoke out. He said that he would be his own -master, that he would brook no interference with his plans, that -already he was a mere cipher in his own house, which was invaded and -occupied by other people at their own pleasure, and that he would -stand it no longer; then, after this outburst, he moderated his tone, -apologised to Lady Muriel for his violence, and told her that, though -the importance of his business arrangements and the largeness of his -venture made it absolutely necessary for him to go to Paris on this -occasion, yet it should be the last; he would do as her ladyship -wished him, as he felt he ought to do, and his enemies should find -that he was not so black as by some persons he had been painted. - -So Ramsay Caird and a select circle of British turfites took their -departure by that night's mail, and enjoyed themselves very much, -smoking, drinking, and playing cards whenever it was practicable on -the journey. Most of them were men whose acquaintance Caird had made -some time previously; but amongst them there was a Frenchman, a M. -Leroux, whom Ramsay had never previously seen, although the little -gentleman said he had frequently been in England, and seemed perfectly -conversant with the English language, manners, and customs. He was a -lively, vivacious, gasconading little fellow; and any temporary -depression of spirits which Ramsay Caird may have felt after his -interview with Lady Muriel quite vanished under the influence of M. -Leroux's conversation. He and M. Leroux seemed to have taken a mutual -liking to each other; they went together to the races, where Caird won -a large sum of money, Leroux not being quite so fortunate; and on -their return to Paris, Ramsay declined to join his English friends, -and dined with Leroux and some very agreeable Frenchmen to whom Leroux -had introduced him at the races. The dinner was excellent; and after -they had done full justice to it, and to the wines which accompanied -it, they all adjourned so some neighbouring rooms belonging to one of -their number, where cards and dice were speedily introduced. Again -Ramsay Caird's luck stood by him. _Malheureux en amour_, he was -destined to be _heureux en jeu_ on this occasion at least. Nothing -could alter or diminish his flow of success; no matter what he played, -lansquenet, baccarat, hazard, he won largely at them all; and when at -a very late hour he left the rooms in company with Leroux and two of -his friends, his pockets were filled with notes and gold. They were -quite empty when they were examined about noon the next day by the -attendants at the Morgue, whither Ramsay Caird's dead body, found in -the Seine with a deep gash in its breast, had been conveyed. - -M. Leroux and his friends did not come so well out of this little -affair as they had expected. They knew that Ramsay was a stranger in -Paris, known only to the English sporting-men in whose company he had -arrived there, and who had probably returned to England. But they did -not make allowance for the fact that of all cities Paris has a charm -for the "English division," who, if they have won any money, linger -for a few days amongst its pleasures, one of which undoubtedly is a -frequent visit to the Morgue. By one of these late lingerers, no less -a person than Captain Severn, the body of Ramsay Caird was seen and -recognised; inquiries were at once set on foot; the waiter at the -restaurant, the _concierge_ at the house where the play had taken -place, were examined, and gave their evidence. M. Leroux and his two -friends were apprehended; one of the friends turned traitor (his share -of the spoil had been too small), and Leroux and the other, being -found guilty of murder under extenuating circumstances, were sentenced -to the galleys for life. - -The news of this catastrophe was conveyed to the Kilsyth family in a -letter addressed by Captain Severn to Ronald, which letter lay -unopened in Brook-street for several days. Ronald Kilsyth was far too -much crushed and broken by the blow, which, for all their long -expectation of its advent, had yet fallen suddenly upon them at the -last, to attend to anything unconnected, as he imagined, with the -dead. He had indeed carelessly glanced at the cover of this letter, -with several others; but the handwriting was unfamiliar to him, and he -put it aside, to be opened at a later opportunity. It was not until -two or three days afterwards, when Ramsay Caird had been sought in -vain, and when Lady Muriel had confessed that he had confided to her -his intention of going to Paris, that Ronald recollected the letter in -the strange handwriting with the Paris postmark. He sent for the -letter, and read it through without the smallest sign of emotion. He -was a hard man, Ronald Kilsyth, and the softening effect of his -sister's illness only included her and those who were fond of her. -Ronald knew well enough that Ramsay Caird did not come within this -category, and he felt no pity for his fate. - -He communicated the news to his father more as a matter of form than -anything else; for the shock of his beloved child's death had almost -deprived Kilsyth of his reason. Like Rachel, he refused to be -comforted, and would sit hour after hour in one position on his chair, -his eyes fixed on vacancy, his chin resting on his breast, his hands -idly clasped before him. Nothing seemed to rouse him,--not even the -news which had been conveyed to Ronald in Captain Severn's letter. He -comprehended it, for he said "Poor Ramsay!" once, and once only; then -heaved a deep sigh, and never alluded to his dead son-in-law again. -His thoughts were filled with reminiscences of his lost darling, and -he had none to bestow on anyone else. "My poor Maddy!" "My bonnie -lass!" "My own childie!"--he would sit and repeat these phrases over -and over again; then steal away down to the house where all that was -left of her still lay, and remain on his knees by the coffin, until -Ronald would come and half forcibly lead him away. He left London -immediately after the funeral, and never could be persuaded to return -to it. After a while, the fresh mountain air, to which he had been so -accustomed, and away from which he was never well, had some of its old -restorative effect, and Kilsyth recovered most of his physical -strength and some of his old pleasure in field sports; but his zest -for life was gone, and the gullies mourned the alteration in the chief -whom they loved so much. - -The death of Ramsay Caird under such horrible circumstances was a -crushing blow to Lady Muriel. This, then, was the end of all her -schemes and plots; this the result of so much mental agony and remorse -endured by herself--of so much grief and cruel injustice inflicted by -her on others. She had kept the promise she had made to Stewart Caird -on his deathbed, two lives had been sacrificed, two loves had been -blighted--but she had kept her promise. For the first time in her life -"my lady's" courage failed her; and her conscience showed her how -recklessly she had availed herself of the means to gain her ends. For -the first time in her life she dreaded meeting the glances of the -world. More than all men she dreaded Ronald Kilsyth, knowing as she -did full well how she had used him for her own purposes, and with what -lamentable results. She had been seriously affected by Madeleine's -death--like many worldly people, never knowing how much she had loved -the girl until she lost her; and now the fact of Ramsay's murder under -such discreditable circumstances--a story which had been made public -in the newspapers, where the world could glean the undeniable truth -that the murdered man had left what was actually his wife's deathbed -to attend some races--seemed to overwhelm her The young men who -visited at the house had been in the habit of expressing to each other -great admiration of Lady Muriel's "pluck"--that quality did not desert -her even at her worst. She made head against her troubles, and never -gave in; but those intimate enemies who saw her before she left London -with her husband declared Lady Muriel to be "quite broken" and a -"thorough wreck." - -And Chudleigh Wilmot? He lived, of course; lived, and ate and drank, -and pursued very much his usual course of life. Well, no; not quite -his usual course of life. The effect of the death of the one woman -whom in his lifetime he had loved was to him much as are the gunshot -wounds of which we sometimes hear officers and army surgeons tell; -wounds where the hit man feels a slight concussion at the moment, and -does not know until a short time afterwards that he is stunned, -paralysed for ever. While Wilmot had been watching the insidious -progress of Madeleine's disease, his mental misery at times was most -acute; every variation in her was apparent to his practised eye; and -day by day he saw the destroyer creeping stealthily onward in his -attack, without the smallest power to resist him. When the bitter -tidings of her death were brought by Ronald's servant, the words fell -upon Chudleigh Wilmot's ear and smote him as if a sharp cut from a -whip had fallen upon him. She whom he had loved so devotedly, so -hopelessly, so selflessly, was dead--he realised that. He knew that he -should never see the light in her blue eyes, never hear the sweet soft -tones of her voice again. He was thankful that, under the impulse of -his grief, he had spoken to her out of his overcharged heart and told -her how he loved her. He dared not have done it before, he dared not -under any other circumstances have confessed the passion for her that -had so long been the motive-power of his life; but then--"Happy, -_quand même!_" Her last words--she never had spoken after that--her -last words were addressed to him, and told him of her happiness. - -It was not until after the funeral that Wilmot experienced the full -effect of the blow, experienced it in the dead dull blankness which -seemed for the second time to have fallen upon his life. He had had -something of the kind before, but nothing equal in intensity to what -he now suffered. He felt as though the light had died out, and that -henceforward he was to walk in darkness, without care, without hope, -without interest in any mortal thing. Previously he had found some -relief in hard study; now he found it impossible to fix his attention -on his hooks. The awful sense of something impending was perpetually -upon him; the more awful sense of something wanting in his life never -left him. The only time that a ray of comfort broke in upon him was -when Ronald Kilsyth would come and sit with him, and they would talk -of the dead girl for hours together, as Madeleine had predicted they -would do. They are very much together now, these two men; Ronald has -risen in the service, and he and Wilmot are engaged in ameliorating -the condition of the common soldiers and their families, It was a work -in which Madeleine at one time took much interest; and this was -sufficient to recommend it to Wilmot, who at once took it up. - -He is a middle-aged man now, with a grizzled head and a worn grave -face. He has wealth and fame, and might have any position; but the -world can offer him nothing that arouses in him the slightest -interest, unless it be associated with the memory of his lost love. - - - - -THE END. - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Forlorn Hope (Vol. 2 of 2), by Edmund Yates - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FORLORN HOPE (VOL. 2 OF 2) *** - -***** This file should be named 60073-8.txt or 60073-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/0/7/60073/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/60073-8.zip b/old/60073-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 1d37776..0000000 --- a/old/60073-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/60073-h.zip b/old/60073-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e8a7606..0000000 --- a/old/60073-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/60073-h/60073-h.htm b/old/60073-h/60073-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 7a7df1e..0000000 --- a/old/60073-h/60073-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7362 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> -<html> -<head> -<title>The Forlorn Hope. (Vol. 2 of 2)</title> -<meta name="Subtitle" content="A Novel."> -<meta name="Author" content="Edmund Yates"> -<meta name="Publisher" content="Bernhard Tauchnitz"> -<meta name="Date" content="1867"> -<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 {text-indent:1em; text-align: justify;} - -p.right {text-align:right; margin-right:20%;} -p.center {text-align: center;} -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%;} - -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;} - -</style> -</head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -Project Gutenberg's The Forlorn Hope (Vol. 2 of 2), by Edmund Yates - -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: The Forlorn Hope (Vol. 2 of 2) - A Novel - -Author: Edmund Yates - -Release Date: August 8, 2019 [EBook #60073] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FORLORN HOPE (VOL. 2 OF 2) *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books - - - - - -</pre> - -<p class="hang1">Page scan source:<br> -https://books.google.com/books?id=P4UV2GnOOdUC<br> -The Forlorn Hope a Novel, (Volume 878, Vol. II, in, Collection of<br> -British Authors, Volume 878.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h2>THE FORLORN HOPE.</h2> -<h5>A NOVEL.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> - -<h5>BY</h5> -<h4>EDMUND YATES,</h4> -<h5>AUTHOR OF "LAND AT LAST," "BROKEN TO HARNESS," ETC.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<h4><i>COPYRIGHT EDITION</i>.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<h4>IN TWO VOLUMES. -VOL. I.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>LEIPZIG<br> -BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ.<br> -1867.</h4> - -<h5><i>The Right of Translation is reserved</i>.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<table cellpadding="10" style="width: 90%; font-weight: bold; margin-left: 5%"> -<colgroup> -<col style="width: 10%; vertical-align: top; text-align: right"> -<col style="width: 90%; vertical-align: top; text-align: left"> -</colgroup> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"> -<h4>CONTENTS</h4> -<h5>OF VOLUME II.</h5></td> -</tr><tr> -<td>CHAPTER</td> -<td></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_01" href="#div1_01">I.</a></td> -<td>Nothing like Wilmot.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_02" href="#div1_02">II.</a></td> -<td>Another Turn of the Screw.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_03" href="#div1_03">III.</a></td> -<td>A Coup manqué.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_04" href="#div1_04">IV.</a></td> -<td>Madeleine awakes.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_05" href="#div1_05">V.</a></td> -<td>At our Minister's.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_06" href="#div1_06">VI.</a></td> -<td>The Gulf fixed.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_07" href="#div1_07">VII.</a></td> -<td>Henrietta.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_08" href="#div1_08">VIII.</a></td> -<td>Mrs. Ramsay Caird at Home.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_09" href="#div1_09">IX.</a></td> -<td>Inquisitorial.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_10" href="#div1_10">X.</a></td> -<td>Against the Grain.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_11" href="#div1_11">XI.</a></td> -<td>Iconoclastic.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_12" href="#div1_12">XII.</a></td> -<td>Too Late.</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_13" href="#div1_13">XIII.</a></td> -<td>Quand même!</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_14" href="#div1_14">XIV.</a></td> -<td>Forlorn.</td> -</tr></table> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3>THE FORLORN HOPE.</h3> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_01" href="#div1Ref_01">CHAPTER I</a>.</h4> -<h5>Nothing like Wilmot.</h5> -<br> - -<p>Mr. Foljambe did not easily throw off the painful impression which his -interview with Chudleigh Wilmot had made upon him. The old gentleman -had always found Wilmot, though not an expansive, a singularly frank -person; he had not indeed ever spoken much to him concerning his wife -or his domestic affairs generally; but men do not do so habitually; -and the men to whom their wives are most dear and important rarely -mention them at all. The circumstance had therefore made no impression -upon Mr. Foljambe, himself a confirmed old bachelor, who, though very -kind and considerate to women and children, regarded them rather as -ornamental trifles, with a tendency to degenerate into nuisances, than -otherwise.</p> - -<p>He began by wondering why Wilmot should have been so thoroughly upset -by his wife's death, and went on to speculate how long that very -unexpected and undesirable result might be likely to last. Becoming -sanguine and comparatively cheerful at this point, he made up his mind -that Chudleigh would get over it before long. Perhaps all had not gone -very smooth with the Wilmots. Not that he had any particular reason to -think so; but Wilmot was not a remarkably domestic man, and there -might be perhaps a little spice of self-reproach in his sorrow. At all -events, it would not last; <i>that</i> might be looked upon as certain. In -the mean time, and in order that the world might not think Wilmot's -conduct silly, sentimental, or mysterious, Mr. Foljambe would be -beforehand with the gossips and the curious, and, by assigning to his -absence from England a motive in which the interests of his profession -and those of his health should be combined, prevent the risk of its -being imputed to anything so <i>rococo</i> as deep feeling.</p> - -<p>"Gad, I'll do it," said Mr. Foljambe, as he took his seat in his -faultless brougham, having carefully completed an irreproachable -afternoon toilette, in which every article of costume was integrally -perfect and of the highest fashion, but as scrupulously adapted to his -time of life as the dress of a Frenchwoman of middle or indeed of any -age. "I'll go and inquire for that Kilsyth girl, and set the right -story afloat there," he said, as he gave his coachman the necessary -orders; "it will soon find its way about town, especially if that -carrier-pigeon Caird is in the way."</p> - -<p>And the old gentleman, chuckling over his own cleverness in hitting on -so happy a device, felt almost reconciled already to the deprivation -which he was doomed to suffer in the loss of Wilmot's society by the -opportunity which it afforded him of exercising the small social -talents, of which he really possessed a good many, and believed -himself to be endowed with a good many more.</p> - -<p>Lady Muriel Kilsyth was at home, likewise Miss Kilsyth; and her -ladyship "received" that afternoon. So Mr. Foljambe, who, though an -admittedly old man, long past the elderly stage, and no longer <i>à -pretention</i> in any sense, was as welcome a visitor in a London -drawing-room as the curliest of darlings and most irresistible of -guardsmen, made his way nimbly upstairs, and was ushered into the -presence of the two ladies, who formed an exceedingly pretty and -effective domestic group.</p> - -<p>Madeleine Kilsyth, who had recovered her beauty, though a little of -her brilliance and her bloom was still wanting, was drawing, while her -stepmother stood a little behind her chair, her dark graceful head -bent over her shoulder, and directed her pencil. Mr. Foljambe's glance -lighted on the two faces as he entered the room, and they inspired him -with an instantaneous compliment, which he turned with grace, a little -old-fashioned, but the more attractive. They answered him pleasantly; -Lady Muriel gave him her hand; Madeleine suffered him to take both -hers, and repaid the long look of interest with which he regarded her -with her sweetest smile; then resumed her occupation, and listened, as -she drew, to the conversation between Lady Muriel and Mr. Foljambe.</p> - -<p>At first their talk was only of generalities: what the ladies had been -doing since they came to London, the extent of Madeleine's drives, how -many of their acquaintance had also arrived, the prospects of society -for the winter, and cognate topics. They had seen a good deal of -Ronald, Lady Muriel told Mr. Foljambe; and her brother's presence had -been a great pleasure to Madeleine. A close observer might have -thought that Madeleine's expression of countenance did not altogether -confirm this statement; but her old friend was not a close observer of -young ladies, and Lady Muriel did not look at her stepdaughter as she -spoke. After a while Mr. Foljambe turned the conversation upon -Madeleine's illness, and so, in the easiest and most natural way, -introduced Wilmot's name. Lady Muriel's manner of meeting this topic -was admirable. She never failed in the <i>aplomb</i> which is part of the -armour of a woman of the world; and though she never again could hear -Wilmot's name mentioned with real composure, she had the mock article -always at hand; so skilful an imitation as successfully to defy -detection.</p> - -<p>"A fine fellow, is he not, Lady Muriel?" said Mr. Foljambe, in the -tone of a father desirous of hearing the praises of his favourite son.</p> - -<p>"Indeed he is," responded Lady Muriel heartily. "He has laid us under -an obligation which we can never discharge or forget. I am sure -Kilsyth and I reckon him among the most valued of our friends."</p> - -<p>"He took the deepest interest in Miss Kilsyth's case, I know," said -Mr. Foljambe; "and of course there was everything to excite such a -feeling;" and the gallant old gentleman bowed in the direction of -Madeleine, who acknowledged the compliment with a most becoming blush.</p> - -<p>"It was a very anxious, a very trying time," said Lady Muriel, in the -precise tone which suited the sentiment. "I don't know how Kilsyth -would have borne it, had it not been for Dr. Wilmot. We were much -distressed to hear that such bad news awaited him on his return. He -found his wife dying, did he not?"</p> - -<p>"He found her dead, Lady Muriel."</p> - -<p>There was a pause, during which Madeleine laid aside her pencil, and -shaded her face with her hand. The tears were standing in her blue -eyes; and while Mr. Foljambe proceeded, they streamed unchecked down -her face.</p> - -<p>"Yes, he found her dead. It was a sudden termination to an illness -which had nothing serious in it, to all appearance. But, as many -another illness has done, it set all human calculations at naught; and -when the bad symptoms set in, it was too late for him to reach her in -time. I suppose he has not told you anything about it?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Lady Muriel; "beyond a few words of condolence, to which he -made a very brief reply, nothing has been said. I fancy Dr. Wilmot is -a man but little given to talking of his own afnot fairs or his own -feelings."</p> - -<p>"Not given to talking of them at all, Lady Muriel. I never met a more -reticent man, even with myself; and I flatter myself he has no closer -friend, none with whom he is on more confidential terms; he is very -reserved in some things. I did not know much of his wife."</p> - -<p>"Did you not?" said Lady Muriel; "how was that?"</p> - -<p>"When I say I did not know much of her," Mr. Foljambe explained, "I -do not mean that it was from any fault of mine. I called once or -twice, but there was something sullen and impenetrable and -uninteresting about her, and I never felt any real intimacy with her."</p> - -<p>"Indeed!" said Lady Muriel, "it is impossible to know Dr. Wilmot -without feeling interested in all that concerns him; and I have often -wished to know what sort of woman his wife was."</p> - -<p>"Well, that is precisely what very few persons in the world could have -told you; and I, for one, acknowledge myself astonished at the effect -her death has had on Wilmot."</p> - -<p>"He is dreadfully cut up by it certainly," said Lady Muriel; "but I -hope, and suppose, he will recover it, as other people have to recover -troubles of that and every other kind."</p> - -<p>"He is taking the best means of getting over it," said Mr. Foljambe; -"and I heartily enter into the notion, and have encouraged him in it. -He thinks of going abroad for some time. I know he has been very -anxious to study the foreign treatment of diseases in general, and of -fever in particular; and he came to me yesterday and told me he meant -to leave London for six months at least. He assigned sound reasons for -such a determination, and I think it is the wisest at which he could -possibly have arrived."</p> - -<p>Lady Muriel rose and rang the bell. The fire required mending, and the -brief afternoon twilight rendered the lamps a necessity earlier than -usual. When these things had been attended to, she took up the -dialogue where it had been broken off with all her accustomed grace -and skill.</p> - -<p>"I did not know we were about to lose Dr. Wilmot for a time," she -said. "If all his friends and patients miss him as much as Madeleine -Kilsyth and myself are likely to do, his absence is likely to create a -sensation indeed. And so poor Mrs. Wilmot was not a very amiable, -woman?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Foljambe had not said anything about Mrs. Wilmot's amiability, or -the opposite, but he let the observation pass in sheer bewilderment; -and that Lady Muriel Kilsyth understood as well as he did. She went -on. "A man like Dr. Wilmot must miss companionship at home very much. -Of course he can always command the resources of society, but they -would not be welcome to him yet awhile. How long does he speak of -remaining away, Mr. Foljambe?"</p> - -<p>"He did not mention any particular time in talking the matter over -with me. His destination is Berlin, I believe. He is anxious to -investigate some medical system carried on there, which I need not say -neither you nor I know anything about. He was very eloquent upon it, I -assure you; and I am glad to perceive that all his trouble has not -decreased his interest in the one great object of his life."</p> - -<p>"His professional advancement, I suppose?" said Lady Muriel.</p> - -<p>"Well, not exactly that. I think he must retard that by any, and -especially by an indefinite, absence. It is rather to his profession -itself, to science in the abstract, I allude. He always had a perfect -thirst for knowledge, and the greatest powers of application I have -ever known any man possessed of. A 'case' was in his eyes the most -important of human affairs. He would throw himself into the interest -of his attendance upon a patient with preternatural energy. I am sure -you discovered that while he was at Kilsyth."</p> - -<p>"Yes indeed; his care of Madeleine was beyond all praise, or indeed -description. No doubt, had any other opportunity offered, we should -have found, as you say, that such devotion was not a solitary -instance."</p> - -<p>"O no, Wilmot is always the same. You know, I presume, that I required -his services very urgently indeed just then; but he would not leave -Miss Kilsyth's case for even so old and near a friend as I am."</p> - -<p>Madeleine's colour deepened, and she listened to the conversation, in -which she had taken no share, with increased eagerness.</p> - -<p>"I know that some one telegraphed to him, but that he kindly said -Madeleine's case being the more urgent of the two, he would remain -with her. And you were none the worse, it seems, Mr. Foljambe?"</p> - -<p>"No indeed, Lady Muriel," replied the old gentleman with a -good-humoured smile. "Wilmot's deputy did quite as well for me as the -mighty potentate of medicine himself. But I acknowledge I was a little -annoyed; and if anyone but my old friend Kilsyth's daughter had been -the detaining cause, I should have been tempted to play Wilmot a -trick, by pretending that some extraordinary and entirely novel -symptoms had appeared. He would have come fast enough then, I warrant -you, for the chance of finding out something new about gout."</p> - -<p>Lady Muriel laughed, but Madeleine apparently did not perceive the -joke. Soon some other callers dropped in, and Mr. Foljambe took his -leave. But the subject of Wilmot and his contemplated abandonment of -London was not abandoned on his departure. He was well known to the -"set" in which the Kilsyths moved, though their own acquaintance with -him was so recent, and everyone had something to say about the rising -man. The sentimental view of the subject was very general. It was so -very charming to think of any man, especially one so talented, so -popular, so altogether delightful as Wilmot, being "broken-hearted" by -the death of his wife. Lady Muriel gently insinuated, once or twice, a -doubt whether there was any ground for this very congenial but rather -romantic supposition: her doubts, however, were by no means well -received, and she found herself overwhelmed with evidence of the -irremediably desolate condition of Wilmot's heart.</p> - -<p>When the afternoon calls had come to an end, and Lady Muriel and her -stepdaughter were in their respective rooms and about to dress for -dinner, the mind of each was in accord with that of the other, -inasmuch as the same subject of contemplation engrossed both. But the -harmony went no farther. Nothing could be more opposite than the -effect produced upon Madeleine and Lady Muriel by Mr. Foljambe's news, -and by all the desultory discussion and speculation which had followed -its announcement.</p> - -<p>To Madeleine the knowledge that she should see Wilmot no more for an -indefinite period was like a sentence of death. The young girl was -profoundly unconscious of the meaning of her own feelings. That the -sentiment which she entertained towards Wilmot was love, she never for -a moment dreamed. In him the ideal of an elevated and refined fancy -had found its realisation; he was altogether different from the men -she had hitherto met since her emancipation from the schoolroom; -different from the hunting, shooting devotees of field-sports, or the -heavy country gentlemen given to farming and local politics, who -frequented Kilsyth; different from the associates of her brother, who, -whether they were merely fashionable and empty, or formal and priggish -like Ronald himself, were essentially distasteful to her. She was of a -dreamy and romantic temperament, to which the delicacy of health and -the not quite congenial conditions of her life at home contributed not -a little; and she had seen in Wilmot the man of talent, action, and -resolve, the realisation of the nineteenth-century heroic ideal. To -admire and reverence him; to find the best and most valuable of -resources in his friendship, the wisest and truest guidance in his -intellect, the most exquisite of pleasures in his society; to triumph -in his fame, and try to merit his approval,--such was the girl's -scheme for the future. But it never occurred to her that there was one -comprehensive and forbidden word in which the whole of this state of -feeling might be accurately defined. She had grieved for Wilmot's -grief when she heard of the death of his wife, but at the same time a -subtle instinct, which she never questioned and could not have -defined, told her that his marriage had not been a happy one, -according to her enthusiastic girlish notion of a happy marriage. She -did not know anything about it; she had no idea what sort of woman -Chudleigh Wilmot's wife was, but she had felt, by the nameless sense -which, had she been an elder woman with ever so little experience, -would have enlightened her as to the nature of her own feelings, that -he was not really attached to her to the extent which alone seemed to -her to imply happiness in the conjugal relation. So, when Madeleine -heard that Wilmot was going abroad, and heard her stepmother's -visitors talk about his being "broken-hearted," she felt equally -wretched and incredulous. Sentimental reason for this resolution she -did not, she could not accept; the other was exquisitely painful to -her. Had he, indeed, so absorbing a love for his professional studies? -Was he really occupied by them to the exclusion of all else; had her -"case," and not herself, been his attraction at Kilsyth? If Mr. -Foljambe had really resorted to the device he had spoken of, would -Wilmot have left her? To none of these questions could Madeleine find -an answer inside her own breast, or without it; so they tortured her. -Her vision of seeing him frequently, of making him her friend--the -vision which had so strangely beautified the prospect of her stay in -London,--faded suddenly; and unconscious of all the idea meant and -implied, the girl said to herself, "If he had cared for me--not as I -care for him, of course that could not be--but ever so little, he -would not go away."</p> - -<p>Very different were Lady Muriel's meditations. To her this resolve on -the part of Wilmot was peculiarly welcome. In the first place, she was -a thorough woman of the world, and free from the impetuosity of youth. -She was quite willing to be deprived of Wilmot's society for the -present, if, as she calculated would be the case, he should return -under circumstances which would enable her to reckon with increased -security upon gaining the influence over him to which she ardently -aspired, to which she aspired more and more ardently as each day -proved to her how strong an impulse her life had taken from this new -source. She cared little from what motive Wilmot's resolve had sprung. -If indeed he had deeply loved, and if indeed he did desperately mourn -his wife, the very power and violence of the feeling would react upon -itself, and force him to accept consolation all the sooner that he had -proved the greatness of his need of it. He would be absent during the -dark time when grief forms an eclipse, and he would emerge from its -shadow into the brightness which she would cause to shine upon his -life. She did not anticipate that his absence would be greatly -prolonged, but she did not shrink, even supposing it should be, from -the interval. She had enough to do within its duration. Lady Muriel -was as thoroughly acquainted with Madeleine's love for Wilmot as the -girl was ignorant that she loved him. There was not a corner of her -innocent heart which the keen experienced eye of her stepmother had -not scanned and examined narrowly.</p> - -<p>In Madeleine's perfect ignorance of the real nature of her own -feelings Lady Muriel's best security for the success of her wishes and -designs lay. As she had no notion that her love was aught but liking, -she would be the more easily persuaded that her liking was love. She -had a liking for Ramsay Caird. The gay, careless, superficial -good-nature of the young man, his easy gentlemanly manners, and the -familiarity with which his intercourse with the Kilsyth family was -invested in consequence of his relationship to Lady Muriel, were all -pleasing to the young girl; and probably, "next to Ronald," she -preferred Ramsay Caird to any man of her acquaintance. Of late, too, -an unexplained something had come between Madeleine and her brother--a -certain restraint, a subtle sense of estrangement--which Lady Muriel -thoroughly understood, but for which Madeleine could not have -accounted, and shrunk from acknowledging to herself. This unexplained -something, which made her look forward to Ronald's visits with greatly -decreased pleasure, and made her involuntarily silent and depressed in -his presence, told considerably in Ramsay Caird's favour; for it led -to Madeleine's according him an increased share of her attention. The -young man was a constant visitor at the Kilsyths'; and there was so -much decision in Madeleine's liking for him, that she missed him if by -any chance he was absent of an evening, and occasionally was heard to -wonder what could have kept Mr. Caird away.</p> - -<p>Madeleine's delicate health furnished Lady Muriel with a sufficient -and reasonable pretext for keeping her at home in the evenings; and -she contrived to make it evident that Ramsay Caird's presence -constituted a material difference in the dulness or the pleasantness -of the little party which assembled with tolerable regularity in the -drawing-room. Ronald would come in for an hour or so, and then -Madeleine would be particularly <i>prévenante</i> towards Ramsay Caird; an -innocent and unconscious hypocrisy, poor child, which her stepmother -perfectly understood, and which she saw with deep though concealed -satisfaction.</p> - -<p>On the evening of the day when Mr. Foljambe had discussed Wilmot's -departure with Lady Muriel and Madeleine, the elder lady was a little -embarrassed by the manifest effect on the looks and the spirits of the -younger which the intelligence had produced. At dinner Kilsyth -perversely chose to descant on the two themes with all a single-minded -man's amiable pertinacity, and, of course, without the smallest -conception that any connection existed between them. He was quite -aggrieved at Wilmot's departure, and called on everyone to take notice -of Madeleine's looks in confirmation of the loss he and his in -particular must sustain by his absence. Ronald was of the party; and -he preserved so marked and ungracious a silence, that at length even -Kilsyth could not avoid noticing it, and said:</p> - -<p>"I suppose you are the only man who knows him, Ronald, who underrates -Wilmot; and I really believe you think we make quite an unnecessary -fuss about him."</p> - -<p>"I by no Means underrate the abilities of your medical attendant, -sir," Ronald answered in his coldest and driest tone, and, as -Madeleine felt in all her shrinking nerves, though she dared not look -up to meet it, with a moody searching glance at her; "but, admirable -as he may be in his proper capacity and his proper place, I cannot -quite appreciate his social importance."</p> - -<p>"Just listen to him, Muriel," said Kilsyth in a provoked but yet -good-humoured tone. "What wonderful fellows these young men are! He -actually talks of a man like Wilmot as if he were a general -practitioner or an apothecary's apprentice!"</p> - -<p>Lady Muriel interposed, and turned off this somewhat perilous and -peace-breaking remark with one of the graceful, skilful generalities -of which she always had a supply ready for emergencies. Ronald -contented himself with a half smile of contempt at his father's -enthusiastic misrepresentation; Madeleine talked energetically to -Ramsay Caird; and the matter dropped.</p> - -<p>To be resumed in the drawing-room, however. Madeleines looks were not -improved when her father and the two young men joined her and Lady -Muriel. She was dreaming over a book which she was pretending to read, -when Kilsyth came up to her, took her chin in his hand, and turned up -her face to his and to the light.</p> - -<p>Tears were trembling in her blue eyes.</p> - -<p>"Hallo, Maddy," said her father, "what's this? You're nervous, my -darling! I knew you were not well. Has anything fretted you?--Has -anything vexed her, Muriel?"</p> - -<p>"No, papa, nothing; nothing at all," said Madeleine, making a strong -effort to recover herself. "I have got hold of a sorrowful book, -that's all."</p> - -<p>"Have you, my dear? then put it away. Let's look at it. Why, it's -<i>Pickwick</i>, I declare! Maddy, what can all you? How could you possibly -cry over anything in <i>Pickwick?</i>"</p> - -<p>"I don't know that, sir," said Ramsay, jauntily and jovially coming to -Madeleine's assistance, without the faintest notion of anything beyond -her being "badgered by the governor." "There's the dying clown, you -know, and the queer client. I've cried over them myself; or at least -I've been very near it," And he sat down beside Madeleine, and applied -himself with success to rousing and amusing her. Ronald said nothing, -and very soon went away.</p> - -<p>"I'm determined on one thing, Muriel," said Kilsyth to his wife when -they were alone; "I'll have a long talk with Wilmot before he goes, -and get the fullest instructions from him about Madeleine. I have no -confidence in anyone else in her case, and I'll write to Wilmot about -it, and ask him to come here professionally, as soon as he can, the -first thing to-morrow morning."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_02" href="#div1Ref_02">CHAPTER II.</a></h4><> -<h5>Another Turn of the Screw.</h5> -<br> - -<p>If the interview which had taken place between Chudleigh Wilmot and -Henrietta Prendergast had had unfortunate results for the one, it had -been proportionably, if not equally, unpleasant to the other. It was -impossible that Henrietta could have sustained a more complete -discouragement, a more telling and unmistakable defeat, than she felt -had befallen her when, after Wilmot had left her, she went over every -point of their conversation, and considered the interview in every -possible aspect. She had at once, or at least at a very early stage, -discerned that some fresh disturbing cause existed in Wilmot's mind. -She had seen him, on the memorable occasion of their first interview -after his wife's death, horrified, confounded, and unfeignedly -distressed. However little he had loved his wife, however passing and -shallow the impression made upon him by the sudden and untimely event -might prove--and Mrs. Prendergast was prepared to find it prove -shallow and passing--it had been real, single, intelligible. He had -received the painful communication which she had been charged to make -to him with surprise, with sorrow--no doubt, in his secret soul, with -bitter, regretful, vain remorse. She could only surmise this part of -his feelings. He had not departed from the manly reticence which she -had expected from him, and for which she admired him; but she never -doubted that he had experienced such remorse,--vain, bitter, and -regretful.</p> - -<p>All the information which had drifted to her knowledge since--and -though she was not a distinctly curious or mean-natured woman, Mrs. -Prendergast was not above cultivating and maintaining friendly -relations with Dr. Wilmot's household, to all of whom she was as -well known, and had been nearly as important, as their late -mistress--confirmed her in the belief that the conduct of the -suddenly-bereaved husband had been all that propriety, good feeling, -good taste, and good sense could possibly require. She bad not -precisely defined in her imagination what it was that she looked for -and expected in the interview which Wilmot had requested, with a -little too much formality, certainly, to be reassuring with regard to -any notions she might possibly have entertained with respect to the -freedom and intimacy of their future relations. But she did not suffer -herself to dwell on that matter of the formality. It was not -unnatural; there are persons, she knew, to whom that sort of thing -seems proper when a death--what may be called an intimate death, that -is to say--has taken place, who change all their ways and manners for -a time, just as they put on mourning and use lugubrious stationery. It -was not very like what she would have expected of Wilmot, to enrol -himself in the number of these formalists; but she did not allow the -circumstance to impress her disagreeably. She possessed patience in as -marked a degree as she possessed intelligence--patience, a much rarer -and nearly as valuable a quality--and she was satisfied to wait until -time should enable her to arrive at the free and frequent association -with Wilmot, which was the first step to the end she had in view, and -meant to keep in view. She was perfectly clear upon that point; none -the leas clear that she did not discuss it in her own thoughts, or -ponder over it; but she laid it quietly aside, to be produced and -acted on when it should be required.</p> - -<p>Therefore Henrietta Prendergast was disquieted and disconcerted by the -tone and manner which Wilmot had assumed during their interview. -Disquieted, because there was something in and under them which she -could not fathom; disconcerted, because everything in the interview -betrayed and disappointed the expectations she had formed, and because -her intention of conveying to Wilmot, by a frank and friendly manner, -that it was within his power to continue in his own person the -intimacy which had subsisted between herself and his wife, had been -utterly routed and nullified.</p> - -<p>"There was something in his mind with regard to Mabel," she said to -herself, as she sat at her tea in her snug drawing-room on the same -afternoon; "there certainly was something in his mind about her which -was not in it when I saw him last. I wonder what it is. I wonder -whether he has found anything? I am sure she never kept a journal; I -shouldn't think so; I fancy no one ever does in real life, except they -are so important as to be wanted for public purposes, or so vain as to -think such demand likely. Besides, Mabel's trouble was not tragical; -it was only monotonous and uneventful. No; I am sure she did not keep -a journal. So he has not found one; and he has not found any letters -either. Mabel had very few to keep, and she burnt the scanty -collection just as her illness began. I remember coming suddenly into -the room, and fluttering the ashes all over her bed and toilet-table -by opening the door. Yes, to be sure, the window was open; and she had -had a fire kindled on purpose."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Prendergast leaned her face upon her hand, struck her teaspoon -thoughtfully against the edge of the tea-tray, and pondered deeply. -She was trying to recall every little incident connected with the dead -woman, in the endeavour to discover the secret of Wilmot's demeanour -that day.</p> - -<p>"Yes, she was sitting by the fire; a sandal-wood box was on the floor, -and a heap of ashes in the grate. I remember looking rather surprised, -and she said, 'You know, Hettie, one never can tell what may happen. -You nor I either cannot tell whether I shall ever recover; and it is -well to have all things in readiness.' I thought the observation -rather absurd particularly, however true it might be generally, and -told her so, for she was by no means seriously ill then. She still -persisted, however. What a remarkable feature of poor Mabel's illness, -by the bye, was her persistent and unalterable belief that she should -die! The wish to die, no doubt, assisted it much at the end; but the -conviction laid hold on her from the first."</p> - -<p>Then Mrs. Prendergast remembered how Mrs. Wilmot had left everything -in readiness; every article of household property, all her own private -possessions, everything which had claimed her care, provided for; and -though she knew that instances of such a morbid state of mind were not -altogether wanting in the case of women in Mrs. Wilmot's state of -health, she did not feel that such an hypothesis accounted for this -particular case satisfactorily. In all other respects there had been -such equality of disposition, common sense, and absence of -fancifulness about her friend, that she could not accept the -explanation which suggested itself. This was not the first time that -she had thought over this circumstance. It had been brought before her -very forcibly when a packet was sent to her, with a kind but formal -note from Wilmot, a day or two after his wife's funeral; which packet -contained a few articles of jewelry and general ornament, and a strip -of paper, bearing merely the words: "I wish these to be given to Mrs. -Prendergast.--M. W."</p> - -<p>But now it assumed a more puzzling importance and deeper interest. Had -Wilmot found anything among all her orderly possessions which had -thrown any new light upon her life? Had he had a misunderstanding with -Dr. Whittaker? Did he think his wife's life had been sacrificed by -want of care, or want of attention or of skill? Had remorse seized him -on this account, when he had succeeded in defeating its attack, in -consequence of the revelation which she had made to him? Had he -regained incredulity or indifference as regarded the years which had -passed in miscomprehension, to be roused into inquietude and stern -self-reproach by an appeal to his master passion, his professional -knowledge and attainments? If this were so, there would at least be -some measure of punishment allotted to Chudleigh Wilmot; for he was a -proud man, and sensitive on that point, if not on any other.</p> - -<p>Henrietta Prendergast was well disposed towards Wilmot now, in the new -aspect of affairs, and contemplating as she did certain dim future -possibilities very grateful to her pertinacious disposition. But she -was not sorry to think that he had something to suffer; and that -something of a nature to oppress his spirits considerably, and render -him indifferent to the attractions of society. Before this desirable -effect should have worn off, she would have contrived to make herself -necessary to him. She had but little doubt of her power to accomplish -this, if only the opportunity were afforded her. She knew she had -plenty of ability, not of a kind which Wilmot would dislike, and -certainly of a quality for which he did not give her credit. She had -less attraction than Mabel, so far as good looks would go, but that -would not be very far, she thought, with Dr. Wilmot. He might never -care for her even so much as he had cared for Mabel; but his feelings -towards her, if evoked at all, would be different, much more -satisfactory, and to her mind, which was properly organised, quite -sufficient.</p> - -<p>If Henrietta's daydreams were of a more sober colour, they were no -less unreal than the rosiest and most extravagant vision ever woven by -youthful fancy. She had not seen Madeleine Kilsyth. She had indeed -understood and witnessed Mabel's jealousy, aroused by the devotion of -her husband to the young Scotch girl. But she thought little of danger -from this quarter. She had always understood--having a larger -intellect and a wider perception, and above all, being an unconcerned -spectator, uninjured by it in her affections or her rights--Wilmot's -absorption in his profession much better than his wife had understood -it. Something in her own nature, dim and undeveloped, answered to this -absorption.</p> - -<p>"If I had had any pursuit in life, I should have followed it just as -eagerly; if I had had a career, I should have devoted myself to it -just as entirely," had been her frequent mental comment upon Wilmot's -conduct. She quite understood the effect it produced on a woman of -Mabel's temperament, was perfectly convinced that it could not produce -a similar effect on a woman of her own; but also believed that no such -conduct would ever have been pursued towards her. The very something -which enabled her to sympathise with him would have secured her from -exclusion from the reality and the meaning of his life. "At least I -should interest him," she had often said to herself, when she had seen -how entirely Mabel failed to inspire him with interest; and in her -lengthened cogitations on the evening of the day which had been marked -by Wilmot's visit, she repeated the assurance with renewed conviction.</p> - -<p>It was not that the remembrance of Miss Kilsyth did not occur to her -very strongly; on the contrary, it occupied its fall share of her mind -and attention. But she disposed of the subject very comfortably and -finally by dwelling on the following points:</p> - -<p>First, the distinction of rank and the difference in age between Miss -Kilsyth and Dr. Wilmot were both considerable, important, and likely -to form very efficient barriers against any extravagant notions on his -part. Supposing--an unlikely supposition in the case of a man who -added remarkable good sense to exceptional talent--he were to overlook -this distinction of rank and difference of age, it was not probable -that the young lady's relatives would accommodate themselves to any -such blindness; while it was extremely probable they would regard any -project on his part with respect to her as unmitigated presumption.</p> - -<p>So far she had pursued her cogitations without regard to the young -girl herself--to this brilliant young beauty, upon whom, endowed with -youth, beauty, rank, the prestige of one of the most fashionable and -popular women in London (for Henrietta Prendergast had her relations -with the great world, though she was not of it), life was just opening -in the fulness of joy and splendour. But when she turned her attention -in that direction, she found nothing to discourage her, nothing to -fear. What could be more wildly improbable than that Chudleigh Wilmot -should have made any impression on Miss Kilsyth of a nature to lead to -the realisation of any hope which might suggest itself to the new-made -widower? Henrietta Prendergast was not a woman of much delicacy of -mind or refinement of sentiment--if she had been, such self-communing -as that of this evening would have been impossible within three weeks -of her friend's death--but she was not so coarse, or indeed so -ignorant of the nature and training of women like Madeleine Kilsyth, -as to conceive the possibility of the girl's having fallen in love -with a married man, even had that married man been of a far more -captivating type than that presented by Chudleigh Wilmot. Madeleine's -stepmother had not been restrained from such a suspicion by any -superfluous delicacy; but Lady Muriel had an incentive to -clear-sightedness which was wanting in Henrietta's case; and it must -be said in justification of the acute woman of the world, that she was -satisfied of the girl's perfect unconsciousness of the real nature of -the sentiment which her jealous quick-sightedness had detected almost -in the first hours of its existence.</p> - -<p>The disqualification of his marriage removed, Henrietta still thought -there could be nothing to dread. The reminiscences attached to the -doctor who had attended her through a long illness, was said to have -saved her life, and had made himself very agreeable to his patient, -were no doubt frankly kind and grateful; but they were very unlikely -to be sentimental, and the opportunities which might come in his way -for rendering the tie already established stronger would be probably -limited. "If anything were to be feared in that quarter," thought -Henrietta, "and one could only manage to get a hint conveyed to Lady -Muriel, the thing would be done at once."</p> - -<p>Henrietta pronounced this opinion in her own mind with perfect -confidence. And she was right. If Lady Muriel Kilsyth had had no more -interest in Wilmot than that which during his sojourn at Kilsyth he -might have inspired in the least important inmate of the house, she -would have acted precisely as she had done. This was her strong tower -of defence, her excuse, her justification. If Wilmot's admiration of -her stepdaughter had not had in it the least element of offence to -herself, she would at once have opposed it, have endeavoured to -prevent its growth and manifestation, just as assiduously as she had -done. Herein was her safety. So, though Henrietta Prendergast was -entirely unaware of anything that had taken place; though she had -never spoken to Lady Muriel in her life, she had, as it happened, -speculated upon her quite correctly. So her self-conference came to a -close, without any misgiving, discouragement, or hesitation.</p> - -<p>"Mabel knew some people who knew the Kilsyths," Henrietta Prendergast -had said to Wilmot in their first interview; but she had not mentioned -that the people who knew the Kilsyths were acquaintances of hers, and -that she had been present on the occasion when Mabel had acquired all -the information which she had taken to heart so keenly. Such was, -however, the case; and Henrietta made up her mind, when she had -reasoned herself out of the first feeling of discouragement which her -interview with Wilmot had caused, though not out of the conviction -that there was something in his mind which she had not been able to -come at, that she would call on Mrs. and Miss Charlwood without delay. -She might not learn anything about Wilmot by so doing, but she could -easily introduce the Kilsyths into the conversation; and it could not -fail to be useful to her to gain a clear insight, into what sort of -people they were, and especially to know whether Miss Kilsyth had any -declared or supposed admirers as yet. So she went to bed that night -with her mind tolerably easy on the whole, though her last waking -thought was of the strange something in Chudleigh Wilmot's manner -which she had not been able to penetrate.</p> - -<p>It chanced, however, that Mrs. Prendergast did not fulfil her -intention so soon as she had purposed. On awaking the following -morning, she found that she had taken cold, a rather severe cold. She -was habitually careful of her health, and as the business on which she -had intended to go out was not pressing, she thought it wiser to -remain at home. The next day she was no better; the day after a little -worse. On the fourth day she thought she should be justified in asking -Wilmot to give her a call. On the very rare occasions when she had -required medical attendance she had had recourse to her friend's -husband; and it occurred to her that the present opportunity was -favourable for impressing him with a sense that she desired to -maintain the former relation unbroken. To increase and intensify it -would be her business later.</p> - -<p>So Mrs. Prendergast sent for Dr. Wilmot; but in answer to the summons -Dr. Whittaker presented himself.</p> - -<p>They had not met since they had stood together by Mabel's deathbed, -and the recollection softened Henrietta, though she felt at once -surprised and angry at the substitution.</p> - -<p>"I am doing Wilmot's work, except in the very particular cases," Dr. -Whittaker explained.</p> - -<p>"Indeed! Then Dr. Wilmot knew, in some strange way, that mine was not -a particular case!" Henrietta answered, with an exhibition of pique as -unusual in her as it was unflattering to Dr. Whittaker.</p> - -<p>"My dear Mrs. Prendergast," expostulated the doctor mildly, "your -note--I saw it in the regular way of business--said 'merely a cold;' -and Wilmot and I both know you always say what you mean--no more and -no less."</p> - -<p>Henrietta smiled rather grimly as she replied, "I must say, you are -adroit in turning a slight into a compliment. And now we will talk -about my cold."</p> - -<p>They did talk about her cold, and Dr. Whittaker duly prescribed for -it, emphatically forbidding exposure to the weather. Just as he rose -to take leave, Henrietta asked him what sort of spirits Wilmot -appeared to be in.</p> - -<p>"Very low indeed," said Dr. Whittaker; "but I think the change of air -will do him good."</p> - -<p>The change was likely to be sufficiently profitable to Dr. Whittaker -to make it only natural that he should regard it with warm -approbation, without reflecting very severely upon his sincerity -either; he was but human, and not particularly prosperous.</p> - -<p>"What change?" asked Henrietta in a tone which had not all the -indifference which she had desired to lend it. (Dr. Whittaker had seen -and guessed enough to make it just that he should not look for much -warmth from Mabel's friend in speaking of Mabel's husband; and Mrs. -Prendergast never overlooked the relative positions in any situation.)</p> - -<p>"What! don't you know, then? He is going abroad--going to Paris, and -then to Berlin, partly to recruit, and partly to inquire into some new -theory about fever they've got there. I don't generally think much of -their theories myself, especially in Berlin."</p> - -<p>But Dr. Whittaker's opinions had no interest for Henrietta. His news -occupied her. She did not altogether like this move. She did not -believe in either of the reasons assigned; she felt certain there was -something behind them both, and that that something had been in -Wilmot's mind when she last saw him. What was it? Was he flying from a -memory or a presence? If the former, then something more than she was -in possession of had come to his knowledge concerning Mabel; for much -as he had been shocked, and intensely as he had felt all she had told -him, Henrietta knew Wilmot too well to believe for a moment that the -present resolution was to be traced to that source. If the latter, the -presence must be that of Miss Kilsyth; and there must be dangers in -her way, complications in this matter, she did not understand, some -grave error in her calculation. True, he might be flying away in -despair; but that could hardly be. In so short an interval of time it -was impossible he could have dared or even tried his fate. It was the -unexpectedness of this occurrence that gave it so much power to -trouble Henrietta. She had made a careful calculation; but this was -outside it, and it puzzled her. She took leave of Dr. Whittaker, while -these and many more equally distracting thoughts passed through her -mind, in a sufficiently absent manner, and listened to his expression -of a sanguine hope of finding her much better on the morrow through a -sedulous observance of his advice, with as much indifference as though -he had been talking about somebody else's cold. When he had left her, -she sat still for a while; then put on her warmest attire, sent for a -cab, and, utterly regardless of Dr. Whittaker's prohibition, drove -straight to Mrs. Charlton's house in South-street, Park-lane.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Prendergast's cab drew up behind a carriage which had just -stopped before Mrs. Charlton's door, at that moment opened in reply to -the defiant summons of the footman, who was none other than one of the -ambrosial Mercuries in attendance on Lady Muriel Kilsyth. An elderly -lady, rather oddly dressed, descended from the equipage, bestowed a -familiar nod upon its remaining occupant from the steps, and walked -into the house. Mrs. Prendergast was then admitted; and as the -carriage which made way for her was displaced, she recognised in the -face of the lady who sat in it Lady Muriel Kilsyth.</p> - -<p>"That is very odd," she thought; "I wonder who she has set down here, -and why she has not come in herself."</p> - -<p>Immediately afterwards she was exchanging the customary <i>fadeurs</i> with -Mrs. Charlton, and had been presented by that lady to Mrs. M'Diarmid.</p> - -<p>Wonderfully voluble was Mrs. M'Diarmid, to be sure, and communicative -to a degree which, if her audience did not happen to be vehemently -interested in the matter of her discourse, must have been occasionally -a little overpowering and wearisome. Mrs. M'Diarmid, being at present -staying with the Kilsyths, could not talk of anything but the -Kilsyths; a state of things rather distressing to Mrs. Charlton, who -was an eminently well-bred person, and perfectly aware that Mrs. -Prendergast was not acquainted with the people under discussion. But -to arrest Mrs. M'Diarmid in the full tide of her discourse was a feat -which a few adventurous spirits had indeed attempted, but in which no -one had ever succeeded. Mrs. Charlton's was not an adventurous spirit; -she merely suffered, and was not strong, but derived sensible -consolation after a while from observing that Mrs. Prendergast either -had the tact and the manners to assume an aspect of perfect -contentment, or really did feel an interest in the affairs of -strangers, which to her, Mrs. Charlton, was inexplicable. She had much -regard for Henrietta, and considerable respect for her intellect; so -she preferred the former hypothesis, and adopted it.</p> - -<p>"And she told me to tell you how sorry she was that she could not -possibly come in to-day; but she had to fetch Kilsyth at his club, and -then go home and dress for a ride with him, and send the carriage for -me. I must run away the moment it comes, and get back to Maddy." This, -after Mrs. M'Diarmid had run on uninterruptedly for about a quarter of -an hour, with details of every kind concerning the house and the -servants, the health, spirits, employments and engagements of the -family.</p> - -<p>"Miss Kilsyth is still delicate, I think you said?" Mrs. Chariton at -length contrived to say.</p> - -<p>"Yes, indeed, very delicate. My dear, the child mopes--she really -mopes; and I can't bear to see young people moping, though it seems -the fashion nowadays for all the young people to think themselves not -only wiser but sadder than their elders. Just to see Ronald beside his -father, my dear! The difference! And to think he'll be Kilsyth of -Kilsyth some day; and what will the poor people do then? He'll make -them go to school, and have 'em drilled, I'm sure he will; not that he -is not a fine young man, my dear, and a good one--must all admit that; -but he is not like his father, and never will be--never. And, for my -part, I don't wonder Maddy's afraid of him, for I am sure I am."</p> - -<p>"But I thought Miss Kilsyth and her brother were so particularly -attached to each other," said Mrs. Charlton, yielding at length to the -temptation to gossip.</p> - -<p>"So they are, so they are.--I'm sure, Mrs. Prendergast," said Mrs. -M'Diarmid, turning to Henrietta, "a better brother than Ronald Kilsyth -never lived; but then he <i>is</i> dictatorial, I <i>must</i> say that; and he -never will believe or remember that Madeleine is not a child now, and -that it is absurd and useless to treat a woman just as one would treat -a child. He makes such a fuss about everyone Maddy sees, and -everywhere she goes to, and is positively disagreeable about anyone -she seems to fancy."</p> - -<p>"Well," said Mrs. Charlton, "but I'm not sure that he is wrong to be -particular about his sister's fancies. The fancies of a young lady of -Miss Kilsyth's beauty and pretensions are not trifling matters. Has -she any <i>very</i> strongly pronounced?"</p> - -<p>"Bless your heart, no!" exclaimed Mrs. M'Diarmid, her vulgarity evoked -by her earnestness. "The girl is fonder of himself and her father than -of anyone in the world, and I really don't think she ever had a -thought hid from them. But Ronald <i>will</i> interfere so; he bothered -about the silliness of young ladies' correspondence until he worried -her into giving up writing to Bessy Ravenshaw; and he lectured for ten -minutes because she wrote to poor Dr. Wilmot on her own account."</p> - -<p>"How very absurd!" said Mrs. Charlton; "he had better take care he -does not worry her by excess of brotherly love and authority into -finding her home so unbearable, that she may make a wretched hurried -marriage in order to get away from it. Such things <i>have</i> been;" and -Mrs. Charlton sighed, as if she spoke from some close experience of -"such things."</p> - -<p>"Very true, very true--I am sure I often wish the poor dear child was -well married. I must say for Lady Muriel, I think she is an admirable -stepmother. It is such a difficult position, Mrs. Prendergast, so -invidious; still, you know, it never can be exactly the same thing; -and then, you know, there are the little girls to grow up, and there -will be the natural jealousy--about Maddy's fortune, you know; and -altogether <i>I do</i> think it would be very nice."</p> - -<p>"I should think a good many others think it would be very nice also," -said Mrs. Charlton.</p> - -<p>"Well, I don't know--it is hard to say--young men are so different -nowadays from what they were in my time; they seem to be afraid of -marrying. I really don't think Maddy has ever had an offer."</p> - -<p>"Depend on it that story will soon be changed. She is, to my -knowledge, immensely admired. Her illness made quite a sensation, and -the romantic story of the famous Dr. Wilmot's devotion to the -patient."</p> - -<p>"I think you should say to the <i>case</i>," struck in Henrietta. "I know -Dr. Wilmot very well, and I can fancy any amount of devotion to the -fever and its cure; but Wilmot devoted to a patient I cannot -understand."</p> - -<p>Something in her voice and manner conveyed an unpleasant impression to -both her hearers. Mrs. Charlton looked calmly surprised; Mrs. -M'Diarmid looked distressed and rather angry. She wished she had been -more cautious in telling of the Kilsyths before this lady, who did not -know them, but who did know Dr. Wilmot. She felt that Mrs. Prendergast -had put a meaning into what Mrs. Charlton had said, in which there was -something at least indirectly slighting and derogatory to Madeleine; -and the feeling made her hot and angry. Mrs. Charlton's suavity -extricated them from the difficulty, which all felt, and one intended.</p> - -<p>"I. didn't quite understand the distinction," she said; "of course I -understand it as you put it, but mine was merely a <i>façon de parler</i>. -Dr. Wilmot's devotion to his profession has long been known, and he -has succeeded as such devotion deserves."</p> - -<p>"Yes, indeed, Mrs. Charlton," said Henrietta heartily, and slipping -with infinite ease into the peculiar manner which implies such -intimacy with the person complimented as to make the praise almost a -personal favour. "He has paid dearly indeed for his devotion, in the -very instance you mention, Mrs. M'Diarmid."</p> - -<p>"How so?" said Mrs. M'Diarmid, off her guard, and rather huffily.</p> - -<p>"Ah, poor fellow! I can hardly bear to talk of it; but as I was his -poor wife's closest friend, and with her when she died, I think it is -only fair and just to him to tell the truth. Of course he had no -notion of his wife's danger--no one could have had; but he never can -or will forgive himself for his absence from her. You will not wonder -that he should feel it dreadfully, and that his self-reproach is -intolerable. 'I suppose,' he said, in one of his worst fits of grief, -'people will think I stayed at Kilsyth because Kilsyth is a great man; -but you, Henrietta, you know me better. If she had been his dairymaid, -instead of his daughter, it would have been all one to me.' And that -was perfectly true; he knows no distinction in the pursuit of his -duties. It was a terrible coincidence; but nothing can persuade him to -regard it merely as a coincidence. It is fortunate your young friend -is restored to health, Mrs. M'Diarmid."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said that lady, now pale, and looking the image of disconcerted -distress.</p> - -<p>"Fortunate for her, of course; but also fortunate for him. You will -exctuse my telling you, of course; nothing in the whole matter -reflects in the least on the Kilsyth family--and I cannot forbear from -saying what must exalt him still more in your esteem, but you cannot -conceive how painful to him any reference to that fatal time is. He -has wonderful self-control and firmness; but they were severely taxed, -I assure you, when he had to make a call on Lady Muriel and Miss -Kilsyth. I daresay he didn't show it."</p> - -<p>"Not in the least," said Mrs. M'Diarmid.</p> - -<p>"O no; he is essentially a strong man. But he suffered. You would know -how much, if you had seen him when he had finally made up his mind to -go abroad, and get out of the remembrance of it all, so far as he -could. Poor Miss Kilsyth! one pities a young girl to have been even -the perfectly innocent cause of such a calamity to any man, and -especially to one who rendered her such a service. However, people who -talk about it now will have forgotten it all long before he comes -back."</p> - -<p>At this juncture Miss Charlton entered the room and warmly greeted -Henrietta. Mrs. Prendergast was an authority in the art of -illuminating, to which Miss Charlton devoted her harmless life.</p> - -<p>Presently Lady Muriel's carriage came for Mrs. M'Diarmid, and that -good woman went away, and might have been heard to say many times -during the silent drive:</p> - -<p>"My poor Maddy! my poor dear child!"</p> - -<p>Chudleigh Wilmot had entertained, it has been seen, vague fears that -Mrs. Prendergast might talk about him; but of all possible shapes they -had never taken this one.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_03" href="#div1Ref_03">CHAPTER III.</a></h4> -<h5>A Coup Manqué.</h5> -<br> - -<p>It has been said that Mrs. M'Diarmid took an earnest motherly interest -in Madeleine Kilsyth; but the bare statement is by no means sufficient -to explain the real feelings entertained towards the somewhat forlorn -motherless girl by the brisk energetic vulgar little woman of the -world, who was her connection by marriage. Such affections spring up -in many female breasts which, to all outward appearance, are most -unpromising soil; they need no cultivation, no looking after, no -watering with the tears of sympathy or gratitude, no raking or hoeing -or binding up. They are ruthlessly lopped off in their tenderest -shoots; but they grow again, and twine away round the "object" as -parasitically as ever. Mrs. M'Diarmid's regard for Madeleine was quite -of the parasitical type, in its best sense, be it always understood. -She loved the young girl with all her heart and soul, and would as -soon have dreamed of inspiring as of "carneying" her, as she expressed -it. Her love for Madeleine was pure and simple and unaffected, -deep-seated, and capable of producing great results; but it was of the -"poor-dear" school, after all.</p> - -<p>Nothing, for instance, could persuade Mrs. M'Diarmid that Madeleine -was not very much to be pitied in every act and circumstance of her -life. The fact of having a stepmother was in itself a burden -sufficient to break the spirit of any ordinarily-constituted young -woman, according to Mrs. Mac's idea. Not but that Mrs. Mac and Lady -Muriel "got on very well together," according to the former lady's -phraseology; not but that Lady M. (whom she was usually accustomed to -speak of, when extra emphasis was required, as Lady Hem) did her duty -by Madeleine perfectly and thoroughly; but still, as Mrs. Mac would -confess, "she was not one of them; she was of a different family; and -what could you expect out of your own blood and bone?" "One of them" -meant of the Kilsyth family, of which Mrs. M'Diarmid to a certain -portion of her acquaintance, described herself as a component part. In -the late summer and the early autumn, when the Kilsyths and all their -friends had left town, dear old Mrs. M'Diarmid would revel in the -light with which, though her suns of fashion had set, her horizon was -still illumined. When the grandees of Belgravia and Tyburnia have sped -northward in the long preëngaged seat of the limited mail; when they -are coasting round the ever-verdant Island, or lounging in all the -glory of pseudo-naval get-up on the pier at Ryde, there is yet corn in -Egypt, balm in Gilead, and fine weather in the suburbs of London. -Many of Mrs. M'Diarmid's acquaintance, formed in the earlier and -ante-married portion of her life, were found in London during those -months. Some had been away to Ramsgate and Margate with their children -in June; others, unable to "get away from business," had compromised -the matter with their wives by taking a cottage at Richmond or -Staines, and running backwards and forwards from town for a month, and -staying at home on the Saturday. To these worthy people Mrs. M'Diarmid -was the connecting link between them and that fashionable world, of -whose doings they read so religiously every Saturday in the -fashionable journal. For her news, her talk, her appearance, they -loved this old lady, and paid her the greatest court. From some of -them she received brevet rank, and was spoken of as the Honourable -Mrs. M'Diarmid; from all she received kindness and--what she never -gave herself--toadyism. Pleasant dinners at the furnished cottages at -Richmond and Staines, Star-an-Garter reflections, picnics on the -river, what was even more delicious, a croquet-party on the lawn, tea, -and an early supper, with some singing afterwards--all these delights -were provided by her acquaintances for Mrs. M'Diarmid, who had nothing -to do but to sit still, and be taken about; to recall a few of the -scenes of her past season's gaiety; to drop occasionally the names of -a few of her grand acquaintance, and to have it thoroughly understood -that she was "one of them."</p> - -<p>Use is second nature; and by dint of perpetually repeating that she -was "one of them," Mrs. M'Diarmid had almost begun to forget the -lodging-house and its associations, and to believe that she was a -blood-relation of the old house of Kilsyth. It did the old lady no -harm, this innocent self-deception; it did not render her insolent, -arrogant, or stuck-up; it did not for an instant tend to render her -forgetful of her position in the household, and it did perhaps -increase the fond maternal affection which she entertained for -Madeleine. How could Lady Muriel feel for that girl like one of her -own blood? Besides, had she not now children of her own, about whose -future she was naturally anxious, and whose future might clash with -that of her stepdaughter? Whose future? Ay, it was about Madeleine's -future that she was so anxious; and just about this stage in our -history Mrs. M'Diarmid, revolving all these things in her mind, set -herself seriously to consider what Madeleine's future should be.</p> - -<p>To a woman of Mrs. M'Diarmid's stamp the future of a young girl, it is -almost needless to say, meant her marriage. Notwithstanding all the -shams which, to use Mr. Carlyle's phrases, have been exploded, all the -Babeldoms which have been talked out, all the mockeries, delusions, -and snares which have been exposed, it yet remains that marriage is -the be-all and end-all of the British maiden's existence. That -accomplished, life shuts up; or is of no account, with the -orange-flowers and the tinkling bells, the ring, the oath, and the -blessing; all that childhood has played at, and maidenhood has dreamed -of, is at an end. The husband is secured, and so long as he is in the -requisite position and possesses the requisite means--<i>vogue la -galère</i> in its most respectable translation, be it understood--all -that is requisite on friends' part has been done. We laugh when we -hear that a charwoman offers to produce her "marriage-lines" in proof -of her respectability; but we slur over the fact that in our own -social status we are content to aim at the dignity achieved by the -charwoman's certificate, and not to look beyond into the future -thereby opened.</p> - -<p>Madeleine's marriage? Yes; Mrs. M'Diarmid had turned that subject over -in her mind a hundred thousand times; had chewed the cud of it until -all taste therein had been exhausted; had had all sorts of -preposterous visions connected therewith, none of which had the -smallest waking foundation. Madeleine's marriage? It was by her own -marriage that Mrs. M'Diarmid had made her one grand <i>coup</i> in life, -and consequently she attached the greatest value to it. She was always -picturing to herself Madeleine married to each or one of the different -visitors in Brook-street; seeing her walking up the aisle with one, -standing at the altar-rails with another, muttering "I will" to a -third, and shyly looking up after signing the register with a fourth. -The old lady had the good sense to keep these mental pictures in her -own mental portfolio, but still she was perpetually drawing them forth -for her own mental delectation. None of the young men who were in the -habit of dropping in in Brook-street for a cup of afternoon tea and a -social chat had any notion of the wondrous scenes passing through the -brain of the quiet elderly lady, whom they all liked and all laughed -at. None of them knew that in Mrs. Mac's mind's eye, as they sat there -placidly sipping their tea and talking their nonsense, they were -transfigured; that their ordinary raiment was changed into the blue -coat and yellow waistcoat dear to this valentine artist; that from -their coat-collar grew the attenuated spire of a village church, and -that sounds of chiming bells drowned their voices. Madeleine as a -countess presented at a drawing-room "on her marriage;" Madeleine -receiving a brilliant circle as the wife of a brilliant member of the -House of Commons; Madeleine doing the honours of the British embassy -at the best and most distinguished legation which happened at the time -to be vacant. All these pictures had presented themselves to Mrs. -M'Diarmid, and been filled up by her mentally in outline and detail. -Other supplementary pictures were there in the same gallery. Madeleine -presenting new colours to the gallant 140th as the wife of their -colonel; Madeleine landing from the Amphitrite, amidst the cheers of -her crew, as the wife of their admiral; Madeleine graciously receiving -the million pounds' worth of pearls and diamonds which the native -Indian princes offered to the wife of their governor-general. All -these different shiftings of the glasses of the magic lantern appeared -to Mrs. M'Diarmid as she noticed the attention paid to Madeleine by -the different visitors in Brook-street.</p> - -<p>But these, after all, were mere daydreams, and it was time Mrs. -M'Diarmid thought that some real and satisfactory match should be -arranged for her dear child. Since the return of the family from -Scotland, after Madeleine's illness, Mrs. M'Diarmid either had -noticed, or fancied she had noticed, that Lady Muriel was less -interested in her stepdaughter than ever, more inclined to let her -have her own way, less particular as to who sought her society. Under -these circumstances, not merely did Mrs. M'Diarmid's dragon -watchfulness increase tenfold, but the necessity of speedily taking -her darling into a different atmosphere, and surrounding her with -other cares and hopes in life, made itself doubly apparent. For -hours and hours the old lady sat in her own little room, cosy little -room,--neat, tidy, clean, and wholesome-looking as the old lady -herself,--revolving different matrimonial schemes in her mind, -guessing at incomes, weighing dispositions, thinking over the traits -and characteristics, the health and position of every marriageable man -of her acquaintance. And all to no purpose; for the old lady, though a -tolerably shrewd and worldly-wise old lady, was a good woman: in the -early days of the lodging-house she had had a spirit of religion -properly instilled into her; and this, aided by her genuine and -unselfish love for Madeleine, would have prevented her from wishing to -see the girl married to any one, no matter what were his wealth, -position, and general eligibility, unless there was the prospect of -her darling's life being a happy one with him. "I don't see my way -clear, my dear," she would say to Mrs. Tonkley, the most intimate of -her early life acquaintances, and the only one whom the old lady -admitted into her confidence (Mrs. Tonkley had been Sarah Simmons, -daughter of Simmons's private hotel, and had married Tonkley, London -representative of Blades and Buckhorn of Sheffield),--"I don't see my -way clear in this business, my dear, and that's the truth. Powers -forbid my Madeleine should marry an old man, though among our people -it's considered to be about the best thing that could happen to a -girl, provided he's old enough, and rich into the bargain. Why, there -are old fellows, tottering old wretches, that crawl about with mineral -teeth in their mouths and other people's hair on their heads, and -they'd only have to say, 'Will you?' to some of the prettiest and the -best-born girls in England, and they'd get the answer 'Yes' directly -minute! No, no; I've seen too much of that. Not to name names, there's -one old fellow, a lord and a general, all stars and garters and -crosses and ribbons, and two seasons ago he carried off a lovely girl. -I won't put a name to her, my dear, but you've seen her photographic -likeness in the portrait-shops; and what is it now? Divorced? Lord, -no, my dear; that sort of thing's never done amongst US, nor even -separation, so far as the world knows. O no; they live very happily -together, to all outward show, and she has her opera-box, and jewels -as much as she can wear; but, Lor' bless you, I hear what the young -fellows say who come to our house about the way she goes on, and the -men who are always about her, and who was meant by the stars and -blanks in last week's <i>Dustman</i>. No, no; no old wretch for Madeleine; -nor any of your fast boys either, with their drags and their yachts, -and their hunters and their Market Harboroughs, and their Queen's -Benches, I tell'em; for that's what it'll come to. You can't build a -house of paper, specially of stamped paper, to last very long; and -though you touch it up every three months or so, at about the end of a -year down it goes with a run, and you and your wife and the lot of you -go with it! That would be a pleasant ending for my child, to have to -live at Bolong on what her husband got by winning at cards from the -foreigners; and that's not likely to be much, I should think. No; that -would never do. I declare to you, my dear Sarah, when I think about -that dear girl's future, I am that driven as to be at my wits' end."</p> - -<p>There was another reason for the old lady's feeling "driven" when -thinking over her dear girl's future which she never imparted to her -dear Sarah, nor indeed to anyone else, but which she crooned over -constantly, and relished less and less after each spell of -consideration, and that was the evident intention of Lady Muriel with -regard to Ramsay Caird. Mrs. M'Diarmid, though a woman of strong -feelings, rarely, if ever, took antipathies; but certainly her strong -aversion to Ramsay Caird could be called by no other name. She hated -him cordially, and took very little pains to conceal her dislike, -though, if she had been called upon, she would have found it difficult -to define the reasons for her prejudice. It was probably the obvious -purpose for which he had been introduced into the family which the -old lady immediately divined and as immediately execrated, that made -her his enemy; but she could not put forward this reason, and she -had no other to offer. She used to say to herself that he was a -"down-looking fellow," which was metaphorical, inasmuch as Ramsay -Caird had rather a frank and free expression, though, to one more -versed in physiognomy than Mrs. M'Diarmid, there certainly was a -shifty expression in his eyes. She hated to see him paying -attention to Madeleine, bending over her, hovering near her--in -her self-communion the old lady declared that it gave her "the -creeps"--and it was with great difficulty that she refrained when -present from actually shuddering. It was lucky that she did so -refrain; for Lady Muriel, who brooked no interference with her plans, -would have ruthlessly given Mrs. Mac her <i>congé</i>, and closed the -doors of Brook-street against her for ever.</p> - -<p>To find someone so eligible that Kilsyth would take a fancy to him--a -fancy which Lady Muriel could not, in common honesty, combat--and -thus to get rid of Ramsay Caird and his pretensions to Madeleine's -hand,--this was Mrs. M'Diarmid's great object in life. But she had -pottered hopelessly about it; and it is probable that she would never -have succeeded in getting the smallest clue to what, if properly -carried through, might really have led to the accomplishment of her -hopes, had it not been for her own kindness of heart, which led her to -spend many of her leisure half-hours in the nursery with Lady Muriel's -little girls. Sitting one day with these little ladies, but in truth -not attending much to their prattle, being occupied in her favourite -daydream, Mrs. M'Diarmid was startled by hearing an observation which -at once interested her, and caused her to attend to the little ladies' -conversation.</p> - -<p>"When you grow up, Maud, will you be like Maddy?" asked little Ethel.</p> - -<p>"I don't know," replied her sister. "I think I shall be quite as -pretty as Maddy; and I'm sure I sha'n't be half so dull."</p> - -<p>"You don't know that! People are only dull because they can't help it. -They're not dull on purpose; only because they can't help it."</p> - -<p>"Well, then, I shall help it," said Maud in an imperious way. -"Besides, it's not always that Maddy's dull; she's only dull since -we've been back in London; she wasn't dull at Kilsyth."</p> - -<p>"Ah, no one was dull at Kilsyth," said little Ethel with a sigh.</p> - -<p>"O, we all know what you mean by that, Ethel," said Maud. "You silly -sentimental child, you were happy at Kilsyth because you had <i>someone</i> -with you."</p> - -<p>"Well, it's no use talking to you, Maud; because you're a dreadful -flirt, and care for no one in particular, and like to have a heap of -men always round you. But wasn't Madeleine happy at Kilsyth because -she had <i>someone</i> with her?"</p> - -<p>"Why, you don't mean that Lord Roderick?"</p> - -<p>"Lord Roderick, indeed! I should think not," said little Ethel, -flushing scarlet. "Madeleine's 'someone' was much older and graver and -wiser and sterner, and nothing like so good-looking."</p> - -<p>"Ethel dear, you talk like a child!" said Maud, who, by virtue of her -twelvemonth's seniority, gave herself quite maternal airs towards her -sister. "Of course I see you're alluding to Dr. Wilmot; but you can't -imagine that Maddy cared for him in any way but that of a--a friend -who was grateful to him--for--"</p> - -<p>"O yes! 'Your grateful patient,' we know! Maddy did not know how to -end her note to him the other morning, and I kept suggesting all kinds -of things: 'yours lovingly,' and 'yours eternally,' and 'your own -devoted;' and made Madge blush awfully; and at last she put that. -'Grateful patient'! grateful rubbish! You hadn't half such -opportunities as I had of seeing them together at Kilsyth, Maud."</p> - -<p>"I'm not half so romantic and sentimental, Ethel; and I can see a -doctor talking to a girl about her illness without fancying he's madly -in love with her. And now I am going to my music." And Maud pranced -out of the room.</p> - -<p>And then Mrs. M'Diarmid who had greedily swallowed every word of this -conversation between the children, laid down the book over which she -had been nodding; and going up to little Ethel, gave herself over to -the task of learning from the child her impressions of the state of -Madeleine's feelings towards Dr. Wilmot, and of gleaning as much as -she could of all that passed between them at Kilsyth; the result being -that little Ethel, who was, as her sister had said, sentimentally and -romantically inclined, led her old friend to believe, first, that -Madeleine was deeply attached to the doctor, and, secondly, that the -doctor was inclined to respond promptly to the young lady's -sentiments.</p> - -<p>That night Mrs. M'Diarmid remained at home, for the purpose of -"putting on her considering cap," as she phrased it, and steadily -looking at the question of Madeleine's future in the new light now -surrounding it. Like all other old ladies, she had a <i>tendresse</i> for -the medical profession; and though she had never met Dr. Wilmot, she -had often heard of him, and had taken great interest in his rise and -progress. And this was the man who was to fulfil her expectations, and -to prevent Madeleine's being sacrificed to a sordid or disagreeable -match? It really seemed like it. Dr. Wilmot was in the prime of life, -was highly thought of and esteemed by all who knew him, was -essentially a man of mark in the world, and must be in the enjoyment -of a very lucrative practice. Practice? ay, that was rather awkward! -Kilsyth would not care much about having a son-in-law who was in -practice, and at the beck and call of every hypochondriacal old -woman; and Lady Muriel would, Mrs. Mac was certain, refuse to -entertain such a notion. And yet Dr. Wilmot was in every other respect -so eligible; it was a thousand pities! Dr. Wilmot! Yes, there it was; -that "Doctor" would stick to him through life; and he, from all she -had heard of him, was just the man to be proud of the title, and -refuse to be addressed by any other. Unless, indeed, they could get -him knighted; that would be something indeed. Sir--Sir--whatever his -name was--Wilmot would sound very well; and nobody need ever know that -he had felt pulses and written prescriptions. That is, of course, if -he retired from his professsion, as he would do on his marriage into -"our" family; because if the unpleasantness with Lady Muriel and--but -then how were they to live? Dr. Wilmot could not possibly have saved -enough money to retire upon; and though Madeleine had her own little -fortune, neither Kilsyth nor Lady Muriel would feel inclined to accept -for a son-in-law a penniless man, unless he had some old alliance with -the family. The old lady was very much puzzled by all these thoughts. -She sat for hour after hour revolving plans and projects in her head, -without arriving at any definite result. The want of adequate fortune -without continuing in practice--that was what worried Mrs. M'Diarmid. -She had already perfectly settled in her own mind that Madeleine and -Wilmot adored each other. She had pictured them both at the altar, and -settled upon the new dress to which she should treat herself on the -occasion of their marriage--a nice brown <i>moire</i>; none of your cheap -rubbish--a splendid silk, stiff as a board, that would stand upright -by itself, as one might say; and she knew just the pew which she would -be shown into. All the arrangements were completed in Mrs. Mac's -mind--all, with the exception of the income for the happy pair.</p> - -<p>How could that be managed? What could be done? Were there not -appointments, government things, where people were very well paid, and -which were always to be had, if asked for by people of influence? -Straightway the indefatigable old lady began questioning everybody -able to give her information about consulships, secretaryships, and -commissionerships; and received an amount of news that quite -bewildered her. Two or three men in the Whitehall offices, who were in -the habit of coming to Brook-street, from whom she had endeavoured to -glean information, amused themselves by telling her the wildest -nonsense of the necessary qualifications for such appointments; so -that the old lady was in despair, and almost at her wits' end, when -she suddenly bethought her of Mr. Foljambe. The very man! Wealthy and -childless, with the highest opinion of Wilmot, and with a great regard -for Madeleine. Mrs. Mac remembered hearing it said in Brook-street, -long before Madeleine's illness, that Mr. Foljambe would in all -probability leave his fortune to Dr. Wilmot. And his fortune was a -very large one--quite enough to keep up the dignity of a knight upon; -though indeed, as there would be no lack of money, Mrs. Mac did not -see why a baronetcy should not be substituted. Lady Wilmot, and -green-and-gold liveries, and hair-powder, of course; that would be the -very thing, if that dear old man would only settle it, and not care to -live too long after he had settled it--his attacks of gout were -dreadful now, she had heard Lady Muriel say--all would be well. Would -it be possible to ascertain whether there was any real foundation for -the gossip whether Mr. Foljambe had really made Wilmot his heir? Would -it not be possible to give him such hints respecting his power of -benefiting the future of two persons in whom he had the greatest -interest as to settle him finally in his amiable determination? Mrs. -M'Diarmid was a woman of impulse, and believed much in the expediency -of "clinching the nail," and "striking the iron while it was hot," as -she expressed it. "In such matters as these," she was accustomed to -say, "nothing is ever done by third parties, or by writing; if you -want a thing done, go and see about it at once, and go and see about -it yourself, Lord love you!" Acting on which wise maxims, Mrs. -M'Diarmid determined to call in person upon Mr. Foljambe, and then and -there "have it out with him."</p> -<br> -<p>At ten o'clock on the following morning, Mr. Foljambe, seated at -breakfast, was disturbed by a sharp rap at his street-door. Mrs. -M'Diarmid was right in saying that the old gentleman's gout had been -extra troublesome lately, and his temper had deteriorated in -proportion to the sharpness and the frequency of the attacks. He had -had some very sharp twinges the previous evening, and was in anything -but a good temper; and as the clanging knock resounded through the -hall, and penetrated to the snug little room where the old gentleman, -in a long shawl dressing-gown, such as were fashionable -five-and-twenty years ago, but are now seldom seen out of farces, was -dallying with his toast and glancing at the <i>Times</i>, he broke out into -a very naughty exclamation. A thorough type of the 'old English -gentleman of his class, Mr. Foljambe, as witness his well-bred hands -and feet,--the former surrounded by long and beautifully white -wristbands, one of the latter incased in the nattiest of -morocco-leather slippers, though the other was in a large list -shoe,--his high cross-barred muslin cravat, his carefully trimmed gray -whiskers, and his polished head.</p> - -<p>"Visitors' bell!" muttered the old gentleman to himself, after giving -vent to the naughty exclamation. "What the deuce brings people calling -here at this hour? Just ten!" with a glance at the clock. "'Pon my -word, it's too bad; as though one were a doctor, or a dentist, and on -view from now till five. Who can it be? Collector of some local -charity, probably, or someone to ask if somebody else doesn't live -here, and to be quite astonished and rather indignant when he finds -he's come to the wrong house."</p> - -<p>"Well, Sergeant," to the servant who had just entered, "what is it?"</p> - -<p>"Lady, sir, to speak with you," said Sergeant, grim and inflexible. He -objected to women anywhere in general, but at that house in -particular. Like his master, he passed for a misogynist; but unlike -his master, he was one.</p> - -<p>"A lady! God bless my soul, what an extraordinary thing for a lady to -come here to see me, and at this hour, Sargeant!"</p> - -<p>The tone of Mr. Foljambe's voice invited response; but from Sargeant -no response came. His master had uttered his sentiments, and there was -nothing more to say.</p> - -<p>"Why don't you answer, man?" said the old gentleman peevishly. "What -sort of a lady is she? Young or old, tall or short? What do you think -she has come about, Sargeant?"</p> - -<p>"About middle 'ithe; but 'ave her veil down. Wouldn't give a message; -but wanted to speak to you partickler, sir."</p> - -<p>"Confounded fellow! no getting anything out of him!" mattered the old -gentleman beneath his breath. Then aloud, "Where is she?"</p> - -<p>"I put the lady in the droring-room, sir; but no fire, as the chimlies -was swept this morning."</p> - -<p>"I know that; I heard 'em, the scoundrels! No fire! the woman will be -perished! Here, bring me down a coat, and take this dressing-gown, and -just put these things aside, and poke the fire, and brighten up the -place, will you?"</p> - -<p>As soon as the old gentleman had put on his coat, and cast a hasty -glance at himself in the glass, he hobbled to the drawing-room, and -there found a lady seated, who, when she raised her veil, partly to -his relief, partly to his disappointment, revealed the well-known -features of Mrs. M'Diarmid.</p> - -<p>"God bless my soul, my dear Mrs. Mac, who ever would have thought of -seeing you here! I mean to say this is what one might call an -unexpected pleasure. Come out of this confoundedly cold room, my dear -madam. Now I know who is my visitor, I will, with your permission, -waive all formality and receive you in my sanctum. This way, my dear -madam. You must excuse my hobbling slowly; but my old enemy the gout -has been trying me rather severely during the last few days."</p> - -<p>Chattering on in this fashion, the old gentleman gallantly -offered Mrs. M'Diarmid his arm, and led her from the cold and -formally-arranged drawing-room, where everything was set and stiff, to -his own cheerful little room, the perfection of bachelor comfort and -elegance.</p> - -<p>"Wheel a chair round for the lady, Sargeant, there, with its back to -the light, and push that footstool nearer.--There, my dear madam, -that's more comfortable. You have breakfasted? Sorry for it. I've some -orange pekoe that is unrivalled in London, and there's a little ham -that is perfectly de-licious. You won't? Then all I can say is, that -yours is the loss. And now, my dear madam, you have not told me what -has procured me the honour of this visit."</p> - -<p>Had the old lady been viciously disposed, she might easily have -pleaded that her host had not given her the chance; but as it was her -policy to be most amiable, she merely smiled sweetly upon him, and -said that her visit was actuated by important business.</p> - -<p>Outside the bank-parlour, Mr. Foljambe detested business visits of all -kinds; and even there he only tolerated them. Female visitors were his -special aversion; and the leaden-buttoned porter in Lombard-street had -special directions as to their admission. The junior partner, a buck -of forty-five, who dressed according to the fashion of ten years -since, and who was supposed still to cause a flutter in the virgin -breasts of Balham, where his residence, "The Pineries," was situate, -was generally told off to reply to the questions of such ladies as -required consultation with Burkinyoung, Foljambe, and Co.</p> - -<p>So that when Mrs. M'Diarmid mentioned business as the cause of her -visit, the old gentleman was scarcely reassured, and begged for a -farther explanation.</p> - -<p>"Well, when I say business, Mr. Foljambe," said the old lady, again -resuming her smile, "I scarcely know whether I'm doing justice to what -lies in my own--my own bosom. Business, Mr. Foljambe, is a hard word, -as I know well enough, connected with my early life--of which you -know, no doubt, from our friends in Brook-street--connected with -boot-cleaning, and errand-sending, and generally poor George's -carryings-on in--no matter. And indeed there is but little business -connected with what rules the court, the camp, the grove, and is like -the red red rose, which is newly sprung in June, sir. You will -perceive, Mr. Foljambe, that I am alluding to Love."</p> - -<p>"To Love, madam!" exclaimed the old gentleman with a jerk, thinking at -the same time, "Good God! can it be possible that I have ever said -anything to this old vulgarian that can have induced her to imagine -that I'm in love with her?"</p> - -<p>"To Love, Mr. Foljambe; though to you and me, at our time of life, -such ideas are generally <i>non compos</i>. Yet there are hearts that feel -for another; and yours is one, I am certain sure."</p> - -<p>"You must be a little clearer, madam, if you want me to follow you," -said the old gentleman gruffly.</p> - -<p>"Well, then, to have no perspicuity or odontification, and to do our -duty in that state into which heaven has called us," pursued Mrs. Mac, -with a lingering recollection of the Church Catechism, "am I not right -in thinking that you take an interest in our Maddy?"</p> - -<p>"In Miss Kilsyth?" said Foljambe. "The very greatest interest that a -man at--at my time of life could possibly take in a girl of her age. -But surely you don't think, Mrs. M'Diarmid, that--that I'm in love -with her?"</p> - -<p>"Powers above!" exclaimed Mrs. Mac, "do you think that I've lost my -reason; or that if you were, it would be any good? Do you think that I -for one would stand by and see my child sacrificed? No, of course I -don't mean that! But what I do mean is, that you're fond of our Maddy, -ain't you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the old gentleman with a burst; "yes, I am; there, will -that content you? I think Madeleine Kilsyth a very charming girl!"</p> - -<p>"And worthy of a very charming husband, Mr. Foljambe?"</p> - -<p>"And worthy of a very charming husband. But where is he? I have been -tolerably intimate with the family for years--not, of course, as -intimate as you, my dear Mrs. M'Diarmid, but still I may say an -intimate and trusted friend--and I have never seen anyone whom I could -think in the least likely to be a <i>prétendu</i>--not in the least."</p> - -<p>"N-no; not before they left for Scotland, certainly."</p> - -<p>"No; and then in Scotland, you know, of course there would have been a -chance--country house full of company, thrown together and all that -kind of thing--best adjuncts for love-making, importunity and -opportunity, as I daresay you know well enough, my dear madam; but -then Maddy was taken ill, and that spoilt the whole chance."</p> - -<p>"Spoilt the whole chance! Maddy's illness spoilt the whole chance, did -it? Are you quite sure of that, Mr. Foljambe? Are you quite sure that -that illness did not decide Maddy's future?"</p> - -<p>"That illness!"</p> - -<p>"That illness. 'Importunity and opportunity,' to quote your own words, -Mr. Foljambe, the last if hot the worst--have it how you will."</p> - -<p>"My dear Mrs. M'Diarmid, you are speaking in riddles; you are a -perfect Sphinx, and I am, alas, no OEdipus. Will you tell me shortly -what you mean?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. Foljambe, I will tell you; I came to tell you, and to ask -you, as an old friend of the family, what you thought. More than that, -I came to ask you, as an old friend of one whom I think most -interested, what you thought. You know well and intimately Dr. -Wilmot?"</p> - -<p>"Know Wilmot? Thoroughly and most intimately, and--why, good God, my -dear madam, you don't think that Wilmot is in love with Miss Kilsyth?"</p> - -<p>"I confess that I have thought--"</p> - -<p>"Rubbish, my dear madam! Simple nonsense! You have been confounding -the attention which a man wrapped up in his own profession, in the -study of science, pays to a case, with attentions paid to an -individual. Why, my dear madam, if--not to be offensive--if <i>you</i> had -had Miss Kilsyth's illness, and Wilmot had attended you, he would have -bestowed on you exactly the same interest."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps while the case lasted, Mr. Foljambe, while his professional -duty obliged him to do so; but not afterwards."</p> - -<p>"Not afterwards? Does Dr. Wilmot still pay attention to Miss Kilsyth?"</p> - -<p>"The last time I was in Brook-street I saw him there," said the old -lady, bridling, "paying Miss Kilsyth great 'attention.'"</p> - -<p>"Then it was a farewell visit, Mrs. M'Diarmid," replied Mr. Foljambe. -"Dr. Wilmot quits town--and England--at once, for a lengthened sojourn -on the Continent."</p> - -<p>"Leaves town--and England?" said Mrs. Mac blankly.</p> - -<p>"For several months. Devoted to his profession, as he always has been, -without the smallest variation in his devotion, he goes to Berlin to -study in the hospitals there. Does that look like the act of an ardent -<i>soupirant</i>, Mrs. M'Diarmid?"</p> - -<p>"Not unless he has reasons for feeling that it is better that he -should so absent himself," said the old lady.</p> - -<p>"Of that you will probably be the best judge," said Mr. Foljambe. "My -knowledge of Chudleigh Wilmot is not such as to lead me to believe -that he would 'set his fortunes on a die' without calculating the -result."</p> -<br> - -<p>In the "off season," when her fashionable friends were away from town, -Mrs. M'Diarmid was in the habit of receiving some few acquaintances -who constituted a whist-club, and met from week to week at each -other's houses. Amongst this worthy sisterhood Mrs. Mac passed for a -very shrewd and clever woman; a "deep" woman, who never "showed her -hand." But on turning into Portland-place after her interview with Mr. -Foljambe, the old lady felt that she had forfeited that title to -admiration, and that too without the slightest adequate result.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_04" href="#div1Ref_04">CHAPTER IV.</a></h4> -<h5>Madeleine awakes.</h5> -<br> - -<p>It is probable that if Chudleigh Wilmot had remained in London, -fulfilling his professional duties and leading his ordinary life, the -declaration of love and the offer of his hand which in due course he -would have made to Miss Kilsyth would have, for the first time, caused -that young lady to avow the real state of her feelings towards him to -herself. These feelings, beginning in gratitude, had passed into -hero-worship, which is perhaps about as dangerous a phase both for -adorer and adored as any in the whole category; showing as it does -that the former must be considerably "far gone" before she could -consent to exalt any man into an object of idolatry, and proving very -perilous to the latter from the impossibility of his separating himself -from the peculiar attributes which are supposed to call forth the -devotion. And Wilmot was just such an idol as a girl like Madeleine -ould place upon a pedestal and worship with constancy and fervour. The -very fact that he possessed none of those qualifications so esteemed -by and in the men by whom she was ordinarily surrounded was in her eyes -a point in his favour. He did not hunt; he was an indifferent shot; he -professed himself worse than a child at billiards, and his -whist-playing was something atrocious. But then, for the best man -across country, the straightest rider to hounds whom they knew, was -Captain Severn, a slangy wretch only tolerated in society for his -wife's sake. George Pitcairn was a splendid shot; but he had never -heard of Tennyson, and would probably think that Browning was the name -of a setter. Major Delapoche was the billiard champion at Kilsyth, -where he was never seen out of the billiard-room, except at meal-times; -and as for whist there could not be much in that when her father -declared that there were not three men at Brookes's who could play so -good a rubber as old Dr. M'Johns, the Presbyterian clergyman in the -village. Ever since she had been emancipated from her governess, she -had longed to meet some man of name and renown, who would take an -interest in her, and whom she could reverence, admire, and look up to. -She never pined for the heroes of the novels which she read, probably -because she saw plenty of them in her ordinary life, and -she was used to them and their ways. The big heavy dragoons of the -<i>Guy-Livingstone</i> type--by his portrayal of whom Mr. Lawrence -establishes for himself such a reputation amongst the young ladies of -the middle classes, who pine after the <i>beaux sabreurs</i> and the "cool -captains," principally because they have never met anyone in real life -like them--are by no means such sources of raving among the girls -accustomed to country-house and London-season society, who are familiar -with something like the prototype of each character. Ronald's brother -officers, Kilsyth's sporting friends, and Lady Muriel's connections, -had made this kind of type too common for Madeleine, even if her -temperament had not been very different, to elevate it into a hero; -but she had never met anyone fulfilling herideas until Chudleigh Wilmot -crossed her path. From the earliest period of her convalescence, from -the time when slowly-returning strength gave her an interest again in -life, until the time that Wilmot left London, she had indulged in this -happy dream. She was something in that man's life, something to which -his thoughts occasionally turned, as she hoped, as she believed, with -pleasure. As to "being in love" as it is phrased, Madeleine believed -that such a state as little applied to Wilmot as to herself, and of her -own entire innocence in the existence of such a feeling she was -confident. But there was established a curious relation between them -which she could not explain, but which she thoroughly understood, and -which made her very happy. Hour after hour she would sit thinking over -this acquaintance, so singularly begun, so different from anything -which she had ever previously experienced, and wondering within herself -what a bright clever man like Dr. Wilmot could see to like in a silly -girl like herself. If Wilmot had been differently constituted she could -have understood it well enough; for though very free from vanity, -Madeleine was of course conscious that she had a pretty face, and she -could perfectly understand the admiration which she received from -Ramsay Caird and the men of whom he was a type. But she imagined -Wilmot to be far too staid and serious, far too much absorbed in his -studies and his "cases," to notice anything so unimportant.</p> - -<p>What could he see in her? She asked herself this question a thousand -times without arriving at any satisfactory result. She thought that -Wilmot, whom she had exalted into her hero, would naturally not bestow -his thoughts on any but a heroine; and she knew that there was very -little of the heroine in her. Indeed I, writing this veracious -history, am often surprised at my own daring in having, in these -highly-spiced times, ventured to submit so very tame a specimen of -womanhood to public notice. Madeleine Kilsyth was neither tawny and -leopard-like, nor hideous and quaintly-fascinating. She was merely an -ordinary English girl, with about as much cleverness as girls have at -her age, when they have had no occasion to use their brains; And she -thought and argued in a girlish manner. She could not tell that the -difference in each from their ordinary acquaintance pleased them -equally. If Madeleine had been bright, clever, witty, fast, flirting, -or <i>blasée</i>, she would never have seen her physician after her -recovery. Wilmot was too thoroughly acquainted with women of all these -varieties to find any pleasure in an additional specimen. It was the -young girl's freshness and innocence, her frankness and trusting -confidence, her bright looks and happy thoughts, that touched the -heart of the worn and solitary man, and made him feel that there were -in life joys which he had never experienced, and which were yet worth -living for.</p> - -<p>To admire and reverence him; to find the best and most valuable of -resources in his friendship, the wisest and truest guidance in his -intellect, the most exquisite of pleasures in his society; to triumph -in his fame, and to try to merit his approval--such, as we have seen, -had been Madeleine's scheme. Now this was all changed: he was gone; -the greatest enjoyment of her life, his society, was taken from her. -He was gone; he would be absent for a long time; she should not see -him, would not hear his voice, for weeks--it might be for months: it -took her a long time to realise this fact, and with its realisation -flashed across her the knowledge that she loved Chudleigh Wilmot.</p> - -<p>Loved him! The indefinite inexplicable sentiments so long brooded over -were gone now, and she looked into her own heart and acknowledged its -condition. So long as he remained in London, so long as there was a -chance of seeing him, even though she knew that his departure had been -decided on, and was almost inevitable, she yet remained unconscious of -the state of her feelings. It was only when he was actually gone, when -she knew that the long-dreaded step had been taken, that all chance of -seeing him again for months was at an end, that the truth flashed upon -her. She loved him!--loved him with the whole warmth, truth, and -earnestness of her sweet simple nature; loved him as such a man should -be loved--deeply, fervently, and confidingly. In the first recognition -of the existence of this feeling, she was scarcely likely to inquire -psychologically into it; but she felt that her love for Wilmot had -many component parts. The admiration and reverence with which he had -originally inspired her still remained; but with them was now blended -a passion which had never before been evoked in her. She longed to see -him again, longed to throw her arms round his neck and whisper to him -how she loved him. How miserably blind she had been! What childish -folly had been hers not sooner to have comprehended the meaning of her -feelings towards this man! She loved him, and--a fearful thought -flashed across her. Had it come too late, the discovery of this -passion? Had she been dreaming when the golden chance of her life came -by, and had she let it pass unheeded? And again, what were Wilmot's -feelings with regard to her? Was he under such a delusion as had long -oppressed her? He was a man, strong-minded, clear-brained, and of -subtle intellect; he would know at once whether his liking for her -arose from professional interest, from the friendly feeling which, -situated as they had been together at Kilsyth, would naturally spring -up between them, or whether it had a deeper foundation and was of a -warmer character. His manner to her--save perhaps on that one morning -in Brook-street, when Ronald interrupted them so brusquely--had never -been marked by anything approaching to warmth; and yet--That morning -in Brook-street! there had been a difference then; she had noticed it -at the time, and, now regarded in the new light which had dawned upon -her, the thought was strengthened and confirmed. She remembered the -way in which he held her hand, and looked down at her with a soft -earnest gaze out of those wonderful eyes; such a look as she had never -had before or since. If ever love was conveyed by looks, if ever eyes -spoke, it was surely then. Ah, did he feel for her as she now knew she -felt for him, or was it merely warm friendship, fraternal affection, -that actuated him? He had gone away; would he have done that if he had -loved her? She had asked herself this question before the state of her -own real feelings had dawned upon her, only then substituting the word -"like" for love, and had decided that, if he had cared for her ever so -little, he would have remained. But her recent discovery led her now -to think very differently, and she hoped that this ardour in the cause -of science, which prompted this professional visit to Berlin, and -necessitated this lengthened absence, might be assumed, and that the -real motive of Wilmot's departure might be his desire to avoid her, -ignorant as he was of the state of her feelings towards him. Heaven -grant that it might be so! for now that she knew herself, it would be -easy to recall him. Some pretext could be found for bringing him back -to England, back to her; and once together again they would never -separate. As this thought passed through her mind her glance fell upon -her hands, which were clasped before her, and upon a ring which had -been given her by Ramsay Caird. By Ramsay Caird! The curtain dropped -as swiftly as it had risen, and Madeleine shivered from head to foot.</p> - -<p>It was a pretty ring, a broad hoop of gold set with three turquoises, -and the word "AEI" engraved upon it. Madeleine remembered that Ramsay -Caird had presented it to her on her last birthday, and while -presenting it had said a few words of compliment and kindness with an -earnestness and an <i>empressement</i> such as he had never before shown. -He was not a brilliant man, but he had the society air and the society -talk; and he imported just enough seriousness into the latter when he -said something about wishing he had dared to have had the ring -perfectly plain--just enough to convey his intended hint without -making a fool of himself. Ramsay Caird! There, then, was her fate, her -future! Knowing all that had been prearranged, she had been mad enough -to dream for a few minutes of loving and being loved by Chudleigh -Wilmot, when she knew, as well as if it had been expressly stated -instead of merely implied, that Ramsay Caird was looked upon by her -family and by most of their intimate friends, as her future husband.</p> - -<p>Ramsay Caird her future husband! She herself had occasionally thought -of him in that position, not with dissatisfaction. Knowing nothing -better, she imagined that the liking which she undoubtedly entertained -for the pleasant young man was love. She had not been brought up in a -very gushing school. She had no intimate friend, no one with whom to -exchange confidences; and her acquaintances seemed to make liking do -very well for love, at least as far as their <i>fiancés</i> or their -husbands were concerned. Madeleine, when she had thought about the -matter, had quite convinced herself that she liked Ramsay very much -indeed; and it was only after she discovered that she loved Wilmot -that she was undeceived. She thought that she had liked him well -enough to marry him, but now she hated herself for ever having -entertained such an idea. She knew now that she had never felt love -for Ramsay Caird; and she would not marry where she did not love.</p> - -<p>A hundred diverse and distracting thoughts and influences were at work -within the young girl's mind. Doubt as to whether she was really loved -by Wilmot, doubt as to how far she was pledged to Ramsay Caird, -comprehension of the urgent necessity at once to take some steps -towards a solution of the difficulty, inability to decide on the -fittest course to pursue, disinclination to appeal to her father -through bashfulness and timidity, to Lady Muriel through distrust, to -Ronald through absolute fear: all these feelings alternated in -Madeleine's breast; and as she experienced each and all, there hung -over her a sense of an impending dreadful something which she could -not explain, could not understand, but which seemed to crush her to -the earth.</p> - -<p>The cause of the feeling which for some time past had induced her to -shrink from Ronald, to be silent and depressed when he was present, -and to be rather glad when he stayed away from Brook-street, was now -perfectly understood by her. In her new appreciation of herself she -saw plainly that the fact of her brother's having always been Ramsay -Caird's friend and Chudleigh Wilmot's enemy would, insensibly to -herself, have caused an estrangement between them in these later days. -And why was Ronald so hostile to Wilmot, so bitter in his depreciation -of him, so grudging in his praise even of Wilmot's professional -qualifications? Was this hostility merely a result of Ronald's normal -"oddness" and sternness, or did it spring from the fact that Ronald -had observed his sister narrowly, and had discovered, before she -herself knew of it, the state of her feelings towards Wilmot? Thinking -over this, the remembrance of her brother's manner that morning in -Brook-street, when he broke in upon her interview with Wilmot, flashed -across Madeleine's mind, and she felt convinced that her dread -suspicions were right, and that Ronald had guessed the truth.</p> - -<p>The reason of his hatred to Wilmot was then at once apparent to -Madeleine. Ronald had always supported Ramsay's unacknowledged -position in the family very strongly, not demonstratively, but -tacitly, as was his custom in most things. He was essentially -"thorough;" and Madeleine imagined that nothing would probably annoy -him so much as the lack of thoroughness in those whom he loved and -trusted. She saw that, actuated by these feelings, her brother would -regard, had regarded what she had previously imagined to be her -admiration and reverence, but what she now knew, and what Ronald had -probably from the first recognised, to be her love for Chudleigh -Wilmot as base treachery; and he hated Wilmot for having, however -innocently, called these feelings into play. However innocently? There -was a drop of comfort even in this bitter cup for poor Madeleine. -However innocently? Ronald was a man of the world, eminently -clear-headed and far-seeing--might not his hatred of Wilmot arise from -his having perceived that Wilmot himself was aware of Madeleine's -feelings, and reciprocated them? He had never said so--never hinted at -it; but then that soft fond look into her eyes when they were alone -together in the drawing-room in Brook-street rose in the girl's -memory, and almost bade her hope.</p> -<br> - -<p>These mental anxieties, these vacillations between hope and fear, -doubt and despair, which furnished Madeleine with constant food for -reflection, were not without their due effect on her bodily health. -Her fond father, watching her ever with jealous care, noticed the -hectic flush upon her cheek more frequent, her spirits lower, her -strength daily decreasing: he became alarmed, and confessed his alarm -to Lady Muriel.</p> - -<p>"Madeleine is far from well," he said; "very far from well. I notice -an astonishing difference in her within the last few months. After her -first recovery from the fever, I thought she would take a new lease of -life. But Wilmot was right throughout; she is very delicate; the last -few weeks have made a perceptible difference in her; and Wilmot is not -here to come in and cheer us after seeing her."</p> - -<p>"I think you are over-anxious about Madeleine," said Lady Muriel. "I -must confess, Alick, she is not strong; she never was before her -illness; and I do not believe that she ever recovered even her -previous strength; but I do not think so badly of her as you do. As -you say, we have not Dr. Wilmot to send for. For reasons best known to -himself, but which I confess I have been unable, so far as I have -troubled myself, to fathom, Dr. Wilmot has chosen to absent himself, -and to put himself thoroughly out of any chance of his being sent for. -But so far as advice goes, I suppose Sir Saville Rowe is still -unequalled; and Dr. Wilmot must have full confidence in him, or he -would never have begged him to break through his retirement and attend -upon Madeleine."</p> - -<p>"Yes; that is all very well. Of course Sir Saville Rowe's opinion is -excellent and all that, but he comes here but seldom; and one can't -talk to him as one could to Wilmot; and he does not stop and talk and -all that sort of thing, don't you know? Maddy's is a case where -particular interest should be taken, it strikes me; and I think Wilmot -did take special interest in her."</p> - -<p>"I don't think there can be any doubt of that," said Lady Muriel, with -the slightest touch of dryness in her accent. "Dr. Wilmot's devotion -to his patient was undeniable; but Dr. Wilmot's away, and not -available, and we must do our best to help ourselves during his -absence. My own feeling is that the girl wants thoroughly rousing; she -gets moped sitting here day after day with you and me and Mrs. -M'Diarmid; and Ronald, when he comes, does not tend much to enliven -her. Ramsay Caird is the only one with any life and spirits in the -whole party."</p> - -<p>"He's a good fellow, Ramsay," said Kilsyth; "a genial, pleasant, brisk -fellow."</p> - -<p>"He is; and he's a true-hearted fellow, Alick, which is better still. -By the way, Alick, he spoke to me again the other day upon that -subject which I mentioned to you before--about Madeleine, you -recollect?"</p> - -<p>"I recollect perfectly, Muriel," said Kilsyth slowly.</p> - -<p>"You said then, if you remember, that there was no reason for pressing -the matter then--no reason for hurrying it on; that Madeleine was full -young, and that it would be better to wait and let us see more of -Ramsay. You were perfectly right in what you said. I agreed with you -thoroughly, and what you suggested has been done. We have waited now -for several months; Madeleine has gone through a crisis in her life." -(Lady Muriel looked steadily at her husband as she said these words to -see if he detected any double meaning in them; but Kilsyth only nodded -his head gravely.) "We have seen more, a great deal more, of Ramsay -Caird; and from what you just said, I conclude you like him?"</p> - -<p>"I was not thinking of him in that light when I spoke, my dear -Muriel," said Kilsyth; "but indeed I see no reason to alter my -opinion. He's a pleasant, bright, good-tempered fellow, and I think -would make a good husband. He has seen plenty of life, and will be all -the better for it when he settles down."</p> - -<p>"Exactly. Well, then, having settled that point, I think you will -agree with me that now the matter does press, and there is reason for -hurrying it on. Not the marriage,--there is no necessity for hastening -with that; but it is both necessary and proper that it should be -understood that Madeleine and Ramsay Caird are regularly engaged. As I -said before, Madeleine wants rousing. She is <i>fade</i> and weary and a -little lackadaisical. You remember how she burst out crying about that -book the other night. She wants employment for her thoughts and her -mind; and if she is engaged, and we then find her occupation in -searching for a house, then in furnishing it, choosing <i>trousseau</i>, -brougham, jewels, the thousand-and-one little things that we can find -for her to do, you may depend upon it you will soon see her a -different being."</p> - -<p>Kilsyth said he hoped so; but his tone had little buoyancy in it, and -was almost despondent as he added:</p> - -<p>"What about Maddy herself? Has she any notion of--of what you have -just said to me, Muriel?"</p> - -<p>"Any notion, my dear Alick? Madeleine, though backward in some things, -has plenty of common sense; and she must be perfectly aware what -Ramsay's intentions mean and point to. Indeed my own observation leads -me to believe that she not merely understands them, but is favourably -disposed towards their object."</p> - -<p>"Yes; but what I mean to say is, Maddy has never been plainly spoken -to on the subject."</p> - -<p>"No, no; not that I know of."</p> - -<p>"But, she should be, eh?"</p> - -<p>"Of course she should be--and at once. It is not fair to Mr. Caird to -keep him longer in suspense; and there are other reasons which render -such a course highly desirable."</p> - -<p>Again Lady Muriel looked steadfastly at her husband, and again he -evaded her glance, and contented himself with nodding acquiescence at -her suggestion.</p> - -<p>"This should be done," continued Lady Muriel, "by some one who has -influence with dear Madeleine, whom she regards with great affection, -and whose opinion she is likely to respect. I have never said as much -to you, my dear Alick, because I did not want to worry you, in the -first place; and in the second, because the thing sits very lightly on -me, and the feeling is one which is natural, and which I can perfectly -understand; but the fact is that I am Madeleine's stepmother only, and -she regards me exactly in that light."</p> - -<p>"Muriel!" cried Kilsyth.</p> - -<p>"My dear Alick, it is perfectly natural and intelligible, and I make -no complaint. I should not have alluded to the subject if it were not -necessary, you may depend upon it. But I thought perhaps that you -might expect me to broach the matter which we have been recently -discussing to Madeleine; and for the reasons I have given, I think -that would be wholly unadvisable. You did think so, did you not?"</p> - -<p>"Well," said Kilsyth, who felt himself becoming rapidly 'cornered,' "I -confess I was going to ask you to do it; but of course if you--and I -feel--of course--that you're right. But then the question comes--as it -must be done--who is to do it? I'm sure I could not."</p> - -<p>Lady Muriel's brow darkened for a few moments as she heard this, but -it cleared again ere she spoke. "There is only one person left then," -said she; "and I am not sure that, after all, he is not the most -fitting in such a case as this. I mean, of course, Ronald. He is -perfectly straightforward and independent; he will see the matter in -its right light; and, above all, he has great influence with -Madeleine."</p> - -<p>"Ronald's a little rough; isn't he?" said Kilsyth doubtfully; "he -don't mean it, I know; but still in a matter like this he might--what -do you think?"</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> think, as I have said, that he is the exact person. His manner -may be a little cold, somewhat <i>brusque</i> to most people; but he has -Madeleine's interest entirely at heart, and he has always shown her, -as you know, the most unswerving affection. He has a liking for Ramsay -Caird; he appreciates the young man's worth; and he will be able to -place affairs in their proper position."</p> - -<p>So Kilsyth, with an inexpressible feeling that all was not quite -right, but with the impossibility of being able to better it, vividly -before him, agreed to his wife's proposition; and the next day Ronald -had a long interview with Lady Muriel, when they discussed the whole -subject, and settled upon their plan of action. Ronald undertook the -mission cheerfully; he and his stepmother fully understood each other, -and appreciated the necessity of immediate steps. Neither entered into -any detail, so far as Chudleigh Wilmot was concerned; but each knew -that the other was aware of the existence of that stumbling-block, and -was impressed with the expediency of its removal.</p> -<br> - -<p>Two days afterwards Ronald knocked at the door of Lady Muriel's -boudoir at a very much earlier hour than he was usually to be found in -Brook-street. When he entered the room he looked a thought more -flushed and a thought less calm and serene than was his wont. Lady -Muriel also was a little agitated as she rose hastily from her chair -and advanced to greet him.</p> - -<p>"Have you seen her?" she asked; "is it over? what did she say?"</p> - -<p>"She is the best girl in the world!" said Ronald; "she took it quite -calmly, and acquiesced perfectly in the arrangement. I think we must -have been wrong with regard to that other person--at least so far as -Madeleine's caring for him is concerned."</p> - -<p>O, of course: Madeleine cared nothing for "that other person," the -loss of whose love she was at that moment bewailing, stretched across -her bed, and weeping bitterly.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_05" href="#div1Ref_05">CHAPTER V.</a></h4> -<h5>At our Minister's.</h5> -<br> - -<p>Meanwhile Chudleigh Wilmot, bearing the secret of his great sorrow -about with him, bearing with him also the dread horror and gnawing -remorse which the fear that his wife had committed self-destruction -had engendered in his breast, had sought safety in flight from the -scene of his temptation, and oblivion in absence from his daily -haunts, and to a certain extent had found both. How many of us are -there who have experienced the benefit of that blessed change of -climate, language, habit of life? I declare I believe that the -continental boats rarely leave the Dover or the Folkestone pier -without carrying away amongst their motley load some one or two -passengers who are going, not for pleasure or profit, not with the -idea of visiting foreign cities or observing foreign manners, not with -the intention of gaining bodily health, or for the vain-glory of being -able to say on their return that they have been abroad (which actuates -not a few of them), but simply in the hope that the entire change will -bring to them surcease of brain-worry and heart-despondency, calm -instead of anxiety, peace in place of feverish longing, rest--no -matter how dull, how stupid, how torpid--instead of brilliant, -baleful, soul-harrowing excitement. After having pursued the beauty of -Brompton through the London season; after having spent a little -fortune in anonymous bouquets for her and choice camellias for his own -adornment; after having duly attended at every fête offered by the -Zoological and Botanical Societies, danced himself weary at balls, -maimed his feet at croquet-parties, and ricked his neck with staring -up at her box from the opera-stalls,--Jones, finding all his <i>petits -soins</i> unavailing, and learning that the rich stock-broker from -Surbiton has distanced him in the race, and is about to carry off the -prize, flings himself and his portmanteau on board the Ostend boat, -and finds relief and a renewal of his former devotion to himself among -the quaint old Belgian cities. By the time he arrives at the Rhinebord -he is calmer; he has lapsed into the sentimental stage, and is enabled -to appreciate and, if anybody gives him the chance, to quote all the -lachrymose and all the morbid passages. He relapses dreadfully when he -gets to Homburg, because he then thinks it necessary to--as he phrases -it in his diary--"seek the Lethe of the gaming-table;" but having lost -his five pounds' worth of florins, he is generally content; and when -he arrives in Switzerland finds himself in a proper-tempered state of -mind, quite fitted to commune with Nature, and to convey to the -Jungfrau his very low opinion of the state of humanity in general, and -of the female being who has blighted his young affections in -particular. And by the time that his holiday is over, and he returns -to his office or his chambers, he has forgotten all the nonsense that -enthralled him, and is prepared to commence a new course of idiotcy, -<i>da capo</i>, with another enchantress.</p> - -<p>And to Chudleigh Wilmot, though a sensible and thoughtful man, the -change was no less serviceable. The set character of his daily duties, -the absorbing nature of his studies, the devotion to his profession, -which had narrowed his ideas and cramped his aspirations, once cast -off and put aside, his mind became almost childishly impressionable by -the new ideas which dawned upon it, the new scenes which opened upon -his view. In his wonder at and admiration of the various beauties of -nature and art which came before him there was something akin to the -feeling which his acquaintance with Madeleine Kilsyth had first -awakened within him. As then, he began to feel now that for the first -time he lived; that his life hitherto had been a great prosaic -mistake; that he had worshipped false gods, and only just arrived at -the truth. To be sure, he had now the additional feeling of a lost -love and an unappeasable remorse; but the sting even of these was -tempered and modified by his enjoyment of the loveliness of nature by -which he was surrounded.</p> - -<p>His time was his own; and to kill it pleasantly was his greatest -object. He crossed from Dover to Ostend, and lingered some days on the -Belgian seaboard. Thence he pursued his way by the easiest stages -through the flat low-lying country, so rich in cathedrals and -pictures, in Gothic architecture and sweet-toned <i>carillons</i>, in -portly burghers and shovel-hatted priests and plump female peasants. -To Bruges, to Ghent, and Antwerp; to Brussels, and thence, through the -lovely country that lies round Verviers and Liège, to Cologne and the -Rhine, Chudleigh Wilmot journeyed, stopping sometimes for days -wherever he felt inclined, and almost insensibly acquiring bodily and -mental strength.</p> - -<p>There is a favourite story of the practical hardheaded school of -philosophers, showing how that one of their number, when overwhelmed -with grief at the loss of his only son, managed to master his extreme -agony, and to derive very great consolation from the study of -mathematics--a branch of science with which he had not previously been -familiar. It probably required a peculiar temperament to accept of and -benefit by so peculiar a remedy; but undoubtedly great grief, arising -from whatsoever source, is susceptible of being alleviated by mental -employment. And thus, though Chudleigh Wilmot bore about with him the -great sorrow of his life; though the sweet sad face of Madeleine -Kilsyth was constantly before him; and though the dread suspicion -regarding the manner of his wife's death haunted him perpetually, as -time passed over his head, and as his mind, naturally clever, opened -and expanded under the new training it was unconsciously receiving, he -found the bitterness of the memory of his short love-dream fading into -a settled fond regret, and the horror which he had undergone at the -discovery of the seal-ring becoming less and less poignant.</p> - -<p>Not that the nature of his love far Madeleine had changed in the -least. He saw her sweet face in the blue eyes and fair hair of big -blonde Madonnas in altar-pieces in Flemish cathedrals; he imagined her -as the never-failing heroine of such works of poetry and fiction as -now, for the first time for many years, he found leisure and -inclination to read. He would sit for hours, his eyes fixed on some -lovely landscape before him, but his thoughts busy with the events of -the past few months--those few months into which all the important -circumstances of his life were gathered. One by one he would pass in -review the details of his meetings, interviews, and conversations with -Madeleine, from the period of his visit to Kilsyth to his last sad -parting from her in Brook-street. And then he would go critically into -an examination of his own conduct; he was calm enough to do that now; -and he had the satisfaction of thinking that he had pursued the only -course open to him as a gentleman and a man of honour. He had fled -from the sweetest, the purest, the most unconscious temptation; and by -his flight he hoped he was expiating the wrong which he had ignorantly -committed by his neglect of his late wife. That must be the keynote -of his future conduct--expiation. So far as the love of women or the -praise of men was concerned, his future must be a blank. He had made -his mind up to that, and would go through with it. Of the former he -had very little, but very sweet experience--just one short glimpse of -what might have been, and then back again into the dull dreary life; -and of the latter--well, he had prized it and cherished it at one -time, had laboured to obtain and deserve it; but it was little enough -to him now.</p> - -<p>Among the old Rhenish towns, at that time of year almost free of -English, save such as from economical motives were there resident, -Wilmot lingered lovingly, and spent many happy weeks. To the ordinary -tourist, eager for his next meal of castles and crags, the town means -simply the hotel where he feeds and rests for the night, while its -inhabitants are represented by the landlord and the waiters, whose -exactions hold no pleasant place in his memory. But those who stay -among them will find the Rhenish burghers kindly, cheery, and -hospitable, with a vein of romance and an enthusiastic love for their -great river strangely mixed up with their national stolidity and -business-like habits. Desiring to avoid even such few of his -countrymen as were dotted about the enormous <i>salons</i> of the hotels, -and yet; to a certain extent, fearing solitude, Wilmot eagerly availed -himself of all the chances offered him for mixing with native society, -and was equally at home in the merchant's parlour, the artist's -<i>atelier</i>, or the student's <i>kneipe</i>. Pleasant old Vaterland! how -many of us have kindly memories of thee and of thy pleasures, -perhaps more innocent, and certainly cheaper, than those of other -countries,--memories of thy beer combats, and thy romantic sons, our -<i>confrères</i>, and thy young women, with such abundance of hair and such -large feet!</p> - -<p>At length, when more than three months had glided away, Wilmot -determined upon starting at once for Berlin. He had lazed away his -time pleasantly enough, far more pleasantly than he had imagined would -ever have been practicable, and he had laid the ghosts of his regret -and his remorse more effectually than at one time he had hoped. They -came to him, these spectres, yet, as spectres should come, in the dead -night-season, or at that worst of all times, when the night is dead -and the day is not yet born, when, if it be our curse to lie awake, -all disagreeable thoughts and fancies claim us for their own. The bill -which we "backed" for the friend whose solvency and whose friendship -have both become equally doubtful within the last few weeks; the face -of her we love, with its last-seen expression of jealousy, anger, and -doubt; the pile of neatly-cut but undeniably blank half-sheets of -paper which is some day to be covered with our great work--that great -work which we have thought of so long, but which we are as far as ever -from commencing: all these charming items present themselves to our -dreary gaze at that unholy four-o'clock waking, and chase slumber from -our fevered eyelids. Chudleigh Wilmot's ghosts came too, but less, far -less frequently than at first; and he was in hopes that in process of -time they would gradually forsake him altogether, and leave him to -that calm unemotional existence which was henceforth to be his.</p> - -<p>Meantime he began to hunger for news of home and home's doings. For -the first few weeks of his absence he had regularly abstained even -from reading the newspapers, and up to the then time he had sent no -address to his servants, choosing to remain in absolute ignorance of -all that was passing in London. This was in contradiction to his -original intention, but, on carefully thinking it over, he decided -that it would be better that he should know nothing. He apprehended no -immediate danger to Madeleine, and he knew that she could not be -better than under old Sir Saville Rowe's friendly care. He knew that -there was no human probability of anything more decisive leaking out -of the circumstances of his wife's death. For any other matter he had -no concern. His position in London society, his practice, what people -said about him, were now all things of the past, which troubled him -not; and hitherto he had looked on his complete isolation from his -former world as a great ingredient in his composure and his better -being. But as his mind became less anxious and his health more -vigorous, he began to hunger for news of what was going on in that -world from which he had exiled himself; and he hurried off to Berlin, -anxious to secure some <i>pied-à-terre</i> which he could make at -least a temporary home; and he had no sooner arrived at the Hôtel de -Russie than he wrote at once to Sir Saville, begging for fall and -particular accounts of Madeleine Kilsyth's illness, and to his awn -servant, desiring that all letters which had been accumulating in -Charles-street should be forwarded to him directly.</p> - -<p>Knowing that several days must elapse before his much-longed-for news -could arrive, Wilmot amused himself as best he might To the man who -has been accustomed to dwell in capitals, and who has been spending -some months in provincial towns, there is a something exhilarating in -returning to any place where the business and pleasure of life are at -their focus, even though it be in so tranquil a city as Berlin. The -resident in capitals has a keen appreciation of many of those -inexplicable nothingnesses which never are to be found elsewhere; the -best provincial town is to him but a bad imitation, a poor parody on -his own loved home; and in the same way, though the chief city of -another country may be far beneath that to which he is accustomed, -nay, even in grandeur and architectural magnificence may not be -comparable to some of the provincial towns of his native land, he at -once falls into its ways, and is infinitely more at home in it, -because those ways and customs remind him of what he has left behind. -Amidst the bustle and the excitement--mild though it was--of Berlin, -Wilmot's desire for perpetual wandering began to ebb. A man who has -nearly reached forty years of age in a fixed and settled routine of -life makes a bad Bedouin; and when the sting which first started -him--be it of disappointment, remorse, or <i>ennui</i>, and the last worst -of all--loses its venom, he will probably be glad enough to join the -first caravan of jovial travellers which he may come across, so long -as they are bound for the nearest habitable and inhabitable city. -Chudleigh Wilmot knew that a return to England and his former life -was, under existing circumstances, impossible; he felt that he could -not take up his residence in Paris, where he would be constantly -meeting old English Mends, to whom he could give no valid reason for -his self-imposed exile; but at Berlin it would be different. Very few -English people, at least English people of his acquaintance, came to -the Prussian capital; and to those whose path he might happen to cross -he might, for the present at all events, plead his studies in a -peculiar branch of his profession in which the German doctors had long -been unrivalled; while as for the future--the future might take care -of itself!</p> - -<p>Wandering Unter den Linden, pausing in mute admiration before the -Brandenburger Thor, or the numerous statues with which the patriotism -of the inhabitants and the sublime skill of the sculptor Rauch has -decorated the city, loitering in the Kunst Kammer of the palace, -spending hour after hour in the museum, reviving old recollections, -tinged now with such mournfulness as accrues to anything which has -been put by for ever, in visiting the great anatomical collection, -dropping into the opera or the theatre, and walking out to -Charlottenburg or other of the pleasant villages on the Spree, -Chudleigh Wilmot found life easier to him in Berlin than it had been -for many previous months. There, for the first time since he left -England, he availed himself of the fame which his talent had created -for him, and found himself heartily welcome among the leading -scientific men of the city, to all of whom he was well known by -repute. To them, inquiring the cause of his visit, he gave the -prepared answer, that he had come in person to study their mode of -procedure, which had so impressed him in their books; end this did not -tend to make his welcome less warm. So that, all things taken into -consideration, Wilmot had almost made up his mind to remain in Berlin, -at least for several months. He could attend the medical schools--it -would afford him amusement; and if in the future he ever resumed the -practice of his profession, it could do him no harm; his life, such as -it was, were as well passed in Berlin as anywhere else; and meanwhile -time would be fleeting on, and the gulf between him and Madeleine -Kilsyth, would be gradually widening. It must widen! No matter to what -width it now attained, he could never hope to span it again.</p> - -<p>One day, on his return to his hotel after a long ramble, the waiter -who was specially devoted to his service received him with a pleasant -grin, and told him that a "post packet" of an enormous size awaited -him. The parcel which Wilmot found on his table was certainly large -enough to have created astonishment in the mind of anyone, more -especially a German waiter, accustomed only to the small square thin -letters of his nation. There was but one huge packet; no letter from -Sir Saville Rowe, nor from Mr. Foljambe, to whom Wilmot had also -written specially. Wilmot opened the envelope with an amount of -nervousness which was altogether foreign to his nature; his hand -trembled unaccountably; and he had to clear his eyes before he could -set to work to glance over the addresses of the score of letters which -it contained. He ran them over hurriedly; nothing from Sir Saville -Rowe, nothing from Mr. Foljambe, no line--but he had expected none -from any of the Kilsyths. He threw aside unopened a letter in -Whittaker's bold hand, a dozen others whose superscriptions were -familiar to him, and paused before one, the mere sight of which gave -him an inexplicable thrill. It was a long, broad, blue-papered -envelope, addressed in a formal legal hand to him at his house in -Charles-street, and marked "Immediate." There are few men but in their -time have had an uneasy sensation caused by the perusal of their own -name in that never-varying copying-clerk's caligraphy, with its thin -upstrokes and thick downstrokes, its carefully crossed t's and -infallibly dotted i's. Few but know the "further proceedings" which, -unless a settlement be made on or before Wednesday next, the writers -are "desired to inform" us, they will be "compelled to take." But -Chudleigh Wilmot was among those few. During the whole of his career -he had never owed a shilling which he could not have paid on demand, -and his experience of law in any way had been nil. And yet the sight -of this grim document had an extraordinarily terrifying effect upon -him. He turned it backwards and forwards, took it up and laid it down -several times, before he could persuade himself to break its seal, a -great splodge of red wax impressed with the letters "L. & L." deeply -cut. At length he broke it open. An enclosure fell from it to the -ground; but not heeding that, Wilmot held up the letter to the -fast-fading light, and read as follows:</p> -<br> -<p style="text-indent:50%"> -"Lincoln's-Inn.</p> -<br> -<p>"<span class="sc">Sir</span>,--In accordance with instructions received from -the late Mr. Foljambe of Portland-place--"</p> - -<p>The late Mr. Foljambe! He must be dreaming! He rubbed his eyes, walked -a little nearer to the window, and reperused the letter. No; there the -sentence stood.</p> - -<p>"In accordance with instructions received from the late Mr. Foljambe -of Portland-place, we forward to you the enclosed letter. As it -appeared that in consequence of your absence from England you could -not be immediately communicated with, and in pursuance of the -instructions more recently verbally communicated to us by our late -client in the event of such a contingency arising, we have taken upon -ourselves to make the necessary arrangements for the funeral, as laid -down in a memorandum written by the deceased; and the interment will -take place to-morrow morning at Kensal-green Cemetery. We trust you -will approve of our proceedings in this matter, and that you will make -it convenient to return to London as soon as possible after the -receipt of this letter, as there are pressing matters awaiting your -directions.</p> - -<p>"Your obedient servants,</p> - -<p>"LAMBERT & LEE.</p> - -<p>"Dr. Wilmot."</p> - -<p> -The late Mr. Foljambe! His kind old friend, then, was dead! Again and -again he read the letter before he realised to himself the information -conveyed in that one sentence: the late Mr. Foljambe--pressing matters -awaiting his directions. Wilmot could not make out what it meant. That -Mr. Foljambe was dead he understood perfectly; but why the death -should be thus officially communicated to him, why the old gentleman's -lawyers should express a hope that he would approve of their -proceedings, and a desire that he should at once return to London, was -to him perfectly inexplicable, unless--but the idea which arose in his -mind was too preposterous, and he dismissed it at once.</p> - -<p>In the course of his reflections his eyes fell upon the enclosure -which had fallen from the letter to the ground. He picked it up, and -at a glance saw that it was a note addressed to him in his friend's -well-known clear handwriting--clearer indeed and firmer than it had -been of late. He opened it at once; and on opening it the first thing -which struck him was, that it was dated more than twelve months -previously. It ran thus:</p> - -<p> -"Portland-place.</p> - -<p>"My DEAR CHUDLEIGH,--A smart young gentleman, with mock-diamond studs -in his rather dirty shirt, and a large signet-ring on his very dirty -hand, has just been witnessing my signature to the last important -document which I shall ever sign--my will--and has borne that document -away with him in triumph, and a hansom cab, which his masters will -duly charge to my account. I shall send this letter humbly by the -penny post, to be put aside with that great parchment, and to be -delivered to you after my death. In all human probability you will be -by my bedside when that event occurs, but I may not have either the -opportunity or the strength to say to you what I should wish you to -know from myself; so I write it here. My dear boy, Chudleigh--boy to -me, son of my old friend--when I told your father I would look after -your future, I made up my mind to do exactly what I have done by my -signature ten minutes ago. I knew I should never marry, and I -determined that all my fortune should go to you. By the document (the -young man in the jewelry would call it a document)--by the document -just executed, you inherit everything I have in the world, and are -only asked to pay some legacies to a few old servants. Take it, my -dear Chudleigh, and enjoy it. That you will make a good use of it, I -am sure. I leave you entirely free and unfettered as to its disposal, -and I have only two suggestions to make--mind, they are suggestions, -and not requirements. In the first place, I should be glad if you -would keep on and live in my house in Portland-place--it has been a -pleasant home to me for many years; and I do not think my ghost would -rest easily if, on a revisit to the glimpses of the moon, he should -find the old place peopled with strangers. It has never known a lady's -care--at least during my tenure--but under Mrs. Wilmot's doubtless -good taste, and the aptitude which all women have for making the best -of things, I feel assured that the rooms will present a sufficiently -brave appearance. The other request is, that you should retire from -the active practice of your profession. There! I intended to arrive at -this horrible announcement after a long round of set phrases and -subtle argument; but I have come upon it at once. I do not want you, -my dear Chudleigh, entirely to renounce those studies or the exercise -of that talent in which I know you take the greatest delight; on the -contrary, my idea in this suggestion is, that your brains and -experience should be even more valuable to your fellow-creatures than -they are BOW. I want you to be what the young men of the present day -call a 'swell' in your line. I don't want you to refuse to give the -benefit of your experience in consultation; what I wish is to think -that you will be free--be your own master--and no longer be at the -beck and call of everyone; and if any lady has the finger-ache, or M. -le Nouveau Riche has overeaten himself, and sends for you, that you -will be in a position to say you are engaged, and cannot come.</p> - -<p>"If some of our friends could see this letter, they would laugh, and -say that old Foljambe was selfish and eccentric to the last; he has -had the advantage of this man's abilities throughout his own -illnesses, and now he leaves him his money on condition that he -sha'n't cure anyone else! But you know me too well, my dear Chudleigh, -to impute anything of this kind to me. The fact is, I think you're -doing too much, working too hard, giving up too much time and labour -and life to your profession. You cannot carry on at the pace you've -been going; and believe an old fellow who has enjoyed every hour of -his existence, life has something better than the <i>renom</i> gained from -attending crabbed valetudinarians. What that something is, my dear -boy, is for you now to find out. I have done my <i>possible</i> towards -realising it for you.</p> - -<p>"And now, God bless you, my dear Chudleigh! I have no other request -to make. To any other man I should have said, 'Don't let the -tombstone-men outside the cemetery persuade you into any elaborate -inscription in commemoration of my virtues.' 'Here lies John Foljambe, -aged 72,' is all I require. But I know your good sense too well to -suspect you of any such iniquity. Again, God bless you!</p> - -<p>"Your affectionate old friend,</p> - -<p>"JOHN FOLJAMBE."</p> - -<p> -Tears stood in Wilmot's eyes as he laid aside the old gentleman's -characteristic epistle. He took it up again after a pause and looked -at the date. Twelve months ago! What a change in his life during -that twelve months! Two allusions in the letter had made him wince -deeply--the mention of his wife, the suggestion that undoubtedly he -would be at the deathbed of his benefactor. Twelve months ago! He did -not know the Kilsyths then, was unaware of their very existence. If he -had never made that acquaintance; if he had never seen Madeleine -Kilsyth, might, not Mabel have been alive now? might he not--Whittaker -was a fool in such matters--might he not have been able once more to -carry his old friend successfully through the attack to which he now -had succumbed? Were they all right--his dead wife, Henrietta -Prendergast, the still small voice that spoke to him in the dead -watches of the night? Had that memorable visit had such a baleful -effect on his career? was it from his introduction to Madeleine -Kilsyth that he was to date all his troubles?</p> - -<p>His introduction to Madeleine Kilsyth! Ah, under what a new aspect she -now appeared! Chudleigh Wilmot knew the London world sufficiently to -be aware of the very different reception which he would get from it -now, how inconvenient matters would be forgotten or hushed over, and -how the heir of the rich and eccentric Mr. Foljambe would begin life -anew; the doctrine of metempsychosis having been thoroughly carried -out, and the body of the physician from which the new soul had sprung -having been conveyed into the outer darkness of forgetfulness. True, -some might remember how Mr. Wilmot, when he was in practice--so -honourable of him to maintain himself by his talents, you know, and -really considerable talents, and all that kind of thing--and before he -succeeded to his present large fortune, had attended Miss Kilsyth up -at their place in the Highlands, and brought her through a dangerous -illness, don't you know, and that made the affair positively romantic, -you see!--Bah! To Ronald Kilsyth himself the proposition would be -sufficiently acceptable now. The Captain had stood out, intelligibly -enough, fearing the misunderstanding of the world; but all that -misunderstanding would be set aside when the world saw that an -eligible suitor had proposed for one of its marriageable girls, more -especially when the eligible couple kept a good house and a liberal -table, and entertained as befitted their position in society.</p> - -<p>Wilmot had pondered over this new position with a curled lip; but his -feelings softened marvellously, and his heart bounded within him, as -his thoughts turned towards Madeleine herself. Ah, if he had only -rightly interpreted that dropped glance, that heightened colour, that -confused yet trusting manner in the interview in the drawing-room! Ah, -if he had but read aright the secret of that childish trusting heart! -Madeleine, his love, his life, his wife! Madeleine, with all the -advantages of her own birth, the wealth which had now accrued to him, -and the respect which his position had gained for him!--could anything -be better? He had seen how men in society were courted, and flattered -and made much of for their wealth alone,--dolts, coarse, ignorant, -brainless, mannerless savages; and he--now he could rival them in -wealth, and excel them--ah, how far excel them!--in all other -desirable qualities!</p> - -<p>Madeleine his own, his wife! The dark cloud which had settled down -upon him for so long a time rolled away like a mist and vanished from -his sight. Once more his pulse bounded freely within him; once more he -looked with keen clear eyes upon life, and owned the sweet aptitude of -being. He laughed aloud and scornfully as he remembered how recently -he had pictured to himself as pleasant, as endurable, a future which -was now naught but the merest vegetation. To live abroad! Yes, but not -solitary and self-contained; not pottering on in a miserable German -town, droning through existence in the company of a few old <i>savans!</i> -Life abroad with Madeleine for a few months in the year perhaps--the -wretched winter months, when England was detestable, and when he would -take her to brighter climes--to the Mediterranean, to Cannes, Naples, -Algiers it may be, where the soft climate and his ever-watchful -attention and skill would enable her to shake off the spell of the -disease which then oppressed her.</p> - -<p>He would return at once--to Madeleine! Those dull lawyers in their -foggy den in Lincoln's-inn little knew how soon he would obey their -mandate, or what was the motive-power which induced his obedience. In -his life he had never felt so happy. He laughed aloud. He clapped the -astonished waiter, who had hitherto looked upon the Herr Englander as -the most miserable of his melancholy nation, on the shoulder, and bade -him send his passport to the Embassy to be <i>viséd</i>, and prepare for -his departure. No; he would go himself to the Embassy. He was so full -of radiant happiness that he must find some outlet for it; and he -remembered that he had made the acquaintance of a young gentleman, son -of one of his aristocratic London patients, who was an <i>attaché</i> to our -minister. He would himself go to the Embassy, see the boy, and offer -to do any mission for him in England, to convey anything to his -mother. The waiter smiled, foreseeing in his guest's happiness a good -<i>trinkgeld</i> for himself; gentlemen usually sent their passports by the -<i>hausknecht</i>, but the Herr could go if he wished it--of course he -could go!</p> - -<p>So Wilmot started off with his passport in his pocket. The sober-going -citizens stared as they met, and turned round to stare after the eager -rushing Englishman. He never heeded them; he pushed on; he reached the -Embassy, and asked for his young friend Mr. Walsingham, and chafed and -fumed and stamped about the room in which he was left while Mr. -Walsingham was being sought for. At length Mr. Walsingham arrived. He -was glad to see Dr. Wilmot; thanks for his offer! He would intrude -upon him so far as to ask him to convey a parcel to Lady Caroline. -<i>Visa?</i> O, ah! that wasn't in his department; but if Dr. Wilmot would -give him the passport, he'd see it put all right. Would Dr. Wilmot -excuse him for a few moments while he did so, and would he like to -look at last Monday's <i>Post</i>, which had just arrived?</p> - -<p>Wilmot sat himself down and took up the paper. He turned it vaguely to -and fro, glancing rapidly and uninterestedly at its news. At length -his eye hit upon a paragraph headed "Marriage in High Life." He passed -it, but finding nothing to interest him, turned back to it again, and -there he read:</p> - -<p>"On the 13th instant, at St. George's, Hanover-square, by the Lord -Bishop of Boscastle, Madeleine, eldest daughter of Kilsyth of Kilsyth, -to Ramsay Caird, Esq., of Dunnsloggan, N.B."</p> - -<p>When Mr. Walsingham returned with the passport he found his visitor -had fainted.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_06" href="#div1Ref_06">CHAPTER VI.</a></h4> -<h5>The Gulf fixed.</h5> -<br> - -<p>Fainted! a preposterous thing for a big strong man to do! Fainted, as -though he had been a school-girl, or a delicate miss, or a romantic -woman troubled with nerves. Mr. Walsingham did not understand it at -all. He rang the bell, and told the servant to get some water and some -brandy, and something--the right sort of thing; and he picked up -Wilmot's head, which was gravitating towards the floor, and he bade -him "Hold up, my good fellow!" and then he let his friend's head fall, -and gazed at him with extreme bewilderment. He was unused to this kind -of performance was Mr. Walsingham, and felt himself eminently helpless -and ridiculous. When the water and the brandy were brought, he -administered a handful of the former externally, and a wine-glassful -of the latter internally; and Wilmot revived, very white and trembling -and dazed and vacant-looking. So soon as he could gather where he was, -and what had occurred, he made his apologies to Mr. Walsingham, and -begged he would add to the kindness he had already shown by sending -for a cab, and by allowing him to borrow the newspaper which he had -been reading at the time of the attack; it should be carefully -returned that afternoon. Mr. Walsingham, who wag the soul of -politeness, agreed to each of these requests; the cab was fetched, and -Wilmot, with many thanks to his young friend, and with the packet for -his young friend's mother, his own passport, and the <i>Morning Post</i> in -his pocket, went away in it. Mr. Walsingham, who regarded this little -episode in his monotonous life as quite an adventure, waxed very -eloquent upon the subject afterwards to his friends, and made it his -stock story for several days. "Doosid awkward," he used to say, "to -have a fellow, don't you know, who you don't know, don't you know, -gone off into fits, and all that kind of thing! Here, too, of all -places in the world! If he'd gone off in my rooms, you know, it -wouldn't so much have mattered; but here, where old Blowhard"--for by -this epithet Mr. Walsingham designated Sir Hercules Shandon, K.P., Her -Britannic Majesty's Minister at the Court of Prussia--"where old -Blowhard might have come in at any moment, don't you know, it might -have been devilish unpleasant for a fellow. What he wanted with the -<i>Post</i> I can't make out. I've looked through every column of it since -he sent it back, but I can't find anything likely to upset a fellow -like that. I thought at first he must have been sinking his fees in -some city company that had bust-up, but there's no such thing in the -paper; or that he'd read of some chap being poisoned in mistake, and -that had come home to him, but there's nothing about that either. I -can't make it out.--I say, Tollemache, do you see that Miss Kilsyth's -married? Married to Caird, that good-looking fellow that always used -to be there at Brook-street--tame cat in the house--and that used -to--you know--Adalbert Villa, Omicron-road, eh? Sell for you, old boy; -you were very hard hit in that quarter, weren't you, Tolly?"</p> - -<p>So Chudleigh Wilmot went back to his hotel in the cab; and the -friendly waiter, who had seen him depart so full of life and -joyousness, had to help him up the steps, and thought within himself -that the great English doctor would have to seek the assistance of -other members of his craft. But no bodily illness had struck down -Chudleigh Wilmot; he had not recovered his full strength, and the -shock to his nerves had been a little too strong--that was all. So -soon as he found himself alone, after refusing the friendly waiter's -offer of sending for a physician, of getting him restoratives of a -kind which came specially within the resources of the Hôtel de Russie, -such as a roast chicken and a bottle of sparkling Moselle, and after -dispensing with all further assistance or companionship, Wilmot locked -the door of his room, and sat down at the table with the newspaper -spread open before him. He read the paragraph again and again, with an -odd sort of bewildering wonderment that it remained the same, and did -not change before his eyes. No doubt about what it expressed--none. -Madeleine Kilsyth, who had been worshipped by him for months past; and -with whom as his companion he was looking forward to pass his future, -was married to another man--that last fact was expressed in so many -words. It was all over now, the hope and the fear and the longing; -there was an end to it all. If he had only known this three months -ago, what an agony of heart-sickness, of dull despair, of transient -hope, of wearying feverish longing he had been spared! She was gone, -then, so far as he was concerned--taken from him; the one star that -had glimmered on his dark lonely path was quenched, and henceforward -he was to stumble through life in darkness as best he might. That was -a cruel trick of Fortune's, a wretched cruel trick, to keep him back -in his pursuit, to throw obstacles of every kind in his way, but all -the time to let him see his love at the end of the avenue, as he -thought, beckoning to him to overcome them all, to make his way to -her, and carry her off in spite of all opposition; then for all the -obstacles to melt away, for him to have naught to do but gain the -temple unopposed; and when he succeeded in gaining it, for the doors -to be open, the shrine abandoned, the divinity gone!</p> - -<p>Hard fate indeed! hard, hard fate! But it was not to be. His dead wife -had said it; Henrietta Prendergast had said it: it was not to be. For -him no woman's love, no happy home, no congenial spirit to share his -thoughts, his ambition, his success. He sighed as he thought of this, -with additional sadness as he remembered that if Henrietta -Prendergast's story were true, all this had been his. Such a companion -he had had, had never appreciated, and had lost. He had entertained an -angel unawares, and he was never to have the chance again. For him a -drear blank future--blank save when remorse for the probable fate of -the woman who had died loving him, regret for the loss of the woman -whom he had loved, should goad him into new scenes of fresh action. -Madeleine married! Was, then, his fancy that she, that Madeleine, -during that interview in the drawing-room in Brook-street, had -manifested an interest in him different from that which she had -previously shown, a mere delusion? Had he been so far led away by his -vanity as to mistake for something akin to his own feeling the mere -gratitude which the young girl had felt towards her physician? Was -she, indeed, "his grateful patient," and no more? Wilmot's heart sunk -within him, and his cheeks burned, as this view of the subject -presented itself to his mind. Had he, professing to be skilled in -psychology, committed this egregious blunder? Had he, who was supposed -to know what people really were when they had put off the mummeries -which they played before the world, and when they had laid by their -face-makings and their posturings and their society antics, and -revealed to their physician perforce what no one else was allowed to -see--had he been deceived in his character study of one who to him was -a mere child? The very suddenness of the inspiration had led him to -believe in its truth. Until that moment, just before that savage -brother of hers had burst in upon them, he had acknowledged to himself -the existence of his own passion indeed, but had struggled against it, -fully believing it to be unreciprocated, fully believing in the mere -gratitude and respect which--as it now seemed--were the sole feelings -by which Madeleine had been animated. But surely that day, in her -downcast eyes and in her fleeting blush, he had recognised--A new -idea, which rushed through his mind like a flash of light, illumining -his soul with a ray of hope. Had this been a forced marriage? Had she -been compelled by her brother, her father, Lady Muriel--God knows -who--to accept this alliance? Had it been carried out against her own -free will? Had his absence from England been made the pretext for -urging her on to it? Had that been shown to her as a sign of the -mistake she had made in supposing that he, Wilmot, eared for her at -all? He had never been so near the truth as now, and yet he scouted -the notion more quickly than any of the others which he discussed -within himself. Such a thing was impossible. The idea of a girl being -forced to marry against her will, of her judgment being warped, and -the truth perverted for the sake of warping that judgment, was -incomprehensible to a man like Wilmot--man of the world in so many -phases of his character, but of childlike simplicity in the others. He -had heard of such things as the stock-in-trade of the novelist, but in -real life they did not exist. Mammon-matches, forced marriages, -diabolical torturings of fact--all these various combinations, neatly -dovetailed together, filled the shelves of the circulating-library, -but were laughed to scorn by all sensible persons when they professed -to be accurate representations of what takes place in the every-day -life of society.</p> - -<p>Besides, if it were so, the mischief was done, and he was -all-powerless to counteract it. The marriage had taken place; there -was an end of it. It could be undone by no word or deed of his. The -times were changed from the old days when a sharp sword and a swift -steed could nullify the priest's blessing, and leave the brave gallant -and the unwilling bride to be "happy ever after." He was no young -Lochinvar, to swim streams and scour countries, to dance but one -measure, drink one cup of wine, and bolt with the lady on his -saddle-croup. He was a sober, middle-aged man, who must get back to -England by the mail-train and the packet-boat; and when he got -there--well, make his bow to the bride and bridegroom, and -congratulate them on the happy event. It was all over. His turn in the -wheel of Fortune had arrived too late; the bequest which his good old -friend had secured to him, had it come two months earlier, might have -insured his happiness for life; as it was, it left him where it found -him, so far as his great object in life, so far as Madeleine Kilsyth, -was concerned.</p> - -<p>Another long pause for reflection, a prolonged pacing up and down the -room, revolving all the circumstances in his mind. Was his whole life -bound up in this young girl? did his whole future so entirely hang -upon her? Here was he in his prime, with fame such as few men ever -attained to, with fortune newly accruing to him--large fortune, -leaving him his own master to do as he liked, free, unfettered, with -no ties and no responsibilities; and was he to give up this splendid -position, or, not giving it up, to forego its advantages, to let its -gold turn into withered leaves and its fruits into Dead-Sea apples, -because a girl, of whose existence he had been ignorant twelve months -before, preferred to accept a husband of her choice, of her rank, of -her family connection, rather than await in maidenhood a declaration -of his hitherto unspoken love? He was pining under his solitude, the -want of being appreciated, the lack of someone to confide in, to -cherish, to educate, to love. Was his choice so circumscribed by fate -that there was only one person in the world to fulfil all these -requirements? Was it preordained that he must either win Madeleine -Kilsyth or pass the remainder of his days helplessly, hopelessly -celibate? Was his heart so formed as to be capable of the reception of -this one individual and none other, to be impressionable by her and -her alone? His pride revolted at the idea; and when a man's pride -undertakes the task of combating his passion, the struggle is likely -to be a severe one, and none can tell on which side the victory may -lie.</p> - -<p>He would test it, at all events, and test it at once. The kind old man -now gone to his rest had hoped that the fortune which he had -bequeathed might be of service to the son of his old friend "and to -Mrs. Wilmot;" and why should it not, although Mrs. Wilmot might not be -the person whom Mr. Foljambe had intended, nor, as Chudleigh had madly -hoped on reading his benefactor's letter, Madeleine Kilsyth? He would -go back to England at once; he would show these people that--even if -they entertained the idea which had been so plainly set before him by -Ronald Kilsyth--he was not the man to sink under an injury, however -much he might suffer under an injustice. "Love flows like the Solway, -but ebbs like its tide," so far he would say to them with Lochinvar; -they should not imagine that he was going to pine away the remainder -of his life miserably because Miss Kilsyth had chosen to marry someone -else. He had been a fool, a weak pliable fool, to make such a -statement as he had done in that interview with Ronald Kilsyth. His -cheeks tingled with shame as he remembered how he had confessed the -passion which he had nurtured, and which he acknowledged beset him -even at the time of speaking. And that cool, calculating young man, -with his cursed priggish, pedantic airs, his lack of anything -approaching enthusiasm, and his would-be frank manner, was doubtless -at that moment grinning to himself at the successful result of his -calm diplomacy. Chudleigh Wilmot stamped his foot on the floor and -ground his teeth in the impotence of his rage.</p> - -<p>Married to Ramsay Caird, eh? Ramsay Caird! Well, they had not made -such a great catch after all! To hear them talk, to see the state they -kept up at Kilsyth, to listen to or look at my Lady Muriel, one would -have thought that an earl, with half England in estates at his back, -was the lowest they would have stooped to for their daughter's -husband. And now she was married to an untitled Scotchman, without -money, and--well, if he remembered club-gossip aright, rather a loose -fish. Had not Captain Kilsyth been a little too hurried in the -clinching of the nail, in the completion of the bargain? As Mr. -Foljambe's heir, he, Chudleigh Wilmot, would have been worth a dozen -such men as Ramsay Caird; and as to the question of former intimacy, -of acquaintance formed during his wife's lifetime, the world would -have forgotten that speedily enough.</p> - -<p>He would go back to England at once, but when there he would show them -he was not the kind of man which, from Ronald Kilsyth's behaviour, -that family apparently imagined him. Still the Border song rang in his -head--</p> - -<p> -"There were maidens in Scotland more lovely by far -Would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."</p> - -<p> -Not more lovely, and probably never to be anything like so dear to -him; but there were other maidens in England besides Madeleine -Kilsyth. And why should the remainder of his life be to him utterly -desolate because this girl either did not love him, or, loving him, -was weak enough to yield to the interference of others? Was he to pine -in solitude, to renounce all the pleasures of wifely companionship, to -remain, as he had hitherto been, self-contained and solitary, because -he had placed his affections unworthily, and they had not been -understood, or cast aside? No; he had existed, he had vegetated long -enough; henceforward he would live. Wealth and fame were his; he was -not yet too old to inspire affection or to requite it; by his old -friend's death he had obtained an additional claim upon society, -which even previously was willing enough to welcome him; he should -have the <i>entrée</i> almost where he chose, and he would avail himself -of the privilege. So thus it stood. Chudleigh Wilmot left London -broken-hearted at having to give up his love, and full of remorse -for a crime, not of his commission indeed, but which he imagined had -arisen out of his own egotism and selfish preoccupation. He was -about to start on his return, with stung sensibility and wounded -pride--feelings which rendered him hostile rather than pitying towards -the woman to whom he had imagined himself sentimentally attached, and -which had completely obliterated and driven into oblivion all symptoms -of his remorse.</p> - -<p>He wrote a hurried line to Messrs. Lambert and Lee, informing them of -his satisfaction with their proceedings hitherto, and notifying his -immediate return; and he told the friendly waiter that he should start -by that night's mail, and get as far as Hanover. But this the friendly -waiter would not hear of. The Herr Doctor must know perfectly -well--for had not he, the friendly waiter, heard the German doctors -speak of the English doctor's learning?--that he was in no condition -to travel that night. If he, the friendly waiter, might in his turn -prescribe for the English doctor, he should say, "Wait here to-night; -dine, not at the <i>table d'hôte</i>, where there is hurry and confusion, -but in the smaller <i>speise-saal</i>, where you usually breakfast; and the -cook shall be instructed to send up to you of his very best; and the -Herr Oberkellner, a great man, but to be come over by tact, and -specially kind in cases of illness, shall be persuaded to go to the -cellar and fetch you Johannisberg--not that Zeltinger or Marcobrünner, -which, under the name of Johannisberg, they sell to you in England, -but real Johannisberg, of Prince Metternich's own vintage--pfa!" and -the friendly waiter kissed his own fingers, and then tossed them into -the air as a loving tribute to the excellence of the costly drink.</p> - -<p>So Wilmot, knowing that there was truth in all the man had said; -feeling that he was not strong, and that what little strength he had -had gone out of him under the ordeal of the morning at the Embassy, -gave way, and consented to remain that night. But the next morning he -started on his journey, and on the evening of the third day he arrived -in London. He drove straight to his house in Charles-street, and saw -at once by the expression of his servant's face that the news of his -inheritance had preceded him. There was a struggle between solemnity -and mirth on the man's countenance that betrayed him at once. The man -said he expected his master back, was not in the least surprised at -his coming; indeed most people seemed to have expected him before. -What did he mean? O, nothing--nothing; only there had been an uncommon -number of callers within the last few days. "Not merely the reg'lars," -the man added; "them of course; but there have been many people as we -have not seen here these two years past a-rat-tattin', and leavin' -reg'lar packs of cards, with their kind regards, and to know how you -were, sir." The cards were brought, and Wilmot looked through them. -The man was right; scores of his old acquaintance, whom he had not -seen or heard of for years, were there represented; people whom he had -only known professionally, and who had never been near him since he -wrote their last prescription and took their last fee months before, -had sought him out again. To what could this be accredited? Either to -the earnest desire of all who knew him to console him in the -affliction of having lost his friend, or to the information sown -broadcast by that diligent contributor to the <i>Illustrated News</i>, who -had given exact particulars of the will of the late John Foljambe, -Esq., banker, of Lombard-street and Portland-place. But there was no -card from any member of the Kilsyth family in the collection. Wilmot -searched eagerly for one, but there was none there.</p> - -<p>He had a hurried meal--hurried, not because he had anything to do, and -wanted to get through with it, but because he had no appetite, and -what was placed before him was tasteless and untempting--and sat -himself down in his old writing-chair in his consulting-room to ponder -over his past and his future. He should leave that house; he must. -Though Mr. Foljambe had made no binding requirement, the expression of -his wish was enough. Wilmot must leave that house, and obey his -benefactor's behests by taking up his residence in Portland-place. He -had never thought much of it before, but now he felt that he loved the -place in which so much of his life had been passed, and felt very loth -to leave it. He recollected when he had fire moved into it, when his -practice began to increase and his name began to be known. He -remembered how his friends had said that it was necessary he should -take up his position in a good West-end street, and how alarmed he -was, when the lease was signed and the furniture--rather scanty and -very poor, but made to look its best by Mabel's disposition and -taste--had been moved in, lest he should be unable to pay the heavy -rent. He recollected perfectly the first few patients who had come to -see him there: some sent by old Foljambe, some droppers-in from the -adjacent military club, allured by the bright door-plate; old -gentlemen wishing to be young again, and young gentlemen in -constitution rather more worn and debilitated than the oldest of the -veterans. He remembered his delight when the first great person ever -sent for him; how he had treasured the note requesting his visit; how -he had gone to his club and slily looked up the family in the Peerage; -and how when he first stood before Lady Hernshaw, and listened to her -account of her infant's feverish symptoms, he could, if he had been -required, have gone through an examination in the origin and progress -of the Hawke family, with the names of all the sons and daughters -extant, and come out triumphantly. His well-loved books were ranged in -due order on the walls round him; on the table before him stood the -lamp by whose light he had gathered and reproduced that learning -which had gained him his fame and his position. In that house all -is early struggles had been gone through; he remembered the first -dinner-parties which had been given under Mabel's superintendence, her -diffidence and fright, his nervousness and anxiety. And now that was -all of the past; Mabel had vanished for ever and aye; and soon the old -house and its belongings, its associations and traditions, would know -him no more. What had he gained during those few years? Fame, -position, men's good word, the envy of his brother-professionals, and, -recently, wealth. What had he lost? Youth, spirit, energy, the at one -time all-sufficing love of study and progress in his science, content; -and, latterly, the day-spring of a new existence, the hope of a new -world which had opened so fairly and so promisingly before him. The -balance was on the <i>per-contra</i> side, after all.</p> - -<p>The fashionable journals found out his return (how, his servant of all -men alone knew), and proclaimed it to the world at large. The world at -large, consisting of the subscribers to the said fashionable journals, -acknowledged the information, and the influx of cards was redoubled. -Some of these performers of the card-trick lingered at the door, and -entered into conversation with the presiding genius in black to whom -their credentials were delivered. Whether the doctor were well, whethe -he intended continuing the practice of his profession, whether the -rumour that he intended giving up that house and removing to -Portland-place had any substantial foundation; whether it were true that -he, the presiding genius, was about to have a new mistress, a lady from -abroad--for some even went so far as to make that inquiry--all these -different points were put, haughtily, confidentially, jocosely, to the -presiding genius of the street-door, and all were answered by him as -best he thought fit. Only one of the queries, the last, had any -influence on that great man. He fenced with it in public with all the -coolness and the dexterity of an Angelo, but in private, in the sacred -confidence of the pantry engendered by the supper-beer, he was heard to -declare that "the guv'nor knew better than that; or that if he didn't, -and thought to introduce furreners, with their scruin' ways, to sit at -the 'ead of his table and give horders to them, he'd have to suit -himself, and the sooner he knew that the better."</p> - -<p>Some of the callers on seeking admittance were admitted--among them -Dr. Whittaker. Perhaps amongst the large circle of Wilmot's -acquaintances calling themselves Wilmot's friends, that eminent -practitioner was the only one who had a direct and palpable feeling of -annoyance at Wilmot's return.</p> - -<p>Dr. Whittaker's originally good practice had been considerably -amplified by the patients who, under Wilmot's advice, had yielded -themselves up to Dr. Whittaker's direction during Wilmot's absence, -and the substitute naturally looked with alarm upon the reappearance -of the great original. So Dr. Whittaker presented himself at an early -date in Charles-street, and being admitted, had a long and, on his -side at least, an earnest talk with his friend. After the state and -condition of various of the leading patients had been discussed -between then, Whittaker began to touch upon more dangerous, and, to -him more interesting, ground, and said, with an attempt at -jocosity,--and Whittaker was a ponderous man, in whom humour was as -natural and as easy as it might have been in Sir Isaac Newton,--</p> - -<p>"And now that I have given account of my stewardship, I suppose my -business is ended, and all I have to do is to return my trust into the -hands of him from whom I received it."</p> - -<p>He said this with a smile and a smirk, but with an anxious look in his -eyes notwithstanding.</p> - -<p>"I don't clearly understand you," said Wilmot. "If you mean to ask me -whether I intend to take up my practice again, my answer is clear and -distinct--No. If you wish to inquire whether those patients whom you -have been attending in my absence will continue to send for you, I am -in no position to say. All I can say is, that if they send for me, I -shall let them know that I have retired from the profession, and that -you are taking my place."</p> - -<p>Dr. Whittaker was in ecstasies. "Of course that is all I could -expect," he replied; "and I flatter myself that--hum! ha! well, a man -does not boast of his own proceedings--ha! Well then, and so what the -little birds whispered <i>is</i> true, eh?"</p> - -<p>"I--I beg your pardon," said Wilmot absently--"the--the little birds--"</p> - -<p>"Cautious!" murmured Dr. Whittaker in his blandest tone--that tone -which had such an influence with female patients--"we are quite right -to be cautious; but between friends one may refer to the little birds -which have whispered," he continued with surprising unction, "that a -certain friend of ours, whom the world delights to honour, has -succeeded to wealth and station, and is about to exchange that -struggle in which the--the, if I may so express it--the <i>pulverem -Olympicum</i> is gathered, for a soft easy seat in the balcony, whence he -can look on at the contention with a smiling <i>conjux</i> by his side."</p> - -<p>"Little birds have peculiar information, Whittaker, if they have been -so communicative as all that," said Wilmot with a rather dreary smile; -"they know more than I do, at all events."</p> - -<p>"Ha, ha! my dear friend," said Whittaker, in a gushing transport of -delight at the thought of his own good fortune; "we are deep, very -deep; but we must allow a little insight into human affairs to -others. Why did we fly from the world, dear Bessy, to thee? as the -poet Moore, or Milton--I forget which--has it. Why did we give up our -practice, and hurry off so suddenly to foreign parts, hum?" Dr. -Whittaker gave this last "hum" in his softest and most seductive tones, -such as had never failed with a patient. But perhaps because Wilmot was -not a patient, and was indeed versed in the behind-scenes mechanism of -the profession, it had no effect on him, and he merely said: "Not for -the reason you name. Indeed, you never were farther out in any -surmise."</p> - -<p>"Is that really so?" said Whittaker blandly. "Well, well, you surprise -me! It is only a fortnight since that I was discussing the subject at -a house where you seem often spoken of, and I said I fully believed -the report to be true."</p> - -<p>"And where was that, pray?" asked Wilmot, more for the sake of -something to say than for any real interest he took in the matter.</p> - -<p>"Ah, by the way, you remind me! I intended to speak to you about -that case before you left. The young lady whom you attended in -Scotland--where you were when poor Mrs. Wilmot died, you know--"</p> - -<p>"In Scotland--where I was when--good God! what do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"Miss Kilsyth, you know. Well, you left her in charge of poor old Rowe -as a special case, didn't you? Yes, I thought so. Well, the poor old -gentleman got a frightful attack of bronchitis, and was compelled to -go back to Torquay--don't think he'll last a month, poor old -fellow!--and before he went, he asked me to look after Miss Kilsyth. -Thought she had phthisis--all nonsense, old-fashioned nonsense; merely -congestion, I'm sure. I've seen her half-a-dozen times; and about a -fortnight ago--yes, just before her intended marriage was -announced--she's married since, you know--we were talking about you -and I mentioned this rumour, and--and we had a good laugh over your -enthusiasm."</p> - -<p>"It is a pity, Dr. Whittaker," said Wilmot, quivering with suppressed -rage, "it is a pity; and it is not the first time that it has been -remarked, both professionally and socially, that you offer opinions -and volunteer information on subjects of which you are profoundly -ignorant. Good-morning!"</p> - -<p> -Just before the announcement of her intended marriage! Had the vile -nonsense talked by that idiot Whittaker had any influence in inducing -her to take that step? He thought of that a hundred times, coming at -last to the conclusion--what did it matter now? The irrevocable -step was taken. Ah, for him it was not to be! His dead wife had said -so--Henrietta Prendergast had said so. It was not to be!</p> - -<p>What was to be was soon carried out according to his old friend's -expressed wish. Wilmot removed from Charles-street to Portland-place, -and materially changed his manner of life. All his old patients -flocked round him directly his return was announced; but, as he had -promised Whittaker, he let it be understood that he had entirely -retired from practice. He even declined to attend consultations, -alleging as an excuse that his health was delicate, and that for some -time at least be required absolute repose. He had determined to take -as much enjoyment out of life as he could find in it; and that, truth -to tell, was little enough. The growth and development of his love for -Madeleine Kilsyth had lessened his thirst for knowledge and his desire -for fame; and when the fierce flames of that love had burned out, -there was still enough fire in the ashes to wither up and destroy any -other passion that might seek to occupy his heart. He tried to find -relief for the dead weariness of spirit, the blank desolation always -upon him, in society. He gathered around him brilliant men of all c -lasses; and "Wilmot's dinners" were soon spoken of as among the -pleasantest bachelor <i>réunions</i> in London. He dined out at clubs, he -joined men's dinner-parties; but he resolutely declined to enter into -ladies' society. The resolution which he had formed at the Berlin -hotel of proving to the Kilsyth people that there were families equal -to theirs into which he could be received, and girls equal to -Madeleine who were willing to marry him, never was brought to the -test. Many ladies no doubt asked their husbands about Wilmot; but from -the answers they received they regarded him as never likely to marry -again; and save from hearsay report, they had no opportunity of -evidence.</p> - -<p>He went about constantly, rode on horseback a great deal, visited -theatres, and sat with a melancholy face at nearly all the public -exhibitions. The few persons who had sufficient interest in him to -discuss the reason for this change attributed it to the impossibility -of his ever recovering the shock of his wife's sudden death; and he -was quoted perpetually before many husbands, who sincerely wished they -had the opportunity of showing how they would conduct themselves under -similar circumstances. So his life passed on, monotonous, blank, -aimless, for about three weeks after his installation in -Portland-place; when one evening returning from a long ride round the -western suburbs, as he turned his horse through the Albert-gate, -hecame full upon a carriage containing Lady Muriel and Madeleine. They -were so close, that it was impossible to avoid a recognition. Wilmot -raised his hat mechanically, Lady Muriel gave him a chilling bow, and -then turned rapidly to her companion. Madeleine turned dead-white, and -sank back as though she would have fainted; but Lady Muriel's look -recalled her, and she recovered herself in time to bow. Then they were -gone. Not much hope in that, Chudleigh Wilmot! Not much chance of -bridging that gulf which is fixed between you!</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_07" href="#div1Ref_07">CHAPTER VII</a>.</h4> -<h5>Henrietta.</h5> -<br> - -<p>Mrs. Prendergast had heard of Chudleigh Wilmot's accession to fortune -before the news had reached that more than ever "rising" man. Though -she was not among Mr. Foljambe's intimates, and though that sprightly -old gentleman found less favour in her eyes than in those of most of -his acquaintance, she knew when his illness commenced, when it had -assumed a dangerous form; and she was one of the earliest outsiders to -learn its fatal and rapid termination. She was indebted for all this -information to Dr. Whittaker, whom she had assiduously cultivated, and -who was very fond of talking of all and everything that nearly or -remotely concerned Wilmot. The little professional jealousy which had -sometimes interfered with Dr. Whittaker's genuine and generally -irrepressible admiration of the genius and the success of his -<i>confrère</i> and superior had given way to the influence of the -superior's loftiness and liberality of mind; and with Dr. Whittaker -also there was, as old Mr. Foljambe had said, on an occasion destined -to affect many destinies, "nothing like Wilmot."</p> - -<p>Dr. Whittaker was not aware that Mrs. Prendergast valued his visits -chiefly because they afforded her an opportunity, which otherwise she -could not have enjoyed, of hearing of Wilmot. She had too much tact to -permit him to make any such mortifying discovery, and he had too much -vanity to permit him to suspect the fact, except under extreme -provocation. So Mrs. Prendergast accounted his visits as among her -most agreeable glimpses of society; and he regarded her as one of the -most sensible and unaffected women of his acquaintance. Thus, when Dr. -Whittaker's attendance on Mr. Foljambe came to a close with the -sprightly and <i>débonnaire</i> old gentleman's life, he brought the news -to his friend in Cadogan-place, and they lamented together Wilmot's -untimely absence. But Dr. Whittaker had previously conveyed to Mrs. -Prendergast information of another sort, which had largely influenced -the feelings with which she heard of Mr. Foljambe's death.</p> - -<p>It was the same welcome messenger who had brought her the tidings of -Madeleine Kilsyth's marriage; and never had he been more welcome. She -had steadily persevered in denying to herself that the young Scotch -girl could possibly count for anything, one way or another, in the -matter in which she was so vividly interested; but she had not -succeeded in feeling such complete conviction on the point as to -render her indifferent to any occurrence which effectually disposed of -that young lady before Wilmot's return. That he should have come back -to London, to all the former prestige of his talent and success, with -the new and brilliant addition that he had acquired the whole of Mr. -Foljambe's large fortune, to find Madeleine Kilsyth unmarried, and to -be brought upon an equality with her by the agency of his -wealth,--this would not have appeared to Henrietta by any means -desirable. The obstacles which the social pride of her relations might -have opposed to a penchant for Wilmot on the part of Miss Kilsyth--and -Mrs. Prendergast had always felt instinctively that such a <i>penchant</i>, -if it did not actually exist, would arise with opportunity--would be -considerably modified, if not altogether removed, by Wilmot's becoming -a rich man by other than professional means. Altogether there were -many new sources of danger to her project, which did not relax in its -intensity and fixedness by time, silence, or leisure for -consideration, in the possibility of Madeleine Kilsyth's being again -brought within Wilmot's reach, which presented themselves very -unpleasantly to the clear perception of Mrs. Prendergast.</p> - -<p>"And so you had not heard of Miss Kilsyth's intended marriage at all, -knew nothing of it until after the event?" said Dr. Whittaker, after -he had imparted the intelligence to Mrs. Prendergast. To him it was -merely an item in the gossiping news of the day; nor had he any -suspicion that it was more to his hearer.</p> - -<p>"No; I had not heard a word of it. And I wonder I had not, for I have -seen Miss Charlton several times; and I know Mrs. M'Diarmid has been -at their house frequently. She must have known all about it, and I -can't fancy her knowing anything and not talking about it."</p> - -<p>"No," said Dr. Whittaker. "Reserve is not her <i>forte</i>, good old lady. -But they say--the omnipresent, omniscient, and indefinable -<i>they</i>--that Miss Kilsyth expressly stipulated that the engagement was -to be kept a profound secret. She is troubled, I understand, with rather -more delicacy and modesty than most young ladies at present; and she -disliked the pointing and talking, the giggling and speculation which -attend the appearance of an engaged young lady in what is politely -called 'high life' on such occasions."</p> - -<p>"The engagement was not a long one, I suppose?" said Henrietta.</p> - -<p>"Only a few weeks, I understand. They say Lady Muriel Kilsyth was -rather anxious to get her stepdaughter off her hands--"</p> - -<p>"And into those of her not particularly rich cousin, I fancy," said -Henrietta. Dr. Whittaker laughed.</p> - -<p>"I daresay I shall hear a great deal about it at the Charltons'," she -continued; "I am going to dine there to-morrow. I know Mrs. M'Diarmid -will be there, and she will have plenty to tell, no doubt. I shall -hear much more about the wedding than I shall care for."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Prendergast dined at Mrs. Charlton's on the following day, and -she did hear a great deal about the wedding, which Mrs. M'Diarmid was -of opinion had not been quite worthy of the occasion either in style -or in publicity, and whereat she could not say Madeleine had conducted -herself altogether to her satisfaction. Not that she had been too -emotional, or in the least bold in her manner, but she had taken it -all so very quietly.</p> - -<p>"I assure you it was quite unnatural, in my opinion," said the old -lady, with a homely heartiness of manner calculated to convert other -people to her opinion too. "Madeleine was as quiet and as unconcerned -as if it was somebody else's wedding, and not her own. She positively -seemed to think more of little Maud's dress and appearance than of her -own, and she was as friendly as possible with Mr. Caird."</p> - -<p>"Friendly with Mr. Caird, Mrs. M'Diarmid!" said Henrietta. "Why should -you be surprised at that? Why should she not be friendly with him?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I'm sure I don't know, my dear," answered Mrs. M'Diarmid, who -called everyone 'my dear;' "it did seem odd to me somehow--there, I -can't explain it; and I daresay I'm an old fool--very likely; but -they did seem more like friends to me, that is, Madeleine did, than -lovers--that's the truth."</p> - -<p>Miss Charlton remarked to Mrs. Prendergast, with a sentimental sigh, -that she perfectly understood Mrs. M'Diarmid,--that Miss Kilsyth's -manner had had too little of the solemnity and exaltation of such a -\serious and important event. "At such a moment, Henrietta," said the -young lady, raising her fine eyes towards the ceiling, "earth and its -restraints should fade, and the spirit be devoted to the heavenly -temple, Which is the true scene of the marriage."</p> - -<p>"All I can say, then," said Mrs. M'Diarmid, by no means touched by the -high-flown interpretation placed upon her remarks, "is, that if anyone -can be reminded of a heavenly temple by St. George's, Hanover-square, -they must have a lively imagination; for a duller and heavier earthly -one I never was in in my life."</p> - -<p>"I suppose the wedding-party was numerous?" said Mrs. Charlton, who -never could endure anything like a verbal passage-at-arms; and who was -moreover occasionally beset by a misgiving that her daughter was -rather silly.</p> - -<p>"Not what the Kilsyths would consider large, my dear; only their -immediate connections and a few very intimate friends. Miss Kilsyth -would have it so; and indeed the whole thing was got up in a hurry. It -was announced in the <i>Morning Post</i> on Monday, and the marriage came -off on Wednesday."</p> - -<p>"I suppose the bride had some splendid presents?" said Miss Charlton, -whose curiosity was agreeably irrepressible.</p> - -<p>"O yes, my dear, lots. Some beautiful and expensive; some ugly and -more expensive; Several cheap and pretty; and a great many which could -not possibly be of use to any rational being. You know Mr. Foljambe, -don't you, Mrs. Prendergast?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Henrietta; "I know him slightly."</p> - -<p>"He is an old friend of Kilsyth's; poor man, he's very ill -indeed--could not come to the wedding because he was ill then, and he -is much worse since; he gave Madeleine the handsomest present of the -lot--a beautiful set of pearls, and he sent her such a nice, kind, -old-fashioned letter with them. He is a real old dear, though I always -feel a little afraid of him somehow."</p> - -<p>"Is Mr. Foljambe really very ill?" said Mrs. Charlton.</p> - -<p>"I am sorry to say he is," said Henrietta; "I saw Dr. Whittaker -to-day, and he gave a very bad account of him."</p> - -<p>"Dr. Whittaker?" said Mrs. Charlton inquiringly. "I don't know him; -I--"</p> - -<p>"No," interrupted Henrietta with a smile; "he is not yet famous; he is -only just beginning to be a rising man. He is a great friend of Dr. -Wilmot's, who, when he went abroad, placed several of his principal -patients in his hands."</p> - -<p>As Henrietta mentioned Wilmot's name, she glanced keenly at Mrs. -M'Diarmid, and perceived at once that the mention of him produced an -effect on the old lady of no pleasing kind. Her face became overcast -in a moment.</p> - -<p>"I hope Miss Kilsyth's--I beg her pardon, Mrs. Caird's health is -sufficiently restored to make any such provision in her case -unnecessary," said Henrietta to Mrs. M'Diarmid in her best manner; -which was a very good manner indeed.</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes," the old lady said absently; then recovering herself, she -continued, "Madeleine has been much better latterly; but Sir Saville -Rowe has been looking after her. Dr. Wilmot recommended her specially -to his care."</p> - -<p>The conversation then turned on other matters, and did not again -revert to the Kilsyths; but Mrs. Prendergast carried away with her -from the substance of what had passed two convictions.</p> - -<p>The first, that Wilmot had entertained sufficient feeling of some kind -for Madeleine Kilsyth to render him averse to bringing her into -contact with the man who attended his wife's deathbed, and who might -therefore have been inconveniently communicative, or even suspicious.</p> - -<p>The second, that there was some painful impression or association in -the kind, honest, and simple mind of Mrs. M'Diarmid connected with Dr. -Wilmot and Madeleine Kilsyth.</p> - -<p>On that evening Mrs. Prendergast settled the point, in consultation -with herself, that Madeleine's marriage was an important advantage -gained. How important, or precisely why, she had no means of -ascertaining, but she felt that it was so; and she experienced a -comfortable feeling, compounded of hope and content, at the -occurrence.</p> - -<p>A week later Dr. Whittaker called on Henrietta and communicated to her -the intelligence of Mr. Foljambe's death; and in a few days later the -accession of Wilmot to his faithful old friend's large fortune was -made known to her in the same way.</p> - -<p>And now Henrietta felt the full importance of the removal of Madeleine -Kilsyth from Wilmot's path. He would return to London of -course--perhaps to abandon his professional pursuits, though that she -thought an unlikely step on his part. His sphere of life would, however, -certainly be changed; and the best chance for the success of her -project would consist in her being able to induce him to form habits -of intimacy and companionship with her before the increased demands of -society upon him should whirl him away out of her reach. Even supposing, -which she--though more capable than most women of taking a contingency -which she disliked into sensible and serious consideration--did not -think likely, that Dr. Wilmot would contemplate a second marriage, and -that marriage purely of affection, he would certainly return to London -heart-whole. If Madeleine Kilsyth had indeed possessed for him -attraction which he could not disavow to himself, nor avow to the -world, so much the better now as things had turned out. Madeleine -would have held his fancy captive until such time as fate had set -between them a second inviolable barrier; and this new and keen -disappointment, even supposing he had never distinctly formulated his -hope, would have turned his heart, and brought him: back irresistibly -to the realties of life.</p> - -<p>Thus, knowing nothing of the actual circumstances of the case, unaware -of the twofold shock which Chudleigh Wilmot had received by the events -which she calmly regarded as equally fortunate; unconscious of the -storm of passion, rage, grief, and helplessness in which Wilmot was -wrapped and tossed, even while she was quietly discussing the matter -with herself, Henrietta Prendergast arranged the present before her -eyes, and questioned the future in her thoughts. But had she known all -of which she was ignorant--had she been able to see Chudleigh Wilmot -as he really was, while she was thus thinking of him, the revelation -would hardly have changed the current of her thoughts, though it might -have robbed her of much of her composure. In that case she would have -reflected that she had but mistaken the quality and the depth of his -feelings, that circumstances remained unchanged. Wilmot had been -passionately in love with Madeleine Kilsyth; but he was now none the -less certainly, irrevocably, and eternally separated from her.</p> - -<p>Thus, the facts which she knew, the facts which she guessed, and the -facts which were effectually concealed from her, all bore -encouragingly upon the projects of Henrietta Prendergast. It is only -just to acknowledge that the increase to his wealth did not intensify -or sharpen Mrs. Prendergast's wish to marry Wilmot; indeed it rather -depressed her. She felt that it might create new obstacles as strong -as those which fate had removed; she would have preferred his being in -his former position. "If I could have won him as he was," she thought, -"and then this fortune had come, that would have been better. However, -ever so poor he would have been a man worth winning; it makes no -difference in that respect his being ever so rich."</p> - -<p>After all, this appreciation, calm and passionless, yet just, -clear-sighted, and true, was not a gift to be despised by a sensible -man, who had had the gilding pretty nearly taken off the gingerbread -of his life, but it was not likely to be valued as it deserved by a -man pining desperately for the impossible love of a brilliant young -beauty like Madeleine Kilsyth.</p> - -<p>One immediate purpose which Henrietta set strongly before her was to -see Wilmot as soon as possible after his return, of the time of which -event she would be duly informed by Dr. Whittaker. She had had no -communication with him since the puzzling interview which had preceded -his departure; he had neither written nor gone to take leave of her; -but this omission, which would have been extremely discouraging to a -less keen-sighted woman, was not discouraging to Henrietta. She knew -that, as far as she was concerned, it meant simply nothing. Wilmot was -deeply distressed and preoccupied; that was the cause of it. She also -knew that at present, in his life, <i>she</i> meant nothing, and she was -satisfied, so that the future should afford her a fair opportunity of -coming to mean much. But she must attain and begin to profit by that -opportunity as soon as possible--she must endeavour to anticipate -other impressions; and for this purpose she resolved to seek an -interview with him immediately on his return.</p> - -<p>"I will write to him at once," she said to herself "He has no reason -to wish to avoid me; and if he had, he would conquer it at an appeal -made in the name of poor Mabel."</p> - -<p>And this strange yet matter-of-fact woman paused in the busy current -of her thoughts and plans to bestow affectionate remembrance and true -regret on her dead friend! Henrietta Prendergast was neither -inconsistent nor insincere.</p> -<br> -<p style="letter-spacing:2em; text-align:center">* * * * *</p> -<br> - -<p>"I hope you did not think me intrusive in asking you to call on me so -soon," said Henrietta to Chudleigh Wilmot, when he had duly presented -himself in answer to a note from her, which she had written on the day -Dr. Whittaker had told her Wilmot had returned to London.</p> - -<p>"You have seen him, of course?" she had asked Dr. Whittaker.--"Yes, I -have seen him. He looks extremely ill--wretchedly ill, in fact. As -unlike a man who has just come in for a tremendous stroke of luck as -any man I ever saw. I fancy he was more cut up about his wife's death -than either you or I gave him credit for--eh, Mrs. Prendergast?"</p> - -<p>And now, holding Wilmot's hand in hers, and looking into his sunken -eyes, marking his sallow cheek, the rigidity of the expression of his -face, the thinness of his hand, she thought that Dr. Whittaker's first -impressions were correct. He did look ill, wretchedly ill. He did -indeed look little like a favourite of fortune.</p> - -<p>He assured her, very kindly, that her note had only forestalled his -intention of calling upon her immediately, and apologised for his -former omission.</p> - -<p>"I ought to have come to say good-bye," he said; "but I could not -indeed. I made no adieux possible to be avoided."</p> - -<p>"And have you benefited by your absence? Have you gained health and -spirits to enjoy the good fortune which has befallen you?"</p> - -<p>She asked him these questions in a tone of more than conventional -kindness; but her face told him she read the answer in his.</p> - -<p>"I am quite well," he said quickly; "but perhaps I don't enjoy my good -fortune very much. I am alone in the world, Mrs. Prendergast; and my -fortune has been gained by the loss of the best friend I ever had in -it."</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said thoughtfully, "that is very true. Poor Mr. Foljambe! -He missed you very much; but," she added, for she saw the painful -expression of self-reproach which she had noticed in their first -interview after Mabel's death settle down upon his face, "you must not -grieve about that. He expressed the utmost confidence in Dr. -Whittaker."</p> - -<p>"I know--I know," said Wilmot. "Still I wish--however, that is but one -of many far heavier griefs. I did not come to talk about my troubles," -he said with a faint smile. "You had something to say to me--what is -it? Not only to congratulate me on being a rich man now that it is too -late, I am sure."</p> - -<p>"It is not altogether too late, I think," said Henrietta in a low -impressive voice; "and I wanted to speak to you of something connected -alike with your grief and your fortune."</p> - -<p>"Indeed!" said Wilmot in a tone of anxious surprise.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Henrietta; "I did not know how long or how short a time -you might be within my reach; and so I determined to lose no time in -endeavouring to gain your assent to a wish of poor Mabel's."</p> - -<p>The conscious blood rushed into Wilmot's face. This, then, was the -double connection of his present visit with his grief and his fortune. -And he had not been thinking of Mabel! His dead wife's friend believed -him indifferent to the wealth that had come too late to be shared by -her; and except for the first sudden remembrance which the sight of -Henrietta had produced, he had not thought of his dead wife at all. He -thought of her now with keen remorse--keener because it had not -occurred to him to think of her before, in connection with his wealth. -Yes, the life which had had so dark an ending might have been very -bright and prosperous now, with all this useless money to gild it. He -shrunk from Mrs. Prendergast's steady eyes with all the shame and -uneasiness of a candid nature when given credit for motives or deeds -superior to the truth. No vision of the dead face he had seen, awfully -white and still, in his little loved home, had arisen to blot out the -prospect of a future rich in all that wealth can give, to teach him -how infinitely little is that all, how poor that richness! But he -carried about for ever between him and the sunshine a vision of a fair -girlish face, with pleading innocent blue eyes, with golden hair and -faintly flushing cheeks, with sweet sensitive lips, and over all a -look which he knew well and interpreted only too accurately. And that -face, it did not lie in a coffin indeed, but as far, as hopelessly -away from him--it lay on another man's breast This was his grief; the -other--well, the other was his shield from suspicion, from -observation, his defence. He seized upon it, feeling unutterably the -degradation of the evasion, and answered:</p> - -<p>"I will be more than grateful, Mrs. Prendergast, if you can show me -any way in which I can fulfil any wish of hers. If there is anything -within the power of any effort of mine, let me know it."</p> - -<p>Then Henrietta, in her turn, putting the dead woman forward as a -pretext, began to discuss with Wilmot the provisions of a certain -charitable institution, to which she knew it had been Mrs. Wilmot's -wish to contribute, but which she had not felt entitled by her means -to assist. Wilmot acceded to all her suggestions with the utmost -readiness, besought her to tax her memory for any other resource for -doing honour to Mabel's memory, and prolonged his visit considerably -beyond Henrietta's expectation. In her softened manner there was now -no reproach, and her sense and calmness refreshed his jaded spirits. -It was a relief to him to be in the company of a woman who did not -expect him to be anything but sorrowful, and who yet had no suspicion -of the cause and origin of his sorrow. So thought Wilmot, as he left -Henrietta, having asked her permission to call on her again speedily.</p> - -<p>And at the same moment Henrietta was thinking--</p> - -<p>"He knows something of the torture of love unrequited and in vain now. -It won't last, of course; but for the present, if she could only know -it, poor Mabel is avenged!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_08" href="#div1Ref_08">CHAPTER VIII</a>.</h4> -<h5>Mrs. Ramsay Caird at Home.</h5> -<br> - -<p>Mr. and Mrs. Ramsay Caird lived, it is needless to say, in a -fashionable quarter of the town. They could not have lived in any -other. Their lot being essentially cast among fashionable people, it -was necessary for them to reside somewhere within fashionable people's -ken; and that ken is, to say the least of it, limited. It is known to -vulgarians and common persons that there are buildings beyond -Oxford-street on the north side; but it is not known to fashionable -people. They, to be sure, know that some "old families"--and this is -said with an emphasis which conveys that the families in question are -almost pre-Adamite in their age--reside in Portman-square. The -fashionable world allows this as a kind of old-world eccentricity, as -it allows male members of said families to appear in the evening in -blue tailcoats and brass buttons, and to swathe their necks in rolls of -cravat, instead of donning the ordinary small tie. It is a respectable -eccentricity; but it is an eccentricity after all. North of -Oxford-street is as much "the other side" to the fashionable world as -is Suez to the Eastern travellers by the Peninsular and Oriental route. -The fashionable world has heard of the big terraces of splendid -mansions which Messrs. Kelk and Austin have built in the Bayswater-road -facing the Park; they have seen them occasionally when they have been -driving to Kensington-gardens; they believe them to be inhabited by a -respectable moneyed class; but the idea of looking upon them as -residences for themselves has never once struck them. These houses are -such an enormous distance from "anywhere," which to the fashionable -world is bounded by the Regent-circus on the east, Belgrave-square on -the south, the Marble Arch on the west, and Oxford-street on the -north.</p> - -<p>It is possible that if the choice of district had been left to -Madeleine herself, poor child, she, never particularly caring about -such matters, and not being in a very critical or very argumentative -state of mind at the period of her marriage, would have fixed upon -some comfortable pleasant house, cheerful, roomy, airy, but in a wrong -situation. If the choice had been left to her father, there is no -doubt that he would have made some tremendous blunder of the like -kind; for Kilsyth when in London was always opening his arms and -expanding his chest and gasping for air. Accustomed to the free -atmosphere of his native Highlands, the worthy gentleman suffered -torture in the dull, dead, confined and vitiated air of the London -street; and amidst the many sufferings which he underwent for the sake -of society of during the few weeks when he remained in town during the -few weeks when he remained in town was the martyrdom which he was put -to in the tiny ill-ventilated rooms in which he had occasionally to -dine or pass a ghastly half-hour "assisting" at a reception. But Lady -Muriel and Mr. Ramsay Caird took this matter in hand. Of their own -express wish as it was to them the task of selecting the residence of -the about-to-be-married couple was to be confided; and there was no -doubt that they would take care that their choice should not be open -to question.</p> - -<p>On Squab-street, Grosvenor-place, that choice fell. A curious -street Squab-street; a street in a progressive state; a street which -was feeling the ad immediate vicinity of Cubitopolis, but which was -yielding to the advancing conquest piecemeal and by slow degrees; a -street of small houses originally occupied by small people--doctors, -clerks well-up in the West-end government offices, a barrister or two -with fashionable proclivities, and several lodging-houses, always -filled with good visitors from the country or eligible regular tenants; -a quiet street, looked upon for many years as being a long way off, but -suddenly awaking to find itself in the centre of fashion. For while -the doctors had been paying their ordinary seven-and-sixpenny visits -within what was then almost their suburban neighbourhood; while the -West-end government-office clerks had been plodding to and fro from -their offices; while the barristers had been pluming themselves on the -superiority of their position to that of their brethren, who, true to -old tradition, had set up their Lares and Penates in the neighbourhood -of Russell-square and the Foundling Hospital; while the -lodging-house-keeper had vaunted as recommendations the quietude of -the vicinity and the freshness of the air, the great district now -known as Belgravia was being reclaimed from its native mud, the wild -meadow called the Field of Forty Footsteps was being drained and built -on, the desolate track over which our ancestors pursued their -torchlighted way to Ranelagh and Vauxhall was being spanned by arches -and undermined with gas-pipes; and when all these grand improvements -were complete Squab-street, which had held a respectable but -ignominious existence as Squab-street, Pimlico, blossomed out in the -<i>Post-Office Directory</i> and the <i>Court-Guide</i> as Squab-street, S.W., -and thenceforward emerged from its chrysalis state, and became a -recognisable and appreciated butterfly.</p> - -<p>The effect of the change on the street itself was immediate. Two or -three leases fell in about that time, and the householders, in whose -families the leases had been for a couple of generations, made no -doubt of their renewal. Lord Battersea was the ground landlord--not a -liberal man, not a generous man; in short, a screw, and the driver of -a hard bargain, but still a good landlord. He would be all right, of -course. Would he? When the leaseholders went to Lord Battersea's man -of business, an apple-faced old gentleman with a white head and a kind -of frosty wire for beard, they learned that his lordship had fully -comprehended the change in the state of affairs in Squab-street, and -was prepared to act accordingly. As each lease fell in, the house -which was vacant was to be increased by a couple of stories, and to -have its rent trebled. Squab-street was to be a fitting accessory to -Grosvenor-place. In vain the dispossessed ex-tenants declared that -none of his lordship's then holders could pay the new rent: the -apple-faced old gentleman was sorry; but he thought his lordship could -find plenty of tenants who would. The tenants grumbled; but the man of -business was firm. So were the tenants: they yielded up their leases; -and so the houses were improved, and the rents were raised, and other -tenants came of a class hitherto unknown to Squab-street. Married -officers of the Guards, who found the situation convenient for -Wellington, and not inconvenient for Portman barracks; members of -parliament, who found it handy for the House; railway engineers and -contractors of fabulous wealth, who could skurry to and fro their -offices in Great George-street; and City magnates, who walked to -Westminster-bridge, and went humbly in to the Shrine of Mammon by the -penny-boat. All these new-comers lived in the enlarged houses, -gorgeous stucco-fronted edifices, with porticoes which looked as if -they did not belong to the house, but were leaning up against it by -accident, and plate-glass windows and conservatories about the size of -a market-gardener's hand-lights.</p> - -<p>But the other houses in Squab-street, the leases of which had not run -out, remained in their normal condition, and were the same little -brisk, cheery, cleanly, snug common brick edifices that they had been -ever since they were built. The new style of buildings had grown up -round about them, and was dotted here and there amongst them; so that -the range of houses in Squab-street looked like a row of uneven teeth. -The original settlers, who at first had been rather overawed by the -immigrants, had in time come to look upon their arrival as rather a -benefit than otherwise; the doctors extended the number and the -importance of their patients; the government clerks bragged -judiciously of the "swells" who lived in their street; and the -lodging-housekeepers, secure with leases of many unexpired years, -raised their prices season after season, and found plenty of fish to -swallow their hooks.</p> - -<p>The house which Lady Muriel and Ramsay Caird, after much driving -about, worrying of house-agents, search of registers, obtaining of -cards to view, and general soul-depression and leg-weariness,--the -house which they eventually decided upon was represented in the -sibylline books of the agent as an "eligible bachelor's residence, in -that fashionable locality Squab-street, S. W." Such indeed it had been -for several previous years; the Honourable Peregrine Fluke, known -generally as Fat Fluke, from his tendency to obesity, or Fishy Fluke, -from a card transaction in which he had once been mixed up, having -been its respected occupant. The Honourable Peregrine Fluke was a very -eligible bachelor indeed, and led the life of the gay young fellow and -the sad dog until he had passed sixty years of age. Then pale Death, -knocking away with impartial rat-tat at the doors of all, the huts of -the poor and the castellated turrets of kings, stopped at 122 -Squab-street, and called for the Honourable Peregrine Fluke. The -eligible bachelor succumbing to the summons, his executors came upon -the scene; and wishing to do the best for the lieutenant in the -Marines, who was understood to be the eligible bachelor's nephew, but -who was clearly proved to be his illegitimate son, put up the lease of -the house--the only available thing belonging to the deceased--to -auction, and found a purchaser in Kilsyth. Lady Muriel's clever tact -also secured the furniture at a comparatively cheap rate. It was not -first-rate furniture--a little rococo and old-fashioned; but a few -things could be imported into the drawing-rooms; and, after all, Ramsay -and his wife were not rich people--young beginners, and that kind of -thing, and the place would do very well to commence their married life -in. Lady Muriel always spoke of "Ramsay and his wife" when any monetary -question was under debate, ignoring utterly that all the money came -from Madeleine's side. For not only was there Madeleine's twenty -thousand pounds, but Kilsyth, when the marriage was settled, announced -his intention of making the young couple such an allowance as would -prevent his favourite child from missing any of the comforts, any of -the luxuries to which she had become accustomed.</p> - -<p>The situation was undoubtedly fashionable; but that the house itself -might have been more comfortable could not be denied. What was -complimentarily called the hall, but was really the passage, was so -small, that the enormous footmen, awaiting the descent of their -employers from the little drawing-rooms above, dared not house -themselves therein. Two of them would have filled it to overflowing; -so they were compelled either to remain with the carriages, or to run -the chance of being out of the way when required, and solace -themselves in the tap of the Battersea Arms, down the adjacent mews. -The door was so small and so low, that these great creatures rubbed -their cockades and ruffled their coats in passing through it. The -house stood at the corner of the mews, and every vehicle that drove in -or out caused an earthquake-like sensation as it passed. Doors -creaked, china rocked, floors groaned, walls trembled. The little -dining-room was like a red-flocked tank; the little drawing-rooms -encumbered with the newly-imported extra furniture, were so choke-full, -that it was with the utmost difficulty that visitors could thread their -way between table and couch and ottoman and <i>étagère</i>. It required a -knowledge of the science of navigation to tack round the piano; and the -visitor, when once he had reached a seat by the hostess near the -fireplace, could scarcely devote himself to conversation, owing to the -trouble which filled his mind as to how he would ever get away again. -It was not advisable to open any of the side-windows, even in the -hottest weather, or a stably odour at once pervaded the house, and the -forcible language addressed by the grooms to the horses, whose toilet -was performed in the open yard, was a little too audible. It was -impossible for guests to go through the ceremony of "taking down" to -dinner. The steep little ladder-like staircase was only passable by -one person at a time; and in the narrow little tank of a dining-room -the people who sat with their backs to the fire were roasted alive, -and had the additional pleasure of having to eat their meat -vegetable-less and sauce-less, there being no approach to them and no -passing them. Still everyone said that the situation was delightful, -and the house was "quite charming;" and Lady Muriel and Ramsay Caird -took great credit to themselves for having secured it.</p> - -<p>Madeleine herself was but little impressed by it. It was immaterial to -her where she lived, or in what style of house. She shrugged her -shoulders when they told her the rooms were charming; she raised her -eyebrows when her servants complained of darkness and inconvenience. -"It did very well," was her highest commendation, and she never found -fault. If this girl's life had not been strangely solitary and without -companionship, she would have had all sorts of confidences to exchange -with some half-dozen intimates as to her new life, her new home, her -new career. As it was, she dropped into it quietly, with scarcely a -remark to any one. After her little and short-lived daydream had -dissolved, after she had awakened to the exact realities which were -about her, her period of suspense was very short. What passed between -her and her brother Ronald at the interview which, as settled with -Lady Muriel, he sought at his sister's hands was never known. The -result was satisfactory to the prime movers in the scheme; and the -result was that Madeleine was to marry Ramsay Caird. There was another -interview connected with the matter which neither Lady Muriel nor -Ronald ever heard of. When the news was first announced to him by his -wife, Kilsyth received it very quietly. The next morning, before my -lady had risen, the fond father, in pursuance of an appointment made -in a note secretly sent up by the maid the night before, went to his -darling's room, and had a half-hour's long and earnest conversation -with her. Earnest on his side at all events: he asked her whether this -engagement had been brought about of her own free will; if she had -thought over it sufficiently; if she would wish the time of betrothal -to be lengthened beyond the usual period; if there were anything, in -fact, in which she would wish to make reference to him, and in which -he could aid her. To all these inquiries, urged in the warmest and -most affectionate manner, he got but the same kind of reply. Madeleine -kissed her father fondly. She hated the thought of leaving him, she -said; but it would do very well. It would do very well! She had not -even the heart to be deceitful--to feign delight when she did not feel -it. It would do very well! Kilsyth's warm heart beat more slowly as he -istened to this lukewarm appreciation of the expected joys of his -daughter's future; he scarcely comprehended anything so <i>fade</i> and so -spiritless from a young girl about to undergo such an important change -in all the phases of her existence. He again pressed his question home, -and received the same answer; and then he made up his mind, for the -thousandth time in his life, that women were extraordinary creatures, -and that there was no dealing with them. This was a very favourite -axiom of his, and had been enounced with much solemnity frequently. On -this occasion, however, he kept silence, shaking his head in a very -thoughtful and prophetic manner as he descended the stairs to his own -dressing-room. It would do very well! Madeleine thought of the reply -which she had given to the most important question ever put to her, -after her father had left her and when she was alone. She knew her -father well enough to be certain that a word spoken at that time by her -to him would have stopped the engagement, and left her free. And what -would then have ensued? She would have made an enemy of Lady Muriel, -with whom she had to live; she would have deeply annoyed Ronald, who -had always, in his odd way, shown the greatest love for her and the -keenest interest in her welfare; and in the great question of her life -she would have advanced not one whit. Chudleigh Wilmot was gone--gone -for ever. An alliance--a continuance even of the friendship, such as -it had been, with him was impossible; her friends wanted her to marry -Ramsay Caird. Well, then, it would do very well!</p> - -<p>A phrase significant of a state of mind in which marriages are often -undertaken, but surely an unlucky and a pitiable state of mind. -Something more than a tacit acquiescence is meant by the vows of the -marriage-service; and though cynics endeavour to persuade us that -these vows are far more frangible and far more often broken than they -used to be, it is as well to believe in the whole force of them while -we stand before the altar-rails, and before the priest utters his -benediction. And the worst of it all was that the phrase expressed -Madeleine's feelings thoroughly--her feelings as regarded her -marriage, her feelings towards her husband. It <i>was</i> Ramsay Caird--it -might have been Clement Penruddock, or Frank Only, or Lord Roderick -Douglas, or half-a-dozen others. She had an equal liking for all these -men; no love for any one of them. In her earlier girlish days, some -year or two beforehand, she had wondered which of the young men who -frequented the house would propose to her, and which of them she would -marry. None of them had ever proposed to her. They saw long before she -did that she was marked down for Ramsay Caird. These sort of things -are concealed with the utmost discretion by long-headed mothers, are -never suspected by daughters, and are discussed between male friends -of the family with much openness and freedom. She had been a favourite -with all these pleasant youths; but they knew perfectly well why -Ramsay Caird was always at the house, and why he inevitably had the -best chance; and their regard for Lady Muriel was by no means -diminished by the clever manner in which she aided and assisted her -protégé.</p> - -<p>After marriage, at least during the first few months after marriage, -it was very much the same. Madeleine "liked" her husband; he was quite -gentlemanly, genial, cheery, very hospitable, very fond of pleasure, -very fond of spending money on her, on himself, on anyone. He never -interfered with her in the smallest degree, and never was happier than -when she was under the chaperonage of her mother, and his attendance -on her was not required. During the first few months of her married -life she received a vast number of callers; all of whose visits she -duly repaid; went out constantly to dinners, balls, receptions of all -kinds, to operas and theatres, private and public fêtes,--everywhere, -in short, where people can go--with decency and enjoy themselves. Not -that Madeleine enjoyed herself. "It would do very well," seemed to be -the keynote no less in her pleasures than in the rest of her life. In -company she sat with the same ever-blank look until she was roused. -Then she responded with the same smile. O, so unlike her old smile! -With an upward glance of her blue eyes, where there was no light now, -and with the little society-laugh which she had recently learned, and -which was so different from the hearty ringing burst which used to -greet her father's ears at Kilsyth in the old days before her -illness--those days which seemed to her, to them all, but to her most of -all, so long ago.</p> - -<p>Visitors she had in plenty. Scarcely a morning passed without a call -from Lady Muriel, who, still priding herself upon the admirable manner -in which by her tact her stepdaughter had been "settled," looked in to -see how she was getting on, to learn who had been to see her during -the preview day, what parties she had been to, who she had met, what -their reception of her had been, and what invitations for forthcoming -gaieties she had received. A comparison of notes on these last -matters, now a favourite occupation of Lady Muriel's, with whose great -name the world of fashion had begun to busy itself, proclaiming her as -one of its leaders,--and she, always equal to the occasion, had -accepted the tribute gracefully, and, as in everything else, -conscientiously discharged the duties of her position,--then luncheon, -to which meal Lady Muriel would frequently remain, and when some of -the more intimate friends of the family, notably Mrs. M'Diarmid, would -drop in; not that Mrs. M'Diarmid's accession added much to the comfort -of the meal. The dear old lady, when her favourite project of marrying -Madeleine to Wilmot had been untimely nipped in the bud, and when she -saw that Ramsay Caird, whom she cordially disliked, was the accepted -suitor, relinquished all opposition in silence, and contented herself -with sniffing loudly, as the sole demonstration of her displeasure. -That marriage-service, which she had pictured to herself with so many -different "eligibles" as bridegrooms, might, but for the presence of -mind of his Right Reverence of Boscastle, have been sorely interrupted -by the defiant sniffs which came from the right-hand pew close by the -altar-rails, where Mrs. Mac, dressed in the brown <i>moire</i> which had so -often filled her dreams, had bestowed herself, to the deep indignation -of the pew opener. But she did not allow her disapproval of the -marriage to interfere with her love for "her dear child;" she came -constantly to Squab-street; and the pleasantest hours of Madeleine's -life were passed in the society of this good old woman, when she knew -that there was no call upon her to exert herself in any way, or to -show herself otherwise than she really was; when she could lie back in -her chair, and indulge herself with the sweet sad daydream of "what -might have been," which contrasted so harshly and unsatisfactorily -with what was.</p> - -<p>A drive in her stepmother's carriage, or a round of calls in her own -brougham, filled up the afternoon, until it was time to return home to -preside at her tea-table and receive her friends. After her engagement -had been regularly announced there had been a good deal of fuss made -about that five-o'clock tea-table; the young men who were intimate at -Brook-street had vowed that they would make it the pleasantest in -London; that more news should be heard there than anywhere else; and -that the men who write in the <i>Cotillon</i>--a charming amateur journal -of political <i>canards</i> and society gossip, published during the -season--should go on their knees and implore invitations. The -tea-table had been established in due course, but it had not been such -a success as had been anticipated. Madeleine was <i>triste</i> and quiet to -a degree. The men could not understand it, she had always been so -pleasant before her marriage; unlike most women, who are always a -doosid sight pleasanter after it. They had been in the habit of -finding their old partners of the two or three previous seasons, now -married, by no means indisposed to listen to the compliments which -they had been erst in the habit of addressing to them; and the -practice had derived additional piquancy from the fact of the change -of condition in the person addressed. There was Lady Violet -Penruddock, for instance, only married to old Clem--O, within a few -weeks of Miss Kilsyth's marriage; and how jolly she was! Looked as -fresh as possible--fresh as paint, some fellow said; but that was a -confounded shame, don't you know,--only a little powder and that kind -of thing, what all girls use, don't you know--doosid cruel you women are -to one another! There was Lady Vi, jolly as a sand-boy! Old Clem was at -his club, or some place, and didn't come home till late, and there was -always tearing fun at Grosvenor-gate. Charmin' woman, Lady Vi; and -very wise of old Clem to like to read the evening papers, and that kind -of thing. Not that there was anything to be complained of Caird in this -matter; never thought much of Caird, eh, did you? he was never at home; -but his wife had grown so confoundedly dull, hipped, and that kind of -thing--bored, don't you know? sits still and don't say a word except -yes and no; don't help a feller out a hit, you know, and looks rather -dreary and dull.</p> - -<p>Poor Madeleine! she was beginning to be found out by her friends. If -you live in society you must contribute your quota, according to your -means--either your rank, your money, your talent--towards the general -stock; but unless your birth will warrant it, you must never be dull; -and in no case must you differ from the ordinary proceedings of your -order. Madeleine was very unlike Lady Violet Penruddock, she -felt--very unlike indeed. But that was her misfortune, not her fault. She -would have been very glad to laugh and flirt with all her old friends, -to talk nonsense and innocent scandal, and all the society chit-chat, -if she had been able; but she was not able. Under all her quiet manner -and shyness and girlishness Madeleine Caird possessed what Lady Violet -Penruddock had never pretended to--a heart. That heart had been hurt -and torn and lacerated; and as in the present day it is not possible -to explain this, or rather it is considered essential to hide it, -Madeleine was obliged to put up with the imputation of dulness, when -in reality she was merely suffering from having loved someone who, as -she thought, did not care for her, and having been compelled to marry -somebody for whom she had no real affection.</p> - -<p>Did Ramsay Caird ever fancy that his wife did not care for him, or at -least was not as romantically fond of him as are most wives of their -husbands during the first few months after marriage? If he did, did -the reflection ever cost him a moment's anxiety, a moment's distrust, -a thought that perhaps his own course of living was not precisely -adapted to enthral the affections of a young girl? Not for an instant. -Ramsay, when Lady Muriel's half-spoken hints had first enlightened him -as to the position which, for his dead brother's sake, her ladyship -proposed to him to hold, had cogitated over the matter in an -essentially business-like spirit, and had come to the conclusion that -such an opportunity ought by all means to be made the most of. He was -a calculating cautious young man, entirely devoid of impulse; and--as -had been suspected by more than one of the frequenters of the -Brook-street establishment, who, however, were much too good fellows to -hint at it openly--he was a man fond of common, not to say gross -pleasures, which his limited means prevented him from indulging in. A -marriage with Madeleine Kilsyth, herself a very nice girl, as society -girls went, would give him position, ease, and money--leave him his own -master, with power and opportunity to pursue his own devices--and was -therefore for him in every respect most desirable. With all his easy -bearing, his <i>laiesez-aller</i> manners, and his apparent <i>nonchalance</i>, -Mr. Ramsay Caird possessed his full share of the national 'cuteness; -and having made up his mind to win, looked carefully round him to see -where his course lay straightest, and what shoals were to be avoided. -He determined to make a waiting race of it, convinced that any eagerness -or ill-timed enthusiasm might spoil his chance; he saw that his game -was to be quiet and wait upon his oars until he received the signal to -dash out into mid-stream; his complete willingness to attend to all -suggestions, and to take his time from the family, quite fascinated -Ronald Kilsyth, from whom at first Caird had apprehended opposition; -and, as we have seen, when the time came, he declared himself with so -strong a show that no other competitor dared put in an appearance.</p> - -<p>But when the race had been run and the prize secured, Ramsay Caird -felt that the crisis was past, that the long course of tutelage under -which he had placed himself was at an end, and that henceforward he -would enjoy those benefits for the acquisition of which he had -regulated his conduct for so many months. He had not the smallest love -for his wife; he had even but small admiration for her looks. -Madeleine's blue eyes and golden hair were too cold and insipid for -his taste. In his freer moments he was accustomed to talk about -"soul"--an attribute which poor Maddy was supposed not to possess--and -"liquid eyes" and "classic features" and the "sunny South"--which, as -Tommy Toshington remarked, when told of it, accounted for his having -seen Caird on the previous Sunday afternoon ringing at the door of the -villa temporarily tenanted by Madame Favorita, the <i>prima donna</i> of -the Opera, and situated in the Alpha-road. Tommy Toshington invariably -happened to be passing by when the wrong man was ringing at the wrong -house; and got an immense number of pleasant dinners out of the -coincidence. So that Ramsay Caird saw but little of the interior of -his own house after leaving it in the mornings. He at first had been -somewhat punctilious and deferential with Lady Muriel, taking care to -be at home when she came, and to be in attendance when he thought she -would require his presence; but after a few weeks he threw off this -restraint, and kept the hours which suited him. Kilsyth looked blank -and uncomfortable once or twice when at dinners, specially given in -honour of the new-married couple, Madeleine had appeared alone, and -Lady Muriel had proffered a story of Ramsay's toothache or business -appointment; and Ronald had looked black, and held more than one -muttered conversation with his stepmother, in the course of which his -brows contracted, and his mouth grew very rigid. But Madeleine never -uttered a word of complaint, although Lady Muriel was in daily -expectation of an outburst. She sat quietly, sadly, uninterestedly by. -Better, far better, for all concerned if she had had sufficient -feeling of her own loneliness, of her own neglected condition, to -appeal in language however forcible and strong. To labour under the -"it-will-do-very-well" feeling is to be on the high road to -destruction.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_09" href="#div1Ref_09">CHAPTER IX.</a></h4> -<h5>Inquisitorial.</h5> -<br> - -<p>Lady Muriel Kilsyth had carried her cherished plan into execution--had -seen her wishes as regarded Madeleine and her kinsman Ramsay Caird -fulfilled. With wonderfully little trouble, too. When she thought over -it all, she was surprised at the apparent ease and rapidity with which -the marriage, which she had regarded, after Madeleine's illness at -Kilsyth, as a difficult matter to manage, had been brought about. Time -had done it all for her--time, assisted by her own tact and skill, and -the accomplished fashion after which she had removed all removable -obstacles, and availed herself of every circumstance and indication -in favour of her cherished project. Nor had the smallest injury to her -own position resulted from manoeuvering which Lady Muriel would have -been ready to blast, if performed by anyone else, with the ruinous -epithet, "vulgar matchmaking." No, not the smallest. Indeed, Lady -Muriel Kilsyth was one of those fortunate individuals whose position -may be generally regarded as, under all circumstances, unassailable. -She stood as well with Ronald as ever; and Lady Muriel, with all her -imperturbable but never offensive pride, was more anxious about -standing well with her step-son than the world would have consented to -believe she could have been about securing the good opinion of any -human being. She stood, as she always had done, first and chief in the -love and esteem of her husband, who, if he did not "understand" -her--and he was none the less happy with her that he assuredly did -not--made up for his want of comprehension by the most uncompromising -trust, devotion, and admiration,--all manifested in his own quiet -peculiar way. As this "way" included allowing her the most absolute -liberty of action, and an apparent impossibility of questioning her -judgment on any conceivable point, it suited Lady Muriel admirably.</p> - -<p>Kilsyth was perfectly satisfied with Madeleine's marriage. He believed -in love-matches, and it never occurred to him to doubt that this was -one. He had quietly taken it for granted, first, because Ramsay Caird -had spoken of their "mutual attachment," when he had formally asked -Kilsyth for the precious gift of his daughter. Then, Lady Muriel had -spoken so warmly of Ramsay's love for Madeleine, had shown such -generous and sensitive susceptibility to the possibility of Kilsyth's -thinking she had been wrong and injudicious in admitting to such close -household intimacy a relative of her own, who was not qualified, as -far as fortune was concerned, to pretend to his daughter's hand. -Thirdly, if he never doubted Ramsay's being in love with -Madeleine--and he never did doubt it for an instant--what could be more -natural than that all the young men who had the chance should be in -love with Madeleine? Still less could it have occurred to him to doubt -that Madeleine was in love with Ramsay. Ramsay had neither rank nor -fortune to give her--that was very certain; and Kilsyth knew of only -two motives as possible incentives to marriage--love and money. Under -any circumstances, he never could have suspected his daughter of being -actuated by the latter. The fine, gallant, unsophisticated, hearty old -fellow, who had had a fair share of happiness all his life, and whose -knowledge of human nature was as superficial as his judgment of it was -genial, had no notion that pique, thwarted love, blighted hope, -wounded pride, the strong and desperate necessity of hiding suffering -from kindred household eyes, or an infatuated yearning for the -freedom, in certain respects; whose value a man can never estimate, -and which a girl gains by her marriage, were among the not unfrequent -causes of the taking of that tremendous step. He had never talked to -Maddy about her love for Ramsay Caird, certainly; it would never have -occurred to him to "make the girl uncomfortable," as he would have -expressed it, by any such proceeding; but he would as soon have -suspected that Madeleine had brought an asp to her new home among her -wedding-clothes as believed that the girl's heart hid, ever so far -down in its depths, another image than her husband's.</p> - -<p>So Kilsyth was satisfied, in his genial and outspoken way; and Ronald -was satisfied, after his grim undemonstrative fashion. And Lady Muriel -stood well with all concerned, especially with Madeleine. All the -petty restraints of "stepmother" authority, inevitably resented even -by the most amiable natures, however mildly exercised, were gone now. -Maddy was on a social level with Lady Muriel; there could never more -be any of the little discords between them there had been; and -Madeleine, as she took her own place hi the world, and felt, with a -sudden sort of shock, as if she had grown ever so much older, woke up -to a fuller consciousness of Lady Muriel's many attractions than she -had ever previously attained. She recognised her beauty, her grace, -her dignity, her perfect breeding, her thorough <i>savoir faire</i> with -real appreciation now, and true pleasure and admiration; and one of -the happiest thoughts in which she indulged was of how she would be -such "good friends" with Lady Muriel, and how she would take her for -the model of her conduct, and in every respect her social guide. She -was perfectly aware of the dissimilarity which existed between them; -and she never would have been guilty of the absurdity of "copying" -Lady Muriel's manners, but she might be guided by her for all that. So -much the more readily now that she was not always in dread of hearing -Wilmot mentioned, of being reminded of him, of exciting a suspicion by -some inadvertence that she had been guilty of the folly of thinking he -had cared for her just a little. No fear of that now. She was married -and <i>safe</i>--poor child!</p> - -<p>Unsuspicious by nature, ignorant of the world, and unconsciously -living a life apart, a life in her own thoughts and reveries, -Madeleine was wonderfully indifferent to the conduct of her husband. -Either she was really unconscious of it for some time after it had -begun to excite the fears of her father, the suspicions of Lady -Muriel, the anger of her brother, and the gossip of society, or she -successfully contrived to appear so. The judgment of the world leaned -to the latter hypothesis; but the judgment of the world is always -uncharitable, and frequently wrong. In the present instance it was -both. Madeleine did not know that Ramsay Caird was behaving ill. He -was always kind in his manner to her; and if he was--which there was -no denying--a good deal away from home, why, he did not differ in that -respect from many other men whom she knew or heard of, and it never -occurred to Madeleine to resent his absence. Neither did it occur to -her to ask herself whether she was not in real truth rather glad he -should be so much away from her, nor to reflect that the world, which -knew he was, would inevitably come to one of two conclusions, either -that she was a most unhappy wife, or that she had never loved her -husband.</p> - -<p>No; Madeleine Caird thought of none of these things. She went on her -way caring very little for anything; not entirely unhappy, surprised -indeed at the variations in her own spirits, unable to account for the -overwhelming sadness which beset her at some times, and finding -equally inexplicable the ease with which she flung off this sadness at -others. She was looked at and wondered at and talked of daily by -scores of her acquaintances, and, she was entirely unconscious that -she was the subject of any such scrutiny.</p> - -<p>Lady Muriel understood Madeleine's state of mind perfectly. She had a -clue to it, which she alone possessed; and while she regarded Ramsay -Caird's conduct with all the by no means inconsiderable strength of -indignation of which she was capable, she was quite aware that -Madeleine was only in the conventional sense an object of compassion.</p> - -<p>Was Lady Muriel quite satisfied, was she perfectly content with her -success? Hardly so; in the first place, because she was forced to -condemn Ramsay Caird, and she did not like to acknowledge the -necessity; in the second place, because the result of this success, -personal to her, that to which it was to owe its best value, its chief -sweetness, was delayed. She chafed at Wilmot's absence now; she had -hailed it until Madeleine's marriage had been an accomplished fact; -she had tolerated it for a little time afterwards; but now--now her -impatience was undisguised to herself, now she wanted this man to -return--this man who lent her life such a strange charm, in whose -presence the common atmosphere took a vivid colouring, and every-day -things and occurrences assumed a different meaning and value.</p> - -<p>Lady Muriel had heard of Chudleigh Wilmot's accession to fortune -reasonably soon after the occurrence of the event. Kilsyth happened to -be out of town for a few days on the occasion of Mr. Foljambe's -death, and had therefore not attended the funeral. General report, at -least in Lady Muriel's particular sphere, had not yet proclaimed the -succession of one unlinked by ties of blood to the rich banker to the -large fortune with which rumour correctly accredited Mr. Foljambe, and -it remained for Lady Muriel to learn the news from the same source -whence Henrietta Prendergast had derived the account of Madeleine's -marriage. It was from Mrs. Charlton that Lady Muriel heard the -interesting tidings, and Mrs. Prendergast was present on the occasion. -It was the first time she had ever been in the same room with Lady -Muriel Kilsyth, and she had regarded her with lively curiosity, and -much genuine, honest admiration. The finished style of Lady Muriel's -beauty--the sort of style which conveys the impression that the -possessor of so much beauty is beautiful as much by a sovereign act of -her will as by the decree and gift of nature; her grace of manner, -true stamp of the <i>grande dame</i> set upon her, had irresistible -attractions for Henrietta, who was one of those women, by no means so -rare as the cynics would have us believe, who can heartily and -enthusiastically admire the qualities, physical and mental, of -individuals of their own sex.</p> - -<p>"I am sure you will be glad to hear the news Mrs. Prendergast has just -told us," Mrs. Charlton had said; and then Lady Muriel learned that -Mr. Foljambe had made Wilmot his heir. She received the intelligence -with the perfection of friendly interest; she turned courteously to -Mrs. Prendergast, as though taking it for granted her congratulations -were to be addressed to her individually, as Wilmot's relative or -friend; and as she did so her heart beat rapidly, with the pulse of -one who has escaped a great danger, as she thought, "Had this happened -only a few weeks sooner, all might have been lost!"</p> - -<p>It was on the same day and at the same hour that Wilmot learned the -same fact, from the letter of his dead friend, at Berlin.</p> - -<p>Had Lady Muriel been a younger, a weaker, or a less experienced woman, -she must inevitably have betrayed some emotion beyond that of mere -gratification at a friend's good fortune to the keen eyes of Henrietta -Prendergast. But her <i>savoir faire</i> was perfect, and she said and -looked precisely what she ought to have said and looked. There was a -strange accord in the impulsive thoughts of each of these women, so -different, so widely separated by circumstances. As Henrietta repeated -the intelligence for Lady Muriel's information which she had already -communicated to Mrs. Charlton, she too was thinking, "Had this -happened only a few weeks sooner, all might have been lost!"</p> - -<p>Madeleine's marriage was of no less importance to the designs and the -hopes of Henrietta Prendergast than to those of Lady Muriel Kilsyth.</p> - -<p>"I wonder what he will do now?" said Miss Charlton, who had some of -the advantages of silliness, among them a happy <i>naïveté</i>, which made -it always safe to calculate upon her making some remark or asking some -question which others might desire to proffer on their own behalf, but -for the restraints of good taste. Lady Muriel could not imagine; Mrs. -Prendergast could not guess. Lady Muriel remarked that Dr. Wilmot -would probably be guided by the nature of Mr. Foljambe's property, and -the terms of the bequest.</p> - -<p>"I fancy the whole property is in money, with the exception of the -house in Portland-place," said Henrietta. "I have heard my poor friend -Mrs. Wilmot say that Mr. Foljambe hated all the responsibility of -landed property, and had none. So Dr. Wilmot will be free--perhaps he -will live altogether abroad."</p> - -<p>"Do you think that probable?" said Lady Muriel, very courteously -implying Mrs. Prendergast's more intimate acquaintance with the object -of the discussion. "For a man of his turn of mind, I fancy there's no -place like London--certainly no country like England."</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes, Lady Muriel, very true," said the irrepressible Miss -Charlton, making her mother wince for the twentieth time since the -commencement of the visit; "but then, you see, he has such painful -recollections of London. His poor wife dying as she did, you know, -while he was away attending to strangers."</p> - -<p>"Very true," said Lady Muriel--with perfect self-possession, and -purposely turning her head away from Mrs. Charlton, who glanced -angrily and despairingly at her unconscious daughter, and towards -Henrietta, who shared her friend's dismay. "We all regretted that -circumstance very deeply; and I do not wonder Dr. Wilmot should have -felt it as he did: still, he is so strong-minded a man--"</p> - -<p>"And so perfectly convinced that it had nothing to do with his wife's -death--I mean that he could not have saved her," said Henrietta -quickly.</p> - -<p>Lady Muriel looked at her inquiringly.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Prendergast was Mrs. Wilmot's intimate Mend, and was with her -when she died," Mrs. Charlton said; and then another visitor came in, -and a <i>tête-à-tête</i> established itself between Lady Muriel and -Henrietta, which caused her visit to be prolonged considerably beyond -any former experience of Mrs. Charlton, and gave her ladyship a good -deal to think of, when she had ordered her coachman to go into the -Park, and gave herself up to her thoughts, mechanically returning, the -numerous salutes which she received, and thinking sometimes how -strange it was that there was no one in all this great crowded London -whom it could interest her to see.</p> - -<p>"She must have been a strange woman," thought Lady Muriel, "and -desperately uninteresting, I am sure. That Mrs. Prendergast has plenty -of character. He never mentioned her, that I can remember; but then he -talked so little of himself, he said so little from which any notion -of his daily life and its surroundings could be gathered. Yes, I am -sure his wife was a tiresome, commonplace creature, with no kind of -companionship in her--an insipid doll. What wonderful things one sees -under the sun in the way of unsuitable marriages! To think of such a -man marrying such a woman! But it is stranger still"--and here Lady -Muriel's face darkened, and a hard look came into her beautiful brown -eyes--"it is stranger still to think that such a man should be -attracted by Madeleine--such a merely 'pretty girl.' And he was--he -was; I could not be mistaken. If this fortune had come a little -sooner, what would he have done? He could not of course have proposed -to her--impossible in the time he might have told Kilsyth, and gotten -his leave, when the year should be up. What a danger! I am glad I -never thought of such a thing; I am glad the possibility never -occurred to me. Ronald, indeed, would have been a barrier; but I need -not, I must not deceive myself, Kilsyth would not have listened to -Ronald where Madeleine's happiness was concerned. When will he return? -He must come soon, I suppose, to arrange his affairs. I need not fear -his admiration of Madeleine now--he is not a man to admire the woman -who could marry Ramsay Caird. If she did betray to him that she loved -him, he would have the best and plainest proof in her marriage how -fickle and flimsy such a feeling is in her case."</p> - -<p>Lady Muriel Kilsyth was in many respects a very superior, in many -respects a highly-principled woman; but she had dreamed a forbidden -dream, she had cherished a perverse thought, and such speculations as -she would once have shrunk from with incredulous amazement had become -not only possible but easy to her.</p> - -<p>And then all her thoughts directed themselves towards the one -object--Wilmot's return. When would he come back? She wrote the news of -the disposition of Mr. Foljambe's will to Kilsyth; and he answered in a -few jovial lines, expressing his heartfelt satisfaction. She told the -news to Madeleine; carelessly, skilfully, opening a large parcel of -books as she spoke, and looking at the contents. Madeleine was in her -ladyship's boudoir; her bonnet lay on the sofa by her side, and she -was idly twisting the strings.</p> - -<p>"You are going to fetch Ramsay from the club, are you, Maddy?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Madeleine listlessly, and looking at the clock; -"presently, I suppose. Have you anything new there?"</p> - -<p>"New? yes. Good? I can't say. Nothing you would care for, I fancy. All -the magazines, though. A new volume by Merivale,--not much after your -fashion. A new novel by nobody knows whom--<i>Squire Fullerton's Will</i>. -By the bye, the name reminds me--I don't think you have heard about -Mr. Foljambe's will?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Madeleine rising, and tying on her bonnet at the -chimney-glass.</p> - -<p>"Your father is delighted. Only fancy, Mr. Foljambe has left all his -money to Dr. Wilmot."</p> - -<p>Madeleine did not answer for a minute. Then she said,</p> - -<p>"I am very glad. Was Mr. Foljambe very rich?"</p> - -<p>"I believe so. They talk of its being a very large fortune. What a -delightful change for Dr. Wilmot! Of course he will give up his -profession now, and take a place in society."</p> - -<p>"Do you think he would give up his profession for anything, Lady -Muriel?" asked Madeleine.</p> - -<p>Lady Muriel was standing at a table, still sorting the books; she -could not see Maddy's face.</p> - -<p>"Give up his profession! Of course, my dear. A man of fortune is not -likely to practise as a doctor, I should think; besides, the -position."</p> - -<p>"Everyone--I mean Mr. Foljambe always said Dr. Wilmot was so devoted -to his profession," said Madeleine hesitatingly.</p> - -<p>"Of course he was; and of course his friends said so. It is the best -and wisest thing a man can have said of him--the best character he can -get, while he wants it, and easily laid aside when he doesn't. What's -this? <i>Wine of Shiraz!</i> O, another book of travels with a fantastical -name! Are you going, Maddy? Will you have one of these productions to -try?"</p> - -<p>"No, thank you," said Madeleine; and she took leave of Lady Muriel, -and did not call for Ramsay at the club, but went home, and passed the -evening with a book lying open on her knee--a book of which she never -turned a page, and wondered when Chudleigh Wilmot would come home. She -wondered whether his wealth would make him happy. She wondered -whether, if he had been a rich man and not a hard-working doctor, he -would have cared a little about her when his wife died; and whether it -was really as Lady Muriel had said, or whether his devotion to his -profession was genuine and true. She wondered whether he ever -thought of her; she felt sure he knew of her marriage. Well, not -<i>ever</i>--something forbade her using that word in her thoughts, -something told her it would be unjust and unkind; but much? Ronald -would hear about this bequest of Mr. Foljambe's; would be glad--or -sorry--or neither? Supposing it had come earlier, and he, Wilmot, had -cared for her! would things have been different? would Ronald--But no, -no; she must not think of that. Let her still believe he had seen in -her only a patient, only a case of fever, only an occasion for the -exercise of his skill. She wondered, if "things had been -different"--which was the phrase by which she translated to herself "if -she had married Wilmot"--whether it would have harmed anyone; she did -not dare to think how happy it would have made her. Ramsay? But no; not -all the simplicity, not all the credulous egotism of girlhood--and -Madeleine had her fair share of those natural qualities--could persuade -her that Ramsay's life would have been marred if their marriage had -never taken place. And so she wondered and wondered, recurring often in -her thoughts solemnly to the dead woman who had been Wilmot's wife, and -thinking sadly, wonderingly, over that life, all unknown to her; and yet -concerning which some mysterious instinct had whispered to her vaguely -and unhappily. She hoped people would not talk much to her, or before -her, of this bequest of Mr. Foljambe's. It embarrassed her, though she -knew it ought not; who ought to be so ready as she to speak of him, to -whom no one owed so much?</p> - -<p>Henrietta Prendergast wondered too when Dr. Wilmot would return to -London; and questioned Dr. Whittaker, who had contrived in a -wonderfully brief space of time to accumulate an extraordinary -quantity of information relative to the nature and extent of Wilmot's -inheritance. The worthy man possessed an inherent talent for gossip, -which was likely to be of great service to him in his career, being -admittedly an immense recommendation for a physician, especially when -his practice lies in a class of society largely productive of <i>malades -imaginaires</i>. Wilmot was left at perfect liberty, except in the matter -of the house in Portland-place. It was not to be sold; and Wilmot had -instructed the solicitors to keep up the establishment, and retain the -old housekeeper and butler permanently in his service. As for his old -house in Charles-street, Wilmot had behaved most generously -indeed--Dr. Whittaker would say he had placed it entirely at his -disposal nobly: for the remainder of his lease; and by the time that should -expire, he had expressed his conviction that Dr. Whittaker would be -making his fortune.</p> - -<p>"All the more chance of it, Mrs. Prendergast," said Whittaker with his -smoothest smile, "that Wilmot will be out of my way; he's a -wonderfully clever fellow, wonderfully; and I can't imagine a more -popular physician. I assure you he reminds me, in his way of dealing -with a case, of Carlyle's description of Frederick the Great's eyes, -'rapidity resting upon depth.' Quite Wilmot--quite Wilmot, I assure -you." And Dr. Whittaker, considering that he had made a remarkably -good hit, took himself off, leaving Henrietta with new matter for her -thoughts.</p> -<br> - -<p>The three women who thus pondered and thought and speculated about -Chudleigh Wilmot had plenty of time during which to indulge in these -vain occupations. Time passed on, and Mr. Foljambe's heir did not -present himself to the tide of congratulations which awaited him. The -first, interest of the intelligence died out. Other rich men died, and -left their wealth to other heirs expectant or non-expectant -"Foljambe's will" and "Wilmot's luck" had almost ceased to be talked -about when Chudleigh Wilmot ventured into society. Henrietta -Prendergast was the first of the three who saw him. As for Lady Muriel -and Madeleine, they were less likely to meet him than any women in -London; for the good reason that Wilmot sedulously avoided them. And -for a time successfully; but that was not always to be. He believed -that the page of the book of his life on which "Madeleine Kilsyth" was -written was closed for ever; Fate had written upon another, "Madeleine -Caird."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_10" href="#div1Ref_10">CHAPTER X.</a></h4> -<h5>Against the Grain.</h5> -<br> - -<p>Of all those who were in the habit of seeing Madeleine under -circumstances which made it possible for them to observe her closely, -her brother had been the last to perceive and the most reluctant to -acknowledge that the state of her health was far from satisfactory. -Ronald Kilsyth was habitually unobservant in matters of the kind; and -he usually saw Madeleine in the evening, when the false spirits and -deceptive flush of her disease produced an appearance of health and -vivacity which might have imposed upon a closer observer. He knew she -had a cough indeed; but then "Maddy always had a cough--I never -remember her without one," was the ready reply to any observations -made on the subject in his hearing, and to any misgivings which -occasionally flitted across his own mind. It did not occur to him that -in this "fact" there was no reply at all, but rather an additional -reason for apprehension concerning this cough. When Madeleine was a -child, it was acknowledged that she was delicate. "She had it from her -poor mother," Kilsyth would say--Kilsyth, who never had a day's -illness in his life, and in whose family ninety years was considered a -fair age. But she was to get strong, to "outgrow her delicacy" as she -grew up. When Madeleine was a girl, she was still delicate; perhaps -more continuously so than she had been as a child, though no longer -subject to the maladies of childhood; but she was to get stronger as -she grew older. Now Madeleine had grown older; the delicate girl, with -her fragile figure and poetical face, was no more; in her place was a -beautiful, self-possessed young woman--a wife, with a place in the -world, and a career before her. Strange, but Madeleine was still -delicate; the time unhesitatingly foretold, looked forward to so -anxiously with a kind of weary patience by her father, had come; but -it had not brought the anticipated, the desired result. Madeleine was -more delicate than ever. Her friends saw it, her father saw it; her -stepmother saw it more clearly than either--saw it with feelings which -would have been remorseful, had she not arrested their tendency in -that direction by constantly reminding herself that Madeleine had been -delicate as a child and as a girl; but her brother had not permitted -the fact to establish itself in his mind.</p> - -<p>The old affection, tacitly interrupted for a time, when Madeleine had -felt the unexpressed opposition of her brother to Chudleigh Wilmot, -had been as tacitly restored between them since Madeleine's marriage. -She had felt during that sad interval, all whose sadness was hidden -and unspoken, never taking an external shape, but formless, like a -sorrow in a dream, that circumstances and her surroundings were -stronger than she was; she had felt somewhat like a prisoner, against -and for whom conspiracies were formed, but who had no power to meddle -in them, and no distinct knowledge of their methods or objects. Mrs. -M'Diarmid, she vaguely felt, was for her, in the secret desire of her -heart; her brother against her. Ronald would have been successful in -any case, she had been quite sure, even if he had not been at once -justified and relieved of all apprehensions by Wilmot's departure. Hedid not -care for her--he had gone away; they might each and all have -spared the pains they had taken--their bugbear had been only a myth. -Then Madeleine, in whose mind justice had a high place, turned again -to her brother as tacitly, as completely, without explanation, as she -had turned from him, and loved him, admired him, thought about him, -and clung to him as she had been wont to do. Which surprised Ronald -Kilsyth, who had taken it for granted that Madeleine, who had married -Ramsay Caird a good deal to the Captain's surprise--who had his -theories concerning affinities and analogies, into which this alliance -by no means fitted--but not at all to his displeasure, would discard -everybody in favour of her husband, and devote herself to him after the -gushing fashion of very young brides in ordinary. He had smiled grimly -to himself occasionally, as he wondered whether Lady Muriel would be -altogether satisfied with a match which was so largely of her own -bringing about, and by which, whatever advantages she had secured to -her own family, for whom she entertained a truly clannish attachment, -she had undeniably provided herself with a young, beautiful, and -ever-present rival in her own queendom of fashion and social sway. "Let -them fight it out," Captain Kilsyth had thought; "it would have been -pleasanter if Maddy had gone farther afield; but it cannot be helped. -I am sure she is glad to get away from Lady Muriel; and I am sure Lady -Muriel is glad to get rid of her. I don't understand her taking to -Caird in this way; for I am as strongly convinced as ever it was no -false alarm about Wilmot; she was in love with him; only," and his -face reddened, "thank God, she did not know it. However, it is time -wasted to wonder about women, even the best and the truest of them, -and no very humiliating acknowledgment to say I cannot understand -them."</p> - -<p>But Captain Kilsyth was destined to find himself unable to discard -reflection on his sister and her marriage after this fashion. -Madeleine put all his previously conceived ideas to rout, and -disconcerted all his expectations. She was by no means engrossed by -her husband; she did not assume any of the happy fussiness or fussy -happiness which he had observed exhibit themselves in <i>jeunes ménages</i> -constructed on the old-fashioned principle of love, as opposed to the -modern expedient of <i>convenance</i>. She was just as friendly, just as -kindly with Ramsay Caird as she had been in the days before their -brief engagement, in the days when Ronald had found it difficult to -believe that Lady Muriel's wishes and plans would ever be realised. -She did not talk about her house, or give herself any of the pretty -"married-woman" airs which are additional charms in brides in their -teens. She led, as far as Ronald knew, much the same sort of life she -had led under her stepmother's chaperonage; and Kilsyth visited her -every day: Ronald too, when he was in town; and he soon felt that he -was all to her he had formerly been. The innocent, girlish, loving -heart had room and power for grief indeed, but none for a -half-understood anger, none for the prolongation of an involuntary -estrangement. So the first months of Madeleine's married life were -pleasant to her brother in his relations with her; and the first thing -which occurred to trouble his mind in reference to her was his -suspicion and dislike of certain points in Ramsay Caird's conduct -Here, again, Madeleine puzzled him. Naturally, he had no sooner -conceived this suspicious displeasure against the man to whom such an -immense trust as that of his sister's happiness had been committed -than he sought to discover by Madeleine's looks and manner whether and -how far her happiness was compromised by what he observed. But he -failed to discover any of the indications which he sought. Madeleine's -spirits were unequal, but her disposition had never been precisely -gay; and there was no trace of pique, sullenness, or the consciousness -of offence in her manner towards her husband.</p> -<br> - -<p>It was when Ronald's indignation against Ramsay Caird was rising fast, -and he began to think Madeleine either unaccountably indifferent to -certain things which women of quite as gentle a nature as hers would -inevitably and reasonably resent, or that she was concealing her -sentiments, in the interests of her dignity, with a degree of skill -and cleverness for which he was far from having given her credit, that -his sister's delicate health for the first time attracted Ronald's -attention. And Mrs. M'Diarmid was the medium of the first -communication on the subject which alarmed him.</p> - -<p>As in all similar cases, attention once excited, anxiety once -awakened, the progress of both is rapid. Ronald questioned his father, -questioned Lady Muriel, questioned Ramsay Caird. In each instance the -result was the same. Madeleine was undoubtedly very delicate, and the -danger of alarming her, which, as her organisation was highly nervous -and sensitive, was considerable, presented a serious obstacle to the -taking of the active measures which had become undeniably desirable.</p> - -<p>One day Ronald went to see his sister earlier in the day than usual, -having been told by Mrs. M'Diarmid that her looks in the evening were -not by any paeans a reliable indication of the state of her health. He -found her lying on a sofa in her dressing-room, wholly unoccupied, and -with an expression of listless weariness in her face and figure which -even his unskilled judgment could not avoid observing and appreciating -with alarm.</p> - -<p>One hand was under her head, the other hung listlessly down; and as -Ronald drew near, and took it in his tenderly, he saw how thin the -fingers were, how blue the veins, how they marked their course too -strongly under the white skin, and how the rose-tint was gone. As he -took the gentle hand, he felt that it was cold; but it burned in his -clasp before he had held it a minute. Like all men of his stamp, -Ronald Kilsyth, when he was touched, was deeply touched; when his mood -was tender, it was very tender. Madeleine looked at him; and the love -and sadness in her smile pierced at once his well-defended heart.</p> - -<p>"What's this I hear, Maddy, about your not being well?" he said, as he -seated himself beside her sofa, and kissed her forehead--it was -slightly damp, he felt, and she touched it with her handkerchief -frequently while he stayed. "You were not complaining last week, when -I saw you last; and now I've just come up to town, and been to -Brook-street, I find my father and my lady quite full of your not being -well. What is it all, Maddy? what are you suffering from, and why have -you said nothing about it?"</p> - -<p>"I am not very ill, Ronald," said Madeleine, raising herself, and -propping herself up on her cushions by leaning on her elbow, one hand -under her head, its fingers in her golden hair; more profuse and -beautiful than ever Ronald thought the hair was. "I am really not a -bit worse than I have been; only I suddenly felt a few days ago that I -could not go on making efforts, and going out, and seeing people, and -all that kind of thing, any longer; and then papa got uneasy about me. -I assure you that is the only difference; and you know it does grow -horribly tiresome, dear, don't you? At least you don't know, because -you never would do it; and you were right; but I--I hadn't much else -to do, and it does not do to seem peculiar; and I went on as long as I -could. But this last week was really too much for me, and I had to -tell Lady Muriel I must be quiet; and so I have been quiet, lying -here."</p> - -<p>She gave her brother this simple explanation, her blue eyes looking at -him with a smile, and a tone in her voice as though she prayed him not -to blame her.</p> - -<p>"My poor child, my darling Maddy!" said Ronald, "to think of your -trying to go on in that way, and feeling so unequal to it, and -fancying alll the time you must! What a wonderful life of humbug and -delusion you women lead, to be sure, either with your will or against -it! Now tell me, does Ramsay know how ill you are, and how you have -been doing all sorts of things which are most unfit for yon, until you -are quite worn out?"</p> - -<p>"Ramsay is very kind," said Madeleine; and then she hesitated, and the -colour deepened painfully in her face; "but you know, Ronald, men are -not very patient with women when they are only ailing; if I were -seriously ill; it would be quite a different thing. Re really is not -in the least to blame," she went on hurriedly; "he gets bored at home, -you know; and since I have not been feeling strong, it has been quite -a relief to me to be alone."</p> - -<p>"I see--I understand," said Ronald; but his tone did not reassure -Madeleine.</p> - -<p>"You really must not blame him," she repeated. "You know <i>you</i> -yourself did not perceive that I was ill before you went away; and it -is only within the last week, I assure you. I suppose the cough has -weakened me; for some time, in the morning, I have felt giddy going -downstairs, so I thought it better not to try it until I get -stronger."</p> - -<p>"I have not heard you cough much, Madeleine, that is, not more than -usual, you know. You have always had a cough, more or less."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Madeleine simply, "ever since I was born, I believe; but -it is never really bad, except in the morning, and sometimes at night. -Up to this time I have got on very well in the day and the afternoon; -and I like the evening best of all, if I am not too tired. I feel -quite bright in the evening, especially when I take my drops."</p> - -<p>"What drops, Maddy?"</p> - -<p>"The drops Sir Saville Rowe ordered for me last winter," said -Madeleine. "I got on very well with them, and I don't want anything -else. Papa wants me to see some of the great doctors, but there's -really no occasion; and I hate strangers. Dr. Whittaker comes -occasionally--as Sir Saville wished--and he does well enough. The mere -idea of seeing a stranger now--in that way--would make me nervous and -miserable." Indeed she flushed up again, looked excited and feverish, -and a violent fit of coughing came on, and interrupted any -remonstrance on Ronald's part, which perhaps she dreaded.</p> - -<p>But she need not have dreaded such remonstrance. There was a -consciousness in Ronald's heart which kept him silent; and besides, -with every word his sister had spoken, with every instant during which -his examination of her, close though furtive, had lasted, increasing -alarm had taken firmer hold of him. How had he been so blind? How had -he been content to accept appearances in Madeleine's case? how had he -failed to search and examine rightly into the story of this marriage, -and satisfy himself that his sister's heart was in it, that she had -really forgotten Wilmot? For a conviction seized upon Ronald Kilsyth, -as he looked at his sister and listened to her, that had she been -really happy, this state of things would not have existed. In the -angry and suspicious state of his feelings towards Wilmot, he had -accorded little attention, and less credence, to his father's -confidences respecting Wilmot's opinion and warnings about Madeleine's -health. He was too honourable, too true a gentleman, even in his anger -to set down Wilmot as insincere, as acting like a charlatan or an -alarmist; but he had dismissed the matter from his thoughts with -disregard and impatience. How awfully, how fatally wrong he had been! -And a flame of anger sprung wildly up in his heart; anger which -involved equally himself and Lady Muriel.</p> - -<p>Yes, Lady Muriel! All he had thought and done, he had thought and done -at her instigation; and though, when Ronald thought the matter over -calmly afterwards, as was his wont, he was unable to believe that any -other course than that which had ended in the complete separation of -Wilmot and Madeleine would have been possible, still he was tormented -with this blind burning anger.</p> - -<p>When Lady Muriel had aroused his suspicions, had awakened his fears, -Wilmot was a married man; but when he had acted upon these fears and -suspicions, Wilmot's wife was dead. "It might have been," then he -thought. True; but would he not, being without the knowledge, the fear -which now possessed him, have at any time, and under any -circumstances, prevented it? It cost him a struggle now, when the -knowledge and the fear had come, and his mind was full of them, to -acknowledge that he would; but Ronald was essentially an honest -man--he made the struggle and the acknowledgment. In so far he had no -right to blame Lady Muriel.</p> - -<p>In so far--but what about Ramsay Caird? How, had that marriage been -brought about? How had his sister been induced to marry a man whom he -now felt assured she did not lave?--something had revealed it to him, -nothing she had said, nothing she had looked. How had this marriage, -by which his sister had not gained in rank, wealth, or position, been -brought about? (He thought at this stage of his meditations, with a -sigh, that Wilmot could even have given her wealth now--how <i>bizarre</i> -the arrangements of fate are!) How had that been done? By Lady Muriel -of course, and no other. Maddy might have remained contentedly enough -at home, might have been suffered gradually to forget Wilmot, and -enticed into the amusements and distractions natural to her age and -position; there was no need for this extreme measure of inducing her -to fix her fate precipitately by a marriage with Ramsay Caird. Yes, -Lady Muriel had done it; done it to secure Madeleine's fortune to a -relative of her own, and to disembarrass herself of a grown-up -stepdaughter. How blind he had been, how completely he had played into -her hands! Thus thought Ronald, as he strode about his bare room at -Brook-street, his face haggard with care, and his heart sick with the -terrible fear which had smitten it with his first look at Madeleine.</p> - -<p>Ronald's interview with his sister had been long and painful to him, -though nothing, or very little more, had been said on the subject of -her health. He had perceived her anxiety to abridge discussion on that -point, and had fallen in with her humour. Once or twice, as he talked -with her, he had asked her if she was quite sure he was not wearying -her, if she did not feel tired or inclined to sleep, if he should go, -and send her maid to her. But to all his questions she replied no; she -was quite comfortable, and had not felt so happy for a long time; and -she had begged him to stay with her as long as he could. The brother -and sister talked of numerous subjects--much of Kilsyth, and their -childhood; a little of their several modes of life in the present; and -sometimes the current of their talk would be broken by Madeleine's low -musical laugh, but oftener by the miserable cough, from which Ronald -shrunk appalled, wondering that he ever could have heard it without -alarm, with indifference. But the truth was, he had never heard it at -all. The cough had changed its character; and the significance which -it had assumed, and which crept coldly with its hollow sound to -Ronald's heart, was new.</p> - -<p>Ronald had a dinner engagement for that day, and remained with his -sister until it was time to go home and dress. He looked into -Kilsyth's room on his way to the hall-door, when he had completed -that operation; but his father was not there. "I will speak to him in -the morning," thought Ronald. "I was impatient with him for croaking, -as I thought, about Maddy. God help him, I'm much mistaken, or it's -worse than he thinks for."</p> - -<p>And so Captain Kilsyth went out to dinner, and was colder in his -manner and much less lucid and decisive in his conversation than -usual. He left the party early, did not "join the ladies;" and all the -other guests, notably "the ladies" themselves, were of opinion that -they had no loss.</p> -<br> - -<p>"If Wilmot had not gone away when he did," said Kilsyth to his son, at -an advanced stage of the long and sad conversation which took place -between them on the following morning, "Maddy would have been quite -well now. Nobody understood her as he did; you must have seen it to -have believed it, Ronald. You always had some unaccountable prejudice -against Wilmot--I could not get to the bottom of it--but you must have -acknowledged <i>that</i>, if you had seen it."</p> - -<p>"It is too late to talk about that now, sir," said Ronald; "and you -are quite mistaken in supposing that I undervalue Dr. Wilmot's -ability. But something decisive must be done at once; and as Wilmot's -advice is not to be had, we must procure the best within our reach. -There is no use now in looking back; but I do wonder Caird has -permitted her to be without good advice all this time, and has -suffered us to be so misled. He must have known of the cough being so -bad in the morning, and of her exhaustion at times when neither you -nor Lady Muriel saw her."</p> - -<p>Kilsyth sighed. "I spoke to him yesterday," he said, "and I found him -very easy about the matter. He says Maddy wouldn't have a strange -doctor."</p> - -<p>"Maddy wouldn't have a strange doctor! My dear father, what perfect -nonsense! As if Maddy were the proper person to judge on such a -subject--as if she ever ought to have been asked or consulted! As if -anyone in what I fear is her state ever had any consciousness of -danger! I recognise Caird completely in that, his invincible easiness, -his selfishness, his--"</p> - -<p>He stopped. Kilsyth was looking at him, new concern and anxiety in his -face; and Ronald had no desire to cause either, beyond the absolute -necessity of the case, to his father.</p> - -<p>"However," he said, "let us at least be energetic now. Come with me to -see her now, and then we will consult someone with a first-rate -reputation. Maddy will not offer any resistance when she sees your -anxiety, and knows your wishes."</p> - -<p>Kilsyth and his son walked out together; and in the street he took -Ronald's arm. He was changed, enfeebled, by the fear which had -captured him a few days since, and held him inexorably in its grasp.</p> - -<p>Madeleine received her father and brother cheerfully. As usual now, -she was in her dressing-room, and also, as usual, she was lying down. -Ramsay Caird had told her the previous evening that her father was -anxious she should have immediate advice, and she was prepared to -accede to the wish. Not that she shared it; not that, as Ronald -supposed, she was unconscious of her danger, as consumptive persons -usually are. Quite the contrary, in fact. Madeleine Caird firmly -believed that she was dying; only she did not in the least wish to -live; and neither did she wish that her father should learn the fact -before it became inevitable, which she felt it must, so soon as an -experienced medical opinion should be taken upon her case.</p> - -<p>But a certain dulness of all her faculties had made itself felt within -the last few days, and she was particularly under its influence just -then. She had neither the power nor the inclination to combat any -opinion, to dissent from any wish. So she said, "Certainly, papa, if -it will make your mind any easier about me;" and twined her thin arm -round her father's neck and kissed him, when he said, "I may bring a -doctor to see you then, my darling, and you will tell him all about -yourself."</p> - -<p>Her arm was still about his neck, and his brow was resting against her -cheek, when he said:</p> - -<p>"Ah, if Wilmot were only here! No one ever understood you like Wilmot, -my darling."</p> - -<p>Neither Ronald nor Madeleine said a word in reply; and when Ronald -took leave of his sister, he avoided meeting her glance.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_11" href="#div1Ref_11">CHAPTER XI.</a></h4> -<h5>Iconoclastic.</h5> -<br> - -<p>In this great London world of ours it is our boast that we live free -and unfettered by the opinions of our neighbours; that we may be -unacquainted with those persons who for a score of years have resided -on either side of us; that our sayings and doings, our "goings on," -the company we keep, the lives we lead, and the pursuits we follow, -are nothing to anybody, and are consequently unnoticed. We pride -ourselves on this not a little; we shrug our shoulders and elevate our -eyebrows when we talk of the small scandal and the petty spite of -provincial towns; we are grateful that, in whatever state the larger -vices may be, the smaller ones, at all events, do not flourish among -us; and, in short, we take to ourselves enormous credit for the -possession of something which has not the slightest real existence, -and for the absence of something else which is of daily growth. It is -true that in London a man need not be particular about the shape of -his hat or the cut of his coat, so far as London itself is concerned, -any more than he need fear that his having taken too much wine at a -public dinner, or held a lengthened flirtation with a barmaid, will -appear in the public prints; but in his own circle, be it high or low, -large or small, pharisaical or liberal-minded, as much attention will -be paid to all he does, his speeches, actions, and mode of life will -be the subject of as much spiteful comment, as if he lived at Hull or -vegetated at York. The insane desire to talk about trifles, to indulge -in childish chit-chat and terrible twaddle, to erect mole-hills into -mountains, and to find spots in social suns, exists everywhere amongst -people who have nothing to do, and who carry out the doctrine laid -down by Dr. Watts by applying their "idle hands" to "some mischief -still." The Duke of Dilworth, interested in the management of his own -estates, looking after the race-horses under his trainer's care, -hunting up his political influence, and seeing that it sustains no -diminution, marking catalogues of coming picture-sales for purchases -which he has long expected must enter the market, devising alterations -in his Highland shooting-box, planning yachting expeditions, going -through, in fact, that business of pleasure which is the real business -of his life, has no time for profitless talk and ridiculous gossip, -which, as his grace says, "he leaves for women." But the women like -what is left for them. The Duchess and the Ladies Daffy have none of -these occupations to fill the "fallow leisure of their lives"--their -calls and visits, their fête-attendances and garden-parties, their -play at poor-visitings and High-Church-service frequentings, leave -them yet an enormous margin of waste time, which is more or less -filled up by tattle of a generally derogatory nature. It is the same -in nearly every class of life: men must work, and women must talk; and -when they talk, their conversation is robbed of half its zest and -point if it be not disparaging and detrimental to their dearest -friends.</p> - -<p>It was not to be imagined that the Ramsay-Caird <i>ménage</i>, even had it -been very differently constituted, could have escaped criticism; as it -was, it courted it. The mere fact of Ramsay Caird himself having -somehow or other slipped into the society of <i>nous autres</i> (it was -solely through the Kilsyths that he was known in the set), and having -had the audacity to carry away one of the prizes, would in itself have -attracted sufficient attention to him and his, had other inducements -been wanting. But other inducements were not wanting. The alteration -which had taken place in Madeleine since her illness in Scotland, more -especially since the time of the announcement of her engagement, was -matter of public comment; and all kinds of stories were set afloat by -her dearest friends to account for it. That she had had some dreadful -love-affair, highly injudicious, impossible of achievement, was one of -the most romantic; and being one of the most mischievous, consequently -became one of the most popular theories, the only difficulty being to -find for this desperate affair--which, it was said, had superinduced -her illness, scarlet-fever being, as is well known to the faculty, -essentially a mental disease--a hero. The list of visitors to the -house was discussed in half-a-dozen different places; but no one at -all likely to fill the character could be found, until Colonel -Jefferson was accidentally hit upon. This, coupled with the fact that -Colonel Jefferson's mad pursuit of Lady Emily Fairfax, which everyone -knew had so long existed, had ceased about that time, was extensively -promulgated, and pretty generally accepted. So extensively -promulgated, that it reached the ears of Colonel Jefferson himself, -and elicited from him an expression of opinion couched in language -rather stronger than that gallant officer usually permitted himself -the use of--to the effect that, if he found anyone engaged in the -fetching and carrying of such infernal lies, he, Colonel Jefferson, -should make it his business to inflict personal chastisement on him, -the said fetcher and carrier. A representation of this kind coming -from a very big and strong man, who in such matters had the reputation -of keeping his promise, had the effect of doing away with all -identification of Mrs. Ramsay Caird's supposed heartbroken lover, and -of restoring him his anonymity, but the fact of his existence, still -was whispered abroad; else why had one of the brightest girls of the -past season--not that there was ever anything in her very clever, or -that she was ever anything but extremely "missy," but still a -pleasant, cheerful kind of girl in her way--why had she become dull -and <i>triste</i>, and obviously uncaring for anything? That was what -society wanted to know.</p> - -<p>As for her husband, as for Ramsay Caird, society's tongue said very -little about him; but society's shoulders, and eyebrows, and hands, -and fluttering fans, hinted a great deal. Society was divided on the -subject of Mr. Ramsay Caird. One portion of it threw out nebulous -allusions to the fascinations of Madame Favorita of the Italian Opera, -suggested the usual course pursued by beggars who had been set upon -horseback, wondered how Madeleine's relations could endure the state -of things which existed under their very eyes, and thought that the -time could not be very far distant when Captain Kilsyth--who had the -name, as you very well know, my dear, for being so very particular in -such matters, not to say strait-laced--would call his brother-in-law -to account for his goings on. The other portion of society was more -liberal, so far at least as the gentleman was concerned. What, it -asked, was the position of a man who found his newly-married wife -evidently preoccupied with the loss of some previous flirtation? What -was to be expected from a man who had found Dead-Sea apples instead of -fruit, and utter indifference instead of conjugal love and domestic -happiness? The <i>nous-autres</i> feeling penetrated into the discussion. -It was not likely that a young man who had been brought up in a -different sphere, who had been, if what people said was correct, a -clerk or something of the kind to a lawyer in Edinburgh, could -comprehend the necessity for such a course of conduct under the -circumstances as the belonging to their class would naturally dictate. -If Mr. Caird had made a mistake--well, mistakes were often made, often -without getting the equivalent which he, in allying himself with an old -family in the position of the Kilsyths, had secured for himself. But -they were always borne <i>sub silentio</i>--at all events the sufferer, -however he might seek for distraction in private, did not let the -mistake which he had made, and the means he had adopted for his own -compensation, become such common gossip-matter for the world at large.</p> - -<p>Such conversation as this is not indulged in without its reaching the -ears of those most concerned. When one says most concerned, one means -those likely to take most concern in it. It is doubtful if Madeleine's -ears were ever disturbed by any of the rumours in which she played so -prominent a part. It is certain that her husband never knew of the -interest which he excited in so many of his acquaintances; equally -certain that if he had known it, the knowledge thus gained would not -have caused him an emotion. Lady Muriel, however, was fully acquainted -with all that was said. The world, which did her homage as one of its -queens of fashion, took every possible occasion to remind her that she -was mortal, and found no better opportunity than in pointing out the -mistake which she had made in the marriage of her stepdaughter and the -settlement in life of her <i>protégé</i>. Odd words dropped here and there, -sly hints, innuendoes, phrases capable of double meaning, and always -receiving the utmost perversion which could be employed in their -warping, nay, in some instances, anonymous letters--the basest shifts -to which treachery can stoop,--all these ingredients were made use of -for the poisoning of Lady Muriel's cup of life, and for the -undermining of that pinnacle to which society had raised her.</p> - -<p>Nor was Ronald Kilsyth ignorant of the world's talk and the world's -expressions. Isolate himself as much as he would, be as self-contained -and as solitary as an oyster, fend off confidence, shut his ears to -gossip,--all he could do was to exclude pleasant things from him; the -unpleasant had penetrating qualities, and invariably made their way. -He knew well enough what was said in every kind of society about Mr. -and Mrs. Ramsay Caird. When he dined away from the mess, he had a -curiously unpleasant feeling that advantage would be taken of his -absence to discuss that unfortunate <i>ménage</i>. When he dined at his -club, he had a morbid horror lest the two men seated at the next table -should begin to talk about it. The disappointment about the whole -thing had been so great as to make him morbidly sensitive on the -point, to ascribe to it far greater interest than it really possessed -for the world in general, and to allow it to prey on his mind, and -seriously to influence his health. It had been such a consummate -failure! And he, as he owned to himself,--he was primarily responsible -for the marriage! If Lady Muriel had not had his assistance, she would -never have carried her point of getting Madeleine for Ramsay Caird; -one word from him would have nipped that acquaintance in the bud, -would have stopped the completion of the project, no matter how far it -had advanced. And he had never said that word. Why? He comforted -himself by thinking that Caird had never shown himself in his real -character before his marriage; but the fact was, although Ronald would -not avow it, that he had been hoodwinked by the deference so deftly -paid to him both by his stepmother and her confederate, who had -consulted him on all points, and cajoled him and used him as a tool in -their hands. He thought over all this very bitterly now; he saw how he -had been treated, and stamped and raved in impotent fury as he -remembered how he had been led on step by step, and how weak and -vacillating he must have appeared in a matter in which he was most -deeply interested, and which, during the whole of its progress, he -thought he was managing so well.</p> - -<p>To no man in London could such a <i>fiasco</i> as his sister's marriage had -turned out be more oppressively overwhelming, productive of more -thorough disgust and annoyance than to Ronald Kilsyth. The <i>fiasco</i> -was so glaring, that at once two points on which the young man most -prided himself stood impugned. Everyone knew that dear old Kilsyth -himself would not have interfered in such a matter, and that the final -settlement of it, after Lady Muriel's light skirmishing had been done, -must have been left to Ronald, who was the sensible one of the family. -He had then, in the eyes of the world, either had so little care for -his sister's future as to sanction her marriage with a very ineligible -man, or so little natural perspicacity and sharpness as to be deceived -by such a shallow pretender as Caird. That anyone should entertain -either of these suppositions was gall and wormwood to Ronald. He whose -reputation forclear-headedness and far-seeing had only been equalled by -the esteem in which by all men he had been held for his strict honesty -and probity and the Spartan quality of his virtue,--that he should be -suspected--more than suspected, in certain quarters accused--of folly -or want of proper caution where his sister was concerned, was to him -inexpressibly painful. Perhaps the worst thing of all was to know that -people knew that he was aware of what was said, and that he suffered -under the tittle-tattle and the gossip. He tried to forget that idea, -to dispel and do away with it by changing his usual habits; he went -about; he was seen--for one week--oftener in society than he had been -for months previously: but the morbid feeling came upon him there; he -fancied that people noticed his presence, and attributed it to its -right cause; that every whisper which was uttered in the room had -Madeleine for its burden; that the whole company had their minds -filled with him, and were thinking of him either pityingly, -sarcastically, or angrily, according to their various temperaments.</p> - -<p>He avoided Brook-street at this time as religiously as he avoided the -little residence in Squab-street. He did not particularly care about -meeting his father, though he thought Kilsyth would probably know -nothing of what so many were talking of; and he had resolutely shunned -a meeting with Lady Muriel, for Ronald in his inmost heart did his -stepmother a gross injustice. He fully believed that she was perfectly -cognisant of Ramsay Caird's real character; whereas, in truth, no one -had been more astonished at what her <i>protégé</i> had proved himself than -Lady Muriel--and very few more distressed. Ronald, however, thought -otherwise; and being a gentleman, he carefully avoided meeting her -ladyship, lest he might lose his temper and forget himself. The -Kilsyth blood <i>was</i> hot, and even in the heir to the name there had -been occasions when it was pretty nearly up to boiling-point.</p> - -<p>For the same reason he avoided all chance of running across his -brother-in-law. In common with most men of strong feelings always -kept in a state of repression, Ronald Kilsyth was particularly -sensitive; and the idea of the publicity already accruing to this -wretched business being increased by any possible tattle of open -rupture between members of the family horrified him dreadfully. If he -did not dare trust himself with Lady Muriel, he should certainly have -to exercise a much stronger command over himself in the event of his -ever meeting Ramsay Caird. Every governing principle of his life rose -up within him against that young man; and on the first occasion of his -hearing--accidentally, as men often hear things of the greatest import -to themselves--of Mr. Caird's doings, Ronald Kilsyth had for the whole -night paced his barrack-room, trying in every possible form to pick -such a quarrel with Caird as might leave no real clue to its origin, -and enable him to work out his revenge without compromising anyone. -But he soon saw the futility of any such proceeding, which, carried -out between <i>sous-officiers</i>, might form the basis of a French drama, -but which was impossible of execution between English gentlemen, and -elected absence from Squab-street, and total ignorance of Mr. Caird's -mode of procedure, as his best aids to a tolerably quiet life for -himself. Besides, absence from Squab-street meant absence from -Madeleine; and absence from Madeleine meant a great deal to Ronald -Kilsyth. He, in his self-examination found Madeleine's behaviour since -her marriage the one point on which he could neither satisfy himself -by a feeling of pity nor bluster himself into a fit of indignation. He -knew well enough what her abstracted manner, her dulness, her sad -weary preoccupied mind, her impossibility to join in the nonsensical -talk floating around her,--he knew well enough what all these symptoms -meant. . If he had ever doubted that his sister had a strong affection -for Wilmot--and it is due to his perspicacity to say that no such -doubt ever crossed his mind--he would have been certain of it now. If -he had ever hoped--and he had hoped very earnestly--that any girlish -predilection which his sister might have entertained for Wilmot was -merely girlish and evanescent, and would pass away with her marriage, -he could not more effectually have blighted any such chance than by -marrying her to the man whose suit he, her brother, had himself urged -her to accept Perhaps under happier circumstances that childish dream -would have passed away, merged into a more happy realisation; but as -it had eventuated, Ronald knew perfectly well that Madeleine could not -but contrast the blank loveless present with the bright past, could -not but compare the days when she now sat solitary and uncared for -with those when the man for whom she had such intense veneration--for -whom, as she doubtless had afterwards discovered, she had such honest, -earnest love--had given up everything else to attend to her and shield -her in the hour of danger. With such feelings as these at his heart, -it was but little wonder that Ronald sedulously avoided being thrown -in Madeleine's way.</p> - -<p>He had always been so "odd;" his comings, and goings in Brook-street -had been so uncertain; it was so utterly impossible to tell when he -might or might not be expected at his father's house, that his -prolonged absence caused no astonishment to any of the members of the -family, nor to any one of their regular visitors. Lady Muriel, indeed, -with a kind of guilty consciousness of participation in his feelings, -guessed the reason why her step-son eschewed their society; but no one -else. And Lady Muriel, who from her first suspicion of Ramsay Caird's -conduct--suspicion not entertained, be it understood, until some time -after the marriage--had looked forward with great fear and trembling -to a grand <i>éclaircissement</i>, a searching explanation with Ronald, in -which she would have to undergo an amount of cross-questioning in his -hardest manner, and a judgment which would inevitably be pronounced -against her, was rather glad that this whim had taken possession of -Ronald, and that her <i>dies irae</i> was consequently indefinitely -deferred. But it happened one day that Ronald, walking down to -Knightsbridge barracks, came upon his father waiting to cross the road -at the corner of Sloane-street, and came upon him so "plump" and so -suddenly, that retreat was impossible. The young man accordingly, -seeing how matters stood, advanced, and took his father by the hand.</p> - -<p>In an instant he saw that one other, at all events, had suffered from -the--well, there was no other word for it--the disgrace, the -discredit, to say the least of it, which had fallen on the family -during the past few months. Kilsyth seemed aged by ten years. The -light had died out of his bright blue eyes, and left them glassy and -colourless, with red rims and heavy dark "pads" underneath each. The -bright healthy colour had faded from his cheeks, and few would have -recognised the lithe and active mountaineer, the never-tiring -pedestrian, and the keen shot, in the bent and shrunken form which -stood half-leaning on, half-idly dallying with, its stick. He -pressed his son's hand warmly, however; and something like his -well-known kind old smile lighted up his face as he exclaimed--</p> - -<p>"Ronald, I'm glad to see you, my boy! very glad! You've not been near -us for ages! And not merely that--I can understand that--we're not -very good company for young people now in Brook-street; there's little -inducement to come there now since poor Maddy has left us. But I don't -think that I was ever half so long in London without dining with you -as your guest over there at the barracks. I used to like an outing -with your fellows there; it brisked me up, and made me forget what an -old fogie I am growing; but--but you haven't given me the chance this -time, sir,--you haven't given me the chance!"</p> - -<p>There was something in the evidently strained attempt at cheeriness -with which his father said these words which contrasted so strongly -with the depression under which it was impossible for him to prevent -showing he was labouring, and with the marked alteration in his -personal appearance, that touched Ronald deeply. His heart sank within -him, and his tongue grew dry; he had to clear his throat before he -replied--and even then huskily--</p> - -<p>"It <i>is</i> a long time since we've met, sir; and I confess the fault is -mine--entirely mine. The fact is I've been very much engaged -lately--regimental duty, and--and some business in which I've been -particularly interested--business which I fear you would hardly care -about--and--"</p> - -<p>"Likely enough, my dear boy!" said Kilsyth, coming to his rescue, as -he floundered about in a way very unusual to him. "Likely enough! I -never did care particularly for a good many of your pursuits, you -know, Ronald, though I tried very hard at one time--when you were -quite a lad, I recollect--to understand them and share in them. But -that was not to be. I was not bright enough. I'm of the old school, -and what we old fellows cared about seems to have died out with our -youth, and never to have interested anybody ever since. I don't say -this complainingly--not in the least--but it was deuced odd. However, -I'm very glad I've met you, Ronald, for I have long wished--and -lately, within the last few days more especially--to have a talk with -you, a serious talk, my boy, which will take up some little time. Have -you half-an-hour you can give me now? I shall be very glad if you -have."</p> - -<p>It was coming at last. He had but put off the evil day, and now it was -upon him. Well--better to hear himself condemned by his father than by -anyone else. Let it come.</p> - -<p>"My time is yours, sir," said Ronald, almost echoing Wilmot, as he -remembered, on the day of that eventful interview in Charles-street. -"I shall of course be delighted to give my best attention to anything -you may have to say."</p> - -<p>"Well, then, let's take a turn in the Park opposite," said Kilsyth, -hooking his arm into his son's. "Not among the people there, where we -should be perpetually interrupted by having to speak to those folks -who bail one so good-naturedly at every step, but away on the grass -there, by ourselves."</p> - -<p>The two men passed through the Albert Gate, and turning to the right, -struck on to the piece of turf lying between the Row and the Drive. A -few children were playing about, a few nurse-maids were here and there -gossiping together; else they had it all to themselves.</p> - -<p>"I want to talk to you," commenced Kilsyth, "about your sister--about -Maddy. I have been a good deal to Squab-street in the last few weeks, -and I've thought Maddy looks anything but as I should wish her to -look. Has that struck you, Ronald?"</p> - -<p>"I--I'm sorry to say that I haven't seen Madeleine for some little -time, sir. The business which, as I just explained to you, has -prevented my coming to Brook-street has equally prevented me from -calling on her."</p> - -<p>"Of course, yes! I beg pardon--I forgot! Well, Maddy looks anything -but well. For a long time past--indeed ever since her marriage--she -has been singularly low-spirited and dull; very unlike her usual -self."</p> - -<p>"I don't know that that is much to be wondered at. Madeleine was -always a peculiar girl, in the sense that she had an extraordinary -attachment for her home; and the fact of being parted from you, with -whom all her life has been passed, and to whom she is devotedly -attached, may explain the cause of any little temporary lowness of -spirits."</p> - -<p>"Ye-es, that's true so far; but it's not that; I wish I could think it -was. What you say, though, Ronald, I think gets somewhat near the real -cause. Maddy has been unlike most other girls of her class; much more -home-y and domestic, thinking much more of those around her with whom -she has been brought into daily contact than of the outside pleasures, -if I may so call them. And she's had a great deal of love. She's -accustomed to it, and can't get on without it. Love's just as -essential to Madeleine as light to the flowers, or the keen clear air -to the stags. She's had it all her life, and she would die without it. -And, Ronald, I'll say to you what I'd not say to another soul upon -earth, but what's lying heavy on my heart this month past--I doubt -much whether she gets it, my boy; I doubt much whether she gets it."</p> - -<p>The old man stopped suddenly in his walk, and clutched his son's arm, -and looked up earnestly into his son's fade. There was so much sharp -agony in the glance, hurried and fleeting though it was, that Ronald -scarcely knew what to say in reply to the quivering jerky speech.</p> - -<p>His father saved him from his embarrassment by continuing: "I don't -think she gets the love that she's been accustomed to, and that she -had a right to expect. I tell you that Maddy is not happy, Ronald; -that her little heart aches and pines for want of sympathy, for want -of appreciation, for want of love. I'm an old fellow; but in this case -I suppose my affection for my darling has opened my eyes, and I can -see it all plainly."</p> - -<p>"Don't you think, sir, that your undoubted devotion to Madeleine may, -on the other hand, have had the effect of warping your judgment a -little, and prejudicing you in the matter? Though I've not seen my -sister very lately, when I did see her I confess I did not observe any -marked difference in her--any difference at all from what she has been -during the last few months."</p> - -<p>"The last few months! That's just it; that's just what--however, we'll -come to that presently. I <i>know</i> you're wrong, Ronald; I <i>know</i> that -Madeleine is thoroughly changed and altered from the bright darling -girl of the old days. And I know why, my boy! God help me, I know -why!"</p> - -<p>Again Ronald essayed to speak, and again he only muttered -unintelligibly.</p> - -<p>"Because her home is unhappy," said Kilsyth, stopping short in his -walk, and dropping his voice to a whisper; "because the marriage into -which she was--was persuaded--I will use no harsh words--has proved a -wretched one for her; because her husband has proved himself to -be--God forgive me--a scoundrel!"</p> - -<p>"You speak strongly, sir, notwithstanding your professions," said -Ronald, on whom warm words of any kind had always the effect of -rendering him even more cold and stoical than was his wont.</p> - -<p>"I speak strongly because I feel strongly, Ronald! I don't expect you -to share my feelings in this matter, but I do expect you to have some -of your own, although you may not show them. For God's sake cast aside -for a few minutes that cloak of frost in which you always shroud -yourself, and let us talk as father and son about one who is daughter -to the one and sister to the other!"</p> - -<p>Ronald looked up in surprise. He had never seen his father so much -excited before.</p> - -<p>"I have no doubt about this," continued Kilsyth. "I have hoped against -hope, and I have shut my eyes against what I have seen, hoping they -might be fancies; and my ears against what I have heard, hoping they -might be lies. But I can befool myself in this manner no longer. Ah! -to think of my darling thus--to think of my darling thus!" Tears -started to the old man's eyes, and he smote fiercely with his stick -upon the ground.</p> - -<p>"If you are really persuaded of this, sir," said Ronald, "it is our -duty to take immediate measures. Mr. Caird must be taught--"</p> - -<p>"Who brought him to our house?" asked Kilsyth in a storm of passion; -"or rather--not that--but when he was brought, who backed him up and -encouraged him in every way? You, Ronald! you--you--you! By your -advice he was permitted free access to the house, was constantly -thrown in Madeleine's company, and gave the world to understand that -he was going to marry her. I postponed the settling of the engagement -once; but the second time, when--when I fancied that the child might -have had some other views--might have formed some other fancy--you -persuaded me to agree, and--"</p> - -<p>"You should apportion the blame properly, sir," said Ronald in his -coldest tones. "I did not introduce Caird to your house, nor was I the -principal advocate of his cause."</p> - -<p>"You're quite right, Ronald, quite right--and I've been hasty and -passionate and inconsiderate, I know; but if you knew how utterly -heartbroken I am--"</p> - -<p>"I think, with regard to Mr. Caird," interrupted Ronald, "the best -plan will be--"</p> - -<p>"No, no; not Caird now--leave him for the present; afterwards we'll do -for him. Now about Maddy--nothing but about Maddy--and not about her -dulness, or anything of that kind, nor--worse, much worse--you -recollect--no, you didn't know; I think you weren't there--what -Wilmot, Dr. Wilmot, said to me at Kilsyth about her chest? He told me -that one of her lungs was threatened--that the lungs were her weak -point; and he asked me whether any of our family had suffered from -such disease."</p> - -<p>"Well, sir," said Ronald, anxiously now.</p> - -<p>"This disease has been gaining ground for months past; I'm sure of it. -I have had my opinions for some time; but Maddy never complains, you -know, and I didn't like to ask her about her symptoms, lest she might -be frightened. But within the last few days she has been so bad that -It has been evident to us all, to myself and--and Lady Muriel that the -disease was on the increase. She caught cold at the theatre the other -night, and her cough is now frightful. I have seen her just now, poor -darling! She was on the sofa, but very weak--all they could do to get -her there--and when the paroxysms of coughing come on it's awful to -see her--she hardly seems to have the strength to live through them. -My poor darling Maddy!"</p> - -<p>"What do the doctors say, sir? Who is attending her?"</p> - -<p>"Whittaker--Dr. Whittaker--a very good man in his way, I daresay -but--I don't know--somehow I don't think much of him. Now that is the -very point I wanted to talk to you about. Somehow--how, I never -understood--somebody--I don't know who--offended Dr. Wilmot, a man to -whom we were under the greatest obligation for kindness rendered; and -though he has been back in England for some time, he has never called -in Brook-street, nor on Madeleine even, since his return. There is no -one in whom I have such faith; there is no one, I am convinced, who -understands Madeleine's constitution like Wilmot; and I want to know -what is the best method for us to put our pride in our pockets and -implore him to come and see her."</p> - -<p>"You were not thinking of asking Dr. Wilmot to visit Madeleine?"</p> - -<p>"I was indeed. What objection could there possibly be?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose you know that he has retired from practice, that he even -declines to attend consultations, since he inherited Mr. Foljambe's -money?"</p> - -<p>"I know that; but I am perfectly certain, from what I saw of him at -Kilsyth, that if I were to go to him and tell him the state of -affairs, he would overlook anything that may have annoyed him, and -come and see Maddy at once."</p> - -<p>"That would be a condescension!" said Ronald. "Perhaps it might be on -the other side that the 'overlooking' might be required. However, -there are other reasons, sir, why I, for one, should think it highly -inadvisable that Dr. Wilmot should be requested to visit my sister."</p> - -<p>"What are they, then, in Heaven's name, man?" said Kilsyth petulantly. -"You don't seem to see that the matter is of the utmost urgency."</p> - -<p>"It is because of its urgency that I speak of it at all; it is by no -means a pleasant topic for me or for any of us. You spoke to me just -now, sir, in warm words of the part I took in pressing Ramsay Caird to -visit at your house, and supporting his claims for Madeleine. I don't -know that I was at all eager for it at first; I'm certain I never -cared particularly for Ramsay Caird; but I freely own that latterly I -did my best for him, convinced that a speedy alliance with him was the -only chance of rescuing Madeleine from another offer which I was sure -was impending--which would have been far more objectionable, and yet -which she would have accepted."</p> - -<p>"Another offer?--from whom?"</p> - -<p>"From the gentleman of whom you entertain so high an opinion--from Dr. -Wilmot."</p> - -<p>"From Wilmot! An offer from Wilmot to Madeleine! You must be mad, -Ronald!"</p> - -<p>"I never was more sane in my life, sir. I repeat, I am perfectly -certain Dr. Wilmot was in love with Madeleine, that he would have made -her an offer, and that she would have accepted him."</p> - -<p>"And why should she not have accepted him? God knows I would have -welcomed him for a son-in-law, and--"</p> - -<p>"I scarcely think this is the time to enter into that subject, sir; -but now that I have enlightened you, I presume you see the objection -to calling in Dr. Wilmot to my sister."</p> - -<p>"I see the difficulty, Ronald; but the objection and the difficulty -shall be overcome. You shall yourself go and see Wilmot; and I know -he'll not refuse you."</p> - -<p>"Don't you think, sir, before I take upon myself to do that, it would -be, to say the least of it, desirable that we should consult -Madeleine's husband?"</p> - -<p>"Indeed I do not, Ronald," said Kilsyth; "indeed I do not. In giving -up my daughter to Mr. Caird I yielded privileges which I alone had -enjoyed from her birth, and which I would gladly have retained until -her death or mine. But I did not give up the privilege of watching -over her health, more especially when it has been so shamefully -neglected; and I shall claim the power to use it now."</p> - -<p>"And you think, after all I have told you, that there is no objection -to asking Dr. Wilmot to visit Madeleine?"</p> - -<p>"See here, Ronald!--I will be very frank with you in this matter--I -think that if I had known all you have told me now seven or eight -months ago, we should never have had this conversation. For I firmly -believe that--granting your ideas were correct--if my darling had -married Wilmot, he would have taken care both of her health and her -happiness, both of which have been so grossly neglected."</p> - -<p>The father and son took their way in silence back across the grass, -each filled with his own reflections. They had only reached the Albert -Gate, and were about to pass through it into the street, when a -brougham passed them, and a gentleman sitting in it gravely saluted -them.</p> - -<p>"Good heavens!" exclaimed Kilsyth; "there's Wilmot!"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Ronald. He was surprised, and secretly agitated by the -sight of the man towards whom his feelings had insensibly changed, and -was hardly master of his emotion.</p> - -<p>The carriage had passed on, but Kilsyth was standing still at the -crossing.</p> - -<p>"What an extraordinary chance--what a wonderful Providence, I should -say!" said Kilsyth; "the only man I have confidence in--fancy his -passing by just at this time! Thank God! No chance of his calling at -Brook-street before he goes home, as he used to do; we must go on to -his house at once and leave a message for him." Here the impetuous old -gentleman hailed a hansom, which drew up abruptly in dangerous -proximity to his toes.</p> - -<p>"Stop a moment," said Ronald. "You had better get home, in case I can -persuade Dr. Wilmot to call, and tell Lady Muriel; it will save time. -I will go on to his house."</p> - -<p>"All right," said Kilsyth in a voice of positive cheerfulness. The -mere sight of Wilmot had acted like a strong cordial upon him--had -restored his strength and his confidence.</p> - -<p>"Don't I recollect how he saved her before, when she was much worse, -when she was actually in the clutch of a mortal disease? And he will -save her again! he will save her again!" said the old man to himself -as he drove homewards. He went directly to Lady Muriel's boudoir, and -communicated to her the glad tidings of Ronald's mission, which had -filled him with hope and joy.</p> - -<p>The rich red colour flew to Lady Muriel's cheek, and the light shone -in her dark eyes. To her too the news was precious, delicious; but not -so the intelligence which formed its corollary. What! Ronald Kilsyth -gone to solicit Dr. Wilmot's attendance on his sister! Ronald Kilsyth -bringing about the renewal of this danger which she, apparently ably -assisted by fate, had put far from her! What availed Wilmot's return, -if he might see Madeleine again--might be with her? What availed it -that Madeleine was no longer in the house with him, that she was free -to see him, to enjoy his society undisputed? As Kilsyth saw how her -face lighted up, how her colour rose, he rejoiced in her sympathy with -his feelings; with his hope and relief, he blessed her in his heart -for her love for his Madeleine. And she listened to him, dominated in -turn by irresistible joy and by burning anger.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_12" href="#div1Ref_12">CHAPTER XII.</a></h4> -<h5>Too Late.</h5> -<br> - -<p>That there can be such a thing as a broken heart; that love, -misguided, misdirected, fixed upon the wrong object, and never finding -"its earthly close," having to pine in secret, and to take out its -revenge in saying deteriorating and spiteful things of its successful -rival, ever kills, is nowadays generally accepted as nonsense. In the -daily round of the work-a-day life there are too many things hourly -cropping up to allow a man of any spirit to permit himself to hug to -his bosom the corpse of a dead joy, or to bemoan over the reminiscence -of vanished happiness. He must be up and doing; he must go in to his -business, read his newspaper, give his orders to his clerks, write his -letters--or at least sign them; go to his club, eat his dinner, and go -through his ordinary routine, each item of which fills up his time, and -prevents him from dwelling on the atrocious perfidy of the Being who -has deceived him. The evening has generally been considered a -favourable time for indulging in those reflections which, by their -bitterness, bring about the anatomical consequences so much to be -deplored; but your modern Strephon either forgets his own woes in -reading of the fictitious woes of others, duly supplied by Mr. Mudie, -or in witnessing them depicted on the stage, or in listening to the -cynical wisdom of the smoking-room, which, if he duly imbibe it, leads -him rather to think he has had a wonderful escape; or in the friendly -game of whist, when deference to his partner's interest, to say the -least of it, requires that he should keep his thoughts from wandering -into that subject so redolent of bitter-sweet. The heart-breaking -business is out of date, it is <i>rococo</i>, it is bygone; and one might -as well look to see the brazen greaves of bold Sir Lancelot flashing -in our English imitation of the sunshine, and to hear the knight -singing "Lirra-lirra!" as he rode up the banks of the Serpentine, as -to believe in its existence nowadays.</p> - -<p>So that those who may have imagined that Chudleigh Wilmot had given up -all relish of and interest in life must have been grievously -disappointed. When he first went abroad, grief and rage were in his -heart, and he cared but little what became of him. When he first -received the news of Mr. Foljambe's bequest, there sprung up in him a -new feeling of hope and joy, such as he had never had before, which -lasted but a very few hours, being uprooted and cast out by the -announcement of Madeleine's marriage in the newspaper. When he -returned to London, his mind was so far made up, that he contemplated -very calmly the possibility of such an existence--without Madeleine, -that is to say--as a few hours previously he had deemed impossible; -and though on first entering on the new life the old ghosts which -"come to trouble joy" would occasionally await him; and though after -that chance meeting with Madeleine and Lady Muriel in the Park he was -for some little time much disturbed, yet, on the whole, he managed to -live his life quietly, soberly, peacefully, and not unhappily.</p> - -<p>The man who, after years of active employment, inherits or obtains a -competency, and straightway lies upon his oars and looks round him for -the remainder of his life, immediately falls into a sad way, and comes -speedily to a bad end. Wilmot was quite sufficient man of the world to -be aware of this; and though he had retired from the active practice -of his profession, indeed from practising in any way, he still kept up -his medical studies, and now became one of the most sought-after and -most influential contributors to the best of our scientific -publications. In this way he found exercise enough for his mental -faculties, which had been somewhat burdened and overtasked with all -the hard work which he had gone through in his early life; and as for -the rest, he found he had done society a great injustice in estimating -its resources so meanly as he had been used to do. By degrees he gave -up the rule which he had at first kept so strictly, never to go into -ladies' society; and the first plunge made he felt that he enjoyed -himself therein more than in any other. He found that his reputation, -which had been considerably increased by the literary work on which he -had recently engaged, smoothed the way for him on first introduction; -and that the fact of his being a middle-aged widower secured for him -that pleasant license accorded to fogies, of which only fogies are -thoroughly conscious and appreciative. Instead of losing caste or -position, he felt that he had gained it; all the best people who had -been his patients in the old days kept up their acquaintance with him, -and asked him to their houses; and after the publication of a paper by -him on a momentous subject of the day, containing new and striking -views which at once commanded public attention and attracted public -comment, he was placed on a Royal Commission among some of the first -men of the time, and an intimation was conveyed to him that Government -would be glad to avail themselves of his services.</p> - -<p>And the old wearing, tearing feeling of love and disappointment and -regret which had blighted so many hours of his life, and which he -thought at one time would sap life itself, was gone, was it? Well, not -entirely. It had been an era in his life which was never to be -forgotten, which was never to be otherwise renewed. Night after night -he saw pretty charming girls, all of whom would have been pleased by a -flattering word from the celebrated Dr. Wilmot, many of whom would -have listened more than complacently to anything he might have chosen -to say to them,--"he is very rich, my dear, and goes into excellent -society." But he never said anything, because he never thought -anything of the kind. Sometimes when alone, in the pauses of his work, -he would look up from off his book or his paper, and then straightway -he would see--although his thoughts had been previously engrossed with -something entirely different--a bright flushed face, with blue eyes, -and a nimbus of golden hair surrounding it. But for a moment he would -see it, and then it would fade away; but in that moment how many -memories had it evoked! Sometimes he would take from a special drawer -in his desk a small knot of blue ribbon, and a thin letter, frayed in -its folds, and bearing traces of having been for some time carried in -the pocket. Slight memorials these of the only love of a lifetime -which had now extended to some forty years; not much to show in return -for an all-absorbing passion which at one time threatened to have dire -effect on his health, on his life--yet cherished all the more, -perhaps, on account of their insignificance! These were memorials of -Miss Kilsyth, be it understood: of Mrs. Ramsay Caird Chudleigh always -rigidly repeated to himself that he knew nothing--that he never would -know anything.</p> - -<p>But one morning Chudleigh Wilmot was sitting in his library after his -breakfast, his slippered feet resting idly on a chair, he himself in -placid enjoyment of the newspaper and a cigar, which, since he had -freed himself from professional restraint, he had taken as a pleasant -solace, when suddenly, and without being in any way led up to, the -subject of his dream of the previous night flashed suddenly across his -mind. It was about Madeleine. He remembered that he had seen her lying -outstretched on her bed dead; there were Christmas berries in her -golden hair, and the robe which covered her was embroidered with the -initial letters of his name twisted into a monogram, such as was -engraved on the binding of a present of books which he had recently -received from one of his great friends, and on the little finger of -her hand, which lay outside the coverlet, was Mabel's signet-ring. He -remembered all this vividly now; remembered too how, when he had gone -forward with the intention of taking off the ring, a female form, clad -in dark sweeping garments, but with its face shrouded, had risen by -the bedside and motioned him away. He remembered how he felt -persuaded, although the face was hidden, that the form was known to -him--was that of Henrietta Prendergast; how he had persisting in -approaching; and how at length the muffled form had spoken, saying -only these words, "It was not to be!" What followed he could not -remember: there was a kind of chaos, out of which rose figures of -Whittaker and Colonel Jefferson, the man whom he had met in Scotland, -and Ronald Kilsyth in full uniform, with his sword drawn and pointed -at his (Chudleigh's) heart; and then he had waked, and the whole -remembrance of the dream had departed from him until that moment, when -simultaneously the door of his room was thrown open, and Ronald -Kilsyth stood before him.</p> - -<p>That was no dream. Wilmot thought at first that his waking fancies -were running in the track of his sleeping thoughts; but there was -Ronald Kilsyth, somewhat changed from the man he remembered--less grim -and stoical, a trifle less cynical, and a trifle more human,--but -still Ronald Kilsyth standing before him.</p> - -<p>"You are surprised to see me, Dr. Wilmot," said Ronald, advancing -hesitatingly,--"surprised to see me here, after--after so long an -interval."</p> - -<p>"On the last occasion of our meeting, Captain Kilsyth," replied -Wilmot, "you were good enough to tell me that you objected to the -ordinary set phrases of society, and preferred straightforward -answers. I have not forgotten that interview, or anything that passed -therein; and I have every desire, believe me, to accommodate you--at -least so far as that wish is concerned. My straightforward answer to -your question is, I <i>am</i> surprised to see you in this house."</p> - -<p>"I looked for no other reply. You seem to forget that, even so far ago -as our last meeting, you were pleased to fall in with my whim, and to -answer me with perfect candour, however painful it might have been--it -was--to you. That conversation will doubtless be remembered by you, -Dr. Wilmot."</p> - -<p>What did this mean? Was the man come here, in the assurance of his own -cold, calm stoicism, to triumph over him? Whence this most indecorous -outrage on his privacy, this insult to his feelings? Of all men, this -man knew how he had suffered, and how he had borne his sufferings. -Why, then, was he here, at such a moment, with such words on his lips?</p> - -<p>"I perfectly remember that conversation, Captain Kilsyth," was all -Wilmot replied.</p> - -<p>"You will spare me, then, a great deal of acute pain in referring to -it," said Ronald. "Refer to it I must, but my reference will be of the -most general kind. I sought that interview beseeching you"--Wilmot -gave a short half-laugh, which Ronald noticed--"Well, you stickle for -terms, it appears,--demanding of you to give up a pursuit in which you -were then engaged--a pursuit to which you attached the greatest -interest, but which I knew would not only be futile in its results to -you, but would be fraught with distress and danger to one who was very -dear to me. You acquiesced in my reasoning--at great sorrow and -disappointment to yourself, I know--and you gave up the pursuit."</p> - -<p>"You are very good to make such large allowances for me, Captain -Kilsyth," said Wilmot in a hard dry voice. "Yes, I gave it up; at -great sorrow and disappointment to myself, as you are good enough to -say."</p> - -<p>"I can fully understand the feelings which now influence you, Dr. -Wilmot," said Ronald, far more gently than was his wont; "and, believe -me, I do not quarrel with or take exception at the tone in which they -are now expressed. You gave up that pursuit, and you carried out the -intention you then expressed to me of leaving England."</p> - -<p>"I did. I left England within a fortnight of that conversation. I -should not have returned when I did--I should not have returned even -now, most probably--had it not been for circumstances then utterly -unforeseen, but of which you may have heard, which compelled me to -come back at once."</p> - -<p>Ronald bowed; he had heard of those circumstances, he said.</p> - -<p>"And now, pardon me, Captain Kilsyth, if I just run through what has -occurred. It cannot be, you will allow, less unpleasant for me to do -so than for you; but since we have met again,--at an interview not of -my seeking, recollect,--it is as well that they should be understood. -You told me in my consulting-room in Charles-street that you had -reason to believe that your sister, Miss Kilsyth, was--let us put it -plainly--loved by me. You said that, or at least you implied that, you -had reason to believe that she was interested in me. You told me that -any question of marriage between us was impossible; first, because I -had originally made your sister's acquaintance when I was a married -man; secondly, because my station in life--you put it kindly, as a -gentleman would, but that was the gist of your argument--because my -station in life was inferior to hers. I do not know, Captain Kilsyth," -continued Wilmot, whose voice grew harder as he proceeded, "that your -reasoning was so subtle in either case as not to admit of controversy, -perhaps even of disproof; but I felt that when a young lady's name was -in question, when there was, as you assured me there was--and you were -much more a man of the world than I--the chance of the slightest slur -being cast on her, it was my duty to sacrifice my own feelings, -however strong they might have been in the matter. I did so. To the -best of my ability I stamped out my love; I pocketed my pride; I gave -up the best feelings of my nature, and I did as you and your friends -wished. I went abroad, and remained grizzling and feeding on my own -heart for months. At length I heard of a stroke of good fortune which -had befallen me. I had previously made for myself a name which was -respected and honoured; and you, who know more of these things than -your compeers, or people in your 'set,' can appreciate the worth of -the renown which a man makes off his own bat by the exercise of his -talents; and by the chance which I have named I had now inherited a -fortune--a large fortune for any man not born to wealth. When this -news reached me, my first thought was, Now, surely, my coast is clear. -I can go back to England; I can say to Miss Kilsyth's friends, I am -renowned; I am rich; I am, I hope, a gentleman in the ordinary -acceptation of the term. If this young lady will accept my court, why -should it not be paid her? Within twenty-four hours of my learning of -my inheritance, of my determination, I heard that Miss Kilsyth was -married."</p> - -<p>"There was no stipulation, I believe, Dr. Wilmot--at least so far as I -am concerned--no compact, no given time during which Miss Kilsyth -should keep single, in the view of anything that might happen to you?"</p> - -<p>"None in the world; and so far as Miss Kilsyth is concerned--her name -is being bandied between us in the course of conversation, but it is -my duty to say that I have not the smallest atom of complaint to make -against her. To this hour, so far as I know, she is unacquainted with -my feelings towards her, and can consequently be held responsible for -no acts of hers at which I may feel aggrieved. But you must let me -continue. I will not tell you what effect the intelligence of Miss -Kilsyth's marriage had on me. I had been raised to the highest -pinnacle of hope, I was cast down into the lowest depths of despair. -That concerned no one but myself. I returned to England. Miss Kilsyth -was Mrs. Ramsay Caird--I had learned that from the public prints--no -private announcement, no wedding-cards awaited me. The story of my -vast inheritance got wind, as such things do, and all my friends--all -my acquaintance, let me say, to use a more fitting word, called on me -or sent their congratulations. From your family, from Mrs. Ramsay -Caird, I had not the slightest notice. The young lady whose life--if -you credit her father--I had saved a few months previously, and her -family, who professed themselves so grateful, ignored my existence. To -this hour I have had no communication with Kilsyth, with Lady Muriel, -with the Ramsay Cairds. I met Lady Muriel and her daughter once by the -merest accident--an accident entirely unsought by me--and they bowed -to me as though I were a tradesman who had been pestering for his -bill. What am I to gather from this treatment? One of two -things--either that I was regarded merely as the 'doctor' who was called -in when his services were needed, but who, when he had fulfilled his -functions and saved the patient, was no more to be recognised than the -butcher when he had supplied the required joint of meat; or that, by -those who knew, or thought they knew, the inner circumstances of the -case, my moral character was so highly esteemed that, guessing I had -been in love with Miss Kilsyth, it was judged expedient that I should -have no opportunity of acquaintance with Mrs. Ramsay Caird. I ask you, -Captain Kilsyth, which of these suppositions is correct?"</p> - -<p>Wilmot spoke with great warmth. Ronald Kilsyth looked on with wonder; -he could scarcely imagine that the man who now stood erect before him -with flashing eye and curled lips, every one of whose sentences rang -with scorn, was the same being who, on the occasion of their last -interview, had urged his suit so humbly, and accepted his dismissal -with such resignation.</p> - -<p>After a short pause Ronald said: "You speak strongly, Dr. Wilmot, very -strongly; but you have great cause for annoyance; and the fact that -you have borne it so long in silence of course adds to the violence of -your expressions now. I think I could soften your opinion--I think I -could show that my father and Lady Muriel have had some excuse for -their conduct; at all events, that they believed they were doing -rightly in acting as they did. But this is not the time for me to -enter into that discussion. I have come to you in the discharge of a -mission which is urgent and imperative. You know me to be a cold and a -proud man, Dr. Wilmot, and will therefore allow I must be convinced of -its urgency when I consented to undertake it. I have come to say to -you--leaving all things for the present unexplained, and even in the -state in which you have just described them--I have come to say to you -my sister is very ill; will you go and see her?" He was standing close -by Wilmot as he spoke, and saw him change colour, and reel as though -he would have fallen.</p> - -<p>"Very ill?" he said, after a moment's pause, with white lips and -trembling voice. "Mad--Mrs. Caird, very ill?"</p> - -<p>"Very ill; so ill, that my father is seriously alarmed about her; so -ill, that I have obeyed his wishes, and ask you to come to her."</p> - -<p>Wilmot was silent for a moment, in thought; not that he had the -smallest doubt as to what he should do; but the news had come so -suddenly upon him, that he could scarcely comprehend its significance. -Then he said, "Where is she? in town?"</p> - -<p>"She is--at her own house. I know I am asking you a great deal in -begging you to go there, but--you won't refuse us, Wilmot?"</p> - -<p>"I will go at once to your sister, Captain Kilsyth," said Wilmot, -pressing Ronald's outstretched hand; "and God grant I may be of -service to her!"</p> - -<p>"I won't say any thanks; but you know how grateful we shall all of us -be. Perhaps Madeleine had better be a little prepared for your visit; -if you were to meet quite unexpectedly, it might agitate her."</p> - -<p>Wilmot agreed in this, and promised to come that afternoon.</p> - -<p>It was three o'clock--just the hour when Squab-street woke up, and -became alive to the fact that day had dawned. The light had indeed -penetrated the little street at its usual hour, and the sun had shone; -but still Squab-street could not be considered to be fully awake. -Tradesmen had come and gone; area-bells had rung out shrilly; grooms -on horseback had followed the Amazon daughters of the natives to the -morning-ride in the Row; governesses had arrived, and had taken their -young charges into the neighbouring square garden for bodily exercise -and mental recreation; neat little broughams had deposited neat little -foreigners, whose admission into the houses had been immediately -followed by the thumping of the piano and the screaming of the female -voice; but the cream of Squab-street society had not yet been seen, -save by its female attendants. Three o'clock, however, had arrived; -luncheon was over, carriages began to rattle up and down, the street -resounded with double knocks indefinitely prolonged, and all the -little passages were redolent of hair-powder. All society's -mummers were acting away at their hardest; and all who passed up and -down Squab-street were too much engrossed with themselves or their -fellow-performers to notice a very blank and mournful face looking out -at them from the drawing-room window of the little house at the corner -of the mews. This was Kilsyth's face, which had been planted against -the window for the previous half-hour, in anxious expectation of -Wilmot's arrival. Sick at heart, and overpowered by anxiety, the old -man had taken his position where he could catch the first glimpse of -him on whom his life now solely rested; and he scanned every vehicle -that approached with eager eyes. At length a brougham, very different -from that in which he used to pay his visits in his professional days, -perfectly appointed, and drawn by horses which even Clement Penruddock -himself could not have designated as "screws," drew up at the door, -and Wilmot jumped out. Two minutes afterwards Kilsyth, with his eyes -full of tears, was holding both his friend's hands, and murmuring to -him his thanks.</p> - -<p>"I knew you would come!" he said; "I knew you would come! No matter -what had happened in the interval--no matter that, as they told me, -you had retired from practice and went nowhere--I said, 'Let him know -that Madeleine is very ill, and he'll come! he'll be sure to come!'"</p> - -<p>"And you said right, my dear sir," said Wilmot, returning the friendly -pressure; "and I only hope to Heaven that my coming now may be as -efficacious as it was when you summoned me to Kilsyth--ah, how long -ago that seems! Now tell me--for my conversation with Captain Kilsyth -was necessarily brief, and admitted of no details concerning the state -of his sister--the tendency to weakness on the lungs, which I spoke to -you about just before I left Scotland, has increased, I fear?"</p> - -<p>"It has been increasing rapidly, we fancy, for the last few months; -and she is now never free from a cough, a hollow, dreadful cough, the -paroxysms of which are sometimes terrible, and leave her perfectly -exhausted. She never complains; on the contrary, she makes light of -it, and struggles to hide her pain and weakness from us. But I fear -she is very, very ill!" The old man's voice sunk as he said this, and -the tears flowed down his cheeks.</p> - -<p>"Come, come, you must not give way, my good friend; while there's life -there's hope, you know; and what is very dreadful and hopeless to an -unprofessional eye has a very different aspect frequently to those who -have studied these diseases. I think Captain Kilsyth came here to -prepare Mrs. Caird for my visit?"</p> - -<p>"O yes, she expects you. She was greatly excited at first; so much so -that we were afraid she would do herself harm; but I think she is -calmer now."</p> - -<p>"Then perhaps I had better go to her at once. It is always desirable -in these cases as much as possible to avoid suspense. Will you show me -the way?"</p> - -<p>They went upstairs together; and when they arrived at the room, -Kilsyth opened the door, and left Wilmot to enter by himself. As the -door closed behind him, he looked up, and saw the woman whom he had -loved with such devotion and yet with such bitter regret. She was -lying on a sofa drawn across the window, propped up by pillows. She -turned round at the noise of his entrance; and as soon as she -recognised her visitor, her cheeks flushed to the deepest crimson. -Wilmot advanced rapidly, with as cheerful a smile as he could assume, -and took her hand--her hot, wasted, and trembling hand--within both of -his. She was dreadfully changed--he saw that in an instant. There were -deep hollows in her cheeks, and round her blue eyes, which were now -feverishly bright and lustrous, there were large bistre circles. She -wore a white dressing-gown trimmed with blue,--such a one as was -associated with his earliest recollections of her; and as he saw her -lying back and looking up at him with earnest trusting gaze, he was -reminded of the first time he saw her in the fever at Kilsyth, but -with O what a difference in his hope of saving her!</p> - -<p>"You see I have come back to you, Mrs. Caird," said Wilmot, seating -himself by the sofa, but still retaining her hand. "You thought you -had got rid of me for ever; but I am like the bottle-imp in the story, -impossible to be sent away. Now, own you are surprised to see me!"</p> - -<p>"I am not indeed, Dr. Wilmot," Madeleine replied, in a voice the -hollow tones of which went to Wilmot's heart. Ah, how unlike the -sweet, clear, ringing tones which he so well remembered! "I am not -indeed surprised to see you. I had a perfect conviction," she said -very calmly, "that I should see you once again. At that time--at -Kilsyth, you remember--I thought I was going to die, you know; and -when I knew I should recover, as I lay in a dreamy half-conscious -state, I recollect having a presentiment that when I did die you would -be near me--that you would stand by my bedside, as you used to do, -and--"</p> - -<p>"My dearest Mrs. Caird, I cannot listen to you; my--my child, for -God's sake don't talk in that way! I used to have to tell you to calm -yourself, you know; but now you must rouse up--you must indeed."</p> - -<p>"O no, Dr. Wilmot; not rouse myself to any action, not wake up again -to the dreary struggle of life! O no; let me sink quietly into my -grave, but--"</p> - -<p>His hand trembled with emotion as he laid his finger lightly on her -lip, and his voice was choked and husky as he said: "I must insist! -You used to obey me implicitly, you recollect; and you must show that -you have not forgotten your old ways. And now tell me all about -yourself."</p> - -<p>Half an hour afterwards, as Wilmot was descending the stairs, he met -Kilsyth at the drawing-room door, with haggard looks and trembling -hands, waiting for him. They went into the drawing-room together; and -the old man, carefully closing the door behind him, turned to his -friend, and said in broken accents; "Well, what do you say? what--what -do you think?"</p> - -<p>Wilmot's face was very grave, graver than Kilsyth had ever seen it, -even at the worst time of the fever, as he said: "I think it is a very -serious case, my dear friend--a very serious case."</p> - -<p>"Has the--the mischief increased much since you detected it--up in -Scotland?"</p> - -<p>"The disease has spread very rapidly--very rapidly indeed."</p> - -<p>"And you--you think that she is--in danger?"</p> - -<p>"I think--it would be useless, it would be unmanly in me to withhold -the truth from you; I fear that Mrs. Caird's state is imminently -dangerous, and that--"</p> - -<p>Wilmot stopped, for Kilsyth reeled and almost fell. Recovering himself -after a moment, he said, in a low hoarse whisper: "Change of -climate--Madeira--Egypt--anywhere?"</p> - -<p>"No; she has not sufficient strength to bear the journey. If she had -spent last winter at Cannes, and had gone on in the spring to -Egypt--but it is too late."</p> - -<p>"Too late!" shrieked Kilsyth, bursting into an agony of grief; "too -late! My darling child! my darling, darling child!"</p> - -<p>"My poor friend," said Wilmot, himself deeply affected, "what can I -say to comfort you in this awful trial? what can I do?"</p> - -<p>"One thing!" said the old man, rising from the sofa on which he had -thrown himself, "there is one thing you can do--visit her, watch her, -attend her; you'll see her again, won't you, Wilmot?"</p> - -<p>"Constantly--and to the end. She knows that. I made her that promise -just now;" and he wrung his friend's hand and left him.</p> -<br> - -<p>"Dr. Wilmot, I believe? Will you oblige me by two minutes' -conversation? You don't remember me? I am Mr. Caird. In this room, if -you please."</p> - -<p>Wilmot, thus inducted into the dining-room, bowed, and took the chair -pointed out to him. He had not recognised Mr. Caird at the first -glance in the dim little passage; but he knew him again now, albeit -Mr. Caird's style of dress and general bearing were very different -from what they had been in the old days. Mr. Caird had just come in, -and brought a great quantity of tobacco-smoke in with him; and a -decanter of brandy, an empty soda-water bottle, and a fizzing tumbler, -were on the table before him.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon for troubling you, Dr. Wilmot; but I didn't know -you were expected, or I should of course have been here to meet you. -The people in Brook-street manage all these matters in--well, to say -the least of it, in a curious way. You have seen Mrs. Caird--what is -your opinion of her?"</p> - -<p>What Wilmot knew of this man was that he was courteous, gentlemanly, -and good-tempered--all in his favour. He had heard the rumours current -in society about Caird, but they had passed unheeded by him; men of -Wilmot's calibre pay little attention to rumours. So he said, "Do you -wish me to tell you my real opinion, Mr. Caird?"</p> - -<p>"Your real, candid opinion."</p> - -<p>Then Wilmot repeated what he had said to Kilsyth.</p> - -<p>The young man looked at him earnestly for a moment; shook his head as -though he had been struck a sudden, stunning blow; then muttered -involuntarily, as it were, "Poor Maddy!"</p> - -<p>Wilmot rose to go, but Caird stopped him. "One question more, Dr. -Wilmot--how long may--may the end be deferred?"</p> - -<p>"I should fear not more than a few--three or four--months."</p> - -<p>When Wilmot was gone, Ramsay Caird, having lit a fresh cigar, said -"Poor Maddy!" again; but this time he added, "since it was to be, it -will be, about the time;" and for the next hour he occupied himself -with arithmetical calculations in his pocketbook.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_13" href="#div1Ref_13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h4> -<h5>Quand même!</h5> -<br> - -<p>In years to come it was destined to be a marvel to Wilmot how he lived -through the days and the weeks of that time. If they had not been so -entirely filled with supreme suffering, with despairing effort--if -there had been any interval, any relaxation from the immense task -imposed upon him, he might have broken down under it. He might have -said, "I will not stay here, and see this woman whom I love die in her -youth, in her beauty, in the very springtide of her life. I will go -away. I will not see it, at least; I who have not the right to shut -out all others, and gather up the last days of her life into a -treasury of remembrance, in which no other shall have a share. No man -is called upon to suffer that which he can avoid. I will go!" But -there was no time for Wilmot, no chance for him to reach such a -conclusion, to take this supreme resolution of despair. The whole -weight of the family trouble was thrown upon him; and he, in -comparison with whose grief that of all the others, except Kilsyth's, -was insignificant, was the one to whom all looked for support and -hope. As for Ramsay Caird, he adopted the easy and plausible <i>rôle</i> of -a sanguine man. He had the greatest possible respect for Dr. Wilmot's -opinion, the utmost confidence in his ability; but the doctor's talent -gave him the very best grounds for security. He was quite sure Wilmot -would set Madeleine all right. She had youth on her side--and only -just think how Wilmot had "pulled her through" at Kilsyth! And as -nobody occupied themselves particularly with what Ramsay thought, he -was permitted to indulge his incorrigible <i>insouciance</i>, and to render -to Dr. Wilmot's talent the original homage of believing it superior to -his judgment and his avowed conviction. For the rest, Ramsay professed -himself, and with reason, to be the worst person in the world in a -sickroom--no use, and "awfully frightened;" and accordingly he seldom -made his appearance in Madeleine's room, after the daily visit of a -few minutes, which was <i>de rigueur</i>, and during which he invariably -received the same answer to his inquiries, that she was better--a -statement which it suited him to receive as valid, and which he -therefore did so receive. Wilmot saw very little of him; no part of -the hardness of his task came to him from Madeleine's husband. It was -at her father's hands that Wilmot suffered most, and most constantly. -Kilsyth held two articles of faith in connection with Wilmot: the -first, that he was infallible in judgment; the second, that he was -inexhaustible in skill and resources. And now these articles of belief -clashed, and Kilsyth was swayed about between them,--a prey now to -helpless grief, again to groundless and unreasonable hope. Certainly -Madeleine was very ill. Wilmot was right, no doubt; but then Wilmot -would save her: he had saved her before, when she was also very ill. -Then the poor father would have the difference between fever and -consumption, in point of assured fatality, forced upon his attention, -and an interval of despair would set in. But whether his mood was hope -or despair, an effort to attain resignation, or a mere stupor of fear -and grief, Wilmot had to witness, Wilmot had to combat them all. The -old man clung to the doctor with piteous eagerness and tenacity on his -way to begin the watch over his patient which he maintained daily for -hours, as he had done in the old time at Kilsyth--time in reality so -lately past, but seeming like an entire lifetime ago. When he left her -to take the short and troubled sleep which fell upon her in the -afternoon; in the evening, when he came again; at night, after he had -administered the medicine which was to procure her a temporary -reprieve from the cough, which her father could no longer endure to -hear, Kilsyth would waylay him, beset him with questions, with -entreaties--or, worse still, look speechless into his face with -imploring haggard eyes.</p> - -<p>This to the man for whom the young life ebbing away, with terrific -rapidity indeed, but with merciful ease on the whole, was the one -treasure held by the earth, so rich for others, such a wilderness for -him! Yes--her life! When he knew she was married, and thus parted from -him for ever, he had thought the worst that could have come to him had -come. But from the moment he had looked again into the innocent sweet -blue eyes, and read, with the unerring glance of the practised -physician, that death was looking out at him from them, he learned his -error. Then too he learned how much, and with what manner of love, he -loved Madeleine Kilsyth.</p> - -<p>"Give her life, and not death, O gracious Disposer of both! and I am -satisfied--and I am happy! Life, though I never see her face again; -life, though she never hears my name spoken, or remembers me in her -lightest thought; life, though it be to bless her husband, and to -transmit her name to his children; life, though mine be wasted at the -ends of the earth!" This was the cry of his soul, the utterance of the -strong man's anguish. But he knew it was not to be; the physician's -eye had been unerring indeed.</p> - -<p>Lady Muriel bore herself on this, as on every other occasion, -irreproachably. The first enunciation of the doctor's opinion had -startled her. She did not love her stepdaughter, but of late she had -been on more affectionate terms with her; and it was not possible that -she could learn that she was doomed to an early death without terror -and grief. Lady Muriel knew well how unspeakably dear to Kilsyth his -daughter was; and apart from her keen womanly sympathies all enlisted -for the fair young sufferer, she felt with agonising acuteness for her -husband's suffering. The first meeting between Lady Muriel and Wilmot -had been under agitating circumstances; and the appeal made to him by -Kilsyth had at once established him on the old footing with them--a -footing which had not existed previously in London, having been -interrupted by Wilmot's domestic affliction, and the tacit but -resolute opposition of Ronald. But even then, in that first interview, -when emotion was permissible, when Dr. Wilmot was forced by his -position to make a communication to the father and brother which even -a stranger must necessarily have found painful, and though he imposed -superhuman control over his feelings, Lady Muriel had seen the truth, -or as much of the truth as one human being can ever see of the -verities of the heart of another. She had received him gravely, but so -that, had he eared to interpret her manner, it might have told him he -was welcome in more than the sense of his value in this dread -emergency; and it had been a sensible relief to Ronald to perceive -that Lady Muriel had not suffered the pride and suspicion which had -dictated her remonstrance to him to appear in any word or look of hers -which Wilmot could perceive. But when Lady Muriel was alone she said -to herself bitterly:</p> - -<p>"He did love her, then; he does love her! He is awfully changed; and -this has changed him--to her illness, not the fear of her death--the -change is the work of months--but the loss of her. Her marriage--this -has made his life valueless, this has made him what he is." Then she -remained for a long time sunk in thought, her dark eyes shaded by her -hand. At length she said, half aloud,</p> - -<p>"She is not all to be pitied, even if this be indeed true and past -remedy. She has been well beloved."</p> - -<p>There was a whole history of solitude and vain aspiration in the -words. Had not she too, Lady Muriel Kilsyth, been well beloved? True; -but all the homage, all the devotion of an inferior nature could not -satisfy hers. This woman would be content only with the love of a man -her intellectual superior, her master in strength of purpose and of -will. She had seen him; he had come; and he loved not her, but the -simple girl with blue eyes and golden hair who was dying, and whom he -would love faithfully when she should be dead. Lady Muriel did not -deceive herself. She had the perfect comprehension of Wilmot which -occult sympathy gives--she knew that he would never love another -woman. She knew, when she recalled the ineffable mournfulness which -sat upon his face, not the garment of an occasion, but the habitual -expression which it had taken, that the hope which but for her -might have been realised, had been the forlorn hope of his life. It -was over now; and he was beaten by fate, by death, by Lady Muriel's -will. He would lay down his arms; he would never struggle again.</p> - -<p>Knowing this, Lady Muriel Kilsyth dreamed no more. The vision of a -love which, pure and blameless, would have elevated, fortified, and -sweetened her life, faded never to return. Her gentle stepdaughter, -who would have been incapable of such a thought or such a wish, had -she known how Lady Muriel had acted towards her, was at that moment -amply avenged.</p> - -<p>In vain she had laboured to effect this loveless marriage; in vain she -had placed in the untrustworthy hands of Ramsay Caird the happiness -and the fortune of her husband's beloved daughter; in vain had she -been deaf to the truer, better promptings of her conscience, to the -haunting thought of the responsibility which she had undertaken -towards the girl, to the remembrance of Madeleine's dead mother, which -sometimes came to her and troubled her sorely; in vain had she tempted -that dread and inexorable law of retribution, which might fall upon -the heads of her own children. How mad, how guilty, she had been! She -saw it all now; she understood it all now. How could she, who had -learned to comprehend, to appreciate Wilmot,--how could she have -imagined for a moment that any sentiment once really entertained by -him could be light and passing! She recognised, with respect at least, -if with an abiding sense of humiliation, the truth, the strength, the -eternal duration of Wilmot's love for Madeleine. Truly, many things, -in addition to the beautiful young form, were destined to go down into -the grave of Madeleine Kilsyth.</p> - -<p>There was so much similarity between the thoughts of Lady Muriel and -those of Chudleigh Wilmot, that he too, after that first visit, which -had shown him the dying girl and revealed to him how he loved her, -pondered also upon an unconscious vengeance fulfilled.</p> - -<p>Mabel! She had died in his absence, neglected by him, inflicting upon -him an agonising doubt, almost a certainty, but at least a doubt never -to be resolved in this world--a dread never to be set at rest. He did -not believe that had he been with her he could have saved her; but no -matter: he had stayed away; he had given to another the love, the -care, the time, the skill that should have been hers, that were her -right by every law human and divine. And now! The woman he had -preferred to her, the woman by whose side he had lingered, the woman -he loved, was dying, and he had come to her aid too late! He could see -her, it was true; he might be with her; it was possible he might hear -her last words--might see her draw her last breath; but she was lost -to him, lost unwon, lost for ever, as Mabel had been! It was late in -the night before Wilmot had sufficiently mastered these thoughts and -the emotions which they aroused to be able to apply himself to -studying the details of Madeleine's ease, and arranging his plan, not -indeed of cure, but of alleviation.</p> - -<p>Among the letters awaiting his attention there was one from Mrs. -Prendergast. She requested him to call on her; she wished to consult -him concerning the matter they had talked of. The following morning he -wrote her a line saying he could not attend to anything for the -present; and subsequently Henrietta learned from Mrs. Charlton, -through Mrs. M'Diarmid, that Wilmot had consented to act as physician -to Mrs. Caird, whom he pronounced to be in hopeless consumption.</p> - -<p>Henrietta went home grave and pensive, thinking much of her dead -friend, Mabel Wilmot.</p> - -<p>Time had gone inexorably on since that day, laden every hour of it -with grief to Wilmot, with immense and complicated responsibility, -with the dread of the rapidly-approaching end. There had been -hours--no, not hours, moments--when he almost persuaded himself that -he might be wrong, that it was still time, that a warm climate might -yet avail. But the delusion was only momentary; and he had told -Madeleine's father and brother from the first that she was unfit for a -journey, that the most merciful course was to let her die at home in -peace, among the people and the things to whom and to which she was -accustomed. He understood the attachment of an invalid to the -inanimate objects around her; an attachment strongly developed in -Madeleine, whose dressing-room, where she lay on the sofa all day, -contained all her girlish treasures. She was always awake early in the -morning, and anxious to be carried from her bed to her sofa, whence -she would wistfully watch the door until it opened and admitted -Wilmot. Then she would smile--such a happy smile too! Only a pale -reflection in point of brightness, it is true, of the radiant smile of -the past, but full of the old trust and happiness and peace. Her -father came early too, and received the report of how she had passed -the night, and controlled himself wonderfully, poor old man! for -agitation and disquiet were very bad for his darling; and he was -strengthened by Wilmot's example. It never occurred to Kilsyth to -remember that Wilmot was "only the doctor," and therefore might well -be calm; he never reasoned about Wilmot at all--he only felt and -trusted. The world outside the sickroom went on as usual. Within it -Madeleine Caird lay dying, not poetically, not of the fanciful -extinction which consumption becomes in the hands of the poet and the -romancer, but of the genuine, veritable, terrible disease, not to be -robbed by wealth, or even by comfort or skill, of its terrors. Those -who know what is meant when a person is said to be dying of -consumption need no amplification of the awful significance of the -phrase. Those who do not--may they remain in their ignorance!</p> - -<p>And Madeleine? And the contending emotions, amid the varied suffering -which surrounded her, and had all its origin in her, how was it with -Madeleine? On the whole, it was well. A strange phrase to apply to a -young woman, a young wife, an idolised daughter, who was dying thus, -of a disease which kills more thoroughly, so to speak, than any other, -doing its dread office with slowness, and marking its progress day by -day. She knew she was dying, though sometimes she did not feel it very -keenly; the idea did not come to her as relating to herself, but with -a sort of outside meaning. This dulness would last for days, and then -she would be struck by the truth again, and would realise it with all -the strength of mind and body left to her. Realise it, not to be -terrified by it, not to resist it, not to appeal against it, but to -accept it, to acquiesce in it, to be satisfied and profoundly quiet. -Madeleine's notions of God and eternity were vague, like those of most -young people. She had been brought up in a careful observance of the -forms of the Episcopal Church in Scotland, and she had always had a -certain devotional turn, which accompanies good taste and purity of -mind in young girls. But she had never looked at life or death -seriously, in the true sense, at all. Sentimentally she had considered -both, extensively of course; had she not read all the poetry she could -lay her hands on, and a vast number of essays? Of late a voice whose -tones she had never before heard, still and small, had spoken to -her--spoken much and solemnly in her girlish heart, and had taught -her, in the silent suffering and doubt, the unseen struggle she had -undergone, great things. She kept her own counsel; she listened, and -was still; and the chain of earth fell from her fair soul while yet it -held her fair form in its coil a little longer. Madeleine had looked -into her life to find the meaning of her Creator in it. She had found -it, and she was ready for the summons, which was not to tarry long.</p> - -<p>One day, when she had told Wilmot that she was wonderfully easy, had -had quite a good night, and had hardly coughed at all since morning, -he was sitting by her sofa, and she, lying with her face turned -towards him, had fallen into a light sleep. He drew a coverlet closely -round her, and signed to the nurse that she might leave the room. Then -he sat quite still, his face rigid, his hands clasped, looking at her; -looking at the thin pale face, with the blazing spots of red upon the -cheekbones, with the darkened eyelids, the sunken temples, the dry red -lips, the damp, limp, golden hair. As in a phantasmagoria, the days at -Kilsyth passed before him; the day of his arrival, the day the nurse -had asked him whether the golden hair must be cut off, the day he -had pronounced her out of danger. Outwardly calm and stern, what a -storm of anguish he was tossed upon! Words and looks and little -incidents--small things, but infinite to him--came up and tormented -him. Then came a sense of unreality; it could not be, it was not the -same Madeleine; this was not Kilsyth's beautiful daughter. His hands -went up to his face, and a groan burst from his lips. The sound -frightened him. He looked at her again; and as he looked, her eyes -opened, and she began to speak. Then came the frightful, the -inevitable cough. He lifted her upon his arm, kneeling by her side, -and the paroxysm passed over. Then she looked at him very gently and -sweetly, and said:</p> - -<p>"Are we quite alone?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Do you remember one night at Kilsyth, when I was very ill, I asked -you whether I was going to die?"</p> - -<p>"I remember," he said, with a desperate effort to keep down a sob.</p> - -<p>"And I told you I was very glad when you said, 'No.' Do you remember?"</p> - -<p>"Yes--I remember."</p> - -<p>She paused and looked at him; her blue eyes were as steady as they -were bright. "If I asked you, but I don't--I don't"--she put out her -wasted hand. He took the thin fingers in his, and trembled at their -touch--"because I know--but if I did, you would not make me the same -answer now."</p> - -<p>He did not speak, he did not look at her; but her eyes pertinaciously -sought his, and he was forced to meet them. She smiled again, and her -fingers clasped themselves round his.</p> - -<p>"You will always be papa's friend," she said. "Poor papa--he will miss -me very much; the girls are too young as yet. And Ronald--I have -something to say to you about Ronald. Sit here, close to me, in papa's -chair, and listen."</p> - -<p>He changed his seat in obedience to her, and listened; his head bent -down, and her golden hair almost touching his shoulder.</p> - -<p>"Something came between Ronald and me for a little while," she said, -her low voice, which had hardly lost its sweetness at all, thrilling -the listener with inexpressible pain. "I cannot tell what exactly; but -it is all over now, and he is--as he used to be--the best and kindest -of brothers. But there is someone--not papa; I am not talking of poor -papa now--better and kinder still. Do you know whom I mean?" The sweet -steady blue eyes looked at him quite innocent and unabashed. "I Mean -<i>you</i>."</p> - -<p>"Me!" he said, looking up hastily; "me!"</p> - -<p>"Yes; best and kindest of all to me. And when Ronald will not have me -any longer, I want you to promise me to be his friend too. They say he -is hard in his disposition and his ways; he never was to me, but once -for a little while; and I should like him to see you often, and be -with you much, that he may be reminded of me. As long as he remembers -me he will not be hard to anyone; and he will remember me whenever he -sees you."</p> - -<p>Thus the sister interpreted the brother's late repentance, and -endeavoured to render it a source of blessing to the two men whom she -loved.</p> - -<p>"When you left Kilsyth," she said, "and came here, and when I heard -the dreadful affliction that had befallen you, it made me very -unhappy. It seemed, somehow, awful to me that sorrow should have come -to you through me."</p> - -<p>"It did not," he replied. "Don't think so; don't say so! Did anyone -tell you so? It would have come all the same--"</p> - -<p>"It would not," she said solemnly; "it would not. If I never felt it -before, I must have come to feel it now, that I caused unconsciously a -dreadful misfortune. You are here with me; you make suffering, you -make death, light and easy to me. And you were away from <i>her</i> when -she was dying who had a right to look for you by her side. I hope she -has forgiven me where all is forgiven."</p> - -<p>There was silence between them for a while. Wilmot's agony was quite -beyond description, and almost beyond even his power of self-control. -Madeleine was quite calm; but the bright red spots had faded away from -her cheekbones, and she was deadly pale. His eyes were fixed upon her -face--eagerly, despairingly, as though he would have fixed it before -them for ever, a white phantom to beset, of his free will, all his -future life. Another racking fit of coughing came on, and then, when -it had subsided, Madeleine fell again into one of the sudden short -sleeps which had become habitual to her, and which told Wilmot so -plainly of the progress of exhaustion. It was only of a few minutes' -duration; and when she again awoke, her cheeks had the red spots on -them once more. He watched her more and more eagerly, to see if she -would resume the tone in which she had been speaking, and which, while -it tortured him to listen to it, he had not the courage to interrupt -or interdict. There was a little, a very little more excitement in the -voice and in the eyes as she said,</p> - -<p>"You are not going to be a doctor any more, they tell me, now that you -are a rich man."</p> - -<p>"No," he said, in a low but bitter tone. "I am done with doctoring. -All my skill and knowledge have availed me nothing, and they are -nothing to me any more."</p> - -<p>"Nothing! And why?"</p> - -<p>"O Madeleine," he said,--and as he spoke he fell on his knees beside -the sofa on which she lay--"how can you ask me? What have they -done for me? They have not saved you. I asked nothing else--no -other reward for all my years of labour and study and poverty and -insignificance--nothing but this. Even at Kilsyth, when you had the -fever, I asked nothing else. I got it then, for they did save you. -Yes, thank God; they did save you then for a little time! But now, -now--" And, forgetful of the agitation of his patient, forgetful of -everything in this supreme agony, Chudleigh Wilmot hid his face in the -coverlet of the sofa and wept--wept the burning and distracting tears -it is so dreadful to see a man shed. Madeleine raised herself up, and -tried to lift his head in her feeble, wasted hands. Then he recovered -himself with a tremendous effort, and was calm.</p> - -<p>"I must tell you," he said, "having said what you have heard. -Madeleine, there is no sin, no shame in what I am going to tell you. I -will tell it to your father and your brother yet; I would tell it to -your husband, Madeleine. When I went away from England, I took a -vision with me. It was, that I might return some time and ask for your -love. It faded, Madeleine; but I claim, as the one solitary -consolation which life can ever bring me, to tell you this: you are -the only woman I have ever loved."</p> - -<p>Madeleine looked at him still; the colour rose higher and brighter on -her wasted cheeks; the light blazed up in her blue eyes.</p> - -<p>"Did you love me," she said, "because you saved my life?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know, child. I loved you--I loved you! That is all I know. I -know I ought not to say it now; but I must, I must!"</p> - -<p>"Hush!" she said; "and don't shiver there, and don't cry. It is not -for such as you to do either!" He resumed his seat; she gave him her -hand again, and lay still looking at him--looking at him with her blue -eyes full of the inexplicably awful look which comes into the eyes of -the dying. After a while she smiled.</p> - -<p>"I am very glad you told me," she said. "People said you never cared -for the patient, only for the <i>case</i>; but since you have been here I -have known that was not true. It is better as it is. If your vision -had come true, I must have died all the same, and then it would have -been harder. It is easier now."</p> - -<p>Another fit of coughing--a frightful paroxysm this time. Wilmot rang -for the nurse, and Kilsyth and Lady Muriel entered the room with her.</p> -<br> -<p style="letter-spacing:2em; text-align:center">* * * * *</p> -<br> - -<p>Several hours later Madeleine was lying in the same place, still, -tranquil, and at ease. She had had a long interval of respite from the -cough, and was cheerful, even bright. Her father was there, and -Ronald; Lady Muriel also, but sitting at some distance from her, and -looking very sad.</p> - -<p>When the time came at which Madeleine was to be removed to her bed, -Ronald and Wilmot took leave; the first for the night, the second to -return an hour later, and give final instructions to the nurse.</p> - -<p>Wilmot's left hand hung down by his side as he stood near her, and -Madeleine touched a ring upon his little finger.</p> - -<p>"What is the motto on that ring?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"The untranslateable French phrase, which I always think is like a -shrug in words: <i>Quand même</i>," he replied.</p> - -<p>The ring was the seal-ring which his wife had been used to wear. It -struck him with a new and piercing pain, amid all the pains of this -dreadful day, that Madeleine should have noticed it, and reminded him -of it then.</p> - -<p>"<i>Quand même</i>," she said softly. "Notwithstanding, even so--ah, it -can't be said in English, but it means the same in every tongue." He -bent over her, no one was near, her eyes met his; she said, "I am very -happy--very happy, <i>Quand même!</i>"</p> -<br> -<p style="letter-spacing:2em; text-align:center">* * * * *</p> -<br> - -<p>Wilmot went home and sat down to think--to think over the words he had -spoken and heard. He was overpowered with the fatigue, the excitement, -the emotion of the day. A thousand confused images floated before his -weary eyes; the room seemed full of phantoms. Was this illness? Could -it be possible? No, that must not be; he could not be ill; he had not -time. After--yes, after, illness--anything! but not yet. He called for -wine and bread, and ate and drank. His thoughts became clearer, and -arranged themselves; then he became absorbed in reflection. He had -told his servant he should require the carriage in an hour, and, -hearing a noise in the hall, he started up, thinking the time had -come. He opened his study-door, and called--</p> - -<p>"Is that the brougham, Stephen?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir," said the man, presenting himself with an air of having -something important to say.</p> - -<p>"What is it, then?" said Wilmot impatiently. "A messenger from -Brook-street, sir; Captain Kilsyth's man, sir."</p> - -<p>Wilmot went out into the hall. The man was there, looking pale and -frightened.</p> - -<p>"What is it, Martin? what is it?"</p> - -<p>"Captain Kilsyth sent me, sir, to let you know that Mrs. Caird is -dead, sir,--a few minutes after you left, sir. Went off like a lamb. -They didn't know it, sir; till the nurse came to lift her into bed."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_14" href="#div1Ref_14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h4> -<h5>Forlorn.</h5> -<br> - -<p>Yes, she was dead; had died with a smile upon her lips; had died at -peace and charity with all; had died knowing that the man whom she had -looked up to and reverenced, had loved with all the pure and guileless -love of her young heart, had loved her also, and had so loved her that -he had suffered in silence, and only spoken when the confession could -bring no remorse to her, even no longing regret for what might have -been. Even no longing regret? No! "Happy, <i>quand même</i>," were the last -words that ever passed her lips; "happy, <i>quand même</i>,"--she had been -something to him after all! In the few short and fleeting hours which -she had passed between hearing Chudleigh Wilmot's confession, wrung -from his heart by the great agony which possessed him, she had -pondered over the words which he had spoken with inexpressible -delight. What can we tell, we creatures moulded in coarser clay, -creatures of baser passions, soiled in the perpetual contact with -earth, its mean fears and gross aspirations, if aspirations they may -be called,--what can we tell of the feelings of a young girl like -this? Death, which we contemplate as the King of Terrors, threatening -us with his uplifted dart, and destined to drag us away from the stage -of life, bright with its tawdry tinsel, and its garish splendour, came -to her in softer and more kindly guise. For months she had been -expecting the advent of the "shadow cloaked from head to foot," in -whose gentle embrace she knew that she must shortly find herself. -Those around her, her loving, doating father, Lady Muriel, Ronald, -softened by the silent contemplation of her gradually-decreasing -strength, the daily ebbing of physical force, the daily loosening of -even the slight hold on life which she possessed, visible even to his -unpractised eyes,--none of these had the smallest idea that the frail -delicate creature, round whose couch they stood day by day with forced -smiles and feigned hope, knew better than any of them, better even -than he whose professional skill had never been brought into such -play, how swiftly the current of her life was bearing her on to the -great rapids of Eternity. And if before she had heard those burning -words, intensified by the agony shown in the choking voice in which -they found their utterance, she had been able calmly and not -unwillingly to contemplate her fate, how much greater had been her -resignation, how much more readily did she accept the fiat when she -learned that the one love of her life had been returned; and that, -despite of all that had come between them, despite the interposition -of the dread barrier which had apparently so effectually separated -them from each other, the man who had been to her far beyond all -others, had singled her out as the object of his adoration!</p> - -<p>In those few last earthly hours the "what might have been" had passed -through her mind, and passed away again, leaving behind it no trace of -anguish or remorse. Not only to Wilmot had the time since their first -acquaintance at Kilsyth passed in review in phantasmagoric semblance; -Madeleine had often gone through such scenes in the short drama, -recollecting every detail, remembering much which had been overlooked -even in his rapid summary. "What might have been!" Even suppose the -dearest, the only real aspiration of her heart had been accomplished, -and sire had become Chudleigh Wilmot's wife, would not the inevitable -end have had additional distress and misery to both of them? The -inevitable end! for she must have died--she knew that; not for one -instant did she imagine that any combination of circumstances -different from what had actually occurred could have averted or -postponed the fulfilment of the dread decree. Her married life had not -been specially happy; then should she not have less regret in leaving -it? Would not the pangs of parting be robbed of half their bitterness -by the knowledge that her husband left behind would not sink under the -blow? What might have been? Ah, Wilmot would feel her loss acutely, -she knew that; the one outburst of grief, of passionate tenderness and -heartfelt agony which had escaped him had told her that; but he would -feel it less than if what might have been had been, and she had been -taken away from him in the early days of their love and happiness.</p> - -<p>A notion that such thoughts as these might have filled the mind of her -for whom they mourned occurred to each of those by whom the dead girl -was really loved, not indeed at once nor simultaneously, but at divers -times, as they pondered over the blank which her loss had left in -their lives. Among this number Mr. Ramsay Caird was not to be -reckoned. The solemn announcement which, at his own request, Dr. -Wilmot had made to him as to the impossibility of his wife's recovery -and the probable short duration of her illness had had very little -effect on the young man. What were the motives which prompted him were -known to himself alone; but the <i>insouciance</i>, to use the mildest term -for it, which had prompted him during the whole of his short married -life seemed in no way diminished even by the dread news which had been -communicated to him. He acknowledged that he had seen Dr. Wilmot, and -had asked him his opinion; that that opinion had been very serious, -and to some persons would have been alarming, but that he was not -easily alarmed, and that he was utterly and entirely incredulous in -the present instance. Madeleine had a bad cough, and was naturally -delicate on her chest, and that sort of thing; she did not wrap up -enough when she went out, and sat in draughts: but as to the way in -which they all went on about her--well, they would find that he was -right, and then they would be sorry they had listened to any such -nonsense. He said this to Lady Muriel; for both Kilsyth and Ronald -shrunk from any communication with him. Bitterest among all the bitter -feelings which oppressed these two men, so different in mind and -spirit, but with their love centred on the same object, was the -thought that they had given up the guardianship of their treasure to -one who was utterly unworthy of it, and, as one of them at least -confessed to himself with keen remorse, had blighted two lives by -unreasoning and short-sighted pride.</p> - -<p>So, while his young wife had been gradually declining, Ramsay Caird -had made very little alteration in the mode of life which he had -thought fit to pursue since the earliest days of his marriage. Relying -principally on the fact, which he was constantly urging, that he was -of "no use," he absented himself more and more from his home; and when -"doing duty" there, as he phrased it, strove in no way to hide the -dislike with which he regarded the irksome task. Companionship was -necessary to Ramsay Caird, and was not to be obtained, he found, among -the class with whom since his arrival in London and his domestication -in Brook-street he had been accustomed to associate. The men who had -been pleasantly familiar with him in those days stood aloof, and -seemed by no means anxious to continue the acquaintance. They had -come, soon after his marriage, and dined in the little red-flocked -tank in Squab-street, but that was principally for Madeleine's sake; -and when rumours as to the newly-founded <i>ménage</i> grew rife, and more -especially after Tommy Toshington's delightful story of seeing Caird -at Madame Favorita's door had got wind, the men generally agreed that -he was a bad lot, and fought as shy of him as was compatible with -common politeness. For it is to be noted that the loose-living -Benedick, the married man who glories in his own escapades and talks -with unctuous smack of his dissipations, is generally shunned by those -men of his own set, who are by no means strait-laced, and forced to -seek his company in a lower grade.</p> - -<p>Ramsay Caird began to be bored and oppressed by his wife's illness, -and by the constant presence of her father and brother at his house. -It is true that he never saw these unwelcome visitors--on both sides -any meeting was studiously avoided--but he could not help knowing of -their being constantly with the invalid; and his own conscience, as -much of it as he had ever possessed, did not fail to tell him what -must be their indubitable opinion of him and his conduct. The -companions too with whom he had taken up--for Ramsay Caird was -essentially gregarious, and especially during the last few months had -found the impossibility of living without excitement--the new -companions with whom he consorted, and who were principally -half-sporting, half-military, whole raffish adventurers, always well -dressed, and retaining a certain hold on society, where they once had -been well received,--these men encouraged Caird in his dislike to his -home, and assisted him in the invention of plausible excuses to get -away from it. The fact that he had "gone on to the turf," which he had -at first taken every precaution to prevent his connections in -Brook-street from becoming acquainted with, and which, when some kind -common friend had told them of it, struck Kilsyth with silent horror, -and aroused much burning and outspoken indignation in Ronald, was now -put forward on every occasion, just as though it had been a legitimate -business on which he was employed. "Meetings" were constantly taking -place all over the country at which his attendance was indispensable, -and he was soon well known as one of the regular frequenters of the -betting-ring. On his return the servants in Squab-street could -generally tell what had been the result of his betting speculations; -but only to them and to one other person did he ever show his temper. -And that one other person was Lady Muriel--the proud Lady Muriel--who -in all matters between her husband and this man, who by her -instrumentality had become the husband of her husband's daughter, had -to be the go-between; to her it was left to soften his irregularities -and gloss them over as best she might, and she alone possessed his -confidence. To be the <i>confidante</i> of a gambler and the apologist for -a debauchee was scarcely what Lady Muriel had expected when she gave -her pledge to dying Stewart Caird, and when she intrigued and -manoeuvred so successfully in gaining her stepdaughter's hand for -Ramsay.</p> - -<p>Three days before Madeleine's death Ramsay Caird announced to Lady -Muriel, whom he stopped as she was about to ascend the stairs to the -invalid's room, that he wanted to speak to her, and, on joining him -in the red-flocked tank, told her that he was about to start that -night for Paris. There were races at Chantilly in which he was very -much interested, having a large sum at stake, and it was absolutely -necessary that he should be on the spot to watch and avail himself of -the fluctuations in the betting-ring. Then, for the first time during -their acquaintance, Lady Muriel spoke out to her quondam protégé. The -long-repressed emotions under which she was suffering seemed to have -given her eloquence; she drew a vivid picture of "what might have -been" if Ramsay's conduct had been different, and lashed his present -life and pursuits, the company he kept, and the general degradation -into which he had fallen, with an unsparing tongue. She implored him -to give up his intended journey, assuring him that he either would not -or could not understand the extreme danger of his wife's position, -pointing out to him what scandal must necessarily arise from his -absenting himself at such a time, and telling him that his past -conduct during his married life, already sufficiently commented upon -by the world, might to a certain extent be condoned by his doing his -duty and devoting himself to his home for the future. Ramsay listened -impatiently, as men of his stamp always listen to such advice, and -then he in his turn spoke out. He said that he would be his own -master, that he would brook no interference with his plans, that -already he was a mere cipher in his own house, which was invaded and -occupied by other people at their own pleasure, and that he would -stand it no longer; then, after this outburst, he moderated his tone, -apologised to Lady Muriel for his violence, and told her that, though -the importance of his business arrangements and the largeness of his -venture made it absolutely necessary for him to go to Paris on this -occasion, yet it should be the last; he would do as her ladyship -wished him, as he felt he ought to do, and his enemies should find -that he was not so black as by some persons he had been painted.</p> - -<p>So Ramsay Caird and a select circle of British turfites took their -departure by that night's mail, and enjoyed themselves very much, -smoking, drinking, and playing cards whenever it was practicable on -the journey. Most of them were men whose acquaintance Caird had made -some time previously; but amongst them there was a Frenchman, a M. -Leroux, whom Ramsay had never previously seen, although the little -gentleman said he had frequently been in England, and seemed perfectly -conversant with the English language, manners, and customs. He was a -lively, vivacious, gasconading little fellow; and any temporary -depression of spirits which Ramsay Caird may have felt after his -interview with Lady Muriel quite vanished under the influence of M. -Leroux's conversation. He and M. Leroux seemed to have taken a mutual -liking to each other; they went together to the races, where Caird won -a large sum of money, Leroux not being quite so fortunate; and on -their return to Paris, Ramsay declined to join his English friends, -and dined with Leroux and some very agreeable Frenchmen to whom Leroux -had introduced him at the races. The dinner was excellent; and after -they had done full justice to it, and to the wines which accompanied -it, they all adjourned so some neighbouring rooms belonging to one of -their number, where cards and dice were speedily introduced. Again -Ramsay Caird's luck stood by him. <i>Malheureux en amour</i>, he was -destined to be <i>heureux en jeu</i> on this occasion at least. Nothing -could alter or diminish his flow of success; no matter what he played, -lansquenet, baccarat, hazard, he won largely at them all; and when at -a very late hour he left the rooms in company with Leroux and two of -his friends, his pockets were filled with notes and gold. They were -quite empty when they were examined about noon the next day by the -attendants at the Morgue, whither Ramsay Caird's dead body, found in -the Seine with a deep gash in its breast, had been conveyed.</p> - -<p>M. Leroux and his friends did not come so well out of this little -affair as they had expected. They knew that Ramsay was a stranger in -Paris, known only to the English sporting-men in whose company he had -arrived there, and who had probably returned to England. But they did -not make allowance for the fact that of all cities Paris has a charm -for the "English division," who, if they have won any money, linger -for a few days amongst its pleasures, one of which undoubtedly is a -frequent visit to the Morgue. By one of these late lingerers, no less -a person than Captain Severn, the body of Ramsay Caird was seen and -recognised; inquiries were at once set on foot; the waiter at the -restaurant, the <i>concierge</i> at the house where the play had taken -place, were examined, and gave their evidence. M. Leroux and his two -friends were apprehended; one of the friends turned traitor (his share -of the spoil had been too small), and Leroux and the other, being -found guilty of murder under extenuating circumstances, were sentenced -to the galleys for life.</p> - -<p>The news of this catastrophe was conveyed to the Kilsyth family in a -letter addressed by Captain Severn to Ronald, which letter lay -unopened in Brook-street for several days. Ronald Kilsyth was far too -much crushed and broken by the blow, which, for all their long -expectation of its advent, had yet fallen suddenly upon them at the -last, to attend to anything unconnected, as he imagined, with the -dead. He had indeed carelessly glanced at the cover of this letter, -with several others; but the handwriting was unfamiliar to him, and he -put it aside, to be opened at a later opportunity. It was not until -two or three days afterwards, when Ramsay Caird had been sought in -vain, and when Lady Muriel had confessed that he had confided to her -his intention of going to Paris, that Ronald recollected the letter in -the strange handwriting with the Paris postmark. He sent for the -letter, and read it through without the smallest sign of emotion. He -was a hard man, Ronald Kilsyth, and the softening effect of his -sister's illness only included her and those who were fond of her. -Ronald knew well enough that Ramsay Caird did not come within this -category, and he felt no pity for his fate.</p> - -<p>He communicated the news to his father more as a matter of form than -anything else; for the shock of his beloved child's death had almost -deprived Kilsyth of his reason. Like Rachel, he refused to be -comforted, and would sit hour after hour in one position on his chair, -his eyes fixed on vacancy, his chin resting on his breast, his hands -idly clasped before him. Nothing seemed to rouse him,--not even the -news which had been conveyed to Ronald in Captain Severn's letter. He -comprehended it, for he said "Poor Ramsay!" once, and once only; then -heaved a deep sigh, and never alluded to his dead son-in-law again. -His thoughts were filled with reminiscences of his lost darling, and -he had none to bestow on anyone else. "My poor Maddy!" "My bonnie -lass!" "My own childie!"--he would sit and repeat these phrases over -and over again; then steal away down to the house where all that was -left of her still lay, and remain on his knees by the coffin, until -Ronald would come and half forcibly lead him away. He left London -immediately after the funeral, and never could be persuaded to return -to it. After a while, the fresh mountain air, to which he had been so -accustomed, and away from which he was never well, had some of its old -restorative effect, and Kilsyth recovered most of his physical -strength and some of his old pleasure in field sports; but his zest -for life was gone, and the gullies mourned the alteration in the chief -whom they loved so much.</p> - -<p>The death of Ramsay Caird under such horrible circumstances was a -crushing blow to Lady Muriel. This, then, was the end of all her -schemes and plots; this the result of so much mental agony and remorse -endured by herself--of so much grief and cruel injustice inflicted by -her on others. She had kept the promise she had made to Stewart Caird -on his deathbed, two lives had been sacrificed, two loves had been -blighted--but she had kept her promise. For the first time in her life -"my lady's" courage failed her; and her conscience showed her how -recklessly she had availed herself of the means to gain her ends. For -the first time in her life she dreaded meeting the glances of the -world. More than all men she dreaded Ronald Kilsyth, knowing as she -did full well how she had used him for her own purposes, and with what -lamentable results. She had been seriously affected by Madeleine's -death--like many worldly people, never knowing how much she had loved -the girl until she lost her; and now the fact of Ramsay's murder under -such discreditable circumstances--a story which had been made public -in the newspapers, where the world could glean the undeniable truth -that the murdered man had left what was actually his wife's deathbed -to attend some races--seemed to overwhelm her The young men who -visited at the house had been in the habit of expressing to each other -great admiration of Lady Muriel's "pluck"--that quality did not desert -her even at her worst. She made head against her troubles, and never -gave in; but those intimate enemies who saw her before she left London -with her husband declared Lady Muriel to be "quite broken" and a -"thorough wreck."</p> - -<p>And Chudleigh Wilmot? He lived, of course; lived, and ate and drank, -and pursued very much his usual course of life. Well, no; not quite -his usual course of life. The effect of the death of the one woman -whom in his lifetime he had loved was to him much as are the gunshot -wounds of which we sometimes hear officers and army surgeons tell; -wounds where the hit man feels a slight concussion at the moment, and -does not know until a short time afterwards that he is stunned, -paralysed for ever. While Wilmot had been watching the insidious -progress of Madeleine's disease, his mental misery at times was most -acute; every variation in her was apparent to his practised eye; and -day by day he saw the destroyer creeping stealthily onward in his -attack, without the smallest power to resist him. When the bitter -tidings of her death were brought by Ronald's servant, the words fell -upon Chudleigh Wilmot's ear and smote him as if a sharp cut from a -whip had fallen upon him. She whom he had loved so devotedly, so -hopelessly, so selflessly, was dead--he realised that. He knew that he -should never see the light in her blue eyes, never hear the sweet soft -tones of her voice again. He was thankful that, under the impulse of -his grief, he had spoken to her out of his overcharged heart and told -her how he loved her. He dared not have done it before, he dared not -under any other circumstances have confessed the passion for her that -had so long been the motive-power of his life; but then--"Happy, -<i>quand même!</i>" Her last words--she never had spoken after that--her -last words were addressed to him, and told him of her happiness.</p> - -<p>It was not until after the funeral that Wilmot experienced the full -effect of the blow, experienced it in the dead dull blankness which -seemed for the second time to have fallen upon his life. He had had -something of the kind before, but nothing equal in intensity to what -he now suffered. He felt as though the light had died out, and that -henceforward he was to walk in darkness, without care, without hope, -without interest in any mortal thing. Previously he had found some -relief in hard study; now he found it impossible to fix his attention -on his hooks. The awful sense of something impending was perpetually -upon him; the more awful sense of something wanting in his life never -left him. The only time that a ray of comfort broke in upon him was -when Ronald Kilsyth would come and sit with him, and they would talk -of the dead girl for hours together, as Madeleine had predicted they -would do. They are very much together now, these two men; Ronald has -risen in the service, and he and Wilmot are engaged in ameliorating -the condition of the common soldiers and their families, It was a work -in which Madeleine at one time took much interest; and this was -sufficient to recommend it to Wilmot, who at once took it up.</p> - -<p>He is a middle-aged man now, with a grizzled head and a worn grave -face. He has wealth and fame, and might have any position; but the -world can offer him nothing that arouses in him the slightest -interest, unless it be associated with the memory of his lost love.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>END OF VOL. II.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Forlorn Hope (Vol. 2 of 2), by Edmund Yates - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FORLORN HOPE (VOL. 2 OF 2) *** - -***** This file should be named 60073-h.htm or 60073-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/0/7/60073/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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